Moonlight spilled like water over the silent cemetery, casting a silver outline on every gravestone.
Dream Weaver sat atop her own tombstone, her translucent legs swinging gently. Resting her chin in her hand, she watched as T.M. Opera O set up a bunch of random stuff.
After a good deal of fussing, Opera finally spread out a blanket, then pulled out a bottle labeled "Plum Wine" along with a pair of cups. She poured the drink and declared to the empty air:
"Only kings can discuss heroes over warmed wine—it's recorded right there in Romance of the Three Kingdoms!"
"Aren't you underage? Since when do you drink?"
Dream Weaver sighed from her perch, though she soon noticed the character for "wine" on the bottle was clearly scribbled in crooked black marker—added after the fact.
"You even altered the label? Are you a child?"
Of course, Opera couldn't hear her muttering. Sipping the plum juice, she put on a theatrical sigh.
"Narita Top Road, Admire Vega—strong rivals, worthy to be called heroes, no?"
Then, switching to a stern expression, she lowered her voice and answered herself:
"No, no! They have the talent for G1, yes, but heroes? Not even close!"
Opera gestured dramatically, imitating some TV show she'd seen.
"What about Meisho Doto? That stunning burst in the Takarazuka Kinen—does that make her a hero?"
"Meisho Doto is too soft—skilled, but lacks the will to win. No, no!"
"And what about Jungle Pocket? Won the Derby in a year, defeated the great T.M. Opera O—surely a hero?"
"Jungle Pocket already achieved her dream. After losing to Manhattan Cafe in the Tennō Shō Spring, her spirit faded—never champion material again. No, no!"
Opera carried on this self-dialogue, sometimes frowning in question, sometimes laughing boldly. The moonlight stretched her shadow long, as if this empty, silent night had become a stage for her alone.
"Then… who in this world can truly be called a hero?"
Her voice suddenly grew low. Raising her cup, she stared intently ahead with those deep purple eyes.
"Only you and I."
Plum juice splashed into the air, passing right through Dream Weaver's calves as it fell.
After speaking, Opera fell silent for a long time. Her eyes were downcast, and even her usually energetic horse ears drooped listlessly. Her bright orange-red hair, usually shining like the sun, now seemed tinged with loneliness under the moonlight.
Dream Weaver had never seen Opera like this.
The Opera she knew was radiant and self-assured—even under immense pressure, she'd smile with ease, as if truly unshakable, a conqueror through and through.
But the girl sitting before her now wasn't a conqueror.
She was just a girl.
After a long while, Opera spoke again, her voice oddly hoarse.
"In the Satsuki Sho… I finally understood the last thing you said to me."
"That no victory is ever given."
"Back then, I didn't get it. That's why I lost to you—to a stronger will."
"But…"
She bit her lower lip, and Dream Weaver could see her shoulders trembling slightly.
"I understand now… so why can't I run under the same sky as you anymore?"
Opera's voice broke, almost as if she were choking back tears, but with her head bowed low, Dream Weaver couldn't make out her expression.
"Run with me again…"
"It was just one race…"
"That shouldn't have been the end for us."
She leaned her head against the stone, as if resting it on Dream Weaver's chest.
"Only you were worthy to be the rival of a conqueror."
Opera would never know that Dream Weaver was kneeling right in front of her, translucent arms spread wide, as if offering an embrace.
Moonlight passed straight through Dream Weaver's body. On the ground, only Opera's shadow remained—yet for a moment, it almost looked like they were holding each other.
Right beside Opera's ear, Dream Weaver whispered:
"To be the rival of a conqueror…"
"'I'm honored.'"
Time passed unnoticed. Soothing night breezes rustled gently, and Opera, leaning lightly against Dream Weaver's form, gradually closed her eyes. That plum juice might as well have been real wine, lulling her to sleep.
Dream Weaver noticed the slight upturn of her lips, as if she were having a sweet dream.
Opera may have been sleeping peacefully, but Dream Weaver was left with a problem.
It was still the middle of the night—if Opera stayed out in the wind all night, she'd catch a cold. But Dream Weaver couldn't interact with the physical world. She couldn't even tuck the blanket over her.
Again and again, she tried to touch the blanket, as if willing some miracle to happen.
And somehow, it seemed her wish was granted. A sudden gust of wind lifted the blanket and sent it drifting down, landing perfectly over Opera's sleeping form.
Relieved, Dream Weaver settled beside her, gazing at Opera's sleeping face and murmuring:
"Lucky girl."
Still, she was grateful Opera had come. Watching her sleep was far more interesting than counting leaves—especially since the girl occasionally muttered something delightfully chuuni in her dreams.
When the first rays of morning broke through the mist, glinting softly on Opera's eyelashes, she blinked awake.
Instinctively, she rubbed her eyes—and her fingers brushed against something soft. The blanket draped over her still carried the chill of night dew, yet held a strange, comforting warmth in its folds.
Holding the blanket, Opera glanced back over her shoulder.
"Was it you who covered me?"
Just then, a faint breeze stirred, as if in answer.
"I see—"
"Next time, I'll bring real plum wine!"
As if receiving a clear reply, she broke into a smile. Wrapping the rest of her things in the blanket, Opera hoisted the bundle and strode off toward the rising sun.
"O, my rival! Don't go getting lonely without me! Ahahahaha!"
Laughing loudly, she waved behind her without turning back.
Watching the birds startled from the bushes by Opera's booming laughter, Dream Weaver shook her head and waved back.
"I didn't say a thing."
"Just who do you think you're talking to, anyway?"
She kept her eyes on Opera until she was out of sight, then returned to her tombstone.
She felt she was starting to understand how the system worked. If her guess was right, two more visitors should come her way.
All she had to do now was count leaves and wait quietly.
Settling back into her usual spot, Dream Weaver looked up and murmured to herself:
"Now, where was I…?"
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T/N: Its a bad day for rain...
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T/N: While I am an inexperienced Translator, I have a Patreon! While it may seem empty as of now, webnovel will get 3 Chapters Every Day, and advanced chapters will be uploaded on Patreon.
It may not seem worth it now, but maybe in the future. Who knows!
[email protected]/AspenTL
If you guys wanna check it out.