The question felt alive, like a fox blinking from the brush; Nana Toki stalled, words snagging like leaves on a wet branch.

Good thing Wenquan didn’t cling like ivy. Her shift at the café tugged her sleeve; she had no time to chatter by the doorway. She’d come over on reflex, like a bird veering toward a familiar branch. The roster had her out on the street, reeling in passersby— a one-day kanban-girl mascot, a bright kite against dull brick. On the way, she’d stumbled on Song Qingtian bear-hugging Nana Toki, a thunderclap in a clear sky.

Before her mind could catch up, her feet carried her forward to greet Nana, like a puppet tugged by unseen strings. She barely believed she’d slip like that.

“What on earth was that?” Back at her post, Wenquan shook her head like flicking rain off a stray cat, trying to clear the outline lodged in her mind. No matter how she scraped, the unruly woman with that faint smile clung like moonlight on water.

The feeling was new to her, raw. No glitter, no tricks— just a blunt honesty that felt wild, like wind thudding against a paper door.

Anxiety flooded her limbs like cold river water; her heart drummed, thump-thump, behind her ribs. Lately, one look at that woman scattered her calm like startled sparrows. Was she the kind Wenquan couldn’t handle?

“Quan-chan? You okay?” Zhao Sitian stepped out from the back, worry shading her face like a thin cloud. “You look unfocused. Did something happen outside?”

Since a JK schoolgirl had threatened her that one time, Zhao stuck to Wenquan like a shadow. She wanted to sniff out what strange pull her junior had, to make a madwoman tail her like a stray dog.

“Uh… it’s nothing. Just remembered some recent stuff and drifted.” Wenquan rubbed her brow like smoothing creased paper, forcing a breath to settle. She hadn’t spaced like this in ages; if it kept up, it’d bite into her shift like rust.

Ding-ling! Ding-ling~

Right on cue, the bell over the door chimed, clear as ice beads, as a customer pushed in.

“Welcome!” In her server uniform, Wenquan stood in the café’s center, ready to head over. Then a face came in, familiar as a recurring dream.

“Classmate Lu? You?” Wenquan froze like a deer on a path. She’d never imagined the woman would show up right after they’d parted. “Didn’t you say you had other things to do?” How’d she end up here?

“It’s fine. I’m just wandering; I can handle it later.” Nana Toki slid into a corner seat, at ease like a cat finding sun. “Anyway, I’ll rest here for a bit. I trust you don’t mind, Wen-classmate.”

… Mind? Not dare. She was just a server; who had the right to chase customers on a whim? And even if she did, the shop sat in a narrow alley, traffic thin as winter reeds. If the manager heard she’d shooed someone, she’d be the one out the door.

“Then start me off with a milk coffee.” Nana didn’t glance at the menu. Her gaze stayed on Wenquan’s face, steady as a lantern flame. Her cover was blown anyway; no need for shadows now. Better to own it, before her score dropped in that girl’s book.

Nana’s stare raised goosebumps like a chill ripple. Wenquan gathered the menus like fallen leaves and hurried to the back, flustered, to ask the staff for a milk coffee.

“So, how long are you gonna hide there?” Nana propped her chin on her hand and flicked her gaze toward a spot, like tapping a fan. Did that blockhead think she was invisible?

“I… I saw you chatting with Quan-chan and didn’t dare butt in. And I don’t have much to say to you, so… I stayed back.” Zhao Sitian spoke from behind a table, crouched like a rabbit behind a stump.

“Don’t be so tense. We’re comrades in a shared secret, aren’t we? Standing that far wounds my heart like a cold draft.” Nana tried a kind smile to soften things, but the inscrutable curve only spooked Zhao further, like a moon behind thin clouds.

“No need. I feel safer here in the shade.”

“Fine, suit yourself.” Nana shrugged, loose as a gull’s wing.

“By the way, I asked you earlier to sniff out what your boss knows about Wenquan. Did you manage it?”

“Uh… a little. I asked a bit.” She had, but what she got felt strange, like pebbles turning up shells.

“Talk.” Nana poured herself plain water and held the cup, calm as a still pond.

“I can say it, but I need to confirm something first.” Zhao peeked up at Nana like a timid sparrow. “Is… that okay?”

“Go ahead.” Nana waved it off like brushing dust.

“Um, Lu-junior, why do you want to investigate Wenquan?” It gnawed at Zhao. She wasn’t close to Nana, but after days beside Wenquan she’d sketched out the woman called Lu Qiqi in rough charcoal. Even so, why would a strange woman dig into Wenquan for no reason?

“Hm? Didn’t I tell you my reason last time?” Nana paused, cup lifted like a break in rain.

“No!” She fumed inside, steam under a lid: You kidnapped me last time, then monologued and walked off!

“Well, it’s not a secret now. I’ll tell you.” Nana ignored the plaintive look and set her cup down, gentle as placing a stone. “I’m digging because Wenquan endured a stretch of school bullying. I stepped in and it eased, but the horizon’s still cloudy.”

“So…?”

“So I suspect forces beyond school are gnawing at her. Family, maybe. Or friends outside, like roots tugging from under the fence.”

“Got any leads after all this time?” Zhao asked, curiosity pricking like thorns.

She got Nana’s idiot-stare in return. “If I had a lead, would I send you to test the wind at your café manager’s door?”

Zhao: “…” It sounded annoyingly fair.

“But still, you and Quan-chan aren’t kin. Why help her this hard for nothing?”

“Who told you we aren’t connected?” Nana gifted the foolish undergrad another eye-roll, slick as a skipping stone. “I’ve known her for a long time.”

She scoffed inside: Yeah, keep weaving. Wenquan’s only a first-year, and her middle school was out of town. Early connection? Sounds like ghosts.

Nana rolled her eyes so hard they might clink; in the end, she didn’t bother with this blockhead.

“You’ve dragged us off topic. What did you pull from your manager last time? Out with it.” If they dithered more, the coffee would arrive like a tide.

“Oh!” Zhao smacked her forehead, like popping a melon seed. “It’s odd. A high-schooler like Wenquan who takes a part-time gig is usually one of two kinds. One, they want to buy something their parents won’t fund, so they work. Two, the family’s strapped, and she works to ease the strain.”

“And you, senior Zhao— which are you, the first or the second?” Nana asked, eyes half-lidded like a lazy cat.

Zhao pressed her lips. “... That’s none of your business.”

“Anyway, after a stretch of indirect probing and casual chats, I’ve gathered this: Wenquan’s household… isn’t well-off.” The wallet looked thin as a worn coat.

“I suspected that too.” By school supplies and daily spending, Wenquan’s costs ran lower than most, like a candle trimmed short.

“But tell me you didn’t spend all this time to deliver that one useless line.”

Zhao: “…” Don’t look at me like I’m trash, okay— like a kicked can on the curb!

“O-of course not! I’ve got another important find!” Her words sparked like flint.

“Then say it. Let me hear.”

“Heh-heh. This one, you definitely don’t know.” Pride crept onto Zhao’s face like a sunbeam. “To find it, you needed a close-enough bond.”

Nana’s mouth twitched. “Oh? Listen to you talk.” She thought, wickedly amused: I’ve seen that girl bare as moonlit water. Short of sharing a bed, there’s nothing I haven’t done.

“Enough with the suspense. Spill it; Wenquan’s about to come over.” Nana tipped her chin; the signal flicked like a bird’s call.

“Mm. It’s serious, though. Lu-classmate, I hope you can stay calm after you hear it.” Her tone tried to lay cool water over hot coals.

“Uh-huh. Go on.” She had no reason to lose her cool; she was colder than most, like frost on stone.