Once Erin disappeared into the kitchen, Mir kicked off her little leather boots, grabbed one of the discs Erin had bought back from the modern world, popped it into the disc player, and settled in to watch.
That was the one bad thing about this other world: magical interference made it nearly impossible for the internet to develop here, even though electrical appliances worked fine.
By the time Erin had the meal ready, the first thing she saw was the girl lounging on the sofa in the most unladylike way imaginable, watching TV without a care.
“You little brat!
Go wash your hands this instant!”
“They’re not dirty at all, I’m very clean!” The girl waved her little fist in protest, but she obediently put on her slippers and went to wash up.
Clearly, over these three years Erin had established her authority to the fullest—though the moment the girl turned back into the puppet brat, most of that authority went right out the window.
Whether or not Mir was actually clean, Erin couldn’t say; the girl never had any odor about her, only ever smelled faintly sweet.
But clean or not, Erin would not allow her to sit down to eat without washing her hands first.
Erin picked up a cup and poured herself some tea.
Before she could take a sip, she felt something cold against her back.
She turned around, expressionless, to find the girl wiping her wet hands on her clothes—which made the girl shrink her neck in guilt.
Fine.
Retract the earlier statement: this brat is a menace to her core; the whole “authority” thing was Erin flattering herself.
What do you do with a feral, mischievous child?
You march her straight into time-out!
She hauled the girl up by the collar for a stern talking-to.
“Waaah—I’m sorry!
I was wrong!”
“Wrong about what?” Erin fixed the girl she’d just scolded to tears with an icy stare.
“Boo-hoo—I shouldn’t have wiped my hands on Erin’s clothes.” The girl hiccuped through her tears.
“And what should you call me?”
“Mommy!”
Having gotten the address she wanted, Erin let her go and patted her head.
“Well? Learned your lesson?” She hadn’t been the least bit rough about it.
“Uh-huh—”
“Then will you make Mommy angry again?”
“I won’t.”
An obvious lie, but Erin didn’t press it.
Any more of this and she’d be the one whose heart ached.
“All right, time to eat.”
Eyes brimming with tears, the girl mixed the cabbage into her rice, took one bite, and scrunched her little face into a knot.
She truly could not understand why something as unpalatable as napa cabbage had ever been classified as food.
Erin watched the girl suffer as if under torture, at a loss for words.
“You’re clearly not hungry enough yet.”
“Once you’re done, go take a bath.”
“I’m very clean!” The girl made it clear she had no wish to waste time on such a meaningless endeavor.
“Clean or not, you’re taking one!” Erin overrode the girl’s objection and steered her off to the bathroom.
(King Crimson! Skip the two thousand words that should go here!)
Bath finished, Erin brought the girl to her own bedroom.
Mir looked at her, puzzled.
Erin picked up the alarm clock from the nightstand and held it up for the girl.
“Mir, tell me what time it is.”
“Nine thirty.”
“Right. Good children are already asleep at this hour.” With that, Erin handed Mir a set of pajamas.
“I can sleep on my own…”
“No. Tonight you’re sleeping here!” Erin said in a tone that brooked no argument.
Erin didn’t dare let her sleep alone—left to herself, the girl would probably stay up watching TV again.
And even setting aside the TV, she couldn’t let the girl sleep alone: the brat kicked off her blankets in her sleep.
She’d never once gotten sick, but there was no telling when she might catch a chill.
In short, letting the girl sleep by herself was as good as letting her come to harm.
In puppet form it was less of a worry—the puppet had thick skin and a tough hide.
As for having her sleep as the puppet on her own—that was even more out of the question.
Last time Erin let Mir do that, the puppet threw an unconscious punch in its sleep and wiped the wall between his room and Erin’s clean out of existence.
That was the main reason the Special Class apartment building had been built so ruggedly.
“Settle down and sleep,” Erin ordered.
Once the girl had pulled on her pajamas and burrowed under the covers, Erin switched off the lamp and slipped into bed herself.
Erin didn’t go so far as to hug the girl to herself like a body pillow, for fear of squashing the poor thing.
But the sleeping girl was far from well-behaved: she promptly flung a leg over Erin and latched on.
Not wanting to wake her, Erin didn’t push her off.
She’d already resigned herself to a night of being jostled around; whether or not she actually slept hardly mattered.
And so, for most of the night Erin scarcely slept, forever pulling the blanket back over the restless girl.
Still, with her strength as an A-rank Psi-Spirit user, one sleepless night was no real inconvenience.
When she opened her eyes, she found an already-awake Mir lying on his side, watching her—the puppet version, that is.
“Yo~” Dressed in the same school uniform he’d worn before transforming the day before, Mir propped his cheek on one hand and greeted the beauty before him in a languid, teasing pose.
Erin didn’t react like an ordinary girl finding a man in her covers first thing in the morning—no shriek, no flustered squealing.
She simply sat up, calm as anything, and changed clothes right in front of Mir.
Her utter composure left the prank-failed Mir rather disappointed.
“Kid, how long do you plan to lie there? Didn’t you bring a little girl back yesterday? As her senior, shouldn’t you go help her get familiar with the academy?” With that, she tossed the alarm clock in front of Mir so he could check the time himself.
You sure weren’t taking this tone yesterday.
Women really are creatures who turn on you without a second thought.
Mir went to the bathroom to freshen up.
For convenience, he simply detached his head and brushed his teeth in front of the mirror—that way the toothpaste wouldn’t drip onto his clothes.
Washed up and ready, Mir came out to the living room for breakfast—and the sight of the thing on the table hit him like a truck.
Napa cabbage!
“Why the heck is it cabbage again?!” Mir furiously chucked his head at Erin’s chest.
His head bounced right back off.
“I told you yesterday, didn’t I? Cabbage is all that’s left in the house.” Erin said, unruffled.
Since when did you say that?!
“Then I’ll just eat breakfast at the academy cafeteria.” Mir reattached his head and started for the front door.
From out of nowhere Erin produced a submachine gun and strafed a magazine into the floor along his path, blasting the floorboards clean up.
“Finish eating here before you go.” Her tone left no room for argument.
Holy crap!
Where do you even pull a gun that big from?
“Look, you’ve kicked dust all over the food…”
“I haven’t. My aim is impeccable.” Erin began reloading the submachine gun.
For the first time, Mir began to resent the fact that puppets could taste, too.
Fifteen minutes later…
“See you never, you old bag!” Having choked down a whole plate of cabbage, Mir hurled that parting shot, then used his Psi-Spirit Energy to blast off at top speed.
That wretched old woman is definitely still holding a grudge over that pepper-spiked coffee!