Ravel turned around and looked at me with a rare, thoughtful expression.
"I guess humans aren't so bad," she said, her voice unusually calm.
"You've got strong ones, artistic ones... and maybe many other hidden gems."
"Huh?"
I blinked, caught off guard.
What was she suddenly talking about?
Before I could even ask, she turned around and started walking toward the exit, her twin tails swaying lightly behind her.
I scratched my head and decided not to overthink it.
That was just Ravel being Ravel — saying something cryptic and walking away before I could figure out what she meant.
So, I followed after her.
By the time we left the museum, the evening sky over London had already begun to dim.
The air had that crisp chill of autumn — a little sharp but oddly refreshing.
The art exhibition's glass façade reflected the faint orange of the setting sun, making it look almost like the whole place was quietly burning with light.
I took a deep breath.
"So that's it for my stay in England, huh?"
I muttered to myself.
"Not too bad, I guess."
I wasn't expecting much when I came here, but… yeah.
It wasn't bad at all.
Maybe I'd come again someday.
This time, though, after I become a god.
Heh.
A god strolling through an art exhibition like a tourist — now that'd be something.
As I was daydreaming at night about that absurd image, something suddenly caught my eye.
At the far end of the street, sitting on a park bench near the museum's exit, was a girl.
She was wearing a white coat and a soft wool muffler, the ends fluttering slightly in the wind.
Pale skin, long platinum-blonde hair that shimmered faintly under the streetlight, and a pair of deep red eyes that felt almost otherworldly.
She looked… unreal.
So still, so quiet — like she didn't belong in this world.
If she hadn't blinked just then, I honestly would've mistaken her for one of those hyper-realistic sculptures you see in galleries — an artwork crafted by the gods themselves.
She sat there completely alone.
No phone, no bag, no expression.
Just existing.
Ravel's voice broke my trance. "
That girl looks unique, doesn't she, Master? Especially at this hour, sitting out here all alone."
Her tone had that familiar mix of amusement and disapproval.
I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly.
"Yeah, she's… kinda too unique."
Damn it.
I thought I'd built some kind of resistance to beautiful girls by now, but apparently the universe had other plans.
Every time I start to think I've got a grip on myself, God just throws another absurdly gorgeous person into my path like some rom-com prank.
Damn you, God!
Your mockery shall not go unpunished!
This time, I was determined.
I'd walk up like a normal person, talk like a normal person, and have a normal, perfect introduction.
No stuttering.
No biting my tongue.
No weird misunderstanding that makes me look like a lunatic.
…Hopefully.
I straightened my coat and started walking toward her.
But before I could even open my mouth, she looked up.
Her crimson eyes met mine.
And then — she stood.
She walked toward me quietly, gracefully, like her feet barely touched the ground.
The distance between us shrank until she was standing less than a meter away.
Her presence was… strange.
Like she was both there and not there.
If I had to compare her to something, she was like one of those wild cats — rare, delicate, and carrying a quiet, dangerous aura that made you want to approach but also warned you not to.
I swallowed hard.
Why did the air feel heavier all of a sudden?
Ravel, of course, didn't miss a chance to poke at me.
"Even if she's adorable, Master, it's rude to stare so greedily. But I must admit — she seems like your type."
"...Ravel," I muttered under my breath, unsure about her intentions in her words.
"She gives off a feeling," Ravel continued, "of someone people would instinctively want to protect."
What was that supposed to mean?
Was she… complaining?
Being sarcastic?
I honestly couldn't tell anymore.
Before I could say anything back, the girl finally spoke.
"What colour do you want to become?"
I blinked.
It took me a full second to realize the sound came from her.
Her voice was soft, almost melodic, but it carried an odd weight — like a question that didn't belong to this time or place.
"Eh…?"
I stammered internally.
Of all the possible first lines, that was what she led with?
Who even asks that kind of question the first time you meet someone?
A "hi" would've been nice.
Maybe even a "nice weather."
But nope, straight to existential art-student territory.
Still… her gaze didn't waver.
I sighed inwardly.
'Alright, Zevion,' I told myself. 'Just roll with it. Don't bite your tongue. Don't make it weird.'
"I don't really have a favourite colour," I replied after a moment, my tone slow and measured.
"But if I had to pick what I want to become... then maybe infinity as my color."
Her eyes flickered, just a tiny bit.
"Why do you ask?"
I added.
Yay!
I am just happy I'd said a whole sentence to a new, beautiful girl without making a complete fool of myself.
Progress!
No — wait.
Maybe she's a depressed art student, I thought, and I changed my question.
"Okay, let me re-ask," I said.
"What colour do you want to be?"
"Eh?" she replied, like I'd asked her the square root of a cloud.
"What I mean is — what colour do you want to become? If you could pick one to… be yourself?"
I tried to make the question sound casual, like ordering coffee instead of rummaging around someone's inner life.
She blinked, paused, and for the first time, I noticed how she actually thought before she answered.
It wasn't flippant.
It was small and careful, like somebody riffling an old photograph.
"I've… never really thought about it," she said finally.
"What?"
I couldn't help it — the reaction slipped out.
You mean you ask me that, but you never question it yourself?
"Maybe white. For now."
White?
What does that supposed to mean?
The skull color white with death?
Blankness of white?
Or just a plain old, casually randomly picked white?
...
Is she depressed or not?
"Anyway," I said, trying to sound cool while mentally fist-pumping for actually talking to a girl without stuttering,
"I'm Zevion. Just Zevion. The one behind me is Ravel—"
I glanced over my shoulder.
"—whose full name I forget, but she will get annoyed if I say that out loud."
Ravel sighed softly, which meant she heard it.
Perfect.
The girl tilted her head slightly — an almost mechanical motion — and blinked once, as if processing the sound of my voice rather than the meaning.
"…Mashiro Shiina," she said finally, voice soft, flat, but oddly melodic.
"Nice to meet you."
Then, she bowed.
A neat, practiced, polite bow — like something out of an old etiquette book.
For a second, I just stared.
Mashiro Shiina… that name.
Mashiro… Mashiro… where have I heard—
Behind me, Ravel suddenly gasped.
Loudly.
"What?!"
She exclaimed, her voice echoing down the quiet gallery hallway.
"You mean that painter Mashiro?! The one whose painting we just saw in the exhibition?!"
I blinked.
Wait.
That'sthat, Mashiro?
I turned back toward the girl — no, toward her.
The same Mashiro Shiina who had painted that ocean — the one that had nearly drowned my soul a few hours ago — was standing right in front of me, bundled up in a white coat, looking like a porcelain doll that wandered out of a dream.
"…You painted that?"
I asked dumbly.
She nodded once, calm as still water.
"Yes."
That was it.
No pride.
No explanation.
No 'thank you.'
Just yes — as if painting something that could practically consume a person's heart was just another Tuesday for her.
Too much beauty, zero emotion.
Too much talent, zero reaction.
She was like some kind of divine contradiction.
And then it hit me.
…Wait.
So the most breathtakingly expressive, soul-crushing painting in that entire exhibition… was made by this completely expressionless, robotic girl?
Is this what they call a moe-gap in real life?
Because, damn — reality just hit anime levels of irony.
Wait… let me just check the facts for a moment.
She's extremely beautiful.
Near my age.
She's going to grow into a mature beauty for sure.
She talks less — always a plus.
She's incredibly talented.
She can easily make money.
And again, she talks less.
I know I said it twice, but it's just thatimportant.
Hmm…
Isn't this basically the perfect future wife template?
I mean, she's quiet, pretty, independent, and doesn't nag.
All that's missing is her agreeing to be mine.
The only minor flaw… she looks kind of lazy.
But that's manageable.
You can't have everything perfect.
Perfection needs that one lazy trait to balance it out.
Yeah.
Perfect logic.
Perfect wife material.
...Ugh.
Why does she look even more beautiful now that I've realized it?
As my thoughts spiraled dangerously close to delusion, a familiar voice tore through my mind like a thunderclap.
'Master! It's urgent — we need to leave now!'
Giratina's voice echoed sharply inside my head, her tone panicked — something I'd never heard before.
Before I could even process what was happening, my shadow stretched unnaturally wide across the ground.
And then, without warning, the floor vanished beneath us.
All three of us — me, Ravel, and Mashiro — were suddenly falling into endless darkness.
"Wha—What's going on?!" Ravel shouted, panic clear in her voice.
Which, honestly, was surprising.
This was her second time being dragged through the void; you'd think she'd be used to it by now.
So, unsightly.
"…."
Meanwhile, Mashiro — whose entire concept of excitement probably maxed out at 'painting a new line stroke' — remained perfectly calm.
Expressionless, poised, even graceful while literally falling through nothingness.
Talk about composure.
Talk about dignity
Or maybe she just didn't care.
Hard to tell with that face.
Still… Giratina's reaction wasn't something to ignore.
She never panicked, never needed to panic — and if even she made a move this abrupt, that meant something serious was happening.
And the fact that she didn't even bother to separate Mashiro — an ordinary civilian — meant precision wasn't her priority.
That's… not good.
The void finally spat us out like rejected baggage, and I stumbled forward, blinking.
The sky above us was a weird color — not night, not day, just this sickly, twisting hue.
The air felt heavy.
Still.
Then I noticed it — the buildings around us.
Completely frozen.
No sound.
No movement.
Even the ground beneath us felt… suspended.
Ravel looked around, eyes wide.
"This… isn't normal."
No kidding.
I turned slowly — and recognition hit me like a punch.
The shape of the school building.
The clock tower.
The fence line near the gym.
…This was Kuoh Academy.
Except frozen solid in time.
Which meant… whatever happened here… happened while I was away.
I exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing at the eerie silence.
"Looks like London's trip just ended with an express ticket home," I muttered.
And something told me — this wasn't a welcome-home party.
'Fuck! At least let me have my trip in peace!'
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