After the dust finally settled, Yekase, newly pierced by a deep insight into Infinite Power, stilled her storm and ferried a restored Jiang Bailu back to the City of Ivalice.

Why not keep wandering the Week of Arcana? The bell of class days was already tolling like iron on stone.

Even in the whirl of errands, Yekase remembered her mantle at Ivalice State University, a full elective riding her shoulders like a loaded cart.

The future she wanted was braided with that post, like a river twined with its banks.

Back home, in the hangar of the Ambition Divine Ship, she found the little painters waiting, still as minnows under starlight.

Their canvas home, Cabin under the Waterfall, felt like an unfinished Da Vinci sketch, a half-carved mountain under mist, said the eldest.

“This little strength” meant slipping between true frescoes in a dozen churches, like swallows between vaults at dusk.

Graffiti on stone saints, lifting relics and indulgences by hand, four sisters moving as one tide under the nave.

Yekase liked them at first glance; she had plenty of force, but lacked this kind of intel footprint, like wind needing leaves.

She took the honor seat at the wooden table, a moonlit angle, and asked the eldest, “No names? We can’t keep ‘Boss’ and ‘Second’ forever.”

“No, we never even thought about it!” Their voices fluttered like sparrows in a cedar.

Yekase nodded, smile like the curve of a sickle moon. “Let me name you. I’m pretty good at names.”

“Really?” Second’s eyes sparked like flint.

“She calls herself Luciferin,” Third chimed, bold as a torch in a chapel. “So daring—she’ll give us gloriously blasphemous names.”

“Then I’m excited,” the youngest sang, legs swinging like bells, mood as light as dandelion fluff.

Yekase thought a breath, then pointed to the eldest, finger like a lodestar. “You lead the three sisters. You’ll be Beelzebub.”

“W-what?!” Her gasp fluttered like moth wings.

“Fly King as a name—how domineering,” another whispered, a blade gleaming in wine-dark air.

“Too blasphemous, too sinful. I love it!” The room warmed like a brazier.

Seeing their delight, Yekase nodded and slid her finger to Second, steady as a compass needle. “You’ll be Azazel.”

“Yes! I’m Azazel!” Her voice rang like an anvil struck true.

“Ugh, I’m jealous,” Third muttered, a green shadow like moss on stone.

“Small fry, ha—small-fry demon king buried in a dirt pit,” the youngest teased, words like pebbles flicked into a pond.

Then she faced Third, eyes calm as lake glass. “You’ll be Aporia.”

“I think I grew stronger,” Third whispered, a reed stiffening against wind.

“It’s just a feeling,” the youngest singsonged, a cherry petal of sound.

At last, the youngest’s turn came, her heartbeat quick as sparrows under eaves, while her three demon sisters preened like proud crows.

“Since you’re the littlest, you’ll be Mostima,” Yekase said, voice like warm tea in winter.

“Thank you, Lady Sister,” Mostima breathed, gratitude like incense smoke.

…Lady Sister? Your sisters are those three beside you, wind and laughter in a flock.

Beelzebub ruffled Mostima’s hair, fingers like combs of rain. “So, we’re now Lady Luciferin’s underlings. What do you need? Any long plans?”

“Mm…” Yekase didn’t aim the arrow too far at once. “For now, ride the World Tree’s upheaval and turn the Church into a mascot.”

“!!!!” Shock burst like thunder trapped in a bell.

“Did you hear, Sister Azazel?” The words skittered like starlings.

“So offhand…!” Their awe shivered like a cold stream.

Just kidding—the last words jammed like a corked bottle; Yekase’s face twitched like a snagged thread.

Slackfish Cult wanted to spread Infinite Power education, not raise a hell army to erase Christianity, like fire sweeping wheat.

But she’d just handed them great-demon names, a crown set on her head like a scarlet halo. How to explain that fog?

“Lady Luciferin!”

“Lady Sister!”

“Wait—hold it!” Her shout cracked like ice in spring.

She couldn’t let the misunderstanding roll like a red tide. Or she’d be thrust up again, from Europe to the Americas like migrating geese.

Yekase surged to her feet, a flame in a hearth, and declared under their bright, expectant eyes:

“We fight for peace and progress. We won’t fear the Church, but we won’t rush to topple it.”

“Slackfish Cult will walk the mass line, five-year phases like rings in a tree, patient grassroots work like plowing loam.”

“We’ll unite every force we can, and carry literacy deep, into roots and rooms, like lamps lit across fields.”

As for overthrowing the Church, that hard mountain could stay with three independent city-states with troops, she thought, a quiet ember.

Azazel and Aporia echoed in duet. “We don’t really get it…” “But it sounds amazing!” Their voices rose like skylarks.

Beelzebub stayed steady, mind like a whetstone. “You want us to traverse oil paintings, spread wisdom, and grow students across Europe.”

“Not ‘believers,’” Yekase corrected, palm like a calm river. “Students.”

“We’ll give ordinary Europeans a touch of the cutting edge of Infinite Power, a door like dawn light on a threshold.”

“Let them discover hidden talent, not be fooled and shackled by doctrine, like sheep penned behind wooden rails.”

“It’ll take years, but in the end, we’ll sweep all religion into the trash,” she finished, a broom across dust.

“All into the trash,” Mostima murmured, delighted, repeating it like a charm under her breath.

…To hit that small milestone, a thorn still sat in the path.

Flash Energy’s primary audience was grassroots mechanics, hands like oaks, reaching for the gate wasn’t the hard part.

Getting research-grade pure Flash Energy was the rock, heavy and cold.

Right now, production relied on particle colliders and extraction from Ascenders’ biomaterials, gears grinding like mills.

The first was pricey and fussy, a brass beast that demanded constant stroking; the second… well… a blush like sunset.

Yekase’s output dwarfed ordinary folk, like a dam to a faucet, but even juicing herself year-round wouldn’t fill the world’s thirsty pipes.

So scaling up was necessary, urgent like smoke rising from dry cedar.

She pinned her largest hopes on her class, seeds in spring furrows, but before they could stand like Jiang Bailu, she had other candidates.

“I set a meeting with them,” she said, voice like soft rain. “If you’re free, want to come?”

“I’ll go,” Beelzebub replied, calm as basalt.

“Good,” Yekase nodded, a lantern’s bob. “To keep you safe outside, away from Church nets, I’ve got gear for changing faces.”

“We can’t confirm they’re comrades yet, so try it first, a hedge like willow around a garden.”

She passed over a belt-like device, metal like moonlight—the Witch Device, worn once by herself, a silent ring.

She’d tweaked its circuit for Lu Yao, and besides turning Yekase into Lilim, it now had a tourist mode, a feather-light veil.

“We can transform ourselves,” Azazel and Aporia chimed, voices like twin reeds. “We’re magic beings made by the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“Really? That easy?” Surprise sparkled like dew.

Mostima giggled, a silver bell, then scrambled onto the table and launched at Yekase like a playful shadow.

“Lady Sister!”

“Eh—” The cry fluttered like a startled heron.

A flash like a struck match, and Mostima became a pitch-black kitten, clinging to Yekase’s face like night ivy.

“Another cat?! Do nonhumans just love turning into cats?” Her protest hissed like steam.

Beelzebub pulled Mostima free and stroked her, hand smooth as silk. “Black cats are said to bring bad luck, but anyway, we four can change.”

So trained already? The thought drifted like fog.

Yekase remembered a certain imperial remnant aboard the Ambition Divine Ship, fully fallen into pethood, toyed by Liu RuoYuan like a yarn ball.

“Alright… fine. Then change into a cat and sit on my shoulder,” she said, a reluctant smile like sun through cloud.

Wait—a Gothic Lolita with a black cat would sharpen the Crimson Witch image like a scarlet blade.

Students had seen it enough, like wind on familiar pines, but a new guest might bolt like a spooked colt.

For the first time, Yekase truly cared about her clothing, a ripple across still water, only to find a closet of comfort-first gear.

Sportswear, sweaters, plaid shirts—soft as moss, wrong for formal talks under polished lamps.

Magical Girl form? No. Magical Girl Icarus was nominally in Huaxia, her last fallback after Mechbreaker got permanently banned, a sealed mask.

Lilim? That tool was for later, not to tie to Flash Energy now, like keeping salt from sweet dough.

Which left Sandryon’s high-end dress, a black swan among sparrows.

Yekase returned to her apartment with Beelzebub as a black cat on her shoulder, put on the Lolita, and headed to campus like a comet.

In the square, she spotted the bearded middle-aged stall owner, familiar as a lantern at dusk.

He still wore an oil-stained denim jacket, a workman’s skin, and looked around like a farmhand in a marble hall.

He stood stiff, feet nailed like stakes, too cautious to move more than a shadow.

“Long wait?” Her voice fell like a leaf.

“Ah! It’s you—” The beard brightened, a fire under ash. “I didn’t recognize you then—you’re the famed Professor Luciferin!”

Yekase nodded, steady as river stone. “That’s me. Where’s the rest of your workshop?”

“Wandering the city,” he said, tone like a pilgrim’s drumbeat. “They called it a ‘pilgrimage.’”

Pilgrimage? The word rang like bells under rain.

To mechanics, was Ivalice this sacred? To her, coming felt simple, like stepping through an open gate.

No—thinking so was proof of resources stacked like hills, a distant imbalance humming like wires.

With money and paths, visiting researchers slipped in and out of Ivalice, auditing at the State University, shopping tech like fruit.

Brand-new Infinite Power devices lay on the streets like ripe pears, and some even held P2 labs like private gardens.

But ordinary mechanics across Europe, across the world? The city-state was small, and needed livable air; outside invitations were likely booked for years.

“Ivalice’s markets are a flavor to savor, too,” she said, smile like warm bread. “Collabs on Flash Energy, Europe’s academic future—let’s talk as we walk.”