Chương 432: 203.Late-Night Visitor 2

The sound of the banquet ending wasn't like the sound of it beginning. Beginning was like drawing a bow — everyone straightened their backs, hung up smiles, and slipped surname, lineage, education, rank, and etiquette on together. Ending was like releasing the string — tableware still clinked softly, heels still knocked the floor properly, conversation still held a pretty volume, but the force holding the scene up had drained. Everyone was still a person — just finally closer to a living one.

Maki and I left the main hall along a side corridor, rounded two half-open doors, and finally reached the comparatively quiet hallway outside the changing room. The light receded from gold to a colder milky white, the band's sound muffled by several walls into a faint residue — like some face-obsessed ghost refusing to admit the party was basically over. I stopped, steadied myself on the heels first, then very slowly let out a breath.

That breath had been pent up in my chest for so long I'd almost thought it would take root in my ribs. Maki looked at me, neither hurrying me nor speaking first. Which was one reason I could tolerate her. Sometimes she talked like statute text, insufferably — but when it was time to be quiet, she had impeccable human instincts. I raised a hand to brush the silver-white strand by my temple back, and my fingers paused mid-air.

"I hate that approach." The moment it left my mouth, even I felt it was dry. Maki leaned against the wall, still perfectly upright, her white military dress in the cold light like a patch of snow that followed rules too strictly.

"Which one."

"The well-bred kind." I laughed a little, the smile thin — even I wasn't buying it.

"Rude ones are easy to handle. Punchable ones are easy too, because the disgust is written on their faces. The worst kind is the one who speaks prettily, his hand only half an inch too far, only a little too close — so that if you take offense, you're the one looking impolite." Maki was quiet for two seconds, then said: "Because they know where the line is."

"Right. And they just love stepping right on it." I let my head fall back against the wall.

"Then they smile at you like they're a well-educated human being."

"Right now you sound like you're writing an observation report."

"No. Right now I'm writing my will." The corner of Maki's mouth moved, like she wanted to laugh but felt that laughing at a moment like this might get her throttled, so she held it in. I shut my eyes and let the faces that had stood too close on the dance floor slide by one by one. None of them were truly out of line, at least on the surface. But the more superficially in-line they were, the more they annoyed me. Ever since Flame Star, my patience for certain things felt like it had been gouged out of my bones.

Empire men, uniforms, pretty diction, restrained bearing, clean fingers — the moment those conditions overlapped, my stomach started raising objections against this civilized society first.

"A second ago, I seriously wanted to slam a champagne glass into somebody's face."

"Only a second. That means you're improving."

"Your way of encouraging people is very court-martial."

"Thanks for the compliment."

"I wasn't complimenting you."

"I can take it as one." I finally turned my head to look at her.

"Maki Kushima."

"Mm."

"Tonight you really are like a prince. It's infuriating." Maki's brow didn't shift at all, just answered flatly.

"And tonight you're very much the kind of troublesome person a prince would pick up." I froze for a beat, then couldn't help myself — I cracked up. Good. This one had picked up bad habits. And learned fast. After my laughter, the pressure that had been lodging in my chest finally loosened by half. I straightened, raised a hand to take out my earrings — the tips hadn't touched them when Maki reached first and gently worked the metal clasp out of my hair.

Her motion was steady; she didn't hurt me, didn't touch too much, as if she knew exactly where the safety line was. The moment the spaghetti straps slipped off my shoulders, I nearly felt released.

"Back to life?" Maki asked.

"Half." I looked down at the deep-blue gown.

"The other half has to wait until I get this thing off."

"Then go in first."

"As you command, Your Highness."

"Call me that once more and I'll toss you back onto the dance floor."

"The young noblemen would think you're stealing the bride." This time Maki actually shot me a glare. Very faint. But effective. My mood rose by two points accordingly. The changing room was already half empty; only a few finishing attendants and students lingered by the mirror. The air — a front line moments ago, suddenly reduced to makeup remover pads, perfume, and fatigue — always made me feel that the essence of human socializing wasn't much different from covert infiltration.

One side just carried blades, the other glitter. It took me a dozen or so minutes to strip off, layer by layer, the version of myself that had nearly caused me to fundamentally misunderstand my life. The wig came off first — the silver-white long hair, from a perfect-to-the-point-of-sick coif, reverted to its nature as a prop. Then earrings, necklace, gloves, gown, stays.

And finally, once I'd shrugged back into my regular Federation uniform jacket and tidied my hair back to its usual cut, I looked at the silhouette in the mirror that finally resembled myself, and decided, for the first time, that the regulation uniform was the light of civilization. A tighter collar was fine. Stiffer fabric was fine. As long as it didn't demand I bare my shoulders for the entire galaxy to grade, I'd gladly write a thank-you note to the Federation Quartermaster's Office.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings. Maki had changed back into her regular uniform too. With the white military dress retired, she looked several degrees more familiar. Not that she'd looked bad — she'd looked too good, good to the point of being outside the average person's tolerable range. Back in the standard uniform, though still just as crisp and clean, she looked at least like the Maki I knew, not some lost Federation crown prince.

Watching her fold her gloves and put them away, I said offhandedly.

"You know, if someone had actually dropped to one knee and called you Highness earlier, I wouldn't have been terribly surprised."

"I'd have them taken to a hospital first."

"What for."

"Brain abnormality."

"Sounds reasonable." By the time we got back to the room, it was already late. The moment I stepped in, I let my shoulders drop, then threw myself into the sofa, feeling like I'd survived a beautifully packaged torture session. Maki hung up her jacket and casually cleared a spot on the table, moving as naturally as if the room had always been hers. I was about to say something when the doorbell rang. Maki and I exchanged a look.

At this hour, someone who could still come knocking looking presentable was either trouble, or something more troublesome than trouble. Maki went to open the door. Standing outside was Hedwig. Her banquet finery had been changed out for lighter evening wear and a shawl; her golden hair had loosened a little; the makeup was lighter. She looked far more normal than she had beside that giant portrait in the main hall.

It was just that, somehow, when an Empire princess appeared at a Federation student's door late at night, the word "normal" itself started to feel a little abnormal. Hedwig held a few sheets of paper, and bowed her head apologetically to Maki first.

"I'm sorry to disturb you this late. Kushima-senpai? I'd like you to look over tomorrow morning's speech draft." I lounged in the sofa and glanced at the stack.

"... You walked all the way to knock on our door in the dead of night, just for proofreading?" Hedwig nodded very seriously.

"Because I hear Kushima-senpai is very strict about wording and structure." I shifted my gaze to Maki.

"What kind of reputation exactly have you left over in the Empire." Maki invited the visitor in, flatly.

"Possibly someone who looks like she'd fix your punctuation."

"That reputation really travels." After Hedwig entered, she gave a very proper thank-you, then handed the draft to Maki. Maki took it, scanned the first two pages, and her brow knitted very slightly.

"The third paragraph is too long, with too many subject shifts. If this were a public speech, the audience would drift off before the second turn." Hedwig blinked, then nodded readily.

"I see."

"And this line — too ornate. If you want tomorrow's cadets to actually take it in, try two fewer adjectives."

"This one too?"

"This one especially." I sat off to the side, watching an Empire princess bring her speech draft late at night for Maki to correct like a school essay, and felt that, from the main hall until now, the whole world's art style had been a little unstable tonight.

Had I not seen it myself, I probably wouldn't have believed that the person who'd stood beside the oversized portrait at the banquet murmuring "didn't they say to not hang that up" was now sitting by the little side table of our room, listening to Maki Kushima lecture her about sentence construction with a serious face. The scene was absurd in a very quiet way. And quiet, once it piled up enough, tended to push the question you actually wanted to ask to the surface.

I watched Hedwig for a few seconds, and finally spoke.

"Can I ask you something, Your Highness?" Hedwig raised her eyes.

"Of course." I set my elbows on my knees and leaned forward slightly, watching those eyes — pretty under the banquet lights, now looking rather tired.

"What are you really after, running over to the Federation like this?" The room fell quiet for a beat. Maki didn't interject, simply set down the draft in her hand and let her gaze land on Hedwig too. I put it even more plainly.

"You're an Empire princess. Not an ordinary exchange student, and not a vase here for some goodwill event. Coming to a place like the Federation Military Academy, in a lot of people's eyes, is barely different from walking yourself onto a hostage list." I smiled a little, very faintly.

"So I'm curious what you're after. A political show, dodging trouble, or offering yourself as some proof of sincerity." Hedwig didn't answer at once. That silence wasn't offense, wasn't her planning a counterattack — more like she'd always known someone would ask this eventually, just hadn't been sure it would be tonight, or that it would be me. I watched her, and brought up the other thing as well.

"Also, the other day, I saw — and heard — things I shouldn't have seen or heard." Hedwig's lashes trembled very lightly. I went on.

"Someone wants to kill you. Not empty talk, not a threat letter, not some sloppy drunk remark by a noble. The kind of kill with arrangements, with orders, with personnel. And the one giving the orders is no small figure." I didn't unload every detail, but the core — all of it — I said. The desk lamp in the room was very quiet, its light falling across Hedwig's profile, clearly illuminating the expression that crossed it in that instant. It wasn't surprise. It was closer to grief. Faint, brief — but I saw it.

So did Maki. Hedwig rested her hands on her knees, her fingertips drawing in very lightly. Then she raised her head, looked at me and Maki, and spoke — not loudly, but far steadier than when she'd been talking about the speech.

"While I can't go into specifics yet — my ultimate goal is peace." The room went silent for half a second after that sentence fell. I was the first to laugh. Not mocking — more like my body had auto-reacted to finally hearing a line that sounded this much like something from a play.

"Your Highness, that sounds exactly like a villain's line." Hedwig didn't get angry, didn't even deny it, just answered very calmly.

"I won't deny it. In certain people's eyes, I really am the villain." Maki cut in then, flat but precise.

"Like your imperial brothers." Hedwig looked at Maki, then nodded.

"Yes." I sank back into the sofa and raised one hand in that sword-raising pose from hot-blooded anime — stupid, with great spirit.

"So from here on, we just need to do like a hot-blooded anime and say 'trust me,' right? Then the three of us stand under the sunset, swear a blood oath, and blow up a couple of mechas in the background." Maki looked at me.

"Watch fewer bad movies." Hedwig, though, lowered her head and let out a very light laugh. That smile was brief, like the first time tonight she'd truly let fall a bit of the tension holding her.

"No." Hedwig raised her eyes, her voice even lower than before.

"I just need the two of you to believe me, for now. Believe that I'm after peace." I looked at her. This time, I didn't answer right away. Because if that line had been said when we'd first met, I'd probably have thought this Empire princess was either too naive or too good at acting. But here, by now — the things Hedwig had done, the expressions she'd shown, and that flash of grief just now — all of it made the line a lot harder to simply pitch into the trash. That was the trouble.

I hated people I couldn't cleanly hate to the end. I sighed.

"If you'd said that when we first met, I definitely wouldn't have believed you."

"And now?" Hedwig asked.

"Now," I glanced at Maki, then returned my gaze to Hedwig, "I'm reserving judgment." Maki also set the half-edited draft on the table.

"So am I." That answer wasn't hot-blooded, wasn't romantic, wasn't even remarkably loyal. But I thought it was reasonable. We weren't here to perform a friendship chorus. We lived in a world where even a banquet could carry an assassination plot. With trust, giving half a step already counted as generous; if you wanted the whole segment at once, you'd better bring something to trade. Hedwig seemed to understand, so she only nodded.

"That's enough. Thank you." In the ten or so minutes that followed, Maki quickly finished the remaining paragraphs of the draft, and Hedwig noted each one seriously. With business done, Hedwig didn't linger, and soon rose to take her leave. At the door, she paused and turned around.

"Good night." I waved.

"Good night, Your Highness. Also, at tomorrow's speech, don't say 'peace' like it's an ultimatum — it'll be easier to get off that stage alive." Hedwig blinked, then laughed in defeat.

"I'll try." After the door closed, the room fell completely, whole-heartedly quiet. I sank back into the sofa, staring at the shut door for two seconds, then spoke slowly.

"So from now on, we're turning into a hot-blooded manga?" Maki stacked the draft into a pile, not looking up.

"No. Hot-blooded manga wouldn't make you the protagonist." I froze, then couldn't help it — I toppled right into the sofa laughing. The moment the laughter came out, the pent-up gloom I'd carried back from the dance floor finally seemed to settle, for real, a little.

"Maki Kushima."

"Mm."

"Your tongue's been vicious tonight."

"Learned from someone."

"Nonsense. My moral character is exemplary."

"Then the Federation's moral education needs to be re-accredited." I laughed harder. Outside, the night pressed against the Imperial Hotel's walls, and in the distance lights from the banquet's aftermath still hadn't fully faded. Inside, all that remained was the clean smell of uniform fabric, half-edited drafts, and a chest that, after the laughter, was finally a little less taut. Peace, conspiracy, hostage, princess, imperial brothers, assassination. Every word was heavy.

Too heavy for things that should fall on the eve of a student trip. And yet here they all were, already fallen. I let my head drop against the sofa back, staring at the ceiling, thinking about tomorrow, about the Lunar City, about Hedwig's so-called peace, and about Maki's line just now — "wouldn't make you the protagonist." Then I laughed again, softly.

"Fine then," I murmured, "protagonists usually die slower, but they also attract more trouble." Maki, standing by the table, answered flatly.

"You're already trouble enough right now."

"Thanks. That's very comradely of you."

"I didn't mean it that way."

"I can take it as that." This time, she didn't deny it.