Night settled like ink. Dinner done, bath steam fading like mist, it was time to sleep. Then a new snag surfaced like a knot in wood.

The bed wasn’t tiny, but it wasn’t a sea; the last owner lived alone like a lone pine. Four bodies already felt like a crowded raft; add Hill, and the raft would capsize.

Earlier, rooms and bed were barely enough, a patchwork quilt against cold. No need to ask Serenemoon to conjure a bigger house. Now the wind changed; we had to move.

“Beds and rooms are too small, Serenemoon. Got a trick?” I asked, towel in hand, drying Hill’s hair like stroking a kitten.

“Nope~” Serenemoon shook her head like a willow in breeze. “There are a few houses across the Lunar Forest, but this one’s the biggest. Outside the forest… sorry, big sis’s magic hasn’t climbed that mountain yet.” She added more, voice light as rain. “Even if we moved, it’d be the same. They never stay rooted. Houses all feel alike.”

“What do we do then…” The thought sagged like a wet cloak.

We couldn’t lay mats on the floor like camping under stars. I glanced at Xinuo like tossing a pebble into a still pond. “Xinuo, any suggestions?”

“One,” she said, crisp as a blade.

“What is it?!” The word snapped like a twig, and every gaze swung to her like iron to a magnet.

“Go back to the Mizumi Clan now,” Xinuo said, calm as moonlight on water. “We’ve stayed in the Lunar Forest so long the games taste stale. The Servant’s cultivation has reached a ledge.”

She paused, leaving the last step hanging like a bridge in fog. Staying would only brew boredom; better to drift home and idle through the last five or six days like a lazy stream.

“Xinuo-nee, but it’s sleep time,” my little sister murmured, stretching like a cat, eyes on the window’s black glass.

“Mizumi Clan?!” Hill sprang up like a spring. “This one wants to go! I want to go to the Mizumi Clan!!”

“Honestly, I’m a touch homesick,” Serenemoon smiled, warm as a lantern. “Little Emperor, pack up. We’ll head back.” Her words rang like a bell.

“Okay. I’ll pack now.” I moved quick, like a runner at the drum.

With five or six days before we left the Central Continent, going home early felt right, like turning with the tide.

… Ten-odd minutes later, the clock’s hand crawled like an ant.

Bags were tied and stacked like neat stones. Before Serenemoon could lift a spell, Xinuo flicked her hand like tossing a petal. A blink, a ripple, and we stood in my room at the Mizumi Clan’s main house.

“Wow! This room’s huge!!” Hill’s voice burst like fireworks.

I clicked on the light; brightness spilled like dawn. Hill darted around like a swallow, peeking into corners like nests. The luggage settled itself under Serenemoon’s magic, tidy as folded clouds. Magic felt born for housework, a broom made of stars.

“Home breathes comfort,” I sighed, the air warm as tea. My sister slipped off her shoes and dove under the quilt like a fish into reeds. Her eyes narrowed, sleep tugging like a tide.

Done exploring, Hill kicked off her shoes and bounded onto the bed like a cub. She rolled and rolled, a small storm, and rucked the quilt into waves.

“Hill, no roughhousing on the bed!” My voice tried to stand straight like a stake.

I hurried over, caught her mid-roll like catching a gourd, and smoothed the quilt flat as a lake.

“So nice~ Lively the instant we’re back,” Serenemoon said, smile soft as silk. She opened the door with a hush like wind. “I’ll head to my room. Good night.”

“Night,” we chimed, voices like fading bells.

Now it was just me, Xinuo, my sister, and Hill, a small hearth circle.

“Xinuo, what’re you reading?” I asked, curiosity pricking like a thorn.

She sprawled on the bed over an album, eyes steady as a hunter’s. I leaned in, and the pages bit with blood-red, like butchered rain.

“…I saw nothing!” I shook my head hard, like flinging water off my ears, trying to scatter the image before it nested like a crow. Not at night, Xinuo, come on.

I lined up the scattered shoes like soldiers. Eyes half-closed, I slipped past Xinuo like a shadow and slid under the quilt beside her.

“Boss!” A little head popped from the quilt like a mole from earth—Hill. If she weren’t so cute, my heart would’ve leapt like a fish. So that’s where she went, burrowing like a rabbit. My sister had drifted off minutes ago, breath slow as a tide.

“Hill, you’re bursting with energy.” I looked at her climbing on me like a kitty on a warm lap. I pinched her cheeks twice, soft as steamed buns.

“Because I’m happy!” Her grin shone like a crescent. “I get to be at the Mizumi Clan.”

“Yeah? Then tomorrow I’ll give you a proper tour,” I said, promise firm as a knot.

“Really?! Boss, you’re the best!” Her joy bubbled like a spring. Give a child play, and the world turns sunny like noon.

“Servant, how much do you know about the outside world?” Xinuo’s voice cut in, clean as a flute.

She snapped the album shut like a clap of thunder, tossed it onto the shelf like a leaf, then turned.

“The outside…” I searched my head, a cupboard with dust. “I know there are four continents beyond the Central Continent. Not much else.”

“Your dream is to see the outside, yet you did no homework?” Her brow lifted like a drawn bow.

Heat pricked my face like sun. “I didn’t think it could happen. I avoided those books so I wouldn’t daydream, like locking a window. Later, cultivation swept it away like rain.”

When a dream sits out of reach, it gnaws like a mouse. To keep it from chewing your heart, you hide the cheese, cowardly but snug like a bandage.

“You’ve read tons of novels and manga, Servant. How can you not know?” Xinuo’s eyes narrowed like moon crescents.

“Huh? Aren’t the countries and place names all made up?” The doubt stumbled out like a loose stone.

“…Servant, you’re so pure.” She cupped my cheeks, kneading like dough, smile bright as frost. “Characters and plots are mostly fiction, sure. But place names? Rarely made up.”

“Why? If the people and stories are fake, why not fake the places?” Hill butted in like a sparrow, beating me to it. She must’ve been bored, floating like a leaf on our talk.

“Most humans want immersion,” Xinuo said, voice level as a path.

“Immersion?” I echoed, the word a pebble in the mouth.

“Yeah. When you read, do you imagine you’re the protagonist?” she asked, gaze steady as a candle.

“I have, actually,” I said, honest as clear water.

“That’s immersion. Real place names are a bridge over the river. Easier to cross. And they spare the author the work of carving new signs.”

“I see.” The idea clicked like a latch.

Hill and I nodded together like two pecking birds.

“Right, Master! There’s something I don’t get,” Hill said, hand raised like a sprout.

“What is it?” Xinuo tilted her head, interest flickering like a firefly.

“I skimmed the novels and manga Yumigawa Nozomi and the others brought,” Hill said, voice careful as stitching. “The stories keep hyping humans born as commoners.”

“Oh? Hill, lay it out,” Xinuo said, a rare smile blooming like plum.

I leaned in too, curiosity bright as flint. I read for rush and time-killing, like chewing sugar. Hill tasted something else.

“I noticed the protagonist is usually a nobody,” Hill went on, words steady as beads. “Soon after the story starts, he gets an amazing divine artifact, or a reclusive powerhouse guides him. Then his fate flips like a coin.”

“That’s opportunity,” I said, palm up like a scale. “He’s the protagonist. Big breaks are normal.”

“Boss, look closer,” Hill said, eyes shining like mica. “Once ‘opportunity’ hits, their power skyrockets, like bamboo after rain. Women, advanced cultivation methods, high-grade elixirs—everything flocks to him like birds to grain.”

“Power lets you have most things,” I said, tone flat as stone. “That’s normal.”

If you’re weak, dreams are fog. Become strong, and they settle like land. It felt right as gravity.

“But here’s the rub,” Hill said, finger lifted like a reed. “At the start, they stress his talent is average. Yet luck alone lets him defy heaven. In decades, through chained ‘opportunities,’ he becomes the strongest in the world… Hmm? Sounds like Yugou Sage a thousand years ago.”

She paused, then shook her head like a bell. “No. Yugou Sage had the Master’s help, and his own monstrous talent, like a dragon in clouds. That’s how he rose so fast. Those protagonists just grab artifacts and gnaw elixirs, and boom—strongest alive. It’s weird. Since when did artifacts and elixirs work like thunder?”

“Before I met Master and Boss, I ate a Divine Elixir every meal,” Hill added, baffled as a lost foal. “My strength barely budged like a stuck needle.”

“I guess those authors never touched artifacts or Divine Elixirs,” I said, shrugging like a leaf. “So they exaggerate, blowing soap bubbles.”

“Servant’s right,” Xinuo said, voice cool as a stream. “Those novelists and mangaka are frustrated ordinary folks. They’re unhappy and can’t change it. So they daydream themselves into peerless power, then paint it like a sunset. That’s entertainment.”

“Yes! That’s it!” Hill clapped, crisp as clacking jade. “Hyping humans is fine—Yugou Sage set the post. But hyping ordinary humans is just dull fog!”

“Okay, Hill. I get you,” I said, patting her hair like smoothing grass.

In short, as Dragon Kin, Hill can’t stomach endings where an ex-ordinary protagonist crowns the world like a paper king.

We chatted a little more, words dimming like embers. Sleep rose like mist. Hill and I wished Xinuo good night, then let our eyes fall like petals.

…

At the same time, in the Lunar Forest.

“Meow?” The sound floated like a lone reed.

In the empty house, the lioncat cried, a lonely bell. Yesterday, Yumigawa Sumeragi and the rest filled it with warmth. Tonight, they’d vanished like birds at dusk.

It had finally made friends and tasted full days like ripe fruit. Must it go back to loneliness like a winter field? How hateful.

…