The apartment was quiet in that particular way that only happens after a long day. The galaxy lamp cast its slow rotation of false stars across the ceiling, painting everything in shades of blue and purple. I was sitting on the floor, my back against the sofa—the same sofa that had been witness to so many confessions just days ago—while Rory lay sprawled across the armrest like a cat that had found the perfect patch of sunlight, except there was no sunlight, just the glow of the television she'd left on mute.
"She's so formal," Rory said, breaking the silence. "Like, painfully formal. Every time she talks, it's like she's reading from a manual on how to be a proper Japanese lady."
"She is a proper Japanese lady," I said.
"Exactly! That's the problem!" Rory sat up, her tiny legs swinging over the edge of the armrest. "All that bowing and 'Hoshikawa-sama this' and 'César-sensei that.' It's exhausting just watching her."
"She calls you Gremory-san," Tamamo observed from her spot on the desk, where she was carefully arranging tea leaves in a tiny ceramic pot.
"She does! And it's weird! Nobody calls me that!" Rory crossed her arms. "The whole 'san' thing. The 'sama' thing. The 'sensei' thing. Japanese people are obsessed with hierarchy. Everyone needs a title. Everyone needs to know exactly where they stand in relation to everyone else. It's ridiculous."
I raised an eyebrow. "Rory, you're Japanese."
She froze. Then, slowly, she turned her head toward me with an expression of absolute indignation.
“Excuse me, what?”
"I am NOT Japanese!"
"Your character is from a Japanese light novel and anime."
"That doesn't make me Japanese! My story is fantasy! Inspired by European mythology! I'm from a world with knights and dragons and gods! Not... not sushi and bullet trains and—"
"And you speak Japanese," I interrupted.
"That's just the language of the series! All anime characters speak Japanese! It's a translation thing! Like how they speak English in American movies set in ancient Rome!"
"I am NOT Japanese."
"You're from a Japanese light novel and anime."
"That doesn't make me Japanese! My story is fantasy! European-inspired fantasy! Gothic architecture! Victorian dresses! Castles and knights and halberds!" She gestured dramatically at herself.
"Look at me! Do I look Japanese to you?"
"You have black hair and red eyes."
"That's anime aesthetic! It's universal!"
"Your name is Rory."
"Rory is a European name! Well, Irish. Or Scottish. Something with rain and sheep."
"And Gremory," I continued, warming to the topic. "That's from the Ars Goetia. A European grimoire about demons. Very European. Definitely not something you'd find in a Japanese light novel."
"Exactly!" Rory crossed her arms triumphantly. "I'm European fantasy. Through and through."
"Except that 'Rory' in Japanese pronunciation sounds like 'Lori,' which sounds like 'Loli,' which is—"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence."
"—a Japanese slang term for a young-looking girl, which is exactly what you are."
Rory's face went through several shades of red. "THAT'S NOT— I'M NOT— IT'S A COINCIDENCE!"
"Is it? Because Mizuki mentioned that she sometimes says 'Runa' instead of 'Luna' because Japanese doesn't have a distinct 'L' sound. And 'Rory' would be pronounced 'Rori' in Japanese. Which is literally the romanization of—"
"I KNOW WHAT IT MEANS!" Rory was on her feet now, pointing an accusing finger at me. "You're doing this on purpose!"
"Doing what? Stating facts?"
"Using my own culture against me!"
"So you admit it's your culture?"
"I— no— that's not—" She sputtered, caught in her own logic. "I mean the culture of my CREATORS! The people who wrote me! I had no say in their naming decisions!"
"And Gremory? You had no say in that either?"
"That was a European demon name! From a real grimoire!"
"Found through a Google search for 'cool demon names for anime characters,' probably."
Rory's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "That's... that's speculation! You have no proof!"
"I have internet access and too much free time."
Rory's face had gone through several shades of red.
"I... that's... that's different! I'm a goddess! I transcend nationality! Nationality is a mortal concept! I existed before Japan was even a country!"
"You existed before Japan was a country, but you also know what a karaoke box is and have strong opinions about which convenience store has the best onigiri."
"That's... that's just observation! Cultural osmosis! You can't judge someone by their onigiri preferences!"
"The lady doth protest too much," Tamamo observed serenely.
"Nobody asked you, Grandma Fox!"
Tamamo's blue eyes gleamed with sudden, dangerous mischief. It was the look of a kitsune who had been waiting for exactly this moment, who had been biding her time, who was about to spring a trap that had been set long before Rory even realized she was walking into it.
"Rory-chan," Tamamo said sweetly, "could you please pass me the tea from the counter? I'm having trouble reaching it."
Without missing a beat, Rory reached for the small container of tea leaves. And then—without thinking, without hesitation, without any awareness of what she was doing—she gave a small bow.
"Hai, Tamamo-sama," she said.
There was a moment of absolute silence.
Rory's eyes went wide.
Tamamo's smile stretched into a grin of pure, kitsune satisfaction.
"Ara? Rory-chan?’” Tamamo repeated with poisoned sweetness.
"How very Japanese of you."
The tea container slipped from Rory's fingers and clattered onto the table.
"I... that... that didn't count! That was a reflex! A reflex from the dubbing! They made me say things like that in the anime!"
"You just bowed. Voluntarily. And used 'sama.' And said 'hai' instead of 'yes.'"
"It was irony! Ironic formality! I was being sarcastic!"
"You were being Japanese, Rory-chan" Tamamo said with a smile that would have made a statue nervous.
"Don't call me that!"
"But you responded so naturally. The bow. The honorifics. The 'it would be an honor.' Very formal. Very proper. Very..." Tamamo paused, savoring the word. "...Japanese."
"I— You— That was a TRAP!"
"It was a demonstration," Tamamo corrected. "And you demonstrated beautifully."
"This proves nothing!"
"It proves everything, but I accept your denial."
Rory stood up abruptly, abandoning the half-prepared tea. "I'm not Japanese!" she declared, retreating toward the bedroom with as much dignity as she could muster. "I'm a European goddess of war and death! I just happen to know some Japanese things! It's called being CULTURED!"
She slammed the bedroom door behind her.
Tamamo and I exchanged a glance.
"She'll be back in five minutes," Tamamo said.
"She forgot her halberd," I pointed out.
"She'll remember in three."
Forty minutes later, I was in my room, trying to reach something from the top shelf of my closet. My old jacket—the one with the secret pocket where I used to keep emergency money—was up there somewhere, and I needed to check if there was anything left in it.
The problem was my new height.
Rory's voice drifted from the bedroom, muffled but clear enough: "HA! Shorty!"
I stretched. I strained. I stood on my tiptoes. My fingers brushed the edge of the jacket but couldn't quite grip it.
"Need help?" Rory's voice came from the doorway, sweet as poisoned honey. She'd returned from her sulk, halberd in hand, ready to resume her role as resident gremlin.
"No," I said, still straining.
"Because I could climb up there in two seconds. Being small has its advantages."
"I said no."
"Just saying. If you were still tall like before, this wouldn't be a problem. But now you're..." She made a vague gesture. "Vertically challenged."
I turned to glare at her. "I'm not short."
"I didn't say short. I said vertically challenged. There's a difference."
"I'm average height for a—" I stopped. "For my current... situation."
Rory's grin widened. "For a slime girl? Because slimes don't have a standard height. They're just puddles."
"I hate you"
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"You love me. It's different." She hopped onto the bed and struck a pose.
"I, on the other hand, am the perfect height. Twelve centimeters of pure divine power. Compact. Efficient. Portable."
"Portable isn't a compliment."
"It is when you can fit in a pocket."
Tamamo appeared in the doorway, drawn by the commotion. She observed the situation—me stretching uselessly toward the top shelf, Rory gloating on the bed—and sighed.
"Allow me," she said. And then, without another word, she grew.
It wasn't as dramatic as Rory's transformation in the alley—no flash of light, no divine thunder—but it was impressive nonetheless. Tamamo simply... expanded. Twelve centimeters became thirty. Thirty became a meter. A meter became more. Until she stood before me at full height—taller than me now, actually—her bluish kimono flowing around her like a sunset made fabric.
She reached up, plucked the jacket from the top shelf, and handed it to me with a serene smile.
"Here you go."
I stared at her. Then at the jacket. Then back at her.
"How— when— you can do that?"
"Of course. I'm a goddess. Did you think I was always this small?"
"I... I didn't really think about it."
Tamamo's smile widened, and she shrank back down to her usual twelve centimeters with the same effortless grace. "Height is just a matter of perspective. And right now, I have the best view."
Rory, still on the bed, had gone very quiet.
"Show-off," she muttered.
"Always," Tamamo replied sweetly.
Three knocks. Precise. Measured. Expensive-sounding, somehow.
I froze.
"Are we expecting someone?" Tamamo asked.
"Not that I know of."
Another knock. Then a voice: "César? It's me. Luna. I mean—Mizuki. I brought food."
My stomach, traitor that it was, growled audibly at the words "brought food."
"I should hide," Tamamo said, already moving toward the bedroom. "Rory and I will—"
"No." The word came out before I could stop it. "She already knows. She's seen you. Both of you. You don't have to hide anymore."
Tamamo paused. She looked at me with those sapphire eyes that missed nothing.
"You're sure?"
"Yeah. I'm sure."
She nodded slowly, then walked to the door with me. When I opened it, Mizuki was standing in the hallway, a large paper bag in her arms, Kurumi hovering behind her like an extremely well-dressed shadow.
"I brought food"
"From the restaurant. The fancy one downtown. The one with the chandeliers I told you about." Mizuki walked in without waiting for an invitation, with the confidence of someone who already felt at home.
"You ate at the Italian chandelier place?"
"Some... friends from my father's business associates invited me to a fancy restaurant. And I thought I'd bring you some."
"Friends?"
"Yeah. Well, friends in the most superficial sense possible. Girls who wanted to take pictures with the 'Hoshikawa heiress' to post them on Instagram and pretend we're close." She paused.
"They call it social networking. I call it being stuck in a group while thinking about nothing but how to leave."
"It was excruciating."
"And yet you survived."
"I survived by thinking about how much I wanted to leave and bring you food instead."
I blinked. "You left a fancy restaurant early to bring me food?"
"The food was good. The company was not." She held out the bag. "I ordered extra portions. For you. And for Rory and Tamamo, if they want any. The waiter looked at me like I had grown a second head when I asked for takeout containers at a place like that. Apparently, one does not simply 'take food to go' from a restaurant with three Michelin stars."
"And yet you did."
"I am a Hoshikawa. I do as I please." She paused.
I took the bag from her. It was heavier than I expected, and it smelled incredible—garlic and butter and something that might have been truffle oil.
"You didn't have to do this," I said.
"I know." She smiled, that small smile that was becoming more frequent. "I wanted to."
Kurumi stepped forward, her expression carefully neutral. "Miss Hoshikawa has informed me that she intends to be more... demonstrative in her affections going forward."
"Kurumi," Mizuki said, a warning in her voice.
"I'm simply stating facts, Miss. You told me you wanted to act more like a girlfriend. I'm informing César of this development."
I felt my face heat up. "You don't have to—I mean, you shouldn't feel obligated to—"
"I don't feel obligated," Mizuki said firmly. "I feel inclined. There's a difference." She stepped past me into the apartment, Kurumi following close behind. "Now, should we eat? The food is getting cold, and I've been thinking about those dumplings since I left the restaurant."
We set up dinner on the kitchen table—the same table where I'd had so many meals alone, then with two tiny goddesses, and now with a corporate heiress and her maid.
Dinner was a quiet affair, by which I mean Rory talked nonstop while the rest of us ate.
"The risotto is acceptable," she announced, having eaten a portion roughly the size of her own head. "The truffles are wasted on this dish, though. In the right hands, they could be magnificent. In the wrong hands—" she gestured vaguely at the takeout container "—they're just expensive mushrooms."
"They're supposed to be expensive mushrooms," Tamamo said.
"Exactly! That's the problem! Spending money on something just because it's expensive isn't taste. It's insecurity. It's 'look at me, I have money.' A truly confident chef would use simple ingredients and make them shine."
I snorted. "When did you become a food critic?"
"I'm not a food critic. I'm a goddess. We have excellent taste." She took another bite.
"That's why I chose you in the first place"
"This is good, though. I'll allow it."
Mizuki's cheeks colored slightly. "Ah. Yes. There is another thing."
"Before you object, I noticed your wardrobe situation is... limited. And I thought, since you're still adjusting to your new body, you might appreciate something that actually fits properly. So I bought you some things."
She spread the items on the table. A dark blue dress with white trim. A pair of knee-high socks. A hair ribbon.
"This looks like Rory's outfit," I said slowly.
"Does it?" Mizuki's expression was innocent. "I hadn't noticed."
"That's my dress!" Rory said, leaning over to inspect the fabric. "I mean, it's not my exact dress, but it's clearly inspired by it! The color scheme! The gothic lolita aesthetic!"
"I thought César might appreciate something familiar," Mizuki said smoothly. "Rory's style is very distinctive. And now that César is... well... I thought she might like to coordinate."
"Here, Clothes. Proper clothes. Not... whatever it is you've been wearing."
I looked down at myself. My outfit consisted of the slime-generated military uniform (which, technically, wasn't real fabric) and an old hoodie that had seen better days.
"Mizuki, I can't accept—"
"You can, and you will." She handed me the garment bag with the same firmness she'd used when establishing our tutoring schedule. "I wasn't sure of your exact measurements, but Kurumi has a good eye for these things. We estimated."
I opened the bag carefully. Inside was a dress. A gothic lolita dress, to be precise. Black fabric with red accents, lace trim, and a ribbon that would—if worn correctly—sit just below the collar. It looked almost exactly like something Rory would wear.
For a moment, I couldn't speak. The dress was beautiful. It was thoughtful. It was also, unmistakably, the kind of thing Rory would never let me hear the end of.
"It's... it's very nice," I managed. "But I'm not doing the magical girl thing."
"Magical girl?" Mizuki tilted her head. "I wasn't—"
"The dress.The fox ears and tail." I gestured vaguely.
"I'm not becoming a magical girl, Mizuki. That's not what this is."
"Come on, try it on."
"I'm not doing a magical girl transformation, Mizuki."
She laughed. "I wasn't asking you to. But now that you mention it..." She tilted her head, her eyes taking on that analytical gleam. "Have you ever thought about writing a magical girl story? A serious one, with real consequences? Something dark and complex?"
I stared at her. "You mean like every magical girl deconstruction of the last twenty years? The genre is so oversaturated with 'dark and serious' that the actual subversion now would be to write something light and comedic."
Mizuki blinked. "That's... actually a very good point."
"Thank you. I have them occasionally."
"The simple, lighthearted magical girl story," she mused. "The one where the power of friendship actually works. Where the transformations are colorful and the villains are defeated with love and understanding." She smiled. "That would be refreshing, wouldn't it?"
"Very."
Tamamo, who had been listening from her usual spot on the table, spoke up. "It's like César's story, in a way."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"His life. It's been so dark, so tragic, for so long. The best thing that could happen now isn't more darkness, or more complexity. It's simplicity. Lightness. Comedy." She looked at me with those sapphire eyes that seemed to hold the wisdom of ages. "The most subversive thing his story could do now is become happy."
The room fell silent.
"Well, since the clothes are 'high-class,' as Kurumi would put it..." She paused dramatically.
"I will take you to the university gala. As my plus-one."
"The invitation is for next Friday," she said. "And I already asked. I can bring a guest. I want you to come."
I sighed. "Mizuki, we've been through this. I was expelled from that university. I can't just show up to their formal event."
"You're my guest. They can't turn you away."
"They can, actually. They're the ones who expelled me."
"They won't. I'm a Hoshikawa. My name carries weight." She paused. "And I've already told them I'm bringing someone."
I stared at her. "You didn't."
"I did."
"Mizuki—"
"I don't want to go alone," she said, and her voice softened. "I don't want to spend an entire evening surrounded by people who only see me as a corporate asset. I don't want to make small talk with donors and professors while my father's expectations hang over me like a sword. I want to go with someone I actually enjoy talking to. Someone who makes me feel like a person." She met my eyes. "I want to go with you."
From her spot on the sofa, Kurumi spoke without looking up from her phone. "Miss Hoshikawa's father expects her to make a favorable impression on Dr. Ark at this event. That is the primary purpose of her attendance."
"Not the primary purpose," Mizuki corrected. "The official purpose. My primary purpose is to enjoy myself."
"Which is why you need me there," I said dryly. "For entertainment."
"Exactly. You're my emotional support ronin."
"I'm not a ronin."
"You're a ronin in spirit. Ronin César. It has a nice ring to it."
"Please don't call me that."
"Ronin César," she repeated, clearly enjoying herself. "The masterless samurai who was reborn as a fox slime and now accompanies a corporate heiress to formal events."
"Kurumi, help me out here."
Kurumi looked up, considered for a moment, and then said: "Miss Hoshikawa's father also expects her to speak with Dr. Ark about the Ark Engine project. If she brings a guest who is... unconventional... it might complicate that conversation."
"She has something better than the Ark Engine," Rory called from the kitchen. "She has an actual alien! And a spaceship! Somewhere! Probably!"
"Rory," I warned. "We don't know if there's a ship."
"An alien," Mizuki repeated, smiling. "A real alien. That's much better than an engine."
"I'm not being dissected by your father, Mizuki."
"He wouldn't dissect you. He'd probably just want to ask you questions. Maybe run some tests. Nothing invasive."
"Nothing invasive. That's reassuring."
"I'm joking." She bumped her shoulder against mine. "I won't let anyone dissect you. Not even my father."
"Very romantic."
“It won’t hurt you. I’ll make sure of that.”
“With what? Your beauty?”
“No.” Mizuki leaned toward me with a mischievous smile.
“With my exclusive lesbian love.”
I felt the heat rise up my neck.
“Mizuki.”
“Yes, César?”
“No…”
“Don’t you want me to be your exclusive lesbian?”
“I... that’s not…”
“Because I can be whatever you want me to be.” She moved a little closer.
“Your friend. Your student. Your lesbian. Your date to the gala. Your…”
“MIZUKI.”
Rory burst into laughter from the couch.
“I TOLD YOU! It’s his weakness! The L-word!”
“Shut up!”
“I’m not shutting up. This is way too good.”
"Hey, Giga Drill hair, call him oversized milk bags, fatty breasts girl!"
"Oversized—Rory, they're not that big!"
"They're enormous. You could knock someone out with those things. It's a safety hazard."
“Rory, Don’t make me use duct tape and put you inside the fridge again!”
Mizuki, satisfied, straightened up.
“Then it’s settled. You’re going to the gala with me.”
“I never said that…”
“You thought about it.”
“I didn’t…”
“Your tail moves when you’re excited. And right now, it’s spinning like a windmill.”
Damn tail. Damn ears. Damn slime body that betrayed every single one of my emotions.
“Fine,” I finally gave in, defeated.
“I’ll go to the stupid gala. But if they kick me out again, you’re buying me more clothes.”
“Deal.”
Mizuki turned toward Kurumi with a triumphant smile.
“See? I told you he’d say yes.”
Kurumi sighed.
“Miss Hoshikawa, I must remind you that…”
“I know, I know. My father. The company. Expectations. Consequences.” Mizuki waved her hand dismissively.
“But I only have to talk to Dr. Ark for a little while. It’s not like I have to solve everything in one night.”
“Exactly,” I said.
“Just a little chat with the most paranoid scientist in the country. No pressure.”
Mizuki laughed.
“Now,” she said, taking a seat on the couch beside Rory,
“let’s talk about the clothes. Because you have to try on every single one of these dresses, and I want to see which one looks best on you.”
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
“Don’t worry, there are men’s clothes too.”
"I know you well too"