“Ugh... there’s acid rain tonight!” Her voice had the sour bite of corroded moonlight.

After gaming with Kaka, Yue Liuyi flicked on the radio, a tin sparrow chirping from its metal nest.

The Moon Post Bookstore had no TV; the radio was her window into a storm-gray world.

The announcer said around nine, acid rain would lash Linelor City, with level-eleven or twelve gales howling like wolves.

Trouble pooled like standing water; she’d gathered materials to renovate, but they sat like unused driftwood.

The whole shop still breathed drafts, a skeleton house yawning toward the typhoon.

Worry tightened first, like cold string; she had to fortify the bedroom so LittleSnow wouldn’t catch chill.

The silver-haired girl lay on the bed like frost on silk; wounded already, acid rain would salt the wound.

“Woof? Master, is there trouble?” Kaka read her face like clouds drifting before rain.

Seeing her frown dark like a monsoon, Kaka hopped onto the couch; her soft head nestled in like a yarn ball.

“A bit of trouble. Acid rain’s coming; I want to shore up the room.”

“Woof, then Kaka helps!” her promise wagged like a small sun in wind.

“C-can I count on you?” her hesitation hung like a droplet.

“Woof! Just say the word!” her tail sliced the air like a metronome.

Her tail swished like wheat in wind; the golden-haired little girl beamed to take on a quest.

“Then come with me, quick!” Their palms linked like ivy vines climbing old brick.

They went to the warehouse, footsteps tapping like rain on old boards.

Their two-story cottage was an elder tree; design knots had deepened, year-rings carved by time.

The gutter under the eaves was a rust-bitten flute; a poke opened holes, and rain ran down walls like tears.

The outward sill was never true; water pooled like a mirror and seeped indoors like slow fog.

The window frames had aged to splinter, and glass had broken into a nest of wounds.

Anxiety prickled like sleet: would these materials hold through the night storm?

Outside, wind already worried the street; though only six thirty, the horizon bruised with rain.

The roadside lamps went dark like closed eyes; Winter Forest Road held no breath of life.

“Woof, we’ll definitely get through it!” her voice burned like a small campfire.

“Mm... then let’s fix the wooden door first; that’s vital,” resolve set like a beam.

“Woof!” the word bounded like a puppy across a puddle.

Yue Liuyi and Kaka—her full name, Coffee—carried materials one behind the other like ants, to the little door upstairs.

The door sat at the corridor’s end near the bedroom, once a mouth to the balcony and open air.

Time had gnawed it ragged; rails snapped like ribs, and lower planks were riddled like moth-eaten cloth.

“Kaka... can you cut the boards?” her tone sat light as dew on leaves.

“Leave it to me!” She pounced; her hair flashed like a golden blade, and the board cracked clean in two.

“S-so strong!” awe bloomed like lanterns in dusk.

“Woof~ piece of cake for Kaka!” pride wagged like a bright banner in wind.

“When the acid rain’s over, I’ll buy spare ribs and cook them for you,” promise warm as soup steam.

“S-spare ribs? Kaka has even more drive!” her eyes gleamed like glazed meat under kitchen light.

“There are several more spots; let’s push through together,” determination stacking like bricks after rain.

“Woof!” the reply struck like a hammer on anvil.

Yue Liuyi marveled; the golden-haired canine girl held strength like a river and moved with sparrow-quick hands.

Heavy boards stayed under one palm like tamed beasts, while the other hand tapped nails with casual grace.

She was stronger than Yue Liuyi had been back when she was a boy, that memory flickering like old film.

“Woof, all nailed! Master, Master, what other enemies stand between me and those ribs?” hands lifted like twin flags.

“Mm... the enemy’s at Honnō-ji—strike that—at the windows! Lots of glass needs replacing,” her joke glinted like a sword feint.

“Leave it to Kaka!” confidence shone like noon sun.

“Wait, glass isn’t a thing brute force can fix,” caution fell soft as snowfall on pines.

Replacing glass took craft; sheets must be cut like ice panes, then set with special curing glue.

For step one, Yue Liuyi could slice by magic, a moon-edge skimming clear surface.

For step two, she needed her World Tree Maiden power, sap rising like dawn to resin.

“Summon tree...” her whisper unfurled like a new leaf.

“Th-there’s a ghost!” Kaka’s cry skipped across the room like a tossed pebble.

Fear splashed first, cold as river water; Kaka latched to Yue Liuyi’s thigh like a clinging vine.

“A g-ghost?” her voice fluttered like a moth near lantern glass.

“That one!” Kaka pointed; a branch hung midair, warped into the shape of a shriveled spirit.

“Th-that isn’t a ghost; it’s a plant I made, to give resin,” her explanation dripped like sap from bark.

“Woof? Not a ghost?” Her confusion peeped out from the hem like a shy fawn at the edge.

From beneath the skirt, the golden head poked out; brown eyes widened at the branch like a storm omen.

“But Kaka saw Master shivering too—weren’t you scared?” suspicion wagged like a tail behind words.

“N-no, that’s not it...” Yue Liuyi’s blush rose like sunset on the sea.

“Then... why?” curiosity tilted like a fresh sprout after rain.

“Ugh...” the sound fell small as a raindrop on stone.

What Kaka didn’t know: when fear tightened her hug, her head slipped under the skirt like a burrowing pup.

An ordinary head would be fine; but this one wore soft furred ears, a canine crown brushing skin like warm feathers.

That touch on a girl’s bare thigh—needless to say—tingled like summer static under linen.