Stand firm! Start with standing straight! If you can’t stand like a pine in frost, how will you ever learn discipline?

—So tired…

Press your legs lower! Didn’t you say you trained? Why can’t you even do this, like a reed bending under wind!

—So painful…

Match the music! Don’t stop without my order! Ride the beat like a river current!

—So annoying…

Hold your breath! Not a single exhale for another minute! Seal your lungs like a jar under ice!

—So suffocating…

Keep going! Run five more laps! How else will your stamina grow, like a sapling reaching sun?

—I hate this…

No talking back! Listen to my explanation! Take it in like rain on parched soil!

—I hate this…

I’ve broken down the move a dozen times! Why can’t you learn it, like tracing steps in fresh snow!

—I hate this most…

Why are you so dense! I’ll do it one last time!

—Youka… I hate you most…

So the newborn sprout of feeling hit an unbreakable wall, a young green stem against iron.

Thirty days—neither many nor few—passed like a blink for Xi. In that so-called hell training, her body moved on its own, a puppet in a storm. Less than one percent of her mind held Youka’s dance notes; the rest brewed clouds of dark mood, a monsoon that drowned out time itself. For Xi, who lacked any clock inside, a month really was a blink.

“Xi, you’ll try it now. I arranged a small show. The audience is our fans. We told them you’re a beginner. They’ll be kind.”

Youka’s voice softened like spring rain. Xi only nodded, lips sealed. Pride prickled first; action came later. From day three on, she’d decided not to speak to Youka, and stubbornly kept her private rule.

She warmed up, then walked onto the stage. Senbonzakura started again, cherry petals whirling in sound. The cheerful song clashed with Xi’s face, a mask full of grudges, like petals falling on stone.

The little girl began to dance. Hands moved, legs moved, each motion drilled and carved, muscle memory etched like grooves in bamboo. But would a dance hacked from stone hearts win anyone?

Opinions vary. One thing was certain: no one cheered. A flat performance brings no tide of feeling. Xi didn’t care. She’d decided to end quickly and slip away like dusk. As for dreams… heh.

A small girl carrying a load she shouldn’t yet carry. Reality had painted her body with scars like cold ink.

“What are you doing?!”

Youka’s scold hit her ear like thunder. Xi’s motion froze. Her brain replayed the lash of Youka’s voice. Fear rose like a black wave and broke over her head. Her body trembled, balance slipped, and she toppled. Fate likes pranks; she fell at the edge of the stage. From that angle, she wouldn’t die. But no doubt, her stage dream would die like a candle in wind.

—But… fine. A dream is a dream.

Exhausted, her mind shut down, darkness rolling in. Just before the lights went out, she saw a figure rush in, a green waterfall of hair streaming into view.

—There’s someone else with the same hair as that vicious woman? Whatever. Not my problem.

In a white ward, the black‑haired little girl lay quietly on a white bed, a wisp of worry like smoke on her face.

A purple‑haired girl pushed the door; the click broke the hush like a pebble in a pond.

“Yo, Xi‑chan, sitting so still… aren’t you bored?”

“Nope! I get excited knowing Sister Zi is coming. How could I be bored?”

—Ugh… gross. When did I learn to talk like that?

“Hehe, Xi‑chan can really talk. But your Sister Youka’s busy. She’ll make it up to you later.”

“Mm‑hm. Got it.”

—If that woman actually keeps her word…

“Be good here, Xi‑chan. I’m on duty, so I’ll go first.”

“Eeh— don’t go. Won’t you stay with Xi?”

—Ah… so gross. Please leave. Stop making me sick…

“No can do. I’ve got a mission. Be good. I’ll come back soon.”

“Okay… bye, Sister.”

“Mm… bye, Xi‑chan.”

Click. The door closed, hush returned like snow. The white room pulled at sleep like a soft tide.

—Just… nap a bit…

Past midnight, a bodily urge dragged Xi awake. She braved the cold, slipped from the covers, shivered like a bird, and grabbed the rail to climb down… Hm? What’s that?

Her fingers touched something strange. It felt like someone’s head, warm like a stone under sun.

By moonlight she looked that way. A faint green sheen glowed, and a fairy‑like face lay on her bed’s edge, sleeping. Her head rose and fell like gentle waves. She looked fast asleep.

—Why is she here?

No idea why this girl showed up. Judging by her chilled arms and fast breath, she’d stayed a while, frost at the edge of her health.

Xi pulled out the small blanket tucked under her, and laid it over the green‑haired girl like a soft leaf. The little blanket warmed like a hearth; it worked.

Xi didn’t know why she did it. She only felt a sudden warmth bloom in her chest, like sunlight slipping in. The cold drained away.

—Maybe… she isn’t as bad as I thought.

The thought sprouted, then a body’s need surged back like a wave. Xi tossed that “unimportant” idea, rose, and sprinted to the bathroom.

After a little bustle, the girl finished her “flower‑picking” and came back. The green‑haired figure was gone. The blanket she’d just placed sat by Xi’s pillow, clumsily folded, time too short. A scent like flowers lingered on the cloth, a trail she wanted to follow. Only a moment, though. She climbed in and chased sleep again, cheek on the little blanket, drifting like a feather.

Maybe she didn’t notice: a faint smile touched her sleeping face, like a petal opening.

That “unbreakable” barrier showed a crack. How far was the sprout of feeling from bloom?

Next day, Youka really came. Then the third, the fourth… day after day, like sunrise on a schedule. Youka arrived on time and shared what she’d seen, a daily flood to Xi’s bedside. It became Xi’s only entertainment. Her bad feelings toward Youka turned into soil and water for a tiny seed of affection.

“Today we took a new ad!”

“Today we finished another show.”

“Today we met a new friend—Alicia, a princess of the Empire! Cool, right?”

“Today the fans scolded us: ‘You’re too good! Are you trying to kill every other troupe’s will to live? Cruel!’ I’m so hurt, boo‑hoo…”

So went Youka’s endless confessions. If she’d been a Daemon before, today Youka felt like a storybook angel, wings in sun. The little girl realized she loved this bed. As long as she stayed in it, she could see the good Youka every day.

Until one day—

“Hey hey, Xi, I met another super cute little girl. She grabbed my leg and kept trying to climb— that feeling… was just too good!”

—Another one… she keeps talking about someone else. No. I can’t let this go on! Something will break! Sister Youka will get stolen!

“Sister Youka! I—want—to—be—discharged!”

“Eh? Discharged? Now?”

Xi nodded over and over, and turned on the “fake tears” she’d practiced, glimmer like dew.

As Xi expected, Youka hesitated, then agreed. She stepped out, returned later, and relayed: “Doctor says you can leave tomorrow, not today!” After a lot of pleading, she “had to” stay and spend the night with Xi.

Deep night. Two girls shared a narrow bed, heads touching like two pebbles under a stream, and fell asleep.

“Hey, are you asleep, Sister?”

“Nope.”

“Do you hate me?”

Youka touched Xi’s forehead, puzzled, her hand warm as sunlight.

“No fever. Why ask something so dumb?”

Xi didn’t push the hand away. She leaned into it, hungry for more of Youka’s gentle petting, like a cat. Youka chuckled, brought up her other hand, and stroked Xi’s small head.

“Hey, Sister Youka, I want to tell you something. Bring your head a little closer.”

Youka had no guard up. She leaned in. Their noses almost touched, less than a centimeter apart. Their breaths crossed like mingling mist.

After a long moment, the little girl opened her small mouth. Warm air brushed Youka’s lips.

“I like you.”

“And then?”

Ling watched Youka halt her tale, her popcorn dropping like hail. Her face tightened with suspense, eyes locked on Youka. She waited for the next beat, but this woman stopped short. How dare she dangle the hook!

Youka took a slow sip of tea, steam curling like smoke, then spoke.

“And then I refused.”

“???”

“It happened yesterday. That’s why Alicia saw her for the first time today.”

“So? I don’t care when she came back. What reason did you use to refuse her?”

“I won’t hang myself on a single little girl.”

“Really?”

“Fake.”

“…Fine. New question. After you rejected her… she went dark?”

“Mm. Dark, plus ‘yandere.’”

Ling sighed, a palm to her forehead like a cloud pressing down. She hadn’t expected someone more sinful than herself.

“Okay. If she’s been running since then, she’s five kilometers out at most. We can still catch her. Let’s finish this cleanly.”

“Pfft—”

Youka sprayed tea like a burst pipe and stared.

“Seriously? Five kilometers—how do we run that?”

“Like this!”

She grabbed Youka’s right hand. One hard kick launched them through the ceiling, wood splinters flying like starlings, into open air.

Wind sliced their faces. Youka finally snapped awake.

“Hey hey hey! Are you kidding? How did you do that? This height will kill us! Get down!”

Ling didn’t listen. Today she wanted to meddle, a comet burning bright. Youka and Xi’s mess—she’d handle it.

“Magic Cannon: Engine Mode!”

No idea how she had another skill, but her hand swung behind her. Pure green mana blasted out, an engine of light, and dragged them forward like twin meteors.

With razor‑sharp dynamic vision and her fat streak of luck, Ling found Xi in ten minutes, a thread in the wind.

The girl had really run five kilometers. Impressive. But limits are limits. Her body swayed like a willow in storm—she was done.

“Well, well—right on time, like a swallow finding its eaves.”

Ling raised Youxiang light as a willow frond into the halfway sky. Under Youxiang’s baffled gaze, a skin of green mana wrapped her like spring moss. Ling braced both hands, drawing power like a bow-string pulled taut.

“Go! It’s decided—Youxiang; off you go, like a spark!”

Whoosh—

Wrapped in magic, Youxiang sliced the air like a jade arrow, racing toward Xi. Ling’s math was exact—flawless arcane luck—and Youxiang caught the falling Xi like a windblown leaf. No doubt, the next act would slide into prime-time melodrama, like a river finding its old channel.

Her sigh was a reed in the rushes; relief warmed her, a small good deed done. She turned away, letting them grow on their own, like vines left to climb. Still, something tugged at her, like a loose thread in a sleeve.

(Youxiang: So… how do I get reeled back, like a kite? Do I just channel a hearthstone?)