Hester began to read softly.
> "Last summer, while on a hiking trip through one or two neighboring counties, I found myself growing uneasy about the road I was taking as dusk approached.
That evening, I met Mr. Lando. He was gentle, polite, and genuinely warm. But at the time, I was far more fascinated by his house than by the man himself.
The floor was covered with a double-sided jacquard carpet, white with small green circular patterns. The curtains were made of snow-white cotton, broad and neatly pleated, falling crisply and perfectly straight to the floor.
The room was filled with leather-bound books, ornate wallpaper, carpets, and marble-topped tables. The windows were tall and narrow, and on a nearby side table sat a glass dome encasing a paper-folded rose…"
As Hester read, Liz watched her intently. Though Hester's voice was quiet and measured, there was something deeply emotional hidden within it.
That emotion was restrained—subtle, as though it were a painting sealed under dust and cloth. Yet at that moment, something had lifted the veil just slightly, allowing a glimpse of the vivid, surging colors beneath.
Liz understood almost immediately—whoever had once read that story to Hester must have left a profound mark on her life.
By the time Hester finished the short story, Turan—who had been lying in Liz's arms—had already fallen fast asleep.
Under the gentle glow of the lamp, Liz carefully lifted Turan's head and laid her onto a nearby pillow.
"Do you still want to talk?" Liz asked softly, turning to Hester. "We can go outside if you'd like."
Hester hesitated, remembering the silver-haired girl. "But what about Rika—"
Liz gestured toward the door. "We'll go to the balcony."
---
Around two in the morning, the spring chill still lingered in the city of Tanyi. Wrapped in a thin blanket, Hester stood on the outward-curved balcony beside Liz. From behind them drifted the faint aroma of cheese and bread from the kitchen—blending with the forest-scented night air from the distance. The mixture was unexpectedly beautiful.
Liz wore only a white cotton camisole. She leaned back against the ornate iron railing, her elbows resting behind her. In the dim light, Hester could see the smooth lines of muscle across Liz's back and arms. Gone was the soft, neighborly warmth she had earlier—in this light, Liz reminded Hester of a graceful gazelle in the wild.
"Do you have any family left in the Third District?" Liz asked quietly.
Hester paused for a moment, then shook her head.
"Me neither," Liz said with a faint smile. "Except for Turan, most of us here are on our own."
Hester looked at her. "Turan seems… a bit hostile toward me?"
"Mm… she's a little hostile toward all strangers," Liz explained. "Once you get to know her, she's much better. But lately, Turan hasn't been in a good state…"
"I heard from Miss Valenti that her bullet time isn't enough for her to qualify for combat duty—is that true?"
Liz nodded. "Yes. She'll turn fourteen next month, which means she'll have to go through the Type-14 Selection. But she's not going to pass."
"Type-14… what is that?"
"The Type-14 Selection," Liz repeated. "A Silver Needle's bullet time stabilizes twice in their life—around fourteen and nineteen years old. Didn't anyone tell you that? Only those who exceed four hours at fourteen have a chance of being assigned to a combat squad."
"Then why is Turan so upset? Won't she have another chance at nineteen?"
Liz smiled faintly and shook her head. "Once the Type-14 results are set, the ranking chart is basically locked in. Only a handful of Silver Needles with times above three hours thirty minutes can still break through the four-hour mark with training. Her chances are slim… How old are you now? Eleven?"
Hester nodded. "Mm."
Liz sighed softly. "When I came here, I was eleven too. Three years already—time flies so fast."
Hester tilted her head. "I heard from Miss Valenti that you'll be going full-time later this year?"
"That's right," Liz said, nodding. "But I don't have the same hunger for combat that Turan does."
"Why does she want to fight the Chelates so badly?"
"It has to do with her past," Liz answered simply. Then she stretched her arms, arching her back and letting out a long exhale. "I'm not like her… I don't really want to go on field missions. I'm still far too fond of being alive, you know? Haha."
"I can tell," Hester lowered her gaze. "You have a lot of books."
Liz studied her for a moment, then smiled. "If you like reading too, you can come borrow any time."
"Really?"
"Of course." Liz reached out her hand. "It's nice to meet you. You're the first new recruit I've met who's already fought a Chelate before joining the base."
Hester blinked, confused. "Me? I haven't."
Liz paused. "You're not from St. Annie's Monastery in the Seven Hills?"
"I am."
"Then it must be you. The internal report said that when the Chiba team arrived, the Chelate in the monastery was already critically injured. You didn't do that?"
"No," Hester said. "At least… not that I can remember."
Liz blinked a few times. "Hmm. Maybe I mixed something up. But you were personally brought here by Chiba Masaki, weren't you?"
"Yes."
Liz rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Then you must be someone special."
Hester frowned slightly. "Why do you say that?"
"Because," Liz smiled, "Chiba's a very sharp woman."
Hester tilted her head in question.
Liz went on, "From what I know, she never wastes time on pointless things. Back when she trained here, she didn't even bother to mentor new recruits—it was too time-consuming for her. So for her to personally take someone as a ward now… that's not nothing."
"Really?" Hester thought back to the day Chiba had driven her all the way to the monastery herself—a trip that had taken nearly an entire day. "I thought it was just a formality."
"Not at all," Liz said with a laugh. "The Reserve Guardian Mandate may sound simple on paper, but it's actually quite strict. Even if the ward is in a boarding facility, the guardian is required to spend at least six waking hours with them each month.
"During holidays, that requirement jumps to over twenty-one hours per week—so about three hours together every day. And once a Silver Needle passes the Type-14 Selection, they're eligible for combat duty…"
Liz paused, then continued in a lower tone, "So I'd say Chiba Masaki probably wants you to join her squad directly after your selection. Otherwise, I can't imagine how someone who's constantly on the move like her could spare that much time for you."
Hester listened quietly as Liz spoke. The two talked for a long while afterward—about Edgar's literary legacy, and about the mundane realities of daily life at the base.
By the time the conversation wound down, it was nearing four in the morning. Liz yawned and decided to head to bed. Before leaving, she ducked into her room and came back holding two books—The Collected Dark Tales of Edgar.
"How about I give these to you?"
Hester looked up, surprised. "Give them… to me?"
"Yes." Liz smiled warmly. "Books get lonely if they just sit on a shelf gathering dust. If you like them, they should be yours."
Hester lowered her eyes slightly, accepting the volumes. Her fingertips brushed over the black lacquered covers and the golden embossed letters.
"…Thank you."
---
( End of Chapter)