The air outside the author signing venue was a stark contrast to the chaotic, emotionally charged atmosphere within. The afternoon sun, beginning its slow descent towards the horizon, cast long, warm shadows across the polished white stone of the upper-level avenue. The sounds of Azul Spira—the distant, melodic chime of gondolas, the cheerful chatter of tourists, the faint strains of music drifting from a nearby theatre—were a gentle, welcome return to normalcy.
Or, they should have been.
For Raito and Yukari, the world felt tilted, off-kilter. They walked side-by-side, their steps slow and heavy, a shared, profound sense of disillusionment radiating from them like a physical force. In their hands, clutched with a grip that was less triumphant and more a desperate, white-knuckled denial, were their spoils of war: two pristine, newly signed books and two small, elegant tickets promising free copies of a literary abomination they couldn't even bear to contemplate.
Behind them, the sounds from the venue were a distant, muffled roar. Cheers. Applause. Voices raised in excited, grateful chatter. They could vaguely hear the familiar, melodic tones of Lady Geneva and the warm, rumbling baritone of Sir Rupert, their voices a chorus of thank-yous directed towards the empty space where their two unlikely saviors had just been standing. The fans, their initial shock now transformed into a near-hysterical fervor, were undoubtedly recounting the tale, embellishing the details, turning a moment of chaotic, instinctual self-defense into a scene ripped straight from the pages of their favorite novels.
Most fans would have been ecstatic. To meet their idols, to receive their gratitude, to be hailed as heroes who had leaped into action with the effortless grace of their fictional counterparts… it was the stuff of dreams.
But Raito and Yukari felt none of that. They just felt… betrayed. And deeply, profoundly insulted.
They reached the edge of the bustling avenue, stopping near the railing overlooking a lower canal, the chaotic energy of the signing venue finally fading into a distant murmur. They let out a long, slow, perfectly synchronized sigh, the sound a quiet, shared symphony of pure, unadulterated exasperation.
Raito spoke first, his voice a low, wounded grumble. “They thought what I did was similar to Lady Huanli,” he muttered, shaking his head, the memory of the fan’s excited, misguided comparison a fresh, stinging insult. “Me? Like her ? I felt insulted.”
Yukari’s own sigh was sharper, laced with a venomous disbelief. “And they thought what I did mirrored that… that bumbling detective,” she countered, her voice dripping with contempt. “This is one of the worst days of my life.” She clutched her signed copy of Lady Huanli as if it might spontaneously combust from the sheer indignity of the association.
“And it turns out both authors are married to each other,” Raito added, the words a final, devastating blow to their already fractured literary universes.
“How could those two completely clashing tastes even get married in the first place?” Yukari demanded, her voice rising with a genuine, baffled outrage. “It’s impossible!”
“I know, right?” Raito responded, nodding vehemently in agreement. Their shared indignation over this fundamental betrayal momentarily overshadowed their individual grievances.
“Sir Rupert is smart, witty, sharp,” he declared, his loyalty to his literary hero unwavering despite the circumstances.
“Lady Geneva is brave, outgoing, and adventurous,” Yukari countered instantly, her own admiration for her chosen icon just as fierce.
“And now they’re going to have a crossover book,” they said in perfect, horrified unison, the thought a shared, literary apocalypse.
“There is no way we can accept this,” they declared again, turning to face each other, their earlier conflict completely forgotten, replaced by a shared, righteous fury against this unholy union of incompatible genres. They stood there, two passionate, deeply invested fans united in their outrage, completely oblivious to the delicious, glaring irony of their own situation: two people with completely different tastes, personalities, and backgrounds, who had somehow, against all odds, fallen madly in love and gotten married themselves.
Raito finally smirked, the first crack in their unified wall of outrage. He glanced down at the small, elegant tickets still clutched tightly in Yukari’s hand, the promise of a free book a stark, practical counterpoint to their literary indignation. “So,” he asked, his voice laced with a familiar, teasing challenge, “are you going to throw those tickets away?”
Yukari’s head snapped up, her silver eyes widening for a fraction of a second before narrowing again, this time with a fierce, almost defensive possessiveness. “Of course not!” she declared vehemently, pulling the tickets closer as if he might snatch them away. “That and this are two different things!” A matching smirk, slow and utterly unapologetic, spread across her own face. Free was free, after all.
“A truce, then?” Raito offered, extending a hand, his earlier anger completely gone, replaced by a quiet, almost fond amusement at their shared, ridiculous hypocrisy.
Yukari looked from his outstretched hand to the tickets, then back to his face. She let out a small, dramatic sigh, the sound a final, theatrical surrender. “Yes,” she agreed, taking his hand, her grip firm. “A truce.” Her smirk widened, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes. “Until we both see the crossover book. Then,” she declared, her voice a playful promise of future battles, “we hate each other’s taste in books again.”
Yukari glanced up at the sun, now a low, bleeding smear of orange and purple against the horizon. Its golden light painted the alabaster spires of the Sey Lanz Opera House in warm, inviting hues. "Hmm," she mused, a new, mischievous light entering her silver eyes as she noted the time. "It's almost time for that 'Lily Pence Fan Meetup,' isn't it?"
She turned to Raito, her earlier literary outrage completely gone, replaced by a slow, calculating, and utterly diabolical smirk. "Let's go there," she suggested, her voice a low, purring thing that promised chaos. "I want to let go of my anguish... by teasing 'Fifi'."
Raito just looked at her, a slow, appreciative grin spreading across his own face. "Still as diabolical as ever, I see," he commented, his voice full of a fond, weary admiration.
"Just matching my energy with this place," Yukari replied with a dismissive wave of her hand, though her smirk didn't falter. "Between the 'kitchen devil' incident and the author meetup debacle, I need to let out some steam." She looped her arm through his, pulling him close as she began to walk back towards the opera house.
"Lead the way, Princess," Raito teased, easily falling into step beside her, the earlier weight of their disillusionment completely lifted.
"Onward, my faithful butler!" Yukari declared, her voice regaining a touch of the dramatic, theatrical flair they had both unknowingly absorbed from the very air of Azul Spira. Together, their steps light, their laughter echoing in the twilight, they headed back towards the Sey Lanz Opera House.
Meanwhile, deep within the opulent labyrinth of the Sey Lanz Opera House, a different kind of performance was underway. In a brightly lit, mirror-lined dressing room that smelled faintly of expensive perfume and hairspray, the figure known to the world as Lily Pence, celebrity and performer extraordinaire sat patiently, a serene, almost beatific smile on her face.
Gone was the baggy, utilitarian garb of Fifi the tour guide. In its place was a flowing, ethereal white gown, its delicate fabric embroidered with intricate silver patterns that caught the light with every subtle movement. Her brilliant blonde hair, no longer hidden beneath a newsboy cap, cascaded around her shoulders in soft, artfully arranged waves. She was the picture of Spican elegance, the living embodiment of the grace and beauty the city held so dear.
Multiple makeup artists fluttered around her like attentive butterflies, their brushes and powders moving with a practiced, reverent precision. One carefully applied a touch of shimmering gold eyeshadow to her eyelids, another dusted a faint, rosy blush onto her cheeks, while a third meticulously adjusted a single, stray curl that had dared to fall out of place.
Lily hummed happily to herself, a soft, contented melody that seemed to fill the room with a quiet, peaceful energy. Everything today had gone according to plan. The morning rehearsals for the Grand Play had been flawless, her voice soaring, her movements precise, every note, every step hitting its mark with effortless perfection. No interruptions. No chaotic surprises. Just the pure, focused joy of her art. And soon, the fan meetup – a chance to connect with her adoring public, to bask in the warm glow of their admiration, to be the Jewel of the Sea they all believed her to be. It was going to be another perfect day in her perfectly curated world.
The only tiny, insignificant, and utterly infuriating fly in the ointment was the lingering thought of returning home later tonight. Home, to her magnificent, pristine, and usually solitary mansion penthouse… which was now occupied. By two chaotic, infuriating, and impossibly endearing rabbits who had somehow burrowed their way not just into her house, but into the carefully ordered world she had built around herself.
“Arghh!”
The sound ripped from her throat, a sudden, sharp explosion of pure, unadulterated frustration that shattered the room’s serene atmosphere. The makeup artists jumped back as if struck, their brushes clattering against the vanity table, their faces masks of pure, startled shock. Lily’s serene smile was gone, replaced by a grimace of pure, teeth-grinding annoyance, her earlier peaceful contentment completely evaporated by the single, infuriating memory of her unwanted houseguests, the “rabbits.”
As Raito and Yukari arrived back at the grand plaza in front of the Sey Lanz Opera House, the scenery before them was something shocking. They had thought the author signing line was long, a respectable gathering of devoted literary fans. But this… this was something else entirely.
The line wasn’t just a line; it was a river. A vast, churning, and seemingly endless sea of humanity that snaked its way across the entire plaza, looped around the central fountain twice, spilled out onto the main avenue, and disappeared around a distant corner, its end completely lost to sight. It was a pilgrimage, a tidal wave of pure, unadulterated adoration directed towards a single, glittering point: the main entrance of the opera house, where a temporary stage had been erected for the fan meetup.
Raito and Yukari just stopped, their earlier mischievous energy completely deflating in the face of such overwhelming, almost terrifying popularity. They stood at the edge of the plaza, their mouths slightly agape, their minds struggling to process the sheer scale of it all.
“Okay…” Raito finally managed, his voice a low, incredulous murmur. “She is actually… popular popular.”
“Let’s just line up and see how long it takes,” Yukari said, though her own voice was tinged with a weary, almost defeated resignation. The thought of wading into that sea of devoted fans, of waiting for hours just for a chance to deliver a single, well-aimed tease… it suddenly felt like a lot more effort than it was worth. Raito just nodded, his own earlier enthusiasm similarly dampened.
With a shared, silent sigh, they began the long trek, walking against the current of the line, searching for its distant, mythical end. They walked past hundreds, possibly thousands, of eager faces—young girls clutching homemade signs declaring their undying love for Lily Pence, older women discussing her latest performance with hushed, reverent tones, even a few stoic-looking men trying their best to look casual while clearly vibrating with anticipation.
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Finally, after what felt like an eternity, nearly two full city blocks away from the opera house itself, they found it. The very last person in the serpentine queue. And standing right beside them, his posture a familiar blend of professional duty and quiet, friendly patience, was a face they recognized.
“Oh, you two!” the guard from the opera house entrance called out, his face breaking into a warm, welcoming smile. He gestured with a gloved hand, inviting them to step up beside him, effectively cutting the line by one crucial person. “Glad to have you back!”
“Yeah, we’re here, mister,” Raito said, offering a grateful, if slightly weary, smile in return. “That pasta you recommended? It was delicious.”
“My recommendations are never wrong,” the guard replied proudly, his chest puffing out slightly. His gaze swept over the seemingly endless line that stretched before them, a look of quiet, almost paternal pride in his eyes.
“How long do you think this line will take?” Yukari asked, her voice laced with a genuine, slightly horrified curiosity.
The guard stroked his chin thoughtfully, his experienced gaze assessing the sheer volume of humanity. “Hmm… probably three to five hours, judging by the size,” he estimated, his tone matter-of-fact. He chuckled then, a warm, easy sound. “But the Jewel of the Sea rewards the patient,” he added jokingly.
“FIVE HOURS?!”
The shriek was a synchronized, high-pitched, and utterly appalled sound from both Raito and Yukari. Five hours? To wait in line for someone they shared a bathroom with? Someone whose sleep-deprived, rage-fueled shriek had been the first sound they’d heard this morning? The sheer, overwhelming absurdity of it all hit them with the force of a physical blow. Their earlier mischievous plan, their desire to tease Fifi… it evaporated instantly, replaced by a single, unified, and utterly profound thought.
This was absolutely, unequivocally, not worth it.
Just as they were about to turn and retreat, defeated by the sheer magnitude of Lily Pence’s fandom, the guard held up a hand, a sudden, almost conspiratorial glint in his eye. “But,” he began, his voice dropping to a low, excited whisper, “you two are in luck!”
He leaned in closer, his earlier professional demeanor replaced by the infectious enthusiasm of a fellow fan sharing a secret. “I heard about what you did! At the author venue earlier! Saving Sir Rupert and Lady Geneva from that crazy fan, right?”
“Does the news travel that fast here?” Raito asked, glancing down at his nonexistent wristwatch with a look of pure, bewildered confusion. “It’s only been… an hour? At best?”
Yukari let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh. “Well,” she commented dryly, her voice a low murmur meant only for Raito, “considering the ‘kitchen devil’ news also spread like wildfire, this shouldn’t surprise me.”
“Of course, the news travels fast!” the guard declared proudly, puffing out his chest again. His voice took on a dramatic, almost theatrical tone, perfectly mimicking the Spican flair. “Azul Spira, nay, Spica itself waits for no one who gets swept by the waves of gossip!” He grinned, clearly pleased with his own performance. “Your bravery will be rewarded,” he announced, his voice returning to a more official, commanding tone. He turned to the other guards stationed nearby, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “Hey!” he called out, gesturing towards the two runaways. “These are the two heroes everyone’s been talking about!”
The other guards immediately snapped to attention, their earlier casual demeanor replaced by a look of profound, almost star-struck respect.
“Sir Rupert and Lady Geneva have personally put in a good word,” the first guard explained, his voice now full of a genuine, almost reverent admiration. “You two have special access. To the backstage area of this fan meetup!” He beamed at them, his face alight with the reflected glory of their unexpected heroism. “You two are very lucky!” he shouted, his voice a triumphant announcement to the surrounding line-waiters, who now stared at Raito and Yukari with a mixture of awe and undisguised envy.
Before they could even process the sudden, jarring shift in their fortunes, two of the other guards stepped forward, their movements crisp and efficient. With polite but firm gestures, they began to guide Raito and Yukari away from the endless queue, towards a small, discreet side entrance tucked away near the main stage, a hidden path reserved for VIPs, staff, and now, apparently, accidental heroes.
The backstage area of the Sey Lanz Opera House was a world unto itself, a labyrinth of dim corridors, echoing practice rooms, and the controlled chaos of stagehands preparing for the evening’s event. The hushed, reverent atmosphere of the front lobby was replaced by a low, buzzing energy, the air thick with the scent of sawdust, old velvet, and nervous anticipation.
Raito and Yukari followed their two guard escorts, their earlier mischievous plan now completely forgotten, replaced by a strange mixture of bewildered amusement and genuine curiosity. They had gone from being annoyed houseguests plotting a minor prank to honored heroes being granted an audience with the Jewel of the Sea herself. Spica, they were quickly learning, was a place where fortunes, and narratives, could change in the blink of an eye.
Their escorts led them down a final, quiet corridor lined with ornately carved wooden doors, each bearing a small, gilded star. They stopped before one door, slightly larger and more decorated than the rest.
Knock. Knock. Two polite, but firm, raps echoed in the quiet hallway.
“Hark, whomst doth disturb my preparations?” A voice called from within, muffled by the thick wood. It was the familiar, dramatic, and slightly exaggerated tone they knew all too well, though now it held a layer of practiced, professional warmth.
“Miss Pence,” one of the guards called back, his voice respectful but clear. “We’ve brought you the two heroes who saved the authors earlier today.”
A beat of silence from within. Then, the voice again, this time with a hint of something else… surprise? Amusement? “Ah… ‘tis those two?” Another brief pause, followed by a theatrical clearing of the throat. “Pray, bid them enter!”
The door swung open, pushed from the inside.
Lily Pence stood there, a vision in her ethereal white gown, her face a mask of serene, perfect welcome, her smile dazzling. She had been rehearsing this moment, preparing a speech of gratitude, ready to bestow her radiant charm upon the brave souls who had protected her fellow artists. She bowed gracefully, a perfect, practiced gesture of humility and grace.
“Oh, heroes,” she began, her voice the smooth, melodic alto that captivated thousands, “I have heard tales of thy most valiant deeds! In the name of Azul Spira fair, whose beauty thou hast served, I offer thee my deepest gratit—”
Her perfectly rehearsed speech stopped dead. Her head lifted. Her serene, welcoming smile froze, then faltered, then completely vanished as her eyes finally registered the two figures standing in her doorway. The “heroes.” Her unwanted, chaotic, and utterly infuriating houseguests.
“Ye… two?” The words were a choked, incredulous whisper, stripped bare of all performance, all artifice. Lily Pence, the Jewel of the Sea, the master of a thousand dramatic masks, was utterly, completely startled.
She recovered quickly, a lifetime of stage training kicking in. She coughed delicately into her hand, her earlier shock instantly smoothed over by a brittle, slightly strained, but passably professional cheerfulness. “I… I meant to say…” she began again, her voice a little too high, her smile a little too wide, “how wondrous fair! A pair united! And heroes brave, no less!” She laughed awkwardly, the sound a fragile, glassy thing in the sudden, heavy silence of the dressing room.
Raito and Yukari just looked at each other, a slow, brilliant, and utterly diabolical smirk spreading across both their faces. The game was on.
“Oh, Miss Lily!” Yukari gushed, stepping forward and dropping into a deep, overly dramatic curtsy that was a perfect, mocking echo of Lily’s own earlier bow. She clasped her hands together, her silver eyes wide with a fake, star-struck adoration. “It is such an honor to meet a renowned figure such as yourself! Your brilliance… it illuminates all of Spica!” The praise was laid on thick, a sweet, sticky layer of pure, unadulterated sarcasm.
“Yes!” Raito added, stepping up beside her, his own expression a mask of equally insincere awe. He fumbled for words, his gaze sweeping over Lily’s perfect gown, her flawless makeup, his mind a complete blank. He wasn’t as good at this performance thing as Yukari. “You are… very…” He trailed off, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly agape.
Yukari delivered a swift, sharp elbow to his ribs, a silent, urgent command to clean up his act. Raito grunted, the impact snapping him back to the present. He took a breath, searched his mind for the most impressive, most dazzling adjective he could possibly conjure, and blurted out the first, nonsensical word that came to mind.
“Very… jewelrious!”
The nonsensical word hung in the air for a moment, a perfect, glittering jewel of pure, unadulterated idiocy. Lily just stared at him, her professionally serene expression flickering for a fraction of a second, a tiny muscle twitching near her eye. Jewelrious? Was that even a word? She suppressed a groan. These two… idiots. The thought was a quiet, internal scream of pure, helpless frustration. She gave up. Her grand reveal, the moment of shocked awe she had envisioned… it was ruined. Utterly, irrevocably ruined by these two impossibly dense, infuriatingly endearing fools. Fine. If they wouldn’t play along with her script, then she would simply… ignore it. Lily and Fifi would just have to remain two separate entities in their chaotic little world. It was easier this way. Less exhausting.
“Th… thank you,” Lily managed, her voice a little strained, the brilliant smile plastered on her face feeling increasingly heavy. Yukari’s hand was still clasped in hers, a gesture meant to convey adoration but which now felt suspiciously like a trap. “Thy praise doth warm my very soul.” She gently tried to withdraw her hand, but Yukari’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly.
Lily took a deep, steadying breath, forcing her composure back into place. “But tell me, ye brave souls,” she began again, her voice regaining some of its theatrical resonance, though her eyes held a sharp, almost desperate edge as she looked from one guileless face to the other. “Surely, having graced these halls, having witnessed the artistry that doth flourish within these walls… surely now, thy minds must perceive the truth? Dost thou not recognize this humble visage? Doth the memory of thine own lodgings, the tour guide who led thee through yon city’s maze, not spark some faint glimmer of recognition?” She gestured vaguely around the opulent dressing room, then back to herself, her expression a mask of pleading expectation.
Raito and Yukari exchanged another look, their expressions a perfect, synchronized symphony of pure, innocent confusion.
“No,” Raito said honestly, tilting his head slightly. “This is the first time, I believe, that we have met, Miss Lily.”
“Do you perhaps mistake us for someone else?” Yukari added, her own head tilting in a mirror image of Raito’s, her silver eyes wide with a carefully crafted, angelic bewilderment. “Or… have we actually met before? My memory is sometimes… fickle.”
“The tour!” Lily insisted, her voice rising slightly, the polite facade cracking just a little around the edges. “The mansion! The fountain statue! The merchandise! The trophies within mine own house! Surely…” Her voice trailed off as she saw the blank, uncomprehending stares fixed upon her. This was not going according to plan. Her grand reveal, the moment when these two oblivious fools would finally connect the dots, when Fifi the chaotic tour guide and Lily the beloved star would merge into a single, dazzling entity in their minds… it was supposed to be a moment of shocked awe, perhaps even a comical fainting spell. Not… this. This utter, absolute, and infuriating blankness.
“The tour…” Yukari mused, tapping a thoughtful finger against her chin, her expression one of deep, furrowed concentration. “We were with Fifi, yes. All the time. A most… energetic guide.” She looked back at Lily, her expression brightening with a sudden, apparent realization. “But I don’t remember ever meeting you during that time, Miss Lily. Perhaps you were rehearsing?”
“And we are currently residing within the abode of Fifi, tour guide extraordinaire,” Raito added helpfully, his voice full of a simple, earnest sincerity that was almost painful to witness. “I’ll admit, a bit loud host, but she is kind.” He looked directly at Lily, his expression one of polite, innocent confusion. “We believe we have never set foot within your own residence, Miss Lily.”
These two really are idiots, the thought screamed in Lily’s head again, louder this time, a final, definitive surrender to the overwhelming evidence. She gave up. Completely. Utterly. Fine. Lily and Fifi were two different people. So be it.
Raito and Yukari looked at each other, their innocent masks momentarily slipping as a shared, silent giggle passed between them. Their game, their quiet, chaotic act of feigned obliviousness, had worked perfectly.
Knock. Knock. The sound from the dressing room door was a welcome interruption. “Miss Lily?” a stagehand’s voice called out hesitantly. “The fan meetup is about to start.”
“Coming!” Lily shouted back, her voice regaining its professional warmth instantly. She turned back to the two “heroes,” her earlier frustration smoothed over by a strained, but passable, smile. She bowed once more, a final, formal gesture of dismissal. “Then I shall head unto mine other duties,” she declared, her voice once again the smooth, melodic alto of Lily Pence. “Thank thee again, O brave heroes. I pray thee fare thee well.”
The two guard escorts reappeared as if summoned, ready to guide Raito and Yukari back out through the backstage labyrinth. The couple, their faces now masks of polite, grateful deference, obliged happily, turning to leave. But just as they reached the doorway, they paused. They turned back as one, their earlier mischievous smirks returning in full force.
“We’ll be waiting at home, Fifi!” they called out in perfect, cheerful unison, their voices echoing in the suddenly very quiet dressing room.
Lily, who had just turned towards her vanity mirror, froze. Her hand, which had been reaching for a final touch of powder, stopped mid-air. Her serene, professional smile shattered. A sound, a low, ominous creak like glass under immense pressure, seemed to emanate from her very being.
“Those two…” she whispered, the words a low, guttural growl that held none of its earlier theatricality. “ARRRGGHHHHHH!”
The shriek was a raw, explosive sound of pure, unadulterated fury, a noise so loud and so full of a genuine, murderous rage that it echoed through the backstage corridors, silencing the usual pre-show bustle. Stagehands froze mid-step. Performers peeked out from their dressing rooms, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and bewildered curiosity.
That day, a new rumor began to spread through the hallowed halls of the Sey Lanz Opera House, whispered in hushed, terrified tones: the ghost of a wailing woman haunted the star’s dressing room, its cries a chilling testament to some unknown, terrible torment.
