“Mystic Realm? Nice name. Didn’t expect you to be bad at most things but sharp as a blade when it comes to names.”

Ling answered Alicia’s praise with a small smile, a lantern-light flicker she hid behind her lips, because the truth was a ghost she couldn’t voice.

She couldn’t admit it was borrowed from another life, a leaf pressed between pages long ago, and she felt like a shameless copycat under moonlight.

“Alright, the name’s set. We should go see our new country. A host who’s never crossed her own threshold is like a door without wind.”

“How do we get there? It’s almost dinner time…” Her voice was a reed bending to hunger.

Alicia calmly rummaged in her coat pocket, cloth rustling like dry leaves, then—clang—the keys chimed like a wind bell in dusk.

“Obviously, we drive~”

—

“Ugh—” The world whipped past like lightning on rails, and nausea rose in waves like a storm-tossed sea.

If Remi and Flan hadn’t pinned her in place, she’d have flown out of the car like a loose kite cut from its string.

“Yare yare, little sister, I’ve told you a dozen times,” Alicia drawled, voice a cat pawing a glass, “you need to train, or even those two loli maids will outrun you.”

It had become a ritual: since the third ride in Alicia’s car, every exit ended with Ling dry-heaving while her gentle sister put on a teasing mask like a painted fan.

Each time Ling wanted to rush her, fists like thunderheads, her legs turned to noodles and denied her, then the anger faded like mist and she forgot to retaliate.

That’s why Ling hated Alicia’s car—the speed was a hawk’s dive, the aftermath a jellyfish’s wobble.

“Today… I’ll spare… your nonsense,” Ling gasped, pride a flickering brazier, “I’ll—cough—grant you mercy… ugh.”

If her body couldn’t win the field, then she’d win in words, tossing chuunibyou sparks like fireworks in daylight.

“Alright, enough chatter. Climb onto my shoulders—big sis will carry you in.” Alicia crouched, back rising like a sturdy bridge over a stream.

Ling didn’t act coy. With Remi steady as a willow staff, she clambered up, then twisted Alicia’s belly twice, a petty pinch like crab claws.

“Yare yare, still a child who won’t grow up~” Alicia’s tone was more warm tea than cold complaint, sweet enough to be another spoonful of saccharine.

“You’re the one who won’t grow up…” Ling muttered, mouth pressed to Alicia’s warm back, words sinking like rain into cotton.

Alicia felt only the warmth, like a hand stove in winter, heard nothing, and walked on into the house the king had set aside—their next place to call home.

—

“So, really, no one’s going to judge this new so-called ‘little sister’?” A rough voice thudded like a drum along the round table.

Around the table sat a dozen humans, figures like mismatched chess pieces, all looking seventeen or eighteen, all faces stormed by jealousy, anger, and disgust.

“That old geezer came to disgust us. He carved up land, then found an ‘adopted daughter’ for Alicia, that violent woman, to grab more ground.”

“I’ll bet one or two weeks and the new sister evaporates like dew, and Alicia monopolizes the territory. Hah, what a cunning ledger.”

“Who wouldn’t think so? The old man dotes on Alicia like a cat on a sunbeam. Who else would he favor?”

One voice alone was a pebble in a pond, but once it got a nod, ripples widened, and soon the shallow minds were mirrors pretending depth.

“I feel the same!” “Oh? You too? Same here!” “Hmph, I said it ages ago—Alicia’s no good.”

“Hey, listen, last time I saw Alicia—” Words flocked like crows, pecking at the same carcass with noisy certainty.

Humans are like that. A different hobby ends in a couple of lines; a shared passion takes fifty, maybe sixty.

But a common enemy? They can feed the fire for days, from flaws to neighbors to the enemy’s dog, tossing every twig into the blaze.

In their eyes, the enemy falls lower than a paramecium sketched on glass, though they themselves crawl even lower in the mud.

“So, anyone got a practical plan?” The question hung like a bell in fog.

“We ruin Alicia’s peace. Stones through a window at midnight.” His grin was a wolf’s shadow.

“Hire someone. Kill Alicia.” The words were a knife laid on the table, gleaming cold.

“We unite. I’ll be the supreme commander.” His ambition puffed up like a toad under moonlight.

“I think—” The rest bumbled forward, brains jammed like gears with four crooked screws, proposals squeaking without traction.

Still, they kept rushing, voices tripping each other like feet on a crowded stair, a scramble with no summit.

“Report!” A man in a tall hat burst in, white paper rolled like a scroll, urgency flapping like a banner in wind.

“By order of the King! Princess Alicia has withdrawn from the competition and chosen independent nationhood. The new king will be selected from the princes and princesses.”

He spun and left, leaving awkward silence like ashes in a brazier.

At last, someone couldn’t bear it. He rose slowly, apology painted on his face like thin lacquer that couldn’t hide the crack.

“Sorry, everyone, I suddenly remembered there’s work waiting. You know how it is—new land needs hands.” His words were leaves, polite but hollow.

He hurried off. One takes the path, and others follow; more and more rose, all with the same excuse, all drifting like dandelion fluff.

Only the first loudmouth remained, stuck alone like a post in an empty field.

He sighed, disappointment paired with scorn, twin ravens on his shoulder. “A bunch of yokels. They think Alicia’s surrender removes the threat?”

“What if she doubles back? What if this is a trap? Stupidity… stupid, everywhere like weeds.”

He glanced at his watch, then put on a clumsy mask of surprise, a stage smile cracking at the edges.

“Ah, look at that—late already. I should go handle affairs too…” And off he went, wearing the same thin excuse like an ill-fitting coat.

Maybe Alicia was right—no real danger this time. They were busy tilling their small plots, counting their small stars.

Who has time to harass others when their own fires need tending? Hidden crisis? Doesn’t exist~