"…Milea. How much longer do you intend to become one with the wall?"
In the middle of Seldia's main street leading to the central plaza, Letaria Adeniam turned around with one hand on her hip.
Standing there, in a get-up utterly impossible to reconcile with her usual sharp white lab coat, was Milea Ichinose—encased in a sweet-lolita confection of layered pastel pink and white frills—with the expression of someone whose soul had quietly departed their body.
"…Why am I… twenty-five years old… wearing… all this… frilly…"
"What does it matter! You spend every day lecturing me about one thing or another—so every now and then, you ought to shed that logical exterior and try something charming. Now walk properly. Our day off has only just begun!"
Letaria laughed with evident delight and yanked Milea by the sleeve.
It had started a few hours earlier—after a routine medical check, in the middle of an ordinary conversation.
◆◆◆
"Milea—are you always in this room? I've heard the vigilante corps have something called 'days off.'"
Letaria asked the question absently, pulling her examination gown off in favor of her usual—well, issue—inner suit. Milea didn't look up from her terminal.
"…I don't particularly have anything to do on days off. Organizing Makina data in the lab or drafting new part designs is more worthwhile. More efficient."
"Ugh…"
Letaria made a face of profound distaste and shrugged with theatrical flair.
Was this woman running on oil and photons instead of blood?
"…That settles it. Milea, we're going to the residential sector right now. You could count it as keeping an eye on me—that's practically work, isn't it? Two birds, one stone!"
"No. For one thing, your supervision detail has already been lifted. Right now I'm just the lab director. …And crowds are loud. I don't like them."
"My, my—you'd send a rare and singular lady like myself out entirely alone? If anything happens, you'll regret it."
Milea was on the verge of saying "do whatever you like" when a mop of wavy water-blue and pink hair appeared around the edge of the door.
"Milea-chan! I vote yes! Your brain will short-circuit if you never take a break!"
"Sola… not you too."
With her fellow technician Sola Skaria joining forces, Milea found herself outvoted and grudgingly conceded.
As a final line of defense, she declared: "I don't own anything remotely appropriate to wear outside." At which Sola's eyes lit up with a distinctly unsettling gleam.
"That's fine! I have just the thing! Something that'll look absolutely perfect on Milea-chan!"
The moment those words left Sola's mouth, Milea felt a deep, wordless premonition of doom.
It proved entirely accurate.
What Sola produced from parts unknown was a dress so pink it practically smelled sweet—frills stacked upon frills in a construction that could only be described as confectionery made textile.
"And Letaria-san—you were all over the news after that interview, so we should disguise you a little. Even with the pilot suit impression being the strongest, your hair color and features will give you away instantly."
What was handed to Letaria was a loose-fitting casquette hat, slim trousers, and a fitted vest.
"…Oh. This is refreshing. Not quite cross-dressing—but something like a knight's training attire. I feel rather composed."
Letaria checked her reflection: dark purple hair tucked away under the cap, posture crisp—she looked rather like a young nobleman from some prestigious academy.
By contrast, Milea, imprisoned in the pastel pink catastrophe, murmured "I want to go home…" in a voice that was fading fast.
"…She dressed me up and then she just left, didn't she."
As for Sola—"Three all-nighters, completely overextended, I've reached my absolute limit… I'm sleeping, goodnight Milea-chan, Letaria-san…"—she had drifted away like a ghost, the shadows under her eyes heavier than ever.
"…How did Sola even have clothes in my size? She's so much smaller than me."
A terrible possibility occurred to Milea.
This outfit was clearly tailored to her proportions. Was it possible that Sola had been keeping it in reserve all along, waiting for exactly this opportunity—?
A chill ran through her.
She shook the thought away, and on unsteady legs climbed into the high-speed elevator with Letaria and descended toward the residential sector.
◆◆◆
Seldia's residential sector was a vast cylindrical space city spanning fifteen kilometers in diameter. The administrative offices and Syn-Fibra facilities where Letaria and the others were based sat in the upper strata of the cylinder; the "city" itself was a few minutes' elevator ride down.
The doors opened onto a world drenched in artificial sunlight.
"It never stops being strange, looking at that curved sky…"
Letaria had been to the residential sector a handful of times before. The cylinder's geometry meant that when you looked up, you saw the city continuing overhead, curving away—a strange and magnificent geometry unlike anything in the world she had left.
The two of them set off along the "tourist route" that Steshia had recommended a few days prior.
"First stop—Sky Cascade!"
Their first destination was a massive artificial waterfall that poured from somewhere near the cylinder's ceiling all the way to ground level, making use of the residential sector's simulated gravity.
A fine mist generated a rainbow in the air; the negative ions were pleasant against the skin.
Letaria gazed at it with satisfaction—"Refreshing. Quite agreeable."—while Milea spent the entire time in quiet terror that every passerby was staring at her frills.
"Next—Bio Nest. Apparently it's a managed collection of over a thousand Earth-origin plant species."
Vivid flowers. The calculated scent of green.
Letaria's eyes shone at the new scenery—but somewhere past the midpoint, her aesthetic sensibilities began to assert themselves.
"Milea. Go sit on that bench over there and pose for a moment."
"…Excuse me?"
"It's a day off. It's a splendid outfit. These things should be recorded. Come now—chin on your right hand…!"
"No. Why would I—"
"Oh? Milea, who lectures me constantly on efficiency and numbers—when it's your turn, you simply opt out? That's rather unfair. Now. Please."
Accused of unfairness, Milea's logical mind could find no rebuttal.
Reluctantly, frills swaying, she positioned herself beneath an arch of flowers and struck a pose.
"Like this! Fingertip to your cheek—and just a small smile!"
"…Like this?"
"Perfect. Absolutely perfect!"
Milea's long black hair was loosely tied at the back, and her long-lidded eyes and composed features created an extraordinary contrast with the sweetness of the dress—a gap so striking that pedestrians slowed down. Younger passersby muttered "is that a model shoot?" Elderly residents smiled and said "what a lovely young lady."
The excitement threatened to dislodge Letaria's hat, and with it, a cascade of dark purple hair.
"Letaria—pull the hat down further!"
Milea, red-faced but determined, darted over and pressed the cap firmly back into place.
The spectators, however, were watching not Letaria but the twenty-five-year-old lab director in the sweet-lolita frill dress.
"…Letaria. Can we stop now. I can feel the stares."
"Not even close. The overlook platform next!"
Letaria, growing increasingly animated. Milea, the light in her eyes growing correspondingly dimmer. "Lovely! Now this!" Letaria's instructions rang out across the plaza.
◆◆◆
By the time the artificial sun had shifted to orange—the simulated dusk—and warm-toned street lamps were flickering on across the city, two tired young women had arrived at the end of the busy food stall district. There, set slightly apart from the crowd, was a small, worn shop with a traditional red lantern hanging outside.
"…Even I'm a little tired. Milea—let's eat there."
The sign read Yakitori. A shop reproducing old Earth cuisine—bio-engineered artificial chicken, grilled over a high-output heat source modeled after charcoal. A beloved institution among Seldia's citizens.
"…Excuse me. One beer, and the mixed skewer set. Sauce."
The moment they stepped inside, Milea rolled up her frilly sleeves and placed her order.
The golden liquid arrived promptly. She tipped it back and drank without pausing.
"…Pwaah. …That's more like it."
She set the mug down with a thud and tore into a skewer with impressive efficiency.
A beautiful woman in a sweet-lolita frill dress, drinking beer like a veteran regular. The sheer incongruity of it was too much for Letaria; she burst out laughing.
"Pfft—! Milea—in that outfit—drinking like that—it's hardly ladylike!"
"…Leave me alone. I have endured a full day's worth of humiliation today. A year's worth, possibly. This is the minimum required for nervous system recovery."
"Fufu. I'll have one too then. …Oh—this negima—the green onion and chicken together. There's more depth to it than I expected."
Letaria, in her cool, knight-ish ensemble, conveyed each skewer to her lips with preserved elegance.
Milea, in a frill dress, drank her beer like someone who had given up entirely.
Letaria watched her and smiled.
"Not a bad day at all."
A beat of silence. Milea nodded.
"…Not bad. Inefficient—but not bad."
"Oh? Then I'll take you out again next week. And the week after."
"That… I'll think about after I return the dress to Sola."
Their voices softened, and the warm air of Seldia's artificial evening carried the sound away.
Different in rank, in origin, in temperament—the two of them sat together in the fragrant smoke of grilling skewers, and shared, unmistakably, the small magic that a day off can bring.