“Let’s call him… Edmund.”
The name fell like a pebble into still water.
Both of them froze, deer in moonlight.
Alicia went quiet for two breaths, then smacked her right fist into her left palm, like a gavel sealing a decree.
“Edmund? Great name. My little sister never misses—music to the ear. Genius runs in our blood.”
Her pride fanned out like a peacock’s tail.
Ling ignored Alicia’s self‑praise.
Her gaze on Edmund drifted like a small boat on foggy water.
She didn’t even know how she’d found that name.
It felt airy and unreal, a thin thread tugging her through mist.
Even stumbling on this hidden room had felt guided,
like a leaf pulled by an unseen current toward a lantern’s glow.
What was it? Cosmic consciousness?
Ha—toss that joke away like a pebble.
Then only one possibility remained.
Her small hand groped the air for something square,
a phantom box, touchable like cool glass yet invisible to every other sense.
Is it the [Script]?
She’d finally sworn to face the [Script], to stop resisting her own power.
Now, after a bout of cloudy thoughts, the [Script] felt strange again, like a mask that didn’t fit.
Was it really hers?
Doubt pooled, a cold moon on still water.
From now on, use the [Script] less.
No—unless necessary, best to lock it in frost and not touch it at all.
“Ling? Why’re you spacing out?”
Alicia’s voice tapped the air like a finger on glass.
Ling stood with her right hand lifted, statue-still in morning mist.
Alicia watched, worry fluttering like a moth at a window.
“Ah… Sis.”
“It’s fine. I’m okay, just thinking. Don’t worry.”
“Is that so?”
Her doubt pricked like a fine needle.
She didn’t look “okay” at all,
a leaf a little wilted on the twig.
Knowing Ling wouldn’t share her worries, Alicia didn’t press.
She lifted Ling under the arms, folded her into a winter‑warm hug.
“Rest a bit. I’ll wake you when we arrive.”
Her voice smoothed the air like a lullaby.
The feeling landed first—heavy, quiet.
Ling lowered her head and answered after a long, soft beat.
“…Got it. I’ll nap for now.”
She tucked herself like a bird into a nest.
“Mm…”
A hum warmed the room like fresh tea.
“Zzzzzz…”
A string of Zs floated above her head, drifting like soap bubbles.
Maybe she was asleep; maybe she was yelling “Z,” and the dialog box just printed them.
Sleeping’s the safer bet, like snow finally settling.
But seriously, last night she slept like a stone in a river.
No teasing could wake her, and now she nods off again?
Sure—I stopped when she didn’t react.
I wasn’t taking advantage, promise!
A cat batting yarn, then putting the ball back on the shelf.
———A maiden’s prayer———
Open!
“Hm?”
Strange—pfft, that familiar ceiling, rice‑paper pale.
Looks like we’re home.
She flung off the blanket and sat up with a carp’s flip,
quick as a silver flash through dark water.
“Yo, up already.”
Remi walked in right on cue, a wooden washbasin in hand,
water shining like a small pond in morning light, maid‑like without trying.
What’s with that level of casual?
We barely parted, and she’s this familiar?
Looks like this girl needs a touch of discipline, a fan tap to a playful cat.
“Stay still. I’ll wash your face.”
“No need, I can—”
Remi didn’t wait.
She whipped out the towel and tossed it onto Ling’s face, a cold cloud slapping down.
Yep.
She literally threw it.
Who knows how cold that water was?
The chill bloomed across Ling’s cheeks like winter flowers.
Not painful—just unfamiliar, like a new season’s first frost.
Remi pressed one hand to the back of Ling’s head and the other to the towel.
She scrubbed like polishing a lacquer table, fast and rough.
Without luck, her fingers would’ve speared Ling’s nose—defenseless gate, zero armor.
Clearly reluctant, Remi finished and flicked the towel back into the basin.
She grabbed the basin and ran, leaving Ling’s face apple‑red from the scrubbing.
Abandoned, Ling cursed Remi in her heart,
a cold edict: for three days, no feeding from Flan—granary doors shut tight.
Delivered the ruthless curse, Ling finally rolled out of the blankets.
Her steps moved like clockwork gears toward her usual desk.
Sad, really—habit raised like a tame goose.
Wake up, walk to the office by reflex, even if her job was just stamping that amusing seal.
Click…
She pushed open the office door.
No half‑mountain of paperwork—just Remi, Flan, and Alicia inside, pens flickering like swallows.
They were truly correcting something, hands blurring into afterimages.
Remi and Flan moved at sound‑barrier speed, the air rippling behind their fingers.
“Yo, Ling’s here. Come to big sis.”
Ling walked to Alicia, eyes still wide,
watching Remi and Flan carve lines like twin bolts of summer lightning.
“Here. Final summary of all tasks.
Use that stamp and press right here.”
“Huh? So all the files are already done?”
Doubts hummed like bees, but Ling pressed the stamp,
dropping it like a stone into ink.
“Rabbit! Tank!”
Alicia ignored the stamp’s weird cry and kept speaking,
voice flowing like a clear stream after rain.
“Well… less work’s always good~”
The breeze eased; the room felt lighter.
Remi cut in, thorn pricking silk.
“A maid’s work didn’t shrink—it doubled.”
Flan tapped her sister’s head like a dragonfly landing.
Remi grumbled like a kettle and kept working.
“What does she mean?”
Ling’s curiosity rose, a cat’s ear twitch.
Flan hesitated, lantern swaying in her eyes, then explained.
“Sorry, Miss Ling, didn’t mean to worry you.
My magic sped up my sister’s work, so she cleared the backlog in one night.
Just as she planned to rest, Miss Alicia returned with another stack.
Then the foreman barked, so sis had to start overtime again.”
The threads finally braided together.
So Remi’s prickly mood had a reason; I’d misjudged her.
But the curse stays carved on cold stone, all the same.
