The Heavenly Academy of Angels floated among golden clouds — like a giant ship softly sailing the endless sky sea. Everything here radiated light and ease — majestic white columns supported transparent vaults, and between classrooms and libraries hung bridges made of light and glass. On spacious lawns, younger angels played, laughing brightly, while the older ones hurried to class, flapping their snowy wings.
In one of the classrooms bathed in the golden glow of morning, students sat at their desks. Among them stood out a small girl with bright crimson eyes and silky white hair — Luci. She sat slightly apart from the others, seemed more serious than her peers, and attentively listened to the archangel-teacher.
— Today, — the archangel pointed to a huge board where letters in angelic script sparkled, — we're studying the concept of guardian angels. I remind you that essentially every angel is born as a "potential guardian," and then some transition to other duties. But all of us, one way or another, have studied how to guide mortals. So, who already knows what this is?
— They're the ones always saving their charges from dumb deaths, — sleepily muttered Gabriel White Tenma, her face buried in her desk. — Can I go home now?
— Gabriel, — the teacher said sternly, — you yourself could use a guardian angel — from laziness.
Raphael Ainsworth quietly giggled, writing something in her notebook and casting sly glances at classmates.
— A guardian angel is not just a "role," — the teacher cleared his throat, drawing attention. — It's a special moment in the life of each angel, inherent to all of us. Even those who later rise to high ranks in the heavens.
He took a few steps along the board, on which symbols shimmered.
— You see, many think angels just appear "out of nowhere." But we are born thanks to the Mechanism, which activates when a mortal soul emits a powerful resonance of emotion or will. And then in the heavens, — he raised a finger, as if proclaiming great wisdom, — an angel is born, linked to that soul.
— Wait, so we owe our existence to some human will? — a blond angel grumbled, frowning. — Sounds... humiliating.
The teacher sighed heavily, as if he'd repeated this lecture a hundred times:
— Facts are facts: without them, there would be no us. If a first charge dies, the angel doesn't disappear but loses the initial, perfect synchronization that was formed at birth.
— Can they be replaced? — someone from the back asked, barely visible behind massive wings.
— They can, — the teacher nodded, — but it won't be the same. Imagine your favorite violin loses its main string. You can replace it, but the sound will never be the same. It's the first, the "native" charge that activated your code.
— And so, — the teacher concluded, — we protect our charges. Without them, we wouldn't be born. Remember that the next time you complain your mortal got into another mess. Essentially, you owe them your very existence.
— What if I don't like my charge? — Dokuro-chan raised her hand, menacingly waving her club Excalibolg.
— Then you must try harder, Dokuro-chan, — the archangel sighed, dodging a swing. — Not all angels are required to love their charges, but all must guide and protect them. Some hate them, some are indifferent, others care deeply.
— What if your charge is a total idiot? — Gabriel challenged, finally lifting her head.
— Isn't that wonderful, Gabriel? Sounds like you're on the same wingbeat, — the teacher said lazily, giving her the long-suffering look of a veteran educator. — Maybe he'll teach you to keep your eyes open in class.
Gabriel snorted loudly, as if the teacher had said something ridiculous.
— Sure, master of wisdom, — she muttered, propping herself on her elbows. — If he's so smart, he should snap his fingers, shut off all the alarms in the district, and burn my homework in the holy flames of diligence — maybe then I'll be enlightened too!
Laughter rippled through the classroom. The teacher spread his arms:
— See, Gabriel? That's why you need a patient charge who can handle your... unique nature.
Dokuro-chan waved her club toward the laughing angels and declared:
— My charge has so few brain cells I've had to use Excalibolg three times!
Still smiling, Raphael noted in her book:
— Dokuro-chan probably needs extra lessons on self-control...
The teacher rolled his eyes and rubbed his nose bridge, trying to preserve his patience:
— That's why angels need patience and understanding. Your charges aren't perfect. But you can help make them better.
A murmur swept through the students: all kinds of angels sat in the classroom, each reacting differently to his words.
— Listen, — another student called out, a blond angel with a sullen face. — What if your charge gets caught in a demon war?
— Nothing too difficult, just — the teacher began, but then the classroom door quietly slid open, letting in a stream of soft silver light.
A fragile blonde girl appeared on the threshold — Pecora, in a patrol angel uniform. Her wings were trimmed in places, and a temporary badge reading "Retraining Course — Mandatory Attendance" dangled on her chest.
— P-p~permission to enter! — she chirped, clicking her heels and saluting. — I was sent to a crash course "Basics of Charge Maintenance." A-a-after a minor incident with a demonic vending machine...
The class giggled, and the teacher sighed deeply:
— Guest auditors are also welcome. Come in, Pecora, and try to avoid destruction today.
— Yes, sir! — she saluted again, but immediately wobbled: her stomach growled loudly, and all her seriousness vanished. — U-uh… Excuse me, will there be a lunch break?
— In forty minutes, — the archangel replied wearily. — Survive until then — you'll get a cafeteria voucher.
Pecora took the nearest seat, discreetly poured a handful of candies from her pocket, and tried to unwrap them quietly. The attempt failed: the wrappers crinkled like a shredder had been switched on.
Gabriel squinted and muttered:
— Look at that — another sugar junkie. Just like my charge: eternal quest for cookies instead of good deeds.
Pecora blushed but nodded:
— S~sugar is the fuel of faith! I tested it.
The teacher tapped his pointer on the lectern:
— Enough culinary discussion. Pecora, candy away, questions only.
The class burst out laughing again. After the noise died down, the teacher turned to the board:
— Just a note for the future, Pecora: daily bread is important, but save your candy artillery for the "Food Alchemy" elective.
— So then, — the archangel tapped the board again, regaining everyone's attention. — A guardian angel may face any problem from the mortal world: from war to personal grief. Your task is not to solve everything for them, but to guide them. Understood?
A brief silence hung in the air until someone from the back raised a hand:
— Sir, is it true that some angels fall if they... you know... kill their charges?
The class immediately fell silent.
— Unfortunately, — the teacher sighed heavily, — there have been many such cases in history. Some angels find their charges so intolerable that they resort to the ultimate measure. Be careful — your own light is also at stake here.
— S~so technically, I can just off my charge if he pushes me too far? — lazily muttered Nasse, a high-ranking angel recently sent to the "Young Guardian Course" for experimental manipulations with human karma. Her shining halo, perfectly ironed uniform, and ridiculously innocent smile looked especially absurd among the rookie students. — You said yourself, the penalties for killing aren't immediate, right?
— "Technically"... — the teacher echoed, wearily closing his eyes, as though reliving some disciplinary board flashback. — Yes, technically. But, Nasse, the Council sent you here to learn the obvious: experimenting with your charge is the shortest road to losing your wings. I'm sure even you would find that outcome less entertaining than playing roulette with your own light.
Nasse pouted. — Boring. I thought there'd at least be some loopholes here...
At that moment, another angel peeked into the classroom — a tall guy in a stylish bomber jacket of electric turquoise. Compact, folding drone-wings hung from his shoulders, and an interactive badge on his chest flashed: "β-tester – HALOverse."
— Yo! — he waved cheerfully without removing his mirrored AR-glasses. — Not interrupting anything? We urgently need two volunteers in the Metaverse Lab. Basic flight skills and... uh... a high bug-tolerance required.
Students murmured; Gabriel sleepily lifted her head, while Dokuro-chan instinctively gripped her club with a grim face — just in case.
The teacher didn't even sigh. He just stared at the newcomer with that tired, slightly disdainful look of someone who's already been offered "innovative electives" three times this morning.
— Classroom borrowing comes after the lesson, — he said flatly, tapping the lectern. — Now, if you would kindly return to your... ahem... virtual wings until we're done here.
— Got it, no problem! — the guy spun on his heel, his AR-glasses flashing green, and the drone-wings lifted him effortlessly into the hallway. — Good luck with your lectures!
The door closed softly, leaving behind a faint smell of ozone... and even more irritation on the teacher's face.
Amidst all this chaos, Luci sat cross-legged, yawning softly — quietly, covering her mouth with slender fingers. Her long, silken white hair cascaded over her shoulders, gently swaying with each sleepy breath; a tiny feather-shaped hairpin glimmered in her thick bangs, sky-blue and delicate. Above her head floated a small, nearly toy-sized halo, reflecting warm classroom lights in her large, ruby-red eyes. Her cheeks had turned slightly pink from drowsiness, and her feather-like wings fluttered erratically, as though she was on the verge of nodding off.
— Luciel Morningstar! — the archangel's voice struck the classroom like a bronze bell.
Luci jolted, snapped out of her half-dream — and… sneezed.
The sneeze came out as a soft "hyuu!", but the power it released immediately showed why her surname was known in celestial headquarters. A gust of wind lifted notebooks, tore posters off the walls, and half the board flew backward, its edge now bearing a perfectly singed heart-shaped pattern. A mini-whirlwind hung over the desks: chalk spiraled mid-air, inkpots bubbled like fountains under pressure, and quills swirled, tracing calligraphic "W-O-W" in the air.
Luci blinked at the chaos through her drowsy crimson eyes — and turned scarlet. She spun around, trying to catch the flying papers, but in her rush got tangled in her own wings, fell back into her seat, and, to the horror of her neighbors, accidentally signed glowing glyphs above every classmate's head reading "Retake Required."
— S sorry! I... um... I was just testing the stress response of archangelic-range yawning on localized aether topology. According to calculations, all turbulence should've stayed in the equations — not the classroom, — she squeaked, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks.
The teacher rubbed his temples, dusted golden chalk from his sleeves, and gave her that same exhausted, mildly judgmental look known to all veteran instructors.
He sighed so loudly the wind instantly settled, and the inkpots plopped neatly back into place.
— Thank you for the demonstration, Miss Morningstar. I think we've now confirmed that even high-rank angels... still require safety protocols. Morningstar, let's see if your eyes can handle reopening properly next time.
Luci, glowing bright red with embarrassment, hunched her shoulders and muttered:
— I... really didn't mean to! I was just... um... vector-testing wing acoustics in enclosed environments. According to the math, it should've self-compensated via the classroom walls' internal dampeners. The sneeze was, you know... an emergency turbulence dump...
The teacher opened his mouth to reply, but Luci didn't wait. She straightened, took a deep breath, and focused. Her crimson eyes shimmered with faint silver light as she slowly raised her hand. Fine aether strands swirled around her fingers, flowing in gentle spirals.
She made a graceful, deliberate gesture — and time obeyed her will.
The world around them shivered, then, like film in reverse, carefully rewound. Ink returned to inkwells, notebooks floated back to desks, and the board restored itself — spotless and whole. Only the faintly glowing heart-symbol in the corner remained as evidence.
The students stared, speechless, exchanging stunned glances. Even Gabriel, half-asleep before, was now wide-eyed.
The teacher slowly exhaled, adjusted his robe, and — with the faintest smile — said:
— Impressive work, Miss Morningstar. Next time, please give a warning if you plan to practice advanced techniques during class.
Luci lowered her gaze, gave a small embarrassed smile, and murmured:
— I'll try to be more careful...
— And still, — the teacher concluded, tapping his pointer on the board, — the most reliable path to becoming a worthy guardian angel is learning to respect your charge's fate — and helping them reveal their soul. Only then will you gain true strength.
— True strength... — whispered Luci, her gaze drifting to the glowing portal shimmering off to the side of the classroom, where a vision of the mortal world wavered gently like a dream.
Soon, the bell rang, marking the end of the lesson. The angels rose noisily from their seats. Dokuro-chan, waving her Excalibolg carelessly, nearly smacked someone's bag. Gabriel stretched languidly, clearly signaling she planned to go right back to napping, while Pecora darted for the doors, muttering something about urgently needing a chocolate glaze.
The teacher glanced thoughtfully at Luci and said gently:
— Luci, please stay for a moment after class.
When the classroom emptied, Luci remained alone with the archangel.
— What you demonstrated today — with time and aether — he began, is highly unusual even for an angel. I presume you know not all are born with such talent?
Luci hesitated, eyes lowering shyly.
— I'm sorry… I don't understand where it comes from.
The teacher smiled warmly.
— It's a special connection, Luci. This power isn't random. Let me show you how to use it — to help your charge.
With a wave of his hand, a radiant portal shimmered into view before them, clearly displaying a scene: a young man with white hair and a blindfold fought off demons with strange gestures and techniques Luci had never seen before.
— This is my charge — Satoru Gojo, — the teacher said with a fond smile. — He's incredibly talented, but as you can see — not always cautious. Now watch closely and learn.
The archangel raised his hand slightly, and a thread of silvery light streamed from his fingertips, gently touching the image of Satoru.
— The key is not to interfere directly, — he explained, — but to offer nudges that he perceives as intuition… or his own thoughts.
In the vision, Satoru suddenly dodged a hidden attack — as if hearing a quiet whisper no one else could.
Luci watched, transfixed.
— Remember, Luci, — said the teacher, — our job is to guide and inspire. Not to change their path, but to help them find it.
Luci nodded, eyes shining with determination and awe.
— Thank you. I understand. I'll be careful.
— I believe in you, Luci. You'll become an excellent guardian angel.
Luci exited the classroom, her heart fluttering with nervous excitement. For the first time, she had seen what it meant to open a gate into the mortal realm — consciously. The corridor still shimmered with lingering voices, but her footsteps were light and quiet.
She passed empty halls of glass and cloud, her hand brushing gently against the cool marble of the railings. At last, she returned to her dorm — a small, simple alcove in the academy's eastern wing. Inside were her schoolbooks, a few favorite writing quills, and a soft blanket.
Curling up on the couch beneath a wide window, she stared out into the translucent skies, where stars blinked and faded in a rhythm that echoed her own breath. A breeze rustled the sheer curtains, and somewhere deep in the academy, a soft song hummed through the aether — like the universe singing old tales.
She breathed in slowly. Her heart thudded once.
Something inside her — fine, fragile, like a wire string — quivered.
She rose silently. Bare feet padded across the marble floor toward a plain wall — no lights, no symbols. Just smooth stone… but something behind it whispered.
She reached forward — fingers trembling slightly.
A fine mist of angelic energy curled in the air — like the breath of stars. A light flared between her palms. Reality's surface trembled beneath her touch. A voice inside — hers and not hers — whispered:
Feel the flow… Don't command — ask.
She shut her eyes. All the day's feelings — shame, joy, fear, wonder — folded into a single crystal of intent. With faith, she made a final gesture — subtle, like a dancer's flick.
And then… the space before her rippled.
The air parted like water beneath rain. The wall vanished.
In its place, surrounded by silver runes, was a living portal.
Not perfect. Not stable.
But alive.
It breathed. It shimmered. It beckoned.
And somewhere beyond — the mortal world glimmered.
{POV Luci}
I ran my fingers along the surface of the portal — thin as breath, shimmering like frosted glass in sunlight. It responded with a chime, like the strings of an unseen harp. Warmth, like a heartbeat. The pulsation of aether aligned with my rhythm.
And in the very next moment, everything changed.
The world spun. The luminous vaults of the academy dissolved into a blinding spiral — replaced by green. Living, rustling, imperfect. Trees, shadow, wind, the smell of damp earth, moss, and rain droplets. I didn't just see the scene — I was there.
Before me stretched a hill, a forest, and a path leading into a yawning cave mouth. Above it, a faded sign bore kanji: "Kunitachi Caves — Protected Geological Monument."
People. Small, noisy, pulsing with life. Children.
I squinted, letting my eyes adjust to the foreign light. And immediately, I heard it:
— Line up! Right face! Now, single file!
Near the sign hopped a boy with thick glasses, waving his arms like a conductor trying to direct a hurricane. Tenya Iida. Even his backpack looked perfectly aligned. A stopwatch hung from his neck. He scribbled something on a tiny chalkboard pinned to his chest and barked commands like a general preparing for siege.
— What a nerd, — sighed a girl with long golden hair and a bright pink backpack overloaded with charms. Marin Kitagawa, clearly in her "expedition cosplay" — denim skirt, gloves, and a cap bearing the logo "STAR☆DETECTIVE."
— It's not nerdy, it's tactical! — Tenya snapped, nearly bouncing in place. — We cannot allow chaos inside the caves!
Behind them trailed Megumi Katou, calmly chewing on a straw.
— Most likely, if we get lost, this will just be material for a documentary. Or a slideshow at our funeral, — she said with flat calm.
— Stop it! — whimpered Kanon Nakagawa, glancing around nervously. — I specifically took photos for my profile today. I don't want that to be the last thing people see on my Insta!
— Oh yes. Death in the mountains. So tragically aesthetic, — whispered Kuroneko, already standing in the cave's shadow, waving a stick like a magic wand. — This place is filled with shadows. I hear their whispers...
— Did you binge "Gates of the Infernal Abyss" again? — Marin scoffed.
A bit further, a group of boys was building a makeshift fort out of sticks. Kazuma Satou crossed his arms:
— I knew it. It's a trap. A cave is the perfect ambush spot. Monsters. Traps. No Wi-Fi. Classic setup.
— This is school, not an RPG, — mumbled Kousei Arima, not even looking up from his tiny notebook of music.
— Exactly! — said Yuu Otosaka, grinning. — Kamiya's definitely gonna be the first to get lost. He already once confused the gym with the bathroom.
— And when I said we should bring rope and a compass — you all laughed! — added Aren Kuboyasu, spinning a stick like a katana. — You'll see who ends up getting rescued.
— I'll save everyone if I have to! — shouted Nendou, glowing with pride. — And I brought backup crackers! Mom says hungry kids are sad kids!
Mob, standing off to the side, just nodded silently.
And Nagisa Shiota watched from the rear, swinging a flashlight gently in one hand. He said nothing, but his eyes observed everything.
— They're noisy, — I whispered to myself. — And weird. And... alive.
Something inside me trembled — like the first note of a melody I didn't yet know. Was it my heart? No... A call.
And then I saw him.
He walked at the very back. Short. Dark-haired. Eyes serious, but tired. He didn't laugh. He watched — as if hearing a different rhythm, a distant sound. Not the crowd — something else.
Makoto Kamiya.
— Found you, — I murmured. And in that moment, something inside me said:
That's him.
He didn't look back. Not out of rudeness — he simply moved to a different beat. He existed on another frequency.
And so, when a butterfly with light-filled wings, patterned like stained glass, floated past his cheek — he stopped.
— ...Huh?
Makoto reached out. The butterfly hovered before him, then veered away, zigzagging down the trail — leading away from the group.
He looked back. Behind him echoed Tenya's orders, Nendou's shout, Kanon's Insta rant.
He hesitated.
Then followed the butterfly.
I felt the world shift — gravity around him bending slightly.
And I stepped closer to the portal's edge.
The butterfly led him deeper. First along a forest trail, then around a bend. Branches crackled. Moss carpeted stones. The light grew strange — as though the sun had punched through the canopy and gleamed too brightly. Too unnaturally. As if… inviting.
Makoto entered a circle of trees.
And vanished.
— No! — burst from my lips, and I lunged forward without thinking.
My portal wavered. The aether destabilized. I'd miscalculated the position. I didn't enter — I fell.
The world jolted. My wings caught air. Everything spun.
Through leaves, branches, light — and down.
— AAAAAHHHH!
And — thud. Right into a bush.
I tangled in my wings, hair, and something sticky and green. As I tried to get up — a leaf fell from above and stuck to my cheek.
— Ow…
— …Are you okay?
I looked up.
Makoto stood before me. He looked… serious. Worried. Curious.
— Are you... an actress? — he squinted.
I blinked.
— What?
— Or like, a goddess? Or from a perfume ad? You've got this... — he gestured vaguely, — aura. Like you're not from around here.
I sank deeper into the bush.
— I… uh… no? I mean, yes? I mean… I'm new?
He tilted his head.
— You lost?
— In what way?
— I mean... you're not on the field trip either, right?
I nodded. Lying wasn't something I did well. He seemed to accept it easily.
— Then I guess we're both lost, — he sighed. — Fantastic. Mom's gonna love this.
I noticed how his gaze dropped slightly. No panic. Just that familiar, resigned feeling: again.
— Do you... get lost often? — I asked gently.
— Yeah. I'm Makoto Kamiya. Welcome to my world.
I smiled — without meaning to.
Then, from behind the bushes, a figure stepped out.
— Makoto.
A boy with blue hair, wearing a uniform and a hood. Flashlight in hand. Eyes — sharp.
Nagisa Shiota.
— I knew you'd veer off. You always do.
— Sorry, — Makoto mumbled. — There was a butterfly…
Nagisa looked at me.
— ...Is this also a butterfly?
I froze.
He stared for a long time. A very long time. Then said simply:
— New girl?
Makoto nodded.
— We got lost together.
Nagisa shrugged.
— Then let's go. We've got a tour to catch.
We walked in silence. Makoto stepped beside me, staring straight ahead, with that kind of focus that only comes when you're afraid of making a second mistake. He clutched the strap of his backpack tightly to his chest and seemed to be silently counting his steps.
— Hey, Nagisa, — he said without looking up, — how'd you find me?
Nagisa tilted his head slightly, thought for a second — and only after a pause quietly answered:
— Just... knew where to look.
The answer was simple. But his gaze — a little distant, aimed into the past.
A few minutes earlier. Nagisa's memory.
The group was still by the cave entrance. Chatter, camera clicks, arguing.
Nagisa stood quietly at the back. He always kept Makoto within his field of vision — not because anyone told him to, but because Makoto was the kind of person who could get lost even in a straight hallway.
He saw Makoto stop. Reach toward a dragonfly. Pause for a second, then — head into the woods. No hesitation. No glancing back. Slow, but deliberate.
No one noticed. No one except him.
Nagisa immediately followed.
The path led to a small clearing. And then he saw: Makoto standing there… and from the air — in a burst of blinding light — a girl fell.
She landed in the bushes with a rustle. Feathers. Light. A radiant burst of something not quite earthly. At first, he wasn't even sure she was human. Or almost human.
Makoto approached her. Spoke. Smiled.
And she replied.
Nagisa didn't interrupt. He just remained in the shadow of the trees.
And watched.
— Just intuition, — he repeated aloud, now back in the present.
— Intuition, huh… You sure you weren't born with GPS? Or reading my thoughts?
Nagisa didn't respond. Just nodded slightly.
Rustling leaves. The smell of damp earth.
Makoto and Nagisa walked slightly ahead, Luci trailing behind, trying not to fall behind. For a time, no one spoke.
Then, without turning, Makoto asked:
— Hey… what's your name?
She flinched slightly.
— Me?.. Luci.
— Short, — he nodded. — Nice. Not Japanese, huh?
— No, — she said softly. — I was named… where I was born. Not here.
Makoto shrugged.
— It happens. We've got Ruri and her "Gothic Suga" thing. We're used to everything.
— Your parents moved here? — Nagisa asked calmly.
— You could say that, — she smiled faintly. — It's… a long story.
— Well then, I guess let's start with the short version: nice to meet you, Luci. I'm Makoto. And this is Nagisa.
— Pleasure to meet you, — Nagisa said with a small nod, not slowing his pace.
Luci paused for a second, as if absorbing these words into herself — like something deeply important.
— Same here.
They emerged from the forest — one by one, like members of a secret expedition no one had planned.
Sunlight broke through the canopy, illuminating the trio: Makoto leading, Luci walking quietly with her head slightly lowered, and Nagisa bringing up the rear, calm as the shade of the trees.
In the clearing before the cave, their classmates were already waiting.
— Kamiya! — Kazuma shouted first. — I told you! It's a trap! He vanished! I knew it!
— Makoto! — Kanon squealed. — You were gone for like, twenty minutes! I was this close to posting a memorial story with filters!
— Wait… is this a double return? — Megumi murmured. — He didn't just get lost — he came back with a new character.
— She's not a "new character," — Makoto said, stepping forward. — She's just... new. We got lost. Or rather, I got lost, as usual, and Nagisa, as usual, saved my butt.
— Stability is the foundation of peace, — Kousei said, jotting something in his notebook.
— Who even let you wander off from the group?! — Tenya Iida cried, recoiling from the disarray. — We had a route, assistants, sixteen control points!
Makoto gave him a long, tired look.
— Yeah. And all that didn't save me from a dragonfly. Maybe you should look around more than at your checklists.
Tenya opened his mouth, then shut it. Exhaled sharply. Crossed something out on his tablet.
— Thanks, Nagisa, — Makoto added more calmly. — Without you, I'd be building a shack somewhere in a ravine. Or munching on moss.
Nagisa nodded.
— Always glad to find you before you become a legend.
But now — all eyes shifted to Luci.
She stood quietly beside them, still holding that unreal elegance. Porcelain-pale skin. Silvery-white hair, thin as moonlight threads. Eyes — glowing crimson. She didn't look like she came from the woods. She looked like she came from another world.
— She... albino? — Yuu Isaka mumbled. — Or like, a skincare ad?
— Oh my god, you totally look like a movie star! You are an actress, right?! — Kanon gasped, already pulling out her phone. — Can I get a selfie? Just tell me which agency you're in!
— Did you fall from heaven? — Kuroneko whispered, gripping her charm. — She's got wings inside her… I can feel them.
— Okay, girls! — Marin clapped her hands. — Emergency! Phase one of "Friendship Through Questions"! Name? Favorite food? Anime? Manga? Idol groups? Favorite scarf color?!
Luci blinked, surrounded by this whirlwind of energy.
— I… my name is… Luci, — she finally managed. — I'm just… new. Today…
— She's so cute! — Ruri squealed, already digging through her bag. — We totally need to be in the same group!
— And sit together on the bus! — Marin added. — This is like the start of a shoujo manga — but in real life!
Makoto stepped slightly closer, standing beside Luci. He looked at her not with excitement, nor curiosity — but recognition.
— Since we got lost together and found a way out, — he said simply, — I guess… we're already friends, right?
Luci looked up at him. Her lips trembled slightly — and then curved into a soft, warm smile.
— Yes. Friends.
And in that moment, the world around them felt just a bit quieter. A bit brighter.
Almost… right.