After school, Ling Yi went to find Yekase, the bell sinking like a red sun behind the roofs.

She climbed the tech building stairs, steel steps like a spine, hands skimming the rail like wind over reeds.

She reached the top floor and went to slide the bookcase, muscle memory like a stream tracing an old riverbed.

…It didn’t budge, a mountain rooted in stone.

“Eh?”

Familiar place, familiar move, and a different result—her mind went blank, like a white sky before storm.

Could it be…

The worldline… had shifted, like a river splitting toward a darker sea?

Ever since that vine monster swarmed the school, maybe they’d slipped into a parallel track, thornier than before, like a bramble path at dusk?

On this line, the little observatory got stripped clean, the bookcase nailed to the wall like bark to a trunk—

Or was it someone’s woven illusion, a silk fog laid over her eyes?

…Click.

Click, click.

Under Ling Yi’s stare, the shelf murmured with gear-teeth, then slid right like a stone door in a temple.

“...This…”

A corner of the plastic panel folded inward, quiet as a fish gill opening.

“Get in, quick.”

The doctor’s voice drifted out like smoke curling from a warm cup.

Electrical automation!

Heart thumping like a little drum, Ling Yi crawled through the same dog-sized crawlspace, a fox slipping through a hedge.

Yekase lounged in a recliner, yawning like a lazy cat; her hair was a tangle, grass after rain, clearly just awake.

How did she do it—napping while remodeling a base—like weaving at twilight without missing a stitch?

“Doesn’t need brainpower,” Yekase said, pointing at the wall, voice low as a night river. “So while I was brewing sleep, I slapped together this simple auto-door.”

Outside looked clean, seamless as polished jade; inside was another story—taped wiring crisscrossed like ivy, sprawling over the bare wall above the hatch.

“Wow. That’s a mess,” Ling Yi said, a wry smile like a crease in silk.

“If you think it’s ugly, I’ll rework it,” Yekase replied, voice flat as a stone.

Ling Yi folded her arms, eyes roaming up and down, calm as a lake. “A wallpaper cover is enough to hide the vines… How does it work?”

“Inside, you press this switch, as easy as water. Outside’s fussier. You speak the secret passphrase into a tiny mic I hid in the wall seam, like a cicada tucked under bark.”

“What is it?”

“Secret passphrase.”

“I get it. So what’s the passphrase?”

“Secret passphrase.”

“…………”

What ice-age joke was this, a fossil cracking in the sun?

Ling Yi was used to Yekase’s grandpa-tier quirks, old clockwork in a smartphone world, and watched her button up and rise, shadow like a line of ink under her bangs.

“That friend of yours who takes issue with me,” Yekase asked, words falling like pebbles, “what did she say?”

“She—”

They left the little observatory and slid into the after-school crowd, a tide of bodies flowing toward the gate.

“She said she won’t go. Maybe she’s busy,” Ling Yi said, voice feather-light.

“...You asked her specifically?”

A dull ache tightened behind Yekase’s eyes, a knot like a storm cloud.

She felt like one of many heroines in a harem story where Ling Yi was the lead, a candle that shines for one volume then goes out; but real life wasn’t a paperback garden—women who coexist with rivals like gentle doves? Probably a myth carved on paper.

Especially since Pu Lu had shown sharp possessiveness, thorns glinting in sunlight; she was sure Yekase liked Ling Yi, and words from Yekase’s mouth couldn’t untangle that vine. Keep this up and a sudden knife in an alley wasn’t impossible, like frost in midsummer.

How did it turn into this? Twenty-seven years a virgin, youth never tasted, and now she was part of someone else’s youth, a supporting lantern on their festival night…

…Yekase suddenly saw it, a clean blade of thought in fog.

At the root, the culprit was the woman walking at her side, cherry-light and storm-bright. There was a direct, simple way to settle it, like cutting a knot in one stroke…

“Ling Yi…”

Her eyes hid under her bangs, shadowed like rain hanging from eaves, unreadable.

“What’s up?” Ling Yi asked, bright as a paper lantern. “Any clothes you’re dying to buy?”

“Some things,” Yekase said, voice steady as a river stone, “should be explained by you.”

Ling Yi stopped, feet still as a bird on a branch.

“I don’t think Pu Lu’s a bad person,” Yekase went on, weight like thunder held in a palm, “but she’s got deep misunderstandings about me, the kind that choke speech. And those misunderstandings, to a large extent… were sown by you.”

“Me?”

Ling Yi looked baffled, a deer lifting its head from the stream.

She really didn’t see it? Even someone who didn’t read light novels knew the kindly, oblivious wood-block protagonist was out of fashion, like last year’s leaves.

“She thinks of you beyond friendship,” Yekase said, words crisp as frost.

“?”

“And she sees me as a rival.”

“???”

Ling Yi blinked, lashes fluttering like moth wings.

“Eh?”

Judging by that dazed hush, Pu Lu had kept it buried. She thought shooing other classmates would win quiet days with Ling Yi, sunlight through the window, routine like tea at noon; then a social adult popped up from nowhere, and the reaction cut sharp like a snapped string.

“Eh eh eh? Eh eh eh eh eh?”

“That’s the gist,” Yekase said, tone cool as shade. “I have zero intent to wedge myself in. Whether you accept her or not, please tell her clearly, like ringing a bell at dawn.”

“This is… too sudden…”

Ling Yi’s cheeks flushed red, hotpot-spicy, and her steps went wobbly, a newborn fawn almost tumbling into Yekase.

“I haven’t thought about it…”

Maybe it was too quick, a river pushed before spring. Yekase couldn’t tell. Stretching indecision was the trick that kept romance plots alive, a vine that never flowers; she hated that vine and didn’t want Ling Yi wasting time on a non-恋爱 tangle, a fog with no path.

Still, they were teenagers; a breath of buffer was needed, like tea cooling before a sip. So Yekase switched lanes. “Anyway, what are we buying today?”

“Underwear for you, Doctor, and one or two skirts.”

Ling Yi shook her head, tossing stray thoughts like water off a sparrow’s wings, and led toward their planned stop. Yekase didn’t grumble or bail, just walked beside her, quiet as a shadow on stone.

The Heavenly Heart High School uniform, thrown on without even a wash, cut through her decadent air like a bright breeze; at a glance she looked like a high schooler now, though she wasn’t.

They stepped into the mall, rode up to the third floor for women’s wear, and walked into the first lingerie store, lights soft as morning mist.

“Hello! What do you need?” the clerk asked, head lifting like a flower toward sun.

Ling Yi pushed Yekase forward, energy snapping back like a twanged string. “Two everyday sets for her. Keep it ordinary.”

“You know the word ‘ordinary,” Yekase said, mouth quirking like a crescent.

“If I buy you something spicy, will you wear it?” Ling Yi asked, eyes bright as glass.

“No.”

“Then ordinary it is.”

The clerk led Yekase into a fitting room, curtains falling like calm water, and measured her bust, waist, hips with a tape like a silver snake.

“Your bust is upper 80, under 70; waist 65; hips 90,” she said, tone neat as folded linen. “It’s only an A cup, but there’s room to grow. You’ve got great presence. These days, lots of people care about presence.”

“Oh…”

Standard numbers, factory settings, like a blueprint never altered. Meals and sleep for her were random dice, and she never exercised, yet she kept the line true—it was something, a lantern that stayed lit.

But Yekase’s attention snagged elsewhere, hook set deep.

When the clerk crouched to measure her waist and hips, Yekase caught sight down the collar: a star-shaped tattoo just below the nape, a small constellation on skin.

“Do you exercise much?” the clerk asked, voice soft as a reed.

“Uh, not really.”

“Okay. I’ll pick some styles that suit you. Please wait,” she said, and slipped out, footsteps light as a cat.

Yekase drew a long breath, then let it go, tides in and out.

She knew that symbol’s meaning, as sure as a compass points north.

Eight or nine years ago, a couple of heroes fought side by side with a special power, names ringing like bronze: Qiao Feng and Qiao Shiyu. Their mark was the star tattoo on their backs, constellations stamped on living maps.

Qiao Feng died. Qiao Shiyu overspent her strength in a brutal fight, and their names sank from the public sea, candles blown out at dusk.

Why did Yekase know them so well? Two reasons, as plain as twin peaks.

First, the “special power” they used was Flash Energy, back when few had even heard of it—pioneers, first sparks in a dark room.

Second, the foe who pushed Qiao Shiyu to burn out… was a cybernetically modified ninja…

You can guess it. Another debt from Miss Ye’s younger days, a shadow she cast when the sun was high.

Whether this clerk was Qiao Shiyu in retirement or simply a supporter didn’t matter now. It reminded Yekase her muddled sins weren’t small, like stains spreading through paper.

Turn back before you drown, she told herself, a shore beckoning across dark water.

“Which ones do you like?” the clerk asked, slipping back with four sets, colors like petals on a tray.

Ling Yi poked her head in by the door, eyes bright. “I think the black lace is best! But the others are fine too. Let’s buy all of them.”

“All? You paying?” Yekase asked, eyebrow lifting like a reed in wind.

“I mean… I could…”

“Big talk,” Yekase said, amused, a smile like ink touching rice paper. “I’ll indulge you.”

The clerk gathered everything with a sunlit grin and headed to the register. Yekase dressed and joined Ling Yi at the counter, bags like soft clouds at her feet.

“That’ll be 320.5 yuan,” the clerk said, voice crisp as a bell.

Ling Yi’s hand trembled hard, a leaf in cold wind, as she opened her payment app.

Yekase looked up at the ceiling, biting back a laugh. “So who was playing the rich lady just now?”

“...Three hundred it is!”

She clenched teeth and tapped pay, a hammer hitting anvil. Transaction complete.

Yekase saw Ling Yi’s quiet pain and softened, a lantern after rain. She took every bag and asked, “A bit too pricey? Or should we…”

“I’ll have to ask my mom to reimburse,” Ling Yi said, deadpan as a winter pond.

“Oh.”

They still needed a few skirts “you can wear anywhere,” a phrase drifting like fog. Yekase had no idea what “anywhere” meant; which places barred her current clothes, which gates stayed shut? She could only follow Ling Yi and watch for strong opinions, a traveler trusting the guide’s compass.

“First, casual stuff,” Ling Yi said, tone clear as glass. “Two pieces today, so you can rotate.”

“Isn’t a shirt casual?” Yekase asked, gaze steady.

“Shirt looks exist,” Ling Yi said, smile wicked as a fox. “But with your taste, you’ll only cosplay a programmer. I want two pieces that make anything look passable.”

“Make anything passable…”

“Like that one by the door,” she said, pointing. A white camisole dress hung there, bare and clean as fresh snow.

“Oh. That’s your kink,” Yekase said, voice cool.

“W-what kink!” Ling Yi sputtered, cheeks pink as plum blossoms. “White just pairs well with everything!”

“So you like the pure type,” Yekase teased, tone slow as honey. “That’s why you said those confession-like lines that night…”

“That’s not it…”

“Then what do you like?”

“Cute, gentle, kind… basically… uh…” Ling Yi fumbled, words like loose beads.

“Still the pure type.”

“No!”