[Joshua's POV]
If memory served me right—and as a transmigrator, it usually did—the meeting of Saria and Kristen Wright was supposed to be a meeting of great minds. In the original timeline, they met at university, bonded over shared living spaces and lofty ideals, and eventually founded Rhine Lab together. It was a partnership built on mutual respect and a shared vision of the future.
This... was not that.
"Tea," Saria said.
It wasn't an offer. It was a tactical deployment. She set the cup down in front of Kristen with a clack that was just a decibel shy of aggressive.
"Thank you," Kristen replied, completely unfazed. She didn't even look at the tea. Her golden eyes were locked onto my arm. "So, the Nullification effect extends to a radius of three millimeters from your epidermis? That suggests an internal field generator rather than a surface coating."
Kristen leaned in, her glasses sliding down her nose as she reached out to inspect my wrist. "If I could just take a skin sample—"
Thud.
Saria's hand landed heavily on the table, right between Kristen's hand and my arm. The table groaned.
"Personal space," Saria stated, her voice dipping into the temperature range of liquid nitrogen. "He is not a specimen, Wright. Keep your hands to yourself."
"Data collection requires proximity," Kristen countered, adjusting her glasses coolly. "And you are blocking the light, Saria."
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush a tank.
I took a sip of my own tea, trying to hide my nervousness. This was a disaster. For the past twenty minutes, it had been a cycle of Kristen asking intrusive scientific questions, me trying to answer politely, and Saria acting like a 6-star Defender blocking a boss rush.
And Mom? Mom was sitting in the corner armchair, knitting a scarf with a smile so wide it looked painful. She was practically vibrating with excitement.
"So, Joshua," Kristen ignored Saria, leaning sideways to bypass the blockade. "Does the nullification affect biological Arts as well? If I were to cast a minor thermal spell on your cheek—"
She reached up.
"Oops," Saria said flatly.
Her tail—thick, muscular, and spiky—swung casually beneath the table and hooked around the leg of Kristen's chair. With a sharp tug, the chair jerked backward.
"Whoa!" Kristen flailed, barely catching herself on the table edge.
"Saria!" I scolded gently, though I was sweating. "Careful with the furniture."
"My apologies," Saria said, not looking sorry in the slightest. She crossed her arms, her calcification arts flaring invisibly around her, making her presence feel massive. "The floor is uneven."
I looked at Saria. Her face was a mask of stoic discipline, but her tail was swaying back and forth, and her eyes were darting daggers at Kristen.
Wait.
I paused, processing the data. The interruptions. The physical blocking. The cold shoulder.
In the game, Saria was the ultimate professional. She didn't hold petty grudges. But looking at her now—a teenage girl pouting aggressively because another girl was paying attention to me—the realization hit me like a wrench to the head.
She's jealous.
I fought back a grin. It was terrifying, yes, but also incredibly cute.
"Kristen," I said, standing up. "My mom actually has some old blueprints in the kitchen that might explain the workshop's layout. Why don't you ask her to show you?"
"Oh?" Kristen's interest piqued. She looked at Latina.
Latina winked at me. "Come along, dear. I have fascinating stories about Joshua's childhood to share."
As Kristen followed my mother out of the room—Latina shooting me a thumbs-up behind her back—I turned to Saria.
She was staring resolutely at the wall, her jaw set tight.
"So," I said, leaning against the table. "The floor is uneven, huh?"
"It is," Saria insisted, refusing to look at me. "Old house. Structural shifting."
"Saria."
"What?"
"Come here."
I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the hallway, away from the prying ears of the scientist and the schemer. Saria followed reluctantly, her boots dragging slightly on the floor.
We stopped in the quiet of the corridor. The lights were dim here.
"What is going on with you?" I asked softly. "You're treating her like she's a Reunion infected. She's just curious about my condition."
"She is rude," Saria grumbled, crossing her arms. "She treats you like a lab rat. 'Skin samples.' 'Thermal art.' She has no respect for boundaries."
"And you're the boundary police?" I teased.
Saria glared at me. "Someone has to be. You... you're too nice. You let people walk all over you."
"Is that really it?" I took a step closer. "Or is it because she was sitting next to me?"
Saria stiffened. Her eyes widened slightly, then she looked away, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Saria," I whispered, nudging her shoulder with mine. "You were practically growling."
She stayed silent for a long moment, the fight slowly draining out of her posture. Finally, she let out a shaky sigh, her shoulders slumping.
"She... she shines," Saria admitted, her voice barely audible. "She is smart. She understands your inventions. She looks at you, and she sees the genius I see. I just..." She bit her lip. "I didn't like how close she was."
My heart did a somersault.
I reached out, gently taking both of her hands. Her hands were rough, but her grip was warm. She looked up, startled.
"Listen to me," I said, looking directly into her golden eyes. "Kristen is a genius, sure. She's going to do great things. But she cares about what I am. She cares about the anomaly."
I squeezed Saria's hands.
"You care about who I am. You were there when I was just a kid breaking toys. You were there for every failed test flight. You're not just a friend, Saria. You're my partner. You're special."
Saria's breath hitched. The tension in her body evaporated, replaced by a softness that she rarely showed anyone. "Special?"
"The most special," I confirmed. "There is absolutely nothing going on between me and Kristen. I promise."
The relief that washed over her face was palpable. Her tail gave a tentative, happy thump against the wall. But then, her eyes narrowed slightly. The stubbornness returned.
"Words are cheap," she muttered, echoing her father's favorite phrase, though there was no bite in it.
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "Then what do you want?"
Saria gripped my hands tighter, refusing to let go. She stepped closer, invading my personal space until her forehead rested against my chest. I could feel the heat radiating off her.
"Hold them," she demanded, her voice muffled against my shirt. "Don't let go. Not until we go back inside. And... sit next to me. Not her."
I chuckled, wrapping my fingers around hers. "Deal."
From the shadow of the kitchen doorway, a single eye peeked out. Latina watched the embrace, suppressing a squeal of delight, before quietly slipping back to distract Kristen.
[The Aftermath]
When we returned to the living room, the atmosphere had shifted.
Saria sat next to me—practically glued to my side—but her hostility had vanished. She looked calm, composed, and undeniably smug.
Kristen looked up from a schematic she was analyzing. "Back? Good. I realized something. If your body rejects Originium, then technically, you are the ultimate constant in a world of variables."
"That is a logical assessment," Saria spoke up. Her voice was steady and professional. "His stability is his greatest asset. It allows him to work in environments that would be hazardous to traditional casters."
Kristen blinked, looking at Saria with new appreciation. "Precisely. You have a keen understanding of structural application, Saria."
"I specialize in defense," Saria replied, glancing at me with a small, possessive smile. "I know how to protect valuable assets."
Kristen nodded, satisfied. "I need a defense specialist. My calculations for high-altitude flight require a shield capable of withstanding atmospheric friction. Your Calcification Arts... they harden matter, correct?"
"They do," Saria said, leaning forward, her scientific curiosity finally overriding her jealousy. "I can reinforce the hull integrity by 300% if the material density is compatible."
"Fascinating," Kristen murmured. "With his engine and your shield... we could theoretically breach the barrier."
I sat back, sipping my cold tea, watching them.
On my left, Saria, the future Director of Defense. On my right, Kristen, the future Director of Control. They were talking rapidly now, exchanging formulas and theories, their minds syncing up just like they were destined to.
The heavy silence was gone. The trio was formed.
Saria's hand was still resting on her knee, under the table. I reached down and covered it with mine. She didn't flinch. She just laced her fingers through mine, squeezing tight, while continuing to debate aerodynamics with Kristen.
I looked at Mom, who was pouring more tea. She gave me a wink.
The future of Rhine Lab was sitting in my living room. And for the first time, I felt like I wasn't just watching history happen—I was holding it together.