“All done,” Nana Toki said, her voice crisp like a small bell in winter air.

She clapped, satisfaction blooming like a warm lantern, then tossed a blanket over her shoulders like a dusk shawl.

She nudged Yuzuki toward the full-length mirror, gentle as a breeze pushing a paper kite.

“This… this’ll look weird, right?” Yuzuki whispered, nerves fluttering like a trapped sparrow.

Fear surged first; her legs forgot their steps, and she froze like frost on a sill.

She covered her eyes, heart thumping like a drum under rain.

“I think it has real presence,” Nana Toki said, eyes roaming like a painter mapping light and shadow.

“Mm… ugh…” Yuzuki’s cheeks flushed like cherry petals at dawn, a blush hidden behind her fingers like clouds veiling the moon.

“Not going to look?” Nana Toki asked, laughter soft as wind chimes under eaves.

“Didn’t you say you like this style?” Her words landed like smooth pebbles in a still pond.

“But… but it can’t suit me,” Yuzuki said, doubt pooling like a gray mist.

She pressed her palms tighter, shame prickling like nettles: “I’m short, my figure’s bad, I mess up everything… and I’m so gloomy, like a rainy alley.”

“Hey, where’d this self-doubt gremlin come from?” Nana Toki sighed, palm to forehead like a leaf shading sun.

“It’s just us here, no crowd, no tide of eyes—at worst I’ll tease you,” she said, tone light as a feather.

“What, don’t tell me you’ve got a man hidden at home?” Her joke flicked like a cat’s tail.

“How… how could I!” Yuzuki shot back, heat rushing to her ears like wildfire at the tips of leaves.

“Then what’re you afraid of?” Nana Toki’s words were firm, a stake in soft earth. “Just be the you you like, like a pine standing where it chooses.”

“Be the you you like…” The phrase struck like a tonic arrow, bold as sunrise cutting fog.

Courage stirred; timid caution melted like ice in tea.

“Then… then I’ll… look a little,” she said, voice thin as silver thread.

Yuzuki parted her fingers slowly, like curtains opening on a moonlit stage, and saw the other her.

“Is… is that really me?” Wonder rippled through her like a clear stream over stones.

In the glass, a Yuzuki without glasses stood like a new blade gleaming, leather jacket and short skirt catching light like ink on silk.

Her waist showed, slim as willow; her legs shone pale and long, like porcelain under cool rain.

Black boots grounded her like onyx pillars, turning her into someone new—a night comet instead of a library lamp.

Her pierced ears, bare for so long, now wore cross pendants, gleaming like twin stars at her jaw.

White stockings had become black, a dusk stroke over snow, and she felt like a stranger to herself.

This bold, feral aura felt worlds away, like canyon winds to a courtyard reed.

“Isn’t… isn’t this too short?” she murmured, hands tugging the hem like a nervous rabbit tucking its tail.

“Not short—just right,” Nana Toki said, holding back a laugh like a kettle humming under a lid.

“Which of these do you like?” Yuzuki asked, eyes drawn like moths to the shine.

Nana Toki held a chain in one hand and a long pendant in the other, both glittering like morning dew.

“They… they both look nice,” Yuzuki said, the flush deepening like wine staining porcelain.

Her fine features glowed, red as a drop of pomegranate on white paper.

“Then wear both,” Nana Toki decided, layering a choker-length chain with the long pendant like vines crossing a trellis.

“And put on this black knit cap,” she added, placing it lightly, firm as a touch of snow.

Yuzuki had never worn this kind of hat; no lace fluttered like a ribbon, no airy bow drifted like cloud.

She looked in the mirror and, to her surprise, it sat on her like a raven’s crown—clean, sharp, and cool as night.

“Will it look strange?” she asked, eyes a mix of shyness and mist, like a pond at dawn.

“Not strange,” Nana Toki smiled, warm as sunlight filtering through bamboo.

The room felt tender, a hearth glow between two people, like tea steaming in early spring.

But somewhere off to the side, the System stiffened, déjà vu prickling like static.

It felt like it had seen this scene—warm hands and soft commands—like a leash laid over velvet.

Maybe just a glitch, a mirage under heat, the System thought, flicking itself into a quick reboot like a firefly blinking.

Raising someone like a pet? Even my host wouldn’t dip that cold, it argued, logic lining up like coins.

On the other side of town, the world turned like a page.

After parting from Chongming Yan, Chen Yiyi didn’t go straight home; she let her feet drift back to the commercial street like leaves following a stream.

She chose a bar, a place lit like a carnival: “Yuedi Entertainment Club,” the sign blazing like neon frost.

She looked up at the sign, her face shifting like a sky with fast-moving clouds, hesitation tugging like a tide at her ankles.

She had sworn off Diguang’s crowd for Chongming Yan’s sake, vows tied like red thread, but necessity pressed like winter wind.

The afternoon’s memory flashed sharp as a blade, and a hard glint cut through her eyes like ice under sun.

Sato Mori. That bitch, she thought, the name scratching like thorns on bark.

If Chongming couldn’t bring himself to act, I will, she decided, resolve snapping into place like a spear fitted to a shaft.

Chen Yiyi pushed the door, shoulders squared like a soldier, and stepped into the bar like a swimmer into dark water.

Sound hit first—a wall of rock roaring like thunder across mountains, drums pounding like hooves on a plain.

Strobes cracked like lightning, neon slashing her vision, and her eyes stung like smoke in cedars.

The place was packed, a tide of bodies surging like a storm at sea—men and women, bright and frayed, all colors of night.

On the dance floor they twisted, bodies writhing like serpents, heads whipping like wild grass in gale.

They followed the players on the raised stage, the savage music driving them like a whip of fire.

The smell clawed at her, cheap perfume mixed with smoke, a swamp of scent thick as summer swamp air.

Only her second time here; the first had been with that person, a memory ghosting her like a cold shadow.

Alone now, she felt like a lamb at the mouth of a wolf den, caution tight as a string on a bow.

Hunters lurked here—men who came to prowl, eyes trained like hawks, habits smooth as old leather.

They spotted her at the edge of the floor, a timid figure with a schoolgirl hush, purity like a white lily in ash.

She stood only a moment, yet it drew them like moths to a lamp, handsome men and suave uncles closing in like a slow tide.

She declined each approach, polite as falling snow, gratitude soft as a bow.

But refusals fed their hunger like spice on tongue; the eyes that she turned away grew hotter, embers fanned into flame.

“You’re here…” a voice said behind her, magnetic as iron and velvet, sliding across her spine like a shadow wind.