“So?”

  Lily’s voice, sharp and laced with a theatrical irritation, cut through the quiet, sunlit air of the mansion penthouse. She stood in the middle of the opulent living room, her arms crossed, her foot tapping an impatient rhythm on the marble floor, a queen deeply displeased with her court.

  “What is so important,” she demanded, her gaze sweeping over the two runaways who had just unceremoniously dragged her from her “yoga,” “that you two ruffians must pull me from my vital meditation session?”

  “It’s about Anise,” Yukari said, her own voice quiet, her earlier teasing gone, replaced by a simple, somber sincerity.

  “What about that little girl?” Lily retorted, her aristocratic disdain returning, though it was slightly softened by a flicker of something... perhaps, curiosity.

  “We felt bad that she had to go through this,” Raito explained, stepping forward, his own expression earnest. “So we figured, why not try to find a way to help Mary cheer her up?”

  “And what, pray tell, doth that have to do with me ?” Lily’s eyebrow arched, her dramatic flair returning in a wave of self-importance. “Thou knowest I am... bad with children.”

  “I know,” Yukari said, her voice a soothing, placating thing. “But you’re also kind enough to help. And,” a small, calculated smile touched her lips, “you are the dazzling Jewel of the Sea, right? Can’t you... you know, help us find any idea? Anything?” she pleaded, her voice a perfect blend of flattery and desperation.

  “Hmph!” Lily puffed, her chest swelling slightly at the acknowledgment of her title, though her suspicion remained. “I shall have thee know, home performances are not my specialty! I am not some common party animal, trained to cheer up weeping children!”

  “We’ll start talking about how you stole the events of our life and made a script out of it.”

  The threat, delivered with a calm, almost breezy nonchalance from Yukari, shattered Lily’s indignant posture.

  “Thou... thou wouldst not dare!” Lily stammered, her eyes widening, a flicker of genuine panic in their depths.

  “I would,” Yukari confirmed, her smile turning sharp and predatory.

  “She would,” Raito added, his voice a simple, honest, and utterly unhelpful confirmation as he pointed at his wife. “How did you even know about all those events, anyway?” he asked, his own curiosity, the question that had been bugging him for days, finally bubbling to the surface.

  “I... I have my sources!” Lily snapped, her face flushing a deep, tell-tale crimson. She looked from Raito’s genuinely curious face to Yukari’s triumphant, knowing smirk, and the fight seemed to drain out of her.

  She let out a long, slow, and utterly defeated sigh, the sound a white flag of surrender in the quiet, sunlit room.

  “Fine! Fine!” she relented, her voice a low, frustrated grumble. “I... I also felt partly guilty for what happened. So... what is the plan?”

  “That’s why we asked you in the first place,” Yukari said, her expression softening, her victory assured. “We don’t really know. We’ve never consoled a grieving child before.”

  Lily pinched the bridge of her nose, her eyes squeezed shut in exasperation. “And why, in the name of the seven seas, wouldst thou think I would know a plan as well?” she commented, her voice a strained murmur.

  She opened her eyes, her gaze sweeping the opulent room as if searching for an escape. Her eyes suddenly landed on a large, ornate potted plant in the far corner, its lush green leaves rustling slightly, though there was no breeze. A slow, sinister, and utterly theatrical smile spread across her face.

  “You!” she barked, pointing a single, dramatic finger at the unsuspecting foliage. “Help us! Now!”

  “Hieee!” A small, startled shriek echoed from behind the pot. Serra Montblanc, the journalist, stumbled out, her copper-colored hair a mess, her clothes dusted with soil. She frantically brushed herself off, but Raito noticed something odd. Her usual, ever-present ‘PRESS’ badge was missing.

  “What do you need me for, Miss Lily?” Serra asked, meekly approaching the group, her notebook clutched to her chest like a shield.

  “We need a clown performance to make a child happy,” Lily said, her voice a grand, sweeping pronouncement. “Art thou in?”

  “Miss Lily, I am not a clown!” Serra protested, her face flushing with professional indignation.

  “But thou art jobless, art thou not?” Lily countered, her tone a perfect, dismissive imitation of a noble addressing a peasant.

  “Did she get fired?” Raito whispered to Yukari, his gaze flickering to the journalist’s empty lapel.

  “I think so,” Yukari whispered back, her own expression a mixture of pity and amusement.

  Serra let out a long, slow sigh, the fight draining out of her. She admitted defeat. After the opera house incident, her boss had been furious. Her failure to deliver a single "juicy" headline about the Night Sun event, combined with her steadfast refusal to publish anything about the billion-Cal bounty on Raito, had been the final straw. She had, indeed, been unceremoniously fired.

  “Fine,” she said, her voice a low, begrudging, and utterly defeated mumble.

  “Perfect!” Lily clapped her hands, her good mood instantly, miraculously restored. She gestured triumphantly, as if she had just solved the greatest mystery of their time. “Now that we have a clown, how hard can it be to make a child smile?”

  Moments later, the small, chaotic assembly stood in front of the familiar, quiet facade of Cafe Neon. The plan, as Lily had laid it out with all the misplaced confidence of a general invading a nation with a kazoo, was simple. And utterly ridiculous.

  Serra, to her profound and everlasting humiliation, was now clad in a full, baggy clown costume, complete with a frizzy rainbow wig and a large, red, foam nose that honked. Raito stood beside her, his arms laden with a vibrant, squeaky bouquet of balloon animals. Yukari, meanwhile, held a comically large, ribbon-wrapped box of Spica's most expensive and decadent cookies.

  Lily, naturally, was the director. She stood before them, her hands on her hips, her expression one of intense, artistic focus as she surveyed her strange, makeshift troupe.

  “Understand?” Lily begin, her voice a low, conspiratorial, and deeply serious hiss, as if they were planning a bank heist and not an apology. “We open the door, then with a grand fanfare—that’s thy cue, Raito, be prepared to make a sound with those balloons—you,” she pointed a sharp, accusing finger at Serra, “the clown, shalt rush in, seize the child, and lift her unto the heavens! Then we shower them with praise, good words, and gifts! Do not forget the gifts!”

  A heavy, awkward silence fell over the group.

  “Okay,” Yukari whispered to Raito, her voice a low, mortified murmur that was barely audible over the distant, cheerful sounds of the marketplace. “I think we brought the wrong person for this. It really should’ve been Bob.”

  “The regret is slowly creeping in,” Raito whispered back, his own face a mask of profound, secondhand embarrassment as he adjusted his grip on a squeaky balloon giraffe. “But Bob is busy nursing or, more like, keeping Mila from escaping the hospital. We don’t really have a choice.”

  “Why me? Why me?” Serra sobbed quietly from behind her painted-on smile, her lament punctuated by a sad, pathetic honk from her red nose.

  “Un, deux, trois!” Lily suddenly declared, her voice a sharp, triumphant cry. She stepped forward, her hand reaching for the doorknob, her face a mask of pure, confident anticipation, ready to unleash her chaotic symphony of joy upon the grieving family. Cluck. The doorknob didn't turn. It was locked.

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  Lily’s triumphant expression faltered. She blinked. “Hmm?” She tried again, jiggling the handle with a little more force. Still locked.

  She pressed her face to the front window, cupping her hands around her eyes. The interior of the cafe, usually so warm and inviting, was dark. Silent. Empty.

  She stepped back, her earlier confidence now replaced by a flicker of genuine confusion. She knocked, three sharp, impatient raps against the solid wood.

  The door remained stubbornly shut. No one answered.

  Raito and Yukari exchanged a look, their own earlier embarrassment forgotten, replaced by a new, cold knot of unease. The lack of light, the profound silence from within… it felt wrong.

  “Um… excuse me?”

  A new voice, old and kind, cut through the tense silence. An elderly woman, her arms laden with a basket of fresh bread, had stopped on the path, her gaze sweeping over the bizarre, costomed group with a polite, if slightly bewildered, curiosity.

  “Are you perhaps looking for the lady who owns this cafe?” she asked, her gaze lingering for a moment on Serra’s rainbow wig.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Yukari replied instantly, stepping forward, her polite smile a fragile mask over her rising concern. “Do you know if they are inside?”

  The old woman shook her head, a look of genuine, neighborly sympathy on her face. “Then I’m afraid you might have missed them, dear,” she said, her voice a gentle, almost apologetic thing. “This morning. They took all their luggage and headed somewhere.”

  She leaned in a little closer, her voice dropping to a more conspiratorial, gossipy tone. “Apparently, they’re moving. If I heard correctly.”

  “Moving?” Yukari’s voice was a sharp, incredulous whisper. “Do you know where they went, ma’am?”

  “I’m afraid not, dear,” the old lady said with a final, sympathetic shake of her head.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Yukari replied, her voice a hollow, automatic thing.

  The old woman nodded politely and continued on her way, leaving the four of them standing in a stunned, silent, and utterly ridiculous tableau on the empty street. The clown, the balloon holder, the cookie bearer, and the dramatic director, all brought together for a performance that would never happen.

  “They are moving? How peculiar,” Lily commented, her voice the first to break the heavy silence, though her dramatic flair was noticeably muted, replaced by a genuine, analytical curiosity.

  “We can’t really blame them,” Raito said, his own voice quiet, a wave of empathy washing over him as he stared at the dark, empty cafe. “After what happened, and with her own past…” He didn’t need to say more.

  Yukari clutched the expensive box of cookies, a feeling of profound, almost personal loss settling in her chest. “I wish we could have just talked to them one last time,” she sighed, her gaze fixed on the locked door.

  “Umm…” A small, hesitant voice piped up from behind them. Serra meekly raised her hand, her rainbow wig slightly askew. “I… I might know where they went,” she said, her voice muffled by the large red nose.

  Lily spun around, her eyes blazing with a fresh, incredulous fury. “Then why didst thou not say anything?!” she glared at Serra.

  “Hieee! I’m sorry!” Serra shrieked, cowering back. “I didn’t know that this whole… this whole charade was for that Mary lady and her daughter!”

  “What part of ‘consoling a child’ didst thou not understand?!” Lily snapped, advancing on the cowering clown. “Dost thou think I know any other grieving child in this city?!”

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Serra pleaded.

  “So where did they go, Serra?” Yukari interjected, her voice a calm, steady anchor in the midst of Lily’s rising tide of irritation.

  Serra took a shaky breath, clearly grateful for the intervention. “Last I saw them,” she said, her journalistic instincts clicking back into place, “they went to Tunnel Number Three.” She pointed towards the grand, arching spoke of the city that led to one of the eight massive water-elevators.

  “Then we may still be able to catch up to them,” Yukari said, a new, determined light in her silver eyes. She turned to Raito. “Let’s run.” They both took off in an instant, a shared, unspoken understanding passing between them.

  “Non! Non! Running!” Lily’s voice was a high-pitched, exhausted wail from behind them. The very thought of another cross-city sprint made her legs ache in protest.

  But she had no choice.

  “Let’s go, Miss Lily!” Serra’s voice, now surprisingly cheerful, called out. The journalist, her earlier humiliation forgotten in the thrill of a new chase, grabbed the protesting celebrity’s wrist and, with a surprising, clown-like strength, began to drag her along.

  One frantic, undignified, and very sweaty running session later, the mismatched troupe arrived at the grand, echoing entrance hall of Tunnel Number Three. The massive steel door of the water-elevator platform stood before them, a final, imposing barrier between them and the outside world.

  Raito and Yukari scanned the bustling embarkation area, their eyes sweeping over the crowds of travelers and merchants, searching for any sign of a small woman and her daughter.

  “Any sign of them?” Raito asked, his gaze fixed on the crowded platform.

  Yukari shook her head, a flicker of disappointment in her silver eyes.

  “Sorry,” Serra panted, bending over to catch her breath, her rainbow wig now hanging by a single, sad thread. “I should’ve said something earlier.”

  “It’s alright, Serra,” Yukari said, patting her shoulder reassuringly. “You were just dragged along with us.”

  “Huff… huff…” Lily, who had been dragged the entire way, finally collapsed against a nearby pillar, her face a pale, blotchy mess, her earlier perfect makeup now a tragic, runny watercolor. “Can we… can we go back now? They… they’ve left already.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” A voice, soft and familiar, suddenly came from right behind Raito as something bump into him.

  “Anise, please say sorry.”

  “I’m sorry,” another, younger voice echoed.

  Raito, Yukari, Lily, and Serra all spun around in perfect, shocked unison. There, standing not three feet away, their own luggage resting by their feet, were Mary and Anise.

  “Oh, it’s you guys,” Mary said, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes widening in genuine, if slightly bewildered, surprise as she took in their bizarre, chaotic appearance.

  “You two haven’t left yet?” Yukari’s voice was a wave of pure, unadulterated relief.

  “Well, Anise wanted to get one last Spican meal before we left,” Mary explained, a small, sad smile on her face. “Were you… looking for me?” Her gaze drifted to the box of cookies in Yukari’s hand, then to the balloon animals clutched in Raito’s.

  Anise, for her part, just stared, her bright blue eyes fixed on Serra’s red nose. She was still holding the small, now-wilted pink flower from the gravesite, her grip tight.

  “Thou art running away.” Lily’s voice, though still breathless, had regained a fraction of its old, theatrical bravado.

  Mary didn’t even flinch. She just met Lily’s gaze, her own expression one of quiet, weary resignation. “Yes,” she answered simply. “I figured after everything, a change of pace away from here is what we need. There are too much sorrow and too many memories if we stay here.”

  “Lily…” Yukari began, placing a gentle hand on the celebrity’s arm, a silent plea to not antagonize the grieving mother. But Raito quietly stopped her, shaking his head.

  Lily just looked at Mary, and then her gaze softened, crouching down to meet Anise’s wide, curious eyes. “How about you, little girl?” she asked, her voice surprisingly gentle.

  Anise’s lip trembled. She looked from Lily’s strange, painted face to the wilted flower in her hand. “Anise misses Papa,” she whispered, her voice a small, broken thing. “Papa lied. He said he will come back. He promised to plant the flower.” She pouted, fresh tears welling in her eyes. “But… Anise also doesn’t want Mama to be sad. So Anise follows Mama.” Her gaze, full of a child’s simple, unwavering logic, suddenly hardened. “That is what Papa would’ve wanted.”

  She then pointed a small, accusatory finger directly at Lily. “Bully, stay away from Mama.”

  Lily didn’t get angry. A small, almost imperceptible, and genuinely sad smile touched her lips. She stood up, her gaze meeting Mary’s once more. “Good,” she said, her voice a quiet, almost respectful acknowledgment. “Then go forth. It appears this place… it is too restrictive for both of you.”

  She turned, her theatrical flair returning in a single, sharp gesture. “Hey! Where are the gifts?!” she barked at Yukari.

  “Oh, right.” Yukari, startled by the abrupt command, held out the large, ribbon-wrapped box. “We, uh, we brought you these cookies, Mary.”

  Mary looked at the ridiculously expensive box, then at Yukari’s earnest, slightly embarrassed face, and a small, watery, but genuine smile touched her lips. “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft as she accepted the gift. She looked from Yukari to Lily, and her gaze softened with a new, quiet understanding. “And thank you, Miss Lily. For… for everything.” She now, somehow, understood that the abrasive celebrity was, in her own strange, theatrical way, just trying to help. Which in a way, was weird for her to finally understand the hidden side of someone she looked up to.

  “I’m sorry,” Raito stepped forward, his own voice quiet, his gaze falling to the floor. “He wouldn’t have… if we were stronger, he…”

  “It’s alright, young man,” Mary interjected, her voice gentle but firm. “That is what he wanted to do. I’m sure he has his reasons.”

  Raito looked up, his eyes wide with a quiet, grateful surprise. “You don’t hold a grudge against me?”

  “Why should I?” Mary’s gaze was steady, her earlier grief replaced by a quiet, hard-won peace. “We all have free will, isn’t that right?” She glanced at Lily, a flicker of a shared, complex understanding passing between the two women. “I’m sure he also did that out of his own free will.” She looked back at Raito, her smile strengthening. “Now, it is time for me and Anise to step into our new chapter in life.”

  Raito just nodded, a wave of profound, almost overwhelming respect washing over him. He wiped a sudden, unexpected tear from the corner of his eye and tried to smile. “Yes,” he said, his voice a little thick.

  Yukari knelt, bringing herself down to Anise’s level. Her own gaze was soft, her voice a gentle murmur. “Take care of your mama, little girl,” she said. “Loss… it’s not the end of everything. Believe me.” The memory of her own mother, of a cold grave in a distant land, flashed in her mind, a shared, timeless sorrow connecting her to the small, grieving child.

  Anise didn't fully understand the weight of the words, but she felt the sincerity. She just nodded. “Yes, thank you, beautiful lady,” she said politely.

  Yukari smiled, a genuine, warm expression. She looked up at Mary. “A little suggestion,” she said, her voice thoughtful. “Maybe head to Hanyuun. The people there are nice. And… it’s a good place, the land is fertile if you ever think of growing flowers.”

  Mary met her gaze, and in that shared look, a silent, profound understanding passed. A new home. A new start. A place to plant a small, wilting pink flower. She just nodded.

  With a final, formal bow, Mary took Anise’s hand. She picked up her single, worn suitcase, and together, mother and daughter turned. They walked towards Platform 3, a small, two-person island of quiet resolve, leaving the theatrics and the sorrows of Spica behind as they stepped towards their new, unknown future.