Chapter 3

Eden Academy was ancient and majestic, like something out of legend. Narrow arched windows, wrought-iron grilles, painted ceilings. Everything here breathed history—the walls remembered mages whose names had become great, and whispered their secrets to the next generation. Spring wind streamed through the inner courtyard, carrying the scent of flowers and pollen from ancient trees that had stood here since the Academy's founding.

But even this noble tranquility couldn’t withstand the whirlwind that burst through its walls.

“Out of the waaay!” came a voice from afar—still youthful, but loud enough to fill an entire stadium.

Miré Sudzukawa stormed down the mosaic corridor as if an army were chasing her. Her jacket was unbuttoned, tie flapping behind her, and one shoe looked ready to fly off her heel.

Students in embroidered robes stepped aside in surprise; some chuckled, others sighed: “That Sudzukawa again…”

They already knew her. They either feared her. Or adored her. There was no in-between.

The classroom door flew open with such force the windowsill shook. Without slowing, Miré charged inside, nearly colliding with the teacher who was just about to leave. She froze in place, breathing heavily, brushing dark strands from her face.

“Made it…!”

“As always, your signature entrance,” came a calm, almost musical voice.

Leaning against the far table stood Meruka.

Her long dark hair cascaded softly over her shoulders, and the Academy uniform looked like it had been tailored for a fashion magazine. There was no reproach in her gaze, only gentle, ironic surprise.

Direct, yet soft—like morning light.Miré walked over, tapping her fingers on desks out of habit.

“You’re first again?”

“I just know how to use a clock,” Meruka replied coolly, tilting her head. “Shall we go?”

“Let’s go,” Miré agreed, instantly relaxing.

They left the classroom together. The corridors were emptying; classes were over. Miré shrugged off her jacket and tossed it over her shoulder, walking freely like it was her stage. Meruka walked beside her with graceful steps, keeping just slightly to the side—as if she shared the stage, but never tried to steal the spotlight.

“Someone spilled juice on the stairs by the third floor today,” Miré said cheerfully. “I won’t say who. But it was fun.”

“I suspect someone’s getting another warning,” Meruka noted, not looking at her.

“At least it’s not boring!” Miré grinned, staring out the window. “Hey... let’s skip the evening lecture today?”

Meruka hesitated for a second.

“Only if you promise not to drag me to the rooftop again.”

“Fox’s honor!” Miré offered her pinky.

Meruka gave a small smile but placed her hand on Miré’s shoulder instead—as if not accepting the promise, yet not rejecting it either.

“Let’s head to the dorms.”

Meruka picked up the pace. Miré shrugged and ran after her, grabbing her friend’s shoulders with a grin. Students were dispersing, the sun was setting, and the stained glass bathed in orange and pink light. Miré and Meruka passed through an arched walkway into the courtyard, where a cobbled path led to the dormitories.

“So picture this,” Miré animatedly waved her hands, “I burst into the room at the last second before the bell, flung the door open, and this one girl got so scared she nearly flew out the window. And the teacher... he blinked. Just once. And said: ‘Students usually enter more quietly.’”

Meruka walked slightly behind, listening without interrupting. Her gaze was calm and distant. She looked ahead into the alley, where light filtered gently through the trees. Sunbeams touched her face like soft brushstrokes. She barely blinked—almost as if she were catching the last moments of the day.

Suddenly—a familiar, deep voice came from the side.

“Telling stories again? The kind that sound like the start of a disaster?”

Miré stopped abruptly. Her face, a moment ago bright with laughter, darkened. Her brows furrowed. Her smile vanished.

“You again,” she said, without a trace of joy. “And I was almost hoping for a normal evening.”

Luka stepped out from behind a tree. His light hair fell into his eyes, and his navy uniform, threaded with silver, fit him with severe perfection. He held a thin book and seemed oblivious to the tension in the air.

“I thought of inviting you to the library. Some new books just arrived.”

Meruka turned to him gently, her voice calm.

“Sounds nice. But we’ve got the director’s lecture soon.”

“What?!” Miré nearly tripped on flat ground. “We were going to skip it! You said so yourself! ‘Let’s go to the dorms!’”

Meruka turned to her with that same serene smile that always left Miré speechless.

“I said: ‘Let’s go to the dorms.’ I said nothing about the lecture.”

Miré opened her mouth… then shut it with an indignant huff.

“Unfair. You’re like a spell with double meaning.”

Luka smirked, glancing aside.

“So, no one’s coming to the library,” he said with faint regret.

“You can go alone,” Miré snapped. “Maybe even the books will be thrilled to listen to you.”

Meruka couldn’t help it—she laughed. Softly, but sincerely.

“We’ll stop by tomorrow,” she said.

Luka smiled at her words and nodded slowly.

Miré huffed again, tugging Meruka by the arm.

“Come on, move it, or I’ll definitely be late to that awful hall! Director’s lecture, yay-yay, everyone sitting like marble statues listening to some boring tale about ‘the power of ancient magic’ and all that nonsense!"

As always, Meruka only smiled, not stopping her. Her smile gave away nothing, but something in her eyes always seemed to calm Miré down eventually. Their faces were so different, and yet, together, they felt like balance.

“I still don’t get you,” Miré continued, dragging her along. “How are you so calm around him? Around Luka! He drives me crazy! Can’t just leave us alone!”

Meruka nodded, silent, yet fully attentive to every step, every word her friend uttered. She didn’t argue, maybe because somewhere deep down she knew—Miré would one day realize that her irritation wasn’t the point. Or maybe she never would. Meruka still said nothing.

A few minutes later, they were nearly at the dorm. That’s when Meruka suddenly stopped.

Miré didn’t notice right away and almost reached to pull her along. But she caught the pause in time and turned around, seeing her friend standing still, head slightly tilted, gazing to the side.

“What is it?” Miré muttered, clearly irritated. “Don’t tell me you’re off to some other world at sunset or something.”

Meruka didn’t answer right away. Instead, she simply pointed toward the horizon, where the setting sun was slowly vanishing behind the edge of the world, swallowing the last light.

“So beautiful,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Miré fell silent, instinctively turning her gaze to where Meruka pointed. The sun had nearly gone, leaving behind a warm, muted glow in the sky.

"And this is why you stopped me?" Miré asked in bewilderment, steering the conversation back to her usual tone. "To adMiré the sunset?"

Meruka nodded quietly, her eyes still fixed on the sky. She could have said more—perhaps she could have explained why this moment mattered, why she clung to this instant when the world seemed to slow down. But she didn’t. Instead, she simply kept walking, as if words would have been too much.

Miré stood for a while longer, the cold autumn wind brushing past her as she watched the last light fade. With a trace of puzzled reflection in her eyes, she realized Meruka had once again done something that left her thinking, offering no clear answers.

But then Miré snorted and turned toward the dormitory, following after Meruka.

“All right, all right, I get it. Let’s go, it’s evening already—we’ve got better things to do,” she said, striding forward.

Meruka said nothing, stepping into the building quietly and calmly. Her footsteps were nearly silent—like she had become part of the night.

Miré led the way, fidgeting nervously with the hem of her uniform, but the trace of recent thoughtfulness still lingered in her eyes. Time kept ticking on, and as she walked beside Meruka, the world around her seemed just a little softer.

The fog had yet to lift, and the morning light barely seeped through the classroom windows. The curtains stirred slightly, as if the air itself was trying to wake the students—unsuccessfully. Miré sat at her desk, completely absorbed in the fact that she had somehow survived the previous lecture without falling asleep. Now she could feel her eyelids getting stubbornly heavy.

She rested her head on the desk, yawning, and muttered with a doomed expression:

“I didn’t get enough sleep. This is a disaster. That principal and his lectures... they never end. How can one man talk for so long? I swear he spends all day preparing just to bore us to sleep, going over ancient magical forces again and again.”

Meruka sat beside her, unhurried. Her light gaze, despite the early hour, remained composed. A faint, nearly invisible smile touched her lips as she quietly replied:

“You always say that. Maybe if you went to bed right after the lecture, you’d get some sleep.”

Miré snorted and raised her head from the desk, mumbling:

“I have a life outside this academy, you know. I deserve to do something for myself at the end of the day.”

Meruka smiled again. There was something about her that radiated ease and peace, as if morning exhaustion simply didn’t exist for her.

“You’re not wrong. But if I were you, I’d go straight to bed.”

“Oh, of course, you’re just a walking source of calm perfection.” Miré rolled her eyes, then added, “You know what? I should just bring a pillow to his lectures. You’re totally right—it’d be better to sleep through his speeches about how ancient mages ‘felt the flow of the elements.’ I will listen... with my eyes closed.”

Still smiling, Meruka smoothed a few stray strands from her tidy ponytail and shook her head:

“If you act like that, you definitely won’t learn anything new.”

“Oh please, you know I only remember what I think is important for me.” Miré leaned back, letting her legs dangle from the edge of the desk. “And you—what, you keep all those lecture details in your head or something?”

“It’s just habit.” Meruka glanced toward the window, that same calm, thoughtful smile returning to her face. “By the way, the library got some new books. Remember?”

Despite her tiredness, Miré perked up immediately. She could feel, instinctively, that Meruka was holding something back.

“You want to go today? Really?”

Meruka nodded but didn’t rush to answer, giving Miré a moment to feel her interest. She knew her too well.

“Last time, they said they’d bring in books about ancient magic—lost knowledge, not really taught anymore. Oh, and some legends too… I’d love to read them.”

Miré squinted slightly, trying to piece it all together.

“I hope it’s just the two of us. And no Luka…”

Meruka tilted her head a little, her gaze clear, though she didn’t rush to answer.

“I think he might be interested too. We can invite him. But you know he’s usually busy with his second-years.”

Miré snorted again, her expression instantly more skeptical, her tone tinged with mild irritation:

“Of course, he’s always busy with his second-years. And the moment you ask him for something—poof—he’s gone. Ugh, whatever. Do you really want to invite him?”

Meruka simply shrugged, as if the idea was so obvious there was no point arguing.

Just then, the classroom door opened and the teacher entered. Miré instantly straightened up, her face flipping into an expression of utmost seriousness—a stark contrast to her earlier demeanor. She’d mastered the role of the “student in class,” even if her thoughts were far from the lecture.

Meruka, in turn, rose slowly, a soft smile on her face, and quietly left the classroom without a word. She never liked drawing attention to herself, especially in large groups, and preferred to slip away unnoticed.

The old Eden library stood apart from the academy’s main building. A cozy, almost forgotten structure, overgrown with grapevines, its crooked sign and heavy wooden door gave it the charm of something ancient. The creaking of that door was recognizable from afar. Inside, it smelled of damp paper, dust, and something warm and familiar—like history itself had curled up between the shelves, whispering long-forgotten tales.

When Miré and Meruka approached the door, Miré nudged it open with her shoulder and stepped inside—only to let out a loud sneeze.

“Achoo!” echoed through the room.

“Heh…” Meruka couldn’t hold back a quiet laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. “You react like that every time. As if you didn’t know this place is coated in centuries of dust.”

“I keep hoping someone finally got rid of her,” Miré muttered, scratching her nose. “But no... same as always. Even the air here crackles.”

“The air of knowledge,” Meruka replied with a chuckle and stepped inside.

The library was dim. Tall shelves stretched almost to the ceiling, and old chandeliers cast a warm amber light across the room. Somewhere in the distance, an ancient clock creaked. In the silence, even their footsteps on the wooden floor sounded too loud.

In the farthest corner, behind a desk piled with stacks of books, sat the old librarian. Her skin was wrinkled like parchment, her silver hair gathered in a neat bun. She was sorting through volumes, leafing through the pages like old letters.

Seeing the girls approach, she lifted her glasses and smiled.

“Ah, my favorite visitors...” she said, her voice rough with warmth. “Still searching for what others have long forgotten?”

Meruka was the first to approach, bowing slightly.

“Good evening, Miss Arvina.”

“Good evening, child.” The old woman looked at Miré. “With her again, Miré? Or did you finally decide to enjoy the scent of ancient wisdom on your own?”

Miré smirked, brushing dust off her sleeve. “I came solely out of pity, grandma. Didn’t want you getting bored in here.”

Arvina laughed. “Oh, you have a sharp tongue. That’s good. Knowledge is easier to digest when the tongue is sharper than the lesson.”

Meanwhile, Meruka leaned toward the desk.

“You had a new delivery, didn’t you? You mentioned it last time.”

“Ah yes,” the old woman nodded. “Just brought in yesterday. Nothing particularly valuable... but I set aside a couple of volumes that might interest someone like you. They're by the west window, in the niche between geography and forgotten myths.”

Miré immediately darted off. “I’m first!”

“You’re always first,” Meruka said softly, smiling just a little.

She lingered a moment longer, and before following, she bowed politely.

“Thank you, Miss Arvina.”

The old woman looked at her for a long, thoughtful moment. Then, almost out of nowhere, she spoke—softly, nearly a whisper:

“It’s a pity to watch two flowers wither beneath the sun.”

Meruka froze.

The words were strange. Vague. Not threatening—but unsettling. As if spoken not in passing, but with heavy knowledge.

“What did you say?” she asked.

Arvina merely nodded, continuing to leaf through her book.

“Just thinking out loud, child. Go on. She’s waiting.”

Meruka didn’t press further. But as she walked away, her steps grew quieter. And behind her, the words still echoed in her ears.

Miré stood by the shelves, running her fingers along the spines of books with a kind of excitement few ever noticed in her. But here, far from prying eyes and needless words, she was herself—focused, attentive, almost gentle with the old volumes. Her fingers slid across the bindings, reading titles aloud:

“The History of the Sunset Lands... The Secret Symbols of the Elemental World...” she muttered with a grimace. “People used to be terrible at naming books.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” Meruka reminded gently, appearing beside her with a soft smile. “Maybe it’s something interesting.”

Miré snorted. “I know... It’s just, old books are so typical, the one you want always takes forever to find.”

They continued browsing in silence. The titles varied wildly, from ancient legends to algebraic manuscripts. Some tomes were fragile, others embossed in gold. Meruka moved a bit slower, with a kind of reverent care. She loved the silence of such places—where each step sounded like a word whispered in someone else’s dream.

And then her hand stopped.

A book.

It stood out at once, like a shadow among light. The cover—black, like scorched charcoal. No title, no embossing, no name. Ancient, as if burned from within. The pages peeked from the binding—yellowed, uneven. Its scent was... strange. Not just dust. It smelled dry, dark, foreboding. Like old smoke.

Meruka reached out cautiously, as if afraid to wake something dormant. She touched the cover—and in that moment...

“Meruka! You here?” Miré’s voice called from behind.

Meruka flinched.

Her hand jerked, the book slipped from the shelf.

And with it—so did she.

“Ow!” she cried out, falling to the floor right at her friend’s feet. The book landed beside her with a dull thud, raising a small cloud of dust.

Miré blinked in surprise, leaning down.

“Did you see a ghost or something? Or is that your new spell—flight without takeoff?”

Meruka looked up at her, a bit stunned. Then she laughed, glancing away in embarrassment.

“You... startled me. You spoke so suddenly...”

“You? Startled? Now that’s a headline.” Miré held out her hand to help her up. “Looks like you found something interesting. What is it?”

Meruka picked up the book. Up close, it looked even stranger. It felt colder in her hands than it should have. The cover seemed to absorb light.

“I... don’t know. It doesn’t even have a title. Just black. Like night.”

Miré squinted.

“Maybe just some old student’s diary. Or... a cursed book that brings spiders to life.” She grinned. “Don’t tell me you actually want to read it.”

Meruka slowly nodded.

“It’s... pulling me. I don’t know why. But it’s not like the others. Not at all.”

Miré fell silent, watching her. Meruka’s eyes, usually calm like summer skies, now looked tense. And this wasn’t normal curiosity. Something about this book—or Meruka’s reaction to it—made Miré uneasy too.

“All right,” Miré finally said, stepping back. “But if that thing starts whispering to you at night, don’t forget to wake me. We die together, got it?”

Meruka smiled faintly, holding the book in both hands, as if it were something fragile and important.

“Don’t joke like that. Books don’t kill.”

They both looked at the book. And in that moment, even the old library seemed to hold its breath.

Miré, still glancing around, suddenly froze as the heavy door on the far end of the hall creaked open. The sound stretched out like a rusty breath, breaking the silence that had felt almost sacred. She turned, squinting.

“Probably Luka ,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Too careful opening it. Playing polite again.”

The corners of her mouth twitched—an impish spark lit up her face. This was the perfect moment.

“Time to show him what real horror looks like,” she whispered with a smirk and slipped between the shelves, her cloak brushing softly behind her.

Meruka watched her go, unable to hold back a faint smile. There was something warm about Miré, even when she tried to scare someone—it felt like play.

Left alone, she once again looked at the book in her hands. Everything about it beckoned: the texture of its darkened cover, the scent of dusty secrets, the slight tremble in her fingers. She sat down on an old wooden chair by the wall—it creaked, as if protesting its age. The book rested on her lap, heavy and... almost alive.

She slowly opened it.

The first page was handwritten in thick ink, smudged at the corners. The handwriting was erratic, as if the writer was holding back tears or losing patience.

"These notes I dedicate to my only and first friend—..."

The name was strangely erased. The letters were smeared, scratched out, as if someone tried to hide them. But the lines continued:

"...and his first love, whom he couldn't protect."

Meruka frowned. She ran her finger over the paper—it was rough, old, as if it had absorbed the suffering of every written word. Yet, the text pulled her in.

"We finally moved to this remote island. Thanks to my friend's magic, all dangerous plants and creatures were destroyed. He protected us... but I'm afraid. Afraid to look him in the eyes. His magic... it scares me."

"Every time he uses it, the

light in his eyes fades. I can't explain it otherwise. He's losing himself. And I'm afraid I'll lose him... just like he lost his beloved."

"He... he killed her. Not by will, but by fate. They weren't meant to be together. As I understand... she had to be destroyed. Her magic had to be absorbed by his. He possessed a very terrifying magic. The Magic of the Abyss. It's not just magic—it's a sentence. It consumes everything around, and first and foremost—the bearer."

Meruka's fingers grew cold.

The Magic of the Abyss.

She slowly lifted her gaze from the page, her breath becoming slightly uneven. The air in the library seemed different—dense, heavy, like before a storm. The cozy silence vanished, leaving only the thudding pulse in her chest.

Miré...

Her friend possessed the Magic of the Abyss. That magic. So ancient that even the elders knew little about it. So ancient that Miré couldn't even fully use it. And what does it mean... it consumes the bearer...

Meruka looked at the next page, hesitant to turn it. But everything inside her knew—the answers were there. And perhaps, the end too.

This wasn't just a book. It was a warning. A chronicle of someone else's pain. And a mirror reflection of their own fate.

Somewhere nearby, a quiet chuckle from Miré was heard—she was probably hiding behind a column, preparing to scare Luka.

But now that sound seemed distant, like a voice from another world.

Meruka looked at her hands—her slender fingers trembled slightly.

She clutched the book tighter and whispered almost inaudibly.

— "You... killed her?"

And suddenly, something rustled behind her. As if someone approached closely. Meruka turned sharply...

But there was no one there.

Only dust danced in the beam of light from the western window, and on her lap lay a black book, whispering a story that could no longer be stopped.

A sudden scream pierced the corridor's silence, followed by an angry voice full of indignation. A moment later, an old woman's shrill cry was heard. Meruka flinched, pressed the book to her chest, trying to compose herself.

— Miré... — she whispered through clenched teeth and took a deep breath, hiding the book under her jacket. Then she quickly headed towards her friends, trying to appear as if nothing had happened.

In the reading room, accessible through one of the side doors, the old librarian was already scolding someone, clutching her chest:

— I have a heart condition, mind you! — she thundered, casting a stern glance at those gathered. — Such sudden noises are no joke! Want to scare someone into a faint, girl?

Meruka stopped at the door and froze, seeing that the scolding was directed at her friends. It seemed all the anger was aimed at Luka, even though he was the victim in this situation. Miré awkwardly lowered her head and blushed, bowing deeply:

— I'm sorry... I didn't mean to... really...

Luka stood nearby, clearly unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of someone else's displeasure. He also blushed slightly, trying not to look at the old woman.

At that moment, Meruka approached them—calm as always, a faint smile on her lips.

As soon as the old librarian noticed her, she fell silent, then gasped, placing a hand on her chest—not out of fear, but surprise:

“Oh, Meruka… my child! You’re like their older sister!” She shook her head in relief, as if the very appearance of the blue-haired girl had dispelled all her anger. “Keep an eye on them, will you? They're going to give me a heart attack…”

With that, the librarian slowly walked away, muttering something under her breath about “noisy kids and poor hearts.”

Miré crossed her arms and squinted at Luka:

“See? This is your fault. Screaming like a girl. Loudest one here.”

Luka snorted, smirking:

“Of course. It’s always my fault. And you must be the angel with wings—just haven’t learned to fly yet.”

“If it weren’t for your face, I’d be peacefully floating through the skies,” Miré huffed.

“Sorry that it's so beautiful,” Luka said with an exaggerated expression.

“Ha! Humility won’t be the death of you,” Miré muttered, turning away.

Meruka chuckled softly and stepped between them, as if trying to shift the mood.

“You know… I think I’ll head out. It’s kind of… noisy today.”

She turned away, as if not wanting to explain, and took a step toward the exit.

Miré looked after her, surprised, but didn’t insist.

“Alright. Just give me a sec…” She quickly returned to the shelf and grabbed three books, hugging them close.

“Three?” Luka raised a brow. “You’re not gonna read them anyway.”

Miré shot him a look.

“Quiet. I just feel them.”

Luka grinned, but before he could reply, Miré smacked him hard on the shoulder with one of the books.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

“For the smirk,” she sniffed.

They left the old library and walked down a narrow, shaded alley where the branches whispered overhead. Miré chatted animatedly, gesturing with her free hand:

“Did you know they used to keep magical birds in the old eastern wing of the academy? Well, supposedly.

One student said he heard strange sounds at night, like someone rustling feathers and singing in an unknown language… Can you imagine? Creepy and awesome! If only I could see it, even for a second—”

“Miré,” Meruka interrupted quietly without turning around.

“Huh?” Miré fell silent, clutching the books. “Actually, I wanted to ask. That black book… you just left it? What was that?”

Meruka paused for a moment. Then kept walking, still not turning around.

“It was empty. There was nothing inside. I just put it back."

“Empty?” Miré frowned. “But…”

“Sometimes books are empty not because they have no words,” Meruka said softly, “but because they’re waiting for someone to see their reflection in them.”

Miré fell quiet, sensing something strange in her friend’s tone. She didn’t ask again.

Luka walked behind them the whole time, hands in his pockets. He didn’t say a word, just listened.

The wind tousled his hair, and the dappled shadows danced across his face.

Miré frowned as she noticed Meruka growing more distant, her steps so soft they barely made a sound, as if she were fading into the twilight air. Miré bit her lip, slowed her pace, and walked alongside Luka.

He glanced sideways at her, brow raised as if to ask what was going on, but thought better of it. He only snorted.

“What’s with the snort?” Miré asked casually, extending a foot in front of him just as casually. “I was going to ask your advice. But now?”

Luka stumbled, flailing like a tightrope walker in a storm.

“Hey!” he yelped, nearly grabbing a nearby bush. “Are you nuts?!”

“Totally,” Miré smiled sweetly. “That’s for the snort. And the smirk earlier.”

“And what advice did you want, exactly?” he grumbled, brushing off his shirt. “How to stop being grumpy all the time?”

“I’m not grumpy. You’re just an oaf. You walk like a goose in the rain.”

“What?!” Luka’s eyes flared. “Did you just compare me to a goose?!”

“Yep. And you hiss too. Like a kettle. Only less useful,” she smirked—then suddenly went silent.

At the bend in the path stood the student council president—tall, straight as an arrow, with the eternally stern face that could scare even the boldest fools in the academy. He silently looked at them over the top of a folder filled with papers.

Miré straightened like a soldier at attention and nodded politely.

“Good evening, President.”

He didn’t reply. Just adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, gave a restrained nod, and walked past.

Only when his footsteps faded did Miré exhale, like she’d just escaped an artifactology test. Luka rolled his eyes.

“Phew… saved books and my honest biography,” she muttered, then caught up with Meruka, who was still walking quietly, lost in thought.

“Hey…” Miré nudged her shoulder gently. “You’ve been weird since the library. Like you’re not really here.”

Meruka didn’t answer right away. She only pressed an elbow slightly against her side, as if guarding an invisible secret.

“Just tired,” she answered briefly. “It’s… noisy today.”

Luka, catching up, didn’t miss his chance to chime in:

“Maybe she’s just trying to process how much you talk.”

Without a word, Miré smacked him again with her book.

“Ow! Are you sleeping with that book or what?!”

“No, I patrol with it,” she snorted. “And you’re the first offender.”

Meruka smiled slightly. The faint shadow across her face lifted, just for a moment.

“And why’s that?” Luka snorted, straightening up as Miré glanced at Meruka again. “Because I look more like a Sudzukawa than you?”

“More like a peacock,” she muttered, then stuck out her foot again without warning.

Luka nearly stumbled forward, but managed to leap over her leg and rushed ahead to Meruka.

“Wait!” He caught Meruka’s hand in a swift motion. “Alright, seriously now. What’s going on with you?”

Meruka flinched slightly at the touch, but didn’t pull away.

“You’re like… not here,” he added, more softly.

Before she could answer, the familiar thud came from behind. The same book—“the one she just felt”—smacked Luka square on the back of the head.

“You don’t even know how to touch people with respect,” Miré grumbled.

“Do you go to the library just to assault people with knowledge?!” Luka hissed, rubbing his shoulder and shooting her a sour look.

Meruka smiled gently—almost soundlessly. Then looked away and shook her head slightly.

“I’m just tired… I’ll head to my room. Maybe nap a bit.”

“Now?” Miré raised a brow. “It’s barely lunchtime!”

“Must’ve been the library,” Meruka said quietly, gazing up at the sky through the leaves.

Miré pressed her lips together.

“But that never happened before. We’ve always hung out there. What’s different now?”

Meruka lowered her eyes, as if weighing her answer, but in the end, she only shook her head.

— Just one of those days.

Luka took a step forward.

— Let me walk you. You shouldn’t go alone.

But Meruka shook her head again.

— No. I’m fine. Really.

And without waiting for a reaction, she turned and walked away, as if trying to forget with every step that anyone had ever been waiting for her.

Luka watched her go, hands in his pockets.

— Something’s definitely not fine, — he muttered.

Miré clutched her books tighter. Her face was more serious than usual.

— And whatever it is, it started after the library.

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