Archive of Our Own ^beta

His ears are ringing.

His ears ringing, his eyes are starting to burn– his vision is becoming much more blurred. He could almost not process what was happening.

Pharact, brought to its knees, with the damage as proof of what it’s gone through. 

Dilanza, stands tall and proud, antennae of the Pharact in its hand.

The holographic text that projects itself in the air beyond the glass of the Gundam.

“WINNER” glows with a golden font, etched ever-so clearly.

“GUEL JETURK” shimmers beneath it.

Gripping the controls with whatever strength he has left, Elan Ceres realizes that he’s been crying.

It shouldn’t have possible– No, it couldn’t have been possible. Pharact was a Gundam, afterall. As far as he was aware, none of the Jeturk Mobile Suits were capable of wielding Anti-GUND format equipment and weaponry. Pharact allows him to attack safely from the distance, and yet–

Rage has gotten the best of him, or irritation, rather. The need to put Guel Jeturk in his place, the need to ensure nothing can stand in the way between him and Suletta Mercury, so he can give Aerial to Peil and finally have some sort of worth attached to his being–

It’s all gone now.

He throws his helmet off as he struggles to breathe, everything’s become clear so fast, he almost fails to pick up his student handbook ringing. Was it Peil? One of those CEOs, to inform him that he was no longer useful? Belmeria Winston, who would ask him to return just to see how long he has to live after he pilots Pharact again?

If he pilots Pharact again. His stomach churns.

He shakily raises his head.

Suletta Mercury.

This feels like an elaborate, sick joke on him. He always knew the world resented his very existence, but he never thought it could be to this extent.

The girl who he believed to be a kindred spirit to him. Only for him to burn that very bridge between them. They weren’t alike, there was no way she could ever understand him.

He accepts the call.

“E-Elan!” She chokes out. Hesitant with her word choice. He knows she’s on edge– considering that her questioning of him led to this duel, it’s no wonder she’s trying to choose her words wisely.

It’s sickening.

“Are… you okay?” Her voice is so gentle, it’s a foreign sort of tone to him. It’s part of her inquisitive nature, wanting to know people, wanting to understand and help them–

He can’t take it.

“No.” He answers, blunt, honest, his voice coming out rough with how his throat hurts. “I’m not.”

He hangs up the call. He sighs into his hands. He lets out a scream.

Elan lifts his head, watching from the glass that shields his agony, as Guel Jeturk exits the Dilanza and approaches Pharact.

So infuriating.

Collecting his helmet and whatever semblance of a poker face he could muster left, he exits the Pharact, sliding down the rope and meeting Guel at the ground.

He’s never been fond of Guel Jeturk. Well, anyone really, at least until the brief moments of connection between himself and Suletta Mercury.

But Guel was arrogant. He was a fool, never thinking before his actions and going all out with an angry heart on his sleeve. Always bragging of a father who used him for his own gain, Elan never saw value in someone so dumb.

Yet, the way Guel Jeturk stands before him now is different. Despite it not being a duel for the bride’s hand, he looks so accomplished. No longer standing with aggressive arrogance and a smug, vain smile. The man before him is content with the outcome, but he’s not smiling. There’s a serious look on his face, but no anger either.

“Elan,” he no longer chooses to yell his words, speaking calmly, “remember our deal, yeah?”

“...Of course,” Elan croaks out. He winces at how rough his voice is. He sees Guel’s face briefly recoil in shock, before he collects himself. He could feel his hands shake.

Suletta Mercury has surely changed him. He’s surely becoming someone completely new now.

How can Guel Jeturk change, and yet he is doomed to remain as nothing but a nameless body double?

He wants to throw up.

“...No longer talk to Suletta Mercury, you hear me?” Guel finally speaks again. “I don’t care what kind of excuses you have for making her cry–”

His hands are trembling. How annoying. How utterly pathetic. Is he being scolded like a child? Having to listen to the words of someone who’s finally becoming real?

“...Elan?” He registers Guel’s voice in the distance, despite them standing so close to one another.

He has to watch someone become human before him– to see a pawn come to life with their own free will, expressing their own desires and convictions.

Where does this leave him? Still to be a puppet on strings? How he cannot register his actions, his thoughts, his emotions– they were all called by Peil? Beyond the name he dons, what does he have?

Does he even have anything? Any value or worth, any purpose once he reports back to Peil? The one time he made decisions for himself, it’s led him to this– the need to connect, the need to prove his existence, the need to be what he truly is –

He truly, truly was worthless.

“Hey, Elan!” Guel’s voice is suddenly loud, and he’s gripping his shoulders–

It all connects into place for him. Yet it happens so fast. How he lets out a scream, how it makes Guel recoil, how he moves and now Guel is on the ground cupping his face. He pants unevenly, his breath being harsh and ragged.

In his resentment lies desperation. Desperate for one thing that could call himself human, Elan Ceres tears away from his strings so he could punch Guel Jeturk in the jaw.

Taking mercy on people shouldn’t be Guel Jeturk’s style. That’s not the role he’s meant to play. Just like how Elan isn’t meant to be human, how do you make a boy out of something who was stripped of everything he knew? It could never be possible.

As he runs off, away from the training sector, he’s aware of his handbook ringing constantly. Even as he runs out of the training sector, adrenaline pumps through his veins so quickly, he finds himself getting sick outside. He runs to where prying eyes can’t find him, just to let it out.

Is this what it means to feel alive?

How nauseating.

The five days he spends at Peil Technologies is torturous. He’s always heard about how children can come to hate how their parents yell– it can even apply to teens. There’s always been instances when a parent calls an observer in the dueling committee room, and how voices roar even off of the speaker. It’s clear to see why people would hate it– the idea of doing something wrong, in the eyes of the person you’re respecting most. It’s bound to wind someone up like a coil, until one yell makes them release their fears through choked sobs.

The Peil CEOs are nothing like this. He wishes they were. Artificial in their mannerisms– they line up perfectly in sync, hands poised with crossing over their laps as they disguise their leers with a smile crudely etched on their faces.

How uncanny, those women are. He wonders if they were like him– faces that aren’t their own, identities they’re molded into, he wonders if he carries expectations for them like a child would for a parent. But to compare their dynamic to family would be wrong– even for someone like him, no memories of his past or what his mother and father were like, he knew that the CEOs were nothing like parents to him.

What the leaders of Grassley and Jeturk are to Shaddiq and Guel; The same cannot be applied to the women of Peil and his existence.

For he’s not even the real Elan Ceres. In the five days he was there, he interacted with the original– the true bearer of the identity. He is vain, harsh with his words, selfish to his very core. They could never be anything alike, so perhaps he should be happy he’s broken his strings.

…Even then, he knows the strings will be tied around his joints again. The offering of freedom, the temptation to have something everyone else has– a place in the world. If this were any other circumstance, he wouldn’t care. He considered that he had resigned himself to the cruel fates the world could bestow upon him.

If only he hadn’t lost.

He spends the days going through tests– how many more times can he pilot until death comes for him? Is there even any reason to continue to keep him around? Should they consider getting rid of him now and prepare the next person? 

The results are unclear, but Belmeria Winston lets it slip that he’s piloting the Zowort again for the time being.

It’s back to square one.

Annoying.

Barely a day back to the campus, Shaddiq Zenelli invites him over to the Grassley House. Something about a get-together with all students, something about getting to know each other better.

If things had remained the same, Elan would have pictured himself declining and spending the night reading his room.

Except now, he’s gone backward with his progress with finding answers for Peil; Socializing may, unfortunately, be key with making strides in his work once more.

So he hesitantly agrees, and tries to ignore the shocked expression on Shaddiq’s face when he does. Yet, Shaddiq still smiles at him and pats him on the back.

Odd. They weren’t friends. Elan was sure of that on his end.

…Word apparently gets around that he’s going to the Grassley House for this event. When he briefly returns back to Peil house to get some of his schoolwork done, he’s surrounded by staring eyes as he drifts through the halls. Most would usually never dare to look at him, not that he’s surprised; He’s always been upfront with his lack of interest in social interactions.

So he realizes this must be why they’re staring, when he passes by a girl mumbling about how his presence there means she has to be on “good behavior”. Whatever that means, he would hope that his housemates wouldn’t do anything to sully Peil’s name, like challenging people to immediate duels– it’s bad enough he’s causing so much trouble–

Wait. That girl wasn’t even in the piloting department. 

…He thinks.

Maybe he needs to actually take the time to learn about the people in his house. Not that it would matter in the end.

Time passes. He arrives at Grassley House, a new novel in his hand. He attempts to knock at the door, but realizes just how futile that effort is; With how loud the music blares, there really would be no one to… let him in.

Something about it feels wrong, but he turns the handle and walks into the building. 

People are drifting through the hall, drinks in one hand and holding plates in the other. Joyous chatter can be heard all around, as people walk in and out of two different rooms.

So, this is Grassley’s common area.

He moves to navigate through the people crowding around– Many are definitely Grassley students, but there are some he can recognize from his own house, as well as Jeturk. There were probably even people from Earth House here.

What if Suletta is here?

Before he considers the possibility in full, he makes direct eye contact with Shaddiq, who suddenly enters the hall. He smiles at the sight of Elan, weaving through people to grab at his hand and drag him along.

“Glad you could make it!” Shaddiq yells over the numerous sounds in the building, turning his head to continue eye contact. “Are you doing okay?”

…Am I?

“...I don’t know.” He mumbles in response, and is drawn to a stop as Shaddiq pauses as well.

“I couldn’t hear your answer, sorry,” Shaddiq has the decency to look apologetic, but Elan’s unsure if he even is, “what did you say?”

I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.

“Doesn’t matter,” he verbally says, raising his voice. He thinks his volume is closer to how he should be normally– But, the way Shaddiq raises an eyebrow at his answer makes him think that perhaps he was too loud.

“...Sorry,” he apologizes, and Shaddiq slaps a hand on his back. It nearly knocks all of the air out of him. God, Elan was always aware of the difference of physique between the two, but he didn’t think he would be straggling this bad behind him.

“Don’t apologize!” Shaddiq offers a grin, before leaning in close, arm around his shoulder. “I mean, I know we’re supposed to be rivals and all… but it’s fine for you to talk about how you feel.”

He can’t help it; he scoffs.

“I can’t allow myself to do that, I’m afraid,” Elan lightly brushes at where Shaddiq’s hand curls near his chest, but feels the sensation of the man’s arm tensing and clenching closer to the curve of his neck.

“I’m serious,” there’s a solemn gaze to Shaddiq’s eyes– it makes something in Elan’s stomach twist with uncertainty. “If you want to talk, I’m here! We all saw how you punched Guel, afterall.”

…Oh.

Oh. I did that. 

No wonder people seemed even more avoidant than usual, why people found it almost frightening that he was showing up here. Were they expecting him to do the same to Shaddiq? Because of the houses’ rivalry? Could anything be gained from such an action? Wait– no, I shouldn’t consider doing it again–

“Earth to Elan!” A flick to the head. 

Elan blinks. Once, twice, three times for good measure.

“...That was childish,” he bluntly says.

“But, it got your attention, didn’t it?” Shaddiq seems proud of himself.

“...I suppose.” Elan sighs. “Do you really care? About my…wellbeing?” He feels stupid for asking.

Shaddiq hums.

“Depends on what you tell me,” he answers, his hold around Elan’s shoulders loosening up, “now come on! Let’s get you some food.”

I’m never opening up to this man. Elan decides, and follows the command.

They turned to one of the rooms, there were definitely less people in it compared to the halls. That isn’t to say, there were still plenty moving around. A clothed table was covered with various snack foods and a makeshift drink bar for everyone to pick at. Shaddiq practically drags him to it, shoving a plate in his hands.

“Come on, you gotta be hungry right?” He gestures toward the snacks to pick from; various types of chips, pretzels, cheese cubes, fruit, and some others Elan couldn’t quite recognize.

“...Not really,” he answers honestly, putting the plate back. He’s not too keen on overly salted snacks, doesn’t care too much for cheese no matter the shape, and shamefully… he’s picky with the type of fruits he has. He doesn’t know whether to blame whatever’s left of his own genes or the Real Elan’s genes to explain his issue with certain textures.

He hopes that Shaddiq fails to notice how his nose slightly scrunches up.

He hears laughter. Dammit.

“Well, that’s fine too! At least stay hydrated for me, yeah?” He gestures over to the drinks. Various carbonated sodas and juices, and–

Perhaps certain beverages no one here should be drinking.

…And bottled water.

He plucks a water bottle off of the table. Shaddiq claps.

“Thank you! Let me lead you to one of the couches,” and drags him off to the other end of the room. Less people are surely on this side, with practically no one around the two couches.

Well, except–

“Sabina!” Shaddiq gets the girl’s attention, breaking her from her writing reverie. She looks up from where she sits on the couch, pen and notepad on her lap.

“Hello, Shaddiq,” she gives a curt nod, keeping eye contact with him. Her eyes suddenly shift to Elan, and almost on instinct, he feels his body tense–

“Mr. Ceres.” She offers another nod.

“I’ll leave you two to get along!” And Shaddiq’s gone.

I walked into a trap.

He considers leaving. He knows if he tries to go through the crowd, Sabina will be sure to catch up. Or worse– he crashes right into Shaddiq. So, he opts to make the enemy believe that he’s unaware, he sits next to Sabina on the couch and starts to read his book. The silence is peaceful for a few moments, until Sabina clears her throat.

“What… is that book about?” She asks slowly, cautiously. Like she’s approaching a bear. She may be worse at small talk than he is.

“Some sort of historical drama.” He answers. Something about a revolution, something about a nurse coming to the soldier’s aid. The novel is told through various letters written by the soldier to his wife, inspired by what’s occured on Earth long ago. Fascinating.

Yet, Sabina raises an eyebrow.

“...Just a historical drama?”

“...Yes.” Why is she questioning me on this?

She coughs.

“...Let me know when you get to page 115.” And she returns to quietly observing the party.

Huh. Has she read this novel before?

He glances at his page count. He’s about 5 pages away from reaching where she said. He continues to read.

Flip the page. Read. Flip the page. Read.

After a few minutes pass, he reaches the page.

He reads the first few lines.

…Oh. Oh. Oh, that’s–

He slaps the book shut.

“...Does the novel’s direction change to focus on this–” This sudden romance. Could he even call it that? If this was romance, no wonder he swore to never fall in love, this was god awful–

“Yeah.” Sabina doesn’t turn to face him. “It bothered me too when I first read it. I don’t recommend finishing it.”

He huffs out a sigh. “...Thanks for the warning.”

“No problem. I hate the kind of stories where a guy cheats on his wife for some random person.”

“...Hm.” Did he just set up a perfect opportunity for her to go on a tangent?

Sabina is staring at something in the crowds. Elan follows her eyesight–

She’s staring at Shaddiq, of course.

“To think that someone would stop being so faithful to a partner,” her hands curl to fists on her lap, “how could someone find that beautiful?”

He’s aware of how Sabina is known as Shaddiq’s right-hand woman. It makes sense that she’s passionate about this idea of loyalty.

“Are you worried you’ll become that, one day? The possibility is there, isn’t it?” He asks. Sabina freezes, and her eyes widen. Striking a nerve, like always.

He thinks of how Suletta’s eyes teared up. When he said cruel things to her, in the heat of the moment, where his mind just spiraled further and further down–

“Mr. Ceres.” Sabina speaks again. “You truly have no idea on how to speak to people.”

He pauses. Then nods.

“Of course, I never speak up, because of that.” He stands from the couch. One more word out of his mouth, and he believes he’ll have overstayed his welcome. Trying to socialize more truly was a mistake, he’ll have to settle for returning to his own normal.

“Why did you make Suletta Mercury cry?”

“I told her we weren’t the same.” And Elan quickly ensures to weave himself through the crowd, just to get out of there.

Sabina doesn’t need to know that they’re both different as well.

She doesn’t need to know she’s more loyal and faithful to Shaddiq than he could ever be to Peil.

Gently, a flame ignites itself in his dreams.

Two days after the party, he returns to Peil.

“They’re asking if you can take on a few more duels,” Belmeria tells him quietly. She never has the courage to face him, to tell him the truth of the grim reality before him. For someone to hide reality from him like he’s a young child, while still running the same tests on him that determine his worth, Belmeria Winston truly is one of the cruelest people he has met.

“Do they think I can’t fight anymore?” He asks. It goes unanswered. Figures.

“...They just want to ensure that your loss was a one-time thing,” Belmeria tries to assure him. “When we get to that point, I’ll start running the data and logistics of what would be the safest way for you to pilot the Pharact again.”

How annoying.

“Thank you,” he gets up from the chair and moves to the bathroom, where he puts his uniform back on to play the role of Ice Prince for another day.

They might as well get rid of me already.

The duels come to him easy, in the next few days. People have gotten bold to think that his one loss means he’s an easy target; He isn’t, nor will he ever be.

Four duels occur. They all come out with the same outcome. He makes scrap metal out of their mobile suits, he ensures that they never dare to speak to him, or duel anyone again. Humiliation is their lesson. He doesn’t care if this is cruel– it’s all just his orders.

People start taking more offense to his ways, recently.

Beyond Sabina Hardin calling him out for cruel words, Secelia Dote has taken to making more snide remarks. She tries to get under his skin, saying things like “no wonder the girls are so scared of you!” or “good thing Guel had to beat you, I would’ve hated to see what you’d do to that Mercury girl!”

And then–

“I wonder,” Secelia sings as she paints her nails. It’s now a week since the party occured. “Mr. Elan, is there any reason why you’re taking so many duels?”

“...No particular reason.” He doesn’t look up from his book. All of them– him, Secelia, Shaddiq, Guel, and Rouji– sit around in the Dueling Committee lounge, observing yet another duel. Someone trying to challenge Suletta Mercury for her bride’s hand again.

“I mean, I thought it’d be because you’re just like Mr. Guel!”

He slams his book shut.

“The hell are you talking about?” Guel sounds annoyed, even as he doesn’t look away from Suletta and Aerial on screen. Shaddiq seems to hum in agreement, even as he doesn’t look away either.

“I’m saying– since Guel’s such a daddy’s boy,” Guel grits his teeth, “I just thought you’re trying to prove yourself too. Maybe I’m wrong, since it’s not like you’re Peil’s blood child, or anything–”

Elan sees Shaddiq flinch too.

“So what is it? Are you desperate for approval? Doing anything you can to get yourself out of trouble? Maybe you are just a puppet for th–”

“Shut up.”

He stands up, head lowered. The room is quiet, he feels all of their eyes on him, but he couldn’t care less.

Being a puppet.

Being a puppet owned by Peil.

If the words are said– if the sentence becomes finished, then it would surely ring true. Not just to him, but to those around him as well, so–

“Don’t talk like you know me.” He hisses, before storming off toward the elevator. The silence is heavy, his breath is caught in his throat. As soon as the doors open, he quickly walks in and presses for the level to bring him back down to the ground

It feels like eternity when the doors start to close, but when they do, he can finally take a deep breath and–

An arm sticks itself between the doors. The doors pull back with hesitance, as Guel Jeturk boards the elevator with him.

Great. Just great.

No one else joins them. Even though he can breathe now, Elan almost wishes he wouldn’t right now. If it means to not exist, if it means to not carry this strange tension between himself and Guel.

“You’ve been insane lately,” Guel starts speaking, arms crossed against his chest. Elan doesn’t bother to face him, opting to stare at the doors.

“...I’ve been the same as I’ve always been.” He says. He hears Guel scoff, and pictures him rolling his eyes.

“As if. You’ve been fighting like a maniac. Shaddiq even said you bothered to go to one of his house parties. What’s going on?” He asks. Elan wonders if he could have came to that conclusion if he hadn’t heard about the party– if it was just him fighting more fiercely, Guel probably would have mocked him and told he still couldn’t catch up to him.

But then again, this isn’t the Guel he knew. Guel has been changed from their duel as well, hasn’t he.

“It’s not like you to worry about people,” Elan comments.

“Yeah– well,” Guel rubs at the back of his neck. Silence is prominent again, the elevator doors should open any second now–

“...If your parents are putting pressure on you, just say that.”

“What?” Elan finally faces him, as the elevator opens. The sun is setting outside through the windows of the hallway, and Guel strides past him.

“Secelia wasn’t wrong about me,” he doesn’t turn back to Elan, even as the other follows after him. “I really wanted to prove myself to my father. And… I was able to, but–”

“But?”

“...The recognition doesn’t feel right now. Not after everything.” When Guel turns his head, his expression is unreadable; Elan could label it melancholy, but something about it… was nostalgic.

“Even when I finally proved myself, nothing changed between him and I.” Guel looks out to the setting sky, before letting out a chuckle. “But, honestly, I feel more sure of myself. That girl’s words really are like a magic spell.”

Guel didn’t have to specify; Elan knew exactly who he meant.

To move backward and gain one, but to move forward and gain two.

Guel moved forward– he gained his father’s trust, and gained a new sense of self-worth; He’s starting to believe how he can act for himself and no one else, now.

Elan moved backward– all he gained from it was reality eating at him daily.

It’s an elaborate joke that never ends.

“Anyways, just know that I understand if you got… similar circumstances, is all. I won’t let myself lose to you, or change my mind on you speaking to Suletta again, but–”

But the Guel before him doesn’t stand with the same bravado he knew him for– Elan knew it the moment the fight ended, but seeing him with a clearer head–

Guel truly changed himself for the better.

So, how will Elan change? How can he gain two?

“...Guel,” he says his first name only, quietly, almost whispering, cutting him off. Guel turns his whole body to face him, shocked at the way he’s being addressed by him.

Something twitches at Elan’s face, and he realizes that his mouth is curling at the corners. For the first time in a while– possibly ever, he finds himself grinning. It’s probably not perfect– he doesn’t know what a proper grin could be, but whatever it is, this must be his way of expressing it.

“I’ve never had a family to prove myself to. I belong to Peil until the day I die. So, I don’t think we could ever understand each other.” Elan smiles, and he wants to think his expression is something serene.

He starts to walk away, hoping to get out before Guel processes his words. Will he think that Elan’s joking? That Elan’s life couldn’t be so bad?

He doesn’t know.

Yet in the back of his mind, he wonders if he and Guel could have been friends in another life. Not even that–

He wonders if they could understand each other.

He dreams of the candle again, but this time, a woman comes into view behind it too.

More duels. More days pass. Once again, he’s back at Peil.

It’s different this time. While he waits for Belmeria Winston to return from fetching data, the Original Elan Ceres shows up in the room.

“Hello, me,” Original says like always. He says it like it’s funny, or something. There’s a reason why he’s an heir in a birdcage as opposed to a comedian. Elan– no, Enhanced Person Four gives a grunt in response.

“...Would it ever kill you to smile?” Original groans, walking up and jabbing the tips of his fingers to the ends of Four’s mouth. Tugging to manufacture a smile, but it’s something that’s never come easy to Four.

At least, he thought they didn’t come easy.

Original eventually pulls his hands away, brushing them against his suit jacket. Yet, he makes no move to back away from Four. He stares down at him, as if evaluating him.

“Is something wrong–” Four starts, and cuts himself off when Original grabs his chin and tilts his head around. It’s quiet for a few seconds, until Original clicks his tongue and saunters to Belmeria Winston’s desk.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Original clicks his tongue, “there’s still parts of your facial structure that aren’t identical to me.”

Oh.

“Like what?” 

“Your jawline’s more round compared to mine, for starters,” Original picks up his file, flipping through the pages for all sorts of data and information on Four. “Your nose is a little smaller too, your eyes are a bit wider– and you should consider using makeup to hide those circles under them, I don’t need people to think that I can’t sleep at night–”

He pauses as he picks up a paper from the file. He looks back and forth from the paper and Four.

“...What is it?” Four raises an eyebrow. Original shoves the paper back with the files and scoffs.

“None of your business,” he growls, and exits the room, seemingly upset, cursing the CEOs by each of their names.

Curious.

He’s given the okay to start piloting Pharact again in two weeks time. 

Elan spends his days studying, engaging in a duel or two, reading, then sleeping. Rinse and repeat.

One day, he wakes up to commotion in Peil House. Frantic knocking at his dorm door, saying that some Earthian is causing trouble at the common area.

He takes his time walking there, he’s almost certain of who it is–

And he was correct.

Despite not knowing her by name, he recognizes the pink haired girl from Earth House. The girl is currently cursing up a storm, shoving aside any Peil student who tries to grab her.

“Can I help you?” Elan raises his voice, catching everyone’s attention. The girl pauses in her anger, before letting out a huff.

“I wanted to speak to you, but your house over here–”

“It’s usual protocol for us, I apologize,” Elan speaks fast. He frankly wants to go back to his room. He doesn’t see how the girl has any business with him.

“It’s about Suletta,” the girl huffs. He freezes.

“...If you want me to talk to her, I can’t–”

“We know that, God!” The girl growls. “She wanted me to give you a message!”

He bites his tongue.

“...Let’s speak outside, then,” and guides her out of Peil House, away from eyes trying to pry at them both.

“Don’t try and act chummy with me,” the girl growls at how he pushes at her shoulders, and he immediately retracts his hands.

“I wasn’t trying to,” he answers honestly, “...I don’t even know your name.”

The girl groans.

“It’s Chuchu, don’t forget it,” she grumbles.

“Chuchu,” he repeats her name back; it feels weird on the tongue, but if it’s what she wants to be called, so be it. “What was Suletta’s message?”

The two of them were outside now.

Chuchu kicks at rocks on the ground.

“She… was just worried for your wellbeing,” Chuchu mumbles, “she overheard that Jeturk jerk and Shaddiq talking about you near the Committee lounge. The way she spoke about it, it sounded like you traumatized that Jeturk guy. What gives?”

“...It doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head. He still hasn’t processed what came over him then, either– Guel trying to comfort him, same as Shaddiq, and yet–

No one really understands him. It’s a frustrating boundary, as humanity eats at his mentality and body, but he has to ensure it can remain.

If someone crosses the line, then he can longer say that he isn’t human. He’s fine with observing and analyzing people– he knows that when he does it, it’s sure to not be a mutual feeling. Everything he does will still be for Peil, for his own way to prolong his death as long as he can–

He can’t let people understand just how close to facing his own mortality is. They would be sure to intervene, and–

He doesn’t want that.

For some weird reason, he doesn’t want people to intervene.

One thing for them to get in the way of Peil, but for them to get involved for the sake of saving him–

That’s a cruel thing for people to do. Especially for a doll, the likes of him. People shouldn’t waste their lives for someone whose whole purpose is meant to be expendable–

Fingers snap in his face.

“Come on,” Chuchu groans, “I can’t go back to Suletta and tell her that you’re not okay. That’d be a pain and you know it.”

“...She cares too much,” he agrees. He thinks to how Suletta asks about his birthday, how if his mother just never gave him one–

He doesn’t know. He may never know, at this point.

Does he want to know?

“Do you want me to tell her that you’re fine, then?” Chuchu’s shoulders sag down.

“...No.”

“No?” Her eyes go wide.

“...Tell her that I’m not fine, but…”

But? But what, Number Four?

“...I’m working through it. I’ll be okay in the end.” And it’s a silent prayer for himself as well. Chuchu looks hesitant at his words, but nods her head and pulls out her handbook. Probably to inform Suletta of his answer, of course.

It’s quiet for a few moments, before Chuchu presses one last button and sighs.

“...Can you show me how you right-hooked that Jeturk dude?” She suddenly asks, a sparkle in her eyes. “I seriously didn’t think you could have an arm like that!”

He doesn’t know how to answer.

The next dream is strange, a silhouette sits in front of him. Their voice is familiar, but nothing else could suggest who they are.

“We promise to both you and your son,” the voice sounds manufactured; straining at referring to him with a masculine title. Yet, the voice tries to sound polite and welcoming. “as part of this experiment with Peil, if all goes well with your son’s trial, we promise to give him a new citizens id number upon completion. As well as funding for his complete, body modification surgeries.”

Body modification?

The conversation sounds… familiar. He would almost guess that this was when he was recruited to become an enhanced person, but– he would already have the body modification before the trial, to ensure he would look like Elan Ceres, so why–

In the dream, a hand tightly grips his own.

“Hear that?” A saccharine voice coos to him from the side. “You can finally get the body you could be comfortable in, —”

And suddenly, the silhouette in front of him becomes Nugen.

Everything starts to click.

He awakens from the dream. It’s the middle of the night, but he stands from his bed and approaches a mirror.

Even with dim light coming from a window, he makes out his form. He takes his shirt off.

His torso is littered with scars, stitches that curl around his waist, they extend even up to his neck.

And yet–

Over his chest, he keeps a beige bra on.

He understands that because of his… circumstances, he isn’t allowed to keep any of his past memories.

But, not informing him of his biology beforehand is too much.

He shoves his shirt on and tucks himself back into bed before he can think anymore deeper into it.

The next day he wakes up– now a week away from him being able to pilot Pharact again. He observes himself in the mirror, where he can properly view himself, and notices two things as he finishes getting ready.

First, is the way he prepares his appearance. He now realizes how putting on a binder is something seemingly exclusive to only him right now, unless he comes across another boy who is like him.

Second, his hair is starting to grow in length. His side strands start to fall over his shoulders, with the rest beginning to comfortably rest against and over the back of his neck.

He spends the morning considering a haircut. Next time he’s forced to pay a visit to Belmeria Winston, he would have to ask her if she could give him a trim, if possible. He begins to wonder if his hair’s new grown length is really that noticeable, and maybe he’s sensitive to subtle changes–

And then he hears a growl.

He turns around in the hallway, seeing a short girl with short blonde hair messily pulled back in a half ponytail.

“...Can I help you?” He slowly asks. He’s sure he has seen her around before– right, she often follows behind Guel, along with Lauda. What business could she have with him, though?

“You…” She starts.

“...Me?”

“You look like a slob! T-There’s no way I can let you near Mr. Guel like this!” And she kicks him in the back of his knees.

Elan Ceres isn’t one to scream, so he goes down on his knees without a word, as the girl grabs at his hair. Her tugging lasts for a few seconds, until he feels her letting go and standing.

…He doesn’t feel hair resting against his neck anymore. He raises a hand to feel it as he stands up. 

“A-Ah, don’t try and touch it, dummy!” The girl hits his hands away from his own hair. “I did you a favor by pulling it back so it would look better! Y-You better thank me!”

She’s an underclassman, for sure. She wouldn’t be stuttering so much, if she weren’t.

“Thank you,” he tells her, devoid of emotion in his voice. “Can I have your name?”

“...Felsi,” the girl avoids eye contact. “Don’t mention it. Ever. To anyone!! Not even Mr. Guel!!”

“...He put you up to this?” He asks.

“U-Um, no! Not at all!!” She nervously laughs.

Like Sabina for Shaddiq, this girl is outstandingly loyal to Guel.

“...So he did. I won’t tell him you fessed up.”

The girl growls out of embarrassment. Before either of them could say anything else, Chuchu turns from a corner of the hall.

“Yo, Elan,” she casually greets him, to the confusion of everyone in the hall. Including Felsi, who immediately scowls upon her arrival. “I got another mes–

“Back up, Earthian!” She hisses, immediately choosing to start a fight. “Who said you could come up to us so casually–”

“HAH?!” Chuchu shrieks back, making Felsi flinch. “Was I speaking to you?! I don’t think so, back off, shortie!”

“What did you call me?!” 

And the two girls start fighting in the middle of the hall. If it weren’t for Elan feeling compelled by some forces to hold Felsi back, the two would have surely started throwing punches.

It’s bad enough Shaddiq attempted to have him observed, he doesn’t need Guel to try it– and he certainly doesn’t need Guel’s underclassman to get hurt because of him.

So he awkwardly stands between the two of them, while students walk by. Or students stop in their tracks to take pictures.

He wonders what will make Peil kill him first; His own incompetence, or rumors of girls fighting for him at school.

As he considers the possibilities, his thoughts are interrupted by his handbook ringing. While he still keeps the two separated by one arm continuing to push back against Felsi, his other hand reaches for the handbook.

He expects it to be Belmeria, perhaps telling him that he’s allowed to have Pharact earlier. Maybe the CEOs are contacting him to let him know it’s all over for him, and he needs to be disposed of. Or maybe the Original is just bored and wanted to message someone outside of Peil.

Why is it that Miorine Rembran, of all people, is texting him?

Come to the greenhouse. I want to talk.

This was just becoming troublesome. He feels his mouth twitch. He heaves a sigh, and puts the handbook back in his pocket.

“Stop fighting,” he uses both arms now to completely separate the girls, before storming off outside. He fails to see the girls stop, staring at his fast steps in shock.

“What do you need?”

“I just want to talk about Suletta.”

“I’m leaving.” He turns his heel.

“No. Stay.” She aggressively snips with her garden clippers. Elan sits on the steps of the entrance of the greenhouse, facing the path through the woods.

Miorine Rembran. The bride of the holder. Should he ever become the holder, she would have to marry him (or rather, the Original). She’s someone who shut her heart from the world, given her treatment from the likes of Guel and others.

He can’t blame her. But, he can’t say he would ever intend to save her. When given the job by Peil, the main incentive was to save himself, not some damsel.

Thinking about it, it is rather selfish. That’s the closest thing that could ever bring him to being human– the experience of selfishness.

“...You’re scaring a lot of people,” Miorine starts, as she tends to the growing vegetation. “I couldn’t care less about how much you’re worrying Guel and Shaddiq. In fact, I really welcome that, those two deserve to get the wits scared out of them.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“But, I know you’ve been talking to Chuchu,” Miorine continues, “every answer you give to her just upsets Suletta more and more. So, I’m stepping in.”

“Do you care for her?” Elan asks. The way she tries to force herself through and pry into him– so much like her groom, how Suletta tried to learn more about him on a personal level.

Miorine pauses.

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be talking to you about this,” she answers, “if Suletta didn’t care about you, she wouldn’t be worrying for your wellbeing everyday, you know.”

Somehow– Somehow–

Something clenches tight inside of him. Like a sudden pain through his chest.

“...I see.” He just mutters as a response.

“So, talk to me. What happened to you? Considering you had the gall to punch Guel, you have to be going through… something.” She starts picking at fresh tomatoes.

“...You wouldn’t get it,” Elan replies. “I doubt anyone could understand.”

“I don’t have to understand it,” Miorine retorts, “don’t make this more frustrating than it needs to be.”

Silence again.

“...But, if you want to try and find common ground, we can start slow,” Miorine sighs. “List out the small problems you got at the moment, and we’ll increase from there.”

He really doesn’t want to. But it’s so likely that Miorine wouldn’t cross the borderline of his real plight.

“...Chuchu and Felsi nearly got into a fist fight when you texted me,” he starts off, “it was… annoying, to try and separate them. Felsi just jumped off from doing my hair too.”

He hears Miorine snicker.

“Sorry, it just… looks interesting,” she is bad at hiding her mocking laugh.

“I’ll fix it later then.”

“Anyways, I get it, that’s bothersome. I had to fend myself against Chuchu when I put myself into Earth House for Suletta’s test.”

Common ground. So far, so good, he thinks.

“Can I continue?”

“Yeah, sure–”

“I lost my memories and–”

Miorine snips an unripe tomato to the ground on accident. He can tell by the way she lets out a small gasp. He turns to face her.

“...You lost your memories?” She awkwardly asks. Perfect, he’s on the right track of shaking her off.

“Yes, and there’s more,” and he hears her take a deep breath.

“...Go on.” She doesn’t want to hear anymore.

“Because of that, it’s taken me a while to realize something about my body–”

“That being…?”

“I wasn’t born a man.”

It comes out much smoother than he anticipated, but he couldn’t feel more proud of himself. He’s for sure shaken off Miorine, and if this means it’ll make her convince Suletta to leave him alone, things can go back to the way they were.

“...Huh,” Miorine answers. Huh. Huh. “I guess we may be similar.”

“...Explain.” He frowns.

“I wasn’t born a girl.” Miorine says. Oh. She lets out a bitter laugh. “It’s almost fucked up, my father lets me embrace and pursue my identity, but that’s as much freedom as he grants me.”

That–

That sounds a little too familiar.

“...I see,” he looks to his hands in his lap, how they begin to tremble. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry can’t change anything now,” Miorine shrugs. “But, as long as Suletta can keep going, that’s more than enough for me to have some hope.” She speaks of her with such a fond tone. “Want to add to your mountain of problems?”

 “There’s one more thing, but I doubt you’ll believe it.”

“I’ll take it with a grain of salt,” Miorine offers, as she properly focuses on her work again.

“...I’m not the real Elan Ceres.”

She pauses in cutting the vegetation.

“My whole existence was modified to look like him. It’s why I…” his voice wavers.

It’s why he lost his memories.

It’s why he won’t 100% truly appear like the real thing.

It’s why he can’t afford to allow himself to ever lose again.

It’s why he distances himself from everyone.

It’s why he cannot connect.

It’s why he’s not human. Why he’s nothing more than a glorified doll that’s bound to be thrown into the trash at any moment now.

Why–

Why is he telling all of this to her?

Is this what it means for someone to hit a breaking point? How awful, he hates it– his chest feels so tight, and, and–

“Elan,” the girl moves closer to him, pulling at his shoulder, and a memory comes back to him; being pulled to operation. Something, something screams at him to move away from her, and he frantically forces himself to stand on the steps.

They both stare at each other. His breath is so, so ragged now.

“...Elan,” Miorine addresses him more quietly, “come in.”

She retreats to the back of the greenhouse. Tremors roll through his body, and he considers to just leave and return to Peil. But, he hears students starting to walk along the path, and surely enough; if they notice him at the steps, they’re bound to ask questions.

Why are you with the bride?

Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?

Hey, he recognizes the burning feeling in his eyes, why is the ice prince crying?

He walks in without another word, making sure to not touch anything.

As far as he was concerned, this was meant to be Miorine’s only sanctuary. Compared to him, she has a lot more free-will; She would be the kind of person to have something he never would have considered. He awkwardly stands in the back of the room, watching Miorine continue to work. She tends to the vegetables and plants ever so carefully, as if they were something so fragile.

She pulls out a handkerchief and wraps it around a tomato. Soon enough, she’s standing before him.

“Take it,” she urges him to hold out his hands, and promptly drops the tomato in them. “I don’t give these to people often– but you need something to help cool you down.”

She turns back to her work, adding “leave when you feel a little better. I won’t tell Suletta anything you said.”

He stares at the fruit in his hands. Slowly, he moves to take a bite out of it. It’s acidic, but somewhat sweet. The juice spills out onto his chin. The texture is admittedly strange to him, but he couldn’t think much about that now.

If only for a moment, the world pauses for him.

Later that night, Guel challenges Suletta to a duel.

“You’re not gonna watch?” Shaddiq stands by the elevator that leads to the Committee room, the next day.

“No intention to,” Elan shakes his head, “besides, we both know she’ll win anyways.”

Shaddiq hums.

“Are you so sure?” He asks. “No offense, but people had their bets on you winning against Guel.”

Elan shrugs.

“I’m positive. She can’t afford to lose.”

“Look at you getting serious, are you in love with her? Is this why you had a dramatic change in character?”

Elan glares at him.

“No, it’s just–” He sighs.

“Just?”

“As long as Suletta can keep going, that’s more than enough for me to have some hope.”

“...Her bride needs her.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Shaddiq looks at him puzzled, but eventually his expression relaxes to a nostalgic smile.

“You’re right,” he says, “she does.”

Without fail, Suletta wins again. Guel returns to being on thin ice with his father.

And days later, Elan is allowed to pilot Pharact again.

“Just don’t raise the permet score up to four,” Belmeria warns him. “I… don’t know what would happen to you.”

Everytime he practices with it, he’s careful to not dabble with the permet.

After a few days, he’s dragged into serial battles. Apparently a few students were requesting to fight against him in the Pharact, ever since his loss against Guel.

The fights come by relatively easy, but it’s in the last one where he’s forced to raise his permet score up to four. Dueling people is usually no problem, but seeing as five people wanted to take him on at once in a single round, it unfortunately called for it.

Surely, it will be fine. If he plays it safe for a while, with tests run on him to check in on his health regularly, it’ll be fine.

“E-Elan!!”

Suletta Mercury greets him at the greenhouse. Part of her request for winning against Guel was for her to be able to speak to Elan again, and she’s noticeably in higher spirits because of it.

“Ahem!”

Suletta looks over Elan’s shoulder.

“O-Oh! You too, Felsi…?”

He isn’t sure how this happened either. After the day of visiting Miorine in the greenhouse, Felsi seemed… obsessive in wanting to carry out Guel’s order of keeping an eye on him. But, even after Guel’s loss, where his closest friends remained to stick at his side to fight off anyone who tries to be snide, Felsi continued to try and follow Elan around.

He just lets her. Sometimes he asks her if she can fix his hair. He learned that she tried to style him after her style, part of it being pulled up high. He doesn’t know what other sort of style he could put his hair in to make it look somewhat presentable, so he leaves it all to her.

He supposes that Felsi is akin to a small animal following after him now.

“Did you really have to come?” Miorine asks, staring directly at Felsi with a glare. “Elan, you can tell her to leave you alone, you know.”

Felsi’s mouth gapes at such a suggestion, and gazes at Elan with an expression he could only label as “pathetic”. Elan sighs.

“I’m sorry about her,” he says to Miorine, “she and I can be well on our way.”

“That’s his way of telling you to fuck off,” Miorine says.

“No, it’s not–”

“Don’t go putting words into Mr. Elan’s mouth, you–”

“S-Stop fighting!” Suletta squeaks, and the three of them quiet down. He almost asks himself if this is as close to normalcy he'll achieve.

Miorine turns back deeper into the greenhouse, but her voice still travels far. “Are you doing alright, Elan?”

In the time between their so-called “heart-to-heart”, Elan has found himself interacting with Miorine more than he ever has before. Perhaps it’s the mutual upbringings; being born in the wrong body, and having no way to make a path for yourself. Maybe it’s the fact that Miorine is the only person who knows who he actually is.

He really can’t say.

“I’m doing well,” he answers easily to her, “I just… have to be careful, in my next few duels, that's all.”

Miorine huffs. “Don’t tell me you immediately strained your body out after piloting Pharact?”

“...Not immediately,” he tries to say, but even from a distance, Miorine’s glare reaches him. “I just… won’t be able to go full power with Pharact.”

“What do you mean?” Suletta looks at him curiously. She has… no clue of anything that’s occurred these past few days, and to explain it all now would–

“Mind your business!” Felsi speaks up, as if she knows everything. She doesn’t in the slightest, but it allows Elan some more reprieve from having to confess everything to Suletta.

But now, his vision feels–

“E-Elan?” Suletta suddenly gets closer to him, reaching to hold his shoulders. “You’re swaying, a bit… Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine,” he stutters, as he tries to focus on the ground. His head is suddenly throbbing, but maybe, maybe he just suddenly got sick and–

He feels something gush out of his nose. Suletta’s shriek affirms that it’s blood.

“I-I’m gonna run to find someone!” Felsi shrieks and takes off, as Miorine quickly runs out of the greenhouse to see the commotion.

“Hey, Elan… Elan!” Miorine rushes up to him, just as his vision goes black.

Guel has never thought of himself to be a patient person. Shaddiq showing up to Jeturk house unannounced is already testing him.

But before either of them could say anything, Felsi burst into the building with frantic steps and tears in her eyes.

“M-Mr. Guel!!” She sobs. “Something– Something happened to Mr. Elan!!”

Guel and Shaddiq pause.

“...Where is he?” Shaddiq quickly asks, and the door to the building opens again.

Miorine and Suletta are trying to carry him in, each at his side with one of his arms around their shoulders. Elan’s nose leads a messy trail of blood, covering the lower front of his face, dripping down his neck and onto his cravat.

It’s a really horrible sight. Guel doesn’t think twice about moving in to grab him. His body seems so light, and in other situations he would have probably teased him for it, it honestly makes his stomach sink now.

He carries him to one of the couches in Jeturk house, and Felsi immediately follows behind him with a blanket over his body.

“...We should maybe remove his clothes, he shouldn’t overheat,” Shaddiq suggests, “Guel, help me out–”

“I’ll do it.” Miorine steps up to the two boys.

“Huh?” Guel looks down at her, but Miorine just shoves him aside.

“Let me take care of him. All of you turn around, I’ll let you know when I finished.”

Guel almost wants to argue about how a girl shouldn’t undress a guy, but Shaddiq places a hand on his shoulder with a sigh. They lost that battle it seems.

They turn around, and Miorine is fast with her work. Barely 2 minutes pass by when she tells them they can look again, and when they do, she’s folding Elan’s clothes into a pile.

She pulled his handbook out too.

“We have to call a nurse or something,” Felsi says. “W-What if he’s–”

“He’s not dying,” Shaddiq assures her. “Maybe we should call Peil? If this is something on his health record, then maybe–”

“They’re not going to help.” Guel answers too quickly, and winces at how harsh his words are.

“W-What do you mean…?” Suletta sounds frightened. “T-They should care for him, right?”

Guel grits his teeth.

“He never had a family. He said that he belongs to Peil until the day he dies.” He repeats the words Elan haunted him with. “I don’t think they’ll be much help.”

He sees Miorine clench her fists from the corner of his eye.

A handbook starts ringing. It startles all of them, as they frantically check their pockets. One by one, they all realize that it’s not their handbooks ringing but–

“Belmeria Winston,” Miorine reads out the name on the screen. “...I’m answering it. All of you shut up, now.”

The feeling of kicking his legs. Sitting on a chair that seemed all too high for him. All that’s in the room is a table, and nothing else. He has his hands over his eyes.

“Open them!”

He uncovers his eyes.

A vanilla cake. Unfrosted, one candle sticks through it, a thin rectangular shape. His mother is smiling behind it.

It’s so, so perfect.

“You have to make a wish!” his mother says, gesturing to the cake. “Think of a wish, and then blow the candles out!”

He closes his eyes tightly. What could he ever want? There’s a lot of things he’d really like to have, but–

“I got it!” He opens his eyes and quickly blows out the candle. His mother laughs and claps her hands, as she stands up to turn the lights on in the room.

“What did you wish for?” She sits down in front of him with a knife, cutting into the cake.

“Why do you want to know?” He innocently asks.

“So I can make it come true, of course,”

“Really?!”

“Of course,” his mother smiles gently, “whatever you want, I promise I’ll make it come true for you. No matter how long it takes.”

“Okay! Then, my wish is–”

“He’s going to be okay,” Belmeria moves to pack up the equipment she brought. The call being answered by Delling Rembran’s daughter was one thing, but hearing how Number Four’s health suddenly dropped was another. “He just…”

“Just?” Miorine sits by her side. Guel had taken the liberty of escorting Felsi to find Petra, and Shaddiq escorting Suletta back to Earth house, under Miorine's request.

“...He won’t be able to pilot anymore.” Belmeria mutters, looking at the sleeping boy. She hopes that the girl doesn’t question her too much, that she just accepts that this is what happens–

“That idiot raised his permet too high, didn’t he?” Miorine growls. Belmeria raises her head in shock.

“Huh-”

“He told me everything, you know,” Miorine crosses her legs. “Is he seriously a clone of the real Elan Ceres?”

Belmeria bites her lip.

“What happens to him now?” Miorine changes the question. “He can no longer pilot. So, what becomes of him?”

Belmeria considers her words wisely.

“We… replace him.” She says slowly. “I can argue for him to still be kept around, he can still get us plenty of data and–”

“Tell them he died.”

“What?” Belmeria gasps at the suggestion, as Miorine moves to grab at the equipment bag and digs for something. “What are you trying to get–”

She pulls out scissors and moves close to Number Four’s face. Belmeria closes her eyes and braces for the worst.

But it doesn’t come.

“Come on,” Miorine huffs, and Belmeria opens her eyes. No injuries on Number Four’s face, or anywhere on his body. Miorine holds up a few strands of his hair.

“Tell them there was an accident with Pharact, and that he passed away privately in his room.” She presses the hair into Belmeria’s hand. “That way, no one knows what the truth is.”

Belmeria stares at where their hands meet.

“...I never would have expected you two to get close,” she says, and almost feels a weight come off of her shoulders.

“We’re not,” Miorine answers, “... at least, I think we’re not. But, if something happened to him, none of us would forgive ourselves. The others don’t know as much as I do, but they’re all aware… something is going on at Peil. So things would be better this way for both sides, don’t you think?” She explains, always being a perceptive girl.

Belmeria lets out a tired chuckle. “It would be, but…” she gazes at Number Four’s sleeping face. “What would become of him? Are you going to get him to hide this identity?”

“Yes,” Miorine sounds so certain, “after all of this, I think he deserves to present as his own being. Don’t you agree?”

Belmeria can’t bring herself to say no.

“Mom,” he feels a bit older now in this memory, as he stands outside of a building and faces his mother.

She’s aged over the years, but she still has the same gentle smile, even if she’s long worn out by the world around them.

“Yes?” She asks.

“Do you think… I’ll be okay?” It’s a dumb question to ask his mother, but he needs something to affirm he’s making the right decision from this.

“...I don’t know,” his mother answers honestly, and he feels his shoulders tremble. Yet, she reaches out, and holds him against her body. “But, what I do know is, when all of this is done, I’ll come find you again.”

“...You promise?” He mumbles.

“Of course!” She pets his head. “You need someone to welcome you home, of course.”

The silence between them is warm.

“Oh, that's right!” She speaks up again. “It’s your [  ] birthday, I know this is late to ask, but what do you wish for? By the time we meet again, I’ll make sure to have it granted for you.”

He lets out a shaky breath.

“Can… Can I just wish for a warm home?”

In a few weeks time, Enhanced Person Five is on the Asticassia campus. His demeanor is a complete 180 compared to Four, with how he’s so cheery and positive. It disturbs people like Guel, Chuchu and Shaddiq, while others–

Others don’t pay him any attention.

“Es!!”

Closing his book, Es Cer looks up to see Suletta Mercury running toward him in the Earth House common area.

…Admittedly, he could have chosen a better name, but due to time crunches and lack of… knowledge in names, he had to make due.

At least he no longer bore a complete resemblance to Elan Ceres.

It was a disastrous night of trying to dye his hair, but he likes the end result being a dark purple, and he’s learned a lot of new ways to style it. He was forced to part ways with his earrings, but he got his hands on some pearl studs. They can do the trick, for now.

Es looks at what Suletta’s holding in her hands.

“...Did you bake a cupcake?” He looks at the candle that flickers brightly atop a mess of vanilla frosting.

“W-Well! There were going to be more, but this was the best one of the batch!” Suletta declared, as she takes a seat next to him and holds the plate out. “I… I know you can’t remember the date of your birthday, but–”

“You wanted to make today my birthday?” Es asks, setting his book aside.

“...If that’s okay?” Suletta blushes, embarrassed.

“It’s fine.” He nods. Suletta’s blush shrinks back, and she nods her head.

“O-Okay, then–” and she starts singing happy birthday. It’s quiet, so they don’t disturb others in the dormitory, and so they don’t attract the attention of the goat that manages to appear everywhere.

Suletta finishes the song with a smile.

“S-So, make a wish!”

He pauses.

“E-Ela– I mean, Es?”

“...I don’t need to make a wish,” he says, and Suletta lets out a shocked noise.

“R-Really?! Are you sure you don’t–”

“Suletta Mercury,” he addresses her by her full name with a natural smile, one that doesn’t feel foreign on his skin or through his nerves.

“I think now… I have everything I could ever wish for.”