“Mikarette, are you okay?” I caught her by the shoulders, my voice thin as wind through reeds. Her wounds were scarlet brushstrokes, and guilt hit me like a stone.
“Amamiya-kun, seriously…” She lifted her head and rolled a frosty eye, breath drifting like mist. “I’m a woman, you know. Did you have to go that hard? It’s bad enough you didn’t hold back as a man, but you went for the kill. If I were a bit weaker, I’d be a corpse under your blade.”
Shame burned through me like hot tea. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—I was wrong.” I couldn’t argue, didn’t want to. Guardian or not, she was a woman before the duel.
“Forget it.” With a weary little pinch to my cheek, Mikarette sighed like a deflating bellows. Then she called out, voice cutting the still air, “Michelle, stop hiding. Come out.”
“Eh—eh?! Ah, okay, I’m coming.” A timid girl’s voice fluttered from behind a slab of ice like a bird behind glass. Small and cute, Michelle darted over, worry pooling in her eyes. “Amamiya-kun, Sis, are you two alright?”
“Do I look remotely okay?” Mikarette flicked Michelle’s forehead, a tiny spark snapping the air. “Help me out. Get me home first. I don’t have the strength to open a portal.”
“Ah! Got it.” She bobbed a fierce nod, like a pecking sparrow. From her tiny bag she pulled a brush tipped with starlight, then drew on the mirror-smooth floor a glowing magic circle like frost.
Moments later, the magic circle hummed with soft light like moonmilk. The glow washed over me and smoothed the edge of my fatigue.
“Transfer!” Worried about Mikarette’s wounds, Michelle didn’t waste a heartbeat. She triggered the magic circle the instant the last line dried.
“Amamiya-kun, Sis, step onto the circle. Hurry.” “Yeah.” I guided Mikarette onto the lines, breath held like a drawn bow. The world twisted like water in a basin, then snapped back clean. We were in Michelle’s home again, a boomerang return on the same day.
“Amamiya-kun.” While I was still chewing the irony like cud, Michelle fluttered to my eye level, cheeks tinged like peach blossom. “I’ll take Sis for treatment first. I’m sorry I can’t host you. Um, if you get bored, feel free to look around… I’m really sorry!”
“Mm-hm, no problem.” My gaze softened, warm as tea steam. There she went, biting her tongue again—too cute by half.
“Mmm…” Red-faced, she led Mikarette toward the rooms, steps light as feathers. On the way, Mikarette shot me a look sharp enough to pin a butterfly.
Come on, I wouldn’t lay a hand on your sister. Thinking back to our talk, I caught her meaning, a thorn wrapped in silk. Still, something felt off, a grit under the lid.
Forget it. No point chasing shadows. I’ll take a stroll. I shook my head clear and drifted down the halls like a leaf on a slow stream.
This house was a labyrinth with velvet walls. I walked for almost an hour, yet it felt like standing still in fog. Every corridor wore a classical touch—carved lines, muted hues, old wood breathing resin—like an old poem. Even the air held a refined note, ink and sandalwood mingling, and it soothed me.
I stopped before a door with a neat plaque: Kitchen. Guilt pricked again like a thorn when I pictured her bandaged skin. I’ve got time to burn; I’ll cook something as a make-up offering.
With that, I pushed the door and slipped in, hinges whispering like grass. The pantry was a cornucopia, tools lined up like soldiers. Perfect for a midnight spread under a quiet moon.
I rolled up my sleeves, the motion crisp as paper. I set out ingredients like chess pieces and rinsed them till they gleamed like wet pebbles. And just like that, the night began to simmer in a pot.
Time slid by like sand; forty minutes vanished. The dishes were done, steam curling like white snakes. Since we’d sleep soon, I skipped heavy oil. I used ingredients that heal and calm, light as spring rain. I hoped Mikarette would like them, a balm after blades.
I packed everything into a big basket and covered it with an air-tight cloth, a warm little moon under wraps. Then I left the kitchen for Mikarette’s room—only I had no idea where it was. If I wandered blind in this maze, the food would chill like a dying ember.
I lingered in the hall, anxiety fluttering like moth wings. “Amamiya-kun? Why are you standing by the kitchen? And what’s that smell…” Her soft voice broke my spiral like a bell. Michelle stood there, curiosity bright as stars, and a tiny sparkle clung to her lip in the warm light.
“Uh—Michelle, and you?” I forgot to answer, tossing the question back like a pebble into a pond.
“Me?” She flustered like a startled sparrow, hands fluttering. “Sis’s injuries are handled, so I was going to make her a late-night snack…”
“What a coincidence. Same here.” I lifted the basket with a grin, the lid puffing steam like a chimney. “I just finished, and it’s a bit much. Let’s eat together.”
“Eh? I couldn’t. You and Sis must be wiped out. You should eat more. Don’t mind me.” Her words were modest, but her face said I want a bite, like a kitten eyeing fish.
“It’s fine, really.” I brushed a fingertip over her small head, gentle as fluff, then lifted the cloth so the dishes breathed out their fragrance. “See? I made a lot. I can’t finish this alone. Would you help me out, Michelle?”
“…If you put it that way, then I guess I have no choice! Let’s hurry to Sis’s room!” “Okay.” I swallowed a laugh and followed her, footsteps tapping like a drumbeat, to Mikarette’s room.
Inside, Mikarette looked much better. The wounds had knit closed, smooth as still water, with no trace left. She lay on a soft, wide bed, wrapped in white sleepwear like fresh snow.
“Well, if it isn’t Amamiya-kun. Instead of resting, you came to my room—care to explain?” Whether it was a grudge over the beating or Michelle’s presence, a cold draft rippled under her tone like shadowed water.
