Chương 412: 190.New Year's Eve 2

No. 22 Platinum Bridge Street was the same. Last night it had looked like a mess of an emergency shelter; by noon, the living room had somehow recovered into an orderliness barely fit for visitors. The blanket was folded. The teacups were washed. Even that stack of documents nobody claimed by the corner of the dining table had been squared into neat rows. And the most frightening part was — some of those things hadn't been there at all. Hedwig had put them there.

I stood by the dining table, staring for two seconds at the sugar jar that should have stayed on the left side of the counter but had been moved beside the kettle, and felt a very subtle sense of crisis rise in me. This wasn't a burglary. This was worse than a burglary. This was called move-in energy.

"The look on your face staring at that sugar jar is like you're at a coup scene." Jess, mug in hand, sat on the sofa armrest with the cheerful expression of someone determined to make today messier.

"Because that IS a coup scene." I pulled out a chair and sat down irritably.

"Someone's started a regional reorganization of my kitchen."

"Not your house. OUR house." Jess corrected fast, then shifted her eyes and grinned even more obnoxiously.

"As for who's doing the reorganizing — wow, I'm not comfortable getting that ambiguous."

"You'd better shut up right now."

"I'd love to. Problem is, you've been handing me too much material lately." I was about to throw the spoon on the table at her when Maki walked out from the hallway before my hand even lifted. Kushima Maki today was, for once, not looking like she had to go handle some incident in the next second. No uniform jacket — just a thin knit top, sleeves rolled to the wrist, a freshly sorted duty log in her hand. That finally-has-free-time look might read as relaxation to other people.

To me it was more like the court finally scheduling its hearing date. I sat up straight almost instantly. Jess, with zero loyalty, shrank a little to the side, putting on an innocent "I'm just today's spectator" face. Maki looked at me and didn't speak right away. Just that one look. Not heavy. Not cold. No killing intent. You could almost call it calm. But behind my back, a thin layer of unhealthy cold sweat silently broke out. Here it comes. That account finally had time to be filed.

"Shimo." Maki set the log on the table, her tone as level as if announcing that lunch today was stew.

"You're free right now, aren't you?"

"If your next sentence isn't asking me to go die, then yes."

"Good." Maki nodded.

"Help me redistribute the laundered supplies." I froze. That's it? That ordinary? The next second, I watched Maki nudge the laundry basket at her feet slightly forward. Inside were folded towels, spare bedding, two uniform shirts, a few pairs of socks, and— I went silent. Sometimes you don't need language to understand the world's malice. Because in there, neatly arranged, lay several pieces of women's undergarments. Folded especially flat. Especially straight. Especially targeted.

Jess instantly sprayed her mouthful of tea back into the cup, shoulders shaking like she was about to cramp.

"Wow." Jess delivered her verdict with deep sincerity.

"Maki, this isn't settling an account. This is collecting interest."

"I'm being very polite," Maki said.

"Polite where?" I glared at the laundry basket, feeling my dignity being folded into squares and displayed in public.

"This is a public execution, isn't it?" Maki finally smiled slightly. The smile was faint — like a layer of fog on winter glass — and more frightening than outright anger.

"Shimo, aren't you good at this kind of handover?" Maki said slowly.

"I thought this level of distribution work shouldn't be a burden for the vice president." The breath stuck in my chest, and I nearly choked to death right there. Jess had already laughed herself crooked against the sofa back.

"Vice president." Jess added in a mock-serious tone.

"Perfectly on-brand for your line of work."

"Say one more word and I'm throwing your cup into the yard."

"But it's not my cup. Her Highness Hedwig just replaced it for me." I turned to look. And there stood Hedwig at the kitchen entrance, holding another stack of freshly folded cloths, her expression as placid as ever — so placid that it seemed the previous sentence wasn't a remark that had just blown the scene apart, merely a routine status report. Worse, she really did look like she was already getting familiar with how this house worked.

Not the polite, standing-at-the-edge-afraid-of-bothering-people kind of familiar. The kind where she knew where the cups went, which shelf held the tea, which drawer the spare matches lived in — could even pick out which dishcloth Akari had bought new yesterday. A thoroughly absurd feeling rose in me. Like this person hadn't come to take refuge. She'd come to take over logistics.

"I only put things that were misplaced back into more efficient positions." Hedwig walked over and set the cloths by the table, her tone flat as small talk.

"Also, the backup medicine chest at the end of the second-floor hall has been reorganized. The old classification was too poor — it would cost time in an emergency." Jess's eyes went wide, and she applauded with genuine feeling.

"See?" Jess said to me with deep approval.

"THIS is what you call a golden—""Jess." Maki called out, very calmly. Jess shut up at once and went back to drinking her tea, pretending she'd never existed. I rubbed my brow, deciding not to handle that source of trouble first, and turned to Hedwig instead.

"You even touched the medicine chest?"

"I recorded the original positions first." Hedwig answered as if it were the most natural thing.

"They can be restored when necessary." That was the most frightening part. She wasn't just moving things. She was moving them with procedural awareness. In other words, if anyone really wanted to get angry, Hedwig could probably produce a before-and-after comparison table on the spot, complete with reasons for the improvement. Maki watched Hedwig, showing no sign of displeasure — just nodded slightly.

"Adapting faster than I expected."

"Environment shapes judgment," Hedwig said.

"Master the environment first. It saves effort." This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Hearing that, I couldn't help thinking: this person is living in MY house on loan, so why does she talk like she's here to take over some forward command post? And the most absurd part — she wasn't wrong. Maki drew her gaze back and landed it on me again. Not good. I immediately knew the topic was coming back.

"So, Shimo." Maki tapped the rim of the laundry basket.

"The supplies."

"... I know." Very reluctantly, I reached out and picked up the stack of fabric folded so meticulously it felt like it was mocking my character. Jess let out a muffled laugh beside me — suppressed with great effort, and failing completely. I glared over. Jess immediately raised both hands.

"I didn't say anything."

"Your face did."

"That's not my fault. It's a gift."

"If you could turn that gift into electricity, Platinum Bridge Street wouldn't have to pay a power bill tonight." Maki apparently decided that was enough. She reached over, pulled the top towel out of my hands, and tucked it back into the upper layer of the basket. The motion wasn't heavy. Almost casual. She just said, flatly:"All right. That's enough teasing you." I blinked, not registering it at first. Jess froze too.

Maki sorted the few items simply, her tone returning to that everyday steadiness that could handle everything — and, incidentally, handle me.

"You don't deliver the undergarments. Towels and sheets go to the second floor, the rest back to the storage cabinet." Maki paused, then added.

"As for the account from this morning — like I said, no need to settle it all at once." I nearly pounded the table on the spot. So she wasn't letting me off. It was installments. This person understood better than a financial institution how to make suffering last longer. Jess finally couldn't hold it in and collapsed laughing onto the sofa armrest. Hedwig stood to one side, looking between Maki and me, as if genuinely evaluating the operating logic of this household punishment mechanism.

Then Hedwig delivered the final cut, very calmly.

"If needed, I can also help supervise." I turned to look at her.

"Don't learn this kind of thing."

"I'm only following this house's rules."

"This house's rules aren't for amusing people at my expense." Maki joined in flatly: "So far, they are." The living room went quiet for one second. Then even Harvey, who'd been watching a terminal at the other end, let out an unkind chuckle. I stood up hugging the stack of towels, suddenly wanting very much to run away from home. But unfortunately, every exit in this house probably had someone who knew where I'd head.

Especially Hedwig — that one could probably calculate whether I'd grab my coat or put on my shoes first. I walked to the foot of the stairs and looked back once. Maki was head-down sorting through the duty log, as if nothing had happened. Jess was still snickering. Hedwig had nudged the relocated sugar jar a little straighter beside the kettle, with a naturalness that ground on the teeth. At that instant, one thing became very clear to me.

Compared to "Hedwig moved in" itself, the bigger trouble was— this person had already begun to mix into the ordinary daily life of No. 22 Platinum Bridge Street like an invisible drop. Not glaring. Not noisy. Not grabbing. But the day I really couldn't take it anymore and looked back, I'd probably find that plenty of things had long since left their original positions.... Absolutely awful.

And worse — I could even tell which of those changes came from vigilance, and which were just her finding it more convenient that way. I carried the towels upstairs, holding one very concrete conclusion. Today, Maki hadn't truly executed me. She'd just drawn the blade an inch from the sheath, so I could see the gleam first. And tonight— tonight, someone else would likely be on the receiving end. On the evening of the last day of December, I sat at the dining table checking the gear I needed for tonight's duty.

Flashlight, duty log, pen, spare batteries, key ring. Every item was ordinary. Ordinary to the point of being irritating. Because the more ordinary they were, the more obvious it became that tonight's fact — "I have to stay with Maki until handover" — had no escape hatch. I put the pen in the outer pocket, then took it out and put it back once more.

Jess, sitting across from me with her chin in her hand, watched for a long time before finally asking, with remarkable self-preservation, just one question:"Are you organizing gear, or organizing your final words?"

"I'm considering whether faking illness right now would let me die with more dignity."

"It wouldn't." Jess answered fast.

"Maki would feel your forehead, then drag you to duty. You can't even pull off being a sickly beauty." I gave a cold laugh, about to strike back, when footsteps sounded from the stairs. I looked up and saw Maki coming down from the second floor. She'd already changed into her coat. A dark overcoat, scarf tied simply, her own duty log in hand. That clean, finished look of someone who'd run every step of tonight through her head in advance told you at a glance — this wasn't a person getting ready for a night shift.

This was a person getting ready to conscript the night shift itself into the order under her jurisdiction. Worse, my account from this morning was still hanging over her. So with every step she descended, I felt like I was hearing a countdown. Maki walked to the table, glanced at the pile in front of me, and neither raised this morning's matter nor mentioned Hedwig — she simply reached out and straightened the duty log I'd set at an angle.

"Keys?" she asked. I patted my coat pocket.

"Here."

"Don't do what you did last time — only hunting for them at the school gate."

"That was an accident."

"The ratio of accidents in your life is a little high." She said it flatly, like stating a fact. I was so choked I nearly crushed the battery in my hand. Jess was working hard to hold in her laughter, the corners of her mouth trembling. I glared at her; Jess immediately went back to drinking her tea, all "I heard nothing." But the way her shoulders were shaking told even a passing cat she was having the time of her life.

At that moment, Hedwig came out of the kitchen, holding the kettle — apparently set on filling everyone's thermoses for the night first. She hadn't been in this house for long, and already her movements were as natural as if she'd always belonged. This became especially obvious in the evening.

During the day she was still just "the one staying temporarily," but once she started preparing hot water for the people going out, a strange lived-in quality crept in — as if she'd already filed "who goes out at what hour, who comes back at what hour" into her convenient scope.

"Yours." Hedwig set a thermos by my hand.

"It gets cold at night." I looked at the thermos, not answering for a moment. Because she'd said it so ordinarily. So ordinarily that it didn't seem improvised on a whim, but something she'd simply do on the days I was roistered for night duty.... That was a problem.

"Wow." Jess finally couldn't hold back, sighing quietly.

"This household now has a standing service for night-shift send-offs." Maki glanced at her. Jess shut up immediately, as fast as if someone had throttled her remotely. I reached out and took the thermos, deliberately stiff.

"Thanks."

"Mm." Hedwig acknowledged it without looking at me much, then turned to Maki: "Yours is by the counter." I froze. Even Maki had one. For some reason, that actually relaxed me. But I'd barely let half the breath out before I got angry again — why was I relaxing? Was I really worried, just now, that I was the only one being treated specially? This self-fighting-itself feeling was really undignified. Maki, for her part, stayed perfectly composed, merely nodding.

"I'll grab it later." At that instant, the atmosphere in the living room was oddly whole. Jess was clearly dying to burst but didn't dare talk. Hedwig stood at the kitchen's edge as if she hadn't noticed how many unsayable things she'd just added to the scene. And Maki was as cool as if tonight really were just an ordinary rotation shift, with absolutely no "I used undergarments as a public-execution prop to discipline you this morning" in play. But I knew it couldn't be absent.

She just wasn't bringing it up for now. And that not-bringing-it-up was scarier than bringing it up. I stuffed the flashlight into my bag. When I stood, Maki had just finished gathering her own things. She stepped up beside me, glanced down to check the time once — the motion so brisk it gave me a very bad feeling. This person, tonight, would probably record even what time I yawned into her memory.

"Let's go," Maki said. Two words. No negotiation, no warmth, not even extra preamble. But somehow I could hear in those two words the tail of something that hadn't ended this morning. I grabbed my coat, wound my scarf around my neck, and followed her toward the front entrance. Passing through the living room, Jess gave me an expression full of sympathy — but mostly it was spectator energy.

"Good luck," Jess said.

"That's not what an expression of support looks like."

"What is it, then?"

"It looks like you're waiting for me to make it back alive tomorrow so you can keep laughing at me."

"You saw through me."

"I hope you wake yourself up tonight screaming from your own laugh." Akari poked her face out from the other end of the sofa and added, very seriously: "Take care out there."

"At least Akari talks like a human being." I said. Harvey, sitting behind his newspaper, didn't look up — just lifted a hand in farewell. As for D, he didn't say a word the whole time; only as Maki and I reached the door did he glance up at Maki, the look seemingly checking: is this combination tonight an escort, or a prisoner transfer? Honestly, I wanted to know too. The wind poured in through the doorway, slicing the post-dinner warmth of the house in half.

I'd just pulled the door open when Maki added flatly from beside me:"Shimo."

"... What?"

"Don't get up to anything tonight." I turned to look at her. Maki stood in the light of the entrance, expression calm, eyes calm, tone calm. And precisely because it was so calm, the line didn't sound like a plain reminder — more like some very low-temperature declaration made in advance. Don't get up to anything. To translate: I don't have time to properly deal with you today, but you'd best not add to the charges yourself. I pulled at the corner of my mouth.

"That depends on your definition of 'anything.'""Given your record, the range is wide."

"That's pure prejudice."

"That's statistics." She finished, then pulled the door wider, signaling me to go first. That little gesture was annoying. Like deference, and like escort; like care, and like she simply couldn't be bothered to spend more time with me at the door. And the most fatal part was that I couldn't quite tell which one I cared about more. As I stepped down the front steps, the cold wind slammed into my face and woke me up right away.

Behind me, the house's light fell at the door's edge in a thin line, cutting inside from out into two worlds. On one side, No. 22 Platinum Bridge Street — where Hedwig left hot water for people, where Jess waited for jokes, where Maki kept old accounts. On the other, the campus and duty room, with a night that still stretched far too long ahead. Maki closed the door behind us. Click. For no reason I could name, that sound made me feel that from now until handover, I probably wouldn't be doing so great.

We walked side by side toward the street corner. The streetlights lit one after another, washing the winter night clean and cold. Maki walked on my left, her pace unhurried but steady enough that pretending she wasn't there was hard. Her presence, the way the edge of her scarf lifted in the wind, even the sound of her boots on the pavement — all of it became especially distinct in that over-quiet night.

It suddenly occurred to me that the bigger problem than tonight's night shift was— I'd be sharing an entire night with someone who was still keeping tally on me and saying nothing about it. This wasn't a duty shift. This was slow-interrogation. Walking along the school's outer wall, I exhaled a puff of white and couldn't help speaking first:"Maki."

"Mm?"

"You're not going to stay this quiet all night, are you?" She didn't answer right away. She just turned her head and glanced at me under the streetlight, then smiled very lightly.

"Depends on how you behave." It was over. I knew it — tonight really wasn't going to be easy. Ahead, a light burned thin in the duty-room window, like someone had already laid the night out flat there, waiting only for us to walk in and slowly open account after account. I pressed the flashlight in my coat pocket, and suddenly wanted very badly to turn around and go home. Too late, unfortunately. Because the person walking into the duty room with me tonight was Kushima Maki.

And that fact alone was already enough to constitute a disaster.