We landed near the Eiffel Tower.
Kokonoe-kun took a long look around, the kind of slow, thoughtful glance he gives when he's weighing something in his head. After a moment, he nodded to himself.
"Let's not climb it yet… we should wait for the sunset. It's more beautiful at night."
"Oui," I said, smirking with a little pride. "Trust me, Paris is a thousand times prettier after dark. You'll understand once we get up there."
"Yeah. Suzuka is gone. Ladies and gentlemen, this is Claire in her natural habitat," Kokonoe-kun announced after a moment.
"I can definitely see that," Haruka-chan giggled. "Claire-chan is so cute, hehe."
I puffed my cheeks and gave Kokonoe-kun a light punch on the shoulder.
"Mihai, you're such a meanie…"
He visibly flinched at the mention of his past-life name.
Then I turned to Haruka-chan and gently cupped her cheek.
"You too, Yang Hua-chan."
She froze for a second, clearly startled to hear her Chinese name from my lips.
Kokonoe-kun sighed, deadpan.
"Alright. Let's agree to use our Japanese names from now on."
I know, right!!
We all laughed it off, and for a moment, it felt like we were just three normal people on a vacation—no magic, no past lives, no drama. Just us.
"So… where are we going first, then?" he asked once our laughter faded.
An idea sparked instantly.
"Say, Kokonoe-kun, have you ever actually been inside Notre-Dame?"
"Nope." He shrugged, completely unbothered. "My mom and bro went in, yeah. I just went with my dad to grab some beers."
Then, his expression darkened.
"3.5 euros for a 0.5l bottle of Desperados is a fucking sham", he muttered, grimacing at the memory.
Haruka-chan and I sweatdropped in perfect sync.
Of course.
What an absolute man thing to do.
"C'est inacceptable," I huffed, slipping into French without thinking. "We're going there first."
Kokonoe-kun raised no objections, hands tucked casually in his pockets, while Haruka-chan practically bounced beside us.
"I mean, I did regret not going…" he muttered. "Especially after finding out the top of the Eiffel Tower was closed. And the Louvre line? Worse than the bread lines in Romania during Ceaușescu."
I snorted. Haruka-chan blinked, then burst into a giggle.
"I can't believe we're really here! The Eiffel Tower, Notre-Dame…", she said softly, almost in awe. "We're in the city of love…"
The way she said it sounded like she had just realized it herself.
"It feels like I'm in a drama or something!"
I couldn't help but giggle at Haruka's dreamy little moment as we strolled away from the tower.
"Let's take the 72," I said, pointing toward the Pont d'Iéna stop below the tower, where the buses lined up along the river.
We boarded, the doors closing with a soft hiss, and the bus rolled along the curve of the Seine. On our right, the water shimmered with reflected gold as the city slipped into dusk; on the left, the Louvre's long facade drifted past, its lights winking awake one by one. Each bridge we crossed felt like passing under glowing arches of another world.
Thirty minutes later, we stepped off near Hôtel de Ville. The night air greeted us with the familiar chill of the Seine, and ahead, across the bridge toward Île de la Cité, rose Notre-Dame — towering, solemn, illuminated like a cathedral carved out of shadow and firelight.
We stepped inside, and Kokonoe-kun stopped dead in his tracks. His voice came out low, almost reverent, as he stared up at the vaulted ceiling and the walls alive with color and shadow.
"Alex showed me the pictures he and Mom took but… damn. It's on a whole different level in person."
Haruka-chan, meanwhile, latched onto my arm with both hands, eyes wide and sparkling like a kid seeing magic for the first time. She let out a tiny, breathless squeak—half excitement, half disbelief—as if the air itself had turned holy around her.
"It's so pretty!"
"Yeah… now it's all coming back to me," Kokonoe-kun said, eyes drifting over the stained-glass glow. "The whole lore about the Hunchback or Les Misérables… You'll never meet a bigger Francophile than my mom." His tone was dry, the kind that said he'd endured years of passionate lectures.
I wish I could've met her… A woman who loved stories that deeply — no wonder Kokonoe-kun turned out the way he did.
"Ohh, Les Misérables, right!" I chimed in, perking up. "The barricades, the revolution, the tragedy — I reread it so many times when I was younger. It hits different when you're standing in the places the story breathed through, you know?"
Haruka-chan nodded so fast she bounced.
"I must've heard that story a thousand times," Kokonoe-kun muttered, his voice echoing faintly under the vaulted ceiling. "Jean Valjean's basically a thug until the priest he robs decides to play Jesus and forgive him anyway."
He snorted, shoulders lifting in a dry shrug.
"Christianity, gone right…"
I puffed out my cheeks a little, more out of habit than real annoyance.
"Kokonoe‑kun… that's such a blunt way to put it," I murmured, tugging lightly at his sleeve. "It's not just about a priest 'playing Jesus.' It's about someone seeing goodness in you when you don't think you have any left. That's… kind of the whole point."
I realized I was rambling a little and pressed my lips together, cheeks warming.
"It's a story about choosing to become better because someone believes you can," I added more quietly. "It teaches you that people aren't… fixed. They can change. They can be redeemed."
"Yeah, you sound just like my Mom," he chuckled drily. Then, quieter, almost like he was muttering to himself: "I wonder if I can be redeemed... or if there's still good inside me"
That thought sent chills down my spine. He blames himself too much, I realized. Maybe there aren't as many things he needs to be redeemed for as he thinks.
Somehow, hearing him like this made the idea of redemption feel less like a distant dream—and more like something within reach.
Perhaps trying to lighten the mood, Haruka-chan tilted her head.
"What was your mom like, Kokonoe-kun? If you don't mind…"
He blinked, surprised for a moment, then nodded.
"Oh. Sure. So… she was really passionate about literature and languages. She taught French before I was born. Later she worked at the local museum as a station chief."
He paused, eyes drifting somewhere far from the cathedral's glow.
"For a Hungarian woman, she was… kind of unusual. Soft. Gentle. She went along with whatever my old man wanted."
As he spoke, something in his tone tightened — a careful distance, like he was holding the words with gloves so they wouldn't burn him.
My eyes widened before I could stop myself.
"She taught French?"
The words slipped out brighter than I meant them to. "Kokonoe‑kun, why didn't you tell me that?"
He gave a small, tired shrug, like he wasn't sure what the big deal was.
"The picture of the two of you talking in French while I stand there like an idiot trying to understand if you're gossiping about me... yeah, that's what stopped me.", he said in a deadpan.
I couldn't help the soft laugh that slipped out. My heart warmed anyway. A mother who loved languages, who taught the one I cherished so much… it felt like discovering another thread connecting us, one I hadn't even known was there.
But the way he'd said she went along with whatever his father wanted… that part lingered in the air between us, dimming my excitement just a little.
Still, I softened my voice, nudging his arm lightly.
"I would've loved to hear more about her," I murmured. "She sounds… wonderful. Even if things were hard."
He didn't answer right away, but something in his shoulders eased — like my excitement hadn't hurt him, but maybe made remembering her a little less heavy.
After Notre-Dame, we made our way toward the Louvre. Kokonoe-kun, of course, had a "plan."
"We should just sneak in," he said, as if it were perfectly reasonable. "Last time, me and my folks didn't get inside because the line was too big. And I'm not waiting an hour again. It's not like Notre-Dame where they just wave you through."
I couldn't help a wry smile. Of course he'd say that. For all his seriousness and sharp edges, Kokonoe-kun still had that chaotic streak—the "evil twin," as he liked to call it. Classic Gemini.
Kokonoe-kun… Gemini, June 6.
Moi… Scorpio, September 25.
Haruka-chan… Sagittarius, December 10.
Ohlala… it makes so much sense! Gemini chaos, Scorpio drama, Sagittarius fire… the stars really knew what they were doing with us.
Mon Dieu, I got carried away, hehe. Still, I wasn't against the idea.
"I remember waiting in line for three hours after uni," I murmured, shivering a little. "If we can avoid that… I vote we avoid that."
Haruka-chan tilted her head. "So we're breaking in? Like… illegally?" she whispered, eyes sparkling with fear and excitement.
Kokonoe-kun shrugged, casual as jaywalking. "Basically."
I almost laughed. That was such a Mihai answer.
A few blurred steps, a distraction here and there, and we were inside. The shift was immediate: cool marble air, soft lights, that quiet hum only museums have. Even after all my visits, the Louvre poked at my heart.
We hit the Denon Wing first. The Mona Lisa was swarmed as always, tiny and smug behind her glass.
"Still smaller than everyone expects," I whispered.
"Smaller than Haruka's laptop," Kokonoe-kun deadpanned.
Haruka flicked his shoulder. "She's still iconic. I'd go insane if people stared at me like that."
"If it were me, I'd start a fire," he muttered. I laughed—warm, unexpected.
Then we reached the Winged Victory. Even through the crowd, she dominated the staircase, frozen mid-flight, powerful without trying.
"She lost her head and still looks cooler than both of us," Haruka whispered.
Kokonoe-kun's voice softened. "She wasn't made to be pretty. She was made to win."
A shiver ran through me. He said it like he understood her.
Venus de Milo came next—serene even without arms.
"She doesn't need them," I murmured. "Some things are powerful just by existing."
Haruka sighed. "See? Poetic soul number two."
Kokonoe only shrugged.
Then we hit the Egyptian wing—his territory. Sarcophagi, mummies, golden masks… he walked slower here, almost at peace.
"If we leave him," Haruka whispered, "he'll reincarnate as a pharaoh."
"Haruka-chan…"
"What? It fits."
Kokonoe-kun huffed softly. "I'd rather reincarnate as Michael the Brave… unite the Principalities."
His fingers brushed the edge of a display case. "Romania… just two centuries early."
There was something wistful in his voice—half-joke, half-confession.
He paused before a falcon-headed statue. "He looks like he's judging me."
"You judge yourself plenty," I said softly. He didn't argue.
We passed the Assyrian gate guardians, massive and imposing. Haruka elbowed him. "That's your vibe."
He groaned.
The Galerie d'Apollon dazzled us next—all gold and light like a sun trapped indoors.
"It feels like a jewelry box," I whispered.
"It feels like someone's ego," he muttered.
Haruka grinned. "Your future palace, then."
He groaned louder.
We ended in the medieval foundations—dim, cold, ancient. My favorite place.
Kokonoe walked through the ruins like they recognized him.
Haruka shivered. "Something breathed on me."
"I exhaled," he said flatly.
She swung at him instinctively, but he slipped out of reach with a smug tilt of his head.
"Payback for kicking my ass after we met, Sensei," he said, bowing exaggeratedly.
"You're impossible," she huffed, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her—half-amused, half-exasperated, exactly how he could provoke.
Walking through the Louvre with them didn't feel like a museum visit. It felt like seeing the world with people who made everything—even old stones—feel alive.
We strolled out from the Louvre under the soft night air of Paris. The lights of Champs-Élysées glowed all around us — a river of neon, clothes racks, car engines and footsteps.
"Let's grab something to drink before the night gets any colder," Kokonoe-kun suggested, pulling his jacket tighter.
We settled on Fouquet's: its red awning stood out among the streetlights, candles flickering behind glass windows, music and chatter drifting into the avenue.
Inside, the warmth hit us first — polished wood, soft lights, hum of quiet conversations. I glanced at Haruka-chan. Her eyes were shining; she always looked adorable when the world got a little too pretty.
We ordered café noirs and hot chocolate (for me), and the waiter moved with the effortless grace of Parisians. Even with the bustle around us, everything felt calm.
Kokonoe-kun leaned back, fingers curled around his cup. "You know," he said quietly, "these simple things… this is what I forgot a long time ago."
I nodded. I got it. For once, the chaos, the history, the reincarnations — none of that mattered. Tonight, we were just three friends in Paris.
We spent the rest of the late afternoon there, just chatting about random, ordinary things — the kind of easy conversation that made everything feel warm and unhurried.
Once the sky started turning gold, we headed into the metro and made our way back toward the Eiffel Tower, letting the city pull us along with its evening glow.
We passed the verification checkpoint, and Kokonoe-kun bought our tickets to the top of the Eiffel Tower—35 euros each.
Excitement surged through us as we stepped into the elevator.
"Last time I came here…" Kokonoe-kun began, voice low. "I didn't get to board the tower. My dad… he was really disappointed."
I remembered instantly.
The last time Kokonoe-kun—no, Mihai—came to Paris with his family… was the same time I died in my hospital bed.
"Well, you get to see it now with two beautiful girls," Haruka-chan teased, a sly smirk tugging at her lips. "You should be happier!"
"And I can finally show it to you!" I beamed, unable to hide my excitement.
Kokonoe-kun chuckled softly, a quiet, relieved sound.
"Never too late, huh? I'm glad I get to see it with you two, honestly."
He looked down for a moment, muttering under his breath,
"Wouldn't have been as fun with my family…"
The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open.
We stepped out onto the cold metal floor at the top of the tower, and the entire nighttime city of Paris unfurled beneath us.
The Seine was a ribbon of reflected light, shimmering in dark water.
Streetlamps traced glowing veins through the city.
Rooftops were cast in deep amber, and the monuments pulsed softly against the velvet-black sky.
Paris at night breathed light — calm, dreamlike, alive.
Even as a French girl who'd walked these streets countless times, seeing the city from up here always took my breath away. Everything familiar suddenly felt brand new.
A breeze brushed past us, sharp and cool. I shivered — not from cold, but from how surreal it all felt.
"It's beautiful!" Haruka-chan said, her eyes sparkling as she stared down at the glowing city.
"Yeah," Kokonoe-kun murmured, a small smile clinging to his lips. "That's exactly what I signed up for."
I laughed softly, warmth blooming in my chest despite the chill wind swirling around us.
I motioned for Kokonoe-kun and Haruka-chan to come closer.
When they leaned in, one on each side, I snapped a photo of the three of us — the capital of France glowing behind us like a dream carved out of starlight.
______
[Kokonoe POV]
After our climb at the Eiffel, we booked ourselves an apartment with two rooms, for three people. I would sleep in my own room and the girls would cuddle together.
We found a two‑room flat in central Paris — near the 7th arrondissement, just a few Metro stops from the Eiffel Tower. For the night we paid €320. It was cramped if you were picky, but for three people — heads on pillows, warmth under one roof — it was perfect.
I had some money saved up from my visit in Romania. They say The Devil Wears Prada, and since that visit happened while I was still a devil… well, let's just say robberies and illicit trade were perfectly valid ways to make cash.
As for all the shady little hustle I used to pull at the lowest level in my past life?
Amplify it by a factor of eleven.
We're talking DIICOT‑tier crimes.
A level the Japanese teen gangs plaguing Nagano would only dream of.
Tomorrow, Suzuka would be visiting her old middle school.
The same way I once stumbled into that glitch in reality and came face‑to‑face with my kid self in Săcele.
If that encounter had been enough to tear me out of the devil world and shove me back into freedom…
I couldn't help wondering what the hell it had in store for Suzuka.
The morning after, sunlight spilled across the apartment. Suzuka lay curled beneath the blankets, quiet except for the rise and fall of her chest. Haruka moved softly around her, setting out croissants and coffee, careful not to disturb her.
I leaned against the window, mug in hand, watching Paris wake. The city seemed peaceful, but Suzuka's storm from yesterday still lingered in my mind.
"I… need to go to my old school," Suzuka said at last, voice soft but determined. "I think something's waiting for me there."
By late morning, we were on the Metro toward her middle school. Suzuka sat near the door, hands clasped, eyes fixed outside as familiar streets passed by. Her energy hummed—calm, but coiled, like a spring ready to release.
At the school gate, she froze. In the hallway stood her younger self, small and wide-eyed, hair pale lavender.
A blonde girl — taller, moody, the kind who strutted like she ran the whole school — bumped into the small version of Suzuka.
"Watch where you're going, Claire!"
"I-I'm sorry, Louise, I—"
The air changed.
I didn't even have time to blink.
One second Suzuka was beside me — the next, she was right at the bully's shoulder, her hand resting there with this soft, deadly calm.
"It's not good to pick on someone, you know~," she said, voice gentle, eyes sharp enough to make the girl flinch.
Louise jumped like she'd touched a live wire and bolted down the hallway.
Then little Claire — tiny, wide-eyed, clutching her books like a shield — grabbed Suzuka's hand with this trembling excitement.
"Merci, madame… you're sooo cool!"
Suzuka froze.
Then her entire face turned pink. Quiet pink.
The kind that climbs up her ears and makes her blink too fast.
I swear I felt my heart clench.
She wasn't just protecting a kid.
She was protecting herself.
Her past self.
Just like me in Săcele.
And watching her — standing there while that little girl looked at her like a hero — something in the air around Suzuka… shifted.
Like the world had noticed.
Something was waking up.
And then, it happened.
I watched, short of breath, how the two Suzukas dissipated into embers of light and... merged. Into a single person. Her light purple hair turned dark, pigtails forgotten as her Rapunzel hair flowed freely near her dress. A black frilled dress with shades of purple adorned her form.
The air screamed around her, bending, twisting, carrying a raw, untamed force that made my hair stand on end. This was Suzuka, and yet… she wasn't.
Why does this remind me of somethi— not the time. Especially since, Suzuka's spiritual energy really no longer felt human. It's like she was... a spirit or something along those lines.
Her eyes flared, violet lightning tracing their edges, and the very space around her seemed to convulse. Gusts erupted from her presence, tearing at the ground, scattering loose papers, rattling the walls, and whipping my coat against me. She wasn't just awakening—she was losing herself to the wind, letting it tear through her entirely.
A tornado whipped into existence around her, twisting violently, swallowing cars—and people—whole.
Haruka yelped beside me.
"What is happening?… Is that… Suzuka?!"
"I'm not sure," I said, heart hammering. "But we have to stop her."
She tried to move closer, stepping forward cautiously.
"Suzu—"
The word caught in her throat as a razor-sharp gust slammed her backward. I lunged and caught her just before she slammed into a building, the force of the wind bending her small frame like a sapling in a storm.
The tornado around Suzuka roared, a living thing, thrashing with her fury. Her hair and dress whipped outward in every direction, and I could feel the pressure of her power pressing against my chest like a living wall.
This wasn't Suzuka as I knew her. This was something else—something untamed, a girl-shaped tempest with no thought of mercy, no hesitation, just pure, unbound wind.
[Freezing Archaeopteryx]
Nelu solidified before us, his icy wings spreading wide as I grabbed Haruka, lifting us onto his back. From there, I began launching icicles, aiming to restrain her—but she turned them back against me, each shard scratching at my cheek like a reminder of her uncontrolled power.
"Kokonoe-kun… this is Suzuka…" Haruka said, her voice uncertain, yet threaded with devotion.
I ground my teeth, my voice colder than I realized. "This isn't Suzuka."
Her hands trembled as she reached toward the storm. "But… Suzuka, she has to be somewhere in there!" Her desperation hung in the air, a fragile tether to the girl we both once knew.
The tornado roared around her, untamed and alive, and I guess she was right, but—any trace of the Suzuka we remembered was buried beneath this storm, fighting to surface against a power she couldn't control.
At the same time, I couldn't afford to be sentimental. If I didn't fight this thing, Paris would become another Nagano—another blood-soaked failure I'd have to live with. Another city I swore to protect, swallowed by chaos because I hesitated.
And gods… it tore at me. I'd be lying if I said it didn't. Suzuka wasn't just another spirit gone rogue. She was a precious friend. A fellow reincarnate. A lover. Someone whose laughter still echoed in places of me I like to pretend they don't exist, 'cause denial is easier. Easier than bearing the pain of getting swallowed by your own emotions.
But now I stood here with two choices, both so stupid they almost felt like a joke:
to watch Nagano happen again in 4K and do nothing…
or to kill someone I care about.
And a third—harder, messier—to reach into that storm and drag her back from whatever she had become.
Yeah… I really hate my life.
I adjusted my grip on Haruka as Nelu hovered, wings beating the air like twin hammers. The tornado shrieked, and Suzuka appeared in its heart, hair streaming like night clouds, dress whipping violently.
Her eyes locked on me, violet lightning tracing across her pupils, and she surged forward. I rolled sideways, barely avoiding a wind-blade that could have sliced a car in half. The tornado lashed around us, twisting steel and concrete in a chaotic dance.
I drew closer, every movement calculated. Icicles rained from Nelu and me, forming a lattice to slow her momentum, a frozen net in the eye of the storm. She roared, shoving a massive gust downward, snapping our makeshift barricade into shards. I dodged flying debris, catching Haruka mid-tumble, swinging her behind Nelu's wings for cover.
I aimed a spiral of icicles at the ground beneath the tornado, forcing the wind currents to shift.
She retaliated with a spinning vortex of her own, a blade of air that cut through metal and stone alike. I felt its force tear against my chest, and had to wrap myself around Nelu to avoid being blown backward.
Suzuka lunged next, impossible to predict. I blocked her with a wall of icicles, feeling my defenses buckle as each gust rattled them apart. The storm brushed against us, testing me, poking me, throwing everything into chaos.
Haruka screamed, trying to reach through the winds: "Suzuka! Please! It's me!"
For a fraction of a second, the wind stilled, and I thought—maybe just maybe—there was a part of her listening. And then...
Suzuka roared—
a voice that wasn't hers, too deep, too wild, too ancient for a human throat.
The sound cracked the air.
A split second later, the wind struck us like a freight train.
Nelu screeched, icy wings thrashing as he fought to keep us airborne. Haruka lurched sideways, slipping from the bird's back, her fingers brushing empty air.
"Haruka!" I grabbed her wrist just before she tumbled into the storm below. The force nearly tore my arm out of its socket.
The gust intensified, spiraling upward, a vertical cyclone gouging lines across the rooftops. My hair whipped in every direction, my jacket snapping like it wanted to rip off of me.
And me?
I was firing bullets—
aimlessly, reflexively, stupidly—
like that could possibly stop the living hurricane screaming Suzuka's name.
Each bullet was swallowed by the winds, shredded to dust before it made a meter. I knew it was pointless. I kept shooting anyway. Instinct. Panic. Habit from a life I didn't fully leave behind.
Suzuka floated above the eye of the tornado, hair snapping through the air like tattered banners. Her eyes weren't eyes anymore—just twin storms focused on us with animal fury.
She raised her hand.
The wind around her arm tightened into a spiraling drill.
Fuck.
"Brace!" I yelled.
Nelu folded his wings and dove—not gracefully, not by choice, but because the storm left him no other option. The spiraling wind-drill slammed past us, carving a straight, brutal line through a five-story building behind us, slicing it like a cake.
Debris exploded outward.
Glass became shrapnel.
Stone became bullets.
Wind became a weapon.
I shielded Haruka with my body as the shockwave hit, ice forming instinctively along my back in jagged plates. Even so, I felt something hot rip across my shoulder, something sharp slice along my ribs.
Nelu flapped hard, trying to regain altitude, but Suzuka's storm was dragging everything downward—air pressure collapsing, winds spiraling inward like a monstrous throat preparing to swallow all of Paris.
Through the roar, Haruka clung to me and screamed:
"Kokonoe-kun—she's going to kill everyone!"
Her voice cracked.
"I know. I'm trying.", I yelled.
Anger flared within me... once again, I was powerless. Powerless to stop a disaster from happening...
FUCK NO!
I realized icicles weren't enough. Not against this.
The storm shredded them like paper. And if the ice was an extension of me—my will, my mana, my shape—then why the hell was I limiting myself to brittle shards?
I could shape it.
I could forge it.
So I put into practice an idea I'd toyed with for months—half joking, half serious, fully unhinged.
Missiles.
My inner military nerd practically screamed like a fangirl at a concert, skimming mentally through every ballistic and cruise missile model I'd ever obsessed over. Russian. Iranian. Turkish. North Korean. Every nation with a questionable conscience and a terrifying engineering department.
One came to mind immediately:
Hwasong-12.
Medium-range. Nuclear-capable. Overkill in every sense.
Perfect.
I focused, channeling mana down my arms. My breath fogged the air as ice condensed, not in spikes—
—but in a long, sleek cylinder forming beneath me on Nelu's back.
Sharp nosecone. Stabilizing fins. Guidance section. Fuel tank—well, ice mana equivalent.
A cold, pale imitation of a real weapon, but with the same geometry. The same intent.
The same promise of devastation.
And then…
It materialized.
A full-scale Hwasong-12, sculpted of pale blue ice, humming with spiritual energy, floating at my side like some forbidden lovechild between a K-pop idol and Kim Jong-un's wet dream.
Haruka stared at me, wide-eyed.
"K-Kokonoe-kun… WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!"
"A diplomatic solution," I muttered.
I whipped my hand forward and launched the projectile into the air, focusing so I could control its trajectory. The ice was part of me, and I was part of the ice.
Suzuka responded instantly.
Her storm convulsed, bending to shield her, blades of wind clashing against the missile's icy hull. Each gust carved streaks along its surface, but the projectile pushed through, shuddering as wind pressure hammered it from all sides.
I felt Suzuka's power.
I felt my own.
And for the first time since this nightmare began…
I felt like maybe I could reach her—
through overwhelming force or through sheer insanity.
The Hwasong slammed into her tornado's core—
And it hit.
The missile slammed into Suzuka's chest with a sound like cracking thunder, hurling her backward through her own storm. Her breath hitched—then blood splattered from her lips, caught instantly by the wind.
Suzuka's eyes fluttered once, then snapped shut as her body went limp.
She started falling.
Straight toward the Seine.
"Kokonoe-kun!" Haruka screamed, voice split with panic.
"I know!" I roared back.
Nelu dove, wings slicing through the collapsing cyclone. The air buffeted us violently as I stretched my arm out—
and caught Suzuka just before she hit the water.
She hung in my arms, weightless but fragile, the way spirits always are just before they break. Her hair fell over her face like a curtain. For a heartbeat, she looked peaceful.
Then her eyes snapped open.
Blank.
Empty.
A void staring into me with inhuman indifference.
Her wind surged again, trying to break free. I tightened my grip, teeth gritted.
"Just—stay still, you bitch!" I barked, desperation cracking my composure.
But she wasn't stopping.
Her aura began rising again, unstable, threatening to explode back into a storm that would swallow the whole riverbank.
So I did the only thing—the stupidest, most reckless thing—I could think of.
I kissed her.
It wasn't gentle.
It wasn't romantic.
It was a shock, a jolt—a forced grounding, an anchor driven into her spiraling spirit.
Her aura spasmed.
The winds howled once, then collapsed around us like a dying breath. Light rippled across her body, purple fractals flickering outward as the monstrous spiritual pressure broke apart.
And then I felt her power… dissolve.
Along with—
Oh.
Her clothes.
Well. Damn.
Purple light flared around her like a censoring blur of magic, but it was very, very clear that if I didn't look away, I'd be adding a brand-new line to the list of life decisions I regret.
Nelu squawked at me in judgment. Haruka gasped in horror.
I exhaled shakily.
For a moment the world was silent.
Then, her eyelashes began moving, slow at first… then suddenly snapping open.
"K-…Kokonoe-kun…?" Her voice was tiny, hoarse, terrified—like she'd woken up from drowning.
I swallowed. "Welcome back, Suzuka."
But then she blinked again, realizing two things in real-time:
1. She was in my arms.
2. She was catastrophically, undeniably naked.
Her whole face exploded into red.
"HIIII—?!?" she squeaked like a teakettle. She tried to cover herself with her hands, failed, tried again, failed harder. "W-w-why—!? What—!? Kokonoe, what did you—!? Why am I—!? WHAT HAPPENED!?"
I put her down on the ground, and took a distance from her, my face forming into a blank stare. "Ok, so, shall we start off from the beginning where you almost destroyed your own city?...
Or skip to the part where me simply performing CPR led to both your restoration of sanity and current state of undress?"
Yeah, no. First of all, I didn't have a power like Hyoudou's Dress Break. The thought hasn't even crossed my mind. And second, for all the times I spoke of destroying Electroprecizia, once I could... I didn't.
Suzuka pulled her knees up, curling like a terrified shrimp, face practically steaming.
"I— I blacked out— I don't remember— I didn't— I would never—"
Behind us Haruka landed, panting, equally flustered.
"S-Suzuka! Are you okay!? Do you know what you were doing!?" Haruka asked.
Suzuka peeked out from behind her hair, mortified.
"No… I just… I heard something screaming inside me and then… nothing. And now—"
She looked down at herself again, let out another yelp, somewhere between guilt and embarrassment, and buried her face in my chest.
"I want to die…" she mumbled.
I sighed, awkwardly wrapping my coat around her shoulders.
"You and me both. Let's… just never talk about this again."
She nodded violently, still trembling, still red as a furnace.
Haruka stared at us, dumbfounded.
"Kokonoe-kun… why does every crisis with you end like this?"
"Trust me," I muttered, "I'm asking myself the same thing."
"I wish that was me, though...", she muttered under her breath, cheeks puffed. I caught it anyway.
Come on, Haruka. It's not like I love you less, it's just... complicated.
Complicated.
My favorite excuse. My shield.
My cage.
I'm weird. I don't know how to open up. I don't know how to be… normal. Or soft. Or whatever she thinks I'm capable of.
I—
And then her face slammed into my thoughts.
Diana.
Ginger hair that glowed like autumn. Those bright blue eyes. The laugh that used to make my chest feel too tight. Her stupid, adorable pout when she didn't get her way.
And then the last thing she ever gave me:
her back. Walking away. Her voice trembling when she called me a monster, telling me she hoped the cops would catch me.
My stomach twisted.
I forced my mind into blankness.
White, cold, empty.
No point thinking about it now.
No point digging into that wound.
My jaw clenched.
I swear… I'd rather cut off my dick than date a Romanian girl ever again.
The words echoed in my head like a bitter joke I wasn't sure was funny anymore.
Haruka's expression softened the moment she saw my face shift.
"Are you okay?…" she asked quietly.
Then, almost immediately — as if she regretted even drawing attention to it — she waved her hands a little, forcing an awkward smile.
"If it's about what I said… well, forget it. I was just being… silly..."
I opened my mouth to reply, when, suddenly—
Suzuka's eyes darted across the shattered streets, twisted metal, and shattered glass glinting in the sunlight. The Seine, once calm, now carried debris like driftwood caught in a miniature tsunami. Cars were overturned, storefronts splintered, a few fires smoldering along the riverbank.
Her face paled, lips parting as if the words might choke her.
"Did… I do this?"
Her voice was small, trembling, almost swallowed by the wind that still whispered angrily around the ruins. She staggered backward, clutching her arms to herself like the world could be held together if she just gripped tight enough.
Each breath seemed to steal more color from her face. Horror, guilt, disbelief — all tangled together in a way that made her hands shake.
"This… this isn't a dream," she whispered, voice cracking. "This… this is real…"
Haruka rushed forward, wrapping her arms around Suzuka in a tight hug, pressing close as if she could shield her from the weight of reality.
I spoke up, voice steady, cutting through the chaos.
"It's not your fault. Whatever that was… it wasn't under your control. And we learned a thing or two from Nagano. No one died this time."
When she heard that, her eyes flickered with a fragile hope.
"Really?…"
I gave a slow nod.
And then she broke. Loud, shuddering sobs ripped from her as Haruka held her close, murmuring soothing words that barely seemed enough.
I just stood there, numb, watching. Three broken people, tangled together by some cruel joke the Watcher had written, trying to cling to the fragments of what remained.