The library doors loomed before me like the gates of a trial I wasn't ready to face.
I had barely slept. The night had been an endless loop of calculations: rent due in three weeks, electricity bill next Monday, food running low, savings evaporating. Every time I closed my eyes, numbers swirled behind my eyelids; all I see are numbers in everything I look at or touch—a never-ending stream of numbers. My money keeps ticking downward like a counter, like the countdown of a bomb racing toward zero before it explodes. The pressure feels exactly the same.
My God... what will become of me next month? What will become of me six months from now?
And behind the numbers, faces—the boss's contempt, the dean's indifference, my father's disappointment.
Rory had stayed awake with me most of the night. She didn't say much. She just sat on my chest, her tiny weight a constant reminder that I wasn't alone, even when I felt like I was drowning. Tamamo had made tea at three in the morning, her fox ears drooping with exhaustion but her sapphire eyes steady.
"You can do this," Rory had said before I left.
"Just talk to her. She's your friend. Friends help each other."
"What if she says no?"
"Then we figure something else out." She had crossed her arms, that defiant posture I knew so well.
"But she won't say no. I told you, I like her. She's good people."
I pushed through the library doors and immediately broke into a run—well, a fast walk that was almost a run, because running in a library would draw attention, and the last thing I needed was attention.
Eight hundred dollars. That was what I needed to ask for. Eight hundred dollars a month for something that, until yesterday, had been a casual arrangement between acquaintances. It was an absurd amount. It was what I needed to survive.
My hand trembled as I pushed open the door.
The main hall was quieter than usual. Fewer students, fewer groups, fewer people to witness my desperation. I was late. Again. But this time it wasn't because of expired yogurt or divine food poisoning. This time it was because I had spent twenty minutes outside the library, pacing, trying to find the words.
Luna, I need more money.
Luna, I lost my job.
Luna, my life is falling apart and I don't know what to do.
Every version sounded pathetic. Every version sounded like begging. And maybe that's because it was.
I rounded the corner toward the staircase and almost collided with someone.
"Hey!"
I stumbled back. The rabbit girl—the same one from the stairs last week, the same one from the bus months ago—was standing in the middle of the hallway, a book open in her hands. Her cyan pigtails bounced with indignation, her electric blue eyes narrowed at me with that familiar contempt.
"Watch where you're going, you idiot!"
"Sorry, I—"
But she was already walking away, muttering something under her breath. I caught a fragment: "...always in the way..."
I stood there for a moment, catching my breath. Then I noticed something strange.
The book she had been reading.
It was upside down.
She had been holding it upside down. The cover—something about quantum mechanics, I think—was inverted, the title clearly facing the floor.
What kind of person reads a book upside down?
The thought flickered through my mind like a candle in a storm, there and gone in an instant. I had bigger things to worry about than a strange rabbit girl with strange reading habits.
I climbed the stairs two at a time.
Luna was at our usual table, next to the window overlooking the inner courtyard. Her blonde drills were perfectly styled, her uniform impeccable, her posture straight. But her expression was different from her usual composure. She was worried. I could see it in the way her fingers drummed on the table, in the way her eyes kept darting toward the entrance.
When she saw me, she stopped drumming.
"You're here," she said, and there was relief in her voice. Real relief, not the polite kind.
"I said I would be."
"You said you'd try. That's not the same thing." She gestured to the chair across from her. "Sit. You look like you haven't slept."
"I haven't. Much."
"I can tell." Her blue eyes studied me with that analytical precision I'd come to recognize.
"Your dark circles have dark circles. It's almost impressive."
"Thanks."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"Was it because of what happened yesterday? You never explained what—"
"Can we start the class?" I cut her off, my voice sharper than I intended.
"Please. I just... I need to focus on something normal right now."
Luna studied me for a long moment. Those blue eyes—analytical, sharp, but with something softer underneath—seemed to see right through me. But she didn't push. She was learning.
"Alright," she said, opening her notebook. "I've been working on the magic system. I want something structured but flexible. Like a language. You mentioned once that magic should feel like learning a new way to speak, and I've been researching linguistic theory, and—"
She kept talking. I tried to listen. I really did. But the words washed over me like waves, and between each wave, my mind kept circling back to the same thought.
How do I tell her?
How do I ask for this?
How do I not sound like I'm taking advantage of her?
Luna's voice faded into background noise as I rehearsed the conversation in my head for the hundredth time. The good news. The bad news. The request. The justification. The shame.
"—so I was thinking the magic system could be based on music. Like, each spell is a note, and combining them creates chords, and— César? Are you listening?"
I blinked. "What? Yes. Music. Chords. Magic."
"You're not listening." She set her pen down. "You've been staring at the same spot on the table for five minutes. Your hands are trembling. And you haven't made a single sarcastic comment about my ideas, which is how I know something is really wrong."
"I always make sarcastic comments about your ideas."
"No. You make honest comments. Sometimes they're sarcastic, but they're always honest." She leaned forward. "Talk to me. What happened?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it. The words were there, right there, stuck in my throat like stones.
"I..."
A small pressure against my back. Rory. She must have shifted in the backpack, a deliberate nudge, a reminder.
Just talk to her.
I took a deep breath.
"I have good news and bad news."
Luna raised an eyebrow. "That's a very corporate way to start a conversation."
"I learned from the best. Or the worst. I'm not sure anymore." I tried to smile. It felt like a grimace. "The good news is... I can offer you more classes now. My schedule has... opened up."
"That's good. I've been wanting to accelerate the curriculum." She paused. "What's the bad news?"
"The bad news is..." I swallowed. The words felt like broken glass in my mouth. "The price. I have to raise it. Considerably."
"How considerably?"
I couldn't look at her. I fixed my eyes on a spot on the table, a small scratch in the wood, and I focused on that scratch as if it contained the secrets of the universe.
"Almost... almost eight hundred dollars. A month. For the extra sessions."
The silence that followed was deafening.
I could feel Luna's eyes on me. I could feel Rory's stillness in the backpack. I could feel my own heart pounding in my chest like a trapped bird.
"It's too much," I said quickly, the words tumbling out before she could respond. "I know it's too much. It's ridiculous. Forget I said anything. We can just—"
"César."
"—keep the same arrangement, same price, it's fine, I'll figure something out—"
"César." Her voice was firm. "Look at me."
I did. Her expression wasn't angry. It wasn't offended. It was... sad.
"You lost your job, right?"
It wasn't a question.
"How did you—?"
"I'm not stupid." She set her pen down carefully, aligning it with the edge of her notebook.
"You have more free time. You need more money. The math isn't complicated."
"Also, I've been watching your descent for weeks on real time. You've been getting worse. The dark circles. The trembling. The way you flinch when people get too close.
Stolen novel; please report.
"I've watched you descend into..." She paused, searching for the right word.
"Into something. I don't know what to call it. Madness, maybe. Despair, certainly. And it hurts to watch. It genuinely hurts."
"And yesterday, when I saw you after your class, you looked like a man who had just watched his entire world collapse."
"It's just a setback," I said, the words automatic.
"A small setback. I'll find another job quickly. It's nothing to worry about."
"César." Her voice was soft but firm.
"You don't look like someone who's going to find another job quickly. You look like someone who's barely holding on."
"I didn't—"
"You did. I know you did." She paused.
"What else happened?"
"Nothing."
"César. What else?"
The way she said it—not demanding, not accusing, just... asking. Like she actually wanted to know. Like she actually cared.
"My scholarship," I heard myself say. "They revoked it. And then they expelled me. My grades dropped because I was working so many extra hours, and they said I was 'tarnishing the institution's profile,' and..."
"And in one day, you lost everything."
I nodded. I couldn't speak.
Luna was quiet for a moment. Then she said, very softly: "I've been watching you go through a descent into madness these past few weeks, and it hurts me to see it."
"That's not— I'm not—"
"You are." Her voice didn't waver. "You're pale. You've lost weight. You barely sleep. You're terrified of something you won't name. And now you've lost your job and your education in the same day. Anyone would be breaking under that."
"I'm not breaking," I said, but even I didn't believe it.
"Then what are you?"
I opened my mouth to lie again—to say I was fine, to say it was just a setback, to say I'd find a new job quickly and everything would be okay.
But then I felt another nudge from the backpack. Rory. Harder this time. Almost a kick.
And the lie died in my throat.
"I don't know," I said. The words came out raw, unpolished, honest in a way I hadn't been with anyone except Rory and Tamamo. "I don't know what I am. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what to do with my life right now. It's like... it's like I was on an adventure, a long one, and suddenly the story just... ended. And I'm standing there, in the middle of the page, and there's nothing else written. No next chapter. No plot twist. Just... blank space. It felt as if I were in the middle of a story, and suddenly the author decided that my character would never appear again. As if my journey had come to an end. And I had been left with no pages left to appear again."
Luna stared at me.
I stared at the scratch on the table.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"That was melodramatic. I shouldn't have—"
"No." Her voice was quiet. "That was the most honest thing you've ever said to me."
The silence stretched between us. Outside the window, a bird landed on the courtyard fountain, splashed briefly, and flew away.
"I'll pay the new price," Luna said.
I looked up. "What?"
"The eight hundred dollars. I'll pay it."
"Luna, you don't have to—"
"I know I don't have to. I want to.. I don't have to do anything. I'm a Hoshikawa." A small smile crossed her face.
"And a Hoshikawa never takes back her word. As her heir, I do as I please."
"But I have to be honest with you too. I can't take all the sessions. My schedule is... complicated. Between my regular classes, my tutoring, my family obligations, and the novel... I don't have much free time."
"I understand."
"So here's my counter-offer." She set the pen down and folded her hands on the table. "Three or four hours, once a week. Intensive sessions. We cover more material in less time. You prepare a curriculum for me to work on between sessions—readings, exercises, writing prompts. And I pay you eight hundred dollars a month for it."
"That's... that's still too much for what you're getting.
"Let me decide what it's worth to me." Her voice softened.
" I accept because I want to."
"I accept because your lessons have helped me more than all the tutors my parents have ever hired put together. I accept because you're honest with me, even when it's not in your best interest."She paused.
"Even now. Look at yourself. You're asking for money as if you were committing a crime. As if you were stealing from me. When it's just business. Business between two people who respect each other."
"I don't want this to be just business."
The words slipped out before I could stop them. Luna blinked.
"I'm sorry?"
"I don't want..." I swallowed.
"I don't want you to see this as just business. As a transaction. As... as something you do because it's efficient, or because it improves your metrics, or because your psychology tutor said writing fiction develops empathy."
"Curious, my psychology tutor said exactly that yesterday."
"Things like me becoming a narcissist, a psychopath, controlling, or that I'm just manipulating everything all the time for me"
"Ahh... I'm not sure you should be joking about something like that."
"Oh, I'm not. He actually believes that."
"That's why they sent me to study psychology in the first place, along with taking empathy classes."
"I'm not feeling very comfortable having this conversation now.
"Hahaha... and that's exactly why I enjoy these classes—with you."
"Although I don't think you are a psychopath, I mean, you don't look like someone truly psycho like Patrick Bateman"
"You are too good"
"Yeah, now said that to my father and my psychology tutor with his happy $275,000 year salary"
"I know that guy is stealing the money, calling me a psychopath, but my mother is paying every month no matter what I said to her"
"She said that a label of a CEO psychopath is bad for business
"That guy, every time it comes from England, stays in a five-star hotel close to the beach for a week, all paid"
"......."
"I could give you psychology classes if you want!"
"......."
"Sorry, that was lame...."
"Let's.....Ummm....change...Jokes aside.....yeah, that...."
"........"
"You know......"
"You should write fantasy because you enjoy it. Because you enjoy making up stories about dragons wearing aprons and bunny-girl snipers. Because it makes you happy. Not because it's useful. Not because it's productive. Because it makes you happy."
Luna grew very still.
"My father," she said slowly,
"Only sees business. He only sees transactions. He only sees balance sheets, metrics, and profit margins."
"He never sees a person, or a daughter....just business and investors"
"That is why, even if I am truly a princess psychopath, I don't want to be the villain of any story; I want to show that a good person is because of how she acts, not what she has inside her mind."
"I know."
"Is that why you said that you don't want this to be just business?"
"I said it because it's true. Because I don't want you to end up like him."
"You are the princess psychopath more nice a know till now"
The silence that followed was different. It was awkward. I maybe have not joke about that topic to her; I just wanted to easy a little all of this...
"No one has ever told me something like that," she said at last.
"Not once. Not in my entire life."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to....."
"I was tryin' to sound like Rory when—"
"Don't apologize." Her voice was steady, but her eyes shone brighter than usual.
"I liked it. Having someone tell me the truth. Having someone care enough to tell me something I don't want to hear."
"It's my specialty," I said.
"Telling people the things they don't want to hear."
"I know too well how to disappoint everyone"
"......."
The silence that followed was different from the ones before. It wasn't awkward. It was... peaceful. Like the silence after a storm.
"Well," Luna said, straightening in her chair and recovering some of her usual composure. "I think we've had enough emotional confessions for one day. How about we finish the lesson? You still owe me an explanation about why my music-based magic system wouldn't work."
"I never said it wouldn't."
"No, but you were thinking it. I know you."
And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I smiled.
The rest of the lesson passed with a kind of normalcy that felt almost foreign. Luna showed me her diagrams of magical chords—minor scales for concealment spells, major scales for summons, and something about dissonant notes producing unpredictable effects—and I pointed out the holes in her logic with the same honesty as always. She argued. I countered. She got frustrated. I apologized. She told me to stop apologizing.
For a moment, my mind finally grew quiet, something it hadn't done in days. I no longer felt that crushing pressure building inside me, ready to burst into tears. It was as if my body recognized how exhausted it was from carrying all that stress, and for just a moment, it lowered its guard. I felt sleepy—the warm, comforting kind of drowsiness you feel when you're about to fall asleep on a rainy day beneath soft, warm blankets, because everything is all right.
Even if it was only for a moment, I didn't want it to end.
Because once it did...
...the countdown would probably start again.
When the library clock struck the hour, Luna packed up her things with her usual efficiency. Her chauffeur was already waiting outside, the black sedan idling quietly by the curb.
"For next week," I said as I slipped my belongings into my backpack, "bring me a draft scene where your magic system is actually used. It doesn't have to be good. It just has to exist."
"Writing something bad on purpose is going to be difficult for me."
"I know. That's why it's good practice."
"It's fun, though—having to invent something completely new. Like creating an exciting battle in a way nobody has ever imagined before."
"I want to see how wizards who've used music their entire lives would try to become the very best—creative, ambitious, and proud of the abilities they've developed."
Luna smiled—a small, almost shy smile—and slipped her laptop into its leather briefcase. We walked downstairs together in a brief, awkward silence.
By the time we reached the entrance, her car was already waiting. The chauffeur held the door open for her. Luna paused for a moment before getting in.
"Next week," she said. "Here. Four o'clock."
"I'll be here."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
"..."
"César?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad there weren't any pages left. I'm glad that story never continued." Her voice was soft, barely audible over the quiet murmur of the library. "Maybe now... you can write another novel. A new one. This time with you as the protagonist. One with a better journey... a happier one."
Without waiting for an answer, she pushed the door open and stepped outside.
I stood there, frozen, trying to process her words.
She gave a satisfied nod before getting into the car. The door closed. The engine started. And as the vehicle disappeared down the street, a movement in the corner of my eye made me turn my head.
The rabbit girl was leaning against one of the building's columns a few meters from the entrance. Her electric-blue eyes followed Luna's car with an unsettling intensity. And when the vehicle disappeared around the corner, she smiled.
The smile of someone who had just confirmed something she'd been watching for a long time.
Then she turned and walked away, her cyan twin tails swaying behind her as she vanished into the crowd as though she'd never been there at all.
The bus ride home was quiet. Not the silence of despair—that had been left behind, at least for now—but the silence of exhaustion after a battle. I sat by the window with my backpack resting on my lap, letting the steady rumble of the engine lull me into a daze.
That was when I felt the first movement.
"Well," said a voice from the backpack. "That went better than expected."
"You did well."
Rory. Of course. Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but in the half-empty bus, it sounded as loud as a trumpet.
"I didn't do anything special," I muttered, lowering my head toward my backpack so it looked as if I were talking on the phone. "I just... asked her for money. Like a beggar."
"No." Her tone was firm.
"You asked a friend for help. There's a difference. And you did it without lying. Without hiding. You told her the truth."
"More or less."
"Enough." I felt her tiny hand press against the fabric of the backpack. "I'm proud of you."
Something caught in my throat. They weren't exactly tears—well, maybe a little—but rather that strange feeling of receiving praise you don't believe you've earned, yet needed far more than you ever realized.
"So am I," Tamamo said from the other compartment, her voice as soft as silk.
"I know how difficult that was for you. I know how much it cost you. And you did it anyway."
"Eight hundred dollars,"
"It's not enough to cover everything, but it's a start."
"It's a lifeline," I said. "That's what it is."
"A lifeline," Rory repeated. "I like that word. Very dramatic. Very appropriate."
"I had to. For your sake."
"No." Rory's voice grew stronger. "
"For yours. Because you deserve for things to go well too. Not just us. You."
I didn't know how to answer that.
So I stayed quiet, staring out the window, feeling the tiny weight of the two goddesses inside my backpack. The afternoon sun painted the buildings in shades of orange. The city carried on, completely indifferent to my small victory.
But I didn't care.
For the first time in two days, the knot in my chest had loosened a little.
When I got home, I unlocked the door with the new lock—the one I'd installed to keep my sister out, the one that symbolized my right to decide who was allowed inside—and set my backpack on the table. Rory hopped out first, followed by Tamamo with her usual graceful elegance.
"Well," Rory said, placing her hands on her hips. "I think this calls for a celebration."
"I don't have money for celebrations."
"Who said anything about money?" She flashed the smile that always made me nervous. "Tamamo, is there any of the tea you made last night left?"
"A little. And we still have rice. Plus a can of tuna we bought last week."
"Perfect." Rory turned back to me with a triumphant grin. "Rice, tuna, and tea. A feast worthy of the gods. Well... poor gods. Which is what we are."
"That's not a feast."
"It is if I say it is. I'm a goddess. Defining what counts as a feast is one of my divine responsibilities."