When we stepped outside, the noise hit me straight away. I didn’t stop walking because Bǎo didn’t. She just moved forward, easy and loose, like this was all familiar. People were talking over each other, screens stacked up the sides of buildings, and music bled out of shops. I felt it all at once, like I’d walked into something that didn’t care I was there.

  Bǎo linked her arm through mine without asking. I stiffened before I could stop myself, then forced my shoulder to relax. I didn’t want her to feel it. I didn’t want her to think I was being weird about this. I kept walking. I didn’t expect there to be this many people. I don’t know why I didn’t, but I didn’t. I kept checking my feet, the distance between bodies, the edges of the pavement. I felt flushed, like everyone could tell I didn’t belong here… like I’d missed some rule everyone else learned years ago.

  Bǎo was talking. She was telling me what she’d been doing: adverts, performances, meetings, brands. She said it casually, like it was nothing special, like it was boring even. I nodded when it felt right. I didn’t interrupt. I was trying to imagine her life moving this fast while I was locked away.

  “Mostly it’s just waiting,” she said, laughing. “People think it’s glamorous…? It’s not.”

  I didn’t know what glamorous even meant in practice. I just knew she sounded tired, and successful, and busy in a way I’d never been.

  As we entered the Asian market, someone immediately recognized her. I saw it before she did. A pause, a phone lifted, a whisper. Bǎo smiled before they even spoke, like she already knew what they wanted.

  “Hi,” she said, bright, like she’d been practicing it forever.

  They took photos. She posed without thinking about it. I stood there, useless, not sure where to put my hands. When another phone came up, my body moved on its own. Not everyone was happy, some were jealous.

  “Wow, what are you wearing? I feel embarrassed for you,” a girl sitting nearby sneered.

  “This bow alone is worth more than your house,” Bǎo replied immediately.

  I waved my hands and laughed slightly, trying to cover her up.

  “Hey, look at her boyfriend! There’s no fairness in this world, man! Haha!” A boy laughed, stabbing a verbal knife through my heart.

  A girl punched him in the shoulder, hard. “Isn’t that Bǎo…? She’s crazy famous! She must be friends with Kwon!”

  “Damn, I messed up. Should’ve asked for an autograph,” the rude boy moped.

  “Wait, I heard she’s like… super old now?” one of the girls whispered.

  “The Diamond Doll is here!” I heard a girl scream from the other end of the hall.

  “What!? Don’t joke with me…! Is that… Bǎo-Bǎo…!?” I heard a man squeal. “I’m coming, my treasure!”

  Dozens of footsteps echoed; and I froze like a statue. Bǎo, on the other hand, was handling it like a professional. The room was filled with fans of all ages, from children with their mothers, down to old men in business suits. More looked in from the windows, already surrounding the building as we shopped. The squealing man ripped open his shirt, revealing artwork of Bǎo, staring straight forward with a pursed smile.

  “That’s the cutest shirt I’ve ever seen,” Bǎo laughed, as she put her hand on my shoulder. That was my signal to act.

  “Please, no photographs,” I said, pretending to be a bodyguard. “The Diamond Doll has… a lot… to do today and doesn’t have any time… aha.”

  A sharp elbow hit my gut. I keeled over and felt Bǎo whisper in my ear. “What…? Seriously? Great, this’ll be all over the news. The Diamond Doll blanked her fans?”

  “S-sorry… t-this way, Diamond Doll…”

  “That goes against the CCP’s entire branding for me, piggie. You’re going to set this right!”

  “I… I thought I was helping. Sorry?” I said, whispering, deeply embarrassed.

  People laughed. They moved on. No one questioned it. My chest eased a little. I didn’t know why. Maybe because for a moment I had a role that made sense.

  As we walked, the buildings started to change. The concrete got cleaner, the signs got brighter. Fewer people sat on the ground; fewer doors were shuttered. I glanced back once, without meaning to, and caught a glimpse of the lower blocks behind us. Tight windows, wires everywhere. The part of the island where people disappear into rooms and don’t come out much. We didn’t go that way.

  We passed a screen looping an advert, and it took me a second to realize it was Bǎo. Her face filled the display with perfect lighting, giant blonde pigtails with a pink bow half the size of her face, her name printed in multiple languages underneath in huge characters. People walked past it without stopping. I stopped.

  She noticed and looked up too. “That one’s awful,” she said. “They made my eyes weird. The editor had it out for me, piggie. She didn’t even cover that horrible acne scar! Look!”

  I kept staring. Not at the screen exactly, but at the idea of it. Of her being this big. This visible. She was doing something real. Something that mattered to people. I respected that more than I expected to. Seeing her on Earth was grounding; she felt so much bigger here than she did in Edenfall.

  The supermarket was too busy. Lanterns strung up along the ceiling, the smell of spices I couldn’t name filling the air. Shelves were packed tight with things I didn’t recognize. Bǎo moved like she belonged here. She grabbed things without reading labels, pointed stuff out, laughed. I held the basket and tried not to look lost. People looked at her here too, but differently. Longer glances, quiet recognition. How many of them recognized me as the mad lunatic who wrestled with a smelly orangutan?

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  I glanced over my shoulder, looking for Oruun. In truth, I don’t know why my mind clung to him in that moment. I expected him to be there, floating slightly above the floor, arms crossed, ready to tell me the most efficient path through the aisle. But there was only empty space and a woman buying rice. The absence hit me harder than I expected.

  I was just following someone else now. Bǎo didn’t notice. Or she did and didn’t care. She was already halfway down the aisle, pulling things off the shelves. Snacks first. Things wrapped in bright packaging.

  She held one up to my face. “These are good,” she said. “Trust me.”

  I nodded, even though I had no idea what they were. She dropped them into the basket and kept moving. I followed. I didn’t question it. Following felt easier than deciding. There were a lot of people in here. Too many. I kept feeling like someone was watching me, then realizing they weren’t, then checking again anyway. I caught my reflection in the glass of a fridge door and didn’t like how stiff I looked. My face felt wrong, like I was holding it incorrectly.

  Bǎo talked while she shopped. She filled the space with noise. Little comments, complaints about packaging, jokes about how much money she was wasting. She asked me what I wanted in the hot pot and I froze for a second because I didn’t know how to answer.

  “Whatever you like,” I said.

  She laughed. “You can’t say that forever.”

  I didn’t say anything back. I didn’t know how long forever was supposed to be. I realized I hadn’t spoken to anyone properly in days. My voice felt strange when I used it, like it had been sitting unused for too long. I cleared my throat and gripped the basket tighter.

  Bǎo moved confidently, like she’d done this a hundred times. She knew which aisle the broth was in. She compared two brands, reading the labels quickly, then put both in without deciding. She grabbed vegetables I recognized and others I didn’t. Mushrooms that looked expensive. She didn’t look at the prices. I definitely did. Each number registered and disappeared. I told myself not to think about it. I told myself I didn’t care. I absolutely cared. The pitiful amount of Credits I saved up might not hold up.

  “Grab those eggs,” she said, pointing without looking.

  Never in my life had I been so scared of an egg. I reached out with my right hand. The metal one. I grabbed the carton. It felt weightless. I tightened my grip just to be sure I had it. There was a wet crunch, a sick sound which caught everyone’s attention. Yolk dripped onto the floor, bright yellow against the white tiles. I stared at my hand. The metal fingers had crushed the cardboard like it was paper. I hadn’t felt a thing. No resistance. Just the mess.

  “You’re so clumsy,” Bǎo said, not looking up from her phone. “Use the other hand, piggie.”

  I stared at the ruined carton, my stomach twisting. A sickening feeling of dread covered me in a blanket, and I felt like fleeing. My hand found its way to the Diamond Doll’s shoulder; and I was grounded. Just enough to stay. Someone passed us and glanced at Bǎo, then did a double take. I felt my face heat up. I didn’t know what they saw. I didn’t know what I was supposed to be. I moved closer to Bǎo again, without thinking.

  Close enough that our arms brushed when she reached for something. The contact was brief, accidental. It still steadied me. She smelled clean. Something floral. Expensive. I didn’t think she was beautiful in a dramatic way. It was quieter than that. It was the way she existed here without effort. The way the space seemed to adjust around her. I wasn’t jealous. I didn’t want her life. I didn’t think I could survive it. I just couldn’t stop watching it. Like a moth to a flame.

  At the checkout, everything slowed down. The conveyor belt hummed. Items slid forward one by one. Bǎo was still talking, scrolling through her phone, responding to messages, laughing at something someone sent her. I was watching the screen above the register. The total climbed faster than I expected. My chest tightened. I didn’t want her to see it. I didn’t want her to offer.

  “I’ve got it,” I said, too quickly.

  She looked at me then. Really looked. I couldn’t read her expression. It was neutral. Curious. Not unkind. “Okay,” she said.

  That was it. I handed over my card. The machine beeped. The wait felt longer than it was. I was aware of the people behind us. I was aware of my hands shaking slightly. When the payment went through, I felt lightheaded, like I’d stood up too fast.

  Bǎo bagged the groceries without rushing. She thanked the cashier. The cashier thanked her back, voice a little brighter than necessary.

  We stepped back into the street and I realized I’d been holding my breath again.

  Bǎo stretched, satisfied. “This is going to be good,” she said.

  I adjusted the bags in my hands. They were heavy, but the weight felt useful. It gave me something to focus on. I stayed close to her as we walked away. Not because I was afraid of the people. Not exactly. Because if I lost her in the crowd, I wasn’t sure where I was supposed to stand.

  I left the supermarket and I took all the bags without saying anything. Bǎo handed them to me one by one like it was obvious I’d carry them. The plastic dug into my fingers straight away. I felt it in my left hand first. The right one didn’t react the same way. The metal didn’t register pain. It just held.

  I noticed that before I noticed the money. I knew I spent too much. I knew it in a distant, factual way, like remembering a detail from someone else’s story. It didn’t trigger panic the way it should. It just sat there, flat. I told myself it didn’t matter. I didn’t know if I believed that or if I just didn’t have the energy to argue with myself.

  The street opened up as we walked uphill. Wider pavements. Cleaner stone. Less noise from people, more from machines. The air felt thinner somehow. I was aware of my body again. Of how I was walking. Of the way the bags swung if I didn’t control them. I started to feel unreal. Like I was watching my own hands move. Like if I stopped paying attention, I’d freeze in place and no one would notice.

  I had the thought, briefly, that I could just stand here forever and the city would route around me.

  Bǎo kept talking. She pointed things out as we walked. A new café she liked. A building she hated. A place she filmed once and never wanted to go back to. I nodded. I smiled when it felt appropriate. I was half a second late every time.

  My hands were starting to hurt properly now. The plastic was cutting into the skin of my left palm. I shifted the bags, trying to balance them better. The right hand didn’t help the way I expected it to. The steel didn’t give. The handle pressed against it and stayed there. I glanced down without meaning to. The metal looked wrong against the bags. Too clean. Too solid. I suddenly felt exposed. Like everyone could see it.

  Like everyone was looking at my hand and then at Bǎo and wondering why she was walking next to someone like me.

  I thought about what I said earlier. Bodyguard. The word felt stupid now. I didn’t look like a bodyguard. I looked like someone hired to carry things. I imagined people putting it together in their heads. Her face on the screens. Me with the bags. The hand. I felt heat creep up my neck again.

  What if they thought I was embarrassing her? The thought landed harder than I expected. I didn’t know why that was the one that stuck. Not the money. Not the pain. That.

  I told myself I was overthinking. I told myself no one cared. I told myself she wouldn’t bring me out here if it mattered. I kept walking.

  There was a moment where we passed a reflective surface and I caught us together in it. Bǎo walking easily, phone in one hand, hair perfect. Me beside her, shoulders tight, bags cutting into my hands, trying not to look like I didn’t belong.

  The idea came uninvited: that I was dragging her down. That I was something she’d have to explain later. That I didn’t deserve to be here, walking through this part of the island, carrying groceries for someone like her.

  I didn’t know where that thought came from. It felt old. Like it had been waiting for a quiet moment.

  Bǎo said my name and I flinched before I realized she was just asking if I was okay.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m fine.”

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