At the eye of the storm, Miss Stini lay flat on the infirmary bed, while the guide Vangibia dabbed ointment on her puffed, tomato-red cheeks.

Her memory felt like a fault line—no, a clean break. She couldn’t recall a thing that had just happened.

“My last memory… ow-ow-ow! Can’t believe a warrior like me got pinned and pummeled by a priest!”

Stini popped up, then folded like a hedgehog, cradling her head.

Of course, blame didn’t belong elsewhere. Her blade had left the scabbard first.

After Elina arrived with a fragrant cake and knocked on Andor’s door, she leapt from bed, made a scene, grabbed two-thirds of the cake and swallowed it. Then she and Elina started a “technically trivial” squabble that neither dared admit was about liking someone—and then it turned into a brawl—

“So that means I’m the one who went too far, huh?” She slapped her thigh, the picture of sudden enlightenment.

“Yeah, yeah. Stini, did you really think you were the heroine here?” Vangibia chimed in, breezy as a spring wind.

“No…”

Her moods soared like a kite and crashed like a stone; that was Stini to the core.

“…I’m a jealous brat. I spiral. I get hysterical. My possessiveness is way too strong.”

“Uh-huh. Noted.”

“Enough! You’re supposed to comfort me, encourage me, tell me I don’t have those flaws, help me walk out of the shadow in my heart.”

“But I think you nailed it,” Vangibia said, scratching her head like a puzzled sparrow.

“That’s called humility! Even if I’m right, you should say I’m wrong!”

Stini kept pushing, hungry for someone to stamp her as a good kid.

This Hero had zero plans to repent.

“But—eating someone else’s cake was definitely not great. Mm… mm-hmm. I’ll apologize tomorrow.”

The girl set her jaw like a tiny general.

She didn’t yet realize this apology would never come—Vega intoned the line like a solemn voice-over inside her mind, then cleared her throat twice and pushed open the infirmary door.

“Miss Stini, have your eyes—swollen like tasteless steamed buns—seen my master? Hint: the time is after lunch.”

“What! It’s already past lunch?! I missed Helena’s signature seafood set—whatever, fine. What matters is, Vangibia, can you refund my lunch?”

“Of course. If the guest didn’t eat, the guide won’t pocket the cash,” Vangibia said, earnest as a ledger. “It’s already been refunded to the Mephi Consortium. Dinner, too.”

Stini’s gears turned, remembering who was funding this trip.

“No… I mean, you pretend I ate, but I didn’t. Then we split the freed-up cost. You six, me four…”

“It’s already been refunded to the Mephi Consortium.”

“C’mon, that’s why I’m negotiating with you…”

“No deal. At least, no deal while President Mephi is present.”

At that, both turned in perfect sync, fixing Vega with a stare like a storm front pressing down.

The two-act routine was adorable. Her master loved this about the Hero Squad girls; that’s why he doted on them.

Vega didn’t so much as blink. She treated the little skit as if it had never happened and asked again, voice straight as a ruler:

“Miss Stini, Miss Vangibia, have either of you seen my master?”

“Nope!” they shouted in chorus, full of vigor and no value.

Of course, her master had spent the whole day on the Time Ruins front, half working, half slacking. If Stini, who’d been out cold, had seen him, that would’ve been the real miracle.

“Speaking of which,” Vega paused, tidying thought and tongue like she was smoothing a script.

She was sliding into the play. Side remarks could follow the girls’ mood like leaves in water. Only one or two key lines had to land.

She tossed the next bit like it was nothing, a pebble into a pond.

“Miss Stini was struck on the head by Miss Raven’s anti-intellect hammer. I thought you might sleep on and on until the day the dead rise.”

Almost there.

“Wait—did I get hit by that dangerous thing? That explains the bandage on my head. Maybe it’s the hammer’s effect. Damn, I can’t remember. I think the last bit was Elina tackling me and beating me up, then, then…”

“Then our poor Hero used exquisite technique, countered Miss Elina, and ignored her childhood sweetheart’s cries.”

So close. A breath away.

“Then Raven walloped me?”

“Then, because you got greedy and pressed Miss Elina both in words and blows, Miss Raven couldn’t stand watching. So she gave you a little… reprimand.”

Next line. This is it.

“Vega, your sense of fairness is totally biased. Whatever. I’m used to it.” Stini shook her head hard, slid into her shoes, and untied her bandage, tossing it on the bed. “My beautiful vacation wasted a whole day. I’ll have to make up for it with extra fun tonight. Oh—speaking of—”

“—where did Andor go?”

[That’s exactly the question I wanted. Vega, ask it like that.]

“That’s exactly what I want to know.”

[The daily workload’s piling up like snow. Miss Alice of the Bachba Consortium is—no, not ‘impatient’—anxious waiting. The Country of Azure Wind, Beatrice—her fast-food marketing track is undecided…]

“The daily workload’s already too much to count. Miss Alice of the Bachba Consortium is anxious waiting. The Country of Azure Wind, Beatrice—its fast-food marketing direction hasn’t been decided…”

[Honestly, where did he slip off to again?]

“Honestly, I don’t know where my master has slipped off to again.”

[Don’t tell me he answered the Hero Summons and went to the Time Ruins front…]

“Don’t tell me—”

She didn’t finish. The line got cut.

It didn’t matter, as long as the effect held.

“He won’t. Not like you’re imagining,” Stini said, passing Vega and patting her shoulder with a carefree laugh. Her confidence was a little absurd, like a lantern lit at noon. “This is travel—travel! Andor won’t run off to answer the Hero Summons.”

“It’s not like I don’t want to help, but… the Time Ruins feel weird. I can’t say exactly what’s wrong. It just feels… not the place for us.”

That was correct. Stini’s gut rarely missed. Vega filed the note like a blade into a sheath.

Time Ruins may be the Hero’s resting ground, but the event itself is redundancy outside human planning. For a Hero bearing legacy, there’s no reason to go die.

—Don’t drift. Losing focus is a Demonfolk habit born of muddled souls. And now things were messy: Catherine’s arrival shattered the opening act. The patchwork plan was a tightrope with no net.

“If my master did answer the Summons, I’d be oddly reassured. But now, there’s no word. He’s been absent for ages. Sigh…”

Best Actress: Vega.

From gentle consolation, to a flash of ire, to a last-note of wistful loss—one line, three turns. Smooth as silk. A champion’s craft.

The crucial foreshadowing went in like a needle.

“Or maybe… something went wrong?”

“That’s beyond my knowledge. I’m only the head maid.”

Stini shot her a sidelong glance, sly as a fox.

She was remembering the head maid who popped out from every corner whenever she slacked, vanishing and striking like a Shadow. Sometimes, “for obstructing work,” Vega would confiscate toys or snacks. Not “incredibly strong,” more “impossible to guard against”—who expects Vega to jump from a wardrobe crack or a drawer and snatch things?

“I thought Vega knew everything.”

“I don’t know everything. I only know the parts I know.” Her scheduled lines delivered, hints cast, Vega let herself joke.

It was a joke wrapped in a code this era didn’t understand—just like her master’s, wicked to the core.

“Then I’ll take my leave. The days Miss Stini spends traveling will be deducted from her maid-service schedule. Meaning, besides your paid leave for defeating the Demon King, your workdays this month are only…”

Vega tapped her fingers like an abacus, pure theater meant to squeeze Stini’s nerves.

This was post-work, purely personal, and delightfully malicious.

“…and after deducting the City of Heroes’ tax, I’ll settle it today. Hand, please. One Colonna gold coin, three silvers, six coppers. Wishing you joyful play.”

“No! I won’t even have enough for food next month! Damn it, there goes my souvenir money.”

“Then please reduce loafing and increase work hours. Since you’re a Hero, a standard fourteen-hour day doubled—twenty-eight hours—should be easy.”

“I’d die! No—before that, it’s impossible to work twenty-eight hours in a day!”

“Again, wishing you joyful play.”

“I’m broke—how can I be joyful!”

Before the inn staff could storm the infirmary over the high-decibel shouting, Vega exited cleanly.

“Tch. Vangibia, let’s go too… Wait, Vangibia, why didn’t you back me up?”

“Because that maid radiated pressure…” True enough. But more than that—“because it looked fun.” The guide’s brain ran the same rails as Stini’s. Swap their seats, you’d get the same reaction.

Stini suspected nothing. She’d lie for herself sometimes, but she had a strange tendency to believe others. Maybe that’s part of being a Hero.

“Anyway, the inn folks seem ready to complain. Let’s bolt.”

“Mm… the medical bill’s on your nightstand.”

“I don’t wanna look.”

“Aren’t you a Hero?”

“Heroes talking money is so uncool!”

Grumbling like a kettle, Stini still counted out a few silver coins from her jacket and set them on the table.

The voices in the hall swelled like a rising tide. The inn’s protest march was inbound.

Stini scooped Vangibia’s voluptuous body into a princess carry and aimed for the window. By contrast, she herself was skinny and small—short arms, narrow shoulders. A princess carry is cruel to short people.

“Ah—ya~”

Because the cargo was too… ample, something round and soft, like a water-filled balloon, plastered half of Stini’s face.

The Hero’s expression went blank, no joy or sorrow, and she leapt from the third-floor window.

Mid-fall, she flipped head-down into freefall, then twisted at the last heartbeat and landed tight, both feet biting the stone.

“Andor says I’m a rare resource. So I won’t get jealous.”

“Then… if you landed fine… why did you pretend you were gonna die and scare me?!”

Vangibia’s forehead hovered thirty centimeters above the ground, one breath from testing skull against brick. Her knees trembled like reeds in wind. She leaned on the wall, gulping air, and only calmed after a long moment.

“An illusion… probably,” Stini said, rubbing her chin, thoughtful as a cat watching rain.

“What if you had died?!”

"The Hero Squad’s got a Divine Healer who can bring you back, like a candle relit after a gust."

"Resurrection’s got strings, right? Die in a dumb way like this—would the Divine Being open the gate, cold as iron?"

"..."

"Hey, hey, hey—say something, don’t leave me dangling like a kite with a cut string!"

They bicker and head for Taginia’s night market, lanterns bobbing like little moons, the spice-sweet air curling up like warm smoke.