The river below shimmered in the morning light, its surface rippling in soft, lazy currents. From her seat by the window, Claire let her gaze follow it, watching the water slip past beneath the airship's steady glide. It was oddly calming. A little piece of quiet against everything else.
Boredom crept in soon after.
With a sigh, she pulled out her phone and thumbed it awake. The same chat window blinked open — her last message, a simple "hi", left on seen hours ago. No reply. Her brow twitched.
"Tch… figures," she muttered under her breath and flicked the screen away, scrolling through cluttered news feeds without really reading them. Words like border tensions and convoy incident passed in a blur. Some blurry photo of smoke. A mention of missing names. She didn't slow down.
For a second, her mind drifted — years back, packed shoulder to shoulder with Rose at some old tech expo in the middle of Luminucia's festival square. A too-proud salesman gestured at a floating glass slab rune-lit with shimmering blue.
"Introducing the CrystalDial — the future of personal magic communication!"
A few scattered claps. Claire had barely blinked before Rose leaned in, deadpan.
"CrystalDial? That sounds like a mouthwash."
Claire nearly choked on her drink. It still made her lips twitch now, even in the quiet of the cabin.
She shook her head, sitting up straighter just as the headmaster's voice crackled through the speaker system.
She spared another glance out the window. The river kept moving. Calm. Unbothered.
Her thumb flicked past a headline about a string of stolen magic crystals. Another about a convoy ambush — unknown assailants, one attacker escaping, several injured. It lingered in the corner of her vision a little longer than the rest.
But she scrolled on.
Because right now, it wasn't her problem.
A flicker passed through Claire's chest.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
For the briefest second, a figure moved in her mind's eye. One she didn't want to remember.
A hand landed gently on her shoulder.
Claire flinched, jolting back to the hum of the airship cabin. The steady sway, the glow of morning across the endless stretch of water. The horizon was still blurred, where lake and sky met.
Rose's voice cut through, gentle but laced with concern.
"Hey. You good? You've been staring out there forever."
Claire quickly locked her phone, tucking it away like she could shove the unease down with it. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve.
"Y-yeah. Just spaced out, I guess." She forced a crooked smile. "Capisce?"
It came out weaker than usual.
Rose gave her a long look, then rolled her eyes with a half-smirk.
"You and that word," she muttered, bumping her shoulder lightly.
Without missing a beat, Rose leaned over.
"So, what were you even looking at? You made a face."
Claire hesitated, then sighed and flicked her phone back on, showing her the screen.
"Just… some report about an underground hideout raid in Luminucia."
Rose's eyes narrowed slightly as she skimmed the screen.
"Illegal magic traces… suspect got away… huh."
She handed the phone back.
"Weird stuff lately, huh? First the convoy, now this. Town's getting messier."
"Yeah." Claire murmured, tucking the phone back into her pocket, hoping whatever it was stayed far away.
The tension eased — just a little.
Without warning, Rose lifted her phone.
"Wait— Rose, don't you da—"
Click.
"Too late."
Claire groaned, her face heating up instantly.
"Y-you could've at least said something first."
Rose grinned, unapologetic.
"And miss that priceless look? Not happening."
Claire tried to glare, but it crumbled into a soft, uneven laugh.
The hum of the airship softened as the students crowded near the tall windows. Claire and Rose stood shoulder to shoulder, leaning slightly against the cool glass as the view outside stretched endlessly — water, sky, and the distant shimmer of land.
Then, without warning, a soft glow pulsed at the center of the cabin.
A tall, translucent figure shimmered into view — a composed woman, hands clasped neatly in front of her, beige hair tied back.
"Greetings, and welcome to Celestial Sword Academy."
Her voice carried through the cabin like a calm ripple over still water.
Rose leaned in closer to Claire and muttered, "Geez. Does this place know how long that name is? Mouthful."
Claire stifled a laugh.
As the figure spoke, her image sharpened. Mid-thirties maybe, her pale yellow eyes catching the light through slim framed glasses. She wore a deep blue high-collared blouse with bronze trim, fitted neatly into a charcoal skirt with brass buttons. A dark violet cloak rested over her shoulders, the inside lined with a soft silver shimmer. A thin pendant glinted at her throat.
"You are among a rare, chosen few," she continued. "Selected from thousands across Luminucia. A privilege earned not by luck — but by merit, and promise."
The figure's gaze swept the room as if meeting each student's eyes.
"Though we live in an age of peace, peace is a fragile thing. It must be guarded. Upheld. And one day, you will decide what to do when its weight falls to you."
The last words lingered like a note left hanging in the air before the image flickered, then vanished.
Claire exhaled softly.
"That was… kinda cool," Claire murmured. "And a little terrifying."
"I see what you mean. And hey — credit to her for getting through that without tripping over the academy's ridiculously long name," Rose grinned. She nudged Claire and tipped her head toward the window.
"Look."
Claire turned — and the airship cabin fell silent.
The airship dipped slightly as the mist ahead parted like a slow curtain, and the landscape ahead finally came into view.
At first, it didn't look real.
An island hung suspended in the sky, vast and immovable, as though it had always been there — as natural as a mountain, yet utterly impossible. Towers clustered like spires on a crown, their sharp silhouettes cutting into the sky. Blue-tiled rooftops gleamed under the rising sun, scattered between courtyards and open fields the size of whole villages.
Claire's eyes tracked the tallest of them, a single tower so high it seemed to brush against the clouds. The rest of the academy spread outward in tiers, bridges and walkways weaving through its heart, dotted with statues and strange monuments whose shapes she couldn't quite make out from here.
A line of distant airships waited at the cliffside docks, and beyond them, nothing but open sky.
"Whoa…" Claire breathed, the word slipping out before she even noticed.
It didn't feel like a school.
It felt like the start of something enormous.
"Right?" Rose grinned, elbowing her lightly. "Tell me that place doesn't look like somebody built a castle on top of a cloud and said, 'Yeah, this'll do.'"
Claire snorted. "It's insane…" she whispered, her eyes wide.
"Insane's one word for it. I'm still waiting to spot a giant chicken guarding the front gate or something." Rose smirked. "Bet you five coins it happens."
"I-I'm not betting on that." Claire flushed, though a grin tugged at her mouth.
As the island drew closer, Claire reached for her journal, pulling it from her bag with careful fingers. The cover was soft and worn, decorated with tiny scuffs and ink smudges.
Rose peeked over.
"You're seriously writing now?"
"It's important," Claire mumbled, flipping it open. "Memories. C-capisce?"
"Nerd," Rose teased, but there was warmth in it.
Claire ignored her, lowering her head as her pen scratched softly over the page.
"Mom, hi again. It's September 11, 958 S.E. About six in the morning, I think. I'm still excited, but trying not to jump out of my skin. I mean, years of waiting for this… and now I'm here.
I'll just call it The Academy from now on. Celestial Sword Academy's too long anyway… like Rose said. Wait — I literally just wrote it out again. Ugh. Whatever. No one's reading this but me.
We're almost landing. Rose and I are both losing our minds."
She scribbled a tiny star in the corner of the page, then snapped the journal shut with a quick grin.
"Done."
Rose gave her a look.
"You're ridiculous. I love it."
The airship began its descent, the floating island growing larger, towering ahead.
And for a moment, everything felt too big, too strange, too perfect to be real.
But it was happening.
As the airship glided closer, the excitement inside brewed to a restless buzz. Claire adjusted the weight of her bow and quiver across her back, the dark wooden case bumping gently against her side. Around them, students gathered near the exit ramp, chattering, pacing, jostling for a better view.
Rose practically bounced on her heels, brimming with barely-contained energy.
"Finally!" she grinned. "This is it!"
The great gray-red door of the airship hissed open, a rush of crisp morning air sweeping through the cabin. Light spilled in, and with it — the academy.
Claire's breath caught.
The floating island rose before them, towering and unreal. Stone archways framed the main courtyard, statues of long-forgotten celestials standing guard, each clutching a weapon unlike the next. Gardens curled along the walkways, hedges so perfectly cut they looked painted, and rows of towering spires rose up like teeth against the sky.
The students began spilling out in waves — some sprinting ahead, others lingering, some snapping pictures, others dragging their bags and blinking in awe.
Rose surged forward like an arrow loosed from a bow, spinning once, arms flung out wide.
"We made it!" she cheered, her voice cutting through the hum of the crowd.
Claire followed more quietly, her steps slower, though her eyes shone just as bright.
"Y-yeah," she murmured, a shy smile tugging at her lips. "Though… you might be overdoing it a little."
Rose twirled on her heel to face her, grinning.
"Overdoing it? Claire — have you seen this place? It's like a palace and a storybook had a baby and then someone built it on a flying island!"
Claire laughed, covering her mouth with her hand.
"I… guess that's one way to describe it."
They stepped out together, the world waiting ahead.
Rose immediately spun in place, gawking at the towering statues and sky-high spires like a kid loose at a festival. Claire lingered near the platform, a gust tugging at her hood. She caught it with one hand as a few strands of yellow hair swept into her face.
With a small breath, Claire pulled out her phone again — still nothing.
"Aaaand there you go again."
She flinched as Rose leaned in over her shoulder, grinning.
"W-what are you—hey!"
"You've been glued to that thing all morning," Rose teased. "Is it mystery boy again?"
Claire sighed, a little defeated.
"Yeah… him."
"Ohhh, him." Rose's grin widened. "You two still haven't met face to face?"
"Nope," Claire muttered, thumbing at the screen where C1 sat, the activity dot stubbornly gray. "But I've known him since we were kids. Almost as long as you… but not quite."
She glanced up with a faint, shy smile.
"Y-you still win, capisce?"
"Darn right I do." Rose bumped her shoulder playfully. "And you still don't know what 'C1' even means? That's criminal."
"Nope." Claire tucked her phone away with a soft sigh. "But we've talked about everything. Favorite food, weird hobbies, dumb jokes — you'd think he'd tell me by now, but nope!"
"Classic. And PB's your second name, right?"
"Yeah… Phoebe." Claire shrugged. "Kind of dumb, I guess."
"Not dumb," Rose waved her off. "We've all got our weird little things." She grinned. "Bet his stands for something ridiculous though. Like 'Cheese One.' Or 'Cursed Lizard Champion.'"
Claire let out a sudden, helpless laugh.
"Gosh, I-I hope not. He's way too serious for that."
"Exactly why it'd be hilarious."
Before Rose could pitch another theory, a voice echoed across the courtyard.
"All first-year students, please proceed to the central assembly hall. Staff will be waiting to escort you."
The buzz of students shifted toward the path ahead.
Rose stretched, grinning.
"Welp. C'mon. Let's see if this place is a dream school or a disaster waiting to happen."
Claire smiled, feeling a little lighter than she had in days.
"Lead the way."
And with that, they stepped forward — into whatever waited beyond the gates.
The world shifted.
A lone figure moved through the mist, steady and silent. Ahead, a gray-haired man waited, revolver in one hand, cane in the other. Shadows lingered at his back, weapons drawn. The figure's stride didn't slow, silver steel at his side catching the dull light.
"Well?" the older man smirked, waving his men forward. "Don't keep him waiting."
Claire's chest tightened. Six. She counted six. Her fingers clenched the edge of her cloak as the men charged, weapons drawn.
The first axe came down fast — a whistle through the air — but the cloaked figure was faster. Steel met steel with a sharp clang. No stumble, no strain. He barely shifted.
Claire's breath hitched. Her body froze, rooted in place.
The others followed, blades and fists swinging. Each time, the figure turned them aside with quiet, surgical precision. No wasted movement. Not a word.
Claire stared, pulse pounding.
"H-How is he…?" she whispered, voice trembling.
The men closed in, circling him from all sides. For a moment, the figure stood motionless, his blade catching a faint gleam from the dim light above. Then — with the grace of a predator — he moved.
A blur of motion. His cloak whipped out behind him like dark wings, his sword slicing cleanly through the air with a low, resonant hum that seemed to pulse in Claire's chest. She flinched at the sound, her fingers curling tighter around her hood, instinctively shrinking back.
It was… beautiful, in a way she didn't have a word for. Precise. Unfaltering. A storm in human form.
His headphones swung loose around his neck as he turned, catching stray glints of light between each strike. In seconds, the men dropped around him — crumpled shapes on the stone, weapons clattering uselessly at their sides.
The figure straightened, unhurried, unshaken. His dark gaze gleamed from beneath the shadow of his hood, cold and unreadable.
He took a single, steady step forward.
The gray-haired man's earlier smugness faltered.
Claire stayed frozen, her pulse rattling in her ears. She gripped her cloak tighter, hands trembling, barely able to breathe.
A Stellar skill…
The thought whispered through her mind, unbidden, leaving behind a mixture of awe and unease.
Claire's breath caught.
That wasn't just swordsmanship. She knew the patterns — the subtle trails of light that followed each movement, sharp and elegant, like constellations drawn by hand.
A Stellar skill.
The realization hit hard. She remembered the way her mother's hands had guided hers, back in that overgrown garden, murmuring soft corrections as Claire clumsily mimicked the motions. The glow of mana tracing the air, delicate as falling starlight. She'd learned them in theory, even practiced them. But never like this. Never against real steel and blood.
A sharp pulse hammered behind her eyes. Claire winced, clutching her temple, the scene briefly smearing into streaks of color before sharpening again.
The gray-haired man's smirk barely shifted.
"You're no fun, as usual, Kazuki."
His voice carried a quiet, unspoken weight — the kind of tone that made your gut twist, a predator circling in no rush. Claire stiffened. That name. Kazuki.
Her pulse quickened, eyes locking on the cloaked figure as a piece of some old, buried memory tugged at her. It was him.
Then her gaze dropped to the symbol inked over the man's shoulder — a black raven, wings outstretched around a dagger cradled in a crescent. Familiar. Too familiar.
"But I guess all good things end with farewells, don't they?" the man murmured, each step slow, deliberate. Cane in one hand, revolver in the other, his grin curved like a drawn blade.
Kazuki moved. No warning, no wasted motion — a flicker of light, a blur of steel.
Their weapons met with a sharp crack, Kazuki's sword colliding against the cane. Claire's breath hitched as Kazuki landed, only to twist and strike again, faster this time. The man sidestepped with unsettling ease, a gunshot splitting the air.
Kazuki deflected the bullet mid-swing. The impact sang like a struck bell, metal against metal.
The gray-haired man's smirk faltered. He fired again, backing toward a rusted ladder bolted to a nearby wall. Another shot. Another. Each one parried, Kazuki's pale hair and loose headphones catching the sparse light as he moved — relentless, soundless.
Claire's pulse hammered in her ears. She couldn't look away.
Kazuki's eyes — that empty, unreadable gaze — never shifted.
The revolver clicked empty.
Without a word, the man scrambled up the ladder, the whir of a waiting helicopter cutting through the night. The wind stirred the loose debris around them, carrying smoke and ash in restless spirals.
On the rooftop, the man's gaze met Kazuki's. One hand gripped the revolver, the other the chopper's rail.
"Toodles, Kazuki," he drawled. "Been a pleasure, but you know how it is. Things to do, cities to ruin." A grin. "And hey — a parting gift."
Kazuki's jaw tightened.
Claire saw the man's thumb flick a switch on the cane.
The wrecked vehicle nearby detonated in a burst of light and sound, the shockwave slamming Kazuki off his feet. His headphones snapped from his neck, shattering on the pavement as he hit a pole with a sickening crack.
"Kazuki!" Claire's voice broke, hoarse, as the blast flung heat and shards of metal through the street.
The chopper rose into the sky, vanishing into the haze.
Claire forced herself forward, the air thick with smoke, her limbs dragging like she was moving through water.
Kazuki lay motionless, half-buried beneath a tangle of broken stone and splintered beams, his face turned away.
"Help—somebody!" Claire shouted, her voice hoarse and distant in her own ears. Like screaming underwater.
The world tilted.
Her vision blurred, the last thing she saw before the edges went black was the fall of his hair against blood-dusted stone.
A sharp crack from a microphone snapped Claire upright.
The image shattered, dissolving into the bright, expectant hush of the assembly hall. Conversations cut off in a chain reaction as students turned toward the stage. The faint feedback hiss of the speakers settled into silence.
Claire's hand found her phone on instinct. 7:42 AM. September 11, 958 S.E.
For a second, her thumb hovered — a flicker of a name, a dark figure in her mind where no one should've been.
She blinked hard, shoved the thought down, and pocketed the phone without checking the screen.
Up at the front, a man stepped to the microphone — white-haired, tall, his unbuttoned brown coat shifting with the faint draft from the towering windows. The soft gleam of his glasses caught the light.
"Students," his voice was calm, even, but carried through the hall like iron. "You've come from far and wide. Each of you has made sacrifices to reach this place, and your journey is far from over. But today, you stand on the threshold of something greater."
The hush deepened.
Claire's focus wavered — not because of the speech, but because Rose had crept up beside her and tugged at her sleeve.
Claire jumped, cheeks flushing as she turned to see Rose grinning.
"Hey—hey, that's Mr. Isaac," Rose whispered, her excitement barely contained. "The headmaster. They say he was on the Magic Council once. Quit everything to build this place himself. Cool, right?"
Claire blinked, feeling her heart skip at the revelation. "R-really? Whoa… that's kind of… amazing," she murmured, the words small and unsure as her mind scrambled to catch up.
Around them, the students hung onto Isaac's every word. The air felt thick with something sharp — excitement, nerves, expectation, all tangled together. Claire sat a little stiffly in the middle of it, her fingers brushing the edge of her cloak, trying.
At the front of the assembly, Isaac's voice carried steady through the room, the faint crackle of the old mic giving way to a calm, commanding cadence.
"To those gathered here today — welcome," he began, and the simple word felt heavier than it should.
"You've crossed rivers, valleys, cities, and skies to be here. You've left behind the familiar, the comfortable, and the ordinary. I will tell you now — what awaits you beyond this hall is neither comfortable nor ordinary. It is difficult. It is necessary."
A quiet hush swept over the room, broken only by the hum of the airship engines outside.
"This world you live in," Isaac continued, "was bought with peace, hard-earned by those who came before. And one day — whether you choose it or not — you will be asked to hold it. The only question is whether you will be ready in time."
Claire's gaze drifted to his silver hair, the faint glint of his glasses. There was nothing grandiose about him, no theatrics. But somehow, every word felt like it lodged somewhere deep in her chest.
"In this place, you will stumble. You will struggle. You will fall. And you will rise — not because it is asked of you, but because it is what the world will one day demand."
He let that hang a moment, then his voice softened.
"Welcome to Celestial Sword Academy. This place belongs to students like you."
A beat of quiet, and then the room erupted into applause.
Claire clapped along, though the sound felt distant in her ears. Out of hundreds, fewer than seventy had made it. She and Rose were here. And no part of it felt quite real.
As Isaac stepped away, he exchanged a brief look with someone toward the back of the room — a tall figure Claire didn't recognize — before sitting.
Then a beige-haired woman stood. No introduction, no hesitation. The kind of authority that didn't ask for permission.
"Ahem," she began, voice even but carrying cleanly through the space. "As Mr. Isaac stated, you are all welcome to Celestial Sword Academy. Dormitories have been prepared. Two students per room, randomly assigned."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the room.
Rose was already leaning in. "Dude. Dorm assignments," she grinned, voice low, eyes gleaming. "I hope we get paired. You know how weird I get around new people."
Claire gave a shy smile, nerves catching up to her. "Y-yeah… maybe we will."
Rose smirked. "Or maybe, you'll get stuck with some tall, broody swordsman type. Wouldn't that be tragic."
Claire flushed immediately, ducking her head as she fidgeted with her cloak. "I—I wouldn't say no… I mean… um… I'm open to whoever…"
Rose burst out laughing, bumping her shoulder. "You're hopeless."
Claire's face was bright red, but despite herself, a tiny smile tugged at her lips.
The room had slipped into a restless murmur again — students chatting, shuffling in their seats, a few cracking jokes under their breath as the beige-haired woman at the front of the hall steadily lost patience.
Rose nudged Claire with her elbow, jerking her chin toward the stage. "Heads up," she whispered. "She's about to snap."
And sure enough—
"Ahem!"
The woman's voice cut through the air like a blade. Conversations died instantly. Every student sat straighter.
Claire could feel the weight in the room shift. She didn't even have to look at Rose to sense her stiffen.
"Oh no… that's Miss Ann," Rose hissed under her breath, face paling slightly. "Isaac's apprentice. She's… uh… got a bit of a temper."
Claire shrank a little in her seat, unconsciously tugging her hood lower.
Ann's sharp eyes swept the hall like a hawk zeroing in on prey. The silence held — right up until the large assembly doors at the back creaked open with a long, drawn-out groan.
Everyone turned.
An orange-haired student slipped in, shoulders hunched, trying very obviously not to be noticed. It didn't work.
Ann's gaze landed on him like a falling guillotine.
"Young man," she snapped. "I see you."
The poor guy flinched, freezing mid-step. His hand twitched toward the back of his neck, eyes wide as if he'd prefer the floor to swallow him whole.
"Why. Are. You. Late?"
A heavy, unbearable silence stretched. Some students exchanged pitying glances; others smirked or shook their heads.
Claire bit her lip.
The orange-haired student raised a shaky hand in vague surrender. "I… uh… got lost… ma'am?" His voice cracked on the last word.
A few stifled snorts from the crowd.
Ann's expression darkened, her fingers twitching as she summoned a nearby chair with a casual wave of her hand — the wooden seat levitating beside her.
Claire stiffened.
"Oh no," Rose muttered.
Without a word, Ann flicked her wrist — the chair hurtled across the room.
A nearby staff member flinched, murmuring to Isaac, "Shouldn't you… intervene, sir?"
Isaac, unbothered, adjusted his glasses. "Ann never actually hits students. She just makes a point," he replied, voice dry but faintly amused.
As if on cue, the chair missed by a hair's breadth, slamming into the floor where the latecomer had stood. The orange-haired boy staggered, his face pale, looking one bad breath away from losing the airship breakfast he'd barely kept down.
A ripple of laughter passed through a few students. Others kept their eyes down, knowing better.
Claire swallowed. "She's… intense."
"You don't say," Rose muttered, eyes wide.
Ann's glare lingered on the boy a moment longer. "Office. After this session." Her voice was low and sharp. "I look forward to hearing why you thought your tardiness was a good idea."
"Y-yes, ma'am…" he stammered, still frozen.
Ann waved him toward the seats. "Move it."
Rose gave a subtle head bob toward an empty spot beside them, silently urging him over.
He sat stiffly next to Claire and Rose, still pale, his hands gripping the edge of his seat like it might bolt out from under him.
There was a long, awkward pause.
Then, out of the side of his mouth, barely above a whisper, he muttered, "…Uh. Hey."
Ann's voice droned on somewhere in the background. Claire wasn't really hearing it. Her fingers idly rubbed at the edge of her notepad in her lap, itching to write but too wary of risking Ann's glare again. The lingering nerves from earlier gnawed at her, though underneath it… a flicker of excitement stirred. Dorm assignments meant the next part of this strange, terrifying, thrilling new chapter was finally real.
She glanced sideways at Rose, who was practically vibrating with pent-up energy, mouthing silent commentary every time Ann used another overly dramatic phrase.
Finally — mercifully — the speech ended. Staff moved down the aisles, distributing small numbered keychains one by one. The collective tension cracked like a stretched wire snapping, a mix of groans, sighs, and muffled laughs filling the room the moment Ann and Isaac exited.
Claire sagged with relief.
A small silver key dropped into her palm. She turned it over, reading the number stamped on the tag. Her stomach sank.
"Darn it," she muttered.
Rose immediately leaned in, grinning. "What'd you get? Are we roomies? Please say we're roomies."
Claire held it up, a defeated sigh slipping out. "Not even close."
Rose groaned, flopping dramatically against Claire's shoulder. "Ughhh, lame. I had a whole plan for late-night snack runs and terrible horror movie marathons."
Claire managed a small smile. "I'll still sneak snacks."
"You better."
Then, without missing a beat, Rose turned to the orange-haired guy still sitting quietly next to them.
"So what about you, Chair-Dodger?" Rose teased, leaning over with a lopsided grin.
The boy blinked like he'd just remembered he was part of this conversation. Then, in a dry, deadpan sort of way, he lifted his keychain.
"Uh… this one. Not dead last, so… win, I guess."
A beat. Then, like it was almost an afterthought:
"Also, name's Takumi. Sato Takumi."
Claire sat up a little, offering a small, tentative smile.
"Oh — um, Claire. Claire Aihara."
"Ririka Rose Amano," Rose added breezily, tipping two fingers to her temple like a lazy salute. "But just call me Rose. Only our driver uses the full thing... Sometimes."
Her grin widened. "And hey — solid dodge back there. I'd have faceplanted so hard they'd be scraping me off the floor."
Takumi gave a small, dry laugh.
"Yeah… years of dodging worse."
Rose grinned, tilting her head.
"Well, too bad — you just failed to dodge us."
Without another word, she sprang up and grabbed Claire's wrist, pulling her to her feet.
Claire squeaked in alarm.
"W-wait, what are you—"
Rose only threw up a playful V-sign with both hands, a grin on her face like she'd just declared victory in a game no one else was playing. Claire stood beside her, startled and flushed, visibly unsure what to do with her hands or face.
Takumi blinked at them — the sudden burst of energy, the impromptu gesture — then just huffed under his breath, somewhere between amusement and secondhand embarrassment.
And somehow, in that odd, lopsided little moment, the tension that hung in the air since the assembly cracked just a bit.