Shopping with a girl is simple joy, like sunlight on wet cobbles. With two beauties beside me, envy in passing eyes tastes like extra bowls of rice.

Though neither is my girlfriend. One’s a lively pint-sized blast gunning for the main-wife seat; the other’s an expressionless war-goddess, cold as steel.

If the scene looks pretty, everything else goes down easy.

Stini wore a weightless pink dress trimmed in lace, all springtime and sugar. Her sky-blue short ponytail fluttered like a ribbon. Without armor, she looked like a wee fairy.

“Andor, Andor, how about this? Doesn’t it fit Saint Mire?” She held up a pair that could only be called art.

“I don’t think Lady Saint Mire likes postmodern stilettos, though...”

Princess Golia wore a dashing silver coat, the hem longer than her usual combat gear. Maybe that counted as Her Highness’s casual wear.

“Then this—how about it?”

“I think only Lady Saint Mire and Your Highness could wear a fifty-kilo necklace.” “Or is that just a chain for mooring ships?”

I propped my chin and played the critic under imaginary lantern light, judging the souvenirs they meant to bring home.

It’s great not lugging bags like ordinary folks. We just toss what we want into the Shadow, where weight goes to sleep.

Worry gnawed first—Raven could die any day, a storm stalking our roofline. Still, wasting time to play looks foolish.

But without this play, we’d have no way back. Sometimes a door opens only when you act like you aren’t looking.

Yeah. It’s plans, schedules, calculations—dry wood far from romance.

Working with a devil is plotting with a spider. He sees further into “future” than I can sift from memory, so his plans come barbed and precise.

From site to staffing, the devil’s layout was flawless, a chessboard already solved.

In stories, devils show up as villains or thunderous neutrals. Mortals can’t grasp them, so we fear them and don’t call them friends.

Good and evil rarely nod to each other. Evil understands evil with grim ease, like wolves trading glances.

A devil’s scale is off the charts, so he knows too much. He told me what I must do, and nothing else.

He knows how the “future” coils. So I can act unrestrained and make the devil adjust to me.

Then Act One begins; the curtain breathes.

Shopping’s joy is real, but drowning in it would be dumb. It’s odd for the Son of the Demon King to preach restraint, yet here we are.

Even Demonfolk admit mortal habits help plans take root, like stakes in soft earth.

Things like effort, diligence, step-by-step work. Success treats all equally; you pay in sweat. My kind chase whims and drop them, and nothing gets built.

I’m sure the world still stands because Demon Kings can’t focus. Some get fired up, then cool, and drop the “end the world” hobby.

Anyway, not the point. I sent the two clowns to scout souvenirs, split up. Of course, I funded them. They brought jokes, not useful opinions.

It felt wrong when both fished out my wallet and slid copper and silver into their pockets like festival pickpockets. Forget it. I’ll scam them later; call it offset.

Princess Golia took West Street alone. Stini and I took East. To needle Nivifar, her sister Stini works better. Sorry, Your Highness; I’ll buy you barbecue next time.

Stini and I joked and scuffled, drifting down the street like leaves in a breeze.

“Andor, you’re in high spirits today.” “Usually you sigh and shove me aside.”

“So you do know you’re annoying.” “Exams are finally over.” We’re Heroes, sure, but after “Hero” we’re still teenagers.

“So I can be a little unruly?”

“Mm... call it public service.” “Today, I’m your knight.” I mimed the accolade and half-knelt before Stini.

“Oh?” “I thought you’d keep the cold gentleman act to the end.”

She looped an arm around my neck, laughing. She spun like a dancer, then leaped. Arms around my neck, legs clamped my chest.

“Great.” “You’re my mount today.”

“You little— that’s nothing like a princess ride.” “Piggyback shouldn’t feel like a cross choke.”

“Details, details.” “Andor, how’s that one?”

She pointed at a necklace on a street stall, eyes sparkling like a night sky full of sprites.

“Buying jewelry for your girlfriend, sir?” the hawker chirped. “Diamond. Cheap. Just two Colonna gold coins.”

Diamonds, sold off a curb? I rolled my eyes like flipping a coin.

“She’s not my girlfr—” “Andor, this would make a great engagement necklace.”

“...”

“...”

Stini hopped down and tilted her chin up like a back-alley punk. “Not marrying me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not marrying you!”

“Then why bring me to buy a necklace?” “Why give hope and rip it away?”

She rammed my gut and tackled me, fists raining for my face like hail. I grabbed her waist and slammed backward. A Hero’s stubborn vitality doesn’t break on a spine. She sprang up, and we grappled in a knot.

“We’re here for souvenirs!” “Damn it—hands off my hair.”

“Where are you touching!” “Help, a creep is groping me!”

“You’d nuke yourself just to frame me?” “What did I do to you!”

“Where’s the constable?” “There’s a perv into little girls!” “He’s kidnapping me to assault me!”

“Can we stop disgracing ourselves in public!”

After a grand street brawl, the local constable doused our mess like a kitchen fire. He mediated between two hot-blooded youths.

“Look,” the constable said, exasperation flapping like a torn flag. “Lovers quarrel; patience and understanding—I won’t lecture.”

“But take it private.” “You’re disturbing people’s lives. That’s no way to be.”

The constable stared at us, helpless, like a man watching geese argue.

I sat straight in the chair, eyes forward, a statue trying to breathe.

Stini slouched on the watchhouse couch, lazy as a cat. But her sidelong glances betrayed a heartbeat far from calm.

After half an hour of scolding, we left Valor as collateral for the fine. They shooed us from the watchhouse like plague spirits.

Outside, winter wind knifed the street. We stood there, awkward, like fence posts in frost.

“Uh... right, let’s go.”

Stini shot me a shadowed look and didn’t move.

I took two steps and found the girl hadn’t followed.

Head down, arms folded, she drew herself small, a hedgehog in cold wind. She stomped now and then against the chill.

Uh-oh. Trouble. Normally Stini would puff her cheeks in a fake huff. It screams, “I’m mad, but apologize right and I forgive you.”

Now? Nothing cuts deeper than a heart gone cold.

When a refusal is true, indifference wounds harder than open hostility.

“Sorry, Stini.” “I apologize. Will you forgive me?”

I rubbed my nose, flattened by her headbutt. It’s one of the body’s frailest bits, still throbbing under the bandage.

I’m not the type to flip right and wrong just to placate someone. This one’s on me. Because who could’ve known...

Who knew that street actually sold wedding necklaces? Diamonds and fine gold, just sitting on a curb! I wasn’t trying to mess with you. Please forgive me.

It’s usually rings, right? Here, the constable said it’s necklaces. Poor Stini must’ve thought I’d propose by local custom. Hence the pretty dress.

I should’ve noticed her face when we met Princess Golia. I trusted the devil too much.

The saying stands: no devil is a good thing. He set our “date” on that street. He claimed he’d handle everything after.

Result: a massive drop in favorability. Does that devil think I’m some gullible mortal?

Fine, “Fatuous” devil—friendship over. Not that we were friends.

When I have time, I’ll blow his nexus with the mortal world. Without a resonance anchor, a devil can’t be understood here. He won’t visit for a century or two.

I cursed the devil a thousand times in my head. Stini still wouldn’t take my hand. The air stayed awkward, like damp ash.

Time for the ace. Vega air-shipped it two nights ago. It was meant to needle Nivifar, but I’ll use it now.

“Here. Take this.”

I scratched my cheek, awkward, and handed Stini a diamond necklace.

“Is this the one from before... no, it’s different...”

“Gardenia petals and little wings form a heart.” “It’s the style you like; I saw you play with a few like it.” “It was a pain to make.” “I begged Raven for applied magic tips.” “My hands still ache... why am I telling you this.”

“You...”

“For the record, I’m not marrying you.” “This is your bonus for working for me.” “I can’t let you blow my money.” “It’s not that precious.” “Lab-grown diamond, no magic.”

“You put a lot into it, Andor.” She took the necklace and handled it like thin ice.

“A few nights, yeah.” “You’ve gotten more diligent lately.” “Even under Vega’s watch, that’s worth praise.”

“Put it on me.” Her voice was low. Her face hovered between storm-gray and bloodshot, unreadable.

Stini lifted her hair and bared a snow-white neck. I swallowed and drowned the dark impulse rising. I fastened the necklace like setting porcelain.

“Does it look good?” She twirled, light as a flickering sprite.

“Beautiful.” “Uh, are you still mad?”

“I-di-ot,” she burst out, then laughed. “Idiot Andor.” “What girl gets a gift from her crush and stays mad?” “Handmade makes it even sweeter.”

She covered her flushed face and hurried ahead.

Seeing her bounce back to her usual spark, short ponytail bobbing, the stone in my chest finally dropped.

“Dense male leads sell better than clever ones,” reported Vega, the all-purpose maid, after surveying every chapbook in town.

My act as a boy just waking to love wasn’t in vain. Acting young stings the pride, but Stini buys it. The grind paid off.

“Stini, wait up.”

I shouted and quickened my pace to catch her. With pretty lies, we kept writing youth like wind through flags.