Chương 361: 156.Inseparable Trio 2

"Next one." Maki walked ahead, her voice clean and businesslike, like she hadn't just held up two structurally ambitious pieces of lace five minutes ago and asked me, with total sincerity, whether they looked good. I watched her back and briefly questioned the nature of reality, right there on a public street. On the Yukikaze, this woman was one stitch away from having the word System sewn across her forehead.

Half an hour off the ship with Jess, and she was already evolving in the direction of unhinged acquaintance. The terrifying part wasn't that Maki had been corrupted. Someone like Maki doesn't get corrupted by anyone. She just usually can't be bothered. The one time she decides she wants to cause damage, her output beats Jess's by a significant margin. Jess was still laughing beside me, like a localized natural disaster.

"Look at you, Hoshino. Color's back in your face. That expression back there was worth the ticket price alone."

"Shut up."

"Don't be stingy about it. First time your girlfriend judges you with a piece of lace — that's a milestone."

"Jess. Say one more word and there'll be an unexplained body in a dumpster today."

"Ooh, threats. That means you're feeling better." I wanted to tell her that no matter how much better I felt, it would never be enough to make me volunteer for another round in a store like that — but the words caught in my throat, because Maki had stopped and turned to look back at me. Not the Yukikaze look — the one that says you'd better start explaining yourself right now. Not the deliberately wicked look from the shop, either. More like — checking whether I could still walk. This woman is infuriating.

She'd been a full accomplice five minutes ago, and now she was cleaning up the scene like nothing happened. Like an arsonist personally handing you a towel and asking if you got burned.

"This one." Maki tipped her chin. I followed her gaze and finally saw a store normal enough to make me want to cry. Clean windows. Mannequins dressed in things a person could actually walk outside in — nothing requiring an apology to one's ancestors first. Inside, the lighting was bright without being harsh, the racks lined up in perfect order — shirts, knitwear, trousers, coats — the whole place radiating something rare and precious. Civilization. I almost wanted to bow at the doorway.

"Finally. A store that sells clothes for actual people." Jess let out a whistle. Even she seemed to understand that if she pushed the joke any further, I might actually bite someone.

"Relax, Hoshino. You're not going home naked today."

"I was never going home naked. That was your ideal ending for the morning. Not mine." Maki glanced over at me. The corner of her mouth moved. Barely. But I saw it. She really was smiling today. For a second I wanted to swallow every question I'd been planning to ask — the student ID, the bus, my enrollment status, where, if anywhere, I still had a place. Not because I didn't want the answers. Because this morning was too strange. Strange enough that Maki Kushima was standing in the living room at No.

22, Platinum Bridge Street, in clothes that didn't look like she was on duty, killing time with me and Jess almost until noon. Strange enough that someone who could pin an entire room to regulation with one sentence was making jokes at my expense — and laughing. If I dragged all that heavier stuff out now, this rare, half-loosened air between us would probably die on the spot.... I was apparently learning to read a room. That's easily the least like-me development I've had recently. And deeply humiliating.

The AC hit my face the second we walked in, and I noticed my back was damp. Couldn't tell if that was leftover anger or nerves. Probably both. Today was clearly designed to throw someone's dignity in the wash, spin it dry, and hang it up for everyone to see. A clerk came over — early twenties, hair neat, a smile so professionally calibrated it might have been cut out of a training manual and pasted on.

"Welcome. Can I help you find anything?" Before I could say no thanks, Jess shoved me forward.

"Yes. This one's starting over today. Completely." I turned and glared at her.

"Jess. Do you know what the word quiet means." The clerk's smile snagged for half a second, but his training held.

"If it's everyday wear you're after, we could start with the basics. Would you prefer something a bit sharper, or something on the softer side...? Miss?" Miss. Good. Civilization hasn't entirely collapsed. Though I caught the caution buried in that would you prefer — three parts hesitation, three parts survival instinct, four parts please don't let anything explode in my store today. I kept my face flat.

"Wearable. Practical. Nothing that looks like a costume." He blinked, probably hearing his first-ever shopping request phrased like a field logistics order. Maki added, perfectly calm:"Start with basics. Tops, trousers, base layers. Size up. She's not used to anything fitted right now." I nearly choked on the air conditioning.

"Maki."

"What?"

"Don't hand out orders about me like I'm already filed and indexed somewhere." She looked at me, tone even enough to be infuriating.

"Would you rather choose for yourself, then, Hoshino?"

"..." Fuck. I wanted to. The problem was I still hadn't figured out what category I even fell into anymore. Shopping used to be simple. Does it fit? Good enough. Sleeves not so short they look like an accident, trouser legs that don't trip me, fabric that survives a full day — that used to be civilization discharging its whole obligation to me. That algorithm had clearly failed this morning. I'd already been personally decommissioned by one old shirt.

Walking through this store with old measurements and an old brain would just be setting myself up for a second public execution. Jess cut in without an ounce of mercy.

"Left to herself, Hoshino grabs a pile of black, grey, and navy and comes out looking dressed for her own memorial service."

"Still more dignified than dragging someone into a fetish shop."

"That was market research." If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"That was a dry run for a crime." The clerk worked very hard to pretend he hadn't heard any of that. I felt a little sorry for him. Not everyone clocks in expecting to serve a scowling me, a Maki who looks like a senior tribunal officer on a rare day off, and Jess, whose mouth operates at demolition-grade output, all in the same ten minutes. Maki had already started pulling things off the racks. Watching her do it was genuinely strange. She didn't shop like a normal person — no this is cute, no nice color.

She checked cuts, fabric, shoulder seams, moving fast, like she was running performance specs on equipment. And today, with her mood running warmer than usual, with that rare looseness in her eyes she almost never let show, the overall effect was: a highly dangerous person who happens to know exactly how to make someone look right, casually reconstructing my civilian profile without breaking a sweat. Just thinking that sentence made my scalp prickle. Jess, meanwhile, supplied the ambient noise.

"This one's good. Sharp. This one too — looks like something you'd corner an upperclassman in a stairwell wearing."

"I don't corner upperclassmen."

"Underclassmen, then?"

"Jess."

"Fine, fine. What about this? Oh — wait, too well-behaved. Doesn't work. You'd look like an honor student being coerced into a life of crime." I took it out of her hands, expressionless, and hung it back up.

"You've got a real gift for description. Use it on your own corpse next time someone hits you." Maki actually laughed out loud. Short. Almost just a breath. But real. I froze. Jess turned like she'd caught the scent of blood.

"Whoa, Kushima. You're having a genuinely good time today."

"No."

"Yes."

"Jess, if you've got that much free time, go find Hoshino some trousers."

"Yes, ma'am." I didn't want to know why those two had suddenly started operating like a rehearsed unit. First pass done, Maki loaded a stack into my arms. White. Slate blue. Deep green. Black. Nothing loud, but not my old dark colors never fail, don't think about it laziness either. Clean cuts. Shoulder seams with actual intention. Fabric that didn't feel like a personal insult. Two pairs of trousers — one straight, one slightly tapered — plus two base layers. I looked down at the pile.

It felt like holding the draft of a new ID card. Annoying part: I didn't hate any of it. More annoying part: I already suspected Maki had gotten it right.

"Try them," Maki said.

"Already?"

"Or were you planning to take them home and build a shrine?"

"I was planning to bury myself." Jess patted my shoulder with fake solemnity.

"Go on. The fitting room treats everyone honestly."

"That doesn't sound like a blessing."

"It wasn't meant to be." I genuinely wanted to shove her in first and let the curtain seal her off from human society forever. In the end, I was the one who went in. The fitting room was a little bigger than expected. The mirror was crueler than strictly necessary. I pulled the curtain shut, and the world went quiet — just the faint murmur outside and the sound of my own breathing. Good. Finally just me and myself.... Why does that sound exactly like the start of an interrogation.

I looked down at the pile and picked the safest option first. Grey top. Grey is humanity's friend. Grey doesn't betray you. Grey, at the very least, won't make you want to reincarnate on the spot the way wine-red lace does. Pulling off what I had on, I hesitated for a second. Not embarrassment. Not entirely, anyway. More a specific, irritating unfamiliarity. The person in the mirror was clearly me.

But lately I'd been feeling more and more like I was operating a piece of equipment fresh out of the box, manual still unread. I knew the basic functions. Knew it moved. Knew nothing was broken. But plenty of it hadn't been lived in yet — especially now, pulling fabric on and having to actually confirm where it should sit loose, where it should fall clean, where it would catch. I pulled the grey top on. Halfway. Elbow stuck.

"..." Great. First casualty of the round. I took a breath, tugged the sleeve up. Stuck. Tugged again. Still stuck. Was this a shirt, or some kind of dignity-strangling device custom-built for my specs? I started to think Jess really had cursed me back there. That mouth of hers might have actual operational range.

"Hoshino?" Maki's voice from outside. Flat. Dangerously flat.

"What."

"Still alive?"

"Barely."

"Then why thirty seconds of nothing?" I gritted my teeth, dragged the fabric down, finally got my other arm through.

"Because civilization and I are currently in hand-to-hand combat." Half a second of silence outside. Jess broke first, laughing.

"Told you. The fitting room's honest with everyone."

"Shut up."

"Need help?" Maki asked.

"No." Too fast. Pure reflex. I regretted it one second later. Because I looked down — the hem had made it, barely, but the shoulders were tight, and the chest wasn't unwearable, exactly. It was wearable the way something is technically legal rather than actually comfortable. I stood in front of the mirror. Silent for two seconds. The version of me in the mirror was silent for two seconds too. This is exactly the kind of moment that splits a person in half. One half keeps a straight face.

The other half screams internally. This isn't my fault. Whose fault is it, then — the fabric's? Not entirely mine, at least. But you did grow. Shut up. While fighting myself, I had to honestly concede one thing: Maki's size up had been completely correct. Which made it worse. Because it meant I didn't just have to accept that I'd changed — I had to accept that Maki had accepted it before I did. My face went warm. Damn it. I frowned at my reflection.

"What are you blushing for." The person in the mirror looked like she wanted to know that too. Jess's voice drifted through again.

"Hoshino, if you're crying, just make a noise. We'll pretend we didn't hear."

"I'm not crying."

"Then the shirt's got you."

"Jess."

"Fine, fine. Seriously — you really don't need help?" I looked at the mirror, fingers working the hem. Saying no would be a lie. But Maki, coming in here — just picturing it, I could feel my soul trying to escape through my ears. And with the mood she was in today, who knew whether she'd fix the shirt first or just enjoy the view first. Too dangerous. Not testing it.

"I don't," I said through my teeth.

"This one's just no good." Maki's voice came back, perfectly level.

"I know." I snapped toward the curtain, even though there was nothing to see.

"Then why did you hand it to me?"

"Because you wouldn't believe it until you tried it yourself."

"..." Damn it. This woman isn't reading me. She's running stress tests on my character flaws. And the worst part is, she isn't wrong. I'm exactly the type who won't admit a wall exists until I've walked into it — ideally after cursing it out loud three times and headbutting it once to check how solid it is, and only then conceding: oh. That actually hurts. I peeled the top off. Easier coming out than going in, but still about as graceful as losing a tug-of-war with something half-feral. Second piece: white shirt.

I don't like white. White makes it too easy to look like you're living a normal life that isn't yours. But holding it, I had to admit the cut was genuinely good — fabric with structure, not stiffness, a clean collar. I pulled it on. Got to the second button. Stopped.... Wait. Wasn't this a little too much like an actual person? Not a kid. Not that awkward in-between state from the old uniform, forever hovering between holding and not quite. Not some strange impression of someone else, either. Just — ordinary.

Normal. The kind of thing you could walk outside in without apologizing to anyone. I raised my head slowly. The person in the mirror raised hers too. The shoulders held their shape without straining for it. The line of my chest gave the shirt its structure; the waist fell clean. The whole silhouette came together cleaner than I was ready for. Not "feminine" in the way I usually hate that word thrown at me. Not softer.

More like — a few places that had never quite finished connecting had finally, quietly, closed the gap. I stood there, not sure whether to feel annoyed or just disoriented. In the end I went with annoyed. Safer.

"... Who picked this one." Maki's voice came back instantly.

"I did."

"Oh." Two seconds of silence, then:"You're irritating." Jess dissolved.

"Translation: she picked well and I refuse to admit it."

"Nobody asked you."

"Hoshino, come out and let us see," Jess said.

"Otherwise you're finishing your whole coming-of-age moment alone in there, and we can't be part of it."

"Who wanted you involved in that." I snapped it back, but my hand stopped at the curtain without pulling it open. Because I'd just realized: stepping out meant this wasn't just something between me and the mirror anymore. It meant they'd actually see it. This wasn't like the other shop. That was chaos — the kind of thing you turn into a joke, trade a couple of stabs over, and run from. This wasn't that. This was a normal store. Normal light. Normal clothes.

If someone said that looks good in here, it wouldn't be a joke. Somehow that was worse.

"Hoshino?" Maki called again. No urgency in it. I looked at the curtain and felt that small, half-buried thing rise up again — all the questions I'd swallowed earlier. Like a splinter that hadn't gone anywhere, just settled deeper for a while. But not now. This morning wasn't broken yet. I wasn't going to be the one to break it first. So I took a breath and pulled the curtain open. Light spilled in from the store. Jess whistled — her expression a fraction more serious than usual. Just a fraction.

"Oh." That "oh" was short, and for once it wasn't there to start trouble. Maki stood in front of me and looked. Not the head-to-toe scrutiny that makes you want to flip a table. Not the deliberate mockery from the other shop. Just one look. Then, in the most ordinary voice possible:"This works." I don't know why, said that plainly, it still made my ears go warm.

"... You're talking about me like I'm a piece of equipment."

"You're not equipment, Hoshino." Maki said.

"The old spec just doesn't fit anymore." Jess landed the finishing blow.

"Translation: time to shed the old skin."

"Jess. You really do have a gift for ruining a moment."

"I'm protecting you. One more that looks good on you and you'll go down like you just took a direct hit." I turned on her immediately.

"I would not."

"You would."

"I would not."

"Sure, sure. Your ears are just red on their own." The clerk passed by right then, another size in hand, glanced over, and delivered a look of professional, restrained approval.

"That one really does suit you. The shoulder line and the overall proportions are excellent. If you'd like a touch more room, I can bring the next size up for comparison."... Proportions. Thank you, stranger. You've just delivered the most brutal confirmation of my life in the gentlest possible tone. I kept my face flat and nodded.

"Bring it." Once he'd gone, Jess leaned in, voice low.

"Hoshino. You really did look good just now." I gave her a sideways look.

"Did you finally find your conscience today?"

"No. I just figured if I kept laughing at you, you'd actually bite someone."

"Good. Glad you understand that." Maki reached over and folded my cuff back, the motion so natural it looked like she'd done it a hundred times — or like tidying me up had just become a habit she'd stopped noticing. When her fingers brushed my wrist, I flinched, just slightly. Not pulling away. More like suddenly remembering: oh. She's standing very close. Maki didn't seem to register my momentary lack of composure. She just said, quietly:"Keep this one. Try the trousers next." I looked up at her.

"Maki."

"Mm?"

"Are you having a really good time today." She held my eyes for a second. The corner of her mouth shifted.

"It's fine." Liar. She was clearly having the time of her life. And the scariest part was, I wasn't actually angry. I was just mortified — mortified enough to want to find a hole, crawl in, and drag Jess down after me to cushion the landing. But underneath the mortification, there was something else. Quieter. Like someone had already looked me over. Already made the call. And then told me, in the most Maki way possible: it's fine. You're fine.

You'll survive this, you can walk outside in it, and the world isn't going to end just because you changed. It's a terrible way to be comforted. And it works on me. Every single time. So, yeah. Enough of this.