Why would Ivaris, a Brit, carry silver-hair genes? By rights she’s blonde. Silver shows only in her Magical Girl form. The “transformation” is just Infinite Power coating the skin like frost, so the genes should still say blonde.

“You didn’t know?”

“I didn’t!”

Yekase said it while cupping her left breast, pumping milk like drawing water from a spring. She’d found that whenever she wanted, the milk would come—maybe evolution’s quiet add-on. She planned to stash a dozen bottles in the fridge, so the baby wouldn’t go hungry if she had to slip away like a cloud for a few days.

Ivaris watched her hit bottle ten and couldn’t help sighing, “How do you have so much water wherever you go?” She got a pillow to the face, tossed out of the room, and had just walked back in.

“Back on the Horizon, I ran experiments on my own concept. I erased the base concept by accident, leaving only the Magical Girl form. In short, I’ve got no ‘true body vs. transformation’ anymore. This is my body now. Or did you think I stay transformed for fun?”

“I thought you were always ready to fight…”

Ran tests on her own concept and deleted herself? Absurd—yet exactly the kind of stunt Ivaris would pull.

“Ahem, let’s drop it.”

Sensing danger, Ivaris forced a topic change. “Got the baby’s name yet? If you don’t decide, I’ll jump in. You know my education level…”

“Wow, proud of that, huh?”

“Then what do you want me to do, head to Ivalice and enroll in a high school?”

“Uh… not impossible. You could even go to the Twin Towers, straight into Heavenly Heart High School. Let RuoYuan be your homeroom teacher. No homework ever.”

Then Liu RuoYuan could start class with: “Sister-in-law, answer this one…”

They burst into laughter, rolling like leaves in a breeze.

Yekase laughed herself out, caught her breath, and said, “Lijie. Ye Lijie.”

“And the future little sister will be Luojie?”

“Mm.”

She fed Lijie, lulled her to sleep, and after many days finally stepped out of the room. Relief washed through her like warm sunlight after rain.

She stretched; her whole body crackled and popped like dry twigs in a fire.

“Morning, Rice Rice, Mu-Mu, Yuan-Yuan, Gun-Gun…”

“Morning.” “Oogh.” “Oogh!”

The doorway felt like a zoo gate swinging open; fate could mail it in, she didn’t care.

Yekase scooped up a talking Siamese, set it on her shoulder, playing witch from a storybook moonlit lane. Witches carry black cats, sure, but a Siamese turns black with time, so it counted.

“Rice Rice, did Omicron wipe out your species?”

“Why bring that up?”

“No reason. Heard someone mention it, wanted to check.”

They stepped through the portal with a soft whoosh and into the City of Ivalice.

Last time had been months ago; the view opposite the door had morphed like a river reshaping its banks. As she searched the map, the block before her clacked upward on gears, revealing an airy central atrium like a dry well open to the sky.

“Mm… Ling Yi’s in class at this hour. Bailu too… Should I ask Burns about a Close Encounter of the Third Kind?”

“Feels like he won’t talk,” Rice Rice said, voice flat as a calm lake.

“True. Without a jolt, he’ll hide it to the grave. Then let’s just wander!”

Yekase bought a cream-filled crepe and held it like a warm cloud. She bit, then offered Rice Rice a bite, strolling down iron walkways between blocks.

Big and small blocks drifted through the atrium like cliffs on a slow current. Some were draped in thick ivy; when they glided past, they looked like ghosts from deep mountain forests. Kids too young for school chased each other on rail-less corridors, their footsteps fluttering like sparrows, and they ran so close her skirt flicked up.

When she was little, every house had an open patch at the door—mud for the poor, poured concrete or bricks for the lucky. Kids caught loaches in the fields and shot at sparrows, ran wild like summer storms. Coming home, parents would order them to stand on the patch and rinse off mud and dust with well water before stepping inside.

What do kids in this city play at, day to day…

“Hey, black-haired miss over there!”

?

“You. Stop looking around.”

Yekase looked up. A woman’s head poked from a small window on the half-floor above.

“Looking for me?”

“You’re adorable. Interested in being the poster girl for our shop?”

…Uh?

So old-school a pitch it creaked like a wooden sign.

She wasn’t short on money, but she had free time. She climbed a fire ladder, stepping like a cat on a fence, and reached the shop’s block entrance.

The plaque read: Clothes Make the Person.

Oof. That name had dust on it.

Yekase pushed the door; the proprietress sat behind the counter waiting. But the shop wasn’t a ready-to-wear outlet; it was a traditional tailor’s den.

The block was maybe twenty square meters. Fabric hung from crisscrossing roof beams like banners, making natural partitions. Four lifelike plastic mannequins stood by the wall—one in a Western dress, one in kimono, one in mage robes, one in modern urban layers.

A battered digital TV sat in the corner of the seven-foot counter, playing the news.

“‘Wave of theft and robbery’… What’s going on?”

“Ah, just a mess from South Germany,” the boss said, accent rolling like pebbles. “The men yoked like draft animals saw the rise of Infinite Power tech, so they went on strike, demanding better treatment. The queen got angry and banished them all.”

“And the refugees flooded in here?”

“No, they fled to a more open France. A few days later, the women left in South Germany realized no one was doing the dirty, heavy work. They went on strike too.”

“…?”

“So the queen negotiated, asked France to extradite them all back… but the new French female Prime Minister, only six months in, was even tougher. She refused on the spot.”

The boss spoke with schadenfreude, then rose and poured Yekase a steaming cup of black tea. Fragrance rose like curling smoke.

“…Won’t the two countries go to war?”

“They could. South Germany’s got the famed ‘Royalist’ Natasha holding court, but New France doesn’t fear that old woman.”

“Why?”

“Any European who lived through 2022 knows: the ‘Sword Destroying Mechanic’ who cut down the puppeteer Alice stands behind Ein. If Natasha wants to make a move, has she asked the ‘Beast Pack’ what they think? So the matter fizzled.”

No, that “Beast Pack” is mostly Western media hype, wind dressed up as thunder…

…Wait, is that how the crew of the Ambition Divine Ship looks to the public?

Yekase went awkwardly quiet, like a reed bent by a sudden gust. Luckily, the boss kept talking: “The order to recall men triggered huge backlash at home. They protested that the queen abandoned her promise to benefit women, becoming a bootlicker for men. Then riots erupted across South Germany. Many citizens fled, and drifted into the nearest Ivalice… that’s that.”

So messy. Ha. Shame I’ve never governed a country.

She knew no one in South or North Germany, so she treated it like a street tale. She blew the steam, sipped the tea like tasting rain.

Rice Rice lay on Yekase’s legs, making a clumsy, human-imitating cat sound. “Meow,” but off-key.

“Back to the poster girl. Job’s simple—you just wear what I sew. You’ll be the brightest signboard on the streets.”

“Sounds nice. And the pay…”

Her voice trailed off like fog thinning.

—Crack!

The teacup hit the floor; black tea splashed like night rain.

Her body softened to the side, falling into a heap of fabric stacked in the corner, like sinking into snow.

By her ear came the boss’s voice, turned cold as iron: “There’s no pay, of course. Because your job is to become my display mannequin. From now on, you’ll spend your life as a living base body, wearing all kinds of beautiful dresses. Isn’t that bliss?”

……

The door had been locked during the chat. Curtains were down like heavy clouds. Nearby blocks formed camera blind spots. No one would notice a missing girl.

The boss’s friendly mask peeled off like old paint. She went to the back for tools—alchemical clay. This special clay coats the body and mirrors the “content” to the smallest detail. Once dry, it’s harder than steel. The content can’t move a finger. Escape is impossible. After some finishing touches, she’d make a living doll, breathing and beautiful.

Rice Rice hissed; she didn’t care. She kicked the cat into the corner, a boot like a falling brick.

“Clay, and makeup tools… I’ll make you the most stunning mannequin, every customer drawn like moths to flame!”

The boss stepped out cradling her tools—

…Huh?

The girl on the floor was gone.

Did the knockout fail?! Or did someone else slip into the shop—

Clap, clap, clap.

The boss jerked her head toward the sound, spine stiff as a spear.

“—Alright. That’s far enough.”

Yekase sat on top of the wardrobe, legs crossed, casual as a moon on a roof ridge, and clapped.

“Your luck’s bad. If I had nothing at home, I might’ve humored you for a while. Too bad—someone waits for me every day now.”

“How did you—?!”

“You’ve heard my title, yet don’t know me?”

“Who are you?!”

“There’s no name I can offer you.”

She tossed out a line she’d read somewhere. Red light flickered in her palm. She dropped the “Yanwu” dagger downward; it buried itself deep in the counter with a thud like a stake in earth.

“…!” The boss froze mid-dash for the door.

“Thought I’d make some easy cash, but I hooked a big fish. Smuggling, abduction, unlawful confinement… I’ll let the Ivalice Police count your sins one by one.”