The Festival of Strangers

Today was a difficult day even though nothing had started yet, but without a doubt soon I would be in the middle of the type of situations I didn't want to be anywhere near, but at this point I couldn't do anything about it. Today was the day of the party that Mizuki had invited me to, right in the middle of my attack of....nerves, now this thing was falling on me and I had to pretend everything was fine while I felt like I was crumbling and shattered inside. My ears, I could feel how they had been flat against my head for the last four days now, my tail, which I had learned to keep still under the skirt for today, was twitching nervously against her legs.

"I'm fine," even though I wasn't.
"It's just... a party. How bad can it be? I've survived worse things."

"Yeah, but those things killed you," said Rory, appearing in the hallway with the halberd in hand.
"This party could kill you socially. That's worse. Social wounds don't heal with divine resurrection."

"Rory, please."

"I'm being realistic. It's one of my best qualities."

"What are the others?"

"Modesty and calm. Obviously."

The sound of a car stopping nearby approached, it honked twice, indicating that it had arrived where it was supposed to be.

It had to be Luna. I knew it because Rory, who had been stuck to the window like a watchful cat since six-thirty, announced her arrival with a shout that almost made me drop the cup of tea that Tamamo had prepared for me.

"She's here! The giant drill is here!"

"Rory, don't call her that."

"Why not? It's what she is. She has the most ridiculous hair I've seen in a thousand years. And I've seen things, César. Things that would make a hairdresser cry."

From the phone, Luna's voice—which Rory had put on speaker without me knowing—responded with dangerous calm:

"I can hear you, Rory."

"I know! That's why I said it!"

"Rory," I said, snatching the phone from her.
"Since when do you have her number?"

"Since she gave it to me. Three days ago. We talk every night."

"Every night?"

"Someone has to keep her informed about your panic attacks. You can't expect Tamamo and me to do everything."

I was left speechless. Rory had a phone that I had given her to keep herself entertained while she waited for me in the locker and now she spends arguing with more people than I do on the phone, she probably has more contacts than I do too.

"It's a good idea," said Tamamo from the table, where she was finishing the last details of my outfit. "Someone had to do it. And Rory is surprisingly good at keeping people informed."

"Surprisingly good" was a very diplomatic way of saying "insufferably nosy."

Luna arrived at the door with a punctuality that bordered on military. When I opened it, I found myself with a vision that left me breathless for a second.

She was wearing a dark blue evening dress that reached the floor, with a neckline that was elegant without being scandalous, and her blonde hair gathered in an complicated updo that made her blue eyes shine like sapphires under the hallway light. She looked like she had come out of a magazine. She looked like a princess. She looked... well, she looked like Luna.

"You're... pretty," I said, because it was the only thing I could think of.

"You too." Her eyes scanned my outfit—the gothic lolita dress she had given me, the thigh-high socks, the knee-high boots, the ribbon in my hair hiding the fox ears with them, my tail curled between my skirt with ribbon to hide it—and a satisfied smile drew on her lips. "It suits you. I'm glad I got the size right."

"I feel like I shouldn't be wearing this, I'm just making a fool of myself and committing a crime at the same time."
"It was Rory who forced me to put it on."

"Rory has good taste. For being a gremlin."

"I can hear you," Rory shouted from inside the apartment.
"And I have good taste. I'm a goddess. Good taste is a requirement."

Luna ignored the comment and held out her hand to me. "Ready?"

"No."

"Perfect. Let's go."

I grabbed my coat—a simple black jacket that Rory had insisted I wear over the dress—and turned to face my two goddesses.

"We'll be back late," I said. "Don't burn down the apartment."

"We make no promises," Rory said.

"No wild parties," I continued, ignoring her.

"Define 'wild,'" Tamamo said.

"No inviting strangers over."

"What about non-strangers?" Rory asked.

"Rory."

"Fine. No fun at all. We'll just sit here and be bored."

Mizuki's car was exactly what I expected: black, elegant, with leather seats that probably cost more than my entire apartment. The driver—an older man with an impeccable uniform, the same one as always—opened the door for us without saying a word.

"Good evening, Miss Hoshikawa," he said with a bow.

"Good evening, Tanaka. Thank you for waiting for us."

"It's my job, miss."

I slid into the back seat, feeling completely out of place. The gothic lolita dress that Mizuki had given me was pretty—really pretty—but it made me feel like I was wearing a costume. Which, technically, was exactly what I was doing. It was hard to feel normal when you were wearing a gothic lolita dress and had fox ears that wouldn't stop twitching every time the car went over a bump.

"Are you sure you want me to go?" I asked nervously.
"I'm not exactly at my best right now."

"You're nervous," Luna observed.

"What gave you that impression? The dark circles again?"

"Your ears are flat against your head. And your tail is wrapped around your waist like a seatbelt. Literally."

I looked down. She was right. My tail—that part of me that I still hadn't fully accepted as my own—had curled around my waist in a tight knot.

"It's a defense mechanism," I murmured.

"I know. But you don't have to defend yourself from me." Luna leaned slightly toward me, her voice lowering.
"How are you? Rory told me you had another panic attack last night."

"Rory has a very loose tongue."

"Rory worries about you. And so do I." She paused.
"Was it because of the gala? Because of having to go out? Because of being seen in public?"

"It was... because of everything. Because of nothing. Because of a nightmare." I didn't want to talk about it. Not now.

Luna didn't insist. Instead, she took something out of her purse—a small glass vial with a transparent liquid—and handed it to me.

"What is this?"

"Orange blossom water. My grandmother gave it to me when I was nervous. It doesn't do anything, compared to stronger medications. But drinking it calms me. I thought maybe it would calm you too."

I took it. The aroma was soft, floral, slightly citrusy. And yes, somehow, it calmed me.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The gala was being held in the main hall of the university—the same building I had been expelled from just a few weeks ago. The irony was not lost on me.

When we arrived, the place was full. Hundreds of people in gala dresses and dark suits, champagne glasses in their hands, conversations floating in the air like a cloud of polite noise. I recognized some professors, some students, some donors I had seen in the university brochures.

The first hour of the party was a lesson in patience.

Mizuki was intercepted almost immediately by a group of businessmen who wanted to talk about "investment opportunities" and "corporate synergies." I listened to them talk for twenty minutes about numbers and graphs and growth projections, and in all that time, no one asked how she was.

Mizuki moved among them with the naturalness of someone who has done this all her life. She smiled, greeted, shook hands. But she never moved away from me. Her arm brushed mine constantly, a silent reminder that I wasn't alone.

"César, let me introduce you to Takahashi-san, director of operations at Amanogawa." An older woman, with a gray dress that looked like a uniform.
"Takahashi-san, this is César, my... boyfriend."

The woman looked at me with curiosity, evaluating me as if I were a product at an auction.

"Nice to meet you. And what do you do, young man?"

"I'm a writer," I said.

"Oh, really? And what do you write?"

"Novels. Fantasy."

"Ah." Her expression changed slightly.
"How... interesting. And have you published anything?"

"I have a web novel. It's..."

"Takahashi-san," Mizuki intervened softly.
"César is also helping me with my next project. A fantasy novel."

The woman blinked. "A novel? Shouldn't you be working on your next economics book? Your father mentioned something about an analysis of emerging markets..."

"My father mentions many things." Mizuki's smile didn't falter.
"But I decide what I write."

"Of course, of course." The woman walked away, not before giving me another evaluating look.

Mizuki squeezed my hand, she seemed a little disappointed by the previous conversation.

"Come. I'm going to introduce you to some people. Just so you can see what they're like. You don't have to talk much. Just... observe."

The "some people" turned out to be an endless parade of businessmen, academics, politicians, and heirs. They all approached Mizuki with political smiles, with questions that had double meanings, with compliments that were evaluations of power.

"Miss Hoshikawa, what a pleasure to see you. How is your father? And your sisters? I heard that Aiko is taking on more responsibilities in the company..."

"Miss Hoshikawa, your last article on string theory was fascinating. Are you working on something new? Another economics book again, perhaps?"

"Miss Hoshikawa, I heard you're considering an internship abroad. Have you thought about Geneva? I have contacts at CERN..."

Mizuki responded to everything with a grace that I could only deeply admire from afar. She smiled. She nodded. She deflected personal questions with vague but polite answers. It didn't seem like a gathering of friends but rather job interviews.

But I soon noticed something a little sad. No one asked about her as such.

No one asked what she wanted. What interested her about the now? What did she dream of doing as such, not the company, not her family, almost no one interested in hearing that her next book would be a traditional novel, a story, not a thesis about numbers or how to evaluate business opportunities?

They asked about her father. About her sisters. About her academic achievements. About her connections.

She was right, no one saw Mizuki.

"You see?" Mizuki said quietly, after a man in an overly tight suit walked away after twenty minutes of monologue about "corporate synergies."
"This is what all these events are. Performances. Transactions."
"So boring...."

"Is it always like this?"

"Always. That's why I stopped coming alone."

"And that's why you brought me?"

A man approached. Middle-aged. Gray suit. Expression of contained importance.

"Miss Hoshikawa. What a pleasure."

"Mr. Smith. The pleasure is mine."

"I see you brought... company." The man looked at César with a quick and disdainful evaluation.

"Yes. This is César. My boyfriend."

The man blinked, looked me up and down, confused; I don't blame him; I would have acted the same if I were in the same situation and saw someone dressed in gothic lolita being introduced as a boyfriend.

"Your... boyfriend?" he asked doubtfully.

"Yes, particular without a doubt, but kind-hearted."
"Enough to be by my side."

"And he is...?" he said with a look of scrutiny, and clearly negative toward me.

"He's a writer. A very talented author."

"Oh, really?" The man didn't seem impressed, he was judging my worth, I could see it in his eyes.
"And what has he published?"

"He's working on his first novel. It's a very ambitious project. Epic fantasy."

"Fantasy." The man pronounced the word as if it were a disease.
"Interesting.....choice... And you, young man? What do you do apart from... writing? What's your job? Are you a manager of what sector, pardon?"

I was about to open my mouth to answer something vague and false, but Mizuki beat me to it.

"César is my creative partner. He's helping me develop my next project. A fantasy novel."

The man raised an eyebrow.

"A fantasy novel? Shouldn't you be focused on something more... productive? Your father mentioned you were working on a book about behavioral economics."

"My father has his priorities. I have mine."

"But Miss Hoshikawa, your family's reputation..."

"My family has many reputations. One of them is supporting the arts. Isn't that so?"
"The behavioral economics book is also being produced, but right now my priority is to produce something, a traditional and original novel."
"I like to challenge myself as an author with new genres, expanding horizons, it's called."
"An important lesson to seek new business opportunities and not be a victim of being locked in the past."

The man had no response to that. He excused himself and walked away.

Mizuki exhaled.

"I hate that kind of conversation."

"You handled it well."

"Years of practice." She looked at me.
"You see what I was saying? People are always obsessed with productivity. Even when they read. Even when they dream. Everything has to be useful. Everything has to generate value; for these people, if you're not making money at every moment, you're failing as a human being, leeches in suits. So much greed...."

"It's exhausting."

"Yes."

"How do you survive?"

"By having a boyfriend who never stops showing me something new from another world," Mizuki smiled.
"I already told you about the body swap?"

"That sounds impossible."

"It's the only thing that keeps me sane."

More people approached. A man in a gray suit who wanted to talk about "investment opportunities." A woman in a gold dress who wanted to know "how the Japanese market is." A young man with a too-bright smile who wanted to "get to know the Hoshikawa heiress better."

Luna handled them all with the same professional courtesy, the same smile that didn't reach her eyes. And in every conversation, I remained by her side, invisible, forgotten, better that way.

"Hey, do you think I move my fox ears too much?"
"And what if someone asks why I have fox ears?"

"I'll say it's a rare medical condition. Or that you're a furry. Depends on how much I've had to drink."

"Luna."

"It's a joke." She winked at me.
"Although the furry part could work."

"Please no...."

"César." She stopped, looking me directly in the eyes.
"You're at a party. With me. In a dress that looks incredible on you. People look at you and they don't see a failure. They see someone interesting. Someone who is here because I chose him." She squeezed my hand.
"Dance with me. Just a little."

The dance floor was in the center of the hall, illuminated by soft lights that changed color slowly. There were already some couples moving to the rhythm of slow music.

I didn't know how to dance. I had no coordination. I had no rhythm. But Mizuki guided me, one hand on my waist, the other holding mine, and somehow, against all odds, I didn't fall.

"You're doing well," she murmured.

"I'm stepping on your feet."

"That's part of the process."

"Of what process?"

"Of the process of learning to dance. Everyone steps on feet at first. It's a tradition."

"You're making up traditions."

"I'm a Hoshikawa. Making up traditions is what we do."

"Don't imitate Rory, it's enough with her goddess annoyances."

We moved like that for a while, in slow circles, without talking much. The music was soft, almost melancholic. The people around us seemed part of another world.

"Hey, Mizuki."

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For bringing me. Even though I still think it's a bad idea."

"You're welcome. And it's not a bad idea." She smiled.
"Look. You're here. You haven't had a panic attack. You're dancing. With a beautiful woman. At an elegant party. When was the last time you did something like this?"

"Never."

"Exactly. So it's progress."

"I suppose."

The music ended. We separated, and for a moment, we just looked at each other. Mizuki had slightly flushed cheeks, and it wasn't from the dancing.

Later, when the party was beginning to wind down, Mizuki asked me about my own graduation.

"How was it?" she asked.
"Your graduation party. Your school one."
"At least that one had to be similar to one like this, right?"

"My graduation party?"

"Yes. Was it fun? Did you dance? Did you get drunk? All those things graduates do."

"I didn't go."

"You didn't go?"

"I couldn't pay for the ticket." I said it without drama, as a fact. "The situation in my family at that time was... delicate. There was no money for things like that. So I didn't go."

"And you don't regret it?"

"A little. But I don't blame anyone. It was what it was." I paused. "At least my sister María will be able to enjoy hers when the time comes. That's something."

Mizuki looked at me for a long moment.

"You're a good person," she said finally.

"I don't believe that."

"You are. You worry about your sister and your family, after everything that happened. You worry about everyone, even when no one worries about you." She paused.
"That's what makes you different. That's what makes you... you."

"And yet I can't stop seeing myself as a great weight on others who have to put up with me."

"Well then you don't weigh as much as you think, I'm having fun with this, Rory, as small as she is, is doing great, and Tamamo, being such a....stately lady, is also capable of doing it without complaining."

That's when I saw him.

A middle-aged man, with gray hair, was standing next to a column, looking at César with an intensity that was almost uncomfortable.

"Don't look," I said calmly to Luna.
"But that man is looking at you. Or he's looking at me. I'm not sure."

Mizuki followed my gaze.

"That's Professor Ark."

"Professor Ark? The one with the Ark Engine?"

"The same."

"What is he doing here?"

"It's a university party. The donors want to meet him. He wants to keep them happy. It's a symbiotic relationship." Mizuki paused. "But why is he looking at you?"

"I don't know."

Professor Ark approached. His step was unsteady, as if he weren't used to social events. When he reached them, he looked at me with a curiosity that bordered on obsession.

Professor Ark was... exactly what I expected.

A tall, thin man, with messy gray hair and glasses that seemed to have been repaired with duct tape at some point. His suit was elegant but wrinkled, as if he had slept in it. His eyes, behind the lenses, had that peculiar intensity of someone who spends too much time thinking about things no one else understands.

"Miss Hoshikawa," he said, shaking Mizuki's hand with an energy that seemed out of place.
"It's a pleasure. Your father has told me a lot about you."

"The pleasure is mine, professor. I've read all your articles on the Ark Engine."

"Oh, really? And what did you think of them?"

"Fascinating. Especially the part about plasma containment at a quantum scale."

Professor Ark smiled, genuinely surprised. "Few people understand that section. Most skip directly to the results."

"I don't skip anything, professor."

The man nodded, satisfied. Then, his eyes drifted toward me.

"And you are...?" he said, asking with interest.

"César," I said. "I'm... Mizuki's companion."

Professor Ark studied me with an intensity that made me uncomfortable. His eyes scanned my face, my dress, my fox ears—which I had been keeping flat against my head all night—with an attention I didn't like.

"Have we met before?" he asked.

"I don't think so."

"Strange. Your face seems familiar to me." He frowned.
"Have you been near the campus lately?"
"You have a very distinctive look."

Mizuki flinched slightly, but intervened softly.

"César was a student here. Until recently. There was a... misunderstanding with the administration. We're working on resolving it."
"We've been around, talking to different people. Trying to fix the situation."

At first I didn't understand why Mizuki had rushed so much to answer for me on this topic, why she invented excuses so quickly, but at the same time I felt a subtle elbow in the ribs. Let me handle this. I understood the message immediately.

"A misunderstanding?"

"Yes. Something related to his grades. But it's already in the process of being solved." Mizuki smiled. "In fact, that's one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you, professor. César is a talented writer. I'm sure his perspective would be valuable for the Ark Engine project."

Professor Ark blinked, clearly puzzled by the change of topic.

"A writer?"

"Yes. Fantasy. Novels. He has an extraordinary imagination."

"Interesting." Professor Ark looked at me again, but this time with less suspicion and more curiosity. "And what do you think about space exploration, young man?"

"That it's necessary," I said, remembering Mizuki's words about being honest. "But also dangerous. We don't know what's out there. And sometimes, what we find isn't what we expected."

Professor Ark nodded slowly.

"An interesting perspective. Pessimistic, but interesting."

"I prefer to call it realistic."

"Realists are the ones who end up saving the world, young man. Optimists get the credit, but realists do the work." Professor Ark held out his hand to me. "I hope to see you again, César. And I hope your... misunderstanding gets resolved soon."

"Thank you, professor."

Professor Ark nodded and walked away, and Mizuki let out a sigh of relief that I didn't know she was holding.

"That was close," she murmured.

"What was that?"

"Professor Ark had seen you before. But not you." She looked at me.
"The alien. The one who had your body before."

I felt a chill.

"She was watching him."

"Exactly. She was stalking him to get close to him. And he noticed. But since he didn't fully recognize you, maybe he thought you were someone similar."

"And you convinced him that I was trying to fix my expulsion."

"Exactly." Mizuki smiled.
"Sometimes, the best way to solve a problem is to turn it into another problem."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"It does if we're talking about aliens and your gender problem, Miss Slime."

"I'll think about it later."

The gala ended at midnight.

Or rather, it ended for most people. By eleven-thirty, the crowd had thinned significantly. By midnight, only a few stragglers remained—staff cleaning up, a few guests lingering in corners, and us.

Mizuki looked around. "Why are we still here?"

I pointed to the buffet table. The staff were packing up the remaining food, but I noticed that they weren't throwing it away. They were putting it into containers. Trays of canapés that no one had touched. Plates of desserts that had been left over. Half-opened bottles of champagne. All of that was going to be discarded, unless...

"What are you doing?" Mizuki asked, seeing how I approached one of the waiters.

"Excuse me," I said. "What are you going to do with the leftover food?"

The waiter looked at me with surprise. "Normally we throw it away, sir. Why?"

"Can I take some? It's for... well, it's for my family."

The waiter blinked. Then, he looked toward his supervisor, who nodded indifferently.

"Sure, sir. Take whatever you want."

Mizuki watched me as I filled a bag—which I had brought specifically for this—with canapés, desserts, and a bottle of water.

"Do you always do this?"

"Whenever I can. At the end of parties there's always leftover food. Rich people don't take the leftovers because it embarrasses them. But I'm not embarrassed. I'm hungry."
"And two Goddesses to feed."
"......"
"Hehe, I managed to steal two whole bottles of champagne, Rory will be happy to celebrate with one of these."
"She'll surely say something like: Finally, I'm a goddess; celebrating with champagne is a requirement."

She laughed. A real, surprised laugh. "You're incredible."

"I'm practical."

"You're incredible and practical. That's a dangerous combination."

I turned. Dr. Ark was standing near the entrance, his coat over his arm, his eyes fixed on the scene.

"Doctor," Mizuki said, her voice careful. "I didn't realize you were still here."

"I was speaking with the event organizers. I was just leaving when I saw..." He gestured at the food containers.
"This."

I felt my face heat up. "I'm just—"

"It's admirable," Dr. Ark said. "Most people at events like this don't think about the waste. They don't think about the staff, or the leftovers, or the fact that perfectly good food gets thrown away because it's not 'appropriate' to take it home." He looked at Mizuki. "Your friend has a good heart. It reminds me of my people from the countryside. You know that despite my professor stuff, I still consider myself just a farmer, more like my family, with a liking for space science from time to time."
"I know the hardships and pride of a farmer to put food on this table."
"Surely you know how it is."

Mizuki blinked.

"Well, my family is also from the countryside too." I answered without thinking too much
"They don't have a farm with many animals but a coop with many chickens."
"Although they love more the rise of high-quality coffee more."

"OH! Really!?"
"Can I ask you from where?"

"Most of my family lives in Puriscal; the majority of the coffee is from there."
"But one of my uncles is from Dota; he has a sugar mill and a coffee processing plant."
"We have a little online shop for our coffee; it's called Café Niebla Azul, although I don't know if you've ever heard of that."

Mizuki looked almost scared of my conversation in a good way.

"Niebla Azul!? Oh, almost nothing, just the stuff I drink every day."
"I am very selective about coffee you know? Indie coffee is where the real coffee is found."
"Niebla Azul is a national product of what I am, bean proud of, I am sure half of the Ark engine has been designed alongside a cup of Niebla Azul at its side."
"It's really a pleasure to find someone from my favorite coffee here."

"It's not that much, I have just helped with picking beans and moving the baskets to the truck."

"Then, that means that you have a little of credit in the creation of my engine."

Mizuki was open-mouthed; she couldn't believe the conversation happening in front of her.

Dr. Ark nodded. "Good night, Miss Hoshikawa. Miss...Sir... Miss César." He walked out, leaving us standing in the emptying ballroom.

Mizuki's car was waiting for us at the hotel entrance, the engine already running, the chauffeur—Tanaka, his name was Tanaka—standing by the rear door with that expression of infinite patience that only men who have served wealthy families for decades possess.

Mizuki and I left the building in silence, each carrying a bag of food. Mine was bigger—I had been more aggressive in my collection—but hers wasn't far behind. The waiters, upon seeing me fill bags with such efficiency, had begun offering me things directly. "Would you like more canapés, sir? And these sandwiches? We're going to have a ton left over."

Mizuki had watched the whole thing with an expression that oscillated between amazement and amusement.

"You're a professional," she said as we walked toward the car.

"I'm a poor person. It's different."

"You're a poor professional. The best of both worlds."

Tanaka opened the door for us without saying a word. We slid into the leather seats—which creaked under our weight as if complaining about having to transport two people who smelled of party food and exhaustion—and the car set off.

The city passed by the window in bursts of light and shadow. The streets were almost empty at this hour—past midnight, too late for those who go out, too early for those who rise early—and the silence inside the car was dense, but not uncomfortable.

Mizuki was the first to speak.

"I still can't believe what happened," she said, slowly shaking her head.
"With Professor Ark."

"Which part?"

"All of it. The way he looked at you. The way he spoke to you. The way he..." She paused for a moment.
"The way he approved of you."

"Approved?"

"Yes. César, I've been trying to win Professor Ark over for months." Her voice had a tone of disbelief and a little resentment.
"Months. I've read all his articles. I've studied his theories. I've prepared intelligent questions. I've attended all his lectures. I've done everything my parents told me to do to impress him."

"And?"

"And nothing. Absolutely nothing." She turned in her seat to look at me directly. The light from the streetlamps passed across her face at intervals, illuminating her blue eyes with glints of gold.
"He's always been courteous. Always professional. But he's never shown the slightest interest in me. He's never looked at me as if I were anything more than an investor's daughter. He's never treated me like a person."

"That sounds frustrating."

"It is. It's like hitting a brick wall. A very polite brick wall that says 'nice to meet you' and then forgets you exist."

She paused. The car turned a corner. The city lights reflected on the window glass.

"And then you show up."

"Me?"

"You. With your gothic lolita dress. With your fox ears. With your bag for the food." She let out a short laugh.
"And in less than ten minutes, Professor Ark is smiling at you. He's talking to you about coffee. He's telling you that you have a 'good heart' and that you have 'credit' in the creation of his engine."

"I didn't do anything."

"Exactly. That's what drives me crazy." She leaned forward, her eyes shining with an intensity that made me feel exposed.

I didn't know what to say. So I said nothing.

The car kept moving through the empty streets. The city was a mosaic of lights and shadows, of lives that continued knowing nothing about us, of stories that crossed and separated without leaving a trace.

"Hey," I said finally.

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For taking me. For... everything."

"Everything?"

"For not giving up on me. For insisting that I go. For... I don't know. For being there."

Mizuki didn't respond immediately. When she did, her voice was softer than before.

"You don't have to thank me, César. I was selfish, actually."

"Selfish?"

"Yes. I took you because I didn't want to go alone. Because I wanted to have someone by my side who would see me." She paused.
"And also because I wanted to see you. I wanted to be with you. Even if it was in a place full of people I don't care about."

"That's not selfishness."

The car stopped in front of my building. The light in the entrance flickered—it always flickered, it was part of its charm—and the windows of my apartment were lit. Rory and Tamamo were still awake. Of course they were.

Tanaka turned off the engine and got out to open the door for me. Mizuki got out too, even though I told her it wasn't necessary.

"I'll walk you to the door," she said.

"You don't have to—"

"I know. I want to."

We walked together to the entrance. The bag of food weighed in my arms, but I didn't mind. It was a good weight. A weight that meant Rory and Tamamo would eat well that night.

"Well," Mizuki said, stopping in front of the door. "Here we are."

"Here we are."

"Are you okay? After everything. The party. The professor. All of it."

"I think so. I'm tired. But... good. Better than I expected."

"That's good." She paused. "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"I'm proud of you." Her blue eyes looked at me directly. "Not just for tonight. For everything. For surviving. For keeping going. For not giving up. For being... you."

I felt my face grow warm. Damn fox ears. Damn tail that was surely doing something stupid under my skirt.

"Thank you," I murmured.

"You don't have to thank me. I'm just telling the truth." She smiled. "Good night, César."

"Good night, Mizuki."

She leaned in—a quick gesture, almost imperceptible—and kissed my cheek. A soft, chaste kiss, but one that left me breathless.

Before I could react, she was already walking back to the car. Tanaka opened the door for her. The engine started. And the car drove away, leaving me alone at the entrance with a bag of food and my heart beating like a drum.

I climbed the stairs on autopilot.

The door opened before I could put the key in.

"FOOD!" shouted Rory, throwing herself at the bag like a small predator. "GIVE ME! GIVE ME! GIVE ME!"

"Rory, wait—"

But it was already too late. Rory had opened the bag and was inspecting its contents with the intensity of a general reviewing battle maps.

"See, that's the kind of greed they talk about in the Bible."

"Canapés. Cake. Sandwiches. Champagne." She lifted the bottle with both hands, as if it were a trophy. "CHAMPAGNE. César, you're my hero."

"Technically, I stole it."

Tamamo approached with more dignity, but her golden eyes shone with anticipation. "And Mizuki?"

"She went home. She had things to do tomorrow."

"Did she have fun?"

"I think so. I think... we both had fun."

Rory, who had found the champagne bottle, lifted it like a trophy. "LOOK AT THIS! CHAMPAGNE! REAL CHAMPAGNE!"

"Rory, don't shout."

"IT'S CHAMPAGNE! I CAN'T NOT SHOUT!" She began spinning in small circles, the bottle bigger than she was. "Finally! I'm a goddess! Celebrating with champagne is a requirement!"

Rory finally managed to open the champagne after dancing around the bottle—with a cry of triumph that probably woke the neighbors—and poured three glasses. Well, one glass and two little plates for her and Tamamo.

"A toast," she said, raising her little plate.
"To César. Who survived a party full of rich people. Who impressed the grumpiest professor in the country. And who brought free champagne."

"To César," Tamamo repeated, raising her glass.

"To me," I said, raising mine.
"And to you. For being here. For... everything."

The three of us drank. The champagne was sweet, with a hint of fruit I couldn't identify. Rory made a face.

"It's fine. But I prefer the elixir of panarecia of gods."

"That's not available around here or at the supermarket."

"Exactly, that's a problem."

"Rory, five minutes ago you were hugging the bottle as if it were your child."

"That was before tasting it. Now it's just a decorative accessory."

"A decorative accessory?"

"Yes. For the shelf. Next to my halberd."

"You're not going to put an empty champagne bottle on the shelf."

"Who said it would be empty?"

"Rory."

"It's a joke. Or maybe not. Depends on how much we drink tonight."

I don't know if it was the champagne. I don't know if it was the exhaustion. I don't know if it was the fact that, for the first time in days, I had spent a night away from my apartment and had survived.

But I slept. Deeply. Without dreams. Without fear for a moment.