Nuri

"That wraps our fancy mansion tour!" Amila ahead in the crowd said.

Huh? That's it? I raised a brow before looking through the hallway windows. A courtyard below we hadn't even explored lay dormant while butlers watered gardens. Hasn't been an hour, but it feels like we've barely seen anythi—oof!

Tsukino bumped into my shoulder when I was distracted. She was slouching, both hands in her trench coat, and her face pouting.

"How is Trixie?" she grumbled.

"Oh. Let me check." I flipped open my coat and peered down a deep pocket. Inside lurked the cooing head of sleeping Trixie. "Still snoozing."

"Geez. She fell asleep almost right after we got in here," Tsukino said. She walked a little ahead while I followed behind. "Still . . . She should know sleeping with me is fine too."

"Weren't your boobs too big for that?"

All Tsukino gave was a stink eye and grunt in response.

"What?" I said. "Don't shoot the messenger, haha."

Another turn in the hall led everyone back to the foyer and down a grand staircase. Glimmering chandeliers loomed over each step that the curious journalists took. We were tourists among luxury most of us didn't see often.

Hard believing this is actually an orphanage. Then on cue, five kids wearing school uniforms ran past me. One of the young girls waved at me before she accidentally bumped into Amila standing ahead.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, miss!" The girl bowed her head.

But Amila just smiled, tucking away a lock of pink hair behind her ear. "Now, now. You know I'd never get upset over this. Being tardy for class though—that'll mean extra homework, hehe."

"E-Ehhh . . . Homework is boring."

"Don't worry. I'll ask the instructors if they can slot in some fun free time if things get too trite."

"Really? Thank you, miss!"

After receiving a cute head pat, the girl and her friends all scampered away down another hall. Kids from all over the orphanage were gathering for what we learned earlier was in-house tutoring. No expense spared itself for keeping children nurtured in their new home.

Several journalists still on the staircase had stopped to snap photos of the wholesome encounter. After all, we were all here to help promote this place's grand opening.

"Alrighty then." Amila addressed the crowd. "Unfortunately, I must travel outside town, so I don't have time for more than one of our usual interviews."

Usual interviews? But before I finished the thought, every journalist around me raised their hand. Even Tsukino had a look of anticipation hoping she'd be called on.

Slowly, I raised my own hand high, doubting anyone would pick me.

"Hmmm . . ." Amila's finger began pointing towards all of us, randomizing the selection as she hummed. She strutted a bit before her finger at last fell on me. "You—the new face I haven't seen until today."

"M-Me?"

"Yes. You're from Borsalino, right?"

My nod confirmed her rhetorical question; but I wasn't sure how she'd react. Most other people had acted dubious at best when they learned who I worked for.

Instead, Amila waltzed back up the grand staircase, almost seductively. Then with a playful finger, she beckoned me to follow her.

Eh? Each journalist had their eyes trained on me, staring in disbelief. They all opened a path for me while Tsukino whispered in my ear.

"Go," she said. "This would be an exclusive interview. Chief would be thrilled."

"What should I even ask?"

"Figure it out. You have to go by yourself though since it's proper decorum for interviews to be one-on-one."

There were hints of annoyance in her tone, like she didn't actually want me going. But given the chance, neither of us could pass on this interview with one of Sin Nombre's four Heroes.

"Hey, hey." Amila atop the stairs waved. "Don't keep a girl waiting."

Right . . . I gulped before trekking up the grand staircase. Each step, I felt eyes bearing into my back—glares of journalists who wished they could be me. None of them knew I'd rather switch spots with any of them.

Amila was waiting for me, grinning cutely. I even had trouble making eye contact.

"Don't be shy," she said. "We're gonna get to know each other."

"I-It's a pleasure to meet you." I bowed my head. "My name is Jin Aizawa. I represent the Borsalino publishing company based in Cielo Verde."

"May I see your badge?"

"Of course." I reached into my trench coat and procured her the ID. She took a few seconds before handing it back to me.

"Aizawa," Amila mumbled under her breath. "I like that name. May I ask what happened with Morikawa though?"

"Morikawa?"

"Yes. Miss Tsukino's partner before you."

"Uhhhh . . ." I glanced towards the bottom of the staircase where Tsukino was. She'd been overhearing everything, watching us with annoyed eyes.

"Oh?" Amila peered below. "Goodness. How about we go somewhere more private?"

"Like where?"

"Just be a good boy and follow me, hehe."

With no other choice, I paced behind her. We traveled down a posh hallway decorated with paintings and chandeliers. Tall windows let me glimpse at bright sunlight outside that marked the beginning of the afternoon.

These orphans have nice accommodations, I thought. Almost hard to believe.

Amila opened a set of doors and invited me inside. "Come along."

Our footsteps echoed as we both stepped into an elegant dining room. A long, white table glittered with arrays of plates and silverware while another chandelier hung above. The ceiling—depicting murals of angels strumming harps—was almost like this world's Sistine Chapel.

I took time to stroll and admire the furnishings. "I don't suppose the orphans eat in here?"

"Sometimes," Amila said. She started pulling out chairs for our one-on-one interview. "It'd be a reward for them, but it's never something forbidden."

"Neat."

After placing two chairs in front of each other, Amila and I sat down. She had an eager, infectious smile that annoyed yet interested me.

"Would you like something to eat? Drink?"

"Is there any lemonade? Or calamari?"

"That's an odd selection," she giggled. "We don't have calamari, but I can ask the butlers to prepare lemonade."

"Please do." I haven't drank lemon deliciousness in days.

Amila outstretched her palm. In a flash of light, a scepter spawned—a black rod tipped with triple heart-shaped rubies. Then she spoke into those glowing gems. "Ehem. Can someone bring our guest in the main dining room some lemonade?"

"At once, milady," an old man's voice replied before the rubies ceased glowing.

"While we wait," she said, "tell me about yourself, Aizawa. Or should I talk about myself first?"

I was still a little flustered. "Wh-Whichever you'd prefer, Miss Amila."

"Oh, my real name isn't Amila."

"Huh? It's not?"

"Nope! Technically, the church bars Heroes from using their real names, so I had to conjure an original name to use here in Sin Nombre."

The detail was surprising, but not unheard of. Even Cowboy yesterday said he couldn't give his name due to being employed by the church. That policy would likely be much more strict towards Heroes themselves.

Then I blurted out a question without thinking. "What's your real name?"

Amila's face looked surprised, almost taken aback, by my sudden bluntness. But she ended up laughing. "My name? That's something you'd earn if we ever become lovers."

"Oh. I apologize for speaking out of turn."

"Don't be so formal; we're both from Japan after all. Just relax."

Relax . . . With her sitting straight ahead, my eyes couldn't help falling on her enormous chest that even layers of nun clothes couldn't hide. And as if to tempt me, her shoulders swayed to lower the white fur shawl and expose her breasts more.

"Say," she grinned, "I'm still curious about what happened with Morikawa."

"I don't know anything about that."

"Hmm, unfortunate. I'd heard he retired, but rumors did float around . . ."

I was tempted to ask for details, but Tsukino's face appeared in my mind, along with those words she spoke the day we met:

'I'm—just so tired,' she had said with distant eyes. Then or now, it wasn't my business to learn about things she didn't feel comfortable sharing (no matter how curious I was or ever would be.)

And then a rustling in my trench coat hinted our pixie might be overhearing us.

"Sorry," I told Amila. "I'm not really interested in learning about Morikawa right now."

"Shame," she said, disappointed. "Well I'll just say—at least with me, he was quite promiscuous, hehe."

"Can't blame him," I said to try ending the topic. I reached in my coat and pulled out a notepad. "Let's start this interview in earnest now."

The next five minutes breezed by as I wrote down each of Amila's responses: to questions about the Heroes, her new orphanage, and Sin Nombre in general. It wasn't much I didn't already know, but I kept an air of professionalism going.

"You're pretty good at this," she swooned. "Maybe Tsukino found a natural talent."

"I was a journalist before reincarnating here. This much is easy."

"Heh. Guess I better watch out for you in the future then . . ."

When the interview finished, I tucked my notepad away and motioned to stand. But sounds of a door creaking open rang behind me.

"Hmm?" I glanced over my shoulder. "Is that lemonade finally her—"

Goosebumps. The skin on my neck prickled as I stared towards a blonde woman in hulking, golden armor entering the room. Each step she took shook not the floor, but me—a primal sense of danger just like earlier telling me to run.

W-Wait! Is that another Hero? But Tsukino said I'd only feel this way when meeting the first one. So does that mean, this Hero is even stronger?

"Nuri," Amila said, irritated. "What are you doing here?"

The girl in golden armor stepped closer before warmly smiling, holding a glass of lemonade. "Butlers were on their way here, when I bumped into 'em and offered coming here instead."

"You were supposed to help out with those journalists earlier. Instead, I made up an excuse for why you were missing."

"Sorry, sorry, haha. I was playing tag with kids."

"You're their bad influence. Stay away from them."

For just a moment, Nuri's emerald eyes went serious as both girls glared at each other. Neither said a word until I slowly raised my hand.

"Can I have my lemonade now?"

"What?" Nuri looked confused before she burst into laughter. "Haha! Men wanting lemonade is lame! And you're old!"

"I-I'm only twenty-five . . ."

"Twenty-five? Well at least you're younger than Amil—"

Amila beamed a death stare. Eyes full of tempered rage made even the bubbly Nuri step back.

"W-Well," Nuri said, glancing at me, "it's nice to meet you, big bro! What's your name?"

"Aizawa."

"Aizawa! I'm Nuri! One of Sin Nombre's four Heroes! Let's get along since we'll be seeing each other lots!"

"How do you figure?"

"'Cuzz you're Borsalino, right? They always have a rep for tailing the Heroes; maybe a bit too much, haha."

It's basically our job description . . . But I couldn't be mad at her even with that immature personality. With my fear now subsided, she exuded a warmth I felt myself drawn to.

"Here," she smiled. "Your lemonade."

"Thanks." As I reached towards her, I noticed the armor girl's delicateness: a face, small, with soft eyes and lips almost like a child's. Even how she handed the drink to me was gentle—this woman whose entire hands were encased in gold gauntlets, whose Hero strength could shatter steel, could still finesse a glass cup with ease.

I took a sip. "Mm. Not bad."

"Hurry and finish," Amila in the other chair grumbled. "I have to oversee business in Dos Noches, and Nuri will go check on our friend in Besos Rojos."

"That won't take me long," Nuri said, "but you mentioned you'd stay in Dos Noches for a while?"

"That's why I'm leaving now." She stood to her feet, and I did too out of respect. "Also, Aizawa, please don't publicize the fact you met Nuri here. Those other journalists might complain that you got unfair access."

"Fine." I finished off my lemonade before setting it on the table. "Not interested in starting drama anyway."

"That's funny," Nuri giggled. "Maybe Borsalino is turning a new leaf?"

"If they are," Amila said, "that'd make our job easier."

Both girls started chuckling, their differences set aside for distaste in my company's history. But as I looked at them laughing, it dawned on me that I was looking at two of this world's main characters—heroes who held an important role I could never fulfill. Even when I'd tried drawing manga, there were always side characters I wished could be developed more.

But for now, I was more than content just being in the background.

. . .

As we stepped out from the dining room and walked through the halls, something clicked in my head.

"Hmmm," I told Nuri beside me. "Now that I think about it, I tell people I'm twenty-five, but how true is that?"

"What do you mean?" she said, armor clanking with each step.

"Like, since I'm reincarnated, doesn't that technically reset my age?"

Her green eyes looked both confused and amused, until she just smiled. "The longer you stay in this world, the more you'll question why things are the way they are—and if keeping secrets is worth it."

As if overhearing us, Amila pacing ahead turned for a side glance. But she didn't say a word.

Well that was a layered answer. I didn't know what to say, except . . . "My partner would get annoyed if her subordinate was zero years old anyway."

"Tsukino, right?" Nuri said. "She’s gonna be a handful, haha."

"You can say that again."

"Come on, let’s go see her!" And she bolted ahead laughing.

Amila chased after. "Hey! Wait! You're supposed to stay hidden! No journalists! No journalists!"

Their voices disappeared around the corner. But assuming Nuri was just joking, there wasn't much for me to worry about.

Instead, I just took one moment to peer out a window.

Gardens below were still being watered by butlers. Though now there were school kids running through, playing tag around flower beds. The nostalgic sight made me wanna see if a certain pixie would enjoy it.

I opened my trench coat and let Trixie fly out.

"Heya!" she said. "I'm getting hungry! Are there any grapes?"

"Sorry. I should have asked for some earlier. But maybe we'll go eat somewhere."

"Yay! I think there's yummy places nearby!"

"We'll check them out before crashing that wedding later. Come on."

Trixie perched on my shoulder again, giggling. It was an otherwise quiet walk down the hallway, where we both knew we'd have to somehow convince an angry Tsukino about feeding us; right before attending a wedding that would likely set the course for the rest of Oro Fantasma.