Chapter 29: The Final Touch

Tick… Tick… Tick…

The wall clock echoed through the still air, its hands aligning as the shorthand struck three, Dawn was still 1 hour away, and the world outside was cloaked in a heavy, sleepy silence.

The faint jingle of keys broke the stillness, followed by the metallic scrape of a lock being forced open. 

The door creaked softly as it swung inward, revealing a wary, exhausted figure stepping through the threshold. The door shut behind her with a quiet snap.

“…I’m home,”

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

The words weren’t meant to alert anyone of her arrival. Perhaps she spoke out of habit, careful not to disturb those who should be asleep at such an hour. Or maybe, deep down, she never expected a response in the first place.

With a quiet sigh, she placed the grocery bag down, the crinkling sound barely breaking the silence. Without thinking, she slipped off her shoes and changed into her house slippers.

“hm?”

As she walked through the entryway into the living room, a faint blue glow flickering against the wall near the entrance caught her attention.

Could it be?

She quickened her pace, reaching the living room to confirm her suspicion.

“Oh, Sawa-san? Welcome home.”

Lying on the carpeted floor, head resting against the sofa, her black hair spread loosely around her, was a familiar figure. 

A blanket covered half her legs, while empty cola cans and crumpled snack bags littered both sides of her. Chips and treats were scattered around, some still sealed, others half-eaten.

She was dressed in her usual sleepwear, though her jacket was missing, leaving only a sleeveless T-shirt with a Bad Boy logo—one that had slipped off her right shoulder, exposing part of her chest. 

Her belly peeked out slightly as she lazily scratched it, meeting Sawa’s gaze with drowsy eyes. Crumbs from whatever she had last eaten clung to her mouth and stomach.

“I thought I heard the door lock. So it was just you, huh?” she mumbled, yawning. “You’re late.”

Sawa didn’t respond immediately. She simply looked at her for a few more seconds before shifting her gaze to the source of the blue light—the TV screen, still on, broadcasting a late-night movie.

Sawa sighed, pressing her fingers against her forehead.

“Oh my? Come on, before trying to scold me, remember—you promised to be here for dinner. I was simply waiting for you…”

Peeking through the gap of her fingers, Sawa found nothing to argue with.

She knew Kurumi would have stayed up late regardless of when she got back, but at this moment, the girl was right—Sawa was the one who had broken a promise.

“…I guess we’re even now.”

With a small sigh, she headed to the kitchen, which was connected to the living room, separated only by a half-wall. Setting the groceries down on the counter, she glanced back at Kurumi.

“Did you have dinner? Don’t tell me all you ate was fast food.”

“Hm? Yeah, I cooked dinner for myself. I left some for you on the stove.”

Kurumi's eyes drifted back to the movie playing on the TV as she spoke.

Sawa’s gaze shifted to where Kurumi had mentioned—a small pot sat on the stove, covered with a lid.

“Oh, thanks…”

“hm”

Peeking inside, she found a simple meal—rice, miso soup, and a small portion of grilled fish. It wasn’t much, but it was warm and freshly made.

“I’ll eat in my room,” she said, grabbing a plate. “If you need anything, I’ll be there.”

Kurumi gave a lazy wave without looking away from the screen. “Got it.”

Sawa cast one last glance at her before heading down the hall. She stepped into her room, not bothering to turn on the light. 

The faint glow from the street outside filtered through the window, casting soft shadows across the room. She shut the door with a quiet click and exhaled, only now realizing she had been holding her breath.

The space was small—just enough for the essentials. It wasn’t that there weren’t bigger rooms available; Kurumi had offered plenty. But for some reason, she had chosen this one, a converted storage room. It felt… less lonely.

In the corner, a neatly made futon lay waiting, its blanket folded back halfway, revealing crisp sheets. Beside it, a desk sat cluttered yet organized—textbooks, practice exams, and handwritten notes stacked in careful disorder, some pages marked with tiny scribbles and colorful highlights. An open prep book rested on top, its pages dog-eared and worn from constant use.

The dim glow of a digital alarm clock cast soft red numbers into the dark: 3:07 AM. 

Nearby, a planner lay open. The date January 9 was circled—then crossed out with a single, decisive stroke. Beneath it, a note read: High School Equivalency Exam.

A steaming cup sat on the desk, untouched. The tea inside had long since gone cold.

Against the far wall, a metal rack held neatly folded uniforms—some casual, others more formal. Though well-maintained, they showed clear signs of wear. Beneath them, a pair of polished shoes rested side by side, their soles slightly worn.

A few envelopes peeked from a folder tucked against the bookshelf, their official-looking seals still unbroken. A calculator lay on top, its screen dark.

By the bedside, a coin jar sat half-full beside a lined notepad filled with numbers and figures. 

Sawa rubbed her temple, trying to shake off the creeping fatigue. She set her plate down, switched on the desk lamp, and pulled out the nearest notebook, flipping to where she had left off. With a soft thap, she sank into the swivel chair.

Letting out a quiet sigh, she picked up her pen.

The notebook was filled with neat rows of numbers, each carefully aligned under dates spanning the last two weeks. Income on one side, expenses on the other, with the difference circled at the end of each day. Some days showed a decent gain; others barely broke even.

For today’s entry, Sawa tapped the pen against her temple, deep in thought. She hadn’t received her full payment for the traffic job—quitting early had cost her. But thanks to the extra cash from the old lady, plus the hours she had worked on the dawn of the day before, she still came out ahead. 

Eighteen hours total, she calculated, factoring in the extra bonus she earned. Subtracting expenses, she had made about 150,000 yen (~$1,000) today.

Flipping back through the pages, the pattern was clear. She had been working an exhausting 18 hours a day for the past two weeks, leaving barely any time to rest. Each day’s final balance fluctuated, but on average, she was earning between 130,000 and 170,000 yen (~$900–$1,200) daily.

The overall result? Roughly 2.1 million yen (~$14,000) in two weeks.

It was a lot to take in over such a short time—but she knew it wouldn’t last. Once school started, everything would change.

She let out a quiet breath, rubbing the side of her head before jotting down the final number for today. The ink dragged slightly—her pen was on its last legs.

She spent most of her free time studying. No breaks, no rest. If she wasn’t working, she was buried in textbooks, cramming as much as possible—whether it was picking up her notebook during shifts or studying when she got back home. Three months left. That was all she had before the entrance exams.

That was why she pushed herself now—working as many hours as possible, saving every yen she could. Once school started, there wouldn’t be time for this. She wanted to focus entirely on her studies without worrying about money.

But it wasn’t just about that.

She needed the money for something else—something just as important.

Sawa Yamauchi didn’t exist. Not officially. No family register, no birth certificate—nothing.

If she wanted a real future, a passing exam score wasn’t enough. She needed an identity—one that wouldn’t demand explanations about her past.

And the only way to get that was money.

This was her one shot at the dream she had chased for so long. She had to make it count. And fast.

She shut the notebook with a quiet thap and rested her head on top of it, slipping a hand beneath. The desk lamp cast a dim glow, highlighting the dark circles under her eyes through the strands of her hair.

“…I’m scared.”

Part 2:

“Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself, Shido?”

That night, the moment Shido stepped out of Miku’s house, he was immediately scooped up by Fraxinus’s transporter and sent straight to the briefing room.

Waiting for him was his sister, her expression even more oppressive than usual.

A lot had happened to bring him to this moment. His encounter with the new Spirit, codenamed ‘Diva’ the day before, had been a disaster from the start. 

He failed miserably at getting close to her, only to realize in the end that she simply preferred girls. There was nothing wrong with his approach—fate just wasn’t on his side.

So, they came up with a plan. He swallowed his pride, dressed as a girl, and did everything he could to earn her trust—only to throw it all away by challenging a literal idol to a singing contest just because they had different views.

Yeah. A lot had happened.

“I have brought you dishonor,” Shido muttered, cold sweat forming on his forehead as he knelt and prostrated himself—still in Shiori mode, his cross-dressing disguise.

He had been forced in the center of the round table, surrounded by the crew’s piercing gazes. It felt less like a debriefing and more like a trial, with him as the guilty defendant.

“I told you not to lose your temper,” Kotori said, arms crossed. “Just when the Spirit’s favorability was about to rise, you go and say ‘I hate you’? ‘I reject you’? Seriously, you’ve outdone yourself this time.”

“B-but,” he stammered, “it’s weird! She doesn’t even care about people’s lives! And… you know, people like Miku because of that voice, so she probably never had anyone tell her when she was in the wrong. So I—”

“There was no need to say what you said,” Kotori interrupted, her voice flat. “At least, not at that moment.”

“Hngh…” He groaned, sinking deeper into his kneeling position.

“It’s true that Miku Izayoi’s values don’t align with the norm. She’s going to need some serious education after we seal her power. But that’s exactly why we need to lock it away as soon as possible, isn’t it? So why, of all things, would you deliberately antagonize her, you cross-dressing pervert?”

“Uh… I’m dressed like this because of you, though,” he shot back, raising his voice in protest.

Kotori, of course, ignored him completely.

Something about this conversation felt slightly off, but Shido decided it wasn’t worth dwelling on. Instead, he pressed on, “And, well, you say that, but how were Miku’s likability and mood? I didn’t hear any alarms through my earpiece, at least.”

“True.” Kotori snorted. “Her likability and mood didn’t drop much. She was a little unstable for a second—probably surprised at being rejected—but the numbers bounced right back up.”

“See! So then—”

“Yes. There’s no problem… if you can beat Miku in the performance contest, hmm?”

“…Haaah.”

Shido had barely lifted his head in defiance, only for it to drop forward once more in defeat.

“At any rate.” Kotori sighed again, recrossing her legs. “Now that you’ve accepted her challenge, we can’t back out. We’ll handle your committee work one way or another, so tomorrow, your job is to negotiate with the performers and secure your spot on that stage.”

“Y-you’ll help me?”

“Obviously.” She snorted, arms crossed. “What do you think Ratatoskr is here for? Now that we’ve come this far, we’ll do everything we can to win. Have I made myself clear, crew?”

“Yes, sir!” the crew responded in unison.

“That said—” Kotori suddenly narrowed her eyes, as if something was bothering her. “About what she said regarding the other Spirits…”

“Ah…”

Shido immediately picked up on where the conversation was heading.

Ah~ To think I’d meet another Spirit right after encountering one yesterday. It’s certainly my lucky streak…

“…Or something like that,” he muttered, watching as Kotori sank into deep thought.

“Yeah… When she mistook you for a Spirit, she mentioned meeting one before…”

“So, what do you think of this matter, Kotori?”

“We should’ve considered this possibility earlier—a scenario where one Spirit meets another or makes contact.” Kotori’s voice was firm, but there was a hint of unease. “Honestly, it’s a miracle that no two Spirits have ended up in a serious disagreement so far… though we already have one recorded.”

“Yeah…”

The incident between Kurumi and the mysterious Spirit codenamed ‘Gaia’.

“But the way Miku described that Spirit… don’t you think there’s a chance she’s the same one Kurumi fought two weeks ago?”

It was a fair question from Shido—one that needed to be asked. According to Miku, the Spirit she encountered had the ability to control plants. 

That matched Gaia’s recorded abilities. But there was a problem. The description Miku gave of her appearance and personality didn’t match the Spirit they had seen in the footage.

“There’s a possibility they’re the same,” Kotori admitted. “But there’s also a chance they’re separate entities with similar powers. Until we meet her ourselves, we can’t say for sure.”

“Mm…” Shido nodded in agreement, though one detail Miku had mentioned before abruptly changing the subject lingered in his mind.

Mu~ Shiori-san~ You ask so many questions about that Spirit~ If you’re that interested in her, I have good news for you~

Huh?

We made a promise—she’ll attend my performance. If you’re that curious, I can introduce you two~

"Yeah..." He didn’t say what was on his mind, but Kotori could already tell.

“If what Miku said is true, and that Spirit actually shows up at the festival tomorrow, that would save us a lot of trouble. We’d be hitting two birds with one stone.”

“Saying that is easier than doing it…” Shido groaned under his breath. “Dealing with Miku is already one thing, but do you really think I stand a chance with someone we know nothing about? Not to mention, I’ll still be cross-dressing the whole time. I doubt this Spirit will be as much of a special case as Miku.”

Kotori let out a sigh. For once, she couldn’t blame her brother. If anything, she agreed with him. Trying to win over two girls at once—especially under these circumstances—was almost ridiculous.

They had pulled off something similar before, like the three-timing date with Tohka, Origami, and Kurumi. But at least back then, two of the three were already deeply in love with Shido.

This time, it was different. One girl openly disliked him yet was unknowingly flirting with his disguised self, while the other was a complete mystery.

“…This is going to be a headache.”
“You bet…”

The two siblings sighed in unison.

“Anyway, let’s focus on the problem at hand. We’re up against the popular idol, Miku Izayoi. Beating her won’t be easy. What’s your school doing for their first performance, Shido?”

“Huh? Umm…” He tried to recall. He was pretty sure Ai-Mai-Mii had mentioned something about it. “I think… it’s a band performance.”

“A band, huh? I see. That’s good, isn’t it? You’re good at that.”

“What?” He tilted his head, confused.

Kotori tapped on the console in front of her, bringing up a video on the large screen in the room.

“Eeek?!” He yelped before he could stop himself.

The screen showed his own bedroom. A younger Shido sat on the bed, playing a worn-out guitar. He wasn’t incredible, but he wasn’t bad either. For a junior high kid, he was practically a prodigy.

That, however, was the issue. Caught up in his own little world, he was humming a song he had made up, strumming along to a clumsy melody of his own creation.

Yes. Back in junior high, driven by teenage angst, there was a time when Shido played the role of a boy with a troubled past—a hint of mystery and darkness. He had been the "only my guitar understands me" type. Naturally, as high school entrance exams approached, he buried that phase deep in his memory, hoping to never revisit it again.

“Isn’t this—pfft—the perfect chance to show off the—hnngk—skills you worked so hard to master? Ha-ha…!” Kotori’s shoulders trembled as she tried—unsuccessfully—to hold back her laughter.

A quick glance around the room confirmed his worst fear. The rest of the crew had their faces turned away, bodies shaking with poorly hidden amusement.

“H-hey! Where did you even get this?!” he demanded.

“Well, I thought it might…come in handy… Pfft!” Kotori barely managed to get the words out.

Onscreen, the younger Shido suddenly jumped to his feet, playing his guitar like a rock star, completely lost in the moment.

That was the final straw. Kotori burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“St-stop, stop, stop, stoooooooop!” Shido cried, clutching his head as if he could block out the embarrassment. The video cut off, but the damage was already done.

Just as he thought he was finally free from this nightmare, the screen flickered—and there he was again, sitting on the bed.

The Shido on-screen spoke to no one in particular, as if he were being interviewed.

“Yeah, I’m not much of a talker… So I let this do the talking for me. For me, it’s not just about playing the guitar… it’s more like I’m speaking through it.”

“Stop! Just stop the video alreadyyyyyy!” Shido pleaded, his voice cracking as he clutched his head. Tears welled in his eyes, and goosebumps ran down his arms. Finally, mercifully, the screen went dark.

A few moments passed as he tried to recover from the sheer humiliation.

Kotori snapped her fingers. “Well, at least you’re not a complete beginner. Naturally, we’ll get you the best teacher. From today until the Tenou Festival, you’ll practice until you can play this song in your sleep.”

“Y-hic-yeah…”

The response came from Shido—or rather, Shiori—as the teary-eyed mess sitting before them hardly resembled a high school boy anymore. And that wasn’t just because of the cross-dressing.