Chương 359: 155.Growth Period 2

The first thing Maki says once she's inside is:"I'm sorry. I didn't tell you yesterday that I wasn't coming back." I pause. Not exactly a pause—more like something that's been wedged tight in my chest since last night gets scraped, very lightly, with a fingernail. But it hurts like hell. I turn my face away a little, like I'm deep in thought about world peace, and aim my voice toward no big deal.

"Oh—it's fine," I say.

"I don't mind." Bullshit. Hoshino Shimo, you mind so much you're dying. That "I'm home" that landed in an empty room last night. The bowl of instant noodles Lan left on the table. The photo on the desk. Me, crying like a broken faucet with zero dignity left—which of those wasn't because I minded? And now here I am, standing here straight-faced, claiming I don't care. Apparently the human capacity for lying runs far deeper than anything the Federal Military Academy ever evaluated me for.

"Shimo..." Maki takes a step forward. I'm still trying to hold the act together when her hands come up and cup both sides of my face. Not rough. But leaving no room to escape.

"You've been crying."

"... No." Lie. Not just crying. Cried twice. And the second time, I lost to a photograph. A complete failure of composure.

"Liar." Maki tilts my face toward her, forcing eye contact. My gaze tries to drift on reflex. She catches it and pulls it back. In that moment I'm genuinely convinced that if Maki Kushima ever lost her job, she could walk straight into an interrogation unit and thrive. She doesn't need instruments. She just has to look at you, and you start wondering if confessing early would save everyone time.

"Look," I try one last stand, "I'm fine right now—" God, this woman. Maki leans closer, close enough that I can smell the cold air she brought in from outside. Her voice drops low—low enough it doesn't sound like a question anymore, more like confirming something she already knows.

"Is this the mouth that's lying?" Then she kisses me. My brain goes blank for exactly one second. Not because this is unfamiliar. Exactly the opposite. Because I know her too well, I know exactly what this is—she's not comforting me. She's using her own method to force a surrender. Damn it. I plant one hand on her shoulder. What, did she think I wouldn't hit back? The next second I'm about half a beat from returning the ambush at full force— The front door clicks open. Both of us freeze and turn at once.

Jess McCallow is standing in the doorway. She's frozen with one hand still on the knob, expression like her brain just took a head-on hit from a cargo freighter. Her eyes go to Maki, then to me, then start shuttling back and forth between us. Her face says exactly one thing: Did I just walk into something that requires an NDA? Three seconds later, demonstrating excellent survival instinct, Jess slowly pulls the door shut again. Click. The house goes quiet. My hand is still on Maki's shoulder.

Her hands are still on my face. We look at each other for a second. Then my terminal chirps. I free one hand and glance down. Jess, obviously. I open the message. Jess: Shimo!!! You will NOT believe this!!! Kushima is kissing some strange man at your door!!! I stare at that line for two seconds. The vein at my temple nearly detaches itself to go settle this in person. Shimo: Open the fucking door and look again. Properly. Jess McCallow.

Less than a second after it sends, a set of footsteps—extremely suspicious, extremely guilty, and displaying zero stealth capability—sounds from outside. I take a slow breath, step back from Maki, walk to the door, and yank it open. Jess is, of course, still crouched outside. Crouched very professionally, too—pressed against the wall like some small mammal trying to eavesdrop on enemy comms while forgetting to switch off the status lights on its own shoes.

"Bad man!" is somehow Jess's first instinct, pointing straight at me.

"Jess," I say, deadpan, hauling her in by the arm.

"You seriously need to see an eye doctor." She struggles for about two seconds before something seems to register. She goes quiet. Looks up at me. Her eyes get wider, and wider, until her whole expression lands somewhere around I have just discovered that the Federal Parliament's Ten Great Families are secretly keeping pet penguins.

"Wait," Jess says.

"That voice... you're actually Shimo?"

"Last I checked."

"No, I mean—" she looks me over again, gaze traveling from my face to my shoulders and back, real shock cutting through her usual noise for the first time.

"How did you get so—" She stalls, hunting for a word.

"So handsome—no, wait," she corrects herself.

"More like... striking?" I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms.

"No idea," I say honestly.

"Maybe a delayed growth spurt. Or maybe last night's crying jag washed the old version of me down the drain."

"That sounds like the plot of a very low-budget sci-fi movie," Jess mutters.

"Our lives already are a low-budget sci-fi movie," I tell her.

"They just saved all the money by cutting corners on human rights." Jess actually nods at that, entirely seriously. Then she looks at me. Looks at Maki. I brace for something worse. It doesn't come. Instead Jess narrows her eyes, settling into a look that says I see it, I get it, I'm not saying it out loud yet. Not pure gossip. Not just enjoying the show. More like she's run the numbers in under ten seconds and landed on: One, my body has clearly gone off-spec overnight. Two, Maki didn't show up at No.

22 this early for a morning jog. Three, she just walked in on that and hasn't been silenced for it, which means Maki's mood today is within tolerable range. Four, since the shirt's already a casualty, the obvious next step is— Jess elbows Maki.

"Kushima," she says, her tone already sliding into that uninvited, unearned familiarity.

"If I'm not mistaken, you two are about to go clothes shopping?" This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Yes." Maki's answer is clean, without half a second's hesitation. Jess's hand shoots straight up.

"Great. I'm coming too." I look at her.

"What was that 'great' about?"

"Two reasons." Jess holds up two fingers, dead serious.

"First, I need to personally verify whether you blow out fitting rooms too. Second—" She pauses for effect, then winks at me.

"A historic moment like this needs a witness."

"You don't want to be a witness. You want to be a live broadcaster."

"Either works." Jess is entirely unbothered.

"Finding your place in society is what life's for." I'm about to snap back when Maki speaks first.

"Fine," she says. Jess and I both turn to her. Maki's standing there, jacket already off and hung by the door, expression as calm as someone about to sign legislation.

"It'll be faster with someone else along," she says.

"Your size is unstable right now. On your own, you'll take too long." My temple twitches.

"... Why can you say something that brutal in such a calm voice?"

"Because it's true."

"See," Jess leans toward me and delivers the finishing blow at half-volume, "I told you this trip would be worth it." I glare at Jess. Then at Maki. One human smoke grenade. One controlled-demolition enforcement officer. And me, Hoshino Shimo, who's just discovered she can't even fit into her own clothes anymore—now expected to drag both of them out before five in the morning to confront the simultaneous collapse of her wardrobe and her self-image.

If life is a game, whoever designed this quest line clearly has a personal grudge against the player. I press my fingers to my temple and let out a long breath.

"Ground rules," I say.

"Anyone laughs out loud in the store, I bury her on the spot in the ready-to-wear section."

"You might need two graves," Jess says.

"Jess."

"Fine, I'll try to hold it in." She raises both hands in surrender, mouth already curving upward.

"But if you're so good-looking the staff blush, I can't promise I won't applaud."

"Don't."

"What if it's Maki who blushes?"

"Jess McCallow."

"Shutting up. Genuinely shutting up." That's what she says. As for how long that lasts, not even the Federal Central Meteorological Bureau would stake its reputation on it. I turn to look at Maki. She's already looking at me. She doesn't bring up last night again. Doesn't ask how many times I cried. She just looks—quieter than when she first walked in, and somehow closer. Like she's confirmed I'm still here, and whatever's left unsaid can wait to be sorted out on the way. And I suddenly want to swear.

Because last night I was sure No. 22, Platinum Bridge Street had nothing left in it but air and echo. Now, with just two more people in it, the whole place has its gravity back. Annoying. Genuinely annoying.... But not unbearable.

"Let's go," I say.

"Before it gets light. If I blow out a second shirt, that's an unnecessary civilian incident on the morning news." Jess snaps to attention instantly.

"I fully support classifying this as a civilian incident." Maki just walks over and smooths down my collar, flipped up from the earlier scuffle.

"Shimo."

"What?"

"Don't say you don't mind this time." I choke on whatever I was about to say. Jess is standing beside us, eyes lit up like she just found a whole crate of free snacks. All I can do is turn my face away and snap:"... Just move." I thought this morning would be quiet. The evidence disagrees. The moment Maki Kushima and Jess McCallow are both in No. 22, Platinum Bridge Street at once, the word quiet packs its bags and leaves the dictionary.

First I inexplicably blew out an old shirt and stood in front of the mirror confirming whether my life had been secretly patched while I slept. Then Maki showed up at the door with the face of someone who'd come to check I was alive and discovered there was a lot more on the agenda than that.

Then, right as certain events unsuitable for daylight broadcast were beginning to develop, Jess walked in and, using those eyes of hers that badly need a reboot, somehow concluded she was watching Maki Kushima make out with a strange man at my front door. If the Federation ever runs short on intelligence officers, I'm nominating Jess first. Send her to scout the enemy and she'll take down their entire network on misjudgment alone.

"So," Jess says, cross-legged on my sofa, working through a tin of cookies she'd dug out of some cabinet, chewing thoughtfully as she delivers her verdict, "I genuinely cannot take full responsibility for reading you as a guy at first glance."

"Thanks so much."

"Don't mention it. Honesty is a friend's sacred duty."

"That's called eye damage, not honesty." Maki sits beside her with a cup of hot tea, and for once doesn't immediately drag our conversation back above sea level. She's dressed simply today—not the all-black uniform that makes her look ready to run a coup, just a dark top and trousers, hair tied back loosely. Everything about her still says not someone to trifle with, not someone to bluff—but the edge is a little less sharp than usual. More like a blade back in its sheath. Still a blade.

Just not currently held to anyone's throat. That's rare. Rare enough that after two glances, I don't quite know where to put the anger I'd been saving for her not warning me she wasn't coming back last night.

"And," Jess looks at me again, gaze sliding from my face to my shoulders and back, assessing me like some new species just pulled from a lab tank, "you're really something right now, Shimo."

"Something how?"

"It's just—" she chews, taking two seconds to find the word.

"You used to be the kind of feral cat that made everyone want to take a bite out of you. Now you're more like—" She makes a vague gesture.

"Like what?"

"The kind of person where the staff can't decide whether to say miss or sir, and just settle for excuse me, you." I look at her, flat.

"The way you describe people is deeply offensive."

"It's called precision." Jess doesn't see a problem with herself and immediately turns to find an accomplice.

"Right, Kushima?" Maki glances over at me. It's a short look, but for some reason I don't want to hold it too long. Because I know that freeze at the door was real, and whatever's in her eyes now still has traces of something that hasn't been fully packed away. Not surprise. Not simple appreciation. More like something she's still recalibrating. And then she actually plays along.

"Yes." I nearly crack the cup in my hand.

"Did you two coordinate this just to bully me?"

"No," Jess says, all innocence.

"We're helping you face reality."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Too late," Maki says, flat as ever. I roll my eyes, turn away, and pretend to be busy sorting the pile of clothes I'd left scattered on the floor.

"Sorting" is generous. Mostly I'm refolding the pieces that have officially aged out of this era and setting them aside. The dark blue shirt that made its sacrifice at the chest seam is in there too. I'm about to drop it straight into the laundry basket. My hand stops halfway. Can't throw it out. I know I'll never wear it again. I still can't. People are strange that way. Even when time's already shoving you forward, your hand still reaches back for things that stopped fitting a long time ago.

"You can keep it for now," Maki says suddenly. I look up. She must have caught the pause. Her voice is flat—not comfort, more like she's taking the thing I couldn't quite say and setting it down on the table for me.

"It doesn't have to go today."... This woman is infuriating sometimes. Because she's not the type to pat your head and coo. She's the type to reach in, pull out whatever you're hiding, set it in front of you, and say in a perfectly calm voice: I know. You don't have to deal with it right now. That's harder to defend against than comfort. Jess clearly has no intention of letting the mood settle. She leans halfway off the sofa, pointing at my pile of clothes.

"Wait, you're not seriously planning to wear these again?"

"Is thinking about it a crime?"

"Not a crime, exactly," Jess says, entirely sincere.

"Just a large-scale act of self-harm."

"Why is your mouth this bad today?"

"Because you're extremely worth observing today," she says with total conviction.

"Listen. This kind of thing happens once in a lifetime. Someone who was a survivor off a Federal warship yesterday wakes up this morning as the upgraded, better-looking version of herself. Who could resist watching that?"

"You're making it sound like I woke up as a beetle."

"No," Jess shakes her head.

"If it were a beetle, I'd have left already. I'm staying because this has genuine research value." Maki actually laughs. Not obviously. Just the faintest movement at the corner of her mouth, her eyes a shade less cold than usual. That's exactly the problem—she does it so rarely that even that small shift stands out more than it should. Like a thin edge of winter ice starting to melt, and you're not sure whether to look at the water or question your own eyes. I want to ask her. A lot of things.

Why my student ID did that. What I even count as now. Whether the Academy has already— The words climb all the way up my throat. Then I look at Maki again. She's leaning against the arm of the sofa, tea half gone. Jess has just said something else; Maki doesn't argue, even follows her line of sight to look at me. Not the look that makes people snap to attention. Just—rarely, simply—looking at me. My mouth shuts. Not because I forgot. Not because it doesn't matter.

Exactly the opposite—because it matters too much, and for the first time I think: Not yet. Not this morning. Not in this living room at No. 22, Platinum Bridge Street, not with Jess dropping cookie crumbs across the sofa, not with Maki looking, for once, almost like an ordinary person, not while the air's just barely loosened. Some questions won't kill you if you wait a little longer to hear the answers. The old me would've called that spineless.

The current me just swallows it back down, picks up my cup, and pretends I'd suddenly gotten thirsty.

"Hey," Jess narrows her eyes at me.

"You were about to say something."

"No."

"Liar. Your face just ran a whole reel of subtitles."

"Are you always this bored?"

"Extremely," Jess says, with total transparency.

"I cleared my whole day to hang around with you two." Before I can answer, Maki sets her cup down and checks the wall clock.

"About time." Jess turns to look too. I catch up a beat late and realize it's nearly noon.... We really did burn the entire morning at No. 22. No wonder the light outside's gone this bright. The early chill has burned off, street noise slowly building below—somewhere downstairs a shop is rolling up its shutter, metal scraping metal all the way up to the window, more convincing than any alarm clock: the world's open for business, you'd better start moving too.

Jess launches off the sofa like some dangerous organism that's finally reached its authorized activation hours.

"Right!" she announces.

"Now we can go out without it being the hour where the only people around are the cleaning staff." I laugh before I can stop myself.

"Where do you even get these metaphors?"

"Life experience," Jess says, with genuine grief.

"Sad. But true." Maki's already on her feet, reaching for her jacket, looking ready to advance this civilian incident to its next phase.

"Ground rules," I tell them both.

"If either of you hands me something ridiculous to try on, I flip out right there." Jess's eyes immediately slide sideways. Maki says, perfectly calm: "Depends." I stare at her. She looks completely unbothered by that answer.

"That sentence has serious problems."

"Depends on your definition of ridiculous."

"Maki Kushima."

"Mm?"

"You're being kind of mean today." The words are out before I've thought about them. Even I'm a little surprised. Because they sound like something you only say to someone you know too well. Not angry, not an accusation—more like the resigned complaint of someone who's already figured out they're being teased and can't do a thing about it. Maki looks at me. Pauses for a second. Then she smiles. Lightly.

"You're only realizing that now?" Jess produces a dramatic gasp beside us, like she's just witnessed a nationally classified phenomenon.

"Oh my god," she says, hand to her chest.

"So this is Kushima's off-duty mode. Today has been extremely profitable."

"Shut up," Maki and I say, almost in unison. The room goes still for half a second. Then Jess bursts out laughing, and I start scouting locations to bury her so she'll stop functioning as a human loudspeaker. But by the time I come back to myself, I've already got my jacket on. Maki's naturally cleared space by the door for the shopping bags. Jess is bouncing in the entryway like a tourist about to storm a battlefield. I stand at the door and put my shoes on. Outside: near-noon light.

Inside: leftover tea, cookie crumbs, and the warmth of everything we just laughed about. Last night, I thought No. 22, Platinum Bridge Street held nothing but air, a photograph, and an echo. Today, just two more people in it, and the whole morning got crowded and loud, and even the question I'd meant to ask got shoved back a full slot. Annoying. But also—fine.

"Let's go," I say.

"Shopping?" Jess's eyes light up.

"What else?"

"Start over as a whole new person?" she offers. I open the door and throw her a look over my shoulder.

"Save that for this afternoon."