Chapter 13: We Need… Bras!

Part 1

The neighborhood market sank into that honey‑thick hour where the sky glowed a bruised amber, stretching shadows into long, jagged fingers across the pavement. High in the trees, cicadas sawed through the air with a lazy, mechanical insistence — a rhythmic hum that felt less like nature and more like a warning no one was listening to.

It should have been peaceful.

It wasn’t.

Sera walked with her arms crossed so tightly her shoulders trembled. Her heels clicked too sharply against the sidewalk — each step a tiny explosion of irritation. Erika strode beside her with the rigid posture of someone who had been personally wronged by the universe. Even her sunglasses seemed angrier than usual.

Olivia swung along on her crutches, humming a cheerful tune that did not match the emotional temperature of the group at all.

They had not found Soren.

They had not calmed down.

And the "Harem King" debacle still clung to them like the humid, stagnant air of a locker room.

Sera finally broke the silence.

“I still can’t believe you offered us as part of a harem,” she muttered, voice tight and brittle. “And then he rejected us. Rejected. Us.”

Erika nodded sharply. “It was a stupid proposition from the start. And the rejection on top of that was insulting.”

Olivia, busy navigating a crack in the sidewalk, missed the shift entirely. She hummed a final, triumphant note and looked up. “I said I was sorry about the harem thing! I thought it would be a power‑buff for the group!”

Sera inhaled sharply — ready to vent more — when they passed a small park.

There they passed a small park where a father pushed his daughter on a swing. The little girl squealed with laughter, her brother chasing her with a dripping ice cream cone. The mother wiped his cheek with a napkin, smiling softly.

Sera’s steps slowed.

Her expression softened — just for a moment. A tiny, fragile smile flickered across her lips, the kind she never let anyone see. Her fingers brushed her sleeve, gripping it lightly, as if steadying herself against a memory she didn’t want to revisit — a smaller hand in hers, a voice calling her name, a promise she once made and couldn’t keep.

Then she caught herself and straightened, the softness vanishing like a shadow under a streetlamp.

Erika noticed the shift. She didn’t look at the park — she looked at Sera. Her hand twitched toward Sera’s shoulder, then stopped, fingers curling back into a fist.

A breeze drifted past them — cooler than before, carrying the faint metallic tang of an approaching night.

The peace of the evening was skin‑deep.

And the skin was beginning to tear.

Part 2

The bruised purple of the sky began swallowing the last of the amber, streetlights flickering awake with a collective, buzzing hum. One by one, soft halos spilled across the sidewalk, stretching the girls’ shadows into long, distorted shapes.

The cicadas; however, didn't stop.

They shifted — a restless, high‑frequency whine that vibrated at the back of the throat.

Olivia broke the silence with a dramatic, full-body sigh that nearly knocked her off-balance.

“Okay, okay,” she groaned, swinging forward as her crutches thump‑clacked over uneven pavement. “Fine! If my ‘Harem King’ strategy was a tactical error — and I’m not saying it was, just that the environment was hostile — then what do you two actually want? What’s the Endgame for your hearts?”

Sera’s spine went rigid.

Erika’s pace slowed, her heels dragging for a micro-beat.

Neither answered.

Only the rhythmic creak of Olivia’s crutch pads filled the space.

“Well?” Olivia pressed, bangs puffing upward. “Give me the parameters of your Ideal Man.”

Sera’s gaze drifted back toward the park — now just a dark silhouette behind them. But the memory of the father catching the swinging girl lingered in the air like the scent of rain.

Her expression softened, that fragile, unarmored flicker returning to her eyes.

"I want someone... stable," she murmured.

Her voice was so low it was almost swallowed by the cicadas.

Olivia and Erika both halted.

Sera kept walking, her voice growing quieter, more vulnerable with each step. “Someone dependable. A man with a steady job. A house with a porch. Someone who… who wants children. A lot of them.”

Olivia blinked. “Wow… I didn’t expect that.”

“I agree,” Erika said, surprisingly gentle.

Sera swallowed. “Six. Maybe eight.”

Olivia’s crutches squeaked to a dead stop.

Erika slid her sunglasses down just enough to stare over the frames with clinical horror.

“Sera,” she said slowly, “that is not a partner. That is a small basketball team. Who is driving the van?”

Sera’s left eye twitched. She whipped around, heels grinding into the concrete. “It’s called planning for the future, Erika! It’s called building a foundation that doesn’t… doesn’t crumble when the wind blows!”

Olivia tilted her head. “It’s giving ‘terrified of becoming a lonely cat lady’ vibes.”

“I am not afraid of—” Sera snapped, then cut herself off.

Her jaw clenched.

Her shoulders tightened.

Her breath hitched — just once — before she forced it steady.

“Alright. Fine. If you want to judge me so much, you go next, Erika.”

Erika paused — a rare glitch in her composure. With no escape route, she sighed.

After a moment of pondering, she cleared her throat — a sharp, dry sound. “If we are discussing ideal criteria, then my parameters are purely physiological.”

Sera raised an eyebrow. “Oh, this should be good.”

Erika lifted her chin with academic precision. “As you know, I am an olfactory connoisseur. But I also appreciate physically fit individuals. Preferably someone with deltoids of an Olympic god. Biceps capable of crushing a coconut with minimal effort.”

Sera stared at her. “You’re calling me delusional?”

They locked into a glare-off.

Olivia’s bangs puffed upward — the telltale sign of a thought forming.

"Wait," she whispered. "Stable. Dependable. Loves kids. Muscles that can crush mountain giants..."

She pointed a thumb at her own chest.

“That’s literally me.”

Sera and Erika turned toward her with identical expressions of exhausted horror.

"Olivia," Sera said flatly.

“You’re kidding,” Erika added.

"I'm not!" Olivia placed a hand over her heart. "When I was a man—Oliver the Magnificent—I was all of those things! I was the shield! I was the provider! I was the one who could carry three toddlers at once while swinging a broadsword!"

Sera pinched the bridge of her nose. “Olivia, you can’t even fight your way out of a wet paper bag.”

“That’s because this body is fragile! The Goddess of Affliction sealed my power!”

Erika blinked. Once.

Twice.

A third time, slow and mechanical.

"You tripped over a gum wrapper ten minutes ago, Olivia. She didn't just seal your power; she removed your basic motor skills."

"That was a tactical misstep!" Olivia barked.

“You fell into a hedge,” Sera sighed.

“It was a stealth maneuver.”

“You cried,” Erika added.

“I WAS IN CHARACTER!”

Their voices echoed down the street — and then faded.

Part 3

Sera and Erika didn't move.

They just stood there in the cold glow of a streetlight, watching Olivia breathe heavily from the exertion of her own theatrical defense. They shared a long, silent look — the kind that said We are so tired, and we must prevent this girl from accidentally wandering into traffic.

Sera rubbed her forehead, smudging her foundation by a fraction. “Olivia… even if you were a knight‑king in a past life, you would be the least dependable person in this world.”

Erika let out a long, exhausted exhale — not irritated this time, but something closer to sadness. “We’re not saying you’re useless. We’re saying you’re… Olivia.”

Olivia blinked, the “Hero” light in her eyes flickering like a dying lantern. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”

“No,” Erika said, turning back to the sidewalk. “It is simply factual.”

The three of them fell into a heavy, dragging silence.

The breeze shifted.

Not the gentle coolness of evening — something sharper. Chemical. The sharp bite of expensive cigarette smoke laced with a heavy cologne that hit Erika’s senses like a physical blow.

Her chin lifted immediately.

Her nostrils flared.

Her head tilted with the mechanical precision of a radar dish locking onto a signal.

"Do you smell that?" she murmured.

Olivia’s humming died mid-note.

She didn't look at Erika; she looked past her. Toward the mouth of a narrow alley across the street.

A silhouette stood there — half‑swallowed by shadow, the ember of a cigarette glowing like a taunt.

Ken.

Olivia and Erika exchanged a look that lasted less than a second — a silent, panicked calculation.

Block her. Do not let her look.

Olivia lunged first, her crutches thumping against the sidewalk like a frantic drumroll. She swung her entire body in front of Sera, nearly tripping over her own bandaged foot.

“Sera! Tactical emergency! We need… bras! Immediately! Structural support!”

Erika didn’t hesitate. She grabbed Sera’s wrist, her grip firm enough to leave a mark through the fabric. “We should absolutely get matching lace sets. We are entering this boutique right now.”

Sera stumbled, her heels skidding on the tile entrance of Jezebel, a French lingerie shop that smelled of lavender and roses. “What are you—Erika, let go! You’re hurting my—”

Sera stopped.

Not because of them.

Because of the window.

A floor‑to‑ceiling sheet of polished glass reflected the night like a perfect, cruel mirror.

And in that reflection — framed by black silk and gold‑leaf lettering — stood the man in the alley.

Sera’s breath didn’t just catch — it hitched, a sharp, broken sound in the back of her throat. Her knees wobbled. Her fingers curled inward, trembling.

Her heart slammed against her ribs in a frantic, uneven rhythm.

“Ken…?”

The name escaped her like a ghost — trembling, thin, and full of a fear she couldn’t hide.