About a year ago, back when Ling hadn’t crossed into this world, a student theater troupe in the Moser Empire blazed like a comet. The whole empire loved them, and their glow spilled across oceans to other nations.

They chose to stay home, roots sunk deep in their own soil. No touring, no foreign stages. The world sighed, a long winter of disappointment drifting like fog over distant cities.

But inside the Moser Empire, the curtain never stopped rising. Their plays kept flowing like a river in spring, and their fans kept burning like lanterns that wouldn’t go out.

Among those fervent hearts stood a black‑haired, petite girl, eyes bright like midnight stars.

“Please, let me into the troupe!!” Her voice trembled like a bird at dawn as she handed a white sheet covered in ink‑black letters to a green‑haired young woman.

The green‑haired girl smiled like a shopfront in sunshine, accepted the page, and—without looking—stamped it with a red seal. The sudden thump left the nervous girl stunned, mind blank as new snow.

“B‑big sis… why not even look?”

The smile stayed, but its color shifted. The first one was business, neat and polite. This one was the curve a hunter wears when spotting prey in the tall grass.

“Don’t be troubled, little sister. If you’re cute, we’ll welcome you—talent or not.”

A thought pricked at the girl like a thorn—sounds like some strange organization, doesn’t it? She swallowed it. You don’t blurt thorns at your idol. And the woman before her was her idol—Yuka.

She shook her head and cast away worry like a leaf flicked by wind. This was her idol’s place. How could anything weird happen under such warm lights?

“Then… won’t you test what I can do?”

“No need. This green‑haired big sis is a key figure in the troupe. One word from me, and you’re in. I can even hand you a good role. Don’t fret about what you can or can’t do.”

Her heart tightened like a knotted ribbon. Pure as she was, she felt uneasy at a door opened by favor. It tasted like cheating.

“Wouldn’t that be unfair to others?”

“Just say whether you’re joining. If yes, tell big sis your name. If no, you can leave out the back. A hint for you—I’ve never used this privilege for anyone else.”

“Eh?”

She froze, surprised as a deer hearing a new bell. So this wasn’t for everyone. This was a path opened just for her.

A scale rose in her mind, one plate stamped fairness, the other etched with dream. Click—the beam tilted toward dream. For the first time, a selfish wish sprouted like a seed cracking open.

“Then, your answer?”

Yuka’s voice rippled through her hesitation. The girl lifted her head. Her eyes were clear, like a lake after rain.

“My name… Xi. Kazama Xi.”

Yuka tilted her head, curious at a name that felt a touch crooked on the tongue, then let it go like a drifting cloud. Names aren’t chosen by us. And inside the troupe, they wouldn’t be using that family name anyway.

“Kazama Xi, right? How about you go by just ‘Xi’ in the troupe?”

“Eh? Ah! Yes! No problem!”

Yuka patted the stiff crown of the girl’s head. Affection rose a notch, warm as sunlight on moss.

“No need to be so tense. From now on, you’re family. Family shouldn’t hold their breath like soldiers at attention.”

Even so, Xi wrestled with herself. She couldn’t shift in a heartbeat. Her back stayed straight, face solemn like a little general.

“Yes!”

Yuka sighed, soft as a breeze through bamboo, and tapped her head twice more. You can’t remake thoughts on the first try. She wouldn’t force it. That would run against her purpose like a current against the oar.

“Alright, forget it. Come in with me first.”

She opened the door in front of her and stepped through without looking back. Xi blinked, then hurried after, fingers brushing the hem of Yuka’s skirt like a child touching a guardian’s sleeve.

The space beyond was strange, a maze sewn from corridors and turns. Xi felt she’d twisted through countless corners, then crossed straightaways long as dry riverbeds. Not a single scene repeated. If you straightened the path, it would run for kilometers like a drawn arrow.

People were everywhere, tucked in alcoves and halls. Each one, seeing Xi cling to Yuka’s skirt, wore a smile with unclear meaning, moonlight behind cloud. Even a die‑hard like Xi felt a pebble of worry drop into her stomach.

Click.

After more than forty minutes, the journey ended with the clean turn of a key in a lock. Xi silently thanked the running miles in her legs. Without them, who could endure such a stretch?

Yuka didn’t notice the sigh slip from behind her. She pushed open the freshly unlocked door, reached back, caught Xi, and tossed her inside with smooth, effortless strength.

Xi stayed stunned through lift and flight. Even when her butt met the floor, twice bouncing like a rubber ball, her mind didn’t return at once.

There were three reasons.

First, she felt she’d reached heaven.

Third… “Is this heaven?”

Everyone knows that when there are ‘three reasons,’ there are really only two. Isn’t that common sense?