Who knew what bizarre rules ran this world—either way, Ling finally tasted the rush Alicia had promised, a wind like a river knifing past her ears with a whoosh.
Gusts lifted her hair like a flock of sparrows taking off; the engine’s roar and the carriage’s wooden clunks blended into music, drums under an open sky.
Even the shrieks of girls outside rang sweet, like silver bells thrown into a storm.
Eh?
The wind cut off like a curtain yanked shut, the engine fell silent, and the world went still, a pond without ripples.
“Why’d we stop?”
Alicia pointed outside; cars packed tight as sardines and horns cawing like crows painted the answer in neon.
“Look. Traffic jam.”
Ling felt the cartoon-black lines crawl across her forehead, like ink bleeding through paper—joy snatched away like candy from a child.
First time speeding without nausea, first time touching that dream-bright thrill, and it shattered like glass in a bucket.
Everyone knows, when Ling drops into tragic-romance mode, she goes dark, like sunset tipping into night without a star.
She lifted her head, locked on the sidewalk, a cruel spark glinting like a shard of ice; she raised her right index finger.
Her cute 2D face snapped into hard-edged shonen lines, thunder carved into bone.
“The sidewalk’s plenty wide, isn’t it? Floor it!”
Bang!
It wasn’t the driver’s shock that answered, but Alicia’s signature justice-chop, a blade of air that smacked Ling back into her original art style.
“Idiot! What are you even saying! Like we’d drive on the sidewalk!”
The loli snapped back to stock form and mustered tearful puppy eyes, dew on leaves before dawn.
Maybe she hoped a bit of cute would wash away the sin; to her, it was just a meme, a tossed pebble in a stream.
But no one here got the joke—so she was laughing alone in an empty theater.
If Sin Ling, Lian, or any other transmigrator from Earth were here, they’d get it—they’d answer like fireflies blinking back at dusk.
The more she thought that, the heavier the loneliness pressed, like fog on a field; she even forgot to fake-cry.
Alicia noticed the offbeat, worry pooling in her chest like rain in a bowl—had she gone too far?
She’s still a kid; not knowing this stuff is normal, Alicia scolded herself, the guilt a small thorn under the skin.
“Ling… ah… sorry. I didn’t consider your feelings.”
Inside, Ling was still in that disconnected groove—“I’m lonely, therefore I’m cool”—a paper crane floating nowhere.
The sudden apology startled her, a dropped stone sending rings across a lake; the wandering thoughts flew off like startled birds.
“Uh… Sis, what are you apologizing for?”
“Aren’t you mad at me?”
In a flash, Ling saw she’d overthought again—Alicia’s mind could sprint past the Milky Way and keep running, a comet with no leash.
Maybe only Ling’s brainwaves could sync with hers, two radios tuning in the same quiet night.
“It’s fine… you’re overthinking. It’s not on you. I was just… thinking about stuff. Don’t mind me.”
Alicia didn’t buy it right away; the apology still shimmered in her eyes like wet ink not yet dry.
Ling couldn’t beat that stubbornness, granite under a silk glove, so she drew her ultimate card: her SSS-rank ninja art—Sleep Escape.
“I’m sleepy. Wake me when we’re there.”
No hesitation—she lay down on Alicia’s lap, soft as spring grass, and drifted off under the shelter of a perfect big-sis thigh pillow.
As she slept, she didn’t know: if she’d spoken honestly now, not run from the knot, the Alicia of the future might not have become that Alicia, a shadow in winter.
Thunk!
It wasn’t Alicia’s call that woke her but a jolt, the carriage bucking like a skittish colt, tossing her from dreams.
“Bolt upright at death’s door, hear life’s advice”—that old cadence fit as she shot from lying to sitting like a sprung bow.
“Sis… what’s up? Are we there?”
“Mm. We’re at the gate. The sudden brake probably woke you. I’ll have them stop doing that without warning next time.”
“Meh… don’t bother. Let them do their thing. That bumpy alarm works, like thunder before dawn.
And I’m sure you don’t wanna become Ms. Alarm Clock.”
With that, Ling popped through a carriage window barely loli-sized, slipped to gravity’s pull like a falling leaf, and rolled.
She landed clean, a tumbling fox turning to stillness—ten out of ten from an imaginary panel of judges.
“You’re impossible. Not worried about dirt?”
Alicia stepped down after and took in Ling’s back at a glance—mud and dust smeared like charcoal on paper, not worth any perfect score.
“Keep that up and I won’t want you. I hate dirty things.”
Her mouth said thorns, but her hands were spring rain; she patted Ling’s back, knocking dust free until the outfit was at least presentable.
Tsundere mothering, warm as a kettle, even while it hissed.
Chided or not, Ling wore zero repentance, grinning like sunlight through blinds.
She knew Alicia was just talking, and she’d changed, too—these days her heart had grown a ring or two like a tree.
Power or not, she’d live by the old way from her previous life, or she’d keep stepping on rakes—so she smiled, and the world smiled back.
Once she’d knocked most of the dirt away, Alicia’s gaze finally eased, clouds parting to a slice of blue.
She called back to Remi and Flan, then took Ling’s hand, and they followed Father King through the door, footsteps steady as a drumline.
Of course… they entered not as humans, but as Yokai, night wind slipping into its own home.
