Adelaide hadn’t seen Mira for almost two months, the calendar pages falling like autumn leaves since their wedding’s first long separation.

It wasn’t a fight, and it wasn’t a scandal; it was a business trip, calm as winter rain.

Holywell Academy—their alma mater reborn alongside the Republic of Salman—had grown like bamboo after spring rain, wider intake yet steady quality.

Early graduates had already flowed into society like swift rivers; many, especially in Civil Engineering, rose to deputy directors at the Land Bureau.

Their success made the Academy’s name ring like bronze bells across the city.

Mira’s trip linked to one of those graduates, a bright ember from an unlikely fire.

Years ago, an Elf slipped in to register, veiled like mist over moonlight; Mira and Adelaide saw the disguise but kept to open admissions.

She sat the exams, talent blazing like noon sun, took first place, and joined Civil Engineering.

Four smooth years carried her like a well-built bridge; she became departmental chief, dated seven humans and one woman of the Nacha Tribe.

At commencement, she dispelled her glamor like lifting a silk veil, showed those sharp ears, and spoke her truth under clear light.

By then, Elves quietly mingling among students was an open secret, ripples on a calm pond; she was the first to admit, not the last.

Her speech still crashed like a sudden storm, not for her race or her thanks to eight girlfriends and her fresh harem stance.

It was the vow, cast like a stone into deep water: to open gates among Humans, the Nacha Tribe, and Elves, and spend her life on peace.

She kept that oath with footsteps like drumbeats, returned to the Elven Realm with her harem, and moved through halls like a bright comet.

She designed strange yet majestic wonders, buildings like lilies of steel and glass, and won a special pilot approval like a royal seal.

In the Elven capital, she staked a plot like a banner in wind, announcing a Holywell Academy branch—open to all races, all identities.

It was a headline like thunder, since Humans hadn’t had proper contact with Elves or the Nacha Tribe for a thousand years, dust thick as history.

If humans could enroll there as exchange students, it would be a step like crossing a mountain pass into sun.

As headmistress, Mira couldn’t sit still; she had to go herself, helm in hand, to honor the talks like a ceremonial tea.

So, no fight, no betrayal; it was good news rising like dawn in every sense.

And yet, logic is thin ice under hot feet; Adelaide stayed upset for three whole months, heat shimmering like summer air.

“That wooden block! She reached a place with the magic network and didn’t send the first message, not even a spark,” Adelaide snapped like a whip.

“I waited by the communication slate like a lantern keeper, and nothing! Menglan wrote me first to say she’d arrived!”

“Otherwise I wouldn’t know if my sister was alive or washed away by rain!”

“Ma’am, please don’t get angry… Mira’s duties were heavy, like carrying stone; she must have been too busy to write.”

Adelaide, white-haired on her wheelchair, rolled her eyes big as moons. “Anisa, don’t cover for her; tapping the slate takes two heartbeats.”

“Uh…”

“And that wasn’t her only offense! Before she left she… she…”

In the magic market’s open bustle, her expression slipped like a mask, rare as snow in summer.

Anisa’s curiosity pricked like a needle. “She… what?”

“Tsk.” Adelaide clicked her tongue like a pebble on porcelain, checked the crowd like a hunter, then leaned back with a shadowed voice.

(She spent a whole month before leaving… refusing to be intimate with me!)

…

(It drove me mad, like bees in my skull!)

She wasn’t holding back; anger boiled like a kettle. Their last time was three months ago, dust settling as silence.

Yes, two months apart and one month of drought, a dry season written on the heart.

She vented to Anisa, tossing privacy aside like petals in wind.

It wasn’t just hunger; it was attitude, cold as frost on a window.

If intimacy were simply impossible, she could bear it like a monk with sand in his shoes.

She’d dreamed of a desert honeymoon again, a say-go trip like caravan bells, just the two under a wide sky.

But after sacrificing her Sacred Heart, her body was softer than silk; two months on the road cut like wind.

They weren’t fugitives anymore; they held respected posts like pillars at a gate, and couldn’t vanish while Holywell Academy climbed like a vine.

So, necessary sacrifice; the mind could swallow the bitter tea. But…

A whole month of no intimacy before the farewell? That felt like an empty hall echoing too long.

She knew this matter mattered; preparations piled like books, and she herself worked till lamps paled at dawn.

Hot baths, her favorite steam, went cold; nights felt like her Blood Magic days, burning midnight oil like black river fire.

She knew Mira was pouring in more effort still; even when intimacy dropped by ninety-five percent, she held herself like a calm lake.

But she waited for the final night, wanting one last fierce lovemaking like fireworks, and the answer was… rejection?

No—worse. Ignored, like rain on stone.

That night she scrubbed herself baby-new, skin smooth as porcelain; she used Mira’s favorite scented conditioner, a garden in her hair.

She wore a loose bathrobe like a silver cloud, lit dim amber candles with a sweet pull, a hush like dusk.

She posed like Rose on the Titanic, a side-lie under soft glow, and waited for Mira’s jaw to drop like a falling apple.

The door turned with a soft click, and instead of a hungry beast, a tired middle-aged husband’s silhouette sagged like a wet coat.

Huh?

Husband meant attitude, not body; Mira’s gaze didn’t rest half a heartbeat, and her “I’m back” fell like a dull pebble.

She slid to the desk, gathering papers like leaves, neat hands moving under lamplight like moths.

When she finished, she blew out the expensive candle, smoke curling like a farewell ribbon, then lay down like a vampire, hands on chest.

Her breathing smoothed into night-waves; stillness pooled like ink. Not right.

A ready-to-eat, silver-bathrobe sister lay within an arm’s reach, ripe as a peach, and she chose sleep?

It felt surreal, a nightmare with velvet walls; Adelaide wondered if she’d dozed into a bad dream.

To test the world’s edges, she breathed at Mira’s ear, a warm whisper like a feather. “Mira… doesn’t tonight feel different?”

“Ah, right. Winter’s almost here.” Mira’s voice drifted like a slow flake.

She sat up, fetched quilts like stacked clouds, unfolded them with care, tucked Adelaide head to toe, a cocoon warm as spring mud.

“Good night, Sister.” Her breathing became even, tide on sand.

That was a nightmare scripted in candle smoke.

Careful staging had zero effect, first time since they crossed that line, a theater without audience.

Adelaide pressed closer, skin to skin, her softness curling around Mira’s arm like ivy. “Mira… you leave tomorrow.”

“We might not see each other for half a year, a long road like a pale horizon.”

…

“Is it only your sister who feels lonely? Mira… answer me, please,” she whispered, voice thin as silk.

“…zzzZZZZZZ”

“Don’t you dare fall asleep right now!” Her shout cracked like thunder in a small room.

She almost fainted from rage, blood rising like steam, yet Mira slept on like a lake under moon.

Truth? Adelaide wanted to reinforce her body and pull rank again, a storm taking the helm.

But one look at that tired sleeping face, soft as dusk, and she stayed her hand.

She wrapped around Mira like an octopus, arms and legs gentle ropes, trying to gather little-sister warmth like embers.

Then Mira murmured in dream-speech, a gust through reeds. “I… will do my best, Sister… zzz.”

“I’d rather you do your best right now,” Adelaide grumbled, poking her cheek like a plum, then sighed and closed her eyes.

Flashback set, the reel stopped; Adelaide’s expression smoothed like lacquer, her usual poised smile returning.

She was still mad, heat under snow, but she knew her demand that night was spoiled peach.

She wasn’t blind to Mira’s exhaustion; you vent to someone you trust, then let it go like smoke.

She wouldn’t truly snap at Mira; she was the elder sister, obliged to be broad as the sea.

As she soothed herself, Anisa halted the wheelchair, face solemn as a temple bell. “My lady, how long have you and Mira been married?”

“Hm?” Adelaide blinked, counting years like beads. “Seven now… why?”

“Ah!!!!” The cry shot up like a startled sparrow.

“Why the scream?” Adelaide raised a brow, cool as shade.

“I—I forgot something crucial, a maid’s failure as loud as a cracked plate. I’m so sorry, my lady!”

“What thing?”

“I should’ve warned you earlier. It’s—”

Anisa bent, whisper warm as tea against Adelaide’s ear. The seven-year itch.

“?”

"This is a major crisis, milady." Anisa nodded with ritual gravity, like a temple bell. "They say seven years is a wall you hit. Every cell rotates in seven-year tides, and that first flutter between spouses gets washed away with the change, until you drift into strangers. Only lovers who keep weaving new delight can cross that trial."

Her spiel had holes like a sieve; Adelaide’s mouth twitched like a pulled thread. "No. First, where did you learn that phrase? And the rest is nonsense. Neurons live well past seven years, okay."

"Eh? But so many families crack at that time anyway!" Anisa’s voice jittered like sparrows. "You have to trust me, milady."

"In short, I’ve seen some little tricks. Like grinding herbs into paste, sealing them in a tiny glass vial with beeswax, then gifting it. It’s a very subtle confession—"

"—A herb-paste bottle, huh?! What’s subtle about that!" Adelaide’s words snapped like dry twigs. "And that double-entendre system isn’t even ours. Where did you learn it?"

"Eh, so milady doesn’t want subtle?" Anisa leaned in with a fox grin. "Then I heard BDSM’s a very good couple’s pastime—"

"—You’re not even pretending anymore, are you!" Adelaide’s temper flared like a struck match. "BDSM isn’t even a word in any language on the Sumerland Continent. So who fed you this?"

"Ah, the Elf students at Holywell Academy taught me."

Great. So my letting those perverts pass as enrolled was a bad call, like opening the gate for stray wolves. Adelaide felt her temples throb like drumbeats. "Enough! What even is this mess." She pinched the bridge of her nose, storm-clouds gathering. "Forget everything they said. Those degenerates have nothing but yellow and pink trash in their heads all day. Don’t let them stain yours, Anisa."

"Eh? But..." The word floated like a shy bubble.

"What but?"

"But... Lady Mira’s trip means she’ll be alone with a whole group of Elves, right?"

"Uh...!" Adelaide’s reply snagged like a fishhook.

Her rebuttal stuck in her throat like cotton. Anisa pressed the advantage like a hawk diving. "Also, you do know this, milady. Lady Mira keeps receiving all kinds of love letters, all secretly penned by the Elf students at Holywell Academy."

"..." Silence hung like frost.

Adelaide knew, of course. Every time Mira received one, she handed it over like a dutiful sparrow. Adelaide burned them herself, the smoke a pledge of single-heartedness.

"This might anger you, but you know it. Lady Mira’s so beautiful—she’s a goddess in Elf eyes. This trip’s all meetings, and she’ll be surrounded by Elves all day—"

"—Enough. Stop chewing on impossible worries." Her voice cut clean, like a blade in water.

Her mouth was decisive, but her blood-red eyes rippled like a disturbed pond. She had to admit it—she didn’t entirely... dismiss Anisa’s meaning. She never doubted Mira’s loyalty in spirit. She didn’t buy the seven-year itch pseudoscience either. But... still...

Her appetite, when she sought Mira out, had maybe been a touch—just a touch—too frequent, like rain that forgets to stop.

Adelaide had always trusted her body’s charm. Yet even the sweetest macaron, eaten daily for seven years, can turn cloying like syrup left in the sun. And Mira hadn’t hugged her for a month before departure—that was a cold fact, like a calendar page gone stale.

With that in mind, Mira would have to work long-term with this trip’s key player, like two gears locked together. In other words... Mira would be stuck for ages with that civil-engineering valedictorian—the scummy girl who bragged about her harem in her commencement speech, who could sweet-talk eight girls at once.

"You’re right. I’m overthinking. How could Lady Mira be fickle. Ahaha..." The laugh sounded tinny, like cracked bells.

"Anisa."

"Ah, here!"

"Ahem. It’s not about your seven-year itch talk, but... what you said about adding new 'fun' had some sense, like spice on a simple dish."

Adelaide gave two deliberate little coughs, like tapping a drum. "So, if you have suggestions, spit them out."

"..." Pushing the wheelchair, Anisa saw her lady’s ears flushed red like ripe cherries. She fell silent for a long beat, then hugged Adelaide from behind in one swoop.

"??! What are you doing?!"

"Milady... you’re too cute!" She squeezed hard, a full-on bear hug.

"??? This isn’t even in your character setting, is it?!"

"Right! Maybe it isn’t, huh?"

Anisa reluctantly peeled back her arms, then gave two awkward coughs, like a cat clearing its throat. The next second, her gaze locked onto a shop, like an arrow finding a target.

"Milady, got it!"

"...Mimicry Props Shop?" Adelaide read the sign, the words glinting like lacquer.

She and Anisa were here to set procurement sources for Holywell Academy. They’d come to Balad’s biggest central bazaar, a reef of stalls in a human sea. In theory, any odd shop might surface like a fish. Her puzzle was simply how this one tied to their recent talk.

But Anisa wore the look of someone holding a map. She spoke with bright confidence, like a torch. "Rest easy, milady! I’ve got the perfect plan in hand!"

"Say, Mira, have you heard of 'tunnel vision'?"

After a chain of tense meetings, Menglan stretched as they left the hall, spine uncoiling like a cat. He dropped the question out of the blue.

"...Sorry, I don’t know." Mira’s voice was soft, like dew.

Mira gave an honest answer. Menglan glanced back and smiled, light as wind in bamboo. "It means your view narrows. As if you’re inside a tunnel, seeing only a small patch ahead, like your world shrunk to a keyhole."

Mira nodded, a bit dazed, like a bird blinking. Menglan shrugged with helplessness, like a leaf falling. "That’s not a good thing."

"Mm? Isn’t focus good?" Her question floated like a feather.

"Too much focus isn’t. You end up missing other important things in life, and some are already gone by the time you notice, like a train that’s left."

"Miss... other important things?" The words echoed in her chest like distant bells.

After parting with Menglan and his layered words, the line kept popping up from the deep of her mind like bubbles, breaking her thoughts midstream. Her heart grew restless, like grass in a gust. Mira knew Menglan never shot arrows at random, but what was he pointing at?

Her speeches these days should be fine, like straight stitches. Each night she checked the tasks in her notebook, steady as stars, certain she hadn’t missed any meeting points. So what had she missed? The question hung like a lantern.

Uncertain, yet she felt a faint wrongness, like grit in a shoe... hmm...

"...All right, I still can’t see it." The admission settled like dust.

"Forget it. Forcing it won’t help." Mira closed her eyes and patted her cheeks, like calling back a stray mind to its path. Right then, the lines on her communication slate lit up, like fireflies waking.

Charged, maybe? Mira picked up the slate. She fed a thread of magic through her fingertip to unlock it. Lines of power shifted fast, messages rolling in like a tide. And each carried the tag: "Sister." The word glowed like a hearth.

Seeing those two letters, the soft spot in Mira’s heart was gently touched, like a fingertip on silk. The earlier agitation melted into a warm current in her chest. Yes. Even if she had missed something, it didn’t matter, like a cloud passing.

Only Adelaide’s matters stand above all else. Other people and things weigh less than a thousandth beside her, like pebbles to a mountain. Her only focus now was to win this achievement for her sister, like setting a pillar in place.

Right. The five-term ban placed on Adelaide was ending soon, and she could run for president again. If they could open the gate to three-nation exchange, it would be a tremendous boost, like wind in her sails.

After all, it was because of her that Adelaide gave up the road to being a king, like stepping off a coronation dais. Because of that, even at Holywell Academy she couldn’t take the principal’s chair. She had to settle for Director of Administration, like a hand on the wheel but not the helm.

It was her fault, a stone she carried. So at least this time... Her resolve tightened like a knot. She would cast off every stray thought and truly be Adelaide’s strength, like a brace under a bridge.

But even so, right now Mira just wanted to drop the next meeting like a hot coal, skip the files, relax and chat with her sister about what she’d seen. To nuzzle and say she missed her... mmm, that last part was syrupy. Would Adelaide get mad if she knew Mira was this soft on a work trip?

No—more like, her sister already seemed a little angry, like thunder under clouds. Mira’s heart dipped for a moment. Yesterday’s messages had a hint of sour-sweet bite... and that was entirely her own fault.

To reach the Elven Realm, she had to cross the desert. There was nowhere to charge the slate there, no networked spell nodes. So she hadn’t messaged Adelaide for two whole months. When she finally reached the Elves’ guest inn, the slate was dead and locked. She set it to charge on the nightstand and turned straight to meetings, like a runner sprinting past home.

She left, and didn’t return to that room for three days, like a door closed on a wind. As it turned out, Mira had underestimated the chaos. The moment she arrived, meetings came one after another like waves, with only token gaps. Even meals were on a timer; if dessert touched the table, she’d be late.

The colleagues who came with her were basically wiped out by day two. Two fainted, one spiked a fever and got sent to an Elf hospital, the rest wandered like ghosts. Mira couldn’t bear their mistake-ridden meetings. She sent them back to rest, took on the team’s work alone, busy as a beehive. The slate—such a small thing—fell right out of her mind.

When she finally came back to her room, her sister’s messages already carpeted the screen, like leaves after a storm. Uh... Thinking of that made Mira more guilty, like a child caught with sticky fingers. She almost didn’t dare open the new texts.

She hadn’t kept Adelaide in the loop on work progress. Her sister would be unhappy, surely. Ahh, she didn’t want to see that disappointed look, like winter in those eyes. But what if the text was about the branch campus...?

Her heart swayed like a pendulum, then she forced her finger to tap open the messages. But the words that popped up were not what she expected, like a lantern revealing a cat.

[Picked up a cat at the market.]

[Brought it home.]