“Miss Alicia, the recent matters are compiled,” Flan said, her voice ringing like a small bell in morning fog. “Do you want a report?”

At some point she’d shed the maid dress and slipped into a crisp office set, like night trading robes for dawn. The secretary aura never showed, though. Those crystal-hung wings behind her glittered like frost-laden branches, and her forever four-foot-seven frame stood like a sapling under city lights. For a heartbeat she looked like Flan had stolen an office outfit and walked out of a mirror, yet every glance still breathed childlike air, like milk-sweet steam from a teacup.

Alicia had grown used to the odd, loli-scented atmosphere by her side, like living beside a grove of small, stubborn willows, so she let it pass like wind through reeds.

“Just give me the highlights,” she said, calm as still water. “And you—the golden squirrel—come listen too.”

The “golden squirrel” was Ling, of course, because she was eating from a bag of cookies like a field mouse hugging grain. Each cookie was too big, so she gripped one with both hands and nibbled in tidy bites, like a squirrel gnawing a nut under autumn leaves.

“Hi-hi-hi~” she chirped, a skylark hop in her voice.

She raised a small hand and ran over, then plopped onto Alicia’s lap like a warm cat curling on a sunlit sill. The cookie never left her grip, a little moon clutched tight. Alicia didn’t mind, as long as the crumbs didn’t fall on her clothes, like ash missing a shrine mat.

“All right, Flan, go ahead,” Alicia said, her tone smooth as lacquer.

Flan nodded. From the four-dimensional pocket at her chest—runway-flat like a paper-straight airstrip—she drew a notebook, the motion neat as a blade leaving a sheath. She flipped it open, pages fluttering like sparrow wings, and began to read.

“On Elvenfolk territory and related items, Miss Alicia has already reviewed them, so I’ll be brief,” she said, words flowing like a clear stream over stones. “The information link is still being processed, like threads being knotted. The three great empires have requested an audience with the Elven Queen. What do you think?”

“Mmm… decline for now,” Alicia said, a pause like a cloud weighing rain. “Be polite. Say we’re snowed under with work, like couriers in a blizzard.”

Scritch-scritch—her pen raced, the sound like crickets on a summer night. She nudged the glasses on her nose, light flashing like ice on glass, and turned the page like turning a leaf.

“The portal requested by the Daemons has been opened,” she continued, steady as a metronome. “Traffic is appointment-based, like lanterns queued in a corridor. The current daily cap is three. After the Daemon incident settles, we may raise it to thirty. Any concerns?”

“None,” Alicia said, her voice a cool breeze through pines. “If the Daemons are fine with it, we’re fine. Hardly any of us plan to visit the Underworld again, like birds avoiding a stormed sea.”

Flan lowered her head and wrote, a tiny curl at her mouth like ink seeping into paper. “Miss Alicia is very irresponsible,” she murmured, so soft it drifted like mist.

“Next, the Beastfolk,” she went on, lifting her eyes like a lantern being raised. “They took one day to build a grand hall for Miss Alicia, Miss Ling, and Miss Rafi, and they enshrined all three together like stars set in one crown.”

Ling choked on her cookie, crumbs flaring like sparks, then coughed twice and recovered, breath settling like ripples fading.

“We’re being worshiped?” she asked, disbelief hanging like a crooked sign. “You’re not joking?”

“It’s confirmed,” Flan said, firm as a nail driven straight. “Frankly, the hall is lavish. The walls are smooth hardwood with graceful patterns, like waves carved into amber. The ceiling bears enlarged images of the three of you, like constellations painted overhead. In the center stand life-sized statues of you three, stone-quiet and candle-bright. On ordinary days, visitors come to pay respects and light one or two sticks of incense, the smoke coiling like blue dragons.”

“Uh…” Alicia and Ling traded a look, their silence pooling like tea left to steep. Flan, though, wasn’t done; her words kept marching like drums.

“From what I observed, the three of you have been outright deified,” she said, eyes reflecting light like still water. “I could even see tangible motes of Faith drifting around the hall, like fireflies in dusk. Not only the main hall—there are many sub-halls focused on one of you, built by each supporter group, like shrines sprouting after rain.”

She pushed her glasses again, the gesture crisp as a folded fan. “These supporters use different names, yet share one label: DD—the love-everyone kind, like bees sampling every flower. They shout ‘I solo-stand XXX,’ and the next breath say, ‘Stanning everyone at once is still solo-stand!’—true scum of mortal hearts, like oil on clear water. Among these foul DD appeared so-called confectioners of the void, whipping up ship-candy like ‘Alicia and Rafi cuddles,’ ‘Rafi and Ling cuddles,’ and ‘Ling-Ling cuddles,’ sweet and strange like sugar spun from fog.”

Ling wiped sweat that wasn’t there, hand passing her brow like a breeze that moves no leaf. She realized she’d underestimated the Beastfolk; in certain fields they carry a power others lack, like ants that move mountains grain by grain.

“Let’s… skip that,” she said, her voice tight as a bowstring. “Don’t bring it up later—no, ever. I’ve got one more reason not to visit the Underworld, like a stone added to a scale.”

Alicia nodded at once, agreement falling like a paired chopstick. Two to one—case closed, like a gate swung shut—while Flan looked faintly wounded, her expression a petal bruised by rain.

“All right,” Flan sighed, air leaving her like a kite losing wind. “There isn’t much left, because I may have, slightly, only a tiny bit, gotten addicted to the DD business, like a moth circling a lamp. So a few tasks went… unattended.”

“Tsk… didn’t expect you’re a filthy DD,” Ling said, the words flicking like a pebble across a pond.

“How can you say that!” Flan flared, cheeks blooming like peach blossoms. “Can loving everyone be called filthy?! I’m diligently solo-stanning everyone! I love everyone!” Her declaration rang like a gong in a small room.

Ling didn’t buy it. She ducked her head and ate her cookie, nibbling like winter sparrows at rice, eyes saying nothing like shutters drawn at dusk.

“Oh, right—Miss Alicia,” Flan said, as if remembering a lantern she’d left lit. “Miss Amelia left something with me yesterday, a return gift for that blade, like a ribbon tied to a promise.”

She flicked a silk ribbon, and it ignored physics, arcing through the air like a falling comet. It dropped perfectly into Alicia’s hand, a soft thud like snow landing on moss.

“According to Miss Amelia, it’s a miniature space,” Flan said, voice cool as spring water. “It holds what you want, like a chest within a shell.”

Alicia stroked the ribbon once, then set it aside for later, like sealing a letter with wax.

“Right—Flan, how’s your sister?” she asked, the question warm as a lantern lit for a traveler.

At the name Remi, Flan’s face softened, a tender smile unfolding like dawn on eaves. “She’s awake,” she said. “After sleeping a week, staying asleep gets hard, like a cat forced from sunbeam to shadow.”

“So it’s been a week since she jumped from there,” Alicia said, guilt flicking like a rain drop. “Sorry for letting her sleep that long.”

“No need to apologize,” Flan said, firm and gentle as a hand smoothing silk. “Sister wouldn’t stay out that long from being hit by Miss Ling; she was faking, pure and simple, like a fox playing dead. She probably didn’t get enough tasks lately, so they only stacked a few meters high—far from enough. As I know her, Remi naps the moment she idles, like a swallow resting mid-flight.”

“Oh? So that’s how it is,” Alicia said, a thoughtful hum like thunder far off. “Understood. From now on, Flan, give her more tasks, like piling wood for a steady hearth.”

Curled in Alicia’s arms, Ling shivered, a small leaf in a draft. She had a bad feeling that Alicia and Flan sharing one room was dangerous, like flint meeting steel beside dry straw.