After six grueling months of non-stop medicine grinding, relentless chores, and the occasional affectionate beating from Master Sylph, my prison sentence had finally come to an end.
For the first time in what felt like a century, I stood outside the House of Aum, arms outstretched, chest puffed, breathing in the sweet, sweet taste of freedom.
"Ah~ The air... Oh, how I missed you," I sighed, arms spread wide like I was welcoming the sky itself.
Without a second thought, I bolted straight to the Crimson Veil Bureau. There was only one person I needed to share my triumphant survival with.
The moment I arrived, I kicked open the door like a returning hero and struck a glorious pose.
"I'm back~!"
Isaac looked up from behind his desk, blinked once, and said flatly, "Huh. You're alive?"
That was it. "You're alive." No confetti. No standing ovation.
"I honestly thought Master Sylph would work you to death," he added, returning to his documents. "Y'know. For the book you lost. And the disaster you caused here."
"Pfft. Nah." I grinned smugly, brushing my hair to the side. "Thanks to my excellent memory and top-tier forgery skills, I managed to fool Master. Aren't I a genius?"
Isaac stared.
"And as for the mess I made here?" I added, stretching my back with a wince. "Well, I already took Master's wrath for that. My body still aches—even after slathering myself in those high-grade medicines. And those were proven to work in one night! That only goes to show how terrifying her wrath really is…"
I sniffled, my eyes glossy with fake tears.
"A genius for making trouble, you are," Isaac muttered, unimpressed.
"Thanks," I said brightly.
Isaac paused, stared at me a moment longer, then went back to his paperwork.
"…I wasn't complimenting you," he muttered under his breath.
"That's all you've got to say?" I huffed, puffing out my cheeks. "Boo~ I'm so disappointed in you, Shorty."
Isaac's pen paused for a second, just long enough for me to know the nickname landed.
Then he kept writing, ignoring me completely.
Victory.
A long silence followed, and naturally, it made me itch. I couldn't stand it.
"Hey, Shorty!" I poked his arm.
"Hoooo... It hasn't even been a second," Isaac grumbled without looking up.
"So, was it settled? The money thing?" I asked, leaning my head over the edge of his desk.
"Well, on Rona's part, yeah. Your Master, no. Oh, and Rona's Master eventually found out what happened and punished her," Isaac replied, still scribbling.
"What punishment?" I asked, squinting.
"Cleaning the house for a week."
I blinked. "Wait. Isn't that just... normal chores?"
Isaac stopped mid-sentence and stared at me.
I furrowed my brow, counting on my fingers. "Let's see... I washed the entire house at dawn, cleared trial fields by noon, ground medicine 'til midnight, then repeated it all the next day…"
His expression shifted—mild surprise turning to quiet pity.
I stared at him, slowly coming to the horrifying realization. "I was... scammed, wasn't I?"
Isaac looked away, scratching his cheek. "Well… I'm not really your Master's disciple, so I don't think I have the right to say anything."
"Hmph!" I pouted and plopped myself down right on top of his table, arms crossed.
Isaac glared at me. "Move that stinking butt somewhere else."
"No!" I said with a pout, kicking the table leg. "I ain't moving. I'm angry!"
Isaac let out a long, weary sigh. "By the way… how did you get in here? I don't remember setting an appointment with you."
I jabbed a thumb at myself with a grin. "What kind of friend needs an appointment to visit another friend?"
Isaac stared at me for a beat. "A sane one."
There was a long pause. Then something shifted in his expression—like a faint breeze suddenly turning into a full-blown storm of realization.
His face drained of color.
"…What?," he said slowly, voice tight. "Wait."
He took a cautious step back, eyes wide with dawning horror. "Don't tell me… you sneaked in?"
"That's right!" I winked, proudly puffing out my chest.
Isaac looked like he might pass out then and there.
"You—! This is the Crimson Veil Bureau! You can't just break in like it's a snack shop!"
"But I did," I beamed.
He clutched his forehead and muttered something unintelligible about his blood pressure.
"Anyways." I gave Isaac a casual wave, already turning on my heel. "Got to go now. I have to inform Ronald and Rona of my miraculous survival."
"Wait—the exit—!" Isaac reached out, alarmed.
But I was already gone, scurrying off down the hallway before he could finish his sentence.
Not ten seconds later, the blaring wail of the intruder alarm echoed through the entire Crimson Veil Bureau.
Red lights flashed. Voices shouted. Chaos bloomed.
Isaac dragged a hand down his face and groaned. "If she can sneak in quietly, why can't she sneak out the same way…?"
He turned back to his desk, already bracing for the reports that would inevitably pile up within the next hour—each one bearing the same name.
"Llyne." He muttered like a curse.
I stood at the entrance of the Crimson Veil Bureau, chest puffed out, ready to make my grand declaration of survival to Ronald and Rona. My moment of glory was at hand.
Just then, a familiar voice drifted in like a breeze laced with amusement.
"Oh my, look who's here?" Lady Nozomi smiled as she materialized in front of me, as graceful and unsettling as ever.
I pouted. "Isn't that my line? Don't steal my line, you thief!"
Lady Nozomi, entirely unbothered, continued in her usual melodic tone. "Master Sylph requests your immediate return."
"Nuuuuu!" I wailed, throwing my arms up. "I haven't even told Ronald and Rona about my miraculous survival skills yet!"
"You can tell them another time," she said, her smile never wavering.
I stuck out my tongue in protest. "Nah."
Then, in a blur, I spun around and bolted.
"Weehhehehehe!" I cackled as I dashed away, kicking up a ridiculous trail of dust in my wake.
Behind me, Lady Nozomi sighed like an exhausted mother watching her child make poor life choices. "She knows she can't outrun me, and yet she still tries. Such a stubborn child."
With a ghost of a smirk, she glided after me effortlessly, her feet barely touching the ground—like a phantom skating on a sheet of invisible ice.
I blasted down the street like a cannonball possessed—arms flailing, legs windmilling, screaming something between a war cry and a goose honk. Crates flew. Chickens squawked and scattered like fluffy grenades. A poor old vendor tossed his radishes into the air, shrieking, "THE END IS NIGH!" as I barreled past. Children pointed. Dogs barked. One toddler clapped with glee, thinking it was part of the street performance.
Behind me? A completely different story.
Lady Nozomi glided after me like a ghostly ballerina, her feet barely brushing the ground. Serene. Elegant. Untouched by chaos. She floated along as though skating on invisible ice, not a hair out of place, not a single bead of sweat. Meanwhile, I looked like a freshly escaped circus reject on fire.
Where I was a whirlwind of mayhem and noise, she was the moonlight calmly following the hurricane.
Unfair. Completely unfair.
I risked a glance over my shoulder.
Gone.
Lady Nozomi had vanished like a dream—no fluttering hem, no eerie glide, no ghostly presence. Nothing. Just street.
I exhaled a dramatic sigh of relief, chest puffed in victory—right before BAAM!
I collided, face-first, into something solid and unyielding. The world flipped. My body flew back, and I hit the cobblestones with a sound not unlike a squashed cabbage. Stars pirouetted around my head. I lay there, limbs sprawled in tragic fashion, wheezing like a dying fish.
Then came that voice. Sweet, lilting. Deadly.
"Oh, darling, are you all right?" Lady Nozomi's voice floated down like silk. "That's why people say 'never run—you'll fall.'"
I squinted upward, eyes watery. She stood over me like a goddess descending from heaven—or more accurately, like a ghostly aunt who smelled trouble three timelines away.
"That's because you suddenly appeared in front of me!" I groaned, waving a limp arm. "What are you, a ghost? A teleporting ninja ghost?!"
She simply giggled, brushing a speck of dust from her sleeve with the elegance of someone who'd never fallen flat in public a day in her life. "Now, now—back home we go. You can play another time."
"Noooo!" I wailed and threw myself back on the ground like a tantrum-performing toddler. "I want to play some more! Play! Play!"
I flailed dramatically—arms, legs, even eyebrows working overtime. Passersby stopped to stare. A baby in a stroller began to cry, possibly out of secondhand embarrassment. A cat hissed and ran.
Lady Nozomi sighed with the patience of a saint and the menace of a demon in disguise. She bent down, lifted me effortlessly by the back of my shirt like I was laundry, and slung me over her shoulder like a particularly noisy sack of rice.
"Wah! I ain't a sandbag!" I kicked and wriggled, limbs flopping about uselessly.
Her grip was iron. Elegant, unshakable iron. "There, there," she said cheerfully, unfazed. "You'll win next time."
"That's what you said last time!" I pouted, upside down.
She hummed a tune and kept walking, ignoring my protests as I dangled like a defeated banner in the wind. At first, I was mortified—'what kind of teenager gets carried like this?!' But after a while, I found myself enjoying the scenery in this peculiar angle.
And so, carried like an ill‑behaved parcel, I made my undignified yet strangely enjoyable journey back to the House of Aum.