I stood in the street, gripping my sword, breathing heavily as if I'd just scaled an entire mountain and reached its peak.
Across from me stood a girl, her own blade in hand—different from mine. What stood out most was the pendant around her neck, emblazoned with a large, two-dimensional symbol: a hand cradling a flower from a top-down view.
Unlike me, she wasn't gasping for air. She watched me with icy disinterest, like a cat eyeing a mouse—not hungry enough to pounce, but ready to kill if it dared touch her. That was the arrogance in her stance, the disdain in her gaze.
It pissed me off. I couldn't take it anymore. Gripping my sword with both hands, I roared:
"Shinkai!"
Energy surged through my body. My blade transformed, its color shifting as thick smoke billowed from it—from my mouth, from my very pores. The girl's expression changed instantly. Her posture stiffened, her grip on her sword tightening as she coldly uttered:
"Shinkai."
Her black hair turned white. Her sword gleamed like fresh snow, white vapor rising from it. She no longer looked at me like I was prey. Now, her gaze was that of a white cat sizing up a black one—ready to fight, to dominate.
And for my pride? That was enough.
---
12 Hours Earlier.
Sensei had booked me a first-class train ticket. In my rush, I'd boarded the wrong cabin and had to weave through compartments to reach my seat.
On the way, I ran into a female attendant. The resemblance to my sister was uncanny—so much so that I froze, staring.
"Need any help?" she asked with a light laugh.
"Uh, yeah. Trying to find my seat." I showed her the ticket.
"First class? Follow me."
She led me to a spacious window seat—exactly how I liked it.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it. Looks like you've got first class all to yourself today."
After she left, I immediately pulled out my phone, staring at my sister's photo on the lock screen. The resemblance was eerie—even her voice. What a strange coincidence.
---
The train lurched forward. I stared out the window, trying not to dwell on Sensei's words. If I did, I'd lose my mind. Seven hours to process it, he said. Sometimes I don't know if he's serious or making fun of me, or if he's smart or stupid, or acting stupid.
I pulled out my tablet, lowered the tray table, and opened my drawing app. Headphones in, audiobook on, I let my pen glide across the screen. Art was my escape.
---
At some point, a hand touched my shoulder. I jerked up—it was the same attendant, now pushing a cart. I yanked out an earbud.
"Sorry—"
"You're really good," she said, eyeing my sketch. That smile—still so much like my sister's.
"Thanks."
"What would you like to drink? Soda, juice, tea, coffee, hot chocolate?"
"Can't I get wine? First-class perks and all."
"How old are you?" I swear she gave me my sister's side look.
"Kidding. Just tea, please."
She laughed, pouring as she studied my drawing. "This has deep meaning, doesn't it?"
I glanced back at the sketch. It was my usual manga-inspired style—me in my spirit form, sword at my hip, standing beside a girl in hers. In front of us, a perfectly rectangular hole gaped in a wall, as if sliced by a blade. In the sketch I was pointing at it, as if telling the girl "ladies first".
I hadn't planned it. It was just a free draw, a way to zone out. Yet the attendant was dissecting it like some profound metaphor.
"I'll take a guess, and you tell me if I'm right," she said.
"Sure." I kept staring—like I was staring at her id, trying to confirm if I can sell her cigarettes, and oddly enough, I really felt that I was checking if she's really not my sister.
"Okay." She leaned in. "The guy has a sword. That hole in the wall? He cut it open. He's offering the girl a new path—a chance to step through first. But she's hesitant, wants him to go first. To prove himself. Inside, they'll face struggles together. Am I close?"
I blinked. How had she spun meaning out of something I'd doodled mindlessly?
"Yeah," I chuckled. "Guess that's it."
"Your expressions are vivid—that's what sells it. I'm good at reading these things. I have to go now. See you later, Duty calls."
She wheeled her cart away. I stared after her, then back at the sketch. Did I really just draw something that deep without thinking?
Shaking my head, I put my headphones back on and started a new sketch. No thoughts, just lines.
Yet, again and again, I found myself drawing the same girl from the first sketch. In different scenes, different poses. Maybe I did need a girlfriend as Sensei said.
---
At lunch, the attendant returned. "You post these on Echo, right? I will follow you."
"I don't actually post anywhere."
"What? You have to. You'd blow up. Let me help—I've got followers who'd love your style. Ever thought of making manga? Your expressions are next-level. For your age? Prodigy material."
"Uh… I'm practicing. Planning to after high school."
She made me post the sketch. Then she shared it, tagging me, flooding my notifications with likes and follows.
I scrolled through her profile while eating—she was a cosplayer. Not the thirsty kind, though. Just… genuinely passionate. It was refreshing.
We talked through lunch. I couldn't stop staring, smiling when she did, laughing when she laughed. She reminded me so much of my sister.
When she left, I liked all her photos. Notifications kept pouring in. My skin prickled. I'd wanted to share my art but never had the guts. Now, one chance encounter changed everything.
Was this fate? I don't know, I don't even believe in such things, I am with those "I don't know guys", but I want to know though. I have a lot of questions about this questionable world.
—
I drew her as thanks—meticulously, in a style far more polished than my usual doodles. Twenty minutes later, she came running back, clutching her phone.
"You drew this? This fast?"
I didn't tell her how easy it was, because I drew my sister's face so much so I don't forget her, she looks just like her as I said many times by now.
She made me take a selfie with her, the tablet between us. (I made her slap a frog sticker over my face before posting.)
Then she kissed my cheek (a girl thank you kiss) and dashed off, called back to work.
I sat there, my hand on my cheek, stunned. My sister used to do that—sneak kisses, then bolt laughing.
Maybe I was overthinking it. I jammed my headphones back in.
---
30 Minutes to Arrival.
Time to call the number Sensei gave me.
I pulled out my phone, thumb hovering. How pathetic—I could hunt Nightmares and Mumas, but calling a stranger had me sweating?
This wasn't social anxiety. I'd just talked to the attendant fine. Was it because she reminded me of my sister?
Stop overcomplicating. Just call.
I pressed it.
"Good morning," I said—then slapped the window. Idiot. It was evening.
"Hey, Reiji, right?
"Yeah'
"How's it going?"
"Good. You?"
"Almost here?"
"Yeah. Thirty minutes out."
"Cool. I'll meet you there."
"Thanks, Captain." Why am I like this? Captain? Really?
Cringing, I checked Echo. The post had blown up—thanks to the attendant. I skimmed the notifications but chickened out on reading comments.
I needed to capitalize on this. Maybe this was my shot. I'd space out posts, curate carefully. No NSFW—I wanted my art appreciated for art, not thirst. I have a chance.
The last half-hour passed in a blur of selecting sketches to post. When the train stopped, I thanked the attendant once again.
"There's an anime fest in Shira soon," she said. "I'll text you. We should go together."
"Sure. I'll… wait for that."
This was not a date, she was way older, but I wasn't even attracted. Just… comfortable. Was it the sister vibes?
---
Arrival.
I stepped off the train, scanning the platform. No idea what the "captain" looked like. Call again? Wait?
Then I saw him—a guy descending the stairs, waving. Black hair, sharp jawline, fitted white shirt that didn't hide his build. He looked like a drama actor. Girls in the train station were staring.
He reached me, hand extended. "Welcome to Shira city, Reiji. You're taller than I thought."
"You're the captain?"
"Surprised?"
"N-no, just—"
He laughed. "My Car's outside. Let me grab your bag."
"It's fine, I've got—"
He snatched it anyway. "How long was the trip?"
"Seven hours."
"Should've flown to Arashima first. Would've been two hours. Anyway—how's Sensei? Been a while. Did get over his girlfriend's death? Or still single?"
"His what? He had a girlfriend? She died?"
"You didn't know? He trained her early in his career—before his promotion. She got cancer. Died young. He nearly drank himself to oblivion after. Got demoted back to the academy. Tragic. He could've been running the capital by now."
I stopped dead.
Sensei and my sister… were together?
Suddenly, everything made sense.