Lian had braced for questions like arrows. Instead, Alicia smiled, said, “I’ve got something to do. Go play on your own, okay?” Then she left like a breeze slipping through fingers.

Emptiness first, then motion. Lian drifted down the streets, the crowd a boiling pot, steam of laughter rising. The noise was theirs; the quiet sat in her chest.

She wandered into a park gone hollow, a lake after the wind dies. Everyone else had flocked to events; the park’s pathways lay bare like bones.

She found a bench and sat, a lone stone in a stream. Her right hand grasped at empty air, and a strange book condensed like frost into her palm—the long-absent Script.

She opened the Script with a hush, pages fluttering like moth wings. She didn’t read the future; she flipped straight to the last page, where a peculiar crest coiled like a knot of moonlight.

Whenever she saw that crest, memories stirred like leaves in a hidden current. Sometimes they repeated. Sometimes they were different. Sometimes the place stayed the same, yet the story shifted like tides.

Still, each vision felt foreign, a mask that didn’t fit. Even when a scene replayed exactly, it remained a stranger, as if that life was a house with doors that wouldn’t open to her.

—A self from another worldline?

The thought landed like a pebble in a still pond, ripples spreading. She stared, and time thinned like silk thread. The sky pulled on a red veil, dusk settling like warm embers—that was why she could gaze at this crest forever. Time slipped and she didn’t ache for it.

It had bothered her once—an immortal fretting over hours like a mortal counting coins. She’d soothed herself with a laugh: I just possess the fine virtue of cherishing time.

She closed the Script with a soft thud, then tossed it into the air like a leaf. It vanished without a trace, as if swallowed by clear water.

Under the sunset she stretched like a cat, then glanced at her watch, a pale moon on her wrist.

Mmm… two hours till Hatsune’s concert. Food first, then music.

She skirted a maid café like a river skirting a rock and chose a plain little diner, light warm as lantern glow. She ordered ramen and settled, quiet as a pebble in the bowl’s steam.

“Hey, you hear? Someone made Princess Alicia cry,” a nearby voice rustled like gossiping bamboo.

“For real? Who’d dare make the princess cry? Must be some out-of-towner who’s never felt a whole city come down,” another voice clanged like a pan.

Alicia? The name pricked her like a thorn; her attention hooked like a fish on a line. Alicia had been strange today. Suspicions held, but no questions asked. Unusual. Might as well fish for intel now.

“No, no, listen. The one who made Alicia cry was a little girl,” the first said, eyes shining like streetlamps.

“A girl, huh? Then I get it,” the second smirked, oil on water. “She tried to recruit her into the harem and got rejected. Tragic.”

“You know nothing!” the first snapped, thunder in a teacup. “She’s got three thousand lolis in her harem already, and three extra adorable ones. She wouldn’t cry for a failed pickup. I bet that girl was someone Alicia dumped before. She came back to make Alicia take responsibility, and Alicia faked tears and ran.”

“Wow, look at you spin soap opera,” the second laughed, waving like a fan. “Next you’ll say she’s besties with Princess Hatsune next door, and they’ll stack a loli like burger patties someday.”

In a way, he’s not wrong…

“Well, yours is even less likely,” the first huffed, puffing like a pufferfish.

“Why? Yours is the impossible one!”

“Hah? Say that again!”

Great, a fight. Lian slid to a different seat in a blink, a shadow hopping stones, and focused on her ramen. Beyond “Alicia cried,” their chatter was smoke. She didn’t have the mood for two big guys roaring like tigers in a tin can.

Urp~ She let out a tiny loli burp, a bubble popping in a spring. She paid the bill and stepped out, bell on the door tinkling like rain.

For the record, a beefy guy hauled the two brawlers into a small dark room. What happened in there? Only the constant “papapa” could tell—obviously dishes clattering as they washed up and dropped plates. What else could it be?

She checked her watch again. The hour hand had crawled a notch, a beetle on bark.

An hour? You’re kidding me. Whatever. Time for Hatsune’s song—the voice from last night still rings like starlight.

She reached Hatsune’s stage, and people pressed in like a tide, neon foam at the edges. Her popularity wasn’t just big; it was ocean-deep.

Lian flashed her Student Council Vice President ID to a student at security. He waved her through like a gate in a breeze. After she passed, he slipped his phone out, shadow thin, and made a call to someone—news carried like a whisper through reeds. Lian knew none of it.

Backstage, Hatsune was already there, glow soft as dawn. She saw Lian and swooped in, hugging the cute loli like a warm quilt.

“Ling—you’re here! Why didn’t you come with Alicia?”

“Huh? Big sis Alicia isn’t here? I thought she’d already arrived.”

Hatsune waved it off with a smile, sunlight on water. “Probably busy. I’m just happy you came. I’m on soon. How about a loli’s kiss for luck?”

Smooch. Lian planted a quick comfort-kiss on Hatsune’s cheek, a cherry stamp, then turned for the door. Her words trailed behind like ribbon. “Let me know when Alicia gets here.”

Click. The door closed softly, a petal falling. Hatsune watched her go, a smile blooming, then spoke to the empty room, voice gentle as rain.

“Even now you won’t go to her? I don’t know what’s up, but I don’t want my friends sad.”

Silence pooled like ink. After a while, a voice seeped out from inside a cabinet, a shell whispering back. “Is that so… I understand…”

“Mm. Good. Then I’m heading on stage. Do your best, okay?”