Charlotte’s eyes went glassy, like a winter lake under pale dawn. Her voice trembled like a thin thread in wind. “You’re… Shelika?”

“This humble self is…” Shelika’s tone fluttered like a moth to a lantern. Truth be told, she hadn’t expected to stumble into a face from “life before.” Yet the face before her was only half-lit in memory, like a distant hill seen through fog.

It felt like someone known yet not held close, a shoreline glimpsed from a passing boat. If it were deeper, Shelika would’ve remembered.

To avoid storms, she reached for denial, the way one shuts a window against rain. “No, I’m—”

Fulin, within, wasn’t ready to wear this life like silk fitted to skin; her heart wavered like a reed in current.

Before the words could land, the other’s tears burst like spring rain. Charlotte lunged in like a summer squall and hugged her tight.

“Elder Sister, I missed you so much!” Her crying came in waves, a flood breaching a small dam.

Shelika faltered, her mind a blank parchment. “Wait. This humble self remembers no such younger sister.” Her voice tried for calm like moonlight on water, but confusion rippled beneath.

Her memories of life were shattered like pottery after a quake, like with Lance’s case. Still, the family record etched inside held steady like carved stone.

So Fulin knew: Shelika had no Charlotte as a sister.

At least, not in blood and bone.

Charlotte didn’t droop at that cool reply. She brightened like a lantern relit, tears and snot shining like dew. Her words spilled like a brook gaining speed.

“I respect you so much! You’re strong and beautiful! From the first moment I saw you, I swore to the gods like a blaze on an altar—to be your sister for life, to follow you forever!”

“Hahaha~~” Shelika kept a stiff smile, like paint that hadn’t dried.

Noise rose like warm steam, drawing eyes like moths. In a place this lively, stares gathered like crows on a fence.

Luckily, thanks to the maid-uniform brute’s watchful care, only regulars found this door, like bees finding their hive.

“What’s the boss doing?” one voice drifted, lazy as smoke.

“No clue. Probably being silly again,” another snickered, like pebbles skittering down a slope.

“Still cute though, right?” A grin flashed, quick as sunlight through leaves.

“Heard she served in the army…” The tone dropped like a low drum.

“Eh, really?” Curiosity pricked like a pin.

The regulars didn’t mind Charlotte, their acceptance soft as old wood. But Shelika felt heat in her cheeks like embers under ash.

She glanced around, eyes circling like swallows. She looked at Charlotte, who was leaking tears and snot like twin streams, and murmured as gently as a breeze, “Save it for later, alright? Aren’t you still working?”

“Ah? Right!” Charlotte jolted like a bell struck. She splashed water over her face, freshening like rain after dust. Clean and bright again, she skipped toward the kitchen, tossing a playful “Ehehe~~ I’m still running the shop! Elder Sister, we’ll chat later~~” like confetti.

She forgot, of course, the snot she’d baptized onto Shelika’s clothes, sticky as honey on linen.

Her stomach area felt clammy, a gluey mess like sap on bark. Not even a quick apology drifted back.

Heat flared in Shelika’s chest, a coal roused by wind. She marched toward the kitchen, intent on scolding—no, not a storm, but at least a demand for responsibility, like asking for soap after a spill.

At minimum, some cleaning supplies.

At the doorway, she paused. Charlotte was bent over desserts, all focus like a cat hunting in tall grass.

“Sugar~~ sugar~~ bring your sparkle, okay~~☆” She hummed a little tune, happy as a lark, careful as a seamstress threading silk.

Does Charlotte love making sweets? Shelika wondered, her thought drifting like a feather.

“Forget it,” she sighed, letting the anger dissolve like salt in warm broth. She couldn’t bring herself to interrupt. The regulars’ reactions had painted Charlotte as a girl who stumbled adorably, like a pup tripping on its paws.

Shelika returned to her table and eyed the dessert, its sheen like morning frost. “Monster Beast flavor?” Her brow lifted like a leaf caught by breeze.

She took a spoonful. It melted like snow on tongue. Sweetness bloomed like a peony, and joy seeped in like spring water filling a well.

“So good~~!” Her voice rang like a silver bell.

One bite led to the next, beads on a rosary slipping through fingers. Time drifted until the hour before dawn, when shops shutter like eyelids.

After closing, only Charlotte, Shelika, and a handful remained, the quiet settling like night mist.

The “working adults,” including the maid-uniform brute, moved with swift hands, cleaning like wind brushing dust from stones.

Charlotte resumed the reunion rhythm like a drumbeat. One second, she sorted dishes, neat as a heron. The next, her tone flipped, and she burst into tears again, face smudged like charcoal as she leaned close.

“Elder Sister, it’s so good you’re not dead! Wuu wuu~~” Her sobs rose like gulls.

“Hey.” Shelika winced at the grime, pushing her back gently, like parting reeds. She handed over a handkerchief, white as a small cloud.

Charlotte, all unlike her beautiful looks, lacked ladylike polish. She accepted the handkerchief and blew her nose on the spot, a trumpet in a quiet grove.

Between sniffs, she said, words stumbling like a foal, “We all thought Bai Ling executed you! Wuu wuu~~”

“Hahaha~~” Shelika laughed awkwardly, like a stream striking stones. “This humble self is right here, isn’t she?”

Inside, she thought what the moon knows: the real woman had died, and this was a lantern lit in her stead.

“Yes! That’s so wonderful! Wuu wuu~~” Charlotte’s relief flowed like a thaw.

She cried and blundered for several minutes, dark clouds then bright sun, before she clicked back to serious, a blade sheathed properly.

After hearing the tale, she gasped like a fish at the surface. “So Elder Sister came back in secret?”

“Mhm.” Shelika’s nod was a falling petal. “This humble self slipped past every eye. Otherwise, I’d never have returned alive.”

Charlotte’s eyes lit with starry worship, constellations flaring behind her gaze. She praised, bright as firecrackers, “So strong! That’s exactly why I adore you, Elder Sister!”

Once the trust settled like ink on paper, Shelika asked, tone calm as moonlight, “Charlotte, after the Blazing Fire Knight defeated you, where did you go?”

Question marks popped over Charlotte like bubbles. “Eh? Elder Sister, how do you know I was beaten by the Blazing Fire Knight?”

Fulin’s face grew as thick-skinned as old leather. Shelika let the lie slide like oil. “Local news. He blasted it everywhere, trumpet and drum.”

Charlotte froze, eyes widening like lanterns. Her twin tails sprang up like startled cats. Her face was a scroll of joy, shame, anger, and sulk, flipping pages in a wind. First red with embarrassment, then puffed cute with fury. “Eee-yaa! That vile human! I’ll fix him good next time! Just you wait.”

Shelika sighed, the sound like a reed bending. “No need.”

“What do you mean, Elder Sister?” Charlotte tilted her head, curious as a sparrow. She pressed her index fingers to both temples, silly and adorable, like antlers on a fawn.

“Not that.” Shelika shook her head gently, a willow in a soft breeze. She slid the Sirius Sword from her sling bag and set it on the table, metal catching light like cold stars.

Charlotte’s twin tails shot up again, stakes in fresh earth. “This!? What is this thing?!”

Shelika spoke plainly, voice steady as a straight road. “That human knight’s weapon.”

“Awesome!” Charlotte’s cheer flared like a campfire. Resolve burned in her eyes, hot as coals. “Next time, that knight’s got no weapon. He’s done!”

She sprang up, hands on hips, victory glowing like sunrise. She laughed wide, “I’ll win for sure. Wahahaha~~~!”

Shelika stared, stunned as a deer at thunder. A thought drifted in like a skeptical crow: Is this girl truly that hopelessly dense?

Her underlings looked up, palms over faces, shame pooling like ink. Every one of them wore defeat like wet cloaks.

Their boss among them—the “big brother,” a burly man in a maid uniform—couldn’t take it. He stepped beside Charlotte, bowed toward Shelika like bamboo bending, then murmured into Charlotte’s ear like a discreet breeze, “Boss, listen—”

Charlotte stayed high on her earlier wave, annoyed at poor timing, her tone snapping like a twig. “What?”

The burly maid used the voice of everyday sense, firm as a measuring stick. “Generally, the one defeated is the one who gets his weapon taken, right?”

Charlotte blinked, slow as a tortoise. “Wasn’t it stolen?”

“Probably not, Boss.” He repeated with care, words laid like bricks. “By my guess, your friend already took care of that knight.”