Rewind time a little.

8:00 a.m., September 2. As Paris reached the rendezvous, on the far rim of the wide sky, Medith rose with the dawn and pushed open Fangge’s door. Spring light spilled; everything inside lay bare like petals in a sudden breeze.

Iling and the others were helping Fangge sit up, peeling off gauze soaked like rusted autumn leaves. Snow-white skin flashed like fresh frost; soft curves rippled like water. Medith couldn’t help but praise, words drifting like warm steam.

“Yaa—!” Fangge flushed like a peach, a sharp cry flying out like a startled sparrow. A beat later, she remembered Medith was also a woman, and her heartbeat fell back like rain.

Medith closed the door with calm fingers, like a leaf settling. She walked to the bed and traced the knife-scar, cool as moonlight. “Didn’t expect this—your figure’s not bad. Why wrap yourself in gauze like a mummy?

“If you’re scared someone will learn your true body and get ideas, relax. Under my banner, no man dares try you.” Medith winked, a fox-tail flick. Fangge clutched her chest again, like guarding a brazier in winter.

Facing Medith, she couldn’t treat her as the same kind. A caged feeling rose first, hot and prickly. It was like a striped tiger watching from the grass, wearing a girl’s skin, making every decision feel like stepping on thin ice.

Medith didn’t overthink it. She pressed Fangge’s shoulder, steady as a palm on a drum. That skin was smooth as still snow, pale as a newborn’s cheek. Her gaze kept slipping away, blush ripening like sunset. It made Medith’s heart itch, hard to link this soft spring with the icy, fierce mask from usual days.

But scars mapped her upper body like old rivers—sword tracks, knife bites, scorch marks, punctures. Without that custom mask, even that world-stunning face might have been shattered like porcelain.

“Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing?” Sais’s jealousy rose like vinegar in the air. She yanked Medith away and shielded Fangge like a tree shadow.

“I’m just saying,” Medith crossed her arms, pity in her eyes like mist, “this little girl’s suffering eclipses yours, you old woman who’s got age and soft meat and nothing else.”

Sais widened her emerald eyes, a fingertip like a thorn tapping Medith’s nose. Blossoms of “anger” bloomed on her beautiful face. “You ungrateful little lab mouse, you forgot how big sis covered you?

“What do you mean she’s suffered more than me? In the Holy War, you were still a speck of dust!” Her voice cracked like a whip, but the room held laughter like wind-bells.

“See? Didn’t I say she’s an old woman?” Medith turned her head like a swift, and dragged the giggling Iling and the rest into the water.

Yunita nodded earnestly, eyes clear as lake glass. “Uh-huh! That was wartime. So at least a thousand years ago!”

“Pfft~!” Milia couldn’t hold it; her laugh popped like a bubble. Sais narrowed her eyes, then pinched Yunita in a backhand clamp, quick as a mantis. “Little sister, can you talk?”

“If you can’t, say more,” Medith fanned the flames, sparks in her grin.

“Hmm… now that I look, you resemble someone,” Sais murmured, her gaze brushing Yunita’s delicate features and flowing green hair like willow silk. For a second, Medith’s outline and hers overlapped like double shadows.

“Oh, damn… look at you—so lush and deadly,” Sais smiled like a knife wrapped in velvet. Panic fluttered in Yunita’s chest like moth wings. She tried to speak, but a fragrant breath filled her, sealing her lips like sweet wine.

“Hey! Sais, you—hey!” Medith shot up, a spring uncoiled, and pulled the unhinged Sais away. “Poaching right in my face—who’s supposed to take that?”

“Hahaha! You’re done now!” The girls’ teasing rang like silver bells. Moments where Medith ate dirt were rare; Sais happened to hold the bigger ladle.

“Mmm, hoo-hoo…” A nightingale’s laugh trilled. They all looked back. Fangge was covering her small mouth with her fingers, shoulders shaking like reeds in a breeze. She looked genuinely happy, even her brows curved into new moons.

“Laughing? What are you laughing at? Feeling pleased, huh?” Medith’s pride bristled like fur against the wind. “Sais, hear me. No one takes advantage of me. Never!”

She pressed Fangge down with a smooth motion, a hawk stooping. Fangge jolted, eyes wide like moons, disbelief blooming like frost.

“W-wait… wait… ah…?”

“Wow! Medith, you shameless playgirl, you won’t even spare the wounded!” Voices rose like popping firecrackers.

“You’ll get used to it. Newcomers need a baptism, right?” Another voice drifted, wicked as incense.

“Medith, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—stop, please, I’m begging you! Hubby—”