"Mushiyu, Mushiyu, wake up!"

A gentle female voice called softly in her ear.

Groggily, Mushiyu mumbled "Stop it" with a thick, nasal tone. She slightly adjusted her posture, making her head resting on her arms more comfortable.

"But... the president’s here~ See? Right by the door, watching us!" The voice carried a hint of teasing.

Hmm... president? Which president?

Curious and with unspoken anticipation, Mushiyu lifted her head from the desk. Bleary-eyed, she looked toward the door. A slender, graceful figure came into view. Long, silky black hair flowed over her shoulders. A crisp white blouse added an air of intellect, tucked neatly into a khaki knee-length skirt. Her feet were clad in cute, small canvas shoes, ankles wrapped in white cotton socks. She radiated a gentle warmth utterly unlike her legendary reputation. A soft smile played on her lips as her pure black eyes tenderly gazed at the drowsy Mushiyu, her features alive with quiet affection.

Mushiyu stared for a long moment. At the sight of this beautiful, serene girl, she murmured a strange name—"Melissara..."

"Melissara? Who’s that?" The girl stepped closer, her voice gentle.

"Who... is Melissara?" Mushiyu lowered her head, thinking hard. Finally, she shook her head in frustration. "I can’t remember..."

"Don’t strain yourself," the girl said, reaching out her hand to Mushiyu. "Come on. It’s time to go home."

"Ho...me?" It took Mushiyu a while to process the word.

She turned to the window. The sky was darkening. Relief washed over her: Right, it was already evening. Time to go home.

A trace of unexpected joy bloomed in her chest.

Mushiyu looked back, her lips curving into an uncontrollable smile. "Yeah. Let’s go home!"

She stood up, reaching for the hand suspended in the air.

But just as her fingers were about to close around that slender, pale palm, another hand shot out from beside her—grabbing it first.

Mushiyu froze, watching the girl walk away hand-in-hand with another girl. They exchanged glances, laughing as they chatted about the day’s amusing encounters, heading for the door.

What... is this?

Mushiyu’s lips twitched. This joke wasn’t funny at all. She hurried forward two steps and shouted:

"Hey! Wait—"

Mushiyu’s voice died abruptly. Her mouth stayed open, the second "wait" stuck in her throat. The girl who’d taken the hand suddenly turned back. That all-too-familiar face silenced every word, leaving Mushiyu’s mind blank.

It was herself...

The other "Mushiyu" looked away. Hand in hand, they walked out the door. Strangely, Mushiyu couldn’t see beyond it—only a blinding white light.

Where were they going? Right, home. But wasn’t I supposed to go home with her? Shouldn’t I be the one going home?

Mushiyu stumbled forward, reaching desperately to snatch the hand back from her other self. Panic sharpened her voice as she yelled:

"Wait! That’s not me!"

But like all nightmares, she could never catch the fading figures. Her cries would never reach them.

"Wait for me," she sobbed, stretching her arm uselessly. No matter how fast she ran, she couldn’t catch up. Fear made her burst into tears.

"Wait for me, Xiao—"

"Boom!"

A deafening explosion ripped through the air. Biting wind and dust scraped harshly against her cheeks. Mushiyu jolted awake, eyes snapping open to meet a pair of gentle ones.

"Awake? Mushiyu."

"Grace?" Mushiyu whispered dazedly.

"Yeah. Don’t worry. We’ll escape soon." Grace smiled, then her expression turned grave as she looked up.

Only then did Mushiyu realize she was still cradled in Grace’s arms. Flustered, she opened her mouth to speak—but another thunderous blast erupted nearby. A fierce gust swept over them. Mushiyu turned, stunned speechless by the scene before her.

Where dense forest should have stood, only flat earth remained. Trees lay strewn haphazardly. Craters scarred the ground. Amid the chaos, two figures darted at high speed. Every collision shattered the landscape around them.

Mushiyu gaped. "Heavens... Who is that man?"

One figure was Melissara, wielding a slender sword. She leaped and dodged the brutal attacks slamming toward her. The other was shrouded in a wide black robe, face hidden. He swung a pitch-black cylinder like a club at her small frame, roaring like a beast.

It was like a heart-stopping circus act—a fierce beast versus a graceful trainer. Terrifying, yet charged with a thrilling, violent beauty.

Grace’s calm voice reached her ear. "Don’t be afraid. That man is Maelon. For now, he’s our ally."

"Ally? Someone like that monster?"

Mushiyu’s voice rose on "ally," thick with disbelief. She glanced at the battlefield and muttered "monster" under her breath.

Grace sensed her fear. Her arms tightened slightly around Mushiyu, offering silent comfort. "It’s fine. We won’t travel with him. We’ll leave when the time’s right."

"Okay." Mushiyu nodded, but her eyes stayed fixed on that elegant figure—flitting like a butterfly through the gaps in the cylinder’s deadly swings.

Grace watched Melissara too. After Melissara lightly deflected the cylinder crashing toward her head—redirecting its force to dodge yet again—Grace silently added another note to Melissara’s file.

—Skilled at turning minimal force against overwhelming power. Exceptional swordsmanship.

Her gaze grew heavier. From the start, Melissara kept rewriting Grace’s impressions. She remembered their first meeting in Zangwill—at the continental conference called early to counter Adonis’s impending resurrection.

Grace had attended with Edmund, representing the Crimson Hawk squad. And there, seated quietly at the Elven delegation’s place not far away, was Melissara—the Elven King who supposedly never left the Elven Forest. Her eyes were closed, as if resting. Her striking golden hair flowed like liquid sunlight, radiating vibrant life. Even motionless, she was a scene of beauty in herself.

Though flowers often described beauties, Grace felt a tree fit better then. Like an ancient giant on a remote island—a single tree that felt like an entire forest.

That was her first impression of Melissara.