As long as you’re squeezed out of this slice of time, the world’s mending force seals history like sap closing a cut in bark.
How the law of wide ripples judges with precision, no one knows, like a moon hidden behind ragged cloud.
Maybe they only miss each other in passing, like boats in mist; maybe they say fewer words, like a leaf less on a branch; maybe it’s just the faintest shift, like dust on a scale.
When Spring Tide spotted that blush of pink in the crowd again, the first thunderclap of infatuation was gone, yet joy welled up like a warm spring, and a smile bloomed like dawn.
She let the first meeting replay like lantern-shadows on a wall, then stepped forward to speak, like a bird alighting on a friendly branch.
She mirrored what she’d done before and struck up a chat with Cerqin, who wore plain clothes and a puzzled little face like a puzzled kitten.
But a smile followed quickly, bright as a neighbor girl hopping over a puddle, and the sight tugged at Cerqin’s memories like a scent of old tea.
At this point in memory, Cerqin’s girlish look matched her heart’s picture like moonlight matching the curve of a calm well.
Such a coincidence felt like a crane landing in your courtyard, a small miracle with quiet wings.
This time, Spring Tide noticed tiny tells she’d missed, like a fin flicking under clear water at noon.
Cerqin’s mood shifts were a bit stiff, like a mask with a hairline crack, at least here where the seams showed.
Spring Tide’s approach worked easily, or rather, this pink-haired cub had her own hunter’s eyes, like fox to fox across frost.
Spring Tide’s glance slipped to Cerqin’s knee-length skirt, light as a slice of breeze skimming grass.
Most adventurers keep hems short for movement, like blades pared for balance, and women usually wear gear fitted for action, like leather hugging bark.
To bare both legs so boldly is a newbie’s flag, like white cranes standing out in dark reeds.
In truth, Cerqin was a newbie through and through, like fresh paint not yet dry.
More importantly, Spring Tide knew that under that skirt there was nothing, like wind beneath a kite with no tail.
“Wanna grab a meal?” she asked, voice easy as rain tapping a paper parasol.
She tried an invitation she’d made on day two in the old sequence, found no warp in the air, and eyed Cerqin’s surprise like a fish’s blink.
First meeting, barely a chat, then a meal invite—the pace hit like a summer storm crossing a hot roof.
In nearly two years adventuring, people had chased her like moths to flame, yet Cerqin often got familiar, snagged the clothes she wanted, and slipped away like a cat.
She hit her goals without drawing eyes, like a needle threading silk in twilight, and the reins stayed in her hands like reins on a steady mare.
Cerqin knew who Spring Tide was: the Holy Maiden of the Sanctuary, a rooftop star in Eastern Sea City, like a bright moon above tiled eaves.
She’d thought getting close would be hard, like thawing river ice that needs many dawns, even if Spring Tide opened with a hello.
After a feigned few seconds of thought, Cerqin agreed with a nod, her voice chiming like a bell behind a screen. “Sure, I know a great spot.”
Without the rose-glass of first crush, Cerqin’s put-on airs showed like stage paint in noon light, and Spring Tide felt a laugh rise like bubbles in a kettle.
A newcomer who’d been in Eastern Sea City only days, maybe her first time in Eastwind City at all, bragged like a fledgling pretending to know the sky.
How could she outdo Spring Tide, who knew these streets like veins under skin and alleys like roots under stone?
Last time, dinner had been Spring Tide’s idea, the place her pick, like a host pouring the first cup.
Now a small time-ripple had nudged the current, and Cerqin was the one inviting, like a pebble shifting a stream’s song.
Different, yet there was no pushback from the world, like leaves riding wind with leave to pass, permitted by rules deeper than speech.
Or perhaps it simply couldn’t dent the future much, like a sparrow pecking at a brass bell.
When the timeline snaps back, even tiny edits get smoothed by the same mending force, like frost erasing footprints by morning.
Then let’s see how far the ice holds, like a skater testing glaze with a careful step.
“Then I’ll look forward to it~” Spring Tide smiled, her eyes bright as lake light, while Cerqin, bluffing, went dazed like a deer in sun.
She’d only eaten ordinary food these few days, like porridge every dawn, so where would she find some hidden gem, like a lantern down a secret lane?
But she’d already spoken, and noon was near, so a busy, good-looking shop would do, like a hive humming in plain sight.
With that thought, Cerqin led Spring Tide toward the market’s restaurant row, smoke curling like dragons from kitchen vents.
“Miss Spring Tide…” she began, voice small as a reed flute.
“Just call me by name, Cerqin,” Spring Tide said, light as willow shade. “What kind of girls do you like?” Her smile flashed like a fish.
So direct? The thought hit Cerqin like a pebble on still water, sending rings through her chest.
How should she answer this green-haired empress of calm, the Sanctuary’s Holy Maiden, who greeted her first like a jade bird alighting?
They say the Holy Maiden is cold and terse, like frost on slate, and for a breath Cerqin feared she’d misrecognized the face.
But people along the street nodded to Spring Tide with respect and surprise, like stalks bowing to a sudden breeze.
The Holy Maiden likes me—love at first sight—she realized, the idea landing like a familiar sparrow on her windowsill.
A silver-haired girl in the last city had been the same, like beads on a string repeating a pattern down the wrist.
Maybe she’d hit a heaven-bent streak of romance, like plum blossoms drifting in waves, sweet and absurd.
Being chased by girls strong and beautiful was honey-sweet, yet it weighed like armor, joy and burden twined like vines.
If her inner self got exposed, how would they see her, like a mask splitting under rain, and she dared not imagine.
Thinking of such a beauty looking at her like a deviant made her shiver, like a leaf trembling, yet excitement bubbled like a spring.
Huh? She blinked, gathered her mind like reins, looked at Spring Tide’s face, and blurted like a bird startled from a branch, “I like girls who take charge… huh?”
“Hm?” Spring Tide paused, surprise passing like a cloud’s shadow, since the earlier Cerqin had worn the good-girl mask well.
“So you like them a bit dominant, Cerqin~” Spring Tide’s mouth curved like a crescent moon, and the answer warmed her mood like sun after rain.
“I…” Cerqin wanted to deny, but truth sat in her chest like a warm coal, and backing away now would cost like a cut.
Maybe letting more of her real self show wouldn’t be bad, like opening a window to a mild wind.
As Cerqin’s thoughts ran wild like rabbits, Spring Tide looped an arm through hers and pressed close, warmth sliding in like silk and steam.
“You look happy,” Spring Tide teased, voice playful as ripples, then her tone turned firm like a hand on the hilt. “Little Cerqin—be mine.”
Hot breath brushed her ear like summer wind, and Cerqin flushed scarlet, though the street’s noise roared like surf around them.
A familiar feeling rose, like a bell in an old temple answering a touch, as if this treatment were right and oft-repeated.
“Mm…” Cerqin sensed danger like a red thread, yet instinct reached to embrace it, to answer the command like a tide following the moon.
“I…” she started, the word small as a seed.
“I won’t let you refuse,” Spring Tide said, soft as velvet and sharp as a blade. “You like me too.”
“Mm…” The sound slipped out like steam, and doubt knotted like reeds in current.
Too fast—wasn’t this too fast, like storm clouds sprinting? They’d barely met, and she was already being claimed like a mark on skin.
Shouldn’t the Holy Maiden court her first, grow familiar, then deepen, like tea steeping through patient pours?
“We still don’t really know each other…” she said, biting down on impulse like a bridle, words tight as a knot.
If this kept going, tonight might be the line, like lanterns lit sooner than dusk, and she hadn’t shown her true face yet.
Spring Tide looked delighted, because Cerqin was unbearably cute, like a kitten swatting yarn, and she eased her hold, then took Cerqin’s hand like catching a falling leaf.
“Come on,” she said, bright as river light, “that place over there is really good—let’s eat there.”
“Ah? Okay…” Cerqin answered, her voice drifting like a feather behind them as they walked.
