"No!" Ren's voice, sharp and immediate, cut through Yae Miko's rising, furious assumptions. "It wasn't the Shogun! She didn't attack me!"
Miko froze, her train of thought screeching to a halt. The alarm in her violet eyes was instantly replaced by a deep, profound confusion. "Not the Shogun? Then who…?"
"Where's Ganyu?" Ren asked, his own mind still racing, the adrenaline from the encounter with Scaramouche leaving a shaky, nervous tremor in his hands. "I need to talk to both of you."
Miko, her curiosity now a raging inferno, led him with a swift, purposeful stride to a secluded, private chamber within the shrine's main building. A message was dispatched, and within minutes, a frantic, worried Ganyu arrived, her face pale with an anxiety that had become her new, constant companion.
There, in the safe, serene quiet of the shrine, Ren recounted everything. He told them of the boring, deceitful meeting in the Tenshukaku, of his strange, philosophical "debate" with the Shogun puppet after Signora had left. He described her cold, divine logic, her dismissal of mortal trifles, and her final, unyielding command for him to continue his mission.
Then, he told them of the encounter on the path, of the Balladeer's arrogant, venomous rage, and of his own, simple, and apparently very effective, verbal sting.
As he spoke, the atmosphere in the room went through a series of dramatic, violent shifts.
Ganyu's face, upon hearing of his solitary confrontation with Scaramouche, went from worried to horrified, to a shade of pale, terrified white that was almost translucent. The very thought of him being cornered, alone, by that notoriously unstable and violent Harbinger… it was a scenario so terrifying it made her very soul feel cold.
When he finished, she didn't even speak. She simply, silently, and with a terrifying, absolute finality, stood up, walked over to him, and pulled him into a hug so tight, so all-encompassing, that it felt less like an embrace and more like a declaration of permanent, physical annexation.
"That's it," she whispered, her voice a raw, trembling, and utterly non-negotiable command against the top of his head. "It's over. No more. You are forbidden to leave my sight. Ever. Again. Your survival instincts," she added, her voice a mixture of a sob and a scolding, "have clearly been affected heavily for some unknown reasons."
Ren, his face squished against her shoulder, could only give a small, muffled sigh of acceptance. He knew he had lost this argument before it had even begun.
Yae Miko, however, had a very different reaction. While Ganyu's fear was a cold, protective shell, Miko's was a hot, predatory, and very, very, angry fire.
She had remained completely silent throughout his story, her usual playful smile replaced by a look of cold, still, and utterly terrifying fury. The fact that the boy had now not only debated Eternity with both Ei and the puppet was a fascinating, world-altering development for another time. Her immediate, all-consuming focus was on the Harbinger.
"The Balladeer," she said, her voice a low, silken, and incredibly dangerous purr. "That arrogant, preening, little puppet. To dare… to lay a hand on a guest of my shrine. On a friend of mine."
She stood up, a slow, graceful movement that was full of a coiled, murderous intent. The air in the room began to crackle with a faint, pink, and very lethal-looking Electro energy. "I have half a mind," she mused, her violet eyes gleaming with a foxy, vengeful light, "to go down there right now and personally, creatively, and very painfully, disassemble that jumped-up little doll myself. Perhaps I'll even ask our dear Shogun to join me. I'm sure she would find a practical demonstration of the threats to her nation to be most… educational."
"No!" Ren said, his voice sharp, pulling away from Ganyu's hug. "Miko, you can't!"
She turned to him, her furious expression softening slightly into one of confused inquiry.
"You can't," he insisted, his own mind, even in the aftermath of his terror, still working on a strategic level. "The Balladeer is deeply involved in the civil war. Sayu's reports prove it. If you, the Guuji of the Grand Narakami Shrine, and especially the Raiden Shogun herself, were to get personally involved in a conflict with him now… it would escalate everything. It would be seen as a direct, divine intervention in the war. The Fatui would use it as an excuse. It would cause problems that are far, far bigger than one arrogant Harbinger."
He then looked at her, his expression turning a little sad, his voice full of the harsh, dismissive truth he had just learned. "Besides," he said quietly, "you heard what happened in the throne room. Neither Ei, nor the puppet, would care enough. To them, a mortal like me being threatened… it's just a 'trifle'. It's of no consequence to Eternity."
Miko's fury faltered, her vengeful fire doused by the cold, sad logic of his words. He was right. To act now would be to fall into a larger political trap. She relented, letting out a long, frustrated sigh, the pink, crackling energy around her slowly dissipating.
But as she sat back down, a small, cunning, and very foxy smile returned to her lips. He might be right about the political situation. But on one point, she was almost certain he was wrong. She had seen the photograph. She had heard the story of the picnic. And she had heard of the puppet's bizarre, unprecedented hesitation at the ceremony.
Oh, little one, she thought, her gaze on the boy now being thoroughly and permanently cuddled by his sister. You have no idea. The fact that he threatened you… I think both Ei and her puppet would consider that a very, very, consequential matter indeed.