The girl with thick-rimmed glasses kept thanking Yukieda while warning her that Kotake was deeply vengeful.

"Don’t worry. They can’t beat me anyway."

A confident smile graced Yukieda’s face.

Mari wondered if Yukieda had trained in aikido or something similar—just like in manga.

"But please stay careful, Yukieda-san."

"No problem." Yukieda gathered the scattered manuscripts from the floor, stacked them neatly, and handed them to Mari.

Mari swiped her terminal to a group chat and passed it to Yukieda.

The first thing Yukieda saw was two handsome guys kissing—Mari’s wallpaper.

Yukieda understood: today’s youth had their own minds, were open-minded, with diverse lifestyles and interests…

Flustered, Mari stole a glance at Yukieda.

Up close, Yukieda was stunning. Her white lashes fluttered like tiny fans; her skin flawless, poreless. *Could she really be a middle schooler?* She looked like an elegant French doll come to life.

As Yukieda scrolled through the chat log, her brows furrowed and her gaze turned cold.

She was in that group too—but had muted it long ago. What Mari showed her was older: from three months back.

An anonymous user repeatedly @Mikami Shizuku, sending a video. Opening it revealed footage of Yukieda’s own death, paired with cruel taunts.

A heaviness settled in Yukieda’s chest—not for herself, but for Shizuku. *What must it feel like? Like a knife stabbing her heart again and again.*

"Um… Yukieda-san, I think Mikami-san stopped coming to school because of this," Mari said carefully. Yukieda checked the anonymous user’s history—completely blank.

Her breathing, steady even during the earlier scuffle, now hitched slightly. She forced it calm.

"I need you to tell me everything, Mari. What really happened?"

They settled at a café near the academy. The moment Yukieda stepped in, all eyes turned to her.

It was just after school; most patrons were students.

"That’s her—the one and only Oriuchi Yuki."

"Did you see the video? She kicked Kotake flying! So cool!"

"No way—is it real? Must be a movie!"

"No, the video explained everything…"

Since becoming a Magical Girl, Yukieda’s senses had sharpened—especially hearing. Catching the whispers, she felt she’d stumbled into something big again.

But her daughter weighed heaviest on her mind.

Ignoring the murmurs, she chose a window seat with Mari.

"Order whatever you like. My treat."

"Huh? Okay… thank you, Yukieda-san."

An older man with a goatee in a dark uniform approached, handing menus.

"What’ll it be? This young lady’s foreign, right? Don’t judge me—I speak languages! Ken you speak… Japaneese?"

"I speak Japanese."

Yukieda offered a slight smile. The man’s cheeks flushed.

"Oh… right." He looked away awkwardly.

Yukieda scanned the menu—rows of unfamiliar coffee names. *Can’t read this.*

Forgive her: once a nearly forty-year-old conservative man, Western drinks were alien.

Spotting a familiar term from TV dramas, she pointed her slender finger. "This. Iced Americano."

Mari and the old man regarded her with quiet admiration.

*Pricey…* Yukieda checked her terminal. One cup cost a meal. But she’d promised—no backing out. *This is a man’s romance.*

"I’ll have black tea, please. Thank you."

The man nodded. "One moment."

*Black tea? Must be on the back… I didn’t even notice.*

Mari’s expression turned serious. "About three months ago… something happened in Shizuku’s family. Your father, Yukieda-san, had an accident. Someone filmed it, posted it online. For some reason, the news spread widely…" She added quickly, "But I never thought poorly of him."

"Mm. I know." Yukieda listened intently.

"After that, Shizuku was really down. Online drama usually fades… but an anonymous user kept harassing Mikami-san in the group. Turned the video into a GIF, posted it everywhere. Slowly… she stopped coming to school."

"Why didn’t the school intervene?"

"They couldn’t. Public group—anyone joins. Anonymous harasser. Ban one account? They’d just make another."

Yukieda pieced it together.

She’d never truly felt her own "death"—she hadn’t really died. But for Shizuku? Her father *had* died. And his memory was dragged through mud. How could she bear it?

*Was the anonymous user the culprit?*

The old man set down the drinks. "Your iced Americano. Your black tea."

"Thank you."

"Please enjoy."

Mari sipped her tea. Yukieda wished she’d ordered it too.

Her eyes drifted to the coffee: condensation beaded the clear cup, two ice cubes floating. A faint chill brushed her nose.

*So this is coffee? Popular with kids these days… milk tea too.*

Her daughter loved it.

Then—outside—a boy (elementary age) rode his bike along a narrow flowerbed edge, two adults trailing behind.

"Ken-kun, be careful!"

"I know, I know! Stop nagging—I won’t fall!" He didn’t look back.

Predictably, he tumbled off. From the window, it looked painful.

Yukieda almost heard his sharp gasp.

"Are you hurt? We told you not to ride there!"

He scrambled up, pretending nothing happened—but limped slightly.

"It doesn’t hurt. I’m fine." He walked off without turning.

Yukieda sipped the coffee.

A violent sour-bitter explosion flooded her mouth. First thought: *My mouth’s been messed with by a stranger.* Second: *Can I swallow this?* Third: *Should I spit it out?* But the price… the old man’s hopeful eyes… She gritted her teeth and forced it down.

"Wow! No wonder you’re Oriuchi-san!"

"Drinking iced Americano without flinching—you must be used to it abroad!"

Admiration flickered in Mari’s eyes.

Yukieda smiled softly. Already lovely, the smile was utterly disarming. She calmly lifted the cup and drank on.

Her gaze drifted to the window. *This, too, is a man’s romance.*

Leaving the café, Yukieda reflected. Surprisingly, she liked the rough, swirling bitterness. Like life itself—harsh, unavoidable. All you can do is find a hint of joy within.

On the train home, Mari brightened: "We take the same train!"

Yukieda got off at Maekawa Station; Mari at Ryosan. A pity—they couldn’t walk together mornings, but evenings worked.

Yukieda had no reason to refuse. Company was nice; she wasn’t solitary by nature.

She simply explained: "I don’t live in Maekawa. Just visiting a relative there lately. So I can’t ride with you daily."

"A relative, huh…" Mari’s voice held gentle disappointment.

Yukieda felt odd calling her daughter that… *Can’t exactly say, "My daughter lives here," can I?*