Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Vanilla Kingdom was a warm and gentle realm, mysteriously suspended in the violet sky.
Beyond the secret Fig Forest, past mounds of cream thick as fog, stretched a tranquil mountain valley blanketed in flowers.
And floating just a little higher still, the Vanilla Castle hung in the air like a dream.

Cream sheep bleated peacefully—“Baaaaa”—as always.
A fragrant breeze carried the distant scent of blossoms. Sunlight filtered through the shifting leaves, casting dappled light onto a pale vanilla-yellow mat below.
Curled atop it, like a cat in repose, lay a blue figure.

It was, of course, Shadowmilk Cookie.
Warm. Still.
The cold dough of his milk body had soaked up just enough heat to lull him into a drowsy daze.
Eyes closed, he melted into the quiet

—until the subtle rustle of approaching steps made him groan, crack one eye open, and mutter irritably.

Well... maybe he had been starting to feel a tiny bit bored.
But that didn’t mean he welcomed uninvited cookies into his space.

So rude.

—Though technically, this wasn’t his space to begin with.
And the fact that another cookie—one who always smelled faintly of vanilla—was already here? Not exactly news.

“Hello! Pure Vanilla Cookie! We’re not interrupting anything, are we?”
“Interrupting? Not at all, my friends. Your visits are always a joy.”
“Really?! Yay! Thank you!”

Tch. Of course.

The great saint probably doesn’t even understand what “interrupting” means.
He does remember he was spending time with me, right?
He does know this was our moment?

“Milk. The children brought snacks. Time to rise.”

“Hi, Shadowmilk Cookie! We brought cream candy pasta! Candy Apple said it’s your favorite!”

…Fine.

If they’ve come bearing tribute, I suppose I can tolerate it—just this once.
But my little minion still deserves a warning.
Telling these squishy bugs my truths? Not very wise.

“…Is there meat in this? Jelly-beef? Cream-lamb?”
“Candy Apple said you liked seafood?”
“What the hell?! Is your tongue broken? Meat is obviously better!”
“…Milk. Gentle language.”

—Are you serious right now? Lying about that?

Shadowmilk’s irritation was real. But it wasn’t unusual—his moods shifted like clouds in a storm.
Pure Vanilla didn’t argue. He simply offered a calm reminder, and gently ran his fingers through Shadowmilk’s cold, milk-slick hair.
The blue cookie muttered under his breath again, still grumpy… but slowly quieted down.

GingerBrave beamed with his usual cheerful tone.

“Well, at least I learned something new! Shadowmilk Cookie prefers meat! I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

At his innocent words, Pure Vanilla Cookie offered a gentle smile.

“Would you? Thank you. I’m sure Milk would be glad.”
“No, I wouldn’t. Who told you that?”
“He says he is.”

Shadowmilk Cookie grumbled as his objection was completely disregarded. Muttering under his breath, he pulled the pasta toward himself.
Surprisingly, he began to eat with grace and refinement—
No clatter, no mess. He twirled the pasta with practiced ease, took precise bites, even chewed in total silence.

…Seafood’s not bad… tolerable, at least.

Lowering the punishment tier in his mind for his misguided minion, Shadowmilk suddenly noticed GingerBrave staring at him.

“…What? Never seen a cookie eat before?”
“No, it’s just... I didn’t expect that. I thought you’d eat more wildly—like a beast.”
“Uncivilized, you mean? Hah. Rude. Who do you think I am?”
“A beast?”
“…Yeah, a beast. But before that—I am Knowledge. Got it?”
“So you’re saying you’re the smartest one?”

Tch. Bored now.

If he had to endure more of this idiotic back-and-forth, he might actually die.
Shadowmilk sighed and turned his gaze away.

The many eyes hidden in his milk-drenched hair were already darting toward other distractions.

GingerBrave, slightly confused, looked to Pure Vanilla Cookie.
He simply chuckled softly and, seeing that Shadowmilk had mentally checked out, kindly changed the subject.

“By the way, GingerBrave Cookie—didn’t your friends come along too?”
“Huh? Oh… yeah. They went to a briefing about the festival.”
“Oh, I see. I hadn’t realized it was already that time. I’m so glad. I never thought the kingdom would celebrate another festival again.”

At the word festival, Shadowmilk’s ears twitched.
Though his body remained turned away, the eyes in his hair were sharply focused on the conversation.

Hah. A festival, huh?

Not that I care about some small, unimpressive kingdom’s party—but for my dear Vanilly...
This magnificent being shall grace the stage.

“Yeah… about that festival,”

GingerBrave said hesitantly, his voice now tinged with confusion and concern.

“I heard… it’s called ‘Thanksgiving’? Is that true?”
“Oh yes, that’s right. It used to be a seasonal tradition, long lost. But when I heard the Crème Republic had kept it alive, I was inspired to bring it back.”
“…So… is it really a day to give thanks to the witches?”

SLAM!

“WITCHES?!!!”

Like a cat who just spotted a cucumber, Shadowmilk Cookie exploded into a screech high enough to shatter crystal.

“Witches?! Did you just say witches?! A day to give thanks for what the witches gave us—TO THE WITCHES?!”

GingerBrave and Pure Vanilla exchanged wide-eyed looks, startled by the sudden outburst.

Shadowmilk clawed at his own hair with trembling fingers, pacing like a maddened beast. A low growl rumbled from his throat.

“…Milk...” Pure Vanilla’s voice was gentle, patient. He extended a calming hand.
“calm down.”

“A festival to thank the witches?! I can’t stay in this kingdom while that kind of filth is happening!”

Shadow milk spat the words through clenched teeth. 

“What a disgrace of a stage! I don’t need a rehearsal—what I need is an audience that isn’t completely brain-dead!”

“Please, calm down, Milk. This celebration isn’t religious. It’s about gratitude—for what we have and what we’ve shared. That’s all. We’re simply gathering to share the harvest.”
“Oh, right. Grateful for the crops, the soil, the warmth of this land… all made possible by the witches, huh?!”

His laughter was sharp and venomous. 

“Let’s all say a big thank you to the Grain Witch! That’s what you really mean, isn’t it?!”
“No. Not in that way. It’s not sacred. It’s just... appreciating each other. Please, Shadow milk. Just listen.”

Words like poison dripped from Shadow milk’s mouth. If malice could kill, his tongue might have been a blade.
But Pure Vanilla didn’t flinch. He stepped quietly closer, his calm unwavering. He knew—pain often wore the mask of fury.

Then Ginger Brave, who had been watching in stunned silence, couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Uh… wait. Who’s the Grain Witch?”
“Does it matter who she is right now?!”
“I-I just don’t know much about witches…”
“DAMN THE WITCHES—MAY THEY BURN IN THAT CURSED OVEN!”

Every syllable exploded from Shadowmilk’s mouth, seething with hatred.
To others, it might have sounded like blasphemy.
But those foolish cookies—they worshipped the witches like gods.

Gods? Hah. Maybe. If gods could be cruel, twisted, and absurd.

Cookies... they didn’t even know what a “human” was.
They don’t know what a human is.

That word—"human"—an ancient utterance, buried beneath the dust of forgotten ages.
To cookies, it is but a phantom syllable—unfathomed, unremembered, unknowable.
They cannot conceive it. Their world holds no shape for such truth.

None understood.
None… except Knowledge.

Only Milk knew.

He was the first.
Born before the others, he learned from the witches.
He carried the truth they could not grasp.
He was their knowledge.
He knew what humans were.

And the truth is...

Cookies are ■■■■■■...

"Ah—no. I mean... I just can't bring myself to like witches. I really think they're evil!"

GingerBrave declared boldly—though he did sneak a glance at Pure Vanilla right after.

"...Huh? Oh? Would you look at that. A sane spectator, at last."

Shadow Milk spun midair with slippery grace, twisting to eye GingerBrave with a suspicious smirk.

"You think witches are evil? Really?"
"Yeah… Some cookies might like them, but I escaped from the witch’s oven. I honestly don’t like her. That’s why I came to ask about the festival."

Shadow Milk narrowed his eyes, as if trying to read him. Then, with a sudden pop! of confetti, he burst into a wide grin.

"There we go! Why didn’t you say that earlier? Woohoo! And here I was, getting all mad for nothing. So! Now we can finally talk about how to ruin that blasted Thanksgiving or whatever. This is what I call a first step!"
"...Milk."

Pure Vanilla spoke gently, troubled. Shadow Milk turned to him with exaggerated flair and clamped a hand over his mouth.

"Nope! Nope! Shhh. Vanilly~? Don’t say anything about this part, okay? I’ll give you a hundred chances, fine—festivals are okay.

But? Every single witch-related thing has to go. Got it? Ooh—maybe we could turn it into a festival about defeating the witch! Not a bad twist, eh?

So! Our little friend—why don’t you go on and tell us again, with that adorable little voice of yours, what you think about witches?"

GingerBrave looked like he was searching for the right words, then started speaking in fragments.

"Um. Witches are evil. Really mean."
"Bravo! 90 points. Basic—but the basics are everything."

Shadow Milk twirled midair again, flourishing his staff in a big circle like a grading professor.

"And they smell. Like, really gross."
"Oooh~ a metaphor! Now we’re talking. Metaphor adds nuance, makes people think. Depth is important."
"And... they’re super ugly."
"...Huh? What?"

A subtle pause. Shadow Milk’s gaze sharpened as if the word had left a strange taste in his mouth.

"Witches have hooked noses, scraggly hair, hunched backs—stuff like that."
"What? Where’d you get that from?"
"Isn’t it true?"

Of course not!
Shadow Milk felt the scream claw up his throat—
but no sound came out.

Wait. Are you saying I’m upset because you insulted witches? No. No no no. I hate witches. Obviously! They all deserve to burn. They betrayed me. They’re monsters. Call them ugly all you want—lie about it, whatever.

—But lies... need to carry at least a sliver of truth.

This one? This is just a lazy, worthless lie. I can’t stand it. I’m not mad... I’m just offended by how bad the lie is.

"Hey, kid—yeah. Witches are evil, nasty creatures. And although I said we should ruin their reputation,
let me tell you something as a master of lies: a lie needs bait. It's an art of subtly shifting the flow of believable information. My subordinates understand that well. A lie should be a gentle nudge on a sloped hill—just a tiny push to make a stone roll on its own. The trick is that a lie grows on its own and becomes uncontrollable."

For the rare moment, Shadow Milk took on the role of a teacher, explaining to this foolish cookie, as he had done before. It wasn’t the first time he’d taught cookie about lies—this was the third time.

"It’s not a lie. Witches are horrible and ugly..."

"Shut up, you bastard."

Shadow Milk’s voice dropped like an icy river in the dead of winter. His words, devoid of any emotion, came out with such coldness that they felt even colder than when he yelled.

In that brief silence, both Pure Vanilla and GingerBrave froze, unable to follow the sudden shift in the flow of conversation.
Shadow Milk smirked, lifting one corner of his mouth in a casual way.

"…Oh, sorry, sorry. What I meant was you should listen to me first~~ Ahem. My lesson isn’t over yet. That was rude, right?"

The clown laughed loudly and exaggerated his movements in the air. But despite his chaotic behavior, Pure Vanilla, feeling confused, self-critical, and angry, couldn’t help but feel a small trace of longing.

Pure Vanilla knew well that Shadow Milk hated and resented witches. He understood that. That’s why he tried to keep him as far from anything religious as possible.

So, at least, Pure Vanilla never brought up witches. He believed it was his duty to protect his partner from something despised.

But maybe—beneath that anger, there was something else hiding. Hatred doesn’t exist without love. Feeling hurt, disappointed, or betrayed meant you had expectations and trust in the other person.

With that realization, Pure Vanilla took a deep breath and reflected on the truth he hadn’t seen before.

At that moment, GingerBrave tilted his head as if something seemed odd, then asked in a childlike manner.

"Hey, Shadow Milk cookie, do you hate witches—"
"—GingerBrave, isn’t it getting late? Did you talk to your friends?"

Pure Vanilla interjected, gently asking GingerBrave.

"Huh? Now that I think about it, you said you'd be back soon... Sorry! Shadow Milk, I’ll hear the rest of the story next time!"

GingerBrave, flustered, immediately started running. The good thing was that he was quite talented at it.
After the storm passed, Pure Vanilla glanced back at Shadow Milk.

Shadow Milk, momentarily at a loss for words, narrowed his eyes slightly, but quickly masked his emotions with a fake smile, shrugging as he laid back on the mat.

"Well... yeah. What do kids know, right? I’m just... wasting energy. No need to worry about it."

With a few quick nods, Shadow Milk curled up next to the warm Vanilla, as if trying to avoid something.

Pure Vanilla, with a look of understanding, gently stroked Shadow Milk's milk-colored hair, his fingers tracing the strands as he gazed down with a complicated realization.

Though Shadow Milk, curled up, wasn’t looking at Vanilla, his hidden eyes avoided Vanilla’s touch while he glanced up at him. Finally, he clicked his tongue lightly and muttered in an irritated tone.

"...What’s with that look? I don’t like it."
 "Milk, you know."
 "Don’t give me that knowing smile. If it were anyone else, I would’ve tossed them into the milk river and drowned them." 
"So, I’m the only one who can you smile like that."
 "...."

He didn’t say anything, and Vanilla continued to stroke his hair gently, enjoying the brief silence. The quiet between them, filled with endless affection, made the air warm, and Pure Vanilla, with careful thought, decided to voice the realization that had just crossed his mind.

"So, Milk... What were witches really like?"

Suddenly.

Shadow Milk stood up and murmured lowly. In an instant, he pinned Pure Vanilla beneath him, his sharp teeth gleaming as they slowly traced along Pure Vanilla’s neck.

"...Vanilla. Did you forget that I hate witches? I’ve been fine until now, but why the sudden change?"

With all his patience, Shadow Milk controlled himself, ensuring he didn’t hurt Vanilla’s body.

"Milk. I thought it would be better for you if I didn’t ask about it. But I think there are some emotions and memories that, for some people, it’s easier to feel better once they’ve shared them with someone.

And if you have someone you can share your memories with, I hope that person is me. Okay? You don’t have to tell me everything. Just... even a little bit."

Pure Vanilla looked at Shadow Milk with affection, his body lying beneath the sharp fangs of Shadow Milk.

His warm hand reached out and touched Shadow Milk’s soul jam. Through that small connection, Pure Vanilla’s affection and kindness seeped into Shadow Milk.

Shadow Milk furrowed his brow, as if being forced into warmth, biting his lip and blinking a few times.

Yeah, if there’s anyone I’d share my memories with, it’s not just anyone. It could only be Pure Vanilla.

He alone could bear the weight of my knowledge. So... It wouldn’t be strange if I talked about "humans," right?

... Shadow Milk and Pure Vanilla are one now. Deception and knowledge are partners, merged into a single cookie of knowledge

So, Pure Vanilla needs to know what I know. It’s not strange at all...
So... If I tell him about "Pure Milk’s" past, it’ll be okay...

Shadow Milk, looking utterly drained, pulled away from Pure Vanilla’s neck, his teeth retracting with an almost reluctant slowness.

He flopped onto the ground beside him, letting out an exaggerated sigh as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him.

"Do whatever you want. It's not like the story’s even that interesting. And if you get bored? Not my fault."

Pure Vanilla, without missing a beat, smiled softly, eyes glinting with that familiar understanding. "Your stories are never boring."

Shadow Milk scoffed, rolling onto his side with a huff. "Hmph."

If this doesn’t end as a short story and continues, I’d like to talk about "Pure Milk" sharing memories of witches.

like this? >

"So... about what you said earlier... the Grain Witch, what's that about? Is there really a witch for grains?" 
"...Yes."
 "Wow, that's fascinating. A witch who makes grains? Like wheat?" 
"Heh, do you think that’s all she can do? She’s all about 'grains'—the whole thing." 
"Wow, so she must like growing plants. I do too." 
"Growing plants? You have no idea what you're talking about, idiot. I’m sure she looks at the animals growing for meat with the eyes of a carnivore, not some plant lover."

Chapter Text

The Kingdom of Pure Vanilla was a warm, magical land.  
Located at the very center of the continent, at the crossroads of all nations, its population was still small. Understandable—this was a kingdom that had once fallen, and was only now being rebuilt.

But those who had gathered here weren’t just survivors.  
They had been drawn by the greatest healer and saint this land had ever known.  
Healers, herbalists, purifiers, white mages—anyone who dealt in magic.  

Some came with nostalgia for the old warm kingdom. Others... well, let’s just say the real estate was suspiciously affordable.

Now that Earthbread’s magic academies were gone, this kingdom had become the hottest center for magical theory and magecraft.

Even now, in the plaza at the heart of this floating magical realm, lofty debates and advanced discussions filled the air.  
Many who came here as students never left.

And recently, the literal source of all magic was living here.

He had no intention of teaching anyone.  
But as he wandered through the town, bored, passing by the cookie scholars absorbed in their discussions, he would casually drop comments like:

“That’s not how you do it~”  
“You don’t even know what’s wrong? Pathetic. It’s not even funny.”

He coped with the stress of being surrounded by these useless, noisy cookies by venting through sharp-tongued insults.  
He wished they would just leave "their" kingdom already—but with Pure Vanilla keeping an eye on him...

Still, he never stopped mocking or tormenting them.  
And to be fair—he wasn’t making any of it up.

“These idiots are truly hopeless. What? A higher-order interpretation of stellar alignment? You got the *name* wrong! Fine, forget the name—what’s with the color? Don’t even care enough to try, huh?  
‘Why does star color matter?’ …Are you brain-dead? Star color correlates directly with temperature.  
And this—ugh—sugar-salt correlation in dessert magic? Disgusting. Sugar and salt are *obviously* different.  
'You don’t know until you taste it’? What, is your brain for decoration? Their electron bonding is completely different!”

But there was one thing Shadow Milk didn’t know.

Those “stupid, noisy cookies”?  
They waited every day with pounding hearts, hoping he would walk by.

Because having the fount of knowledge comment on your research—even insult it—was simply irresistible.

On this peaceful morning in the Vanilla Kingdom,
right in the heart of the village, the royal advisor—wearing his signature waffle-cone hat—was enthusiastically shaking a bright crimson cloth while passionately explaining something to the villagers.

He was Vanilla Chantilly Cream Cookie, originally from the Crème Republic.
The moment he heard that the Vanilla Kingdom had been restored and King Pure Vanilla had returned,
he packed up all the documents in his house and rushed over to offer his help.

“I—I want to help this kingdom!”
He supposedly begged on his knees.

Aside from his tendency to exaggerate, he was actually quite capable and diligent.
If only he didn’t have that strange insistence on making things “better than the Crème Republic.”

“First of all, the main color for the Harvest Festival is orange! Ah, and yellow is also commonly used!
And—of course—pumpkins, wheat, and oats are essential!”

The scholars and healers listened attentively, but most responded with a mix of curiosity and playful teasing.
After all, no one really understood yet what the festival was supposed to represent.

“So… does that mean pumpkins are considered a type of grain now?”
“Maybe he just means any kind of produce? As long as it’s orange or yellow?”
“What about fruits? Are orange-colored fruits allowed too?”

The royal advisor seemed a little flustered, flipping through his parchment several times.

“Um... traditionally, it’s pumpkins and grains. But... I guess anything that fits the color might work?”

“Just fruits, vegetables, and grains? I can’t get by without meat, you know.”
“But meat isn’t something that’s harvested, right? Doesn’t that change the meaning?”

Watching the situation unfold, Pure Vanilla, unable to stand seeing Chantilly Cream being backed into a corner, quietly spoke to Shadow Milk, who was standing nearby.

“Milk, I think I should step in and help him.”
“Why? He’s doing fine. Honestly, I agree with the guy who said he needs meat to feel energized. Besides, people sometimes come up with their best ideas when they’re being heckled.”
“Vanilla Chantilly Cream Cookie was the one who suggested bringing back the festival, but I wanted to do it too. So I can’t just leave him to suffer alone.”
“Ohhh~ So that lunatic who brought us this ridiculous festival is him? Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

Shadow Milk gave a mischievous grin, then raised his hand high.
With a pop! a cone-shaped megaphone appeared in his hand. He took a deep breath and then shouted in a magically altered voice that echoed across the square:

“This is our first time doing this festival, right?
So how about we all pitch in and shape it together?
Let’s create our own Harvest Festival—wait, this isn’t the Crème Republic’s festival, it’s the Vanilla Kingdom’s!
So shouldn’t we start it our way?”

As his voice rang out among the crowd, something strange happened—
it stuck in everyone’s minds, as if they had thought of the idea themselves.
One by one, they started nodding along, then chimed in with agreement.

“Then I want fruit! We barely get any up here in the mountains. What if we import some from the Hollyberry Kingdom?”
“From Hollyberry? Then let’s add music and dancing too! We could all dance together at the end!”
“No, seriously, I need meat to survive!”

In no time, the square turned into a heated debate ground.
Fortunately, most of the people there were used to discussions, so it didn’t devolve into chaos.
Still, Vanilla Chantilly Cream Cookie was practically falling apart, struggling to write down and organize the flood of ideas coming his way.

Meanwhile—
Shadow Milk stared silently at the fluttering orange decorative cloth and murmured under his breath, barely audible.

“…Idiots. …But this might be… kinda fun.”

His eyes followed the chaos unfolding in the center of the square.
In the past, he would’ve simply wiped out the noisy Cookies without hesitation.
But now… a small, almost imperceptible curiosity lingered inside him—for their tiny, pitiful play.

“My, how amusing. I never thought I'd hear that from you, Milk.”
“Huh? What's this—your little underling’s about to burst into tears, and you’re smiling?”
“But it’ll be a fond memory in the end. Don’t you think? And… just like you said, this is our new festival. It’s only right that everyone joins the conversation.”

Pure Vanilla spoke with a quiet smile, though his eyes weren’t on Shadow Milk—they were watching the crowd.
On the sugar-cube-paved plaza glowing under the morning sun, the orange banners on the waffle-cone fences fluttered gently, and the Cookies moved between them, debating with excited hand gestures.
At first, they seemed heated, but before long, anticipation and joy filled the air as they started crafting the idea of the festival together.

Because now, this Harvest Festival wasn’t a relic of the past, nor a Crème Republic tradition.
It had become theirs—a brand new celebration born from this kingdom.

With a dismissive scoff, Shadow Milk tossed his cone-shaped megaphone behind him and sneered:

“Ha~ Oh please. Empty words. Can’t you tell just by looking? I just wanted to see that idiot flounder in front of everyone, okay? Is it my fault you’re all interpreting my jokes the wrong way?”
“There’s always a bit of truth hidden in your words. And even if not, your little ‘joke’ is already making this festival better.”
“…Tch. They’d better come up with something decent. I have no intention of keeping anyone that dumb in this kingdom. The only reason I tolerate those noisy brats is because they’re barely—just barely—better than the other flakes out there.”

Pure Vanilla chuckled softly and turned away from the square.
His robe trailed behind him in gentle sways, and his steps were light, unhurried.
He had already etched this scene of abundance into his heart, letting its warmth settle deep within.

Floating lazily beside him, Shadow Milk tilted his head, mildly surprised.

“What, not helping your whiny little lackey? That’s kinda cold. Spartan leadership, huh?”
“They’ll manage just fine. Maybe they’ll even come up with ideas I’d never imagine.
And if I hear them in advance… well, that’d spoil the fun, wouldn’t it?”
“Hmph~ okay, fair enough. Listening to what your underlings bring to the table is part of being a boss. So? What now?”
“I think I’ll write a letter to Hollyberry.”

In one corner of the plaza, under the sun, a small pile of dried grain lay neatly stacked. Pure Vanilla slowly approached, running his fingers gently across pumpkins, wheat, and oats. A soft earthy scent drifted up, and the grain’s full weight settled into his touch.

“There was a suggestion earlier... about fruit, music, berry juice and all that. But those kinds of things aren’t easy to come by in the Vanilla Kingdom.
I’m not sure how the festival will unfold, but I want to let Hollyberry know how things are here—maybe they’ll want to help.”

Shadow Milk watched Pure Vanilla’s fingers with a furrowed brow.

“…Why are you picking through grain?”

“To decorate the letter. I thought if I used the finest grains to line the edges, Hollyberry could feel the spirit of the festival.”

Shadow Milk turned his gaze from Pure Vanilla’s fingers to the grain pile, then tapped a few kernels with his staff.

“That’s not it.”

“…Sorry?”

“That’s not the good stuff.”

He tapped through the pile with a flick of magic, sifting until a few rough-looking grains floated up—some cracked, others with tough husks. He dropped them into Pure Vanilla’s hands.

“They might look like nothing, maybe even bug-bitten. But these survived wind and rain. And they’ll probably keep growing. Those polished ones? No fiber, too sweet, burns out fast... This is the real deal. Good for your body too. Not that I care what you put in your letter, but... if the person reading it has even half a brain, they’ll get it. ‘Ah, so this is what their festival means.’”

“…I didn’t think of it like that. Thank you.”

“If the other kingdoms laugh at you, that reflects on me. If my so-called partner can’t even pick the right decoration for a letter, what do you think that says about me?”

At those words, Pure Vanilla stared at the grain in his hand. He thought back to his first words—about giving thanks for each other, and for the lives they’d made it through. That was the festival he’d wanted to create. Not one that was flashy or overdone, but one that cherished survival, and gave meaning to what still remained.

“If grain exists to nourish... then the best kind isn’t the one that feeds just one and vanishes. The good kind—real grain—is what survives, takes root, and grows again, even when it’s broken…”

Shadow Milk turned around with a casual spin, pretending not to care, his voice trailing off. It felt like a rare moment when his deeper thoughts slipped through. But to Pure Vanilla, it sounded like words he might’ve heard from someone else long ago.
And if that was true… there was only one person it could have been.

He looked down at the grain in his hand, now glowing faintly in the sunlight. Carefully, he made up his mind.
If he wanted to truly understand Shadow Milk, this—this might be the way.

"Was that… something the Grain Witch said earlier?”

Shadow Milk paused for a moment, then shrugged.

“…Who knows~? What, you think I just parrot whatever I hear? Even if the words are the same, I make them useful—my way.”

He tilted his head back and sighed, muttering as though tired. The sigh carried a trace of magic, dimming the air with a touch of melancholy.

“Can we not go there right now? I know this was the perfect cue for all those deep, heartfelt questions you’ve been saving up, but do you really have to pounce just ‘cause the topic lined up?”

“I just thought… what you said about good grain was really interesting. And today was the first time I heard a witch could grow crops. I like growing plants too, you know.”

“Plants? You? Hellooo~~ knock knock? Anybody home? You raise them like pets, don’t you? You do know there’s a difference between livestock and pets, right?”

“…I see. Then I guess the witch must’ve enjoyed feeding others.”

Pfft. Shadow Milk let out a dry laugh, twirling one hand dismissively.

“Hah? Dunno about enjoyed. She believed being full was the highest value, sure. It was pathetic, honestly. What made her think that was the answer to happiness? The world’s already full of greedy pigs. There's a limit to how dumb you can be.”

“Being full is important. It gives people strength.”

“You’re so naive~ so boring~ painfully dumb. Do you really think pigs ever get enough? They’ll just keep demanding more.”

Pure Vanilla closed his eyes, sadness washing over him.
He too had seen it—cookies reaching out, always asking for more.
Even when they’d been given enough, it was never enough.
But he knew… it wasn’t greed. It was desperation.
A wounded, empty part of them that needed filling.
It wasn’t entirely their fault…

“That’s why the witch was cruel. Food that appears without effort—it’s a shortcut to rot.
You think life gets better just because you mean well? Because you trust? Please. That’s not care, that’s ignorance.
Give people abundance without cost, and what do you think happens? ‘Thanks so much~’ and everyone lives happily ever after?
Yeah right. That kind of empty generosity just leads to decay.
Being full isn’t a sin.
But if it makes you look away from the real problem?
Then yeah… that’s evil.”

“…Milk.”

With a loud clap, Shadow Milk threw his arms wide and floated into the air, hiding his face in exaggerated flair.

“–Ugh! What a drag! The air’s getting heavy again. Enough of this dusty old drama script!
I’m suddenly very curious how that idiot with the vanilla cone hat is holding up—so if you’ll excuse this clown~?”

Before Pure Vanilla could respond, Shadow Milk darted off into the plaza, his cape fluttering once in the sun before melting into the shadows.

Luckily, he wasn’t disappointed.
The royal advisor, overwhelmed by relentless questioning, had finally thrown up.
Several healers hovered nearby, helplessly trying to support him.
Amidst the chaos, a few indifferent bluebirds had landed on the beautifully arranged grain displays, casually pecking away.
It was a mess.

Pure Vanilla stood alone, gazing down at the grains in his hand.

The ones Shadow Milk had chosen weren’t smooth or shiny—they were rough, marked by time and struggle.

Shadow Milk had mocked the so-called “Grain Witch,” calling her foolish, even wicked.
He spoke of her with scorn… and yet, he’d taken her philosophy apart with care. He’d shaped her words into something new—something he could call “good grain.”

That wasn’t just for mockery.
There was something beneath the contempt.

Was it… a kind of respect?

He denied her, yet agreed with her. Hated her, but echoed her.
Called it useless, but still carried its heart.
His contradictions tangled together, but behind them all… was a quiet trace of longing.

If I want to understand him, I need to understand the witches.

In truth, Pure Vanilla had never cared much for witches.
Where cookies came from didn’t matter to him.
Even someone like White Lily—what they was made for had never been the point.
What mattered was what they chose to become.

That’s why talk of gods or purpose had always felt so far away.

But… if Shadow Milk gave meaning to the witches—
If something of him was hidden in that meaning—

Then maybe this was the way forward.
A way to understand him.

Chapter Text

In the heart of the steamy subtropical jungle on the southeastern edge of the Crispy Continent, there stood a kingdom that thrummed with life like an endless celebration—the Kingdom of Hollyberry.

Petals rained from the sky in a riot of colors, and the air was saturated with the scent of ripe fruit, sweet and heady like fruit punch. Cookies sang with juice still on their lips, their laughter and footsteps filling the lively streets in an unending dance.

Pure Vanilla smiled at the vibrant scene, carefully ascending the palace steps.

The palace itself was a masterpiece.

Its soaring domed roof glistened under the sun, layered in jam tarts that shifted color with the light—from crimson to pink, and sometimes, a rare flicker of green. Pillars framed in pastry crusts were carved with intricate fruit motifs, and the floor gleamed with a polished layer of hardened cherry jam. Beyond the windows, soda fountains bubbled over in the gardens, where peach and passionfruit blossoms arched above winding paths.

The echo of hurried footsteps resounded through the stately corridor. Their owner soon burst into view—a warrior of raw energy, pink-haired and packed with muscle—Hollyberry herself.

“Well, well! Look who it is—Pure Vanilla! It’s been way too long!”

Without hesitation, she swept him into a crushing hug and twirled him around like a toy. Though briefly dizzy, Pure Vanilla laughed, knowing full well this was just her way of saying hello.

“You’re looking skinny again! Are you even eating your jellies properly?”

“I appreciate the welcome, Hollyberry. I was too excited to eat beforehand—knowing how much you enjoy preparing a feast for your guests, I thought it only polite to arrive with an empty stomach.”

“Hah! You do know me well!”

She laughed heartily and stretched out her hand.
“Dinner’s ready and waiting! Come, let’s not waste a moment!”

“Shall we?”

She led Pure Vanilla past the grand banquet hall, where music soared beneath towering jam chandeliers. Plates piled high with jam pies and fresh fruit preserves sparkled under the light—but instead of stopping, Hollyberry guided him deeper into a quieter wing of the palace.

“We’ve got a special guest today. She’s not the type to enjoy big crowds…”

Hollyberry gave a sly smile.
“But she said you’re fine. Said she couldn’t help but like a Cookie like you.”

“I see. Don’t tell me… the guest is—”

“Bingo! Exactly who you’re thinking of. Hey! I’m back!”

With her usual flair, Hollyberry flung open the door—a door shaped like a strawberry jam pie—and stepped inside.

And there she was.

Nestled among fluffy cotton candy cushions, a pink-winged angel slowly stirred from a light nap, yawning as she stretched.

“Hmm… You’re back already? Yaaawn… I must’ve dozed off a bit.”

Delicate white sugar wings fluttered lazily, and beneath them, a pair of small devilish wings twitched. Her eyes, glimmering between heavy lids, sparkled like stardust.

Eternal Sugar.

Resting one hand on her cheek, she offered Pure Vanilla a smile—serene, mysterious, and impossible to read.

“Nice to meet you, Pure Vanilla Cookie.”

“The pleasure is mine, Eternal Sugar Cookie. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

He was caught slightly off guard by the encounter, but he knew that aside from Shadow Milk, Eternal Sugar was the only one among the Beast who had ever shown open support. More than that, she was his lover’s childhood friend, and by extension, a friend of a friend—hardly someone he had reason to dislike.

Even if there were reasons, Pure Vanilla simply wasn’t the type to harbor resentment. He returned her gaze with his usual gentle smile, a quiet and genuine welcome.

Eternal Sugar’s smile never wavered, but she tilted her head just slightly, casting a faint shadow across her face.

Her eyes shimmered with a warmth that didn’t quite reach the depths—like light dancing on the surface of still, deep water.

“Oh, really? I wonder what he might’ve said… It wasn’t trash talk, was it? Or maybe…”

Her voice trailed off, as her gaze slowly, sweetly wrapped around him—like syrup creeping down the side of a glass, slow and inescapable.

Pure Vanilla sensed the tension beneath her sugar-smooth tone, but answered with steady kindness.

Some Cookies took time to open up. That was normal. Some were even openly hostile. He understood that better than anyone—after all, the most difficult one of all might still be back at the Vanilla Kingdom, grumbling at other Cookies and throwing little fits, just as always.

“Of course, it was a wonderful story. I heard you stood by Shadow Milk… that you changed your mind and chose to speak up for the other Cookies. I deeply respect and admire that decision.”

Eternal Sugar let out a soft laugh, gently covering her mouth with her hand.
It was a laugh laced with curiosity, resignation, and perhaps, just a hint of weariness.

“…Courage, huh. Most would call it foolishness.”

“If you acted knowing that, then I would still call it courage.”

Silence settled between them—quiet, but not tense.
It was the kind of pause shared by two souls cautiously trying to understand each other, not confrontational, but searching.

And then, Hollyberry booming voice shattered the stillness.

“Alright, alright! What’s with this moody vibe? You’re both my guests—let’s keep it cheerful, yeah?”

She gave Eternal Sugar a hearty pat on the back.

“Look, Sugar. No matter how mysterious you act, Pure Vanilla’s gonna accept you just the same! Honestly, I’ve never met a Cookie as kind-hearted as he is!”

Eternal Sugar gave a soft chuckle, shrugging slightly.

“Yeah… he really is just like everyone said. It’s just—well, you know. I’ve always been a little cautious about trusting someone right away.”

Pure Vanilla nodded, offering a warm, understanding smile.

“Take all the time you need. We’ve got plenty of it ahead… and I’ll always be ready to listen.”

Eternal Sugar met his gaze for a moment, then gave a quiet nod.

“…Alright. I’ll look forward to that.”

They sat down for a quiet meal together.

The drowsy afternoon light streamed through the windows and spilled across the table, where layers of exquisite dishes, jellybeans, and pies were spread out like a feast from a dream.
Pure Vanilla carefully picked up a slice of jam pie, his voice warm with gratitude as he spoke.

“Thank you so much for inviting me today. As I mentioned in my letter… there’s a small festival I wanted to discuss with you.”

Hollyberry, her lips stained with berry juice, nodded with a bright look of recognition.

“Ah, yeah! I heard about that. What was it—Thanksgiving? You’re planning to bring back an old festival, right? Isn’t that something they still celebrate in the Crème Republic?”

…Pure Vanilla swallowed a bite of pie and replied gently.

“We’re hoping to celebrate Thanksgiving in the Vanilla Kingdom. But… we still lack so much. Fruits, spices, instruments to play music… Honestly, we barely have anything left. So, I wanted to ask. Hollyberry—would you be willing to share a bit of the abundance your kingdom still holds?”

Hollyberry popped a lump of jam into her mouth, then suddenly stood up with a loud thump.

“Of course!! Did you think I’d say no? Come on! This is the Hollyberry Kingdom we’re talking about—if it’s a festival, we go all in! I’ll send fruit, spices, juice, even a whole band if you want!”

Pounding her chest with a hearty laugh, Hollyberry then tilted her head slightly, looking curious.

"...But wait. I heard they have a sacred choir or something like that in the Crème Republic’s version of the festival. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to ask them?"

At that, Eternal Sugar, who had been quietly seated atop a cloud-like cushion, slowly raised her head.

“This festival… is it meant as an offering to the Witch?”

Her voice was soft, but there was a subtle sharpness to it. She picked up her fork, her fingers moving with slow, deliberate weight.
There was no loud tension, but something in the air had shifted—like a test cloaked in indifference, waiting for the right answer.

Pure Vanilla met her gaze calmly and answered without hesitation.

“No. It’s not for a god. It’s for the cookies.
It’s a day to bless one another, to give thanks that we’ve made it through another long season together.
I want them to comfort each other… to be a little bit happier. We can thank the divine, sure—but I don’t think that’s the point.”

Eternal Sugar looked at him for a moment, then let out a quiet chuckle as she stabbed a small jam square with sudden, ruthless precision.

“…Did he like that sort of thing?”

Pure Vanilla gave a slightly awkward smile.

“Probably not.”

“…But that’s exactly what I want to show Shadow Milk.”

The moment his name was mentioned, Eternal Sugar reacted subtly. Lifting her long lashes, she spoke in a tone that made her opinion clear.

“Hm… but Shadow Milk? He’d hate that kind of atmosphere. He can’t stand crowds, and he despises words soaked in emotion even more. And if there’s even the faintest hint of the Witch’s scent in the air… well, he’d probably throw a fit.”

“I know. That’s exactly why I want to show him something different. A scene that might make him feel safe enough to love this kingdom. To let him know that maybe… just maybe, it’s okay to live like this. And more than anything… I want him to be happy.”

Pure Vanilla thought of a certain milk who was probably sulking right about now. When Pure Vanilla had insisted on personally visiting the Hollyberry Kingdom to ask for help, Shadow Milk had rolled around on his bed for hours in protest. He even warned that if Pure Vanilla didn’t return within ten nights, all the sheep’s wool would be shaved off. Well, what choice did he have?

There were so many things he wanted to show him. So many scenes he hoped they could create together.
And one day, he dreamed of building a kingdom where Shadow Milk could live without fear—without needing to push everything away.

“So, you sound pretty confident…”

“It’s not confidence. But… I do have faith.”

Eternal Sugar slowly let go of her fork. The silver utensil stood trembling, still pierced through a piece of jam pie. Watching it sway lazily, she grabbed her berry juice, gave it a small twirl, and smiled.

“Well, with a reason that sweet, how could I not help? So, what was it you needed again? If it’s music you’re looking for—I'm actually quite confident in that area.”

Hollyberry swung her juice goblet and slapped both cookies heartily on the back. Lifting the mood, as always, was her specialty.

“Alright, alright! No need to dance around it like that! Our job’s simple—we help Pure Vanilla and make this festival a smashing success!”

The day spent preparing for the festival slowly came to an end, and the night deepened.
Pure Vanilla sat quietly at the edge of the high balcony of the Hollyberry Castle.
The night sky was deep and still.
Where the sunlight had touched the outer walls earlier, now only the moonlight gently settled.

He often looked at the moon.
Beyond that moon, somewhere on the dark and lonely land, his lover was.
Even now, somewhere over there.

“Hello,”

A soft voice called from behind him.

“It’s a nice night.”

Pure Vanilla slowly turned around and nodded.
Eternal Sugar, draped in a light blanket, approached with tired eyes.
Resting her candyfloss-like head on her pillow, she propped her chin on her hand and yawned.

“Hmm… yawn... it’s really quiet.”

The moonlight and the cold breeze passed between the two.
After a short silence...

“…You miss your friends, don’t you?”

Pure Vanilla spoke gently.

Instead of answering, Eternal Sugar stared at the moon and tilted her head slightly.

“…Yeah. I miss them. I always have, and I probably always will.”

At her words, Pure Vanilla lowered his head, feeling a tightness in his chest.

Now, the Beasts were divided.
Two of the five chose to coexist with the cookies, while the other two had stopped their activities, but they had no intention of coexisting with the cookies.
And the last one… still rejected any cookies that came into their territory, remaining isolated.

They had become both friends and enemies, or perhaps neither—standing quietly on an undefinable boundary.

But Eternal Sugar let Pure Vanilla's heavy silence slide past her as if it were nothing.

“Not that I haven’t contacted them at all. None of them really want anything from me. Just because the cookies turned their backs doesn’t mean I have to, right?”

She spoke lightly, but those words made Pure Vanilla widen his eyes.

“Yeah. To be honest… Shadow Milk’s the same. As long as the Crispy Continent’s not involved, I don’t really care how they live.”

Pure Vanilla froze in shock.
He had always considered the relationship between them to be delicate and sensitive.
He had thought deeply about how lonely Shadow Milk was, how he stood on the edge…
Eternal Sugar’s simple and calm words were a bit of a shock.

Staring blankly with his mouth open, Pure Vanilla then realized.
He had assumed, on his own, that they had turned against each other.

'Oh my… I’ve been assuming all along that they were enemies, just because I thought they’d turned their backs.'

His face grew hot. How embarrassing.

“Well… I mean... I’m sorry. Shadow Milk never said anything like that… I guess I was trying to make assumptions.”

“Haam… He’s always a bit of an odd one. Full of secrets, and his heart is closed off. He tends to have a lot of thoughts to himself… He keeps getting hurt on his own, running away on his own, and coming to conclusions on his own. Honestly, it feels like talking to a dozen locks.”

“…Is that so?”

“That’s why I was surprised. I never imagined that ‘he’—Shadow Milk—would have someone to share his secrets with.”

“…I’m glad you see it that way. But still, he doesn’t open up very easily.”

“Well, the Shadow Milk you’ve seen might be a completely different cookie from the one I’ve seen. If that’s what you consider him not opening up, then I’m not sure what I’ve been seeing all this time. To be honest… It’s just tiring, right?”

“…But that’s what makes him cute.”

“Whoa… whoa whoa… A-Ah… What did you just say…?”

Pure Vanilla laughed a little shyly. Then, he felt a bit more at ease.

Looking up at the quiet moon, he thought to himself.

Oddly enough… it felt comfortable. He had never been able to talk freely about Shadow Milk with other cookies. He had always had to prove that he was “getting better” and explain that he was “not dangerous.” Whenever he talked about him, it was always in a space of defense and justification.

Even with friends.

But Eternal Sugar… Even though she complained and sometimes spoke about him in a way that sounded like gossip, there was endless affection hidden beneath those words.

Pure Vanilla suddenly thought:
If I really were bad-mouthing Shadow Milk, Eternal Sugar would have probably attacked me right away.

Talking to a cookie who loves him… It felt like this.

"Still, recently, he’s been sharing a few secrets. Even about the witch. I’ve heard a little. You know how much he hates it. At first, I thought the best approach was to never press him about it… but lately, my thoughts have changed. I just want to understand him more."

At that moment, the atmosphere shifted.

It was as if time itself had stopped, and not even a breath could be heard.

A cold shadow swayed between the two of them, and Eternal Sugar said nothing.
The hand that had been clutching the cotton candy clouds stiffened.

Then, slowly, Pure Vanilla looked up at the hardened eyes, and a low, quiet voice pierced through the silence.

"...The witch?"

Upon hearing that, Pure Vanilla quickly lowered his head.

"Ah. Sorry, I misspoke."

Oh, it seemed that the witch topic was a landmine for her too.
The warm conversation suddenly turned cold, feeling like a block of ice.
Pure Vanilla apologized again, flustered, regretting his careless words. He felt angry with himself for letting his guard down.

"No, it's fine. The witch... doesn’t matter to me."

She gently shook her head and looked directly at Pure Vanilla.

"Who said that?"
"Well, that is..."
"Did 'Milky' bring up the witch?"

The title had changed.

Just a moment ago, it was "he" or "Shadow Milk"... but now, it was "Milky"—a strangely personal nickname, almost affectionate.

Pure Vanilla quietly tried to sense the intent behind this subtle shift in address.

What’s this? What mistake did I make? Changing the way someone is referred to... does it mean something has changed?

"...I begged him... he didn’t want to talk about it."
"No, no. It’s not that... 'Milky' has never mentioned the witch."

Eternal Sugar trembled slightly, her lashes fluttering. The deep shock she felt was evident.
She took a breath so deep, it almost seemed to stop her.

"...Even when we left him, he never said a word about the witch."

Eternal Sugar’s eyes were no longer focused on Pure Vanilla… they were staring beyond memory, beyond some unseen darkness.
The weight of that gaze was so heavy that Pure Vanilla felt a sharp pain in his chest.

When was it… the day we left him…

The day we ‘notified’ him we were leaving…
The day ‘Milky’ started looking at us with suspicion…
The day we started looking at ‘Milky’ with disappointment?

"When do we have to keep doing this?"
"What?"

Milk asked with an indifferent tone, though he forced a smile.
His lips curled upward, but his eyes weren’t smiling.
It wasn’t a smile; it was closer to concealed despair.

That smile… it was too painful to even look at.

I nervously glanced back and forth between Spice and Milk, clenching my fingers as if they might speak for me.
As if, unless I held onto something, everything would crumble.

The silence was so fragile. Into that gap, a sharp question slipped out.

"When do we have to keep doing this?"

The words were so justified… yet at the same time, they were cruel. It was something we had discussed countless times with the other friends. But now, in front of Milk, those words made everything feel wrong. It felt like it was all in the wrong place, as if it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Look at his hands.

‘Milky’ two hands were trembling slightly.
It was like the world he was holding in his hands was about to shatter.

I couldn’t bear to look, so I buried my head in the clouds.

I’m not happy.
This… is not happy at all.
My heart hurts so much.

"Of course, if all the cookies realize the virtue..."

Bang!

Suddenly, Spice slammed his fist onto the table.
The hard wood cracked, debris scattered, and the teacups shattered.
The broken pieces littered the floor like raindrops.

I flinched at the shock, and Flour immediately wrapped her arm around my shoulder.

Why did her comforting gesture feel so pitiful?

"Don’t say that!"

His shout echoed against the tall spires, bouncing back so that we couldn’t escape. His anger was like an axe, striking in all directions.

"When do we have to keep repeating history and start all over again every time?"
"..."

Milk said nothing, staring blankly at the scattered shards on the table.

In his eyes… there was no sadness, no anger, not even any excuses.
He was just looking at that teacup.
The one we had picked together, that foolishly pretty teacup set.

"Virtue? Don’t try to wrap it up in words like that."

Every time Spice inhaled, the sharp scent of spices filled the air, making it hard to breathe.
He had always controlled it for our sake.

But not now.

"Knowledge. You must know, ultimate eternity doesn’t exist. It flourishes and fades. That’s the cyclical nature of history!"

I could no longer hold back and floated up into the air. I felt something unknown drop from my eyes.
Why do we have to talk about this? Why are we yelling at each other?

"...Spicy... please, don’t say it so harshly..."

At my small, pitiful voice, Spice pointed at Milk without even looking back.

"Sugar. You’ve been wondering too! He couldn’t possibly not know this obvious truth."

Spice no longer looked at Milk as a brother. It was... it was cold... like... an accusing gaze.

"Milk. You heard everything from the witch, didn’t you? So… what is it they’re really after?"

That was the question we’d all been swallowing in silence.
The weight of duties and roles we never fully understood.
How far were we supposed to go, and how long did we have to endure?

If this was truly eternal, we had no choice but to accept it—
But at the very least, we wanted to know why.
Why?

"...."

But Milk… he looked down at the broken shards, then slowly lifted his gaze to meet each of ours...

Then he bit his lip and closed his eyes.
He said nothing.

It felt like something inside my heart cracked. That silence… it wasn’t ignorance.
It was rejection.

He wasn’t unaware. He was hiding something.
His lips locked shut like a sealed box,
As if he wouldn’t open it unless someone found the key.

…As if he couldn’t share anything with us.

To me, that silence felt more like betrayal than any harsh word.

"...Silence, huh. You’ve let me down. Let’s go. He has no intention of telling us anything."

Spice was the first to turn his back and leave.
One by one, we all followed, carrying disappointment or resignation in our hearts.
I left too.

Then—
From behind us, very softly,
A hollow voice reached out.

“…Don’t go…”

"I can’t explain it now… but I promise, all of this has meaning… I have a duty… Just a little more time, please, until I figure it out..."

His voice was desperate. It trembled.
I wanted to turn around and hold him tight,
Tell him, “I’ll wait for you—forever, if I have to.”

"The wish of the 'witches' will come true. I’ll make sure of it…"

But our patience had long since run dry.
It was a plea too late.

"Leave us out of that plan. Let the witches have their way without us."

Spice stomped off. The others followed.
I stayed for a moment and looked back at him,
Alone in the dark.

His hair, the one said to hold the stars, shimmered faintly in the shadows.
He once told me the witch placed a whole galaxy in his hair.
I had laughed and said I believed it.

That… was all I ever heard from him about the witches.

"Milky… did you know? We didn’t even know there was more than one witch..."

That was the last thing I said to him.

Spice didn’t stop. None of us did.
Everything fell apart.
And then…

One day, I heard a rumor that Milky fell apart too.
That where he’d once stood alone,
only a puddle of shadow remained.

And I realized—I would never see him again.
The thought made me cry.

A cold wind blew.

Pure Vanilla was listening quietly to Eternal Sugar’s calm confession.
He couldn’t take in the full weight of what she had just said, and found himself staring at the lengthening shadow on the ground.

“So… Shadow Milk…”

He spoke slowly, as if checking whether he had heard her right.

“Shadow Milk didn’t tell the other Beasts anything about the witches? And that’s why… he drifted away from them?”

Eternal Sugar nodded with a hint of resignation.

“So he was the only one who knew about the witches?”

“…Yeah, pretty much. ‘Milky’ loved the witch more than any of us. Salt worshipped her, sure. But Milky? He was different. Definitely.”

Eternal Sugar let out a sigh, her brow tensing slightly—
as if she had only just now come to understand it herself.

“Looking back now… I don’t think he followed the witch out of faith. It was something more personal. Something… familiar.”

Pure Vanilla couldn’t name the pain scraping at his chest.
All he knew was that he wanted to see Shadow Milk again.
He wanted to run to him, hold him close, tell him—
'You don’t have to carry it alone. I’m here.'

He didn’t see her as a figure of faith…
Of course. Pure Vanilla had known that all along.

He remembered the way Shadow Milk once spoke of the Witch of Grain.
He had called her foolish in a quiet, even voice—
but beneath that, there had been unmistakable longing.
Sadness he couldn’t hide.

That wasn’t how someone spoke of a god. It was how someone might speak… of family.

“…Then why… why does he hate the witches now?”

As the question left his lips, it nearly crushed him with its weight.
It hurt just to think it.
Pure Vanilla could only imagine what kind of despair had twisted Shadow Milk’s love into such hatred.

Eternal Sugar looked at him, his face twisted in pain.
And inside her, an old question stirred—
one she too had once considered,
but forced herself to forget.

Because thinking about it…
hurt far too much.

She slowly turned and walked deeper into Hollyberry Castle.

“Who knows?” she murmured. “All I know is—Shadow Milk has always hated them.”

The name had changed again.

And now Pure Vanilla understood—
Eternal Sugar wasn’t just using names.
She was drawing a line between the part of him that had stayed whole…
and the part that had fallen apart.

“I still remember what he shouted the moment we were sealed.”

Pure Vanilla stopped breathing.

“What… did he say?”

Eternal Sugar didn’t turn back.

“Wake the hell up, you idiots! Your precious little wish? It’s never coming true!— NEVER. it’s just one big, filthy, miserable delusion.”

The words pierced Pure Vanilla’s heart.
He felt the tears well up.
He didn’t even know what they truly meant—
he just stood there, crushed by their weight.

With her back to Pure Vanilla, Eternal Sugar drifted down the empty hallway, utterly alone.

The moment of the sealing…
The shattered teacup.
Milky’s trembling hands.

Grief returned like a long-lost ache.
Memories she had numbed with happiness came flooding back.
The sorrow felt unbearable—she found herself moving toward Hollyberry room, almost without thinking.
She wanted comfort in that wild, booming laugh.

'What’s the big deal? It’s nothing! You’re overthinking it again!'

She needed that strength—
the kind of strength that could laugh in the face of anything.

Without knocking, she pushed open the door made of jam pie and found Hollyberry just about to get into bed.

“Hollyberry.”

“Huh? What’s going on, Sugar—this late at night?”

Hollyberry rubbed her eyes and turned toward the door.
The moment her gaze landed on Sugar’s face, she paused.
She saw something—instantly.

But instead of saying anything, she smiled.
Warmly. Gently.

“It’s been cold out, hasn’t it?”
Hollyberry opened her arms, welcoming her in.
“Honestly! The Berry Jungle may be warm during the day, but the nights are freezing! Come on, it’s not as cozy as your little paradise, but I’ve got something way more fun to show you!”

The jungle night wasn’t cold.
But Hollyberry laughed it off like it was nothing, like always—
as if to say, whatever it is, you’re going to be okay.

And in that boundless generosity…
Eternal Sugar felt saved.
Like she could finally breathe again.

She closed her eyes.
But she could still hear it—
so vividly, as if it had just happened.

Shadow Milk, thrashing inside the silver fork’s hold.
Screaming curses no one understood.

“Wake the hell up, you idiots! Your precious little wish? It’s never coming true! That crap doesn’t even exist! I searched—I searched! There’s nothing! It was all a lie! These worthless ‘Cookies’! these pathetic 'humans'!
Everything you ever wanted, every reason you made us—all of it’s just one big, filthy, miserable delusion!”

She thought he might’ve been crying.

Was it rage?
Was it fear?

Why was he crying?
What had hurt him so deeply?

She didn’t know.

Don’t think about it.

It’s nothing… it’s nothing at all…

Chapter Text

The airship, loaded with supplies from the Hollyberry Kingdom, was slowly making its way back through the sky with the tailwind at its back.

Pure Vanilla gently brushed aside his windblown hair as he gazed up at the floating magical palace in the distance.

At the very top, on the highest terrace—  
Someone was standing there. Shadow Milk.  
As if he had been there for ages. As if he always had been.

His soul jam gave a faint, warm pulse. A sign—its other half was drawing near.

Pure Vanilla’s heart quietly caught fire.  
He missed him. So, so much.

But—what should he say when they met?

Just saying “I missed you” didn’t feel like enough.  
Bringing up the duty imposed by the witches, the dark truth behind it, was too dangerous.  
Empty comfort might only deepen his loneliness.

The witches, the long silence, and the truths he had shared only with Pure Vanilla…  
He wanted to stay by his side.

But what could he do to make sure Shadow Milk wouldn’t be sad?

Before he could finish the thought, Shadow Milk raised a megaphone from the terrace.

“Ahem—Pure Vanilla. Time remaining until your promised deadline: 14 minutes and 56 seconds. Failure to arrive at the designated location within that time will result in… the execution of hostages. One by one.”

“…What?”

Pure Vanilla immediately rushed to the bow of the ship, disbelief flooding his face.

“Milk?! What are you talking about?!”

Without answering, Shadow Milk gestured and used magic to project an image into the air.

It was Cotton—Pure Vanilla’s pet lamb.

With a flick, a pair of scissors appeared beside her, making a menacing snip-snipping sound. Cotton, blissfully unaware of the situation, chewed on hay with innocent eyes and let out a cheerful baa~.

“Wait a second… No way…”

Pure Vanilla clutched the back of his head.  That joke… the one about shaving the lamb if he didn’t return within ten nights.  He was taking it very seriously.

“No! Cotton’s fleece isn’t ready to be sheared yet!”

The airship was too slow.  Panicked, Pure Vanilla shouted to the captain to make an emergency landing and drew a teleportation spell with his staff. Coordinates—altitude—his breath caught in his chest.

Pop!  

With a flash of light—Pure Vanilla appeared in his room.

Shadow Milk stood quietly, holding the scissors, his expression unreadable.  
He raised an eyebrow.

Snip. Snip.

Pure Vanilla rushed over to Cotton and examined her wool.  
Thankfully, not a single strand had been touched.

“Oh~ touching. Really. I almost cried. If someone saw you just now, they’d think that lamb was your boyfriend. Wait—is she?”

“Ah—no! Of course not! I wanted to see you first! I really did! It’s just… Cotton really shouldn’t be sheared yet…”

“Pfft. Fine, fine~ With that kind of reaction, I think I can forgive you.”

Forgive him? Just like that?  Surprised, Pure Vanilla blinked—then smiled softly.

“…Really? Thank you.”

“No problem. But, well… you did technically break your promise, right?  So I might’ve made… just a tiny mistake too~”

“…What kind of mistake?”

“Uh… let’s call it… a brief styling session?”

Shadow Milk trailed off, whistling as he looked away.  His voice grew quieter, clearly knowing he’d done something wrong but trying to dodge responsibility.

Pure Vanilla sensed something was off and looked down out the window. Something had changed in the kingdom.

Several scholars were waving up at him from the courtyard, having noticed their king’s return.  They looked unusually tidy—well-dressed.  
But… they had no beards?

“…Beards…?”

Pure Vanilla snapped his head toward Shadow Milk. He flinched.

“Well, I said I wouldn’t shave the lambs. I never said anything about cookie beards.”

“…Shadow Milk.”

Full name.  
Shadow Milk’s shoulders drooped.

“…Okay, okay. I get it. But I didn’t force them. Seriously.”

He rushed out to the terrace and shouted through the megaphone:

“Hey! Worms! Why are your beards gone?!”

“…W-We… We shaved them willingly…  We felt… unworthy…”

Their voices were full of gloom. Heads lowered.  No one in their right mind would believe they did it of their own volition.

Pure Vanilla took a long, slow breath.

Love never changes. But this—this was now an administrative issue.

She leapt from the terrace, gliding down with magic.  Approaching the scholars, she gently placed a hand on their shoulders.

“What happened here…? That icing…”

“Your Majesty… it’s… it’s a long story…”

The incident had happened just three days ago.

Shadow Milk waved one hand, moving paper puppets around as he staged the scene.

“Ugh… that emotionless voice. Perfect.”

Then, looking disinterested, he set the puppet down with a sigh.

In front of him lay a giant scroll covered in handwritten script. Neatly arranged beside it were paper puppets, each labeled with a character’s name.

“This is the third time doing this. It’s getting boring.”

He clapped twice.

The air split open—and out spilled dozens of rabbit puppets, scrambling across the floor.  
Some of the dumber ones bumped into each other, but they quickly began lining up to follow their master’s command.

“Clean it up. I’ll write Act 4 later.”

The rabbit puppets began dragging the paper figures away—occasionally, it sounded like something was being *chewed*, but that wasn’t important.

Before the scene could move on, shouting echoed from the end of the hallway.

“I’m telling you, I’m right!”
“No, you’re just lacking evidence!”

Shadow Milk lifted the tip of his pen, listening.

“Ooh… what a sweet scent. The fragrance of conflict.”

A crooked grin spread across his face.

He propped his feet up on the chair, arms crossed, turning toward the hallway.  
At first, he planned to ignore it. But the childish argument kept getting closer—until it exploded right outside his door.

“Your paper always lacks mathematical rigor!”
“And you always ignore the experimental margin of error!”

Shadow Milk slowly rolled his eyes.

“Ah~ Never disappoint, do they? Consistently idiotic, every time.”

Dragging his slippers, he threw open the door.

“What in the world are you two doing screaming outside my door and wasting brain cells at this hour?”

The scholar cookies froze momentarily—then bowed their heads, one by one.

“L-Lord Shadow Milk! We were writing quiz questions and…”
“The debate over the correct answer got a bit long…”
“We couldn’t reach a conclusion, so…”

Their hands were full of printed papers—diagrams and complex formulas all over them.  
Shadow Milk stared silently.

His gaze said it all: You’re already wrong.

“What’s the question? Explain it. I’d like to assess just how far your brains have regressed—judging by how much effort it’ll take to convince a pair of imbeciles.”

Here’s what had happened.

With Pure Vanilla away, the Vanilla Kingdom had casually started preparing for a lighthearted festival. One of the events planned was a “Quiz Tournament.” Originally, it was supposed to be a cheerful little game for cookies to enjoy together—but everyone had conveniently forgotten that most of the contestants were world-renowned intellectuals.

The quiz didn’t even last three questions before devolving into a reflex test.

So they had no choice but to split the participants—“General Cookie Division” and “Sage Division.”

In the Sage Division, the questions got so difficult that unresolved conjectures, philosophical paradoxes, and unproven theories started appearing. Eventually, even the question writers began arguing over the correct answers.

And so—someone had dared bring a question to Shadow Milk, who sat at the edge of all knowledge. This was the result.

He flipped through one of the sheets and spoke.

“The answer is A. Proof? Preschool level. You thought it was B? Burn every paper you’ve ever written.”

The scholars scrambled to snatch their documents and fled.

One hour later.

It wasn’t long before more hushed voices began leaking in from outside the door.

“…But there’s no explanation for how A is the right answer.”
“Exactly! That’s not even a proper cross-argument—it doesn’t match my theorem at all!”

Shadow Milk’s patience finally snapped.  
He flung his pen aside and stood up.

As he stormed out the door, he saw the scholars standing there, trembling, hands over their mouths.

Should I kill them?

Shadow Milk blinked at the crowd of scholars gathered at his doorstep.

The way he looked at them—like insects.

He recalled a conversation with Pure Vanilla.

‘Try to be nice if you can, Milk.’

“…Fine. Let’s settle this with a quiz. Whoever wins is right. I’m going to crush your stupid heads.”

And so, the most meaningless yet majestic event in Vanilla Kingdom history began:

The Shadow Milk vs. Scholars Quiz Showdown.

The host? None other than Black Sapphire.

With a long black sapphire mic in hand, he spun in circles, danced dramatically, struck an adorable pose, and shouted:

“Laaaadies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Hell of the Vanilla!  A kingdom without its saint—now graced by chaotic knowledge!  
Top-tier scholars daring to challenge the very source of all wisdom!  Who will emerge victorious? The answer’s obvious, but hey—it’ll still be fun!”

Shadow Milk rubbed his temple.

“…Why the hell are you the host?”

“What’s more fun than this~?”

Black Sapphire twirled like a top and grinned.  
“Entertainment only truly shines when it’s falling apart in the best way!”

Shadow Milk scowled.

Why was he even here?  This whole mess had no narrative coherence. If he were the playwright, he would’ve rejected this garbage on page one.

A bunch of idiots. In an idiot’s idiot show.

…Still, since he was here, he might as well crush them properly.

As expected, the quiz competition turned out to be a one-sided massacre.

“First question: What conditions trigger the reverse reaction in the Mana Cream Coagulation Equation?”

“Shut up. Z. No one runs experiments without knowing that.”

“Correct! Wow! That was just 0.2 seconds! What kind of brain cells are those?! Uh-oh, Challenger? You’re looking a bit pale!”

Shadow Milk turned to the scholar and said,

“You can’t answer that instantly? This is your field, isn’t it? Go study the basics again—from scratch.”

He pulled out a paper knife.  
His face cold. Detached. As if this outcome was only natural.

With a snort, he sliced clean through one scholar’s beard.  
Swipe—swipe—chunks of icing-beard tumbled to the ground.

“This beard… is a monument to wasted time. Let me remind you: intelligence isn’t something you can decorate yourself with.”

Shhk—shhk—

Not a single strand of beard remained among the scholars.

“Come back after you’ve actually learned something. Ignorance at this point is basically a form of terrorism.”

One by one, the scholars began to kneel, sniffling and shaking.  
Black Sapphire, growing more and more excited, whipped up the crowd.

“And that’s another win for Shadow Milk~! Fifteen in a row! And the loser’s beard… is forfeit! Chugga chugga, snip snip! Wow, that’s clean~ Who’s next?!”

Shadow Milk never forgot to crush their dignity along with their beards after each victory.

“Oh, you studied for forty-two years? What a tragedy. You wasted forty-two years of your life.”

“Why’d you even write a paper? Don’t you owe the tree an apology?”

“You call that a citation of a sage? You clearly bought your credentials.”

Every single scholar fell in the Quiz Square. Some cried. Some fainted.

Shadow Milk looked upon the devastation with indifference.  Floating above the sobbing scholars, he finally asked,

“One last quiz. What’s the dumbest experimental result in the world?”

“Uh… um…”

“The correct answer is: you—and you—and your brilliant collaborative paper.This wasn’t a quiz competition. It was a stress test for my patience.”

With a crooked smirk, Shadow Milk descended from the podium, mocking the entire spectacle.

“Master! That was incredible! The reactions were amazing! The viewership ratings are through the roof!”

Beaming, Black Sapphire gathered up the shaved icing and crafted it into a little crown labeled ‘King of Idiots’.

“…What the hell is that.”

“Well, all you did was crush the writers who were supposed to make the real quiz questions, right? It’s a trophy for whoever wins the main event during the festival!”

“…If that’s the level they’re at, yeah. That prize sounds about right.”

“…That’s what happened…”

The scholar confessed between sniffles.

Pure Vanilla turned to Shadow Milk, looking half bewildered, half exasperated.

“That doesn’t sound voluntary at all.”

“What!? They wasted my time with that level of thinking! How is it my fault they didn’t study?!”

Shadow Milk flailed his arms, frustration written all over his face.  
Then he marched up to the scholars, lifting each of their chins with his cane—full “strict teacher mode” activated.

“Hey. Worm. Why did you lose your beard?”

“Because I was a worthless idiot, sir!”

“Good. Record that. Play it every night before bed. Say it with me: *‘I’m a dumbass who couldn’t even keep his beard.’* Got it?”

“Yes, sir!!”

“Excellent. Next time, it’s the eyebrows. Keep your head in the game.”

Pure Vanilla, stunned speechless, gently pushed Shadow Milk aside and approached the tearful scholars. He carefully offered them a small vial.

“I don’t know if this will work, but… it’s a formula with hair-regrowth properties. I’ll keep researching to get it as close as possible to what you had.”

“Th-thank you…”

“Please don’t worry. I’ll take full responsibility for what—”

Suddenly, Shadow Milk cut in, grumbling from the side.

“Oh, come on. They like it. Look! It’s way cleaner than those overgrown tangles they had. Their jawlines actually show now.”

Pure Vanilla let out a long sigh and shook his head.

“Shadow Milk… you went too far. Do you realize how sad they are right now?”

“Look, I’m serious! This is art. A reset of the soul!”

“Do not reset Cookie’s beards!!”

It had been an utterly ridiculous day.

In the midst of all that nonsense—
Eternal Sugar's warning, the ominous signs about the witches, the Five Virtues…
The fact that Shadow Milk seemed to know more about the witches than he let on…

None of the important things they were supposed to talk about had been said.
Time had just slipped by in the chaos.

This could be a matter of the world’s survival,
and yet we wasted it on such a farce…

But the real problem was that—
More than any serious talk,
he found this ridiculous mess of a day… fun.

…No, maybe it wasn’t a problem.
And maybe that’s what made it even scarier.

He sat on the windowsill by the bed, quietly looking out at the world below.

“I… made a new friend in the Hollyberry Kingdom.”

Shadow Milk was lying on the bed in silk pajamas, idly filing his nails.

“Mmhmm. Like always. A new friend, again.”

His words sounded sarcastic, but his voice wasn't sharp.
Pure Vanilla smiled faintly as he watched Shadow Milk whistling and playing around.

“Want to do a quiz?”

Shadow Milk turned his head sharply in disbelief.
His eyes, peeking from behind strands of hair, were wide with confusion.

“…What?”
“You already quizzed all the other sages, didn’t you?”
“...You don’t even have a beard for me to shave.”
“Then the penalty can be… you get to hear one of my secrets.”

Shadow Milk furrowed his brow and buried his face into a pillow, muttering.

“What is this? What are you trying to say in such a roundabout way? What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m sorry. I’m a coward. If I don’t start like this, I can’t get the courage.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll play along with your script.”
“Then here comes the question.”

Pure Vanilla began quietly.
Shadow Milk let out a groan of annoyance, lying with his arm under his head.

“…You’re actually doing this?”
“Of course. First question.”
“Haa…”
“‘Why did I go to the Hollyberry Kingdom?’”
“That’s not even a quiz. You told me—it was to secure supplies for the festival.”
“Ding ding ding.”

Shadow Milk twirled his fingers, as if weighing some hidden meaning.

“What is this, a review session?”
“Okay, real question. Where did I eat in the Hollyberry Kingdom?”
“Seriously, what are you even trying to say? Vanilla, this isn’t just because I said I couldn’t sleep, is it?”
“I’ll give you a hint. It wasn’t noisy.”

His pillow sagged under a frustrated sigh. Shadow Milk clenched his teeth, suppressing his irritation.

“You don’t even like those kinds of places. That loud berry brute probably dragged you to the central banquet hall. But you didn’t go? Weird.”

He opened one eye slightly.

“…No way. There’s no way you insisted on eating alone. Someone must’ve pushed for it. Someone sensitive. Someone who hates crowds. I can think of two candidates, but one of them would never meet you…”

Silence.

“So? What’s your answer?”

Pure Vanilla asked softly.

After a long pause, Shadow Milk finally spoke.

“…Eternal Sugar.”

Pure Vanilla nodded.

“Yes. I met with her. I got to hear so much, thanks to her. She was gentle… and very kind.”

Shadow Milk turned away, cold and hollow, as if trying to force himself to sleep.

“Not that I really care. Can’t you just keep it to yourself? That’s it for today’s quiz. Let’s just sleep.”

But Pure Vanilla was already approaching him.

“She missed you. Honestly, I think she might know you better than I do. And… I heard what happened. The day they decided to leave you—”

“Pure Vanilla”

Shadow Milk growled the name, slow and deliberate. The shadows in the room began to vibrate, writhing subtly.
That cold edge, that clear rejection—it had been a long time. He used to act like this toward Pure Vanilla often. But not anymore. Not until now.

“Don’t cross that line.”

Eyes bloomed within the darkness. Hundreds of them filled the room, devouring the light Pure Vanilla radiated, closing in with suffocating intensity.

“Don’t joke about them. No riddles. No clever little tricks. Just don’t make me do something meaningless.”

But Pure Vanilla didn’t flinch. His gaze held steady, even as fear crept beneath the surface.

“Why are you pushing me away, Milk? Eternal Sugar was the only one among those beasts who chose to help you. I think you two need to talk again. She—she actually seemed like she wanted to. I just want to help clear up the misunderstanding between you.”

Shadow Milk was silent for a moment. Then, with a voice stripped of any emotion, he spoke again.

“That’s the second time. Don’t cross it again.”

That cold tone—flat and subdued—meant he really didn’t want this touched.
When Shadow Milk was merely afraid, his voice got louder. But when something truly mattered—when it was sacred—his voice always dropped.

“I understand, Milk. Let’s leave it for tonight. But if you’re ever ready, I hope we can talk about it again.”

He dreamed.

Someone was crying.

A cookie with hair like the Milky Way sat before a shattered table, quietly staring at a broken tea set. His trembling hands tried to piece together the fragments of porcelain. But what’s broken cannot return to its original form.

That cruel truth hurt more than he could bear. So, he cried.

Anger boiled up like milk on the verge of spilling, scalding his chest.He clenched the shard in his hand tightly, without thinking. The pain did nothing to cool the fire inside.

“So what was I supposed to say? What would’ve made it okay?”

He—no, Milk—threw the shards to the floor and screamed.

“I don’t know! I still haven’t found the answer! Would you have believed me if I said that?! Would it have been enough?!”

The pieces he had carefully put back together shattered all over again. Among the wreckage, he howled.

“Like I abandoned they first... Like I betrayed they first... Like I did nothing at all! How dare—!”

The Tower of Knowledge trembled, as if losing its mind. The books he cherished were torn and scattered, the air thick with rage.

“You say I didn’t warn you about the witch? Even if I had—what could they have done?! Could you have handled it?! Do you really think this happened because I looked down on they?!”

“How dare you—how dare you believe I didn’t love they?!”

He staggered, hyperventilating, clutching his own throat. Jam dripped down his neck, mixing with his tears, staining his face. The betrayal of those who had left stabbed him anew.

“…Knowing they had already turned away from virtue... What could I have done, then?”

Was it a sin to pretend he hadn’t seen what he’d already seen?To ignore how tired they looked, whispering to himself that everything would be fine? Because if he hadn’t, he would’ve had to admit it was already over.

He murmured,

“I tried… I really did…”

And at last, his voice sank into a single, desperate whisper.

“I don’t know anymore... Witch... Was it ever even possible? No matter how hard I tried—was there truly a way I could have reached it?”

In that moment, someone quietly watched from beyond the dream.

Outside the dream, cloaked in darkness, Pure Vanilla closed his eyes and silently witnessed the collapse of Shadow Milk’s heart.
He said nothing.
He simply reached out a hand—
knowing he could never touch him, and still hoping—
that somehow, through the ruins of the dark,
he might hold even the smallest piece of that broken soul.

Chapter Text

Whisper, whisper.

Something was whispering—voices exchanging hushed words.

Pure Vanilla slowly opened his eyes.
Before the world came into focus, he first felt the sensation of lukewarm moisture trickling down his cheek, soaking into the pillow. As he wiped the corners of his eyes with his fingertips and calmed his breath, the golden pattern of waffle paper etched into the ceiling came faintly into view.

Still half-lidded, he turned his head slowly.
A mix of deep blue and black hair had spilled across the pillow beside him. It was Shadow Milk. But something felt... unfamiliar. Normally, he'd be wrapped around Pure Vanilla, arms tight even in sleep—but this time, he lay facing away, quietly breathing.

The silence was heavy. Cold.

“Milk… did you sleep well?”

Pure Vanilla whispered gently, tracing his fingers down Shadow Milk’s back.
No reply. But Pure Vanilla didn’t fall for the silence.
Carefully—though a little closer now—he leaned in, close enough to feel the tension just beneath the surface.

“You know what I saw... in the dream last night, don’t you?”

His voice was soft but steady.

Finally, Shadow Milk’s shoulders twitched ever so slightly.
The answer came far too quickly for someone just waking up.

“It was just a dream. Doesn’t mean anything.”

His tone was dry, expressionless.
And yet, the unnatural calm in his voice betrayed how turbulent he truly felt inside. The same as last night. That firm line he drew—nothing would cross it.

Then—
The dark Soul Jam embedded in his chest pulsed faintly. A quiet ripple, subtle yet deliberate. There was a trace of scornful laughter in the air, as if someone had chuckled under their breath.

Sometimes, their Soul Jams would flicker faintly, exchanging glimmers of light only they could feel.
The two gems—one of deep sky-hued truth, the other a dark ocean-blue lie—seemed to whisper solely to each other. No words were spoken aloud, yet an unspoken dialogue flowed between them.

Maybe that was why.
In rare moments when Shadow Milk lost control—or perhaps for something even deeper—Pure Vanilla would be pulled into the very heart of his inner world.

But this dream had been especially vivid. Like a memory brought back to life, too real, too sharp.
Maybe it was something Eternal Sugar said—something that scraped an old wound raw again.

The Soul Jam of lies trembled softly.
And in response, the Soul Jam of truth shimmered with a quiet, patient light.
No words, yet clearly, they were speaking.

Then—came sadness.
The kind of feeling one hides but hopes will be discovered someday. A silent cry to be understood.

And at the very end, a teasing sneer followed. Almost like it was calling him pathetic.

The Soul Jam of lies fed the truth a string of information, whispered like a secret.
How shaken Shadow Milk had been in that dream, no matter what he said.
The name he still hadn’t let go of.
The pieces of old emotions that still clung to him.

The Soul Jam of truth rippled quietly. No judgment, no pity—just gentle acceptance. Letting the silence stretch, gradually spreading.

Then, suddenly, Shadow Milk raised a hand and tapped his Soul Jam twice.

“…Traitorous things. Passing messages without permission.”

Pure Vanilla chuckled softly.
Even in that short grumble, he could tell Shadow Milk felt a bit relieved.
Some lies are easier to carry once they’ve been discovered.

“They’re just worried about you. They all care, you know.”

“Shut up.”

Shadow Milk still didn’t turn to face him.

“I don’t know about the other one, but yours is the Jam of lies. So why can’t you shut your mouth for once?”

It sounded like he was talking to the gem. Or maybe, to himself.

“Vanilly. You’re no different. Sure, I gave you the key to the house, but that doesn’t mean you get free access to my dreams. I’ll report you—even if we’re dating.”

He curled in deeper under the blanket, voice calm but warning.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I was pulled in...”

...That much was true.
And after all, it was the homeowner who extended the invitation, wasn’t it?

Pure Vanilla slowly sat up. He could sense Shadow Milk’s embarrassment, so he decided to give him a little space.

Just as he reached the door—

“…Wait. You haven’t forgotten, right? That when I say ‘get lost,’ it means just for a little while—and you come back.”

A hint of anxiety slipped into his voice.

“Of course. I’ll just sort the supplies that arrived from the Hollyberry Kingdom and come right back.”

When Pure Vanilla quietly left the room, silence settled again.
Shadow Milk pulled the blanket over his head, fingers sinking into his hair.

“…Damn it.”

How much had he seen? All of it? Just parts?

Ugh… disgusting. I didn’t even want to share that. Why did he have to see that?

It’s not like I wanted to be understood.
If I had wanted to tell him… I would’ve said it. Properly. Not like… this.
What, am I supposed to just blurt it out? What a joke.

Maybe I can still salvage this. Just say it was one of his cheesy fantasies that slipped into my dream.

He glared at the ceiling, then rolled to face the wall.

But the Soul Jam wouldn’t shut up.

The dark blue crystal on his chest vibrated ever so slightly. No sound, but unmistakably smug.

—That lie was so lazy. Come on, at least try.

“Why are you so chatty today,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “This is my head. Be quiet.”

In reply, a shimmer of light spread like ripples across the edge of the Soul Jam. A soft laugh in waves of light.

Ignoring the reaction, he buried his face into his arms.

And just as that faint vibration faded—

He felt it.
A subtle pulse from where Pure Vanilla had stood.
Like someone calling his name, or perhaps a message carried by the Soul Jam of truth.

Then—

—Your other half’s worried about your heart. So sweet, isn’t it?

“…Shut up.”

----

Vanilla Kingdom’s Central Council Room, on a bright afternoon, sunlight pouring through the open skylight.
In one corner of the room sat a pile of lavish instrument cases and thick bundles of sheet music, all recently arrived from the Hollyberry Kingdom.

There were quite a few scores, so the group had been trying them one by one, discussing which song might suit the occasion best.

And then… one particular score caught their eye.
The sheet music was bound with fragrant paper, and the ribbon around it shimmered in iridescent colors. One citizen carefully untied the bow with cautious fingers.

“Huh… This one’s oddly delicate. Who composed it?”
“No idea. But since it’s from Hollyberry, I’m sure it’s a fine piece…”

Thankfully, in this village teeming with wizards and healers, there were also those who could play instruments.
Most were healers, and perhaps because of their nature, many enjoyed peaceful hobbies like music.
Or maybe it was simply because singing was one of the more reliable catalysts for white magic.

When the Cookies holding the mysterious sheet music picked up their instruments and began to play, an odd calm spread across the room.
The soft resonance of strings, followed by a sudden, creeping sensation of…

“…I’m getting… really sleepy.”
“…So happy… and… peaceful…”

The first musician only got through three bars before dozing off beside their lyre.
The second fell asleep mid-breath, flute still pressed to their lips.
The third, drawing the bow just once across the strings, murmured with half-lidded eyes—

“This… feels strange…”

They tried changing the tempo. Switched instruments.
But the result was always the same. One by one, everyone fell asleep.

“Something’s off…”
“Is this… white magic? Like, the healing kind? A super gentle sleep spell or something?”
“Sleep-on-hearing spells sound more like curses than blessings, honestly.”
“…Maybe the music’s just boring.”

Then, from a corner of the room, a voice trembled.

“...You don’t think… this was sent by the Beast of Sloth… do you?”

At that moment—

CLANG.

Someone dropped their instrument.

All sound vanished. Even the warmth in the air seemed to dissipate.
The Cookies looked at one another in stunned silence.

“…Now that you mention it, I did hear the Beast of Sloth was seen near the Hollyberry Kingdom.”
“Wait, are you saying… this score belongs to the Beast of Sloth? Are we in danger?”
“No wonder… There’s something strange in this music. Pure Vanilla Cookie, what should we do?”
“Why would the Beast send us sheet music? And besides… we have Shadow Milk with us, so surely—”
“Hey! Watch what you say!”

Panic gripped the council room like a stormcloud.
Because, officially… the Vanilla Kingdom was housing a Beast—who also happened to be the King’s lover…?

And yet, somehow, they had all grown used to living with Shadow Milk.

Scholars revered him as a fountain of forbidden knowledge—but also treated him like a volatile element, something that could explode if mishandled.
The way they saw it, one must use the forbidden tome with care, not let it use you.

Had it not been for the knowledge he possessed, they would never have accepted his presence.
And the scholars who crawled their way to this kingdom in search of truth?
They were the type to sell their Cookie souls to a demon for even one forbidden page.

Above all, they believed—or at least hoped—that Pure Vanilla Cookie, the world’s kindest and holiest being, had somehow… sealed him? Contained him?

So yes, the Beast of Lies was terrifying—but he was manageable.
But the Beast of Sloth… they knew nothing about that one.

One Cookie hugged the harp they'd just been playing as if for protection.
Another froze, hand still resting on the music stand.

After a long, dreadful silence, someone finally spoke in a small voice.

“…Let’s just put it away. Pretend it never happened.”

“Agreed.”
“Fully agreed.”
“Transcendentally agreed.”

“There’s plenty of other music. Surely there’s at least one normal score in the batch from Hollyberry.”

As if they’d just seen something that shouldn’t be seen, the Cookies backed away and cautiously shoved the score aside.

Pure Vanilla quietly stared at the sheet music.
This could only have come from Eternal Sugar.
She had changed now. She lived a quiet life with other Cookies in Hollyberry.

He believed that her music wouldn’t lull anyone to sleep like before.
And there was no trace of a curse in the composition.

…But even so, the Cookies still rejected her.
No—perhaps it wasn’t just her…
A dull ache welled up in Pure Vanilla’s heart.

And then—

“What the heck are you doing!”

BANG!

The waffle-cone door slammed open.
Shadow Milk stormed in, his dark blue pajamas dragging across the floor.

“Vanilly?! You said you'd be back in a minute! It's been hours!”

Unbothered by his sleepwear, Shadow Milk strode right into the conference room.

The room fell silent—everyone had been discussing the Beast just moments ago.
Now, they shrank into corners, trembling at the sight of Shadow Milk’s annoyed expression.

But he paid no attention to their insect-like reactions.
He flew straight to Pure Vanilla, hands on his hips, demanding an explanation with a glare.

Pure Vanilla just smiled and held out the sheet music.

“This… I think it’s from Eternal Sugar. But… everyone fell asleep again…”

Shadow Milk snatched the score and flipped through it with a snap.
His brows lifted.

Then, with a single word:

“…Ugh. Cringe.”

He added in a murmur—

“Writing something this direct? A happy ending? Is she insane... Not classy at all, Sweetie.”

But Pure Vanilla saw it.
That fleeting moment—
Shadow Milk’s eyes dropped, and the corners of his lips lifted. Just a little. So very little.

As if to hide that expression, he quickly turned away and flipped a few more pages.

“Play while dancing. It helps you stay awake.”
“Huh?”
“You fall asleep sitting still. At least try to move to the rhythm. This one’s written to follow the flow of a dream.”
“…Ah, I see. That’s how it’s structured.”
“You didn’t get that? Idiot.”

With a nudge of his chin, he added one last thing and walked toward the door.

“Do what you want. Comedy’s not my thing. I’m out.”

Like a storm, Shadow Milk disappeared.
The bewildered Cookies hesitated, but… he had offered advice.
So they cautiously began to play again.

Following Shadow Milk’s advice, the performers gently pulled out the sheet music and started anew.
At first, they nodded along uncertainly.
Then someone took a small step—
And soon, they were all spinning like a waltz, blending music with motion.

The conference room had turned into a miniature dance party.

Surprisingly, no one fell asleep.
The bright and lively melodies filled them with joy.

And then—
Pure Vanilla looked quietly back at the sheet music.

At a glance, it seemed like a simple melody.
But there was a structure—repetition, variation,
And within that… a hidden code.

He carefully traced the pattern until finally, he deciphered the message:

“I truly hope you’ll be happy…
May your happy ending,  without regret.”

He opened his eyes.
And he recalled the way Shadow Milk had mumbled while flipping through the score.

“Cringe”

That word—
And yet, hidden in it, something strangely familiar.
Like a smile forced down.
A tiny flicker of joy.

Pure Vanilla smiled softly.

Now that they’d planned the Thanksgiving concert-slash-dance party,
The concert had become a dance party.
It was inevitable—once they tried to perform a song that put you to sleep unless you danced,
The musicians had no choice but to dance as well.

And so, as they talked through the stage layout… time flew by.

In the bedroom, Shadow Milk was fast asleep in his pajamas,
clutching a Pure Vanilla plushie.

They hadn’t even said goodnight.

Pure Vanilla smiled brightly, walked over, gently hugged him,
and kissed his forehead before lying down beside him.

Pure Vanilla realized, at some point, that he was dreaming.
The breeze brushing past his toes and the sunlight warming his bare skin felt so vivid, so tender—
Yet everything around him, like a carefully crafted puppet show, seemed… unreal.

He was momentarily confused, but then—
A flicker of unease swept through his heart.

Why another dream?
Is Shadow Milk feeling sorrow again?
Or is this just a remnant of the unease that still lingers in his heart?

He sensed someone entering the dream. Was it Shadow Milk?

A familiar—but unexpected—voice rang out.

"Long time no see, Pure Vanilla. Welcome to the dream paradise."

With the scent of sweet flowers, Eternal Sugar appeared.
Fragrant air danced around her, cherubic angels twirled through the skies,
and a warm, peaceful aura spread throughout the space.

She waved gracefully between the angels, and for a moment, Pure Vanilla forgot to breathe.

"Eternal Sugar?"
He asked dazedly, as if still not fully awake.

Eternal Sugar walked toward him with her usual gentle smile, speaking in her signature relaxed tone.
"Ah, Pure Vanilla, don’t worry. I’m just here to check the sheet music. Composer business, you know?"

Instead of her usual flowing white robe, she wore sunglasses and draped cloud-like fur over her shoulders.
Somehow, the look suited her all too well.
Her voice was as soft as always—but the fur and shades made her look like someone straight out of the industry.

Where on earth did she learn to dress like that?
Pure Vanilla wondered silently.

"There are some... complications with visiting in person," Eternal Sugar said, lips twitching with an unspoken reason.
"So I came through a dream. Did you receive the music sheet?"

"Yes, it was wonderful. There was a bit of... commotion, but everyone enjoyed playing it."

"I see."
Eternal Sugar removed her sunglasses with a flourish.
"Well then, tell me—how did you perform it?"

There was a sharp gleam in her eyes—like she was saying,
"Let’s see how you interpreted my baby."
More like an inspector than a curious friend.

"Ah, I didn’t record it..."
"No worries. We’re in a dream, remember? Just unlock that little door in your heart... and recall it."

Tapping the beat lightly through the sky, Pure Vanilla began recalling the melody he had missed.
As music swirled through his mind, his fingers began to move on their own.
Meanwhile, Eternal Sugar stylishly tucked her sunglasses into her chest pocket and smiled leisurely.

Where does she even learn those poses?
He sighed internally.

"Hmm. Not bad. But..."
She said in her usual calm voice, though her professionalism peeked through.

"As a composer, may I offer some advice? Of course, it’s up to the performer to accept it."

"Advice from the composer is always welcome," Pure Vanilla said with a soft smile.

Eternal Sugar, in her gentle tone, shared tips on the song’s mood, themes to highlight, and passages to interpret delicately.

Listening quietly, Pure Vanilla smiled.

"You really love music, don’t you? I never knew a song could hold so much."

"Of course. Paradise and joy are always filled with singing.
A song holds soul and heart—it can carry anything you wish to say."

"You put a lot of heart into the one you sent, didn’t you?"

Eternal Sugar blinked her long lashes and fell silent for a moment.

"Well... yes, I suppose. I just wanted it to bring happiness to those who hear it."

"Really?"

"Just... got a bit sentimental, that’s all. Happens when you compose."

But then—

The garden air rippled strangely. Light flickered.
The lush green grass blurred like ink bleeding across a page.

"That’s odd..."
Pure Vanilla looked around with growing concern.

Eternal Sugar quietly slid her sunglasses back on and muttered,

"Really now? Sharing the key? How rude..."

Before she could finish—

"Rude?"
A mocking voice echoed like a theatrical line.

"Sweetie~ I know you’re a star and all, but ever heard of personal boundaries?
This is my darling’s dream, y’know. Who’s being rude now?"

The sky was now draped in a translucent curtain.
Flowers drooped their heads.
The smiling angels froze like dolls.

Eternal Sugar slowly slipped on her sunglasses once more.

A black curtain unfurled.
A galaxy swept across the sky.
Stuffed bunnies tumbled down, painting white roses blue.

"The wizard of lies likes blue. Let’s work hard for the master."
"Cut and paint to create the perfect stage."

The rabbits snipped away the pink flowers, leaving only yellow and blue roses.
(Why yellow though...?)

Shadows oozed and spread like ink.
Eyes swirled and giggled, spinning in the dark.

Then, as if sliding through the shadows, with elegance—

Shadow Milk appeared.

"Hellooo~ Did you miss me?"

Eternal Sugar smiled coolly.

"Shadow, darling. You know I don’t like things too dark. Still such a tacky aesthetic."

"Ah, I knew it! You’re the prettiest when you’re annoyed,"
Shadow Milk pouted playfully.

"But really, darling~ Imagine how shocked I was—my precious friend and my sweet Pookie Bear having a dream meeting without me? No invite? I almost cried."

"You? Hurt? I didn’t know you were so emotionally expressive. A bit too sentimental for someone so... cerebral."

Eternal Sugar didn’t even meet her eyes.

"But this is a business meeting, y’know? You’re kind of... interrupting.
You can do that math, can’t you?"

"Business? Ooh, tiny business? So intriguing! Can I listen in too?"

The atmosphere cracked like glass under pressure.

Pure Vanilla, caught between them, cautiously spoke.

"Milk, please. Don’t fight with friend over something you don’t mean."

"Shh, Vanilly? Fight? Not at all. We’re just catching up, old pals and all."

Shadow Milk twirled in the air and settled beside Eternal Sugar, pretending all was well.
Eternal Sugar smiled, but her voice had thorns.

"Right, not a fight.
Just... our work got ruined thanks to someone’s 'grand entrance'."

"Wow, sweetie. Do you know how hard I tried not to mention your 'grand outfit'?
What even is that? Going to a fashion show?"

"Have I never commented on your wardrobe?
Oh, perhaps I thought it too absurd to be worth mentioning."

Each word bristled with thorns and mockery.
They looked like bitter rivals rather than friends.

Even the pretense of civility began to crumble.

At that moment, Pure Vanilla quietly stepped between the two.
His eyes were filled with concern, but his voice was as warm as ever.

“Enough… It’s okay now. The words are too sharp. At least, not in my dream. I don’t want to see this.”

Shadow Milk closed he eyes for a moment and exhaled.
“Alright~ I get it. You really want me to stop being so serious, huh? I’m not angry, I swear.”
He voice softened, and the anger in the air started to dissipate.

But then, once again,
Eternal Sugar muttered with trembling lips.

“…There’s no one on my side here, huh?”

Everyone’s gaze turned toward her.

“Did I do something wrong? No, right? But it’s like I did… Yeah, you two are a team after all.”

She muttered softly to herself.

“I have my own side. It’s just… not here.”

Just before her emotions exploded again,
The pink Soul Jam of Apathy pulsed and glowed on her forehead.

Boom!

The sky of the dream was torn apart as someone fell from above. Struggling, she crashed to the ground and quickly scrambled up, looking around.
It was Hollyberry.

“—Whaaaaa?! What the heck is going on?!”

In one hand, she held a half-empty bottle of wine,
and in the other, her Jam Pie shield. With a face that was still half-asleep, she had just crashed to the ground, her cheek red from the impact.
Naturally, it didn’t hurt since it was just a dream. She had been asleep under the influence of alcohol, swaying as she flipped her cloak back over her shoulders.

“Huh? What is this? I think I was drinking Berryjuice in the quarters before I fell asleep? What is going on? Pure Vanilla?? Sugar??? What is this?”

Eternal Sugar, startled, stammered. She hadn’t expected things to escalate like this. Her wings fluttered as she quickly helped Hollyberry to her feet, apologizing.

“Hollyberry? I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen… I was just feeling conflicted. I’ll explain everything.”

But before her words could finish,
Shadow Milk stepped forward.

“No need to explain. It’s such an obvious outcome that I can’t even laugh.”

Shadow Milk’s voice, cold and low, began to criticize. It felt different—more forceful and rigid than usual. There was no hint of mischief or madness.

“You couldn’t control a single emotion, and now your Soul Jam has triggered chaos, pulling others into this. You didn’t want this, right? Don’t dodge it with that excuse. This is what you wanted. Do you even know the word ‘self-control’?”

“On top of that, this is Pure Vanilla’s dream. Do you think this is a meeting plaza? This is Vanilla’s stage, and it’s mine too! ...Apologize.”

He tone… wasn’t that of the usual fool. It was almost like a teacher from an old classroom, stern and evaluative.

Eternal Sugar’s eyes gleamed, her patience finally wearing thin.

“…It’s been a while. That tone. How many centuries has it been? Hello, teacher? So you’re still using that voice, huh? It really doesn’t suit you, Shadow Milk.”

She muttered quietly before finishing with a mocking tone.

“Are you done with your clown act? That sharp pronunciation. Wow, seriously? But did you forget what you look like now? You’ve worn that mask for so long, you’re too lazy to take it off, huh? Back then, you acted so cool, teaching people, and now you’re still lecturing? Looks like the old teacher is here.”

She poked at the difference between Shadow Milk’s past and present.

“But still, your acting’s a bit lacking! Back in the day, you spoke slowly and softly…”

Her voice slowed, as if nostalgic. But then she stepped closer, pressing in as she began to question Shadow Milk.

“That tone, that expression—it’s all a sickness. A mental illness. You’ve been all over the place and forgotten who you even are, haven’t you? Teacher? Right now, you’re just a loud clown trying to be cool. How about just keeping one mask on? Honestly, you’ve changed so much… I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Shadow Milk didn’t even flinch, but his eyes flickered for a brief moment. After a long silence, he sighed, then began to chuckle bitterly.
The laugh was cold and twisted. Slouching, he began speaking with a long-winded tone.

“I’ve changed, huh? That’s a funny thing to say. Was the clown here?”

He walked slowly toward her, his voice low, but emotions were bubbling beneath the surface.

“Don’t act like you haven’t changed, Sugar. Don’t pretend you’re not crazy. Where did that sweet, innocent angel go? Passion? Love? Happiness? Did you sell it? Did you buy those demon wings with it? They really don’t suit you. What are you even trying to say? Are you an angel or a devil?”

With a flick of his cane, he pointed at Eternal Sugar’s tiny demon wings and mocked her even more.

“Yeah, I’m crazy. A clown has to be crazy to be fun, right? But I admit it. I had to go crazy to survive. But you, under that cursed tree… Do you still think you’re sane? Was there a single sane cookie there?! You think you’re not a beast? Honestly, you’re the craziest of them all! The fact that we didn’t even realize how messed up we were is just shocking!”

His voice softened, and he spoke more sincerely.

“When I tried to lead you all, you all blocked your ears. You know why I stopped lecturing? Because you didn’t want to listen. You didn’t want it. Did you think I’d just keep shouting at a wall forever?”

He took a step closer.

“So now, I’m just leaving you be. Whether you fall apart or run wild, it’s easier if we just go with the flow. That way, we won’t hurt each other’s feelings, right?”

ollyberry stared blankly at the cold argument, then shrugged as she set her berry juice down.

"Okay... got it. No need to explain. But, uh... where exactly are we? Oh, it’s Pure Vanilla’s dream? Wow, this is one dramatic and complicated dream, huh? Honestly, I didn’t think this was my dream... Hmm... sorry, but can someone tell me who’s having the worst mental breakdown right now? Just tell me who I need to stop from doing what, okay?”

For a moment, the cold air seemed to shift. The heavy silence stirred as Shadow Milk, out of breath from Hollyberry’s muddled words, replied with forced calmness.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just a small commotion, I guess? Our dear friends. A midnight dream, nothing more. Just leave our house and everything will be fine.”

Eternal Sugar tried to act calm, but the trembling of her fingertips and the raggedness in her breath made her true feelings clear. Finally, the words she had been holding back came bursting out.

“Don’t avoid it like that again! With that expression, like it’s no big deal...!”

“You... how dare you... You don’t have the right to say that.”

Shadow Milk narrowed her eyes, about to speak, but Sugar cut her off.

“Yes, I do! I do have the right! At least I... I didn’t change into a completely different cookie like you did! No one else changed as much as you! At least I... I wasn’t clueless about what I wanted! You just needed an excuse to be by Pure Vanilla’s side, didn’t you?”

And that’s when Shadow Milk finally let the words she had been holding back escape.

“Oh, really? Pure Vanilla understands me, unlike some others! And what about you? Did Hollyberry’s kingdom seem better than your paradise?!”

Eternal Sugar's eyes trembled violently before turning red as she growled lowly and shot back.

"Always pretending, always acting like you know everything! You were always right!"

Shadow Milk laughed and retorted. "You were the best at pretending, though. ‘Let’s be happy!’ ‘Everyone can be happy if they just listen to me.’ Are you joking?"

"That was sincere!" Sugar shouted, as if defending herself. "Maybe the method was wrong... but at least I wanted the cookies to be happy! But you? You were more focused on proving you were right than actually making the cookies happy!"

"So what?" Shadow Milk said calmly. "I was right. That’s the truth. Any cookie with half a brain would’ve understood. It’s just too bad you didn’t get it."

Eternal Sugar shook her head in disbelief.

"Don’t you remember how insufferable you were back then? Always smelling like ink, talking about ‘inevitable self-reflection and change’… What does that even mean?! When I tried to understand, you’d just say, ‘It’s not about just saying words!’ I really tried to understand!”

"Are you blaming me because you’re too stupid to understand?" Shadow Milk scoffed. "Do you even know what precision of words means?"

"I don’t care about that crap! You don’t care at all about the cookies who are listening! Do you remember the fairy tale I made? It was about how to share your feelings. The kids were learning how to say 'sorry' and 'I love you.' And then you barged in and said, ‘This can’t be classified as a lesson in justice!’ They were just little cookies!"

"Oh, that one?" Shadow Milk scoffed again. "You love playing with those little preschoolers. I thought you were trying to raise them like simpletons. Flowers singing, rainbows shooting out... You couldn’t even explain what any of that meant."

"You were the one trying to mess with their heads!" Sugar clenched her fists. "Do you remember the day I went to your academy? You told the kids they needed logic, rules, and inductive reasoning just to have the right to speak! They couldn’t even decide on the lunch menu and went hungry! I had to give them psychological counseling!"

Shadow Milk looked down. "...The methods were a bit extreme, but I wasn’t wrong. Logical thinking was necessary. At least I didn’t say something like, ‘If we all think positively, peace will come,’ when a drought hit. That village nearly collapsed. If I hadn’t intervened..."

"...I messed up," Sugar’s voice softened for a moment. "I didn’t know about the food problem. But I was sincere! I believed that if the cookies were happy in their hearts, everything else would follow. But you… you don’t understand that. Maybe, that’s not something a cookie like you should have been doing."

Shadow Milk scoffed. "You should just mind your own business. You don’t understand what reality is. You live in a utopia where ‘everything is solved with love and positivity.’ Reality doesn’t change with a single hug, like you think. The world is changed by those who know how to nod without a word."

Sugar gritted her teeth. "At least I wasn’t fake! You smile in front of the kids, but then behind their backs, you’re muttering, ‘That cookie has poor emotional expression...’ and judging them!"

"That was observation. You don’t even know what observation is. You were just a fool flying around saying, ‘Happiness will change the world~’"

"That means I was pure!"

"It means you were dumb!"

Sugar shouted angrily. "What good is knowledge without love?!"

Shadow Milk didn’t back down. "Love without knowledge is even worse!"

The two cookies were so close their faces almost touched. The tension sparked.

Then—

"Are you out of your mind?!"
Eternal Sugar shouted, swinging her hand nervously. Her fingertips brushed against Shadow Milk's dough. For a moment, Eternal Sugar tried to pull her hand back, but Shadow Milk reacted faster.

"Did you just touch me? Really?!"
Shadow Milk’s eyes widened as she grabbed Eternal Sugar's soft, cotton candy-like pink hair. Sugar strands tangled between her fingers. Instinctively, Eternal Sugar grabbed Shadow Milk's milk jelly-like hair. In that moment, small eyes hidden within the hair flitted around in panic and fled.

The two cookies, completely losing themselves, staggered as they pulled at each other’s hair, shaking back and forth.

"How can you even think with that hair? Is your brain pickled in sugar?!"
"You always pretended to be polite, pretending to be smart—did you want everyone to clap for you every time they saw you?! Did you want to win the Best Cookie Award or something?!"

"At least I was the one leading everyone! What about you? You were the angel laughing foolishly in the flower field, then bumping your forehead against the door and crying, weren’t you?"
"That— that was a door that was meant to be pushed! You put the signs up and changed the direction of the door!"

"Are you illiterate? Can’t you even read?!"

The two cookies began to bicker like children, digging up past mistakes as their argument grew more immature.

"Shut up!"
They both shouted at the same time, still holding each other’s hair tightly.

Pure Vanilla and Hollyberry, watching from a distance, were left speechless, staring with their mouths agape.

"Stop... This is way too childish..."
Pure Vanilla muttered in disbelief.
"Wait... Are they really fighting by grabbing each other's hair?"
Hollyberry’s eyes widened in shock.

Hollyberry, shaking her head, quickly walked between the two cookies.
"Alright, this is enough. If this is the kind of dream it is, I’d rather wake up."

With skilled hands, Hollyberry wrapped her arms around Eternal Sugar’s waist and lifted her. A strand of Shadow Milk’s hair slipped from Eternal Sugar’s grip.

"Okay, enough. You’ve got to save that hair of yours. Your pretty pink hair is getting ruined. Took you three hours just to style it, right?"

As Hollyberry straightened Eternal Sugar’s messy hair, she patted her back.

"Let go! She grabbed me first!"
Eternal Sugar still huffed angrily.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’ve never seen you this mad before. Let’s go eat something delicious and calm down. You’re going to wrinkle the dough?"

Meanwhile, Pure Vanilla stepped behind Shadow Milk, pulling him away gently as if to embrace him. A tremor of anger passed through the dough, but Pure Vanilla spoke carefully because of it.

"Milk... Please. No one’s going to gain anything like this."

Shadow Milk’s fingertips trembled ever so slightly.
"This bastard… she touched me..."
"Still, you know it wasn’t serious, right?"

Breathing heavily, the two cookies glared at each other. Their hair was tangled, their clothes torn, but the fire in their emotions was still burning brightly. Pure Vanilla and Hollyberry had barely managed to separate them, but the heated emotions weren’t settling down easily.

For a moment, silence filled the space, and the air grew even sharper, thick with the tension. It felt as though something real might erupt at any moment.

"You never told me..."

Eternal Sugar took a moment to catch her breath, her eyes sharpening with intensity as she spoke. In her gaze, there was no longer any love—just a storm of emotions that could no longer be called affection.

"You never told me anything!" Her voice trembled, as memories from the past violently pressed against her. "You always made decisions on your own, and you never trusted us!"

Shadow Milk met her gaze silently. His voice was low and calm as he responded.

"Oh, really? Would you have believed me if I had told you? Who was it that didn’t trust me? Was it just a one-time thing, or have you'r always doubted me?"

His voice was soft, but there was a bitter edge to it. His stare didn’t waver as he glared at Eternal Sugar.

"I was the only one considered a friend."

"You never thought of we as a friend!"

Eternal Sugar shoved HoliBerry aside and stepped forward, and the dreamworld began to warp around them.

"You never even loved us!"

Shadow Milk inhaled sharply, almost as if he had heard something truly shocking. He shook off PureVanilla’s hand and rose into the air, scattering shadows in his wake.

"Don’t you dare say I didn’t love you!"

His voice, and the shadows around him, trembled.

"Don’t you dare speak as if I left you. Huh?"

At that moment, the emotional tone shifted. It wasn’t anger, nor was it blame. It was something deeper... something more refined, as if it had been buried deep inside for years, waiting to be revealed. The confessions, long held back, now started to surface. PureVanilla and HoliBerry paused, realizing they could no longer intervene. Could they even be a part of this?

"We can’t stop this." HoliBerry whispered.

"But..."

"PureVanilla, maybe... this is how it has to be. If we interfere, nothing will change."

PureVanilla felt like an outsider, as if she were just watching them from the sidelines. There was nothing she could do but be there. No, there was nothing she should do. She realized that her only role right now was to stay by their side. It was heartbreaking, but for now, that was all she could offer.

Then, Eternal Sugar raised her voice again.

"You’ve always acted like you were the only special one. When did we stop being your friends? Huh? You never said anything to us! How could we trust you then? You ignored us!"

Just recalling the painful past made her heart ache. Shadow Milk had always stayed a step behind, or higher up, like an observer, never really trying to walk alongside them. Eternal Sugar felt that loneliness deeply.

Shadow Milk froze for a moment, his eyes flickering slightly. He couldn’t argue with her. It was true. He hadn’t spoken. He couldn’t speak.

'But is it really my fault? ha?'

The reason he couldn’t speak was because the truth was too heavy, too painful. It was a wound, something he couldn’t just bring up.

He knew he’d have to say it someday. But it always felt like 'now wasn’t the right time.' When they were still unaware, still happy, he didn’t want to burden them with it. And when they started to become sad, when they couldn’t even deal with their own emotions, he still felt it wasn’t the right time.

What would change now, anyway?

They wouldn’t understand. No one would. No one except his other half.

Better to stay silent, to hide behind lies. It was easier to remain in his shell.

Shadow Milk gave a cold smile, even in the face of Eternal Sugar’s cry.

“Yeah, right? I’m your leader, remember? That makes me special, doesn’t it? I didn’t tell you anything, so that makes me the bad guy. There. That makes it easier for you, right?”

His sarcasm—it was hard to tell whether it was directed at Eternal Sugar or at himself.

But Eternal Sugar trembled with rage, her fingertips quivering.

“You told Pure Vanilla!!! Why not me?!”

he remembered that look in Eternal Sugar’s eyes a few days ago—confused, hurt—when he had spoken without thinking. If Eternal Sugar truly believed their collapse was all due to Shadow Milk’s silence, then what had he careless words sounded like to her? How much had he wounded her without even realizing?

Only now did he understand how deep that wound must have been.

“Don’t you dare bring Pure Vanilla into this!” Shadow Milk growled. “Don’t drag him into your mess of emotions!”

But Eternal Sugar stood her ground, locking eyes with him.

“Oh, I see. Pure Vanilla matters. But we never did, huh? Then stop pretending we were friends! You say we wouldn’t get it? Of course we wouldn’t! You never gave us the chance!”

“…I was afraid you’d break,” Shadow Milk replied, his voice like ice.

But that only poured more fuel onto Eternal Sugar’s fire.

“Break? You mean the witch eats cookies? No shit! You think I didn’t know that?! You kept a secret like that—for that?!”

She exploded, every suppressed resentment and hurt boiling to the surface.

And then, as if the truth had been suffocating inside him, Shadow Milk shouted,

“The witch is not a god.”

That was all he said. Just that one line. And then silence, as if he had no intention of saying anything more.

He used to believe that saying it out loud would make the world collapse.

Now he knew it didn’t matter. But back then… back then, he thought it would be too much for them to bear.
He believed sharing what he knew would only bring sorrow.
But the truth? Turns out, no one really cared about gods or witches after all.

…Or maybe, I was the only one who cared about the witches at all?

A flicker of resignation stirred in Shadow Milk’s eyes.

Eternal Sugar was struck speechless, as if her breath had been stolen.
And in that moment, Pure Vanilla felt something deep and hidden stir within Shadow Milk.
His voice may have been cold and distant, but within it lay guilt, avoidance, and an unspoken love.

And from the side, Hollyberry watched the two with a furrowed brow.
The air was too heavy, the moment too sacred to interrupt.
She didn’t know what history they shared—only that she couldn’t know. And that, in itself, weighed on her.

Shadow Milk turned his head slightly, avoiding everyone’s gaze.

“…That’s it. That’s all the truth I have to give.”

Silence fell. Heavy and long-standing, thick with misunderstanding and old wounds.
Pure Vanilla could almost feel the weight of it.

And… he realized.
It was Shadow Milk who had been drowning in it the most.

The dream had faded.

It didn’t matter who stopped speaking first, or when the silence began. Emotions had raced to the edge of a cliff—only to collapse like a castle made of sand.
What lingered was the sound of weary breaths… and the echoes of things left unsaid.

Shadow Milk lay on a cushion, his back turned to the others, long legs curled in close.
Tear stains lingered like smudges across the strands of his tangled hair.
His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t truly asleep.
He didn’t toss or turn.
Just… lay there. Quietly. Far too quietly.

A few steps away, Eternal Sugar lay on a pile of cotton candy cushions, her head tilted up toward the dream-sky.
Her mind still seemed to drift elsewhere, her fingers gently tracing her knees, her lips pressed tightly shut.
She didn’t speak—but her silence said everything.

From afar, Pure Vanilla and Hollyberry watched them both.
The two exchanged a glance, and a quiet conversation began.

“…Pure Vanilla. What happened here?” Hollyberry asked.
Her voice was low, but sincere. “I can tell they fought, sure—but all this talk of witches and gods… it feels so unfamiliar. Like something out of another world.”

Pure Vanilla’s face was carefully composed, as if he were swallowing something hard and painful.
The expression he wore was quiet—too quiet to be called a smile.

“I’m sorry, Hollyberry… for dragging you into this. I don’t know everything either. But… I think there was a conflict long ago—one too complicated to explain. Between the Beasts. Wounds that never healed. Misunderstandings that only deepened.”

His gaze turned to the two figures lying apart from each other—separate, yet somehow connected.

“But… the fact that they’re finally voicing their pain, each in their own way… I think that means they’re ready. Ready to face each other.”

Hollyberry looked at him for a long moment, then gave a half shrug.

“You got dragged into this too, didn’t you? But listen—if you keep everything bottled up, it only explodes later.Fighting isn’t always bad. Sometimes… it’s the first real step to becoming true friends.Took me a while to learn that, though.”

Pure Vanilla gave the faintest of smiles.
And just then, the stillness on the other side of the room began to shift.

Eternal Sugar was the first to speak.
Her head remained tilted back, her eyes still lost in the distance.

“…Are you gonna tell the others? About the witch?”

Shadow Milk’s eyelashes fluttered.Slowly, he opened his eyes.
His hair brushed across his face, but he didn’t move it.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.

“You think that was me… telling the whole truth? All of it? That I just laid it all out? And now what—talk about the witch like it matters? Everything’s already broken. Has been for a long time. What’s the point now…? Like hearing more would fix it. Hell, maybe it’d just make it worse. When it gets that bad, do we still call ourselves Beasts? What would we even be?”

There was still sharpness in his tone. Or maybe… it wasn’t sharpness, but a kind of stubbornness—something he didn’t want anyone to see through.

Eternal Sugar gave a dry laugh, short and bitter.

“…It’s not like we wanted to stop believing in you.”

Shadow Milk’s shoulder twitched slightly.
A reflex.
His next words came softer.

“…It’s not like I meant to look down on you all.”

Silence fell again.
Not heavy this time—just uncertain. As though the words between them had once built a wall… and now they were slowly building a bridge.

Shadow Milk placed a careful plank across.

“…You were right about one thing.”

He curled tighter into himself, pressing closer to the floor. His voice was small—a confession, quiet and sincere.

“I did think iam were special. about witches.
That part’s true. And… back then, I wanted to keep that to myself. Didn’t want to share it with anyone.”

For a moment, Eternal Sugar’s expression cracked.
But then she smiled—crooked, familiar.

“I know. You were totally head-over-heels for the witch.”

“…It wasn’t that bad.”

“I saw you in your dreams, y’know. All ‘Witch~ Witch~’ this, ‘Witch~ Witch~’ that…”

Shadow Milk jerked upright instinctively.

“What?! You watched my dreams?!”

“Don’t you remember begging me to put you to sleep ‘cause of your insomnia? You clung to me like, ‘Milky ’. I didn’t peek on purpose, okay? But emotions don’t lie.”

“…Don’t call me that. Not now. It’s gross.”

Eternal Sugar just shrugged, as if used to this by now.

“Whatever. You were bragging about how your hair looked like a galaxy—while you were talking about her, too. That was the only time you ever talked about the witch.”

Silence again.
But this time, it wasn’t sharp.
It was just… heavy.
Full of hesitation.

Eternal Sugar lowered her head and spoke quietly.

“…I’m sorry, too.”

Shadow Milk’s half-lidded eyes shut a little tighter.

“For what.”

“I should’ve told you I’d wait. Even if it took forever.Even if I didn’t understand— I could’ve waited.I should’ve said that.Because one day, you would’ve helped me understand. But I never said it.”

For a long time, Shadow Milk said nothing.Then, in a whisper, he answered.

“…Lying isn’t your thing. It’s just how it is.”

Eternal Sugar gave a soft nod.

“Yeah. That’s why… you could tell Pure Vanilla, and not me. I get it. Still… I’m sorry.”

Shadow Milk turned his head toward the wall.
At the end of a soft breath, he murmured,

“…Someday, I’ll tell you.”

Eternal Sugar let out a breath of the same length, same weight, and whispered,

“…Okay. I’ll wait forever.”

A lie.
But the truth was in the way she said it.

Hollyberry shot up in bed, eyes popping open.

“…What in the world?! What kind of nonsense dream was THAT?!”

She’d been chatting with Pure Vanilla in a dream, chasing after two mysterious beasts who were literally clawing at each other’s hair and growling like angry puppies. They fought like freshly baked baby Cookies—immature, dramatic, and unbelievably loud! Who would believe this story?! She barely believed it herself. Clutching her forehead, she muttered:

“…Did I drink too much Berry Juice last night…?”

She sat there blankly for a moment—then suddenly gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth.

“Wait… wait a sec. Is this—is this what it feels like to be the poor husband stuck between two best friend wives having a full-on meltdown?! Ughhh, this hits way too close to home!”

She kicked off the blankets and leapt out of bed.

“Nope. Not doing that again. Next time, we’re sitting down for a real talk. All FOUR of us. Face to face. No more dream drama! Thanksgiving, maybe? Visiting Pure Vanilla’s kingdom with Sugar doesn’t sound half bad. Yep. Gonna write that letter.”

Chapter Text

As the sun rose, the square of the Vanilla Kingdom was bathed in golden light.

With only about a week left until Thanksgiving, the kingdom was abuzz with both nerves and excitement.
It was their first time celebrating this festival, and everyone was pouring their heart into the preparations.

Acorn-shaped baskets and handmade wooden tables were lined with care.
Fresh vegetables and grains, fragrant berries, root vegetables like carrots and sweet potatoes,
perfectly baked crackers, and steaming pumpkin pies were all arranged in neat rows.
Someone patted a pie fondly and shouted, “Now this is a masterpiece!”
Meanwhile, a few cookies, squished flat by the weight of the pumpkin they’d tried to cut, whimpered from the floor, 
“Ughh… can someone puff me back up…?”

But over that peaceful scene—suddenly, a piercing shriek cut through the air.

“Whyyyyyy! Why can’t we have meaaaat?!”

The cry was so dramatic that every cookie turned their head at once.

By the fountain, where sweet vanilla milkshake flowed, a cookie was staging a one-cookie protest.
Small and round, with a crisp brown crust for skin and a sprinkle of sugar powder over his head.
His body was polygonal and compact—this was Mince Pie Cookie.

Flasks of experimental potion clinked on the pie crust apron he wore,
and his jam-stained hands were shaking with fury.
He was a renowned potion maker, even in the Vanilla Kingdom—
a rather eccentric craftsman, known especially for concocting meat+fruit potions based on dessert magic.

Cookies nearby furrowed their brows; this wasn’t the first time he’d caused a scene.

“Why is it all vegetables, grains, and fruits just because it’s Thanksgiving? What about the meat?! Where did the meat go?! Meat is food too! You can’t talk about abundance without meat!!”

He’d been shouting about the “tyranny of meatless desserts” everywhere lately—from the town board to the banquet hall, even the council chamber.

Then—

From the far end of the square, the quiet steps of a man came to a stop.

He wore a sky-blue cape draped over his shoulders, and behind his large round glasses was a gentle smile.
His silvery-blue hair, tied into a low ponytail, fluttered softly in the breeze.

In his hand was a curious drink, glowing with a subtle light—
a mix of sky blue and milky white, like starlight melted into a latte.
Wisps of blue steam rose gently from the cup, drawing every gaze.

He murmured quietly to himself… yet somehow, his voice rang just clearly enough to be heard.

“Wow… no meat at a harvest festival? That’s surprising. I’m sure there’s a cultural reason, but… that doesn’t necessarily make it right.”

Though he seemed to be speaking to himself, the tone had just enough flourish to draw attention.
A few cookies turned their heads.

“…Wh-who’s that? Wait, are you agreeing with me?”
Mince Pie Cookie asked, hesitating.

The man nodded with a calm smile.

“Logically, you make a pretty strong argument.
It’s a shame no one’s really listening.”

He gave another nod, his smile subtle.

“Name’s Blue Latte Cookie. I’m a folklorist—I study the cultural origins of traditions. Nice to meet you.”

An odd hush fell over the crowd.
Mince Pie Cookie’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“A folklorist? Wait, really? Are you saying, academically, meat has a rightful place in the tradition?!”

“Well,” Blue Latte Cookie said, “many ancient kingdoms included meat dishes as staples in their festivals.
They were symbols of prosperity.
So this reaction… might just be the result of historical ignorance.”

With that, he stepped closer to Mince Pie Cookie, still smiling.

And inside, he smirked—
Blue Latte Cookie. Or rather, for now, the one merely playing Blue Latte Cookie: Shadow Milk Cookie.

As he brought the sky-blue latte to his lips, he muttered inwardly,

“Not bad. For Act One, this is getting pretty fun.”

Blue Latte Cookie had the audience in the palm of his hand from the very start.
Every step, every inflection, every flick of his hand—perfectly rehearsed.

His voice was sweet, his smile gentle.
Like a warm milk latte—smooth, comforting, and persuasive.
He was born to stir up a crowd.

“Well, technically, it’s true.
These traditions—yes, they began in the ancient Pure Vanilla Kingdom, passed through the Crème Republic, and now live on here.”

He adjusted his glasses and looked at Mince Pie Cookie’s disappointed face, then clapped once to draw everyone’s attention again.
Every word he spoke carried intent.

“But aren’t you forgetting something?
This festival isn’t just for the old Pure Vanilla Kingdom—
It’s for this new Pure Vanilla Kingdom.
A new tradition, made by you.
And every tradition has to start somewhere, doesn’t it?
Right now, with the dishes you’re making—that’s how it starts.
So tell me... why not?”

“But… it’s a harvest festival,” someone said hesitantly.
“Isn’t meat kind of out of place?”

Blue Latte Cookie let out a soft chuckle through his nose and cut in smoothly.
It’s best to shut down resistance early. That’s how you keep the lead.

“That’s just a matter of perspective, isn’t it?
What’s the heart of this festival?
Sharing. Gratitude. Abundance.
Then why exclude protein?
Meat is one of the most efficient sources of energy for survival.
So why should we avoid it?”

The crowd was beginning to waver.
Murmurs like “...well, that’s true…” began to ripple through the room.

Strawberry Cookie, wearing a flower crown, raised her hand.

“You have a question?”

“Um… I agree.
Some Cookies do want to eat meat… and I just want everyone to have fun.
I don’t see why it has to be a problem.”

“A wonderful point,” Blue Latte Cookie nodded kindly.

“If there’s no real reason not to...
Then what’s stopping us?”

One by one, the Cookies started nodding.
Awkward at first, but unmistakably convinced.

Mince Pie Cookie, on the verge of tears, was deeply moved.

“That’s it…!
How did he put my feelings into words so perfectly?!”

Blue Latte Cookie gave a knowing smile.

“I happen to love meat.
And this Vanilla Field? Crawling with cream sheep.”

For the first time, Shadow Milk showed his true feelings.
Pure Vanilla might scold him later, but—

'As long as it’s not the pets, right?
Besides, let’s be honest, Pure Vanilla’s raising way too many.
He never has time to play with me…
So really, this is karma.'

Reducing the sheep population. That was Shadow Milk’s real goal.

That afternoon, a group of Cookies gathered in front of the house of Vanilla Chantilly Cream Cookie, the kingdom’s official advisor.

He was very busy.
As the royal advisor of this glorious Vanilla Kingdom,
he was coordinating every detail of the upcoming Thanksgiving celebration—
a festival more traditional and elegant than anything the Crème Republic could dream of.
It was his pride, his purpose.

That’s when a clamor echoed down the hallway.

“Vanilla Chantilly Cream Cookie!”

“We’re here to file a complaint!”

The door burst open and Mince Pie Cookie and a few others poured into the room.

Tiny and round, Mince Pie Cookie’s brown crust apron fluttered as he shouted:

“Why isn’t there any meat?!
Thanksgiving is a celebration of abundance!
Why is meat the one thing that’s not allowed?!”

Vanilla Chantilly Cream Cookie held up a scroll, baffled.

“No one’s banning meat.
If someone wants to eat it, they can.
But putting it on the official table is a bit…”

“That’s exactly it!
You said this was a brand-new festival.
If it’s new, then we can include new things!”

“We are the Pure Vanilla Kingdom.
Our tradition centers around nature’s gifts—grains, vegetables—”

“But!” Mince Pie Cookie raised his voice.
“Blue Latte Cookie said cultural diversity includes meat!”

Vanilla Chantilly Cream Cookie’s expression stiffened.

“…Who?”

At that moment, Blue Latte Cookie, who had been quietly standing behind the crowd, took a calm sip of coffee and shrugged, avoiding eye contact.

He whispered, as if he weren’t really involved.

“Did I say something like that?
Well… cuisine does vary from region to region.
And meat is a part of that in many places.
How you interpret that is up to you…”

He pushed up his oversized glasses, voice trailing off.
Still, that one line—“meat is never left out”—echoed in everyone’s ears.

“You can’t have a feast without meat!”

“Are you rejecting cultural diversity?!”

Mince Pie Cookie shouted again:

“This is the Pure Vanilla Kingdom!
Shouldn’t we be more inclusive than anyone?!”

Vanilla Chantilly Cream Cookie was flustered.
Was this really becoming such a big deal?

“I—I’m saying we’re not banning it.
Just that it’s not on the main table.
Is that really so hard to understand?”

Just then, Blue Latte Cookie suddenly pulled out a magazine and said—loudly and intentionally:

“Oh my! The Crème Republic serves seafood at their Thanksgiving? How delightfully creative~”

The rumor spread in seconds.
So easy, it was almost laughable.

“The Crème Republic’s doing it again. Always one step ahead…”

“Honestly, Pure Vanilla is the real deal…
but we’re always so slow.”

Vanilla Chantilly Cream Cookie’s eyebrow twitched.
Since when?!
The Crème Republic, who always favored baked Cookies and ignored sea Cookies—them?!
Doing something that progressive? Unbelievable.
And yet… what if it were true?

“Well… even so, we can’t just change things out of nowhere. The menu has already been sent to the stage director, the script’s finalized… The festival is less than a week away. Changing it now would be…”

He tried to stay composed, but his hands trembled slightly.

Then—flap.
Wings sliced through the tense air in the corridor.

“What’s all this noise? We’re in the middle of a broadcast rehearsal.”

The chill in that voice dropped the room’s temperature by three degrees.

Dark curls.
Violet gemstone accents.
Silky wingbeats.

Black Sapphire Cookie had arrived.

He was a popular radio host these days—especially among the ladies, or so they said.

“Is this a riot? Fascinating. But my mic is sensitive to background noise. Would you all mind keeping it down?”

He slowly turned his head, scanning the room like a hawk sizing up its prey.

Every word, every glance, carried cold authority. Black Sapphire Cookie lived for the mic. To him, the script was sacred, rehearsal time untouchable.
Anyone who disrupted that? Less than dirt.

Vanilla Chantilly Cream Cookie was sweating now, beads trickling down the back of his neck.

“Ah—perfect timing… Actually, there’s been a request to change the traditional table dishes. But the script’s already done, and it’s so close to the event…
It would be difficult, right?”

Black Sapphire Cookie narrowed his eyes.

“…Excuse me?”

His mic let out a sharp static zzzt—

“If there was a change in concept, I should’ve been informed weeks ago. You want me to change the script now? That’s…”

The usual smile vanished. His voice grew tense, irritated.

The cheerful, witty host everyone adored during broadcasts—gone. In his place: a short-tempered, exhausted man.
This wasn’t the stage. He had no reason to smile at these pests.

Even his mic seemed to growl, as if it might spit venom.

Who were these imbeciles, barging in like this?
He needed to find out.

He turned to face the crowd—

And that’s when someone stepped forward, calm and unhurried.

“Oh dear… Was that rude of me? What a shame. I really wanted this.”

Blue Latte Cookie, with his soft white-and-blue ponytail and sharply pressed robe, approached with a gentle coffee-scented smile.
His mismatched eyes—blue and teal—glinted coolly behind his glasses.

Black Sapphire Cookie's face twitched ever so slightly, then he beamed as if a camera had just started rolling.

“But if the plan has changed, it’s the job of a true professional host to follow it.”

Inwardly, Black Sapphire Cookie was gritting his teeth. But on the outside, he wore a bright smile and struck a witty pose. For the sake of his master, Shadow Milk Cookie, he was the type to throw away even a script he had spent weeks preparing.
(Of course, he'd be taking out that frustration on someone else later.)

At that, applause burst out from the crowd of cookies.

“Wow, so professional!”
“I love your radio show!”
“How can he still smile like that when everything he planned just got ruined?!”

Even Blue Latte Cookie clapped along, grinning brightly.

“I like him more and more.”

“So… you’re telling me the meat dish was a last-minute addition?”

Pure Vanilla blinked, clearly trying to confirm if he had just heard that correctly.

“Exactly! And let me ask—why? Why are they suddenly demanding meat now of all times?!”

Chantilly Cream Cookie’s cheeks flushed with frustration as she trembled with her clipboard in hand. She looked ready to explode.

“I just... I really wanted to do it right this time! A wonderful, flawless festival that wouldn't lose to anything from the Crème Republic!
I wanted to throw a celebration so amazing that those who always look down on us would finally have to shut up!”

Pure Vanilla gently smiled and dabbed the sweat from Chantilly Cream Cookie’s brow. Speaking softly, as if to calm her, he said:

“You’ve done an amazing job. The stage is lovely, and the schedule is full of great ideas. This is nothing to worry about.
And remember, a festival is for everyone to enjoy. You don’t need anyone’s approval.
But if you do need someone to recognize your efforts—let me be that person. This is a truly wonderful festival.”

“But… but Mince Pie Cookie keeps whining with weird statistics, the crowd suddenly started booing, and I just…”

Chantilly Cream Cookie’s voice grew quieter and quieter, until she hung her head, trembling.

“You’re doing wonderfully. But if this is all getting to be too much… then let me step in for a bit.”

Pure Vanilla stood slowly, brushing off his robes, and began walking toward the square.
He had barely taken a few steps when Mince Pie Cookie shot his hand up and shouted:

“Lord Pure Vanilla! Meat is important! I know tradition matters, but right now, forty-eight percent of cookies here are craving meat dishes! And another thirty-three percent say they’ll eat anything!”

“Is that so? When did you conduct this survey?”
“Well, I mean… just roughly! That’s how it feels!”
“…I see.”

Pure Vanilla smiled, accepting the strange burst of passion, then stepped forward before the crowd.
With his usual gentle smile, he simply raised one hand. That small gesture was enough to hush the entire square.

“I’ve heard some of you would like meat dishes. And if that’s what many of you truly want, we can make them. There’s no problem with that at all.
It’s just… our kingdom doesn’t have any traditional festival recipes for meat. That kind of custom has simply never existed.”

Mince Pie Cookie looked slightly disheartened and spoke up with hesitation.

“I know that, too…” he pouted, looking like he might cry at any moment.
“But still… can’t something be done? I thought maybe there’d be a way...
If it were Blue Latte Cookie, I bet she’d find a solution...”

At the unfamiliar name, Pure Vanilla blinked.

“...Blue Latte Cookie?”

“Has there ever been a cookie like that in our kingdom...?”

He tilted his head slightly. For someone who knew nearly every cookie in the kingdom, it was a puzzling name.

Mince Pie Cookie clenched both fists and declared,

“Well, I just met he while preparing for this festival! But he seemed really legit!
Super smart, elegant, like he could solve anything—just amazing!”

A faint smile appeared on Pure Vanilla’s lips. He spoke in a slightly playful tone:

“Well then… I’d like to meet he, too. If I talk to he myself, perhaps we can find a clue.”

The Blue Latte Cookie, disguised as Shadow Milk, appeared with his sharp eyes like a brush pen, whistling as he tied his blue hair back. Leaning against the crowd with his arms crossed, he calmly observed the situation unfolding before him.

"How foolish. Stirring up trouble is so easy, it's boring..."

He suppressed a yawn and counted in his head. Let’s see, Pure Vanilla’s flock... Well, I’ll need to take out at least a third. Twelve? Hmm... maybe I’ll spare the parents or relatives of the ones I like the most.

The voice of Mince Pie Cookie, pushing through the crowd and shouting something, reached his ears. He hid his sharp gaze behind large glasses and watched the center of the square.

“There you are! Blue Latte Cookie! We finally found you! Pure Vanilla Cookie wants to meet you in person! You should feel honored!”

Shadow Milk shrugged nonchalantly, raising his chin in a theatrical manner.

“Sigh, being famous is exhausting...”

He made a graceful entrance, crossing his legs and flicking his hair with his fingertips, shaking the blue latte and acting as if he were a professional.

“Hello, I am Blue Latte Cookie, as refreshing and profound as my name, and a significant figure in folklore.”

Mince Pie Cookie marveled and hurried toward Pure Vanilla.

“Look at that scholarly aura! The way he speaks! It’s the real deal. He was born to be folklore itself!”

Pure Vanilla, for a brief moment, thought, If he's born from folklore, then he’s not even a cookie... but quickly pushed the thought aside.

“...Nice to meet you, Blue Latte Cookie. It’s truly an honor to meet you in person...”

He squinted his eyes slightly. There was something oddly familiar about him. Although he tried to dismiss it, the mischievous glint in those eyes... and the faint, aged scent of milk... Well, it’s only strange if I don’t recognize him, seeing as I cuddle up with him every night...

Shadow Milk studied his expression and faintly curled the corners of his mouth in a playful, sly smile.

“Do you... like me? It’s a bit tricky, though. I already have a partner.”
“...Yes... I also have a partner...”

Pure Vanilla’s eyes narrowed in slight confusion, his hands trembling. What is this cookie doing...? It’s Shadow Milk, isn’t it? Unsure how to respond, he awkwardly forced a smile. He had no choice but to play along with the act.

Shadow Milk, meanwhile, couldn’t help but silently laugh inside at how amusing it was. Clearly, Pure Vanilla had recognized him, but the reaction... it was just too funny.

"So... Blue Latte Cookie?"
Pure Vanilla asked, suppressing his growing impatience. "Could I ask why you advocate for meat dishes?"

Blue Latte Cookie elegantly waved his finger.

“Of course, there’s a very scholarly reason. Though... the main influence was Mince Pie Cookie’s argument... I personally like meat, you see.”
“...Right.”
“If you examine the causes of every conflict in this world, it all boils down to a lack of protein. Meat. The emotional stability that comes from it is the key to happiness in this world, don't you think?”
“…I see.”

Pure Vanilla was at a loss for words. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to calm the pounding in his head. Finally, he spoke quietly.

“…Then I suppose I’ll need to feed a certain cookie meat every day from now on.”
“Exactly! I don’t know which cookie that is, but if there’s no meat on the table, they might get upset. Maybe they’ll lie down and cry for about an hour...”

As the conversation continued, Pure Vanilla couldn’t believe it. The absurdity was endless. He sighed and turned towards Mince Pie Cookie, speaking kindly.

“Mince Pie Cookie, could I have a private word with Blue Latte Cookie for a moment?”
“Of course! What an incredible person! I’ve never met a scholar so wise and full of charisma! His gaze is like the very star of knowledge!”
“…I agree.”

After Mince Pie Cookie walked away, Pure Vanilla slowly turned to face Blue Latte Cookie. He exhaled softly and asked, barely above a whisper,
“…Blue Latte?”
He squinted slightly. “Is that... really a drink?”

Blue Latte Cookie paused for a moment, placing his finger on his chin, before answering confidently,
“Blue Latte is a drink made of milk, espresso, and blue curaçao syrup... and you can add anything you like. Imagination is key.”
“…Shadow Milk.”
“I’m just saying!”

With a smile, Shadow Milk raised both hands in the air.

“So... do you think my name is cute after all?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll think of something else. How about Blue Vanilla? Or Blue Milkshake? Oh, Blue Love? No, that’s too forward—”
“Really... Milk... why do you keep acting so cute?”
“Well, I think next time I’ll go with Blue Love.”

Shadow Milk’s feet lifted slightly, and he chuckled, winking mischievously.

“So, folklore expert Blue Latte Cookie. You’re researching the origins of civilization, right? Which kingdom’s civilization are you majoring in?”
Pure Vanilla asked with a playful tone.

Shadow Milk, perhaps not having thought that far ahead, shrugged and started to make up an answer on the spot.

“Well, if I had to say... maybe the forgotten ancient... hmm, what would be a good one? The ancient cookie kingdoms... or maybe ‘humans’... yeah, I guess I’m a scholar of lost civilizations.”

Pure Vanilla briefly wondered about the mention of “humans” but simply let it slide.

“So, what now?” Pure Vanilla asked cautiously, with some expectation in his voice. “You’ve made everyone want meat now. Surely... you have a solution, right?”

But Blue Latte Cookie, or rather, Shadow Milk, simply shook his head indifferently and slowly began to float upward. No longer bothering to hide his identity, his two blue odd-eye pupils sparkled.

“Ah, this is unfortunate. Something always comes up at times like this. Oh no, it seems my pet rabbit doll has had a heart attack! It’s a very serious situation, you know?”

“Are you... joking right now? You cause all this trouble and just leave?”

Chuckling, Shadow Milk returned to his original form, casually laying down in mid-air, as if lounging on an invisible sofa, hands behind his head, yawning.

“Didn’t you know? I never intended to take responsibility for this all the way through.” Shadow Milk grinned, whistling. “Honestly, it’s been a bit fun, watching these foolish cookies scramble around. But you know... I’m starting to get tired of the other cookies’ stench. I’ve been hanging around for too long. But hey, I’ve laid the foundation. Just... make the meat, alright?”

“Milk...”

Pure Vanilla quietly, but firmly, stared at him. The scolding look made Shadow Milk roll his eyes and mutter awkwardly.

“Ugh, what’s with this? You need my help finding a meat recipe? Is that really an urgent crisis for the royal palace? It’s... just a small prank.”

Pure Vanilla, with a great deal of patience, spoke slowly.

“Milk, it’ll be fun if we work together. I promise.”

Shadow Milk stared silently into the air for a moment, before slowly descending to the ground. As he did, his appearance shifted, his messy black hair neatly tied into a soft ponytail, and the familiar image of Blue Latte Cookie resurfaced.

“…If it’s not fun, I’ll flip this kingdom upside down.”
“You do that all the time anyway.”

Pure Vanilla didn't have much time... so he said, "I'll give it one full day. The next day, let's all come together and share a meat dish each."

Well... it was the only choice. At this point, developing a new recipe was almost impossible.

"Hmm... we don't have a lot of time," he said with a smile, but there was more warmth and trust in that smile than concern.

"It's okay. As long as our cookies are willing, we can do anything, right?"

He clasped his hands together and quietly nodded his head.

"Tomorrow, just one day, let's prepare together. It doesn't have to be a meat dish. As long as it's a dish filled with love, anything will do."

"It has to be a meat dish!"
"Oh, right. Then... if you can think of a dish that reminds you of meat, anything is fine."

As his words ended, the cookies in the square exchanged glances. Half worry, half excitement—and strangely, a bit of curious anticipation.
It was the first time they were all going to cook together.

The next day, a long wooden table was set in Pure Vanilla's garden. There were no fancy tents or judges. It was just cookies, each holding something in their hands, gathering around.

"Alright, everyone, quiet down."

When Pure Vanilla raised his hands, the once noisy town square instantly became silent.
The cookies looked at him with a mix of half excitement, half anxiety.

"Today... we will have the first Thanksgiving of our Vanilla Kingdom. Let's hold a cooking competition to make dishes that will shine at the festival. It doesn't have to be perfect."

As soon as he finished speaking, whispers broke out among the cookies.

"Have you come up with any new recipes?"
"Jellycow steak is so cliché."
"I'm so tired of cream lamb stew... It's not really festival food..."

Well, the important thing was... a meat dish that could symbolize the festival, something different from usual.
They all tilted their heads, wondering what might come out of it.

Gingerbread was the first to step forward.

"This is gonna be fun! It's my homemade jelly smoked grill!"

The parade of dishes that followed... was beyond imagination.

Wizard Cookie proudly showed off his "magical butter that makes you imagine the taste of meat." Well, it was definitely butter, and it smelled like meat. But it was butter.
In the end, it was just a chunk of butter, and it tasted greasy.

Strawberry Cream Cookie presented "Herb Snowballs" with a sweet meringue sauce, topped with tons of cinnamon spices.
It was beautiful and impressive, but ultimately it was just meringue and spices. He claimed it was the most original recipe he knew...
But, was it really a meat dish?
One cookie presented a giant gravy jelly, claiming "The sauce is the true flavor!" And, by the way, the sauce was tasty.
Another cookie argued that well-cooked dried strawberries were "ham."

Pure Vanilla accepted all these dishes sincerely.
"Hmm, it's harmonious. The scent is warm... And this one has quite an interesting texture!"
He genuinely tasted them, nodding at the cookies with a sincere smile.

The last turn came,
and it was none other than the cookie that could be called the culprit behind all this "meat debate."
Mince Pie Cookie.

As soon as he appeared, the square filled with an unusual tension.
By now, mixed looks of expectation and fear were aimed at him.

Mince Pie Cookie rolled in a large, heavy oven on a small cart, along with a plate of the same size. The plate held a beautiful assortment of glistening berries, fruits, nuts, herbs, and even gold dust—everything seemed carefully selected.

But...

There was no meat. Not in any piece, not anywhere.

"Mince Pie Cookie? Where's the meat...?"

Pure Vanilla asked cautiously. His eyes were a blend of expectation and curiosity. But despite his kind tone, Mince Pie Cookie slumped his shoulders.

"...Well..."

He stared silently at the plate for a while, then muttered softly.

"...I thought of a dish no one has ever made before. Something that goes well with fruit, and is even more meat-like than real meat—an ultimate meat. But... I spent so much time thinking about it that I ended up staying up all night."

He pointed at his large oven. Inside, there was no fire, no meat—just an empty, cold oven, eerily silent, as if it mirrored its sad owner.

"I wanted to bake the perfect meat for this dish... but I couldn't decide on anything, so this is how it ended. I'm such a fool for starting this and not finishing anything."

His voice grew quieter, and by the end, it carried a lonely tone, as if he was scolding himself. Like a failed inventor, he stared at the plate with a hollow feeling, which was a bit funny... but strangely, it felt bittersweet.

Although all the other cookies had created dishes with their ingredients, and the little competition was for fun—he had prepared with more sincerity and dedication than anyone else.

Pure Vanilla quietly approached and sat beside his oven. Then, he gazed at the radiant fruits on the plate.

"...It's truly beautiful."

He said with a sincere smile.

Mince Pie Cookie looked up, surprised.

"This oven is wonderfully made, and each fruit... it's shining like it's loved. Mince Pie Cookie, you're truly amazing. Come to think of it, you're the kingdom's top fruit and meat potion maker, right? I can really feel the quality you've managed in your fruits."

"Really...? But... there's no meat..."

"It's okay." Pure Vanilla nodded and smiled quietly.
"As long as we decide on the recipe, this oven can bake the most amazing meat. We can get it ready quickly for the festival. What you've prepared now is already a huge help."

Mince Pie Cookie's eyes trembled for a moment. Then, slowly, he seemed to ease up and gently wiped his oven, nodding slightly.

"...Hearing you say that, I feel a little reassured. Actually... I still don't know what to bake, but next time, I'll definitely find the right meat."

"Let's look for it together." Pure Vanilla nodded and said.
"As you said, this is our festival."

The empty oven in the corner of the square no longer looked lonely. Though it still had nothing inside,
there was a growing sense of anticipation—and a warm feeling of making something together.

At that moment, in a corner of the square,
a grayish shadow that had been quietly sitting apart, moved with a long sigh.

The cookie, sipping his blue latte repeatedly—
it was Blue Latte Cookie.

With dull eyes, he stared at the gathered cookies, and then muttered softly—yet clearly.

"Is this... a kingdom or a kindergarten?"

Still holding his blue latte to his lips, his expression remained completely unchanged.
As if he were the only rational being in this "sugar-coated madness."

The latte he was holding had latte in its name, but there was no coffee in it.

To avoid falling asleep here, maybe he should add real coffee to this fake blue latte.
With that thought, Blue Latte Cookie scoffed and muttered.

In front of him, Mince Pie Cookie was weighed down with guilt, (but honestly, if he liked meat so much, he should go slaughter a lamb right now and bring it over).
Pure Vanilla, like a saint, was reaching out his hand,
and the cookies were watching with sparkling eyes, clapping in applause.

They were all... utterly foolish.

Blue Latte Cookie quietly shook his head.
A faint smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

“…This is exactly why I shouldn’t stay around other Cookies for too long. Today, once again, the thesis is proven. A dough of idiocy, kneaded with sugar, baked in oblivion, and frosted with innocence. The perfect specimen.”

Mince Pie Cookie cried out, “What really mattered was our hearts, not the meat!”
And the Cookies all cheered, “Yes! As long as we’re together, it’s a festival!”

Only one Cookie couldn’t seem to fit into that cheerful finale.

Shadow Milk turned his head in silence, sipping on his Blue Latte.
It was sweet. Bland.
His stomach churned.

“…If I knew this play was going to end so disgustingly, I wouldn’t have started it.”

A Cookie approached him, gently tapping his shoulder.
It was Pure Vanilla.

“Milk— I mean, Blue Latte Cookie, wasn’t that wonderful? Everyone embraced the true meaning of the festival.”

Shadow Milk turned to look at her slowly.

“…All I saw was a culinary catastrophe. All I wanted—was a few sheep, roasted over a fire. That’s it. Was that really too much to ask? What a stupid festival.”

Pure Vanilla gasped, clearly unsure if she’d heard him correctly. But after a small cough, she gently replied in her softest voice:

“…Maybe this small festival isn’t much compared to what you’ve seen… but I truly enjoyed preparing it with you. I hope you had fun too.”

“…Hmph. What’s shocking is that this was my first festival.”
“…What? Your first festival?”

“Of course. Running the Tower of Knowledge, managing the Academy—when would I have had time for something like a festival? Flipping through one more page was always more productive.”

He suddenly turned and pointed across the plaza.

“Anyway, what is that? Mince Pie? That guy caused all this commotion and didn’t even prepare anything? What are we waiting for—gather the firewood and burn him at the stake already!”

“Burn him at the stake…? That’s the first time I’ve heard something so extreme at a festival… You know, festivals are supposed to make us happier… and kinder, too.”

Shadow Milk sighed, folding his arms and looking up at the sky.
The warm breeze and gentle sunlight drifted by.

Then, in a voice so quiet it could’ve been to himself, he murmured:

“…I don’t know if their brains were crumbs to begin with, or if festivals make their brains into crumbs… …Then again, maybe humans were like that too…”

Pure Vanilla tilted her head slightly, but as soon as he added,
“It’s nothing,”
she simply smiled in silence.

And so… this bizarre cooking contest came to an end rather quickly.
“No meat, so how did it end?” you might ask.
Surprisingly—by the strangest stroke of luck—a meat recipe was discovered.

According to Shadow Milk, the incident was so stupid, so utterly humiliating, that if anyone dared record it in history, he’d die of secondhand embarrassment.
In short, here’s what happened:

While the Cookies were laughing and chatting, a massive berry-shaped decoration on one corner of the stage gave the slightest twitch.
At first, they thought it was the wind.
But when it slowly began to rise—as if it had a will of its own—
the crowd fell silent.

“…Is that… alive?”
someone whispered.

A hulking form, crimson feathers, eyes gleaming with heat—
It wasn’t a decoration.
It was Turkeyberry—a mysterious being that appeared like an unwelcome guest.
It stared down at the Cookies in silence for a long moment.
Then suddenly—
it charged.

“Kyaaah!!”

Turkeyberry stormed across the stage, toppling food tables and ingredients.
Butter spilled. Herbs flew. Gravy jam crashed.
And as if by accident, sauces, spices, and ingredients began sticking to Turkeyberry’s body one by one.

The Cookies scrambled back in fear,
and as Pure Vanilla raised her staff and sent out a bright flash of light—
Turkeyberry flapped in a panic,
and darted straight into the only place blocked off in the plaza…
an oven.

Moments later,
a perfectly roasted Turkeyberry dish emerged from within—
almost too perfectly done to believe.
The Cookies were speechless.
The scent was exquisite.
The presentation—eerily flawless.

“…We didn’t even cook it… So why does it feel like it’s finished?”
“…Wait, that was… meat…?”

Just then, Chantilly Cream Cookie peered into a document and whispered:

“…There was an unfamiliar item listed in the Holyberry Kingdom’s food supply records… Something called ‘Turkeyberry’… I assumed it was a fruit since it had ‘berry’ in it… But I guess it was… alive.”

The crowd gasped in awe. Someone clapped. Then more joined in.
Soon, cheers erupted.

But amidst it all, Shadow Milk stood blankly, watching the stupidity unfold.
He slowly raised his hand—
and pulled loose the ribbon holding his ponytail.

Black strands of hair spilled down his face.
Then, without hesitation, he took off his large glasses, placed them in his palm—
and let them drop.

They hit the ground with a soft clack.

At that moment, his silhouette began to ripple.
Shadows crept in from every direction, swirling around him like a dance.

Some Cookies yelped and stumbled backward at the sight.
But Shadow Milk didn’t care.
He spoke in a calm, flat voice—

“—It’s over. I can’t believe I stood in the middle of this idiotic circus. I’m going back to my puppet show.
At least that makes more sense than this… this garbage play.”

He quietly backed away, slipping out of the crowd.
And as he vanished into the shadows beneath the stage, he muttered one final line—

“…Stupid world.”

It was night.
The square, still carrying the remnants of the festival, had fallen quiet and empty.
The scent of scattered spices drifted faintly through the air, carried by the wind between shards of broken plates.
Occasionally, a shattered decoration creaked softly somewhere in the dark.

In the middle of it all, Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk were sitting side by side,
perched on the low brick ledge beside the oven.

“If a scene like this ends up in a history book, I’ll die of embarrassment.”
“Why? Isn’t it kind of impactful?”
“Are you kidding me? Some mystery meat shows up out of nowhere, rolls itself in sauce, and dives into the oven? Lies need some plausibility to be convincing.”
“Well… yeah, it was a bit odd. But it was fun, wasn’t it?”

The chaos of the day had been so absurd that the more they thought about it, the funnier it seemed.
And somehow, this... this kind of life was just so enjoyable.

“So then, Milk, what do you think I felt when you suddenly introduced yourself as an ethnographer of a lost civilization?”
“That was clever. This—this is slapstick comedy.”

Pure Vanilla tilted his head and asked cautiously,
“So… what exactly are humans, Mr. Self-Proclaimed Human Ethnographer?”

At those words, Shadow Milk’s breathing slowed just a little.
Pure Vanilla could sense the slight tremble in his shoulders.

“Sometimes… you said the word so often, I thought it was your name. But it’s not, is it? It sounds more like… a group. A nation, maybe?”

Shadow Milk glanced sideways at him, then let out a short laugh.
But it carried weariness more than mockery.

“You’re close. ‘Human’ is the name of a species. Like Cookiekind, or Dragonkind, or Merfolk. It’s a classification.”

“Species…”
Pure Vanilla quietly repeated the word, tasting it.
“…Like how we’re Cookiekind?”

“Exactly. But humans are nothing like cookies.”
Shadow Milk looked up at the night sky. Moonlight caught in his pale eyes between drifting clouds.

“We’re made of dough.”
He tapped his arm with a finger. “Flour, sugar, butter. Sometimes cinnamon or cream. They’re made of protein and fat, bone and muscle. And they don’t get soggy in water. They don’t ‘crack’ the way we do. Their bodies don’t crumble into crumbs…
Actually, no, they do turn to powder—I’ve seen it. When they burn.”

A bitter chuckle slipped in at the end. Pure Vanilla looked at him, unsettled by a strange discomfort.

“What… kind of beings were they?”

“Humans, huh. Hard to define. Even they didn’t know what they were. Complicated, noisy, self-centered. They were quick to persecute anything different.”

Shadow Milk sighed, staring into the dark.

“Lots of thoughts, slow to act. Mortal, yet endlessly greedy. If I had to describe them… protein lumps with bones, layered in guilt and arrogance. High-maintenance, you know?”

Pure Vanilla slowly turned his thoughts over.
It felt like a kind of old, ingrained scorn.

“…They sound pretty wicked.”

“They’re hopeless. Everything they don’t understand becomes a monster in their eyes, and they can’t rest until they destroy it. That’s how they make peace with the world. History burned because of them. Sure, some of them pursued truth, shared light… but the way they ended—history proves how horrifying it was. Fools. They even destroyed the miracles meant to save them. Not exactly a lovable species.”

Pure Vanilla didn’t know what to say to this endless stream of disdain.
It wasn’t the first time Shadow Milk had shown contempt for another race.
Usually, Pure Vanilla would try to soften him by pointing out their good traits.

But… he didn’t even know what humans were.
How could he defend them?

“So that kind of species… once existed.”

Shadow Milk gave a quiet nod. Then, rather suddenly, he began talking about cookies.
And honestly, Pure Vanilla wasn’t sure what cookies had to do with any of this.

“Cookies aren’t all that different. Just… simpler. Like a dumbed-down version of humans. Living in their own tiny worlds.
They exhaust me. Staying in place, fighting, never really trying to improve.
They don’t even know what really matters.
They’re just happy solving whatever’s right in front of them.”

He paused, narrowing his eyes. His mismatched blue eyes glinted coldly.

“So why would I like beings like that? I don’t. Cookies or humans, I think they’re worthless.
They ignore true evil far too easily—and kill the light far too often. I’ve lived longer. I’ve seen more. They’re fragile. Ephemeral. Not like me.”

He went on.

“Their world is finite. I’ve watched them repeat their foolishness over and over.
And if they won’t change… all I can do is laugh.”

Pure Vanilla said nothing in response.
In the past, he might’ve just taken it as another lost, ancient civilization.
Another name in the dust.

But something about his tone…
The way he kept comparing cookies and humans.
As if he wanted to put them on the same level.

Why compare two such different species unless… there was a memory linking them?

And then he remembered.
In that dream, when Shadow Milk and Eternal Sugar were fighting.

Shadow Milk had said it, in that same tired, drained voice he was using now:

“The witch isn’t a god.”

He didn’t just hate the witch.
It wasn’t mere blasphemy.

Back then, Pure Vanilla hadn’t understood what it meant.
But now, paired with all this…

He asked:

“…Was the witch… human?”

Shadow Milk's expression stiffened instantly.
He stared at Pure Vanilla in silence, then turned his head away. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly—but his eyes didn’t smile.

“…Let’s save that question for another time. I’ve already said enough nonsense for one night.”

Then, he floated into the air. Slowly, he drifted around the garden.
There was no emotion in his retreating figure. Only the weight of a long-cast shadow.

Pure Vanilla followed him quietly on foot, then stopped in his tracks.
Under the dark sky, his expression was strangely peaceful.

“…I don’t know much about gods. Whoever created us, for whatever reason… I think what really matters is the choices we make for ourselves.
Witch, human, cookie—we all probably forget that. And even if we remember… I don’t think it’s such a fatal secret.”

“Most cookies—when they hear that kind of thing, they grab their heads and scream like the world’s ending. ‘Not a god? Our creator was just… some being?’ Their whole existence, their identity—it all comes crashing down.”

He tilted his head slowly as he looked at Pure Vanilla, spinning lazily through the air with a smile that defied description.

“But you… I don’t know. You just go, ‘Oh, is that so?’ and move on.”

Despite his words, his expression had turned heavy and serious. A guarded, cautious look shimmered in his eyes.

“…Still, what I just said—don’t brush it off as idle chatter. This isn’t something to talk about lightly.”

He floated closer and looked Pure Vanilla straight in the eyes.

“I’m saying this because it’s you. You’re the other half of knowledge. I figured you’d be able to handle it. And… that it’s time you knew.”

His voice dropped—colder now, heavier. Unrefined sincerity rippled through it like a shockwave.

“But whatever you do—don’t let this story slip to the others. I mean it. Keep your mouth shut.”

He muttered with a bitter smile.

“Especially… Silent Salt. If that fanatic even hears a word of this, we’re in for full-blown war. You don’t want to see this clueless, peaceful kingdom up in flames, do you? The others might be slow to catch on, but him? To him, truth is sin, and questions are treason.
That son of a... damn zealot acts like knowledge itself is a curse. Even if he learns the truth, he really believes ignorance is safer. And trying to tell the truth? I can guarantee you, that’s failed hundreds of times—thousands of years ago.”

Shadow Milk pressed his face with a hand, as if just talking about it exhausted him.

“So please. Be careful what you say. The world prefers lies over truth. And when those lies shatter, the first thing to burn… is the mouth that spoke.”

He reached out, almost pleadingly, and placed a hand on Pure Vanilla’s shoulder.
It was a rare moment—genuine concern radiated from Shadow Milk, something uncharacteristic of him.
If he was worried to this extent… it must really be serious.

But—

Moonlight spilled across his shoulder, and the wind rustled the leaves overhead.
Pure Vanilla stopped walking, lowering his gaze in contemplation.
Then, softly, he spoke.

“…I know how much this worries you, Milk. But even the idea that our creator isn’t a god… that humans are just another race… I think that’s just something that could be. I don’t believe a god has to exist.”

Pure Vanilla accepted the whole truth within himself—but also let other kinds of truth surface.

“…Even so, part of me wonders… do we really need to deny it that strongly?”

Shadow Milk looked at him without a word. Pure Vanilla didn’t avert his gaze.

A thought that had been lingering at the tip of his tongue finally slipped out.

“…Even if I don’t believe a god must exist… if someone created us, doesn’t that mean something in itself?
For some cookies… I get why they’d call that a god.”

Shadow Milk’s eyes twitched for a brief moment. Then slowly, he narrowed them.

“…So what, you’re saying the Witch could be a god?”

There was a cool, subdued chill in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

“Milk… you understand it’s all about perspective. Like you said—they once created us, were involved in our beginnings.
A god doesn’t have to be perfect. And I didn’t think… you hated the Witch.”

Shadow Milk turned his head slowly. His face was expressionless, but a cold aura clung to him.

“…Fine. Think whatever you want. But we’re done talking—because I’m about to be sick.”

Pure Vanilla sighed. Maybe… he’d approached this the wrong way.
i think Shadow Milk didn’t hate the Witches—maybe it was something closer to bitter regret.
He just didn’t want him to keep rejecting everything and building walls.

Shadow Milk… felt like someone who’d piled up too many emotions and forgotten which ones were the strongest.

Chapter Text

Shadow Milk wasn’t in the bed.
Pure Vanilla had been fixing the sheets, but stopped, staring for a long while at the empty space beside him.
A small blue note had been left behind.

“I’m stressed, so I’m gonna chill at the kids’ place and eat ice cream. Don’t talk to me until I talk to you first… but you can message me if it’s important.”

It wasn’t the first time Shadow Milk had left like this—
But this time, it was clear he was really upset.
Still, the fact that he wrote you can message me at the end… that had to mean he’d come back eventually.

Pure Vanilla’s face darkened.
Lately, he kept feeling like their nights together were being disturbed—
Though this time, it was his fault.

As he recalled their argument from the night before, a dull ache tugged at his chest.
Thoughts twisted in his heart like tangled threads that wouldn’t come loose.

Shadow Milk’s voice.
That flat, decisive tone, the serious look on his face—
Even the way he paused to catch his breath in that one brief moment—it all came back to Pure Vanilla, painfully vivid.

“It was still too soon…”

The witch created the Cookies.
Just from that fact alone, the word creator didn’t seem entirely wrong.
So calling her a god... wasn't all that strange either, was it?

No, even if she wasn’t a god—
For Pure Vanilla, the word itself didn’t really matter.
It was just a piece of the past. A concept. A relic of an old truth.

But—

Shadow Milk had reacted to that word like he’d been stabbed.

“Was it... the wrong approach?”

Pure Vanilla murmured the words to himself and slowly clenched his fingers.
In the past, he probably would never have said such a thing.
He knew how much Shadow Milk hated the witch.
Not just mild dislike—but a deep, visceral loathing that shook him to his core.

But now... things were different.

He had come to realize—
Shadow Milk no longer just hated the witch.
In his words, his silences, the rare flickers in his gaze—
He still hated her. But at the same time… he hadn’t let her go.

Bittersweet hatred.

Giving that feeling a name made Pure Vanilla’s heart ache.

“Maybe... he’s just not ready to face it yet. The memories sealed away by the witch… maybe he still can’t shake free of them.”

That pain—those feelings—
They still clung to Shadow Milk. For him, it wasn’t in the past.
The memory was still alive.

Even so... even knowing how much he hated her, Pure Vanilla had brought it up.
Why?

Because he didn’t want Shadow Milk to keep pushing those feelings away.
He didn’t want him to live while smothering that pain.
He wanted it to unravel—not like a violent storm, but like a fog that quietly lifts.

And if, once upon a time, Shadow Milk really had loved the witch...
Then now that love had curdled into hate—
How heartbreaking that was.

Pure Vanilla didn’t want him to love her again.
He just didn’t want that hatred to burn him up from the inside.

He sighed, but there was no time to dwell.
Today, three envoys from the Crème Republic were scheduled to visit—
To celebrate the return of the Harvest Festival.

Whatever the case...
They were descendants of the Pure Vanilla Kingdom.
And Pure Vanilla couldn’t turn his back on the beloved children of his people.

An airship from the Crème Republic sliced through the sky, descending slowly.
With a soft metallic whir, the deck opened, and attendants dressed in refined uniforms began to disembark in rhythmic intervals.

From among them, a Cookie stepped out first—one who carried themselves with unusual lightness and a composed air.

They wore a crisp white bureaucrat’s uniform, and a brooch embroidered with a marigold sigil in warm yellow shimmered quietly at their collar. Their features were tidy, and their gaze held the gentle restraint unique to civil servants.

Pure Vanilla narrowed his eyes with a smile the moment he saw the emblem, as if welcoming an old friend across the passage of time.

“You’ve come such a long way. I’m truly glad. That marigold crest... it warms the heart to see it again.”

The Cookie naturally removed their hat, holding it to their chest as they bowed their head. Their voice was polite, imbued with a soft sincerity that gently spread through the air.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Lord Pure Vanilla. I’m Calendula Cookie.
My grandparents often spoke fondly of you. Meeting you in person feels deeply meaningful.”

Pure Vanilla’s smile deepened at the corners of his eyes.

“Ah... them. Of course I remember. The Marigold Cream family has always been diligent, but more importantly, warmhearted healers. It truly feels like seeing an old friend again.”

A breeze stirred the leaves around them, and long-buried memories shimmered faintly between their rustling.

The Marigold Cream family had once cultivated herbs in the royal gardens of the Vanilla Kingdom and shared their healing arts with others.

“Thank you for remembering. I’m truly looking forward to spending this Thanksgiving here in the Vanilla Kingdom.”

Calendula Cookie offered another polite bow. Pure Vanilla took a step forward and extended his hand.

“Please make yourself at home. This is a kingdom that always welcomes warm hearts.”

Then, as if the luggage had finally been offloaded, the second envoy disembarked.

A silhouette descended slowly from the airship, the hem of a luxurious patterned coat fluttering lightly in the breeze.
Their shell was perfectly crisp, not a single detail out of place.

It was Croustade Cookie.

He paused at the foot of the stairs, calmly surveying his surroundings.
When his gaze met Pure Vanilla’s, he offered a faint, measured smile and nodded.

“The kingdom has... the air of a fairytale village.”

His tone was smooth, yet subtly evaluative.

“It truly feels like a place ‘under reconstruction.’”

The word reconstruction carried a subtle weight, lingering in the air.

It hinted, perhaps, that to him, this place still seemed like little more than ruins.

But Pure Vanilla showed not a flicker of disturbance. If anything, he replied with a tone even warmer and gentler than usual.

“Then I’m glad this little square gave you that impression. It’s a place built by many hands—growing sturdier, day by day.”

Off to the side, Black Raisin Cookie folded her arms and averted her gaze slightly. A breeze tugged at the edge of her cloak.
She glanced at Croustade Cookie with a seemingly neutral expression—but her eyes held a quiet edge.

Croustade Cookie continued, never letting go of his smooth smile.

“I’m pleased to see the festival’s traditions being revived here. To think that the spirit of the Crème Republic has reached this far—how moving.”

His words were like a declaration, elegantly wrapped. As though to say, this culture, at its root, began with us.

Pure Vanilla smiled as if nothing had happened.

“Thank you for your thoughtful words. It’s reassuring to have your eyes watching over us.”

But Black Raisin never looked away.
Then, with a slight smirk, she muttered under her breath:

“...Lovely. How charmingly smug.”

Her words drifted out on the wind—
a single line, addressed to no one, but saying more than enough.

Black Raisin Cookie’s gaze fixed on a figure standing silently beyond the crowd.
A black hood pulled deep over their head, the only thing visible was the shadow hanging beneath their chin.
Amidst the noise of the square, the figure stood still—almost as if they had absorbed every sound around them, wrapped in silence.

Narrowing her eyes, Black Raisin Cookie finally spoke.
“…And that one?”

Crustard Cookie followed her gaze, then smiled as if it were nothing.
“Not part of any official delegation. Just… a cleric, of sorts. Requested anonymity, actually.”

Karen Toola Cream Cookie tilted their head slightly, as if this was news to them.
“…Ah, a cleric. I see.”

The mysterious figure was so quiet you might not have noticed them unless you were looking. It felt like even sound and sight vanished around them.
Pure Vanilla asked no questions, nor pressed further. He simply gave a gentle nod and spoke softly.

“I only hope everyone can enjoy the festival.”

And then what followed… well, things got complicated.

Pure Vanilla was guiding the guests slowly around the kingdom.
Only three days remained until the festival, and the plaza brimmed with the energy of bustling Cookies.
Orange canopies were beginning to bloom overhead, and beneath them, Cookies were passionately debating the merits of apple pie versus steamed pumpkin.
The scent of roasting cinnamon and sugar tickled the air.
In one corner, small Cookies were weaving flower garlands, while colorful drawings fluttered on scraps of cloth like tiny banners in the wind.

At the center of it all, Mince Pie Cookie was busily darting about.

“Aha—this spice is the key to everything! Turkeyberry meat is dry, so you’ve got to simmer it to bring out the juices! And don’t forget loads of butter—!”

He held a giant ladle in one hand, and a notebook in the other. His tone was full of confidence, and his gestures were grand.
The surrounding Cookies followed his enthusiastic explanations with wide, curious eyes.

Watching from a distance, Crustard Cookie furrowed his brow slightly. He said nothing, quietly turning his gaze back to the square.

What stood out most of all was the massive tree rising in the middle of the plaza.
Its leaves seemed to hold the essence of the season, and between them swayed small paper cards, fluttering in the breeze.

“We hang notes here—things we’re grateful for over the past year, or messages we want to share.”

Pure Vanilla smiled as he explained to the guests, his eyes glinting quietly as he looked at the tree.

“If you’d like, you’re welcome to write one, too. It’s a way to leave behind a warm thought for someone.”

Karen Toola Cream Cookie nodded, smiling with interest.
“That’s lovely. Expressing gratitude to everyone and everything… I think I’ll take part. Perhaps I’ll write a letter to my grandparents.”

He already wore the expression of someone forming words in their heart.

Crustard Cookie, meanwhile, silently examined the decorations.
He tapped one of the paper flowers with his fingertip and murmured,

“Very… original. Everyone’s quite dedicated.”

His tone was polite, but there was an unmistakable hint of discomfort.
And what he said next made his true thoughts more clear.

“Forgive me, but… in times like these, shouldn’t a thanksgiving prayer to the Witch come first?”

Pure Vanilla blinked in slight surprise but soon returned to his usual gentle expression.

“Of course, the spiritual meaning is important.”
His voice was quiet, but calm and firm.

“But here in the Pure Vanilla Kingdom, we wanted this festival to be, above all else, a time when Cookies can appreciate each other, freely and warmly, and simply laugh together.”

He glanced toward the gratitude tree and continued.

“We respect everyone’s beliefs and feelings, but beyond all that… isn’t this also a time to share joy together?”

But Crustard Cookie dismissed the kind sentiment with a confident declaration.

“…Surely not.”

Though his voice was soft and composed, there was something about it—like the delicate screech of fingernails over glass—that rang with quiet dissonance.

“No matter the occasion, today is a day to thank the divine for all that has been bestowed upon us.”

As always, his tone was wrapped in courteous humility, but his eyes clearly met Pure Vanilla’s, unwavering.
Slowly, he raised a hand and revealed a small bundle wrapped in crimson silk.

“I took the liberty of preparing a gift. I thought it might help honor the will of the divine. Fortunately—there’s still time.”

Pure Vanilla took a quiet breath.
His face remained warm, but a faint tension flickered beneath his eyelids.
He had promised Shadow Milk that this festival would never become religious.
And now, even that promise felt hard to keep…

“Thank you, Crustard Cookie. But for this festival, more than anything, I wish for Cookies to laugh freely and share their gratitude… That feeling is what I treasure most. So I must—politely decline your gift.”

Though his voice was calm, there was a careful and deliberate pain beneath his words. He tried his best to remain respectful. But it was a clear refusal.

Crustard Cookie’s smile shifted into a look of feigned surprise, as if calculated.

“Surely… you’re not implying there’s anything wrong with the icon?”

He carefully opened the box in his hands.
Inside was a small figurine—a Cookie-shaped sculpture, hands clasped, head bowed, kneeling as if in prayer.

“This is merely… a symbol to offer blessings to Cookies. Anyone could pray beneath the tree and give thanks before this image. So tell me… is there truly a reason to reject it?”

He tilted his head, smiling slightly as he added one final remark:

“Perhaps… you are harboring some unholy thoughts?”

By then, other Cookies nearby had begun to half-watch, half-pretend-not-to-watch the exchange.
The Pure Vanilla Kingdom had few fanatics, sure—
but even so, if Pure Vanilla were to voice any strong religious stance, it could greatly sway the kingdom’s direction.

As he felt the eyes turning toward him, Pure Vanilla hesitated quietly, deliberating.
Whether or not the statue had deeper meaning… making a public gesture—any gesture—could risk dividing the kingdom.

A flash of Shadow Milk’s face crossed his mind.

“…Thank you. For your thoughtful gift.”

His voice was soft—barely above a whisper.
With great care, Pure Vanilla reached out both hands to receive the icon.
Though it looked light, the weight at his fingertips felt heavy.

It wasn’t physical—it was the weight of meaning.

“For the sake of keeping every Cookie from being hurt… I’ll keep it safe, with that intention.”

As soon as he said it, Crustard Cookie took a step back with a pleased smile.
There was a subtle sense of victory in his expression—calm, and just a little too smug.

For a moment, Karentula Cream Cookie, who had been standing quietly at the edge of the square, gave a small, polite cough and cautiously opened their mouth, as if testing the mood.
It was clear they were attempting to gently shift the atmosphere.

“Ahem. Well then… I was just about to get a meal. Would you happen to know of any good restaurants nearby?”

At those words, the tension that had spread through the crowd eased ever so slightly.
The quiet pressure in the air paused, and a few cookies turned their eyes away.
Pure Vanilla gave an awkward smile and nodded.

“Of course. There’s a Cream Jellybean set menu place at the far end of the square—it’s quite popular. I’d escort you myself, but I have an errand to attend to. I’ll show you where it is, so please enjoy your meal.”

Only after seeing off the three delegates with gentle courtesy did Pure Vanilla finally let out a long breath.
Even that brief moment had left a heavy fatigue clinging to him.
Just then, a sharp voice pierced the air from over his shoulder.

“Hah. That weirdo. Playing politics now, are we?”

It was Black Raisin Cookie.
With her black cloak billowing behind her, she strode toward him, eyes narrowed sharply at the back of Crustard Cookie.

“He knew exactly what he was doing—dressing it all up so you couldn’t possibly say no. And he used that to shut you up. Crafty little thing.”

“…Whatever the intent, he did come to celebrate the festival…”
Pure Vanilla answered carefully, but that only deepened Black Raisin’s scowl.

“Celebrate?” she scoffed, shaking her head.

“Guests like that don’t come to celebrate. They come to pin a label on what you do. Doesn’t matter what it says—‘approval,’ ‘tradition,’ ‘in the name of the gods’—it’s all the same trick.”

Her words cut off like a dagger, and she looked directly at him.

“You know what really gets under my shell? It’s not what that cookie wants. It’s that you let him twist your heart around and just accept it.”

She muttered in a low, bitter tone, then glanced around and grimaced.

“Where’s that blue one? If there was ever a time we needed him, it’s now. Isn’t he supposed to be the world’s top cookie when it comes to deception and politics?”

She rolled her eyes dramatically and added with a sneer:

“Or maybe he’d just get mad enough to grab that smug little cookie’s brittle shell and smash it to crumbs. Either way.”

Pure Vanilla let out a quiet, somewhat defeated chuckle.
Surely, if Shadow Milk had been here…

…well, whether or not it was the middle of the town square with every cookie watching, he wouldn't have cared one bit.
“Then I’ll give you a gift too~ No refunds~”—he might’ve said, maybe even stuffing one of those bomb-shaped apples into someone’s mouth while dancing beside him.

…On second thought, perhaps it’s better that he’s not here.

“…I’ll be heading over to Black Sapphire’s house for a moment. Please keep an eye on the guests, Black Raisin Cookie.”

Shadow Milk sat with a blanket pulled over his head, levitating his third tub of vanilla ice cream and eating straight from it.
His expression was blank, the corners of his mouth drooping low—he looked like a cookie whose soul had left his dough.
Calm, and utterly drained.
But within the strands of his hair, the eyes were silently weeping.

“Sure, sure. Everyone’s always going on about gods and truth…”

He muttered it like a confession—maybe to someone, maybe just to himself.

“Behold: the cookie who knows the secrets of the cosmos… devouring his third pint of vanilla like a sad raccoon. Honestly, I think the tub knows more than I do.”

“Master, I’m not sure about universal truths,”

came Black Sapphire’s voice from by the door, arms crossed.

“But the fridge has already been annihilated. You do realize this is your third tub?”

Shadow Milk stirred the spoon lazily, unfazed.

“It’s fine. That’s the kind of cookie I am. Built from cold, rational self-awareness… I’m freezing my emotions. Don’t interrupt.”

Black Sapphire snorted, half amused.

“I won’t stop you. But I thought I should at least say something.”

Shadow Milk sank deeper into the blanket, scooping more ice cream.
His voice, muffled but distinct, slipped out from underneath.

“That idiot… ‘It doesn’t matter’? Either way’s fine? ‘Could go either way~’? Don’t make me laugh… That’s just another kind of agreement…How could he say that…”

His voice faded, but the spoon moved faster.
Black Sapphire raised an eyebrow.

“That idiot’s emotional awareness is thinner than a potato chip.”

“…How can it even be thinner than a potato chip. At least those break when you fold them. But him…” Shadow Milk trailed off.
“…Still, he usually gets me.”

He gave a short, bitter laugh and lowered his head again.

“How could he not get me this time…? Does he even remember calling himself ‘the understanding one’? Bet he doesn’t even remember his own title…”
“Hardly surprising. Master doesn’t really understand Master either.”

Black Sapphire glanced into the fridge and muttered under her breath.

“Also, we’re out of the zero-sugar kind. And judging by your state... you might be a little… sugar-drunk?”
“Just bring everything. I’m not in the mood to care about sugar-free.”
“Well, don’t blame me when your blood sugar spikes. You do know that milk and sugar together make it hit harder, right?”

Just then, Black Sapphire glanced out the window and raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Hm… Looks like we have a visitor.”

Moments later, there was a soft, hesitant knock at the door.

“Shadow Milk…? Are you in there…?”
The voice outside was gentle, with a slight tremble.
“It’s me, Pure Vanilla. Could we talk for a moment…?”

Shadow Milk froze.
His spoon stopped midair. Hugging the tub of ice cream tightly, he curled into himself.

“…Tell him I’m not here. I… don’t want to see anyone right now. If it’s something really important… then you can let me know…”

Black Sapphire stifled a laugh and walked over to the door.

“As you wish, Master~ I shall faithfully deliver your decree.”

He opened the creaky door just a bit and peeked out, wearing an expression somewhere between mild annoyance and quiet amusement.

“Oh, finally. You showed up just in time—we were this close to a vanilla ice cream extinction.”
He gave a nonchalant shrug. “I’m sorry to say, my dear master is currently unavailable. Left very strict instructions.”

Pure Vanilla stood at the door, carefully holding his gaze.

“…We don’t have much time. I need to see Shadow Milk. Just for a moment—could I come in?”

Black Sapphire narrowed his eyes.

“That depends… Do you have two tubs of vanilla on you?”

“…What?”

“Two tubs. Vanilla. Come on, I thought you'd have figured that out by now. …Well, never mind. He’s nearly finished tub number three, so the timing’s off anyway. My recommendation? Take a seat on the couch and prepare to wait. Two hours, give or take.”

Pure Vanilla gave a strained smile.

“There are guests from the Crème Republic visiting today… I really can’t stay. I’ll come back in the evening.”

Black Sapphire sighed, starting to close the door—then paused.

“Hm… Alright. But just in case…”
He added with a quiet chuckle,
“I’ve already hidden the grape and apple flavors for safekeeping. But when you come back, I strongly suggest you bring some vanilla. Otherwise… well, he might actually say ‘I’ll never forgive you.’”

Pure Vanilla laughed awkwardly, clearly flustered, and nodded.

“Understood. I’ll treat it like a gift. I’ll bring it with me.”

Just before closing the door, Black Sapphire offered one last, low-toned warning.

“I’ve no intention of meddling in the Master’s tragic little rom-com. But… he’s softer than he lets on. Practically condensed milk inside. 
So, for everyone’s sake—try not to shake him up too much, yeah?”

Pure Vanilla stepped toward the plaza, quietly making a resolve within himself.
“Before the ice cream shop closes tonight… I must buy two tubs of vanilla ice cream. No—better yet, three.”

Buying an extra tub would help Milk feel more at ease.

A faint smile crossed his lips as a certain face flickered in his mind.
But as he arrived at the plaza, that smile gradually faded.

In a corner untouched by the light of the square—
stood the mysterious third envoy.

Completely silent.

With a deep black hood drawn low over their head,
they stood alone, as if disconnected from the world.

Pure Vanilla approached carefully, his tone polite and gentle.
“I see you were here all along. Have you not eaten?”

There was no answer.

Though the face beneath the hood remained hidden,
the figure quietly observed the cookies in the plaza,
then slowly turned to look at Pure Vanilla.

He waited patiently.

Finally, a low, calm voice reached his ears.

“…Do you believe that God exists?”

The question was unexpected.
Pure Vanilla was momentarily taken aback but soon recalled the earlier conversation.

“Ah… so it’s about that.”

He sighed softly and nodded in a composed manner.

“If my words caused you any distress, I apologize. I do not harbor dislike for God. On the contrary, if many cookies find comfort in such belief, I believe that in itself holds meaning.”

The mysterious figure did not move. Yet the atmosphere in their silence had subtly shifted.

Pure Vanilla stepped forward another pace.

“I believe it matters little whether that being is Truth or Deceit. If that existence can be a light to us, and bring us happiness…then I think that is enough.”

At those words, the figure’s shoulders shifted just slightly, as if a faint breath had been released.

At last, there was a subtle change in the shadowed figure’s stance. A strangely serene calmness seemed to surround them.

“Truth… or Deceit…”

They spoke no more, and the conversation ended.

Fortunately, after that, everything was settled without any further trouble.
Pure Vanilla carefully guided the remaining envoys,
and as the sun slowly slipped below the horizon, painting the sky with shades of sunset,
the day’s schedule finally came to an end.

Beneath the crimson sky, he assigned rooms one by one, welcoming the envoys.
But—

The third cookie.
The quiet, silent one in the black hood, without a word, turned and walked out of the palace.

Pure Vanilla watched for a moment, then cautiously spoke.
“Is the palace… perhaps a little uncomfortable for you?”

There was no answer.
But judging by the fact that the cookie stopped walking, it didn’t seem like a complete refusal.

“If you like, I can introduce you to a more… comfortable place. There’s an inn nearby.”

His tone was gentle and careful.
As Pure Vanilla led the way, the black-hooded cookie followed silently, without a word.

At the end of a cobblestone path, a little away from the lights of the plaza,
stood a small inn with a modest sign hanging out front.
The Crow’s Nest Inn.
Despite its gloomy exterior, the interior was cozy, filled with a warm, inviting atmosphere.

The mysterious guest checked in quietly, saying nothing.
They didn’t ask for anything, nor did they eat or drink.
They simply took the key and disappeared into their room.

A little while later—

The kitchen door at the back of the inn creaked open, and Black Raisin Cookie stepped out.
Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, they glanced at Pure Vanilla with a wary look.

“That cookie… you know it’s strange, right?”

“Please don’t say it like that. They’re probably just tired.”

Pure Vanilla responded quietly with a gentle smile.
But Black Raisin frowned, clearly unconvinced.

“They’re supposed to be an envoy, yet they keep their hood pulled low and don’t say a single word…
If that’s how they relax, then yeah, it’s definitely strange.”

Pure Vanilla said nothing in reply. But honestly?
He thought the figure was strange too—much more than the slightly prickly Crustard Cookie.

"Finally, the schedule is over."
Pure Vanilla spoke cautiously.

Black Raisin Cookie held a cup in one hand, smiling leisurely as she replied,
"I was so busy preparing for the festival that I was out of my mind. But now, I have to take a break for a while."

The two cookies smiled at each other and laughed naturally in the inn’s hall.
The noisy bustle of the village preparing for the festival drifted in from afar.
Amidst the chaotic atmosphere, their quiet moment continued.

Pure Vanilla hesitated for a moment, lowering his head.
"It's late, but... actually, today... I wanted to talk about a friend."

Black Raisin Cookie tilted her head slightly. "A friend?"

"Well..." Pure Vanilla trailed off, then cautiously opened his mouth.

"So... my friend has a lover cookie..."
Black Raisin raised her eyebrows, intrigued. "Ah~ so it’s that kind of story. Alright, go ahead. Not your story, but your friend’s. Okay~ go on. So, what did that lover cookie do? What kind of big trouble are you talking about with that secretive look?"

Pure Vanilla waved his hand with a flustered expression. "No, it’s not a problem like that... No... it’s just, since it’s not really my story, I don’t know well..."
Black Raisin smiled meaningfully and said, "Yeah, I get it. Your friend’s lover."

In her mind, she already saw a faint image of a whining blue cookie. What else did they do...?

Pure Vanilla continued,
"But that lover really hates a certain great cookie. Like... intensely."

Black Raisin put down her juice and nodded.
"So it’s not a romantic comedy, huh? It’s more dramatic. Well, keep going. And tell me what crime that great cookie committed."
She looked at Pure Vanilla, ready to listen seriously.

"Yeah, so?"
"But you see, other cookies worship that great cookie like a god... and that seems to be the problem."
Pure Vanilla trailed off again.
"My... friend’s lover doesn’t actually hate that cookie that much. There might be some feelings left inside... but when they call him a ‘god’, the reaction gets way more extreme."

"…Huh?"

Black Raisin stared at Pure Vanilla in confusion, not understanding where this story was going.

"Wait, so they got mad because that cookie is called a ‘god’?"
Pure Vanilla nodded. "Yes, I think that’s exactly it. Calling him a ‘god’ makes their feelings more intense... So... maybe they do hate that cookie after all. Maybe it’s a territory that shouldn’t be touched."

"Wait, Pure Vanilla."
Black Raisin cut in and quietly exhaled.
"Just listen to me for a moment."

A brief silence passed. Black Raisin looked at Pure Vanilla again and slowly spoke.

"...That lover’s anger about being called ‘god’ might not just be because they hate that cookie."
Pure Vanilla raised his head. "What?"
"Sometimes..."
Black Raisin trailed off, then smiled quietly.
"Your friend... their lover might not be as simple as they seem."

Pure Vanilla sighed too, knowing full well why she didn’t understand. Shadow Milk’s emotions were too complicated. It wasn’t simply a matter of forgiving the witches.

He knew. Shadow Milk’s feelings were not simple.
His feelings towards the witches were complex — not just swaying between hatred and affection.
He understood how hard it was to face those feelings.

"Of course, I know it’s a complicated issue. I know they sway between hatred and love."
Pure Vanilla bowed his head.
"But when he faces his feelings..."

At that moment, Black Raisin suddenly interrupted Pure Vanilla.
"No, I mean... Pure Vanilla. I think you’re misunderstanding the whole direction of this problem."

Pure Vanilla looked at her, puzzled.
"What do you mean?"

Black Raisin closed her eyes briefly, then spoke with a more serious expression.
"In my opinion, that problem isn’t going to be solved that simply from the start. And this is partly your fault too..."

As soon as she finished, a cookie hurriedly ran in.
“Your Majesty!”
Marmalade Cookie rushed in busily.
“The pumpkin display looks really strange! Please check if the colors match!”

Pure Vanilla glanced at Black Raisin with a helpless look and said shortly,
“Sorry, just a moment.”

He quickly headed toward the pumpkin display. Black Raisin sighed quietly and shook her head.
"Seriously, what is this..."

Then another cookie came running.
“Saint! The jelly lanterns won’t light up! We definitely installed them as ordered!”
A small cookie was pouting.

“Could you wait just a little? The kids need help.”
Pure Vanilla hurried off to fix the lighting problem.

“...We were in the middle of a conversation.”
Black Raisin muttered softly, seeming to struggle to say more. But Pure Vanilla was already far away, coordinating something.

Black Raisin sat on a bench and quietly watched Pure Vanilla’s retreating figure as if carried away by waves.
Her expression hardened more and more. In this deep darkness, Pure Vanilla was just busy running around, and Black Raisin could only sit quietly, accepting everything.

“I’m really sorry! The work... just finished now. We can finally talk... The festival is really busy, isn’t it?”
“…That’s the problem, Pure Vanilla.”
“…Yes?”

Black Raisin Cookie smiled lowly, a bitter feeling in the laugh.

“That’s what I dislike.”

Pure Vanilla paused at those words. She felt like she had spent too much time fixing all the chaos. She felt selfish for not even giving proper time for conversation.

“I’m really sorry. I don’t have any excuse. Calling you here and wasting your time like this... You have every right to be disappointed...”

“No, that’s not it. I know you’re always busy. And I know it’s all for the cookies. I was never angry about that, Pure Vanilla.”
“What I’m angry about is how you’re treated.”

Pure Vanilla blinked in a daze and asked, “Huh?”

Black Raisin’s voice was cold and low, but filled with pent-up emotion.
“That story about ‘friends’… isn’t it really about you and Shadow Milk?”

Pure Vanilla didn’t respond immediately. Bringing up witches was a too sensitive subject for him. He quietly bowed his head. Then, as if understanding that, Black Raisin smiled gently.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. But I wanted to tell you one thing — even if Shadow Milk hates being treated like a god by you, don’t be too surprised.”
“...What?”

Pure Vanilla opened her mouth, flustered. Being treated like a god? he stood still for a moment, then realizing what Black Raisin must have misunderstood, her face blushed. Still, a slight smile spread.

“That’s not about me...” Pure Vanilla quickly tried to continue.
“I… no, I’m not that kind of being…”

“It’s always like that with you.” Black Raisin said calmly, looking up at the sky.
“You take everything in, listen to everything... but your own feelings always come last.”

Pure Vanilla stared blankly at her words. It was too late to explain now. It wasn’t really his story but the witches’ story, yet she felt it might be better to just let Black Raisin misunderstand.

Because he hadn’t found the right moment to stop her... As she kept speaking, Pure Vanilla began to feel she should think more delicately.
She was embarrassed but grateful for Black Raisin’s worried sincerity. Wasn’t she angry because she cared about him? Because she thought he was struggling?
Of course, Pure Vanilla was fine. Just knowing someone cared so much made her feel loved.

“Everyone admires you. That can be a burden or a blessing. But one thing is certain. Admiration—never means understanding. You’re a cookie. But everyone calls you a saint, a king, or whatever and uses you without a second thought. And you accept it all… while no one knows how hard it is for you. Even you don’t realize how much effort you’re struggling with. Your struggles get diluted into something grand...”

Black Raisin’s words stung Pure Vanilla’s chest somehow. It reminded him of someone he knew well.
Blinking from the sudden realization, he looked down.

“You need to understand how exhausting and hard it is to just watch from the sidelines.”

Black Raisin spoke firmly to Pure Vanilla.
Of course, her words were advice born from misunderstanding... but still, they were heartfelt words full of her worry and love. And ironically,
Pure Vanilla finally began to understand Shadow Milk a little better.
He had never thought about things from this perspective before.

Of course, it wasn’t confirmed that Shadow Milk was angry because of this... but maybe...

Pure Vanilla pressed his lips tightly together.
For the first time, he admitted there were far more things he didn’t know than he thought.
And he realized what he needed to say.

“Black Raisin...”
“Yeah. You get it now, don’t you?”
“…Can I have three tubs of vanilla ice cream, please?”

Black Raisin tilted her head, lips moving slightly as if to ask why such a serious conversation suddenly took that turn.

“…What?”

Chapter Text

Pure Vanilla was quietly walking through the night.
In his hand, he held a freshly made vanilla ice cream in a waffle cone, enchanted with a touch of temperature magic to keep it at the perfect bite.
The soft moonlight settled on his white robes and hair, and the peaceful air felt almost like a blessing.

Before he could reach Black Sapphire’s house, he ran into someone unexpected.

Shadow Milk.

He was floating slightly above the ground, arms crossed by the roadside.
His hair, dark as night, swayed in the breeze. His face was unreadable—blank, almost—but there was a quiet rage in his eyes, something buried deep, simmering.

Pure Vanilla, surprised but calm, slowly stepped forward and held out the ice cream.
The cone was adorably shaped, almost like a gift you’d give to a child, crafted with gentle care.

“…I brought ice cream. Want to share it with me?”

Shadow Milk turned his head slightly, his gaze difficult to read.

“Is this your apology? That’s why you brought it?”

Pure Vanilla gave a soft nod and smiled.

“Hmm… yeah. I feel like I didn’t understand you well enough. So I thought… maybe we could talk. And maybe share some ice cream too.”

He carefully sat beside Shadow Milk and took a small bite.
Silence fell between them, filled only by the night air. Then—

“So,” Shadow Milk finally spoke, “forget all that. How was your day?”

Pure Vanilla blinked, caught off guard.

“…Sorry?”

“Your day. What happened today?”

“Nothing much. It was just… quiet, I guess.”

Shadow Milk let out a short laugh, then cut in sharply.

“Liar.”

His voice dropped low, frowning.

“Black Raisin told me everything. That damn crumbhead acted like you didn’t even matter.”

Pure Vanilla inhaled sharply.

“That… doesn’t really matter. I just wanted to apologize. Yesterday, I didn’t speak to you properly—”

“Yeah? And you thought now was the time to talk about something ‘so trivial’?”

Shadow Milk’s voice rose. As his anger built, shadows began to curl from his feet, twisting like sharpened snakes.

“How many times have I told you? Call me when something happens! You—something like that happens and I’m just off somewhere eating ice cream?! Do you know how pissed I was when I found out?!”

“It really wasn’t a big deal. It’s not like the kingdom was in danger or anything—”

“Screw the kingdom. You were in danger.”

Shadow Milk growled, eyes flashing. His shoulders tensed, and the shadows grew darker.

“What the hell did that bastard say to you? You think I’m some kind of idiot? A clown to be fooled?”

Pure Vanilla looked overwhelmed. He didn’t understand why Shadow Milk was angrier than he was.

“You really don’t have to worry that much. I’m fine.”

“If you won’t tell me, I’ll ask him myself. That dry-ass rice flour crust bastard.”

Pure Vanilla quickly raised his hands.

“No, don’t. Please don’t do that… He’s a diplomat from another kingdom. It could cause problems. You know that. This isn’t something we fix with brute force. No violence, okay?”

Shadow Milk smirked, lifting one eyebrow.

“So that jerk actually messed with my Pookie Bear? Seriously?!”
“No! I mean… okay. I’ll tell you what happened. But only if you promise—no violence. At all.”
“…Fine. I won’t lay a finger on him.”
“No claws. No snakes. No Black Sapphire. No Candy Apple either.”
“Alright, alright. Got it. Now talk. Word for word. What did that dickhead say to you?”

Pure Vanilla pressed his lips together, then took another bite of the ice cream.
The vanilla flavor was cold and smooth, but he couldn’t taste anything.
He closed his eyes, then quietly spoke.

“…Well, he seemed like a noble from the Crème Republic. He was very proud. And… I think he felt a bit competitive about our kingdom.”
“Oh really? And that’s why he said, ‘Oh ho ho, such a quaint little fairy-tale town in recovery~’? And something about how Crème Republic carries on the real tradition? You seriously didn’t say anything back?”

Pure Vanilla sighed softly.

“…Milk, why are you asking when you already know everything?”
“Because I want to hear it from you. What he said, and how it made you feel.”

Pure Vanilla lowered his head slightly.

“…It made me feel… small. Heavy. It hurt a little. But I also thought—I want to work even harder. Make this kingdom beautiful and full of joy.”

Shadow Milk slowly turned away. The shadows beneath him began to settle, and his shoulders eased.

“…It’s already beautiful. That Crème Republic? All they have is a decaying tradition. This place? This place is better. And that jerk doesn’t know a damn thing about how hard you work.”

Pure Vanilla looked up gently.

“So… that’s why you were angry?”

Shadow Milk stared at him for a long moment, then muttered gruffly,

“I’m fucking pissed. You didn’t even tell me.”

He trailed off, unfolding his arms. The dark shadows slipped quietly back beneath his feet.

“…But the ice cream looks too good. So I’ll let it slide.”

Pure Vanilla couldn’t hold back a soft laugh.

“Don’t worry. I’m really okay. And you… you’ll be okay too.”
“Yeah. I’m fine. So… do you mind if I sleep with the kids tonight? Kinda feel like I haven’t in a while.”
“…You know we haven’t been sleeping together lately, right…?”

Though Shadow Milk only visited from time to time, he had a room of his own here—
the biggest one, naturally.

As the door shut behind him, Shadow Milk let out a long, slow sigh.
Then, with a sharp snap of his fingers—

Snap.

"Kids~"

His voice, as always, was light and playful, yet a long dark shadow stretched behind him.

From the space between the wall and the shadows, something stirred—
then out leapt two cookies.

One was a bright redhead, radiating the crisp scent of sugar and apples.
The other appeared trailing a jet-black robe, quiet and composed.

“Yes, Shadow Milk Cookie! Your Candy Apple is here!”
Candy Apple bounced as she shouted, her eyes sparkling like stars—
but the shadow at her feet shimmered like a row of blades.

“Your loyal servant, at your service.”
Black Sapphire bowed low. A polite smile graced his face,
but his eyes were cold—like sharpened ice.

Shadow Milk dropped into a swivel chair and crossed his legs languidly.
The smile playing on his lips was less sugar, more venom.

“I’m pissed today. Like, properly pissed.”

Bang!

Before the words even settled, Candy Apple stomped her foot hard.
Her eyes flared, and her hair lifted with a strange tension, puffing up slightly.

“Whaaat?! Who the hell dared to piss off Shadow Milk?! Who?! I’ll—!”

Before she could spiral out of control, Black Sapphire interjected calmly:

“A cookie from the Crème Republic disrespected Pure Vanilla.
And he... found out after the fact.”

“Tch! Like that matters—”

Shadow Milk raised a hand, cutting her off.

His gaze sharpened. His voice softened—smooth, but barbed.

“…If he disrespected Pure Vanilla, then he disrespected me, too.”

Candy Apple clenched her jaw in silence.
Black Sapphire gave a solemn nod.

“What?! Some two-bit trash from that joke of a kingdom thinks he can disrespect you?!
No way! No freaking way! We’ve gotta destroy him!”

“Shhh.”
Shadow Milk placed a finger to his lips and smiled quietly.

“But I made a promise to Pure Vanilla.
No violence. You two don’t lay a hand on him. Got it?”

In the thick silence, Black Sapphire slowly looked up.
There was a cold glint in his eyes—like shattered glass catching moonlight.

“So... you want us to ruin him without getting jam on our hands.
Use pressure. Politics. Make him disappear.”

Shadow Milk’s grin curled like a snake’s.

He smoothed his collar, voice low and pleased.

“You really are the smart one.”

Beneath the unlit ceiling, his silhouette rose like a villain on a quiet stage.
There was no spotlight, only the echo of a grin.
His eyes gleamed—like a serpent smiling with its fangs still hidden.

“Kids—”
He turned, arms open wide.

“Let’s have a little fun today, shall we?”

Candy Apple and Black Sapphire bowed in unison.
Their eyes were smiling—
but their breath was cold.

The heart of power, where the heads of the nine houses and the regent gathered, lay utterly still. No flicker of candlelight. The room was so quiet it seemed to swallow even a single last breath.

The silence was shattered by Clotted Cream Cookie.
Buttoned up to the neck in his sharp uniform, he opened the door with a steady, ironclad composure that didn’t allow even a shred of tension to slip through. His footsteps cut through the floor like a razor-sharp silver blade, each step through the cold air sounding like a march toward judgment.

…But no one was there.

And then, something twisted.

The curtains slowly parted, and flickering lights swept across the chamber like a stage spotlight.
From somewhere came the jingle of tambourines, and to faint music, small rabbit puppets swayed into view.
Then, like the star of the show, a figure appeared, hips cocked and arms spread wide.

“Wheee~! Ka-ha-ha! Now, a round of applause, please~ Ladies and gentlemen!”

That clownish voice bounced off the chamber walls, turning the dark room into a grotesque circus for a fleeting moment.
It was Shadow Milk.

“What an honor! Standing before my very eyes is none other than— the sharp edge of revolution, the crusher who shatters the silence! Clotted Cream Cookie, isn’t that right?!”

Clotted furrowed his brow, a flicker of wary suspicion flashing in his eyes toward the unknown presence.
But Shadow Milk paid no mind, his voice dripping with even more mischief and mockery.

“Man, the jam stench is strong tonight. Who’d you gut this time? You gotta wash up before appointments, you know? Oooh~ so scary~”

“Cut to the chase, beast. I’m not here for your circus tricks.”

Shadow Milk waved a hand through the air, grinning mischievously.

“Ohhh~ that’s the reaction I like! Alright, then let’s raise the curtain. On with the show! Title of today’s act… The Rotten Delegation and the Blade of Purge!”

Suddenly he bent forward, stepping close to Clotted.
His whisper tickled the ear— but beneath it lay a freezing chill of deadly intent.

“That delegation you sent… with their hands stained in hypocrisy, how dare they soil the table of Vanilla.”

Shadows slithered down his arm, spreading across the table like dark serpents crawling up walls and floor. Eyes rolled and twisted ceaselessly, watching.
Shadow Milk drew a long breath, swallowing rage, then smiled coldly.

“I’ll give you a chance. This isn’t common. You know one of your silent subordinate houses sneaked into that delegation, right? But you left it be in front of Pure Vanilla because it was ‘too much trouble.’ Am I wrong?”

Clotted closed his eyes briefly, then opened them.
His face remained calm, but deep in his gaze, cold calculations churned.

“…There might have been something I failed to notice. Hmm. So? You want me to kill him?”

“Oh! Don’t get me wrong! Kill? No, nothing like that.”
Shadow Milk twisted his fingers playfully, flashing an innocent smile, blinking his eyes like a mischievous child.

“Just… kick him out of my house. Simple enough, right?”

Clotted chose his words carefully, speaking cautiously.

“…I get your intent. And surprisingly… I find it reasonable. But I’m not one to act on emotion alone. Everything I do has a reason.”

Shadow Milk laughed as if Clotted’s words were lines from a play.

“Oh? Well, well. What’s this? Truth is slipping through your fingers?”

In that moment, a thick parchment dropped into Clotted’s fingers like a silent thud.
Without changing his expression, he unfolded it. His eyes flickered with rapid streams of complex data, calculating.

“…I see my mistake.”

He declared calmly, yet with firm resolve.

“Looking at you as a mere clown was an error. Forgive me. And again, the delegation’s business isn’t mine to decide. Fine. I accept the deal.”

Shadow Milk snickered, spreading his arms wide like a performer.

“Ha-ha~ Even a dangerous blade can have its use, huh? So our wills align after all. Shall we co-found a little venture?”

“But.”

Clotted’s voice dropped low, clear and sharp.

“This deal only stands if it’s mutually beneficial and mutually calculated. If the numbers slip even slightly… I’m stepping off the stage. Beast.”

Shadow Milk tilted his head, savoring the silence for a beat— then burst out laughing.

And that mad laughter wrapped the chamber.

“Ha↗ha↘ha↗ha↘ha↗ha↘ha↗hahaha!!”

He clapped his hands and spun once around the table.

“Oh~ good! Clotted, you’re quite the mathematician, aren’t you? So we’re still within the margin? Why didn’t anyone introduce me to such a fun cookie before? Now, let’s put on our little play! I’m the director, you’re the actor and the producer!”

As Shadow Milk twirled closer, Clotted narrowed his eyes and studied him sharply.

And then—
Shadow Milk’s face slowly, grotesquely twisted 180 degrees.
No bones broke, but a chilling sense of something being wrong filled the air.

His voice dropped lower, each word falling with lethal precision.

“But— one thing to remember, you insect.”

No trace of mischief or laughter remained in his eyes.
Only the cold frost of destruction that would never return.

“The moment another sigh escapes my Vanilla’s lips… I will step off this stage. When the play ends, there’s no need for actors or clowns.
Then… I will show the truth of history repeating itself.”

Shadow Milk curled the corner of his mouth into a faint smirk and slowly melted into the shadows. Then, as if sliding through the void, he gently landed on the matte metal tiles beneath the Crem Republic’s council chamber.

Waiting there, Black Sapphire Cookie and Candy Apple Cookie bowed their heads politely in unison. Like the opening act of a meticulously staged opera, their courtesy was part of the performance.

“Master, you arrived sooner than expected.”
Black Sapphire Cookie murmured, not a flicker crossing his steady eyes.

Candy Apple Cookie took a playful hop backward, clasped his hands behind his back, and swayed teasingly.
“Really~ Did you wrap it up that easily? You didn’t seriously negotiate with him, did you? That guy, daring to bargain with you?”

Shadow Milk scoffed, straightening his spine and stretching with a sharp crack.

“Well... That bastard was busy crunching numbers, trying to figure out how to survive my grasp without dying.”

He flicked a hand casually and asked,
“So? What’s the score, guys?”

“Yes, Master! It was so easy it barely counted as a midnight snack~”

At that moment, dozens of documents rained down from a tear in the darkness.

Tap. Tap. Tap.
Blood-stained military deployment charts, high-ranking ledgers smeared with bite marks, and meeting minutes scrawled with curses on the back.

“Good. Very good.”

Shadow Milk murmured softly, stepping atop the pile of papers.

“This scent... the stench of rot. Now, what do they usually call this... Ah, yes. Let’s call it the guts of this miserable republic.”

Black Sapphire Cookie stepped forward respectfully.
“The time was short, so the quantity’s small, but we secured at least fifty-three classified documents. And——”

He carefully handed over the last document.
“And—— this is Clotted Cream Cookie’s personal project. It should come in handy for cleanup.”

Shadow Milk glanced at it with disinterest, then slipped the paper between his fingers and plunged it into the darkness. The sheet vanished with a hiss, as if it had never existed.

“Pathetic. I don’t care how much profit that spoiled little nobleman sucks while pretending to be all high and mighty.”

Shadow Milk quietly raised his head.
His eyes were cold, and the corner of his mouth lifted again.
“To be honest—— watching these worms rot from within—— it’s actually quite educational. A lesson, if you will.”

He paused, stretching a hand toward the sky.
Darkness swirled at his fingertips. It was time to return to the Pure Vanilla Kingdom.

“There’s only one thing I want.”

Shadow Milk opened a portal and sent his subordinates through, murmuring softly.

“My newlywed life——”

He chuckled quietly.

“I won’t forgive anyone who interferes.”

Pure Vanilla was walking back to the palace with a tub of vanilla ice cream in his arms, feeling strangely hollow.

“I thought tonight, perhaps... we’d fall asleep together again. But he chose to spend time with the children.”

It was a good thing. If it gave him reasons to smile, it could only be good.
And yet—why this emptiness?
As if a warm seat had suddenly gone cold.

Lost in that faint bitterness as he approached the palace gates, a shadow emerged in his path.

“…Ah. Out at this hour…? Did you find the palace more suitable than the inn, after all?”

Pure Vanilla recognized the figure immediately.
It was the third envoy from Crème—quiet, unassuming, and cloaked in silence.

“The thing that’s been troubling you—
will come to an end before the night is over.”

He spoke while gazing up at the stars.

“He’ll make sure of it.
Once he believes something is right, he follows it through to the end.”

His voice was calm and low, but something about it unsettled Pure Vanilla.

“…Excuse me?”

When he asked for clarity, the envoy turned his gaze toward him.

“I’ve only come to confirm something.
To ask you a question. A fundamental one.”

Something’s off.
Pure Vanilla felt his instincts sharpen. Was this envoy truly from Crème?

“…Who are you, really?”

“More importantly,”
the stranger turned his head slowly and asked,

“Do you believe you deserve what you have?”

“…Deserve…?”
Pure Vanilla murmured in confusion. No one had ever asked him a question like that.

“The Soul Jam of Truth.
It is not simply knowledge—it is a weight.
And you… chose silence, even while carrying it.”

“…That was my decision,”
Pure Vanilla replied carefully.
“Truth… isn’t always meant to be spoken.”

“Most Cookies could never make that choice,”
the envoy nodded slowly.

“But you… you are someone who bears silence.
Who is willing to lie, if it protects others.”

“…Why are you saying this?”

“Some Cookies,”

Though his tone remained steady, there was a faint edge to his words—
a soft condemnation hidden within.

“he reduce everything else to mere instruments in service of a single aim.
Once they set their heart on one thing, everything else becomes part of the equation.
Sacrifices, emotions… even cookie.
As if all suffering revolves solely around his pain.
he call it love, perhaps…”

The stranger let out a short breath of laughter at the word love, the first sign of emotion in his voice.

“Though I doubt he ever spoken the word themselves.
It’s no longer love.
It’s too old, too rigid—a decision made long ago.
Whether it’s love, revenge, or… simple self-pity, even he don’t know anymore.”

Pure Vanilla’s eyes trembled.
That voice, that idea—it brought a face to mind.
A face he couldn’t erase.

“…Who are you talking about?”

“I never named anyone.”
The stranger answered quietly.
“But you know, don’t you?”

Pure Vanilla averted his gaze.
There was something about the words—painful in how true they rang.

“That Cookie… carries many wounds.
He doesn’t trust himself.
So he pushes others away.
But he gave me love.
He is not a Cookie who doesn’t know how to love.
He’s just… starved of it. That’s all. He never learned how.”

“…That may be true,”
the stranger said softly.

“It’s not that he lacks feeling. But the center of that feeling—its gravity—is himself, not others. Like a scale, always calculating. A Cookie who weighs and measures the world by his own standard.”

Pure Vanilla wanted to argue. That wasn’t all there was to Shadow Milk.
But… it wasn’t completely false either.
He was clumsy at connecting with others—at sharing feelings.
But that wasn’t entirely his fault.
He had simply been alone for too long.

“You are different.”

The stranger continued.

“Even when you uncover truth, you don’t wield it as a weapon. You think deeply about how to use it, and for whom. You can choose silence over words. And when your choice demands a price… you’re willing to pay it. You’re someone who seeks to protect, through truth. The Soul Jam of Truth seeks Cookies like you.”

“…Why are you saying this to me? Enough. That Cookie… Shadow Milk… is my beloved. You’re being deeply disrespectful.”

Silence fell for a breath.
The envoy looked up at the stars again.

“Do you trust him? He who hides the most important truths, who makes brutal decisions based only on his own judgment?”
“It’s not about trust or distrust. You don’t get to decide that.”

“Then let me say it plainly: He clings to an ancient, worn-out ideal— one he’d sacrifice everything else for. From the beginning, he’s viewed others through the lens of necessity. And everything else—sorrow, anger, sacrifice—they’re all tilted toward that one emotion. That one heart.

That is no longer love.”

Pure Vanilla swallowed hard.

The words stung—because somewhere in them, they rang true. But it was a cruel conclusion to a sadness that deserved better. And there was certainty in the envoy’s voice… As if he knew Shadow Milk—far too well.

“He must’ve told you the truth, didn’t he? Just as he did to me. But was it really for you? Or was it a way to control the outcome? He uses truth as a form of power—to shape the world to his will.”

“I won’t hear any more of this. Leave this kingdom. You are not welcome here. He is… he is the most precious Cookie in my life. And I won’t allow you to speak of him this way.”

The sentence cut clean—like a blade.

The stranger stood quietly for a moment…
and then turned his body away, calm and silent.

“No more words, then. Pure Vanilla Cookie… I left the letter I never gave him in accordance with your kingdom’s custom. You’ll find it.”

“…Who—who are you really—”

Pure Vanilla stepped forward, but—

In the next breath,
the stranger vanished like dust on wind.

He couldn’t sleep at all.
Not until the first light broke through the sky.

“Who was that…? Why would they say such things…? What do they even know about Shadow Milk…?”

He wasn’t a cookie unfamiliar with love. If anything, he was someone who had longed for it more desperately than most.
So then… why?
Why would someone speak to him with such cruelty?

Yet even as that wounded anger boiled inside him, a single, quiet question rose—barely a breath.

“He said… long ago, he gave up everything for one ideal?”

He had never heard that before.
An ideal?
Was that something Shadow Milk had once dreamed of?

“An ideal for what…? A utopia? A perfect world he wanted to see?”

The word ideal tangled in his mind. A dream one yearns to make real. A vision of the world at its best.

“…He never called the lie an ideal....He only said—the lie is reality. And truth.”

Then what about the ideal he never mentioned?
What was it,
this thing so precious that he’d use anyone—himself, others—to reach it?

Pure Vanilla felt a tightness in his chest.A quiet ache of helplessness, a mounting unease.

It felt as if Shadow Milk had been gazing toward another world, one he was never invited into.

“Are there parts of him… hidden in the things he didn’t say? Parts I never knew…?”

Eventually, Pure Vanilla, with dark circles under his eyes and a heavy step from a sleepless night, stood in front of Black Sapphire’s house.
Maybe Shadow Milk would scold him for being so late.

In his hand, he held a carefully prepared bouquet.

‘What if he gets mad for being late…?’

Shadow Milk could be surprisingly strict about time.
What was he even going to say once they met? That something strange happened last night? That he met a Cookie who seemed to know him? That the Cookie said strange things?

But when the door opened, it was Shadow Milk who looked—
even more exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot, and the little eyes between his hair were half-lidded, barely staying awake.

“…Milk?”
“…Yaaawn… Mmm… Sorry, sorry. I… yawn… overslept. Did you wait long? I was up late hanging out with the kids…”
“…I see. It’s fine. I just got here myself.”
“…Ahem.”

Shadow Milk rubbed his eyes a few times and cleared his throat awkwardly.

“…But Vanilla, uh… did something happen at the palace or something?”

That wasn’t a question he usually asked. Pure Vanilla froze for a moment, recalling the morning.

He’d been so sleepy, and so distracted because of Shadow Milk… Wait, now that he thought about it—

He vaguely remembered hearing that one of the envoys, Crustard Cookie, had suddenly returned to his homeland early in the morning. That did seem odd.

‘Right… I was a mess this morning, partly because of Shadow Milk. But now that I think about it—’

Leaving the country in a hurry the morning after arriving? That was suspicious.

“…Come to think of it, Crustard Cookie… hmm. Wait—Shadow Milk, don’t tell me…”

“Huh? No, no no! I kept my promise! I swear!”

“…Can you also swear that you didn’t find a creative workaround to that promise?”

“…That’s low, Vanilly. Real low.”

Shadow Milk pouted and squinted at him in mock offense.

“Okay maybe I had a tiny bit to do with it. But it was all peaceful! Just a little persuasion! No one got hurt!”

Pure Vanilla snorted softly, barely holding back a laugh.
“…Pfft… hehehe… Is that so? Then… thank you.”

“Huh…? Wait, what? You’re thanking me?” Shadow Milk looked genuinely surprised.

“You said it was all peaceful and resolved through persuasion, right? Well… you solved the problem, didn’t you?”

“…That’s true! Yeah! I did handle it… Ahem. Sooo… how about a little reward now, Vanilla?”

Pure Vanilla furrowed his brows in mock disbelief, lips twitching—then shifted to a mischievous smile.

“…I didn’t ask for help, but I suppose you do deserve a reward. What kind of prize do you want?”

He smiled playfully, eyes narrowing just a bit with teasing.

Shadow Milk floated slightly off the ground, beginning to slowly circle Pure Vanilla.

“You know… we’ve been so busy lately, barely had time together. Honestly, I’m kind of tired of all the serious stuff.”

He said it with a slight pout, but his eyes sparkled with mischief.

Seeing him like that made a corner of Pure Vanilla’s heart soften.
‘Ah… Maybe I should hold off on that conversation.’
The Cookie who had haunted his thoughts all night flickered briefly in his mind.

“Shadow Milk’s finally smiling… now’s not the time for serious talk. Let’s just enjoy this moment.”

“All right. We’ve got everything ready now, except for the thank-you letters. Oh, and the children’s play, I guess…”

But before he could finish, Shadow Milk cut in quickly.

“Stop! Don’t talk about that low-effort talent show. Seriously, if you don’t want me storming off again, I’d rather go collect thank-you letters myself—or write them, even.”

His tone had a mock-threatening edge, but his eyes twinkled with amusement.

Pure Vanilla’s eyes lit up. “Really? That’s amazing! Writing thank-you letters is a great way to express your feelings. You can say things you normally don’t get to say.”

He looked at Shadow Milk with a bright, sincere gaze.

Shadow Milk hesitated, face scrunching slightly.

“I didn’t mean I was going to write anything, okay…”

“Oh, don’t be like that, Milk. It’s a wonderful idea. Plus, you’d be showing everyone how much you actually care.”

“Wait, what? Who exactly would I be showing that to?”

Pure Vanilla suddenly remembered last night’s strange conversation.
‘It’s not that Cookie doesn’t have emotions—it’s just that they’re centered more around themselves than others.’
That thought settled heavily in his chest.

“Uh, well… you know. There are some Cookies who… don’t think too highly of you.”

Shadow Milk raised a brow, starting to count on his fingers.
“Ha, Vanilly. Should I try counting the Cookies who talk trash about me? Oh no, I’m out of fingers! What a tragedy!”

Pure Vanilla chuckled softly and spoke warmly.
“You’re a good Cookie, Milk. You care about others, and you know how to love.”

Shadow Milk gave a sly grin and squinted.

“What are you talking about? Of course I know how to love. Did you forget we’re dating?”

Between them, a gentle laughter and a slightly nervous tension danced in the air.
Their eyes met—filled with unspoken understanding, trust, and affection.

That day, Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk wandered through the village, collecting the last of the Thanksgiving letters.
Of course, Shadow Milk seemed far more interested in the snacks than the letters.

“If you write down what you’re thankful for, it might be shared at the Thanksgiving feast!”

When Pure Vanilla gently encouraged them, both the young and older Cookies smiled shyly and handed over their letters.
Many were already hanging from the large “Thankful Tree” in the village square, but they had gathered plenty more.

In the past, they would have needed a ladder to hang each one with care—but with Shadow Milk flying through the sky, the task became much easier.
Of course, since he was already up there, he enjoyed the small privilege of sneakily reading a few.

“Vanilly, look at this. This Cookie’s thankful that their mom sometimes doesn’t burn the food.”

“That’s so heartwarming. Gratitude in everyday life is what truly matters.”

“Are you serious? That’s not a reason to be thankful, that’s a reason to enroll in cooking school. Vanilly, don’t let your feelings distort the truth.”

“...Fair enough.”

As Shadow Milk hung each letter, Pure Vanilla read through them one by one with a soft smile.

“Oh, this one’s from GingerBrave. He’s thankful that today’s adventure was fun. Isn’t that sweet? And look—Strawberry Cookie’s thankful the sky is clear today. Isn’t that adorable?”

“Unbelievable. Cookies are so hopelessly simple. Those aren’t things to be thankful for at all.”

“It’s about appreciating the little things. That’s wisdom in life, isn’t it?”

A little while later, Pure Vanilla opened a letter from Candy Apple Cookie. At that moment, Shadow Milk’s gaze stiffened slightly.

“...Don’t read that one out loud. That letter alone could curse the entire tree.”

“But it says she’s thankful for you. That’s still a kind thought.”

“Oh, thanks. Really. But sometimes... you know. It’s a lot.”

There were also some letters that were long and complicated, almost like spellbooks.
Espresso Cookie had written, “I’m thankful for my brain,” and several other scholar-type Cookies wrote in a similar vein.

“Ugh. Idiots. Thankful for their own brains? What a pathetic excuse for gratitude...”

When Shadow Milk muttered this, Pure Vanilla glanced at him with a faint smile.

“I wonder... Are all smart Cookies like this?”

At that, Shadow Milk gave a short laugh and silently flew to the top of the tree again.
Moments later, he returned and quietly handed Pure Vanilla a small folded note.

“This one’s mine. There’s no way I’m putting it on that lunatic tree. But... you can read it.”

Pure Vanilla carefully unfolded the note.

“Thank you for not giving up on me.”

He read the sweet little line again and again, eyes growing misty.
How could anyone be this precious? It felt like the most natural truth in the world—that having this Cookie’s love was the greatest joy of his life.

“...You’re just... too precious...”

Shadow Milk’s cheeks turned a soft blue tint. Trying to sound indifferent, he snapped:

“If you’re done reading that, burn it immediately. No—I’ll burn it myself!”

“Nope. It’s my treasure now.”

“Treasure?! No, absolutely not! I made a mistake. The sugar ice cream scrambled my brain—I wasn’t thinking straight. Please, destroy it…”

“Nope!”

While Shadow Milk clutched his face in despair, Pure Vanilla carefully tucked the note into his robe.
That tiny piece of paper, he thought, would help preserve the warmth of that day for a very, very long time.

“Oh, right! Got it. But don’t show this to anyone. Seriously…”

Shadow Milk pouted his lips and glanced one last time at the top of the tree—then narrowed his eyes. Something caught his attention.

He slowly tilted his head, fixed his gaze, and raised one eyebrow. Hanging there was a letter unlike any ordinary thank-you note. A very subtle magic was woven tightly into the letter, like countless needles.

“…This is…”

Shadow Milk stepped closer. Just a few seconds of eye contact made him certain. This was an ancient magic. Very old, and incredibly intricate. Not just something to call ‘ancient’—it was magic that only those who have approached the truth could cast.

“…Vanilli?”

After a moment of silence, he looked down at Pure Vanilla and asked.

“This letter at the top… whose is it? It feels very old.”
“Huh? I’m not sure…”

Pure Vanilla looked up with a somewhat surprised expression. But Shadow Milk was already showing a noticeable wariness.

“This is no joke. At least, this magic must be thousands of years old. Is there really a cookie who can still cast this spell… alive?”

Pure Vanilla’s face stiffened at his words. Shadow Milk had never shown such caution—at least, not with magic…
And at that moment, a certain phrase came to mind.

“Pure Vanilla Cookie. The letter he did not receive has been hung according to your community’s tradition.”

Could it be that the ‘community tradition’ he mentioned meant this thank-you letter tree? So, the letter on top…

“…Could it be. The letter you didn’t receive…”

Pure Vanilla murmured quietly, and Shadow Milk instinctively sensed something was wrong. He furrowed his brows and carefully traced a magical pattern over the letter with his finger. Very carefully. Normally, he could snap his fingers to perform short spells, but faced with the delicate magic woven into the letter, he consciously manipulated his magic to trace the pattern.

No physical approach allowed, no magical approach allowed, no decoding allowed, identity protected…

Several layers of protective wards gently wrapped the letter, and Shadow Milk removed it from the tree.
At that moment—a faint, familiar scent of blueberry yogurt brushed past his nose.

Shadow Milk looked down at the letter, lowering his voice.

“…Pure Vanilla. What does this mean? A letter not delivered to me… what is this? Is there a reason I wasn’t supposed to know?”

Pure Vanilla opened his mouth as if to speak, then hesitated. Uncertainty settled in his eyes, and Shadow Milk looked at the silence with growing unease.

“…Well, you see…”

His lips trembled. Even the atmosphere around them began to change quietly.

“Vanilli. I’m not scolding you. It’s because it’s truly dangerous.”

Shadow Milk exhaled quietly, still looking down at the letter. His gaze was terrifyingly serious.

“This magic I’ve seen recently… it’s a completely different kind. If it needs to be dealt with, I can handle it. But—”

He looked up and stared straight at Pure Vanilla.

“The problem is, it appeared while I was gone. Vanilli, if I hadn’t been here… there wouldn’t be a single being able to face this magician. I’m certain.”

His words weren’t an accusation. There was deep worry and fear within them. Shadow Milk gently reached out and touched Pure Vanilla’s shoulder. As if trying to steady his own emotions, he exhaled softly and spoke gently.

“…So. Tell me. What happened?”

After hesitating for a long moment, Pure Vanilla finally nodded.

“…Actually, at dawn yesterday… I met someone.”

Shadow Milk’s gaze flickered briefly. 

“He seemed to know you very well.”
“So? What did he look like? Do you remember anything?”
“He had his cloak pulled over his head. I couldn’t see his face… I’m sorry. I didn’t think things would get this serious. I was going to tell you today, but we kept laughing and chatting—”
“Shh—”

Shadow Milk quietly raised his finger to cover his mouth.

“I’m not scolding you. Not angry either. I’m just asking because we need to deal with this. What did you talk about with that cookie?”

Pure Vanilla closed his eyes, took a slow breath, and began to unravel the memory of last night. The envoy he met in the darkness. Calm yet sharp words. And his last words.

Lately, Pure Vanilla felt like he was just constantly explaining himself to Shadow Milk. Without realizing it, he felt like he was becoming a sinner.

After finishing the whole story,
Shadow Milk remained silent for a while. He clenched the letter tightly in his hand, then, his voice low and strained, he asked.

“…‘That guy’ said those things? Again, he said those things? Crawled into my house… secretly met my lover, and said that kind of stuff?”

“Milk… do you know him?”

Shadow Milk’s eyes flashed, and he gritted his teeth.

“…Honestly, I’m going to kill him. That fanatic bastard. He crossed the line and went full crazy.”

“...No way, Salt?”

“…Who else could it be if not that bastard.”

Pure Vanilla could only stare silently at Shadow Milk.

“He said… you gave up everything for a single ideal.”

“...Ha.” Shadow Milk scoffed. “That’s the same old crap he always says.”

“And… you told him the truth. Just to him.”

Shadow Milk didn’t answer. After a long silence, he spoke in a very small, trembling voice.

“…That’s the biggest regret of my life. So bad that after that bastard, I got PTSD and swore never to tell anyone again.”

“–Then.”

Pure Vanilla asked very cautiously.

“Then Silent Salt knows? About that… ‘human’?”

After a very long silence, Shadow Milk finally said,

“Yeah.”

Chapter Text

At the end of the bookshelf, beneath the flickering candlelight,

the conversation between the two cookies overlapped quietly but sharply—like footnotes in an ancient manuscript.

Milk slowly closed the worn book with his fingertips, feeling the warmth of the old paper beneath his palm.
As if all the knowledge written within had become a weight now returned to him—
He inhaled.
Cold air filled his lungs and slowly cooled within.

“…Salt.”

He spoke softly.
A low, cautious voice—yet steady, unwavering.

“Why do you… call them gods?”

Salt of the Order does not look up.
Instead, he turns the page even more slowly, more delicately.
The rustle of paper stirs the distant past, softly echoing through the cathedral.

“Why ask? You… already know.”

“That’s why I ask.”

Milk inhales again.
His hands tighten upon his knees.

“I do know. That’s why I… can’t believe.”

He looks to the candle.
The flame flickers faintly, casting a fragile light as if consuming itself.
It seemed… sorrowful somehow. As though even it burned only to shed truth.

“…They were never perfect beings.
They made mistakes.
They hesitated.
They feared… and they loved.
Maybe—they cried, a lot.”

Salt’s hand pauses on the page.

Perfect stillness, as if time itself had stopped.

His breathing is slow—but deep.

“…You saw them.”

“…No.”

A beat.
A denial a moment too late.

And yet neither of them could pretend it wasn’t a lie.

A long, still silence.

“Even if I had… it wouldn’t matter.”

Milk tears his gaze from the flame and meets Salt’s eyes.

“What matters is—I know.
Salt, listen.
This is… a truth I’ve never spoken to anyone.”

At that moment—

The wind blew.
The windows rattled softly.
Golden light shimmered beyond the stained glass.
Dust floated, suspended in the air.

And the two of them stood face to face.

Silence.

In a moment as slow as falling dust,

Milk spoke.

“I thought… I could no longer stay silent.”

His voice was soft and low, but heavy with restrained emotion.

Before speaking further, he closed his eyes.
Took in a deep breath—

And raised his head as if swallowing the weight of truth.

“The witches weren’t gods. They were just… mortals. They called themselves ‘humans.’”

“…Humans?”

The air shifted.

The candle trembled ever so slightly. The quiet space within froze as if suspended in ice.

Salt did not move. Not even a blink, as he murmured again—

“Humans?”

Milk averted his eyes. His fingers laced together slowly atop his knees.

“Yes… they were one of race kinds. And among them—those who saw more than others, who dreamed of more… Those were the witches.”

“…So the entire human race weren’t witches, then.”

“Exactly. Just as there are many kinds of Cookies, humans came in many kinds too. The ones who created us, the ones who forged the Five Virtues… They were the ones who chased after ideals.”

Salt lifts his eyes from the book. Slowly—heavily—he raises his head and meets Milk’s gaze. His eyes were neither bright nor dark. Just… hollow. Like a deep abyss.

“…So what?” His voice is quiet. “What changes, if they were human?”

“…What?”

That wasn’t the reaction Milk expected. He had imagined denial, or collapse, or acceptance—one of those three. But this… was none of them.

Milk’s lips grow dry. He wets them with the tip of his tongue, standing still, as if forgetting to breathe.

“…Are you saying that doesn’t matter?”

“Whether it’s true or not—”

Salt gently closes the book. The dull thud of the cover echoes softly through the cathedral.

“The fact that she created me… doesn’t change. Even if she wasn’t a god, the act of believing in her as one—That belief, that connection, that’s what sustains our civilization. Whether they were human or not. The Cookies worship her. Isn’t that connection what keeps us together?”

“…And what if that connection—was built on a lie?”

Milk replies gently. But in his eyes, a sharp fury gleams. His voice is quiet, but his words are edged.

“If the order we built was born from a denial of truth—then is it really order? Or just a more elaborate delusion?”

Salt exhales, quietly. Before his breath vanishes into the cold air—he answers, calm but firm:

“Truth simply is. But unity—unity is a matter of choice. Cookies don’t seek the foundations of what they believe. They want a standard to understand the world, not the excavation beneath it. The moment you tell them: ‘She was merely human’—the unity shatters. Sometimes, silence… Sometimes, even lies… hold a community together longer. Truth isn’t always kind. It cuts—like you do.”

Milk tilts his head back. Not quite a laugh—more like a bitter smile.

“That’s poetic. But are you saying truth always destroys unity? That we can only live in lies? Isn’t that the greater disrespect to the community?”

Salt looks at him again.

“…It’s so we don’t lose our way. Sometimes, the world needs something to believe in—more than it needs the truth.”

Milk lowers his head. His fingers brush a drop of candle wax. He flinches at the heat, pulling back. Then quietly, he laughs.

“…So truth stays silent, and we speak only of faith?”

Salt replies, expressionless:

“O Fountain of Knowledge—Your truth may be profound, but not all require it. Unity allows no fractures. So let that truth… remain yours alone.”

Milk slowly lowers his head. His shoulders cave inward with his breath. The emotions settling over his face were like the marks of an old wound, like a mask worn too long.

“…It’s not just because it’s the truth, Salt. It’s because… we should understand them. Like you said—They made us. So at least the five of us… Shouldn’t we try to understand them? …Isn’t it too sad, if we don’t?”

Milk closed his eyes. A memory surged, vivid as if it were only yesterday.
The dry scent of the desert. The chill of the sand once night fell.
And—those warm, tender fingers.

“…There were once pilgrims, wandering endlessly across the desert.
Even when they knew they’d never be understood, they kept walking anyway…”

Even as they wandered the distant sands, bearing a love that would never be accepted, they shone like stars.
Their light never dimmed, even under the oppression of their kin.
It embraced the wounded… and that light, truly, was an ideal.
Even the pain, even the loneliness—sometimes it clung to their silent tears, spilled under a sky full of stars.

“All of that… reduced to a few words, just to be erased?
That should never be accepted as normal.”

The candle flickered.

Salt, who had been silently seated, slowly raised his head and spoke in a firm tone.
“That’s merely your sentiment.”

Milk frowned and stared at him. But Salt didn’t falter.

“Society isn’t built on sentiment. It’s built on symbols.
It doesn’t matter if she was human or divine.
The belief that ‘she is a god’ is what binds us together—it is our promise, our order.
And you, Milk, are undermining that promise.”

Milk froze. His expression hardened, his brow trembled slightly.
This wasn’t an argument.
Something deeper—something older—was beginning to crack.

He stood up suddenly. His body moved before his thoughts.
His hands trembled faintly.

“…And if that symbol leads us to a cliff?”
The question carried no weight—only futility.
A final plea, carefully released into empty space.

But Salt said nothing.
Only silence, flickering like the candlelight, filled the room.
A silence that seemed to hold its breath to keep balance.

The longer it stretched, the colder Milk’s heart became.

At last, he opened his mouth. A bitter smile escaped him, and behind it, a resignation that foretold the end.

“…Fine. Maybe I am… maybe I’ve been too emotional.
Maybe I’ve been seeing this from one side only.
But I’m not just speaking from emotion.
And this issue—at its core—isn’t about feelings.”

Salt shook his head firmly.
“No. That is the core of this issue.”

His voice was sharp and cold.

“Your interpretation—that they were pitiable beings, not gods—that’s born from love.
That’s your compassion, not truth.”

Milk’s eyes wavered.
Love.
That word—unexpected—cut like a knife.
He fell silent, unconsciously.

“Truth exists for the sake of the community.
Not as a canvas for someone’s personal longing.”

“How dare you… You don’t know what I’ve been through—don’t presume!
I am knowledge! I remember everything—and I understand all of it!
That’s why I’m speaking the truth!”

His voice cracked, like an old recording.
But Salt didn’t let that moment slip.

“Oh? Then you’re just fulfilling your duty, aren’t you?
In that case… shall I speak too?
Things I’ve kept silent about—for the sake of this fragile union?”

The air chilled.
Salt lowered his gaze for a moment, then lifted it again and spoke—quietly, yet as sharp as a blade.

“…You know. If what you said had truly been for the sake of knowledge—
I would not have dismissed it.”

“…What?”

Milk’s voice trembled.

“If your words had been for uncovering truth as knowledge— then emotion would never have gotten involved. Truth and deceit… that is your duty as knowledge, is it not?”

“…I only revealed what was true. I separated truth from deceit.”

“…Lies.”

For the first time, emotion entered Salt’s voice.
Was it anger? Disappointment? Or simply the weariness of long-held restraint?

Milk involuntarily stepped back.
It felt like the ground was gone beneath his feet. Like he was standing at the edge of a cliff.

“You are no different from a fanatic.
Not for unity—but for memory.
Your mourning for the witch, your memories, your compassion—
they belong to you, and only you.
Selfish. And dangerous to the world.”

“I’ve never been a fanatic—!”

But his rebuttal never made it.
Salt cut him off and pushed forward.

“You were never truly for the Cookies.
From the beginning, your path… it was always for the mourning of those you loved.”

He looked directly at Milk as he continued.

“Your truth followed the trail of emotion to a single point.
And you grieved that the Cookies could not follow you there.
You never once acted for them.
You stood apart, observing from a distance.

‘How should I lead them?’
‘How will I be remembered?’
‘How can I complete this story?’”

Milk’s hands began to shake.

“So… all my effort was just self-satisfaction?
Is that what you’re saying? That’s an insult…
I love the Cookies!
I want them to grow, to understand virtue—
how is that self-serving?!”

“If you truly loved them,
you would’ve loved them as they are—not as you wanted them to be.
Foolish, messy, unfinished, just as they are.
But you always said,
‘They’re not complete yet.’
‘They can become better.’
That’s not love. That’s distrust.”

Salt caught his breath—and drove in the final nail.

“Blinded by ideals, rejecting reality…
how can you speak of unity?”

Milk opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
He barely managed a word.
He tried to raise his voice, but it faded.
Moisture gathered at the corners of his eyes.

“…Fine. I admit it.
I’ve been disappointed in them.
Maybe my standards were too high.

But even so… I am a teacher of knowledge.
It’s my role to separate truth from falsehood,
and to hope they can grow from it…”

To that, Salt responded coldly.

“Then why did you tell only me?
Why only me? Because you were afraid I believed she was a god?

Then why not speak to more Cookies?”

Salt no longer tried to persuade.
He simply cast out the final words—cold, detached.

“Enough lies. You weren’t driven by truth. You were simply—offended
that I believed in them as gods.”

“…I was—”

“You were.”

"You're the Cookie of Knowledge, aren't you? Then why do you lower your eyes when the truth is spoken?"

Milk swallowed hard. His voice cracked, thin and uneven.

“...I—”

In that moment, Salt stepped forward.

The space between them shrank to the length of a single breath.

In the silence that followed—a silence so thick it seemed to freeze time itself—

Salt's gaze pierced through Milk.

Soft and quiet, yet as sharp as a blade, his words stabbed straight into Milk’s mind.

"You're afraid to fall apart. Because if you admit the truth, it means the world they created has failed. That the Cookies aren’t living the way the Witches had hoped.

And if that's the case... it feels like they failed too. But you're still clinging to them so tightly, you can’t even accept that.

So do me a favor.

Don’t drag the others into your eternal funeral."

—Boom.

Those words struck him like a bolt of lightning through his skull.

Milk stood frozen, his expression blank. His heart felt cold.

Not hot, not numb—just hollow. That emptiness began to writhe inside his chest.

Barely holding onto consciousness, he tried to take a breath,

but even that was difficult.

His chest tightened,and something inside him cracked.

He had never been this deeply wounded by words.

He felt his hand trembling. His whole body—

slipping out of his control. His lips parted, but no sound came.

His mind went blank.Except for one thing.

‘Eternal funeral?’

Salt gathered his books.

A few worn notebooks with fraying covers, a dry inked quill,and his precious, thin copies of old texts. He stood up quietly.Milk still couldn’t move.

And then—

Salt paused at the doorway.

As if delivering a long-contemplated final thought,

he spoke without turning back.

"You know... everyone probably already knew you didn’t really like Cookies all that much."

Milk blinked.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar sentiment.

He’d heard such things plenty of times.

He used to brush them off with a simple, ‘Maybe so.’

But this was different.

This time—

Salt added one more line, without ever looking back.

And that line shattered the last of Milk’s balance.

"But what I didn’t realize until now— was that you don’t really like humans either, do you, Milk?"

It felt like his heart stopped.

His breath caught in his throat.

Cold sweat formed on his brow.

He tried to speak, but couldn’t.

His chest refused to lift.

His mouth was dry,

and a silence like a fissure split across his mind.

‘You hate humans and Cookies alike.’

That thought—that truth—was sharper than any blade.

He lost his footing, as if the ground beneath him had vanished.

Salt gave a small nod, as if Milk’s silence was the answer he’d expected all along.

“...Yeah. I knew it.”

And then—

the door closed.

And all that remained,

was silence.

Shadow Milk leaned against Pure Vanilla.
He didn’t want to talk about it, but he couldn’t keep it hidden any longer.
Now that it was clear Salt had passed through the kingdom, Pure Vanilla had firmly insisted he had the right to know.
Besides… it was just last night that Shadow Milk himself had gotten upset, saying he’d been kept in the dark.
So he had no choice. In the end, he had to speak.

He drew in a short breath. Every time he pushed a fragment of memory out into words, his body flinched slightly.
His fingers trembled. His shoulders slumped. A trace of hesitation hung off the edge of every sentence.
Pure Vanilla gently wrapped both hands around his and slowly rubbed his back.
With every tremble that passed into him, it felt as if a ripple of pain spread across his own heart.

“…So, what did you feel?”

Pure Vanilla's voice was quiet.
Not judging—just wanting to know what was in his heart.

“What do you think? I felt wronged, obviously.”

Shadow Milk turned his head with a snap. He twisted his mouth into a bitter sneer.

“That bastard, running wild with fantasies when he doesn't even know anything? It’s ridiculous.”

“…Milk.”

Pure Vanilla called his name again, gently.
Inside it were love, caution, and sorrow.

“Sure. I mean, okay, he got a few things right, maybe.”

Shadow Milk muttered toward the empty air.

“Hate cookies? Yep. Bingo. Hate humans? Wow, two for two. Think society’s a complete failure and total trash? Ding ding ding, triple hit! The world sucks!”

His words came out sharp, but his laugh was hollow.
There was anger there, too dry to cry out, and a hollow edge to his voice that no smile could disguise.

“But just so we’re clear… it’s not like, y’know, I’m weeping about it for some dramatic sob story.”

He lifted his chin and nodded to himself.

“It’s just that I was made wrong from the start. Nothing worth loving—so I didn’t love, simple as that.”

Even that line carried a strange, bitter self-mockery.

“…Yeah yeah, I was pretty dumb back then. I did kinda look away from the truth.”

Shadow Milk leaned back with a sigh.

“I thought maybe cookies could change… ha. What a damn joke of a time. But you know how it is. We all had a phase as kids where we believed in that kind of nonsense, right?”

He let out a small laugh.

“Embarrassing days.”

Pure Vanilla didn’t answer.
He just quietly pulled Shadow Milk closer in his arms.
He gently ran his hand down the curve of his delicate back, feeling the crack running deep through his heart.

Inside it was a very old kind of loneliness.
A belief once held, but eventually shattered.
The remains of hope, so painful that even he refused to admit it had ever been real.
And still lingering there… was sorrow.

That’s not what you meant, was it?
You really believed—everyone could change for the better.
That one day, we could all be… happier.
That’s what you were hoping for, wasn’t it.

That belief was something Pure Vanilla had wrestled with too.
And it was still the path he wanted to walk, the one he chose to follow.

“…I know.”
He whispered.
“I understand, Milk.”

“…Understand what.”
Shadow Milk muttered, turning his face away.
“It’s nothing, really…”

“You’re not broken. And you didn’t do anything wrong.”
Pure Vanilla gently cut him off.
His voice was quiet, but firm.

Shadow Milk couldn’t speak for a while.
He just let out a small breath of a laugh, like an exhale.

“…I’m tired of it all.”

“Hey. Once the festival’s over… why don’t we go somewhere?”

“Somewhere?”
Shadow Milk blinked, surprised by the sudden shift.

“I was thinking… maybe we could visit the Golden Cheese Kingdom.”

Shadow Milk raised an eyebrow, half-disbelieving.

“That’s random. Why?”
“I just want to see the desert.”
“…Okay, now it’s really random. Why a desert? There aren’t even sheep there.”
“They came up in our conversation earlier, remember? It made me want to see it.”
“Oh for—seriously. You get stuck on the weirdest things, you know that?”

Shadow Milk clicked his tongue, but Pure Vanilla just chuckled softly.
It seemed like his mood had lightened.
He’d said it to change the subject… but maybe, just maybe, someday they really would take that trip.

“Then tell me more about the desert.”
His eyes sparkled with curiosity.

“…You’ve been digging into my stories a lot lately. Couples shouldn’t be snooping too hard into each other’s pasts, you know.”
Shadow Milk wrinkled his brow, sounding slightly annoyed—but couldn’t quite hide the hint of shyness underneath.

“You’ve seen all of my childhood. Don’t I deserve to know yours too?”
He smiled mischievously, locking eyes with him.
There was hope and playfulness glittering in his gaze.

Shadow Milk fell silent for a moment.
“…I didn’t have a childhood. I spent time wandering the desert, that’s about it.”
His voice had a strange weight to it—lonely, heavy.

“Then tell me about that.”
Pure Vanilla gently took his hand.
At that touch, Shadow Milk’s expression softened just a little.

“Swear it’s nothing special. Hot in the day, freezing at night.”

He spoke with a mocking smile, but something wistful flickered across his eyes—like a distant longing.

“…Anyway, is this conversation going in the right direction? We just talked about something pretty serious, remember? About that lunatic infiltrating the kingdom.”

“What can we do? We can’t keep talking about him forever. It’s not like he’s here right now.”

Pure Vanilla smiled.
A brief silence fell. Then suddenly, Shadow Milk brought it up.

“…We should at least talk about the letter.”
“Oh—right. I almost forgot.”

Shadow Milk let out another sigh.

“I mean, wasn’t that the whole point of this conversation in the first place? Don’t go forgetting that. So what the hell are we gonna do about this cursed letter…”

He flicked his fingers toward it, impatient.

“It’s still a letter addressed to you. Maybe we should read it first?”
“And just trust whatever that lunatic sent? What if there’s a curse or something?”

Shadow Milk hunched slightly, voice tight with tension.

“You already scanned it with your magic, didn’t you?”

“Magic’s one thing. But if it’s closer to a curse, that’s a different story. Low-level stuff, maybe I’d notice… but that one’s…”

Shadow Milk spoke, unable to hide the unease in his voice.

“If one isn’t enough, what about two?”

Pure Vanilla asked in a whisper.

“Huh?”

“Tomorrow—on the day of the festival, Hollyberry and Eternal Sugar are coming to visit. They wrote me a letter.”

“Ah… well, I mean… hmm… Sugar does know a thing or two about curses… "

Shadow Milk frowned, his face full of questions.

"Wait—why are they coming to our place? No one asked me.”

Pure Vanilla chuckled as he replied.

“It’s just a friend coming to visit, isn’t it?”

Shadow Milk narrowed his eyes and shot back.

“They’re not my friend.”

He grinned mischievously.

“Suuure they’re not.”

Chapter Text

Someone was speaking—quietly, yet with a tone of earnest discussion.

Pure Vanilla blinked slowly, listening intently to the voice as soft and warm as cream. This was the other side of a dream. Perhaps... another illusion conjured by whispering Soul Jams.

He had always said not to dig through old memories. But Pure Vanilla knew. This was a memory that had to be seen—perhaps even one that was meant to be shown.

And maybe... maybe the Soul Jams were giving him a gentle nudge. As if urging him to remember at least this much. Like an old, worn compass still pointing the way—faint, but true.

The dreamscape was... a vast desert.

Pure Vanilla had never seen a desert himself, but it resembled the landscapes Gold Cheese once described in her tales. Except, instead of the golden heat she had spoken of, this place lay cool and still beneath a serene, blue starlight. Like the quiet breath of night—crisp and calm.

A camp had been set up there. At first glance, it looked like any ordinary tent. But before long, he realized—it was massive, far beyond what any cookie would consider normal in scale.

A faint fire flickered at the center of the camp, and for a moment... silhouettes. He thought he saw them. But they were unclear.

Unlike the usual sharp fragments of Shadow Milk’s dreams, this one felt... obscured. As if someone had hidden the things they didn’t want shown behind a veil of fog, like a censored reel of film.

One of them broke away from the group, walking alone across the softly rustling sand.

Their form was hard to make out—a silhouette bathed in light, or perhaps a shadow drawn from the night sky itself. Her voice was low and warm... and yet held something that pierced deep into the heart.

In her hand, she held a small blue starlight.

…No, not starlight. A cookie.

The cookie glowed with a gentle, bluish hue, blinking up at the cream-colored light above. There was no fear, no sorrow. Only a flickering calm.

The figure of light whispered, as softly as the wind:

“Is it because ants can't see stars... that stars might as well not exist to them?”

It was a quiet, delicate thought—but Pure Vanilla heard it clearly. This was a conversation from the past. A memory, perhaps, or a scene shaped by someone’s true feelings.

To her question, the Fount of Knowledge lifted his head and smiled.

“No. The stars exist just the same. It’s only the ants’ vision that’s limited.”

He paused, as if considering something, then spoke again—clearly, like reading aloud from a book. Calm and confident, with the tone of knowledge:

“An ant’s field of view spans mere millimeters. It sees in all directions, but with low resolution. Its world is guided more by motion and scent than color. Fascinatingly, ants don’t ‘see’ paths the way we do—they construct their world from chemical trails. So in the end, their reality is less physical, and more a map drawn from remembered sensations.”

The silhouette replied in a low murmur.

“Then... do you think the sky means nothing to them?”

“Yes. What we call the sky is, to them, an irrelevant void. Or perhaps even a vague threat. Their world is structured differently. It’s already complete, in their own way.”

“So even if we tore open the sky to show them the stars... they wouldn’t be moved?”

“…They might not see them directly. But perhaps they could sense their existence. If meaning remains—like pheromones leaving behind a trace.”

That might be possible. It was the first time her voice hinted at doubt. As if she wasn’t entirely sure. Proof would be needed.

Still, perhaps just being able to think that way was enough. The light smiled faintly, as if satisfied.

Showing the stars to an ant had never been an easy thought to hold.

And then, the smile returned as a deeper question.

“Then… does that mean those who gaze upon the stars… are closer to the truth?”

The Fount of Knowledge blinked slowly before answering.

“Those who possess broader senses can comprehend more of the world. They ask more questions, imagine more answers. I believe that is an attitude closer to the truth.”

The figure of light nodded quietly.

Her form shimmered faintly, and then she whispered, as if recalling a distant memory—

Her hand moved, gently brushing over the small Cookie, as if to embrace him softly.

“But… can someone who watches the stars truly understand a single pebble on the path of an ant?”

The nature of her question had shifted. Just moments ago, it seemed she had been encouraging his reasoning. But now, it felt more like a quiet challenge to that very reasoning.

The Fount fell silent, pondering for a long while, then answered softly.

“Observation may be possible, but true understanding is difficult, since our modes of perception are so different. For one whose entire world is a single pebble, the sky-gazer’s understanding is… less understanding, and more interpretation.”

“…Yes. That’s it.”

The luminous figure exhaled quietly.

“A higher perspective shows more… but it also takes you further from much else. Seeing differently can mean living differently.”

In that moment, the Fount of Knowledge realized:

This was no longer just a philosophical discussion.

He couldn’t quite tell what her intention was—

But perhaps… it was a warning. A plea not to forget those with smaller perspectives.

He bowed his head slightly.

Whether or not he truly understood, he didn’t deny the weight of her words.

“…Yes. I’ll be mindful.”

She seemed about to say more… but instead, simply stroked him gently.

And then quietly—turned her gaze to the starlit sky.

“…I’m sorry, my little morning star. My Milky Way.”

The Fount of Knowledge  his head in confusion.

Why did this conversation, of all things, end in an apology?

It didn’t follow any of the patterns he'd grown familiar with.

And yet… wasn’t that meaningful in itself?

“What are you sorry for? What brings you sadness? What weighs down your heart?”

“…My sorrow is for the mistakes I’ve made. My regrets lie in the pain you were never meant to carry.”

Hearing that, the wise Cookie reached out, searching for words of comfort.

“A mistake you recognize is no longer a mistake. And if my pain has become your burden, then maybe… it was always meant to come to me. Every sorrow belongs to someone.”

The radiant being gently stroked his soft, starlit hair. And carefully, as if confessing a fault, she spoke.

“But sorrow isn’t always healed through awareness alone. A burden you weren’t meant to carry… means the pain wasn’t born of your own fault. I just… I can’t help but feel—

You shouldn’t have been with us. Not like this. You should’ve grown up with your fellow Cookies. Or at the very least, with your siblings. Two years… is a cruel difference.”

The Fount suddenly remembered—

He was once supposed to have siblings too.

But it had never really bothered him.

He’d never known loneliness.

Besides…

Was it really anyone’s fault that he was baked first?

If anything, was it humanity’s?

If their home hadn’t burned down in the middle of the night, if they hadn’t had to flee into the desert—

Perhaps none of this would’ve happened.

…And if he felt even a little bit happy to have this moment to himself—

Was that so wrong?

“Does it really matter? You once said we were baked for eternity. Then a difference of a year or two shouldn’t mean much. anyway. Still… if we really must argue about who’s the oldest, then clearly— I’m the eldest among them.”

The tiny Cookie spun around on her glowing hand and threw his arms wide with a bright 

“Ta-da!”

His hair, shimmering like the Milky Way, fluttered softly with his movement, scattering stardust.

He looked utterly innocent. Delightfully adorable.

Only then did she let out a quiet laugh.

A little wistful, and at the same time, tender.

"Yes, my morning star. The first to rise in the sky… Please, don’t give up. Stay by their side."

The small Cookie nodded earnestly.

Stay by their side. Don’t give up.

It seemed so simple. So obvious.

Of course he could do that—at the time, he thought so.

Wasn’t he the one meant to lead? There was no reason for him to be the one to leave first.

One day, he would come to understand.

Like grains of sand scattered by the desert wind.

Like rivers forming where none existed, turning the desert into something else.

Like learning, too late, that the star you saw that night had long since shattered—

That its light only reached you after it had already gone.

When that day came,

he might finally grasp what it meant to “see differently.”

And what it meant when she said, “Don’t give up. Stay by their side.”

Did she mean don’t give up on them?

Or don’t give up on yourself?

Who was the advice meant for, really?

And in the end… who was it that let go?

Them?

Or himself?

Would he ever truly understand what it meant,

to ask someone to see from the eyes of an ant?

But the sight of a Cookie is small.

They look at ants and think, how tiny.

But really… Cookies aren’t small enough to fit in the palm of your hand.

They walk on the same ground.

They are simply… smaller neighbors.

Close enough to reach out and touch.

Close enough to speak to, maybe.

But the Fount of Knowledge had never once seen them that way.

To him, ants were simply too small.

So small that he noticed their motion before their shape.

No one had to explain this to him.

He already knew.

If someone were to ask him why they felt so small,

he would simply say—

“Because it’s just true.”

It couldn’t be helped.

Explaining that to a Cookie would be useless.

They’d never understand.

Because they lived in a different world.

Sometimes, the Fount of Knowledge wondered:

Was there any way he could ever truly understand the ants’ point of view?

Even though they were so simple, so predictable.

So small, so straightforward—like a chessboard whose every solution had already been solved.

He might be able to observe their lives with the eyes of wisdom,

but to feel them, completely—

That was impossible.

...

Was seeing differently…

really this different?

Whispers.

So, are the Soul Jams satisfied now?
They used to stay apart for so long, but these days—
even a little distance and they show up in dreams, like they’re protesting or something.
Guess it’s because we haven’t slept together the past few nights.
They never say it out loud, but... they want what they want, don’t they?

Pure Vanilla, who had just shared a dream, blinked and looked to his side.
Shadow Milk.
There was his face—sleeping next to him for the first time in a while.

Perhaps he’d been awake already—Shadow Milk was staring quietly at him with half-lidded eyes.
His messy hair was splayed out across the pillow, and a few of the eyes within the strands were still drowsily nodding off.
Pure Vanilla, still half-asleep, grinned teasingly.

“So... about that dream.”
Shadow Milk’s gaze sharpened.
He didn’t move a muscle, but his pupils twitched uneasily.
He knew Pure Vanilla sometimes peeked into his memories...
and still, he was never quite used to it.

“So what.”

Pure Vanilla chuckled. His voice was full of mischief.

“You’re two years older?”

“If you actually bring that up again, shut your damn mouth.”

Shadow Milk suddenly shot up under the covers, growling low.
His tangled hair stood on edge, and the eyes within it, now fully awake, glared accusingly at Pure Vanilla.
But if Pure Vanilla were the kind to shrink back from this, he wouldn’t have lasted a day as a Beast’s partner.
He giggled, unbothered, still snuggled under the blanket.

“What? I think it’s cute.”

“I’m dead serious, Vanilly. Say one more word about it—just one.”

Pure Vanilla leaned on his elbows, grinning wide, and began mimicking the soft, innocent voice he’d heard in the dream.

“So this is what it feels like... seeing someone’s childhood~ ‘I suppose I must be the eldest among them~’—oh, it was just so precious I woke right up! Ehehe, adorable~”

At that sugary imitation, Shadow Milk recoiled and began swatting Pure Vanilla with flustered little smacks.
With zero magic involved—just pure physical effort—it didn’t hurt at all.
And sure, maybe he meant it not to hurt...
But also, Shadow Milk just wasn’t that strong.

“Shut up, shut up! I didn’t say it like that! What are you, an idiot?! A real idiot?!”

“Hahaha~ That doesn’t hurt one bit. I told you to exercise more~ Come on, the eldest can’t be losing to his younger brothers~”

Realizing brute strength wouldn’t work, Shadow Milk grabbed a pillow instead.
He trembled with it in his grip, as if trying to will himself to swing it—but couldn’t quite go through with it.

“It was just a dream! Forget it! Who cares if they’re brothers or not, they’re not even friends !”

“But the big brother has to be responsible~”

Finally, Shadow Milk’s face turned a pale shade of blue, and he began thumping Pure Vanilla with the pillow.

“Shut up, Pure Vanilla! Don’t you dare talk about this all day— don’t even think about it in your dreams!”

“But you’re the one who dreamed it~”

“A-and quit saying I’m cute! Everyone knows that’s a damn lie!”

“It’s not a lie~ I swear on my Soul Jam, it’s the absolute truth. But if you really hate it... how about handsome instead?”

Shadow Milk let out a sharp, teeth-gritting sound, buried his face in the pillow, and let out a long, muffled scream to cool off.
Then, in the tiniest voice—

“...Say that in front of the others and I will destroy you.”

Pure Vanilla gently twirled Shadow Milk’s tousled hair with affectionate fingers—of course, the eyes hidden within the strands had to dart away quickly from the sudden touch.
He stood up, opened the curtain, and looked outside.

Orange-colored banners fluttered in the breeze, and floral decorations danced in the early morning light.
It was festival day.

Shadow Milk grumbled at the unusually excited Pure Vanilla. He wasn’t used to playing the role of the one being teased.

“Why are you so excited all of a sudden today...? This is the complete opposite of how you usually are. You’re not that kind of character! Teasing is my job, and being teased is yours, remember?”
“Was that role even set in stone?? Besides, today’s the first festival day of the Vanilla Kingdom. We’ve been preparing for this a long time. You’re coming with me, right?”

Shadow Milk still buried his head in the pillow, but all the eyes in his hair watched Pure Vanilla with growing curiosity.

“Who asks someone out that badly? Do it properly.”
“We’re not just going alone, you know? Hollyberry’s coming too. Oh, and Eternal Sugar is coming as well. Lucky me~”
“...Damn it...”

Looking at Pure Vanilla grinning face, Shadow Milk already felt a headache coming.

Festival day in the Vanilla Kingdom.

Cookies were already moving the things they had worked so hard to prepare.
Most of the materials had been ready the day before, but the food and supplies were only now being transported and made.

The square buzzed with hurried footsteps and cheerful commotion.
Behind the stage, Strawberry Cookie rushed around checking makeup,
while Ginger Brave and Wizard Cookie frantically swapped scripts and memorized their lines.
They were set to perform a children’s play...

Shadow Milk, who absolutely hated the idea, had refused to even look at the play preparations...
Thanks to that, the children were able to create the play themselves, and it was going to become a precious memory for them.

On the opposite side of the square stood a huge oven.
Berry turkeys from the Hollyberry Kingdom—feathers plucked, stuffed with fruit, and glazed with butter—waited patiently. Honestly, they looked like they’d had more effort put into them than the harvested vegetables and fruits, but whatever...
Mince Pie seemed genuinely delighted.

Chantilly Cream Cookie was also making his final rounds, checking here and there.
The magnificent festival he wanted—one cooler than the Crem Republic’s—was about to begin.

“Everyone’s so busy.”

Pure Vanilla smiled softly. Shadow Milk floated and drifted around him, grumbling. How long had it been since he last spent time with Pure Vanilla at a festival like this?

“You gotta do at least that much if you’ve been running around that much.”
“Yes. I have a feeling today’s going to be a good day.”

Pure Vanilla, with Shadow Milk in tow, waited in the airship terminal’s lounge for his friend to arrive.
He rather loved the act of waiting with joy.

From afar, a familiar voice rang out.

“Pure Vanilla!!!”

“Welcome, my friend,” he said, opening his arms with a smile.
“Thank you for coming all this way.”

“As if I’d ever miss the first festival planned by my oldest friend! I even brought a few crates of berry juice!”

Hollyberry came running in as always, with her booming voice and overwhelming presence, throwing herself into a hug.

“Oh, thank you. On a day like this, we may need more than we think. You’re always so thoughtful.”

As they patted each other on the back and exchanged greetings, a quiet voice approached from behind.

“We meet again, Pure Vanilla.”

“It’s good to see you again, Eternal Sugar. Thank you for coming to the kingdom.”

Eternal Sugar wore a graceful white semi-dress and a cape made of sugar clouds, embroidered with pink sugar thread and lined with a soft violet fur.
Was she perhaps looking forward to Thanksgiving?

“Well… it’s a rare occasion. And I was curious how the song I gave you would be used…”

She glanced around a little awkwardly, clearly still affected by the last time they had fought.

Pure Vanilla gave a small, knowing smile.

“Shadow Milk’s been doing well.”

Eternal Sugar scoffed lightly.

“Well of course he is. He’s always doing well. …Not that I was dying to know, of course.”

“I think he’s been wondering if you’ve been doing well.”

“…Ha. That’s hard to believe. With that personality? You can see right through that refined little act of his. It’s adorable, really, but...”

Pure Vanilla looked to the side with a quiet chuckle.
Shadow Milk, who’d been lying sprawled across the sofa, muttered something like “I’m not happy to see her,” and buried his head deeper.

But it wasn’t hard to guess how to get him up.

“Well… still. It’s only natural for an older brother to welcome his little sister, isn’t it?”

“PURE VANILLA!!! I TOLD YOU TO STOP SAYING THAT!!! I’M SERIOUSLY MAD NOW!!!”

With a shriek loud enough to rattle the windows, Shadow Milk launched himself from his seat like a cat pouncing—

Chomp!

He began gnawing furiously on Pure Vanilla’s golden hair.
As Pure Vanilla cried out and ran in circles, the quiet terminal burst into chaos.

Eternal Sugar reflexively twitched her eyebrow and grimaced.
She looked like someone so baffled, she couldn’t even get annoyed—until she did.
As if someone had just said, “You’re just like your brother,” to a younger sister.

“Brother? Excuse me, I’m not anyone’s little sister. We don’t even have that kind of dynamic.
Honestly, that’s quite the leap. If you have to label it, maybe ‘friend.’ Or just ‘colleague.’ Long, long ago—when it still mattered.”

Hearing this little confession, Hollyberry blinked, then clapped her hands with a shout.

“Wait—so you two do have an age gap? Sugar’s the younger one? That kinda tracks!”

Eternal Sugar shook her head with an exasperated sigh.
She knew Milk was technically the older one, but still—how much of a difference could there be?
And to go around calling each other “big brother” and “little sister” like some mortal melodrama—it was ridiculous.

“I mean… even if there is a gap, it’s not like it’s…”

“You were baked two or three years earlier? Is that true?”

Eternal Sugar blinked once, delayed. Her mouth fell open and then simply stayed that way, her expression stiffening as if something in her brain had short-circuited.

“…Wait, for real ?!”

She looked genuinely baffled.

Shadow Milk crossed his arms, sounding as grumpy as ever.

“How should I know? I just got baked earlier. Not like this is news to you.”

He turned his head sharply, arms still folded. His tone was detached, but the clenched jaw and tense crease around his lips gave him away—he clearly cared more than he let on.

“I didn’t know it was that much earlier! You never said! Is that why you’ve been preaching at me all the time? That’s insane.”

“When did I ever lecture you about age?”

“You really don’t hear yourself, do you? …Fine. Then answer me just one thing. ”

“What now.”

“Spices, flour, sugar, salt—who came first?! What order were we baked in?!”

“Why the heck does that matter? What am I, the oven timer?!”

“We figured we were all baked around the same time ‘cause none of us really remembered! But you’re saying you were baked two years earlier?! Then you must know! ”

“How would I know?! I wasn’t checking the order! We were baked the same day—can we just drop it?!”

Their bickering dragged on until Hollyberry finally stepped in, pushing her broad shoulders between the two.

“Whoa, whoa, here we go again,” she said, firm but friendly. “Passion’s great and all, but sometimes you two need to actually talk instead of...this.”

With her usual mix of cheer and command, Hollyberry took control of the room. She raised a finger, counting them off.

“Sugar, don’t get sharp like that. You’re sweet-talking incarnate, remember? And Shadow Milk—I mean, I’m not exactly in a place to lecture you, but... you’re my friend’s boyfriend, and I’m his friend. So that gives me some right to nag, yeah?”

Honestly, what kind of logic even was that? Friend of the boyfriend of a friend? But in the heat of the moment, the randomness actually helped cool the room down.

—Seriously, what does that even mean? Friend-of-friend boyfriend jurisdiction?

“You caused a whole scene last time in the dream. Not again, please. Pure Vanilla and I can only break up so many fights. Didn’t we all agree we’d talk things through better? So come on, let’s just start by looking at each other and talking. ”

“Ugh… such a pain,” Shadow Milk muttered, tapping his temple with a finger.

“—Look, I’m just guessing here. I don’t actually know. But if I had to say, the baking process is probably what made the difference. Spices and salt—those need specific conditions. High heat for spices, or else the scent doesn’t settle. Dry and cool for salt, or it melts. Flour and sugar, you two? Probably baked together.”

Eternal Sugar narrowed her eyes.

“So I’m the youngest?! Is that it?!”

“Oh my god, why is this such a big deal to you?! Fine! Salt, okay?! Salt probably took the longest! You can figure that out with basic logic! There, happy?! Can we move on?!”

The words exploded out of him. Shadow Milk flinched, like the topic physically pained him.

“It’s been centuries! Can we please stop recycling this trash-tier script that wouldn’t even make it into a school play ? Two years? That’s a nap and a stretch! You didn’t come to my house just to dig up that , did you?!”

Eternal Sugar, finally calming down at the news that she was no longer the youngest, shrugged her shoulders with her usual slow, syrupy tone.

“I’m not here for your house—I was invited to Pure Vanilla’s festival, thank you very much. Isn’t that right, Pure Vanilla Cookie?”

Pure Vanilla chuckled softly and nodded.

“Yes, yes. Just enjoy yourself at the festival.”

Shadow Milk let out a deep sigh and rubbed his forehead. His expression was complicated. Outwardly, he played it cool as usual—but something felt twisted underneath.

“Haah… Wait. Sugar. Before you go prancing off to enjoy the festival, there’s something I need to show you.”

He reached inside his cloak and pulled out a worn envelope. It was a letter. The rough, faded paper carried the scent of time—and just a hint of blueberry.

Only Pure Vanilla noticed the slight tremble in Shadow Milk’s fingers as he held it.

“You still know your way around curses, right?”

A glimmer of interest sparked across Eternal Sugar’s face—not just curiosity, but the alert intuition of a seasoned sorceress.

“‘Curses,’ Shadow Milk?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“I prefer to call it ‘the will to make a wish real,’ thank you.”

Smirking, she shook her head slowly as if she'd seen this coming all along.

“So you did end up cursed, huh? You should’ve eased up on tormenting other cookies.”

“If a curse from some random cookie could kill me, I’d have been dead centuries ago. I’ve heard ‘I’ll curse you and your bloodline’ more times than I can count.”

Shadow Milk spoke with a blank face, though the tail end of his sentence trembled slightly. He glanced down at the letter—but couldn’t quite tear his gaze away.

Truthfully, it seemed like he was sensing something.

“…I just thought you should take a look. Salt left this behind.”

“Salt?”

Eternal Sugar’s expression froze. Her eyes went sharp and cold.

That name… Here, of all places?

She took a breath, composing herself.

“She came here? Wow… Still alive, huh?”

“Ha. You think she could take me down? She just hid where I couldn’t see her.”

Eternal Sugar shrugged and looked back at Hollyberry. Technically, it was Hollyberry who’d invited her—so her opinion mattered more here.

“What do you think? Could turn into a pain.”

Hollyberry didn’t hesitate.

“Of course we help. Curses? That kind of talk makes me worry about Pure Vanilla.”

Eternal Sugar carefully took the letter. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. A faint shimmer of dreams and will stirred at her fingertips.

“Hmm… Can’t say for sure if this is a curse or not. Curses have so many languages. They’re not something you just break or block—at least, not usually.”

Shadow Milk asked with his usual blank tone:

“So what’s your point?”

Eternal Sugar opened her eyes slowly and gave a mischievous smile.

“Well. I’ll try overlaying it with a different curse. If I layer a new one on top, I might get a feel for how dangerous the original really is.”

She waved the letter gently and brought it to her nose, then wrinkled her face as she muttered:

“…But seriously, who wrote this thing?”

“I told you. Salt left it behind.”

“No, I mean—who actually wrote it. You know what I’m asking. And this smell—”

“That’s not your concern.”

Shadow Milk cut her off firmly. Eternal Sugar looked like she was about to say more, but instead, she smirked and turned away.

“Fine… Let’s go enjoy the festival first. Diagnosis can wait till we’ve had a little fun, right, Hollyberry?”

Hollyberry glanced back and forth between Sugar and Pure Vanilla, then scratched her head. Things were clearly more complicated than she expected. She came for a visit, but as usual, trouble seemed to have followed.

Still, in her experience, sometimes the best way through a mess was to enjoy it first.

“Sigh… Here we go again, huh? Came all this way just to relax, and now it’s a mess again. But hey—things tend to work themselves out if you just enjoy the ride.”

At that moment, Shadow Milk stopped dead in his tracks.

“Wait. The curse? You’re saying we don’t know what it is, so we should just… go have fun? That’s how you deal with serious stuff?!”

His voice was sharp with frustration and confusion.

Eternal Sugar barely turned her head, clearly not in the mood.

“Yup. I’m going to have fun. If I’m not happy now, what’s the point of anything? Besides, it’s not like we can do anything about it right this second.”

“...Why?!”

Shadow Milk snapped, his voice cutting sharper now.

“If it were that simple, don’t you think I would’ve opened it already? Here—wanna tear it open now?”

Eternal Sugar covered her mouth with her hand, trying not to laugh.

“And besides… if that curse were real, would you really be here sightseeing at a festival? Honestly, you kind of know it too, don’t you? Why are you whining like this? That’s not like you.”

Then, narrowing her eyes, she added with a smirk,

“It is the cookie who wrote that letter, isn’t it?”

Pure Vanilla blinked.

Did Milk recognize who wrote the letter? Come to think of it, no one ever said who wrote it. Salt only said it was “a letter that never got delivered”… but never claimed to have written it.

Then… who did?

A letter from long ago, meant for Shadow Milk…?

As Pure Vanilla pieced things together, Shadow Milk let out a snort, clearly unimpressed.

“Whining? I’m pointing out flaws. Try to tell the difference. Don’t make yourself look dumb.”

Sensing the tension building, Pure Vanilla gently patted Shadow Milk’s back and said softly,

“Hey now, it’s alright. A clear head might help us find a solution. If this were really that dangerous, Eternal Sugar would've said something more urgent, don’t you think?”

Eternal Sugar nodded smoothly, then turned to Shadow Milk with a mocking smile.

“If you’re that worried, why don’t you destroy it with magic? You’re not an expert on curses, but you’re clever enough to dismantle it, right? Unless… you’re really hung up on the one who sent it?”

But Shadow Milk said nothing. He just stared at the letter.

“….”

His lips twitched in a pout, and he flicked his fingers in the air.

In a flash, dozens of formulas flew through his mind, and the seal on the letter only tightened further.

“…Ugh, annoying. Fine. Let’s just go enjoy the festival and turn our brains off. Wahaha!”

And with that, he took off into the air.

Pure Vanilla glanced between the two of them and clapped his hands.

“Well then, shall we each go to the booth we’re most excited about?”

Well, the festival was full of all kinds of events happening all at once.

After all the long preparations, their festival was definitely a lot of fun.

There was so much going on, but if we try to sum it up—

First, the traditional Thanksgiving feast setup had… a tiny bit of trouble.

“It’s way too early to be cooked yet!!!”

That shout sent the festival into a brief panic,

and from that day on, a sign reading “Do Not Enter (Turkey Inside)” was posted behind the booth.

Thankfully, Hollyberry was quite skilled at putting the Turkey Berry to sleep,

so the incident was resolved faster than anyone expected.

And then… the kids’ play turned out to be more serious than anyone anticipated.

Shadow Milk complained he would never watch it,

but when the performance started, he grew strangely quiet—and actually got pretty absorbed in the show.

The feedback was mixed: the acting approach wasn’t bad, but some said the passion was a bit too much.

Meanwhile, Eternal Sugar went around the apple pie booth,

carefully inspecting each pie the kids had made herself,

and showering compliments like,

“Oh my, this is wonderful! Such great cooking skills!”

“Really pretty! Did you carve this yourself?”

True to her loving and happy nature,

the young cookies quickly fell for her charm.

Wherever she went, nicknames like “Sugar” and “Sugar” flew through the air,

and the kids’ laughter never stopped.

“She’s so sweet! Please stay here forever!”

Among such praise, the rumor soon spread that the ‘Beast of Sloth’ could be surprisingly warm and kind—

and better than Shadow Milk.

Of course, it didn’t take long before that thin rumor reached the annoyed ears of Shadow Milk.

There was also the grand Pumpkin Rolling event.

The pumpkins rolled down the hill, but strangely enough, the more they rolled, the bigger they got.

Before long, the cookies weren’t chasing the pumpkins—they were being chased by them.

Some kind of weird magic? Careless mischief?

“No one did it, honestly…”

Eyes naturally turned toward a Beasts,

but in the end, no one—really no one—could confirm anything.

Well, maybe someone should’ve cleared up the rumor that ‘Eternal Sugar was better than Shadow Milk.’

So many things happened that day. 

Before the grand ball, there was a dinner party where everyone shared a traditional meal together.

Long tables were set up in the square, piled with food, and the cookies chatted and laughed about the day’s events.

It was the perfect time for some gossip and fun.

Pure Vanilla, Eternal Sugar, and Hollyberry sat a little apart at one table, sipping berry juice slowly and sharing quiet, pleasant conversation.

But Shadow Milk was nowhere to be seen at dinner.

He’d never been much interested in the meal to begin with,

and after the pumpkin rolling incident, he was busy trying to wrangle that wildly growing pumpkin—

which had become way too big for its own good.

Of course, he insisted, “I didn’t do it.”

But… well, everyone knew better.

After taking a small sip of berry juice, her cheeks tinged with pink, Eternal Sugar giggled and asked Pure Vanilla,
“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you? Caught between Salt and Milk, right?”
“…Yes. Well… they don’t seem to get along very well.”
Pure Vanilla smiled awkwardly and set down her glass.

Eternal Sugar shrugged and said,

“If you met Salt alone and are still alive, it means he actually likes you quite a bit. If he didn’t bite you at first sight and instead drew out your voice, well… that means he thought you were worth talking to.”
“…Haha… I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or a warning…”

Pure Vanilla laughed in reply, but inwardly thought,
‘Not killing me at first sight means it’s some kind of liking… Should I be grateful or should I be terrified?’
Nearby, Holly Berry tilted her berry juice slightly and muttered tiredly,
“Beasts… they’re complicated, huh.”

Eternal Sugar had already flopped onto a summoned cloud cushion, picking up a small fruit berry and popping it into her mouth as she murmured,
“You know that awkward vibe you get in a friend group between a friend and a friend’s friend? That’s exactly how Salt and Milky were.”

A gentle silence settled over the table.
Then Eternal Sugar, as if something had just occurred to her, added,

“But it wasn’t like that from the start. Milky sometimes digs too deep into philosophy. Salt, on the other hand, is pretty firm about his beliefs… They might have actually been the closest back then? Or maybe… Milky just took good care of Salt since he was a bit fragile.”

Pure Vanilla blinked in surprise. he had always thought those two were bitter rivals trying to tear each other apart,
so this was something she had never imagined.

“Fragile…?”
“Yeah. His dough would crack a lot. So Flour and Milky often looked after him. Now that I think about it, maybe it was because he was the youngest… How they ended up so distant after that, I’m not really sure.”

Pure Vanilla gave a dry smile.
It seemed even other beasts didn’t really know what had happened between Shadow Milk and Silent Salt. It was probably not something anyone could talk about.
Without even knowing when their relationship broke,
had they suddenly become enemies one day?
No, to bring that up would inevitably lead to talking about the witch.
And that was—
a story Shadow Milk insisted was only for her ears, something too difficult to share.

Pure Vanilla smoothly changed the subject.

“By the way… do you really think that letter is cursed?”

Eternal Sugar seemed to pick up on Pure Vanilla’s intent.

She let out a short hum—“Hmm”—then answered quietly.

“No. Considering who sent it…

I don’t think that’s the case.

At worst… maybe some blame written in?

They probably didn’t part on good terms.”

“Do you know who sent it?”

Eternal Sugar stayed silent for a moment, then carefully began to speak.

“…Of course I do. Honestly, I think he knows too.

But he’s choosing to ignore it.

Or maybe… it’s because he knows who sent it, and that’s why he’s doubting it.

Still… I’m not sure I should be the one to say it when he’s not around.

It’s a sensitive subject.

Isn’t that why you tried to change the topic?”

That struck at the very heart of the issue.

Pure Vanilla rubbed his fingers bitterly and let out a slow breath.

In the end, all of this would only be revealed clearly when Shadow Milk chose to speak.

Why were his partner’s relationships always in ruins?

So many tangled threads—he didn’t even know where to begin unraveling them.

Just then, Shadow Milk came stumbling through the air from afar.

He looked exhausted, and he had a faint, musty smell—like a cracked pumpkin.

“So I play one little prank, and now I have to clean up the whole mess? Seriously?”

He grumbled as he flicked the mess out of his tousled hair.

Pure Vanilla managed a smile and gently pulled Shadow Milk’s hand toward him.

“Good work. Thanks to you, we avoided a total disaster—Thanksgiving turning into Halloween.”

Shadow Milk snorted, clearly unimpressed.

“So how long is this festival supposed to last, anyway?”

“There you go again. Could you not be such a buzzkill when everyone else is enjoying themselves?”

Eternal Sugar spoke softly, smiling with calm patience.

Shadow Milk, eyes half-lidded in fatigue—or maybe sheer exasperation—asked quietly:

“…Sugar. Why don’t you just say it already? You know what we’re supposed to do with that letter.”

Eternal Sugar didn’t avoid the question.

"Then what about you ? How long are you going to keep lying?"

"Lying?" Shadow Milk let out a dry snort.
"You’ll have to be more specific. A lie from the Beast of Lies—there are too many to choose from."

Eternal Sugar sighed, her gaze steady.
"There’s no way you don’t know who sent that letter. You could tell from the scent alone.
I figured it out—do you think you didn’t?"

"...Who knows."

His reply was flat. Sugar narrowed her eyes.

"The texture of the paper, the spell pattern—it was all obvious.
If you really didn’t recognize it, you’d have to be a fool. But you’re not a fool, are you?"

Just as Shadow Milk opened his mouth to respond, Pure Vanilla raised a hand to stop him.

"Milk, wait. This is dragging on… Sugar, is there a way to tell if the letter is actually dangerous?"

Eternal Sugar nodded.

"Fortunately, yes. I can't say for sure whether it’s cursed or not—but I can tell if it’s dangerous."

"How?" Pure Vanilla asked.

"By using another curse. That’s how we find out."

She pointed toward the tall tree standing at the edge of the festival grounds.

"That tree over there—can I use it?"

Pure Vanilla looked uneasy.

"What? But that’s… the tree where the townsfolk hang their letters of thanks."

"Exactly. That’s why it’s perfect.
Letters with genuine gratitude won’t be affected at all. That symbolism is what we need—
a curse that only destroys what's empty of true thanks.
We’ll ‘undo the curse with another curse.’"

Eternal Sugar raised her hand.
Fine particles like powdered sugar shimmered into the air above the gratitude tree.
A few letters silently ignited and vanished without a trace.

But—
the letter in front of Shadow Milk remained.
It didn’t burn. It didn’t even move.

Eternal Sugar spoke softly.

"See?
Whatever it is, this one’s fine. They wouldn’t have written it to kill you and give thanks at the same time. Not unless they were completely unhinged.
And you know your student wasn't like that."

Shadow Milk stared at the letter in silence.  Then, after a long pause, he gave a slow nod.

"...Yeah. Got it. Thanks."

Chapter Text

The bell rang to mark the end of the festival, and gentle lights dimmed as music began to flow.

Amid the cheers, cookies found their partners and made their way to the stage one by one. Hollyberry and Eternal Sugar laughed heartily as they blended into the crowd.

The song Eternal Sugar composed was pure joy—it made everyone smile just by hearing it, and soon every cookie was dancing along.

Well, of course, even the musicians had to dance, so they were being rotated out in three shifts.

Off to the side of the stage, in a quieter corner just beyond the reach of the lights, Pure Vanilla lowered his gaze slightly and offered a single vanilla blossom.

"May I have this dance?"

"Finally asking me out properly, huh?" Shadow Milk smiled softly and took his hand.

Beneath the lights, now gently diffused across the space, the two cookies moved in rhythm—quiet and steady, like a calm stream.

Shadow Milk was unusually quiet. The mischief that usually danced in his eyes was nowhere to be found, and his gaze hovered just below Pure Vanilla’s, lingering like a breath missed.

Their hands met, their feet moved. Shadow Milk took the lead with gentle care, and Pure Vanilla followed wordlessly. The two lovers moved in sync, breathing in each other's tempo.

Their Soul Jams hummed in delight, pulsing with soft light as they resonated with one another.

After a slow spin, Shadow Milk finally spoke.

“…Aren’t you going to ask about the letter? About what it says? Or who it’s from…?”

Pure Vanilla chuckled quietly and kept in step.

"You’re leading right now. I'm just following along."

Shadow Milk let out a shaky laugh.

"I just… wanted to enjoy this moment. I think I already know what it says. I didn’t want to ruin this last dance. It's not like I won’t open it. But… we've waited so long for this festival."

Pure Vanilla tilted his head slightly, eyes gentle as ever.

"Yeah. You’ve worked hard. Preparing for this… waiting for it. Thank you."

Shadow Milk paused. As always, Pure Vanilla spoke with calm simplicity—but the warmth behind those words was impossible to ignore.

“ That’s all? ” he whispered. “You’re not going to ask me anything more?”

Pure Vanilla looked him in the eyes—deeply, but never harshly.

“You’re already telling me. You’ve been showing me your truth in your own way, without needing to say a word.”

Shadow Milk’s lips pressed shut.

“I’ve learned about the witch . About humans … about why you ended up fighting the beasts. Oh, and let’s see… I found out our little one here is actually the eldest of the beasts, huh?”

At that, Shadow Milk gave Pure Vanilla a playful nudge with his foot. Pure Vanilla burst out laughing, then looked at him with gentle understanding in his eyes.

“And you’ve been sharing your world with me. You don’t hide it—you even let me see your emotions. I know now… you don’t really hate the witch anymore.”

Shadow Milk’s eyes trembled slightly. He parted his lips, but no words came.

Pure Vanilla continued.

“You see me as your other half. As a fellow seeker of truth, someone you can share knowledge with. Knowing that… why would I rush you?”

He leaned into Shadow Milk's arms, gently wrapping around him, and whispered:

“So… someday. I believe you’ll hand me that key .”

“Key? What are you going on about? Then… would you care to bring the lock?”

Shadow Milk let out a dry chuckle, and Pure Vanilla followed with a soft laugh of his own.

However, Pure Vanilla could read the faint ripple of emotion shimmering behind Shadow Milk’s eyes.

In that voice, that stubbornness, those metaphors—something carefully hidden trembled ever so slightly, like a small chime.

Ah. That’s the lock.

He had seen it once before.

Back when he and Shadow Milk were still—

Still at war with the Beast of Lies, the one that sought to devour the world.

Pure Vanilla, having lost the truth, had fallen, burying even his own heart in darkness.

And in that deep, silent abyss, he had come upon the seal within Shadow Milk.
Something wild, something monstrous—like a beast both lamb and wolf—and within it, that lock lay sleeping.

Sealed so tightly, no touch could reach inside.
That lock was a place Shadow Milk never let anyone see.
A place holding a truth he never, not once, brought into words.

And now—suddenly—Pure Vanilla felt as though all the fragments he’d seen and heard were aligning into a single orbit.
The dreams he’d relived again and again, memories scattered like puzzle pieces, lines in stories that mysteriously cut off.
The name of the witch Shadow Milk never spoke, and that one unspoken wish.

Everything pointed to one axis.

The lock.

It wasn’t just a metaphor.

It was a high-order magical seal—
Something capable of distorting reality itself.
The reason truth falls silent, memory spins in circles, and willpower goes astray.

It was the origin of all suppression.

Not just a figure of speech for emotional repression—
But a real, structural gate.
A magical corridor that erases and censors the truth itself.

Just because a Cookie seals away a truth in the depths of his heart, doesn’t mean that truth is gone.

But Shadow Milk had inscribed an immensely complex recursion spell into that lock, and with magical auto-suggestion, severed every flow.
Even its traces were erased.
Memories faded, words twisted, even dreams were forced to take detours.

Maybe that’s why the Soul Jams were so desperate to communicate with Pure Vanilla, sharing glimpses and pulses of something urgent.

A seal of that magnitude—
It doesn’t just protect.
It interferes with the world.

Keeps it from being spoken.
Keeps it from being known.
Keeps it from being reached.

Even now, as Shadow Milk spoke his truth… the core of it still felt just out of reach.

It hurt.
But even so—even so, he had said this much.

“I’ll always hold your hand, Milk. I’m never giving up on you. It’s written on my treasure, remember?”

At those heartfelt words, Shadow Milk’s eyes cooled in an instant.

“…You seriously kept that thank-you note from yesterday? I told you to burn it. It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s my treasure. I even cast a protection charm on it. I keep it right next to my heart.”

“…Tch…”

The dance came to an end, and the lights of the square slowly faded into the distance. The gentle music, the bright laughter—all drifted away, leaving the two Cookies standing quietly at the edge of a narrow alley. The night air was calm, but the words left unsaid hung between them like heavy shadows.

Shadow Milk slowly reached into a pocket of subspace and drew out something small—an old letter. It looked unassuming, but he had sealed it with an excessive number of wards. The overlapping layers of enchantment responded to his magic, dissolving into blue fragments of light. Though his own bindings had vanished, a deeper enchantment still clung to the letter.

It wasn’t a simple protection spell. It was an ancient, dense magic—complex and refined. Shadow Milk traced the weave with the tip of his finger, feeling its delicate construction. Beneath the precise, calculated current of power, something strangely familiar stirred.

“…Unbelievable,” he muttered. “How painstakingly he wove this preservation spell... It’s so inefficient, it’s almost absurd. What was he thinking—had age dulled his mind?”

His brows knit together.
“To think… he filled in the gaps with his own life force. Fool. Did he forget everything I taught him?”

Pure Vanilla watched him in silence. He noticed the faint tremble in Shadow Milk’s fingertips as he handled the letter. He didn’t reach out, but leaned in—just close enough that his warmth brushed the edge of Shadow Milk’s space.

He had promised to remain by Shadow Milk’s side, always—

“…This handwriting. And the structure of the spell... I recognize it.”

Shadow Milk’s voice was calm, but beneath it lay a blade-thin wariness.

“It’s probably... him. A Cookie who was once my student.”

The words fell like the lid lifting from an old wound—quiet, but heavy.

Pure Vanilla looked at him, startled. But his surprise quickly melted into quiet sorrow. He spoke with care.

“You’ve had many students, I’ve heard. But... this one was different, wasn’t he? More than a student. A protégé?”

“Yes. Back when I still bore the name of Truth... he followed me more closely than any other. There was a time… when he even carried my name. We spoke the same language—about magic, about what truth meant. Or so I believed.”

Shadow Milk let out a small sigh. His gaze drifted as if chasing something long buried.

“He even took on one of my identities. I had too many roles—caring for the sages in the tower, teaching at the academy... It was too much. So I shared one of my titles with him. He ran the school in my place. A stand-in, of sorts.”

“The first headmaster... of Blueberry Yogurt Academy?”
Pure Vanilla asked softly. He had heard of the academy’s founder.

And after getting to know Shadow Milk... he had begun to wonder. Could it have been him?

A ripple stirred behind his eyes—quiet, but deep.

“Well, technically I was the first headmaster too,” Shadow Milk said with a bitter smile. “But sometimes that title was mine... and sometimes it wasn’t. The Cookie in the portrait, though? That’s not me. That’s him—he made that version himself. You could say we both bore the same title, though we lived it differently.”

“…So there were two first headmasters, in a way. You, and your student.”

Shadow Milk gave a short laugh—dry, almost empty. Pure Vanilla caught the hollow note beneath it.

“But when I chose to remove the mask... to reveal my true self, he was the first to call me corrupted. He held up his own definition of truth like a sword, and deemed me the enemy. Said he had to protect the students. From me.”

He traced the edge of the final seal with deliberate care. His fingers trembled ever so slightly.

"He used to call me 'Master' once. And yet... back then, he declared me dead . Claimed he was the one who truly inherited my will. ' The real me '? What does that even mean, when I’m still right here?"

There were thorns in Shadow Milk’s voice.
But what Pure Vanilla heard first was sorrow .
He nodded gently, placing a hand softly near Shadow Milk’s elbow. He said nothing—just rested it there, as if asking permission .

Shadow Milk didn’t shake it off.
He simply turned his head to avoid his gaze.

"...He must’ve been glad when I was sealed away. I can see it so clearly. Probably thought it served me right."

"I... don’t think so. Not much is known about the first Headmaster, but... I’ve heard he was a very kind Cookie."

"Yeah, well. He knew how to build a good image. But inside? He was twisted ."

He leaned on his hand with a bitter smirk.
But the smirk didn’t last.

"With someone like him writing the letter, I thought it’d be cursed or something. But now? A heartfelt thank-you ? Please. That’s a joke."

Shadow Milk picked up the letter again, eyes drifting across its surface as if dusting off an old memory.

"With the magic he learned from me… the knowledge I gave him… He always kept his distance, always watched me like I was a threat. And now, using that very magic, he..."

His voice cracked.

"That damn fool. Always too kind for his own good."

Pure Vanilla said nothing.

He knew he couldn’t fully understand what Shadow Milk was feeling.
Whether it was love , hatred , or something in between—Shadow Milk had always struggled with those kinds of emotions.

But even so, Pure Vanilla believed in the warmth behind Shadow Milk’s words.

"You said it was a letter of sincere gratitude… didn’t you? Words he wanted to give you, even if it cost him his life . Whatever they are… I think you need to read them."

Pure Vanilla, too, ran his fingers along the faint traces of delicate magic.

A near-permanent preservation spell.
A spell he gave his life to cast.

That in itself was proof enough—
That, no matter what, he had been desperate to pass this letter on to Shadow Milk someday.

And if that kind of heart was behind it…
Then it had to be read.

Shadow Milk stared at the letter in silence.
His fingertips moved, slowly.

As if letting go of something.
Bit by bit, the preservation magic dissolved.

He undid the seal completely, carefully unfolding the edges of the paper.

His eyes began to move across the lines of text—
Slowly, cautiously, like someone drinking poison, hoping it might turn out to be medicine.

But maybe this poison—
Maybe, with this much care behind it—
Just maybe, it might be something else.
Something from a long-lost student…
Meant to forgive .
Meant to understand .

“...My dearest, my Master.”

He murmured softly, drawing a slow breath.

“...Only at the moment my last life fades did I realize I have to convey to you all my true feelings. Sometimes I even think… that I was born to deliver this truth I have come to understand to you…”

Shadow Milk’s eyebrows twitched slightly. At first, he read quietly, expressionless. But then his breath grew short, and his lips began to tremble.

“...We wandered together in search of truth, and I found my own truth. But… you never did.”

He paused, gripping the corner of the letter tightly. The paper’s edge crumpled slightly under his fingers.

“...There was a time I resented you for that disappointment. But today, at the final moment of my life… looking up at the stars in the sky, I finally understood…”

Shadow Milk hesitated to read on. His eyes flickered up and down, then at last he read one more line.

“... Ah, what a beautiful star. I saw the star of truth you taught me…”

A small, sharp breath escaped his lips—like a ‘tch’ sound.

It seemed he almost smiled, but in the next moment, the hand holding the letter began to tremble. Suddenly, he hiccupped.

Startled, he closed his mouth and tried to steady his breath, but the shaking didn’t stop.

“...My Master.”

Shadow Milk couldn’t speak anymore. His lips were dry, his breath broken and ragged. Yet he forced himself to finish the final sentence.

“... That you will never, ever reach the truth .”

“...?!”

For a moment, emotions exploded in Shadow Milk’s eyes. His face hardened, his body jerked as if shivering from rage.

“...What?”

He looked down at the letter in his hand. His trembling fingertips, parched lips, and eyes unable to hide the storm inside.

“...Ha, really…”

Shadow Milk laughed, unsteady and twisted. It wasn’t sadness, anger, or shock—it was a strange laughter, like disbelief so absurd it almost brought happiness.

“Did he really… write this… as a letter?”

Hiccup.

He suddenly hiccupped again, eyes shut tight and lips pressed together. But the trembling didn’t stop.

“ There’s no thanks. No forgiveness. I might have understood if it were resentment... but this… this is just me failing. That I’ll never reach it… That he didn’t even misunderstand what I was dreaming of?!”

Suddenly, he crushed the letter in his hand, but couldn’t tear it. He curled inward, still gripping the paper tightly.

His voice cracked. He dropped to his knees and curled in on himself. His breath turned frantic, shallow and fast. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and his lips had gone pale.

Still in a daze from the letter, Pure Vanilla finally realized something was wrong. Milk's breathing—it wasn’t normal. After a couple of shaky gasps, his breath quickened to the point of panic.

“Milk? Milk!”

Pure Vanilla reached for him in alarm.

“I’m right here. You need to breathe… slowly. I know it’s hard, but follow me, okay?”

He pulled Shadow Milk into a tight embrace, rubbing his back in a slow, deliberate rhythm—just a beat behind his gasping breath, like setting a guide for him to follow.

“How... how is this supposed to be a thank-you—heartfelt, even…”

“Milk!”

“Vanilla, did I really—really mess up that badly? Okay, yeah, I failed! But was it even my fault?! There’s no such thing as absolute truth! There’s no... I mean—what’s the point of me even being here if I can never—never reach it—”

Pure Vanilla heard a sound. Not quite real—a deep, hollow clatter, like a lock shaking violently.

It felt like something buried, some sealed despair, had started counting down to a breaking point.

The wards—layer upon layer of restraints Shadow Milk had wound around his heart—began to shiver, then crack.

Or was it not the locks that were breaking?
Was it him?

“Milk! Please, slow down. You haven’t failed. You’re not broken. I’m right here. I’m your other half. The two of us… we’re one truth. You’re not alone. You’re with me, Milk… Milk…”

Pure Vanilla grew frightened. Shadow Milk was breaking, and not in the way he sometimes did when old wounds ached. No, this was worse. Sometimes, he seemed like a hollow shell— emptied long ago —but still holding shape.

Now even that shape was collapsing, like a balloon pricked by a needle—instant, irreversible.

“ …Vanilla… it’s just… hhh… hhh… I mean… ”

He stayed there a while. His breath, once lost and flailing in the air, slowly sank into Pure Vanilla’s arms. But the tears didn’t stop—they poured like thick, clear milk, warm and endless from his eyes.

At some point, milk-crown flowers had bloomed all around them.

“Pure Vanilla… I… I…”

Shadow Milk grabbed his shoulders with trembling hands. Then, all at once, he sprang to his feet, eyes wild and sharp with fear.

That fear flashed like lightning in his gaze.

“I should’ve known. The letter was from Salt—I should have known. I was an idiot. I’m sorry, Vanilla.”

“Milk—”

“Of course he’d curse me one last time. How could I not see it coming? I’m sorry I ruined the festival night. Really… I’m just… ashamed, standing here like this.”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. Head bowed low, he muttered softly, barely audible:

“Can I… can I have a moment? I’ll go lie down first. Could you… come later?”

Without meeting Pure Vanilla’s eyes, he slowly rose and walked away—quiet, like the last warmth slipping from a cup.

Pure Vanilla couldn’t stop him.
Not a single word came to mind.
He didn’t even know what he could do to keep Milk from breaking apart.

He was afraid.

Sinking to both knees, Pure Vanilla sat on the ground, gripping his trembling hands in silence.
His fingertips were slowly growing cold.
Then, at last, he reached out and picked up the letters scattered on the floor.

Maybe it was just a misunderstanding,
Maybe the context would change if he read further...

All the way up to the line Shadow Milk had read—
There was no misreading.

But there was more to the letter beyond that point:

"...My Master
.That you will never, ever reach the truth
And that is precisely what makes it so radiant, so beautiful.
Please… never forget that."

He read it over and over, again and again.
But no matter how he looked at it, no matter how many times he tried to twist the meaning,
it never felt like “gratitude.”
Was it a curse? A blessing?

Or perhaps… something else, something unknowable.

He stared down at the paper again.
Something small rolled out from inside—
A tiny, delicate key.

He had no idea what it meant.
What door did this open?
Was it another secret left behind by the sender of this letter?
Or just... a mockery?

Pure Vanilla wanted to cry.

He had told Milk—so confidently—that he must read this letter.
But now, knowing it had only brought him pain,
the guilt was too much to bear.

He remained on the floor, still and broken, the cold key clenched tightly in his hand.
A sorrow he couldn’t even name spread slowly in the dark.

From far away, he could still hear the laughter of the other Cookies.
Sometimes, even a song, drifting in on the breeze.
The festival had ended, but everyone was still smiling, as if carried by momentum.

And that sight…
felt cruel.

Milk must’ve wanted that joy more than anyone.
He must’ve longed to be part of it more than anyone.
And now,
he was alone.

And behind Pure Vanilla, a heavy silence settled.
When had it arrived there?
Quietly, without a sound.
Even without a word from that presence, he could feel it.

Pure Vanilla slowly, very carefully , opened his mouth.
His voice trembled as if it could break at any moment.

“...Why? Why are you doing this to him?”

He took a slow breath. But the breath, holding back his feelings, finally escaped in a quiet, broken sigh.

“Why do you have to push him so hard…?
He’s always barely holding on, always on the edge... it feels like he’s about to break any second…!”

His face mixed with fatigue and emotion.
His lips dried as he spoke.
His fingertips trembled, and his heart pounded so loudly it felt like it would burst.
He couldn’t understand. How… why go this far?

“Why the letter? Why those words?! Why… why?!”

He turned his body, checking who was there.
There stood Silent Salt.
Not a step closer, just quietly standing.

...Of course.
He must have come to check if the trap he set actually worked.
As Pure Vanilla swayed, Salt answered.

“I didn’t manipulate that letter in any way. It’s just… the ‘truth’ he’s been obsessed with.”

His tone was still expressionless, cold, and chillingly calm.

“I’m different from him. I might stay silent, but I never lie.”

For a moment, Pure Vanilla bit his lip hard.
Maybe... this silence and coldness are even harder to bear.

“...Why are you telling me this?”

Only then did Salt quietly reply, shortly:

“Because I believe you’re right .”

“...I’m right…?”

“Because I believe he’s wrong .”

Those words pierced him like lightning.
Pure Vanilla immediately remembered.

“You said that to me back then.  That the Soul Jam of truth belongs to a cookie like me...
That I was worthy... you said so...”

“ Knowledge must be whole, for the witch’s will to stand true .”

That sentence put every piece into place.
Pure Vanilla shuddered.
Not his body, but his mind trembled.
He saw the intent hidden behind those cold words... a filthy realization dawned on him.

“...You hated the idea of two cookies sharing knowledge?
Because you thought I was right, and Shadow Milk was wrong?
So you didn’t want Shadow Milk and me to share knowledge?”

Salt said nothing.
But some silences speak louder than words.
That silence was definitely agreement.

“So you’re trying to prove to me that Shadow Milk is wrong?! You want me to push him away?!”

Disgusting.
In your mind, Pure Vanilla is right.
In your mind, his knowledge is the only valid truth.
And because of that, you think you’re doing him a favor by cutting off Shadow Milk—the loser.

Disgusting.
That Shadow Milk’s tears are falling because of you—because of what you caused.

Pure Vanilla was so overwhelmed with shock and disgust that he couldn’t say a word.

“I really wanted to break that seal... but the lock he was hiding—that’s the real truth...”

Just as he was about to continue,
the atmosphere shifted subtly.

A presence slipped between them like a sweet breeze —

“ Could you stop? ”
A soft, gentle voice. Yet, there was a clear boundary within it.

It was Eternal Sugar .

Silent Salt narrowed his eyes and looked at Sugar.

“...I didn’t expect you to care about this fight.”

Sugar shrugged.

“I’m not interested. I don’t care who’s right or wrong in your fight. But right now, I’m a guest here,
and I’m enjoying this festival . Understand? I’m here to enjoy it.”

She glanced briefly at Vanilla.

“It’s a good festival. Everyone’s happy. I’m thankful to the host as a guest. I even danced with my other half... it was a good time.”

Sugar turned her head to face Salt directly. Her gaze was still emotionally thin but trembled just slightly.

“To use a festival full of gratitude and sincerity as a political weapon?
To write that letter to hurt someone’s feelings?”

She smiled faintly, but there was no sweetness in it.

“That really bothers me. ”

The air grew heavy in an instant.

“You know it too, Salt. I’m neutral in values. As long as you don’t touch my domain,
I don’t care what you do.
But—if you use happiness where I play, that’s a different story.”

Her voice dropped, soft but firm.

“Happiness is my responsibility. ”

Salt looked quietly at Sugar, seeming to try to read her intentions.
But soon, he lowered his gaze and nodded, as if acknowledging.

...It looked like he admitted he had crossed Sugar’s boundary...

“Well, thanks for admitting your mistake. Thanks for accepting my position, too.
But I’m not thankful for the mess you caused.
Now, can you please leave? And bring your group?
I don’t know what you were planning, but not in my festival.”

Silent Salt disappeared silently, just like when he came.
Eternal Sugar gently brushed the pink hair that fluttered in the wind with her fingers, then softly turned and approached Pure Vanilla.

“Are you okay, Pure Vanilla?”
Her voice was like cotton candy—sweet, yet carrying a warm embrace that softened sorrow.
“Don’t cry. You’re not the kind of cookie who should shed those tears.”

“Well… I’m fine… but Milk…”
Pure Vanilla hugged a white flower trembling in his hand. It was a Milk Crown flower blooming like snow—traces of the feelings that Milk, who was by his side until just now, had shed.

“His grief… it’s so deep, it feels like it’s pierced my heart.”

Eternal Sugar knelt down and placed her hand gently on Pure Vanilla’s shoulder.
She spoke quietly.

“Don’t hurt yourself with your kindness…”

At her words, Pure Vanilla closed his eyes and lowered his head.
If Milk’s sadness stained the world, Vanilla was ready to embrace it all.

“I thought… that letter would help Milk.
But… it seems to have only caused him pain.
I wanted to protect him… I swore I would make him happy…”

Eternal Sugar carefully picked up the letter that had fallen to the ground and opened it.
Her eyes quietly scanned the words.

“…This is strange.”

She murmured softly.

 “It’s certain that the curse was avoided. But if there’s still no sincere gratitude, there’s a burning curse placed—”
“There’s no way… Maybe the magic trap is just too clever—”

Pure Vanilla began, but Sugar shook her head.

“No, Pure Vanilla. This isn’t about that. It’s not magic or theory… it’s a matter of the heart.”

She carefully hugged the letter to her chest.

“Especially if it’s magic that drains life, like you said… it would carry even more sincerity.
It has weight. Magic that cannot be made without genuine feelings.”

Eternal Sugar slowly closed her eyes.
Her voice was solemn and firm.

“This letter… holds someone’s heartfelt truth, sent at the risk of their life. Gratitude and respect, and emotions beyond that.
It’s not mockery or politics.
I… I can swear on everything I have—
This is a will of sincerity.”

She looked back at Pure Vanilla, smiling softly.

“Magic is powerful. But the one sincere will left in a cookie’s lifetime… is stronger than any spell.”

Finally, Eternal Sugar spoke faintly.

“Pure Vanilla, I don’t know much about theories or philosophies.
Truth, lies, silence, freedom… sometimes they all look the same.
But there’s one thing I know for sure.”

She placed her hand on her chest.
From there, a small but clear light flickered.

“ The heart, emotions, the mind …
sometimes they can transcend all of those things.
There is a truth that cannot be conveyed by words or writing.
We have to seek it.”

Her gaze gently wrapped around Vanilla.
A warm silence settled for a moment,
and Pure Vanilla looked down at the small key in his hand.

A cold key.
Small and light, yet strangely heavy in his fingers.

Maybe.
When he thought about it… all the other phrases were words of blessing.
If only that one sentence hadn’t been there… this really could have been
a letter of sincere gratitude.

He slowly clenched the key.
No hatred would accompany such delicate preparation.

Sincere gratitude.
A feeling someone wanted to convey even at the risk of their life.

That might be the truth.

Pure Vanilla believed it.
He believed the feelings weren’t false.
Not just because he knew him well.

What Pure Vanilla knew was Shadow Milk.
That rough, mocking cookie,
who whenever he uttered the word ‘disciple,’
would leak faint affection in between.

If that Shadow Milk loved someone…
he surely wanted to return that love.

Pure Vanilla believed Shadow Milk.
He believed in that cookie’s heart, the memories he held,
and the feelings he still couldn’t erase.

He raised his head and murmured slowly.

“—I guess I should visit Blueberry Yogurt Academy .”

At that one phrase, a warm breeze brushed his heart once again.

Chapter Text

“…I suppose I have to return to Blueberry Yogurt Academy.”

Pure Vanilla murmured quietly,
his eyes drifting far away—toward somewhere that wasn’t here, not now.

A long-lost memory slowly unfurled in his mind.
Beyond the Yogurt River, dividing life and death under a bluish mist,
stood the Yogurt Cream Academy of Magic.

Magic circles floated across the sky like embroidered sigils,
sometimes flaring like sparks, chanting songs in ancient tongues.
Within them, yogurt cream bloomed in wild profusion,
and blueberry waffle blossoms hung in clusters from every branch.

At times, the fog of ice cream would drift by,
softly blurring the line between sky and earth.

Back then, young Pure Vanilla had lost his way... but never truly wandered.
It was a world where magic breathed,
soft bell chimes echoing through quiet laughter of mages.

“…I never graduated, actually. But for a time, I was a student there.”

Eternal Sugar tilted her head with a faint smile.

“That name… it’s been a while. I’ve visited a few times, but…”

Her gaze froze midair,
as if reaching for a memory she hadn’t touched in ages.

“Milky spent a lot of time there, I remember that much.  But to be honest… I never really knew that school well.”

Pure Vanilla gave a quiet nod.

“The first headmaster… I’ve heard stories.  They say he was kind and wise.”

Eternal Sugar turned her eyes back to him after a beat, her voice almost a whisper.

“he was a sweet kid. A little bit... or maybe a lot of trouble, depending on who you ask.”

She trailed off with a chuckle, murmuring something barely audible.

“Like teacher, like student, maybe?”

After that cryptic mumble,
Eternal Sugar gave one of her usual, unreadable smiles—
as if nothing had happened.

“Well, if someone can handle Shadow Milk as he is now,  I suppose a few quirks aren’t such a big deal.”

She cast a meaningful glance at Pure Vanilla.

“…If the one who could do that happens to be you, that is.”

Pure Vanilla looked slightly caught off guard—
then gave a soft, steady smile.

“I still want to believe. That maybe there’s been some misunderstanding.
And I want to see that for myself.”

Eternal Sugar nodded gently.

“Then keep believing.
Time built with sincerity doesn’t fade so easily.  I hope it goes well.
If you find that school again… maybe it still holds some answers.”

A gentle silence passed between them.

Then, Pure Vanilla quietly spoke.

“…Next time—if you ever throw another party,  I’ll be sure to attend as a guest. With Milk.”

Eternal Sugar winked playfully.

“Then I’ll prepare the invitation.  And don’t get all shy just because my party’s too fabulous.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

And with that,
Pure Vanilla continued on his path.

In his hand was a small key—
Shadow Milk’s lock.

He was sure he’d heard something break. Though now that he thought of it,  it wasn’t really a sound, was it?
It felt more like something his Soul Jam had told him.

There had to be something there…

His beloved Milk was a riddle wrapped in silence, one that barely offered any clues.
But even so—

He couldn’t help it.  He wanted to stay by his side.

And so,
he would begin unraveling the riddle, one piece at a time.

Shadow Milk floated weakly in the void.
A sound of something breaking brushed past his ear.
Did Pure Vanilla hear it?
Or was it just a hallucination?

…No. Not at all.

Pure Vanilla had definitely heard it.
What the Souljam of Truth conveyed was, indeed, the truth itself.
Not a metaphor or symbol, but a binding seal powerful enough to affect reality—
the massive conceptual seal was actually cracked.

Shadow Milk muttered, placing his hand over his chest.

“Damn lock. Creaking the moment I recall it again.”

A discordant sound echoed deep within his soul.
He quietly sighed.

The perception-blocking magic placed so even he wouldn’t notice.
The fact that the forgotten memories were resurfacing meant the seal was breaking.

From where he sat, he stretched out his hand, palm facing upwards into the void.
In an instant, the space rippled like a black shadow, wrapping around him and pulling his consciousness deeper.

A deep pocket dimension.
A chasm deeper than any abyss.
That lock existed at the very bottom, a place even he rarely approached.

It was a place Pure Vanilla could only reach after endlessly falling from the tower’s peak.
Shadow Milk had reached that depth.

The lock was faintly cracked.
The smooth, white Milk Crown spun, supporting the conceptual seal,
but fine cracks were spreading.

He twisted his lips into a smile—
A smile without joy, anger, or any emotion.

“Can’t reach the truth?”

A hollow, dry laugh echoed.

“No. It’s not that I can’t reach it. How can I reach something that doesn’t exist?”

He traced the surface of the lock with his fingertips, muttering.

“Mortal fools believe they can reach the truth with their tiny bits of knowledge.
Good grief. How many centuries has it been since I last heard such naive talk?”

Shadow Milk began painstakingly sewing together the cracked seal’s language and magic.
Like mending a stuffed doll, with an extremely delicate mana stitching—
he carefully patched it with a magic array made of 52 layers of individual spells.

“…I used to believe it too.
That I could reach the truth.
But no.
I proved it.”

I proved it.

The phrase echoed like a curse.
Not a vow, not a plea—just a mechanical repetition, an irreversible statement.

From his fingertips, the lock slowly but surely regained its perfect form.

This seal was made by Milk to lock away a very small but crucial ‘something’ inside himself.
That tiny fragment was the core of his identity,
and since it was sealed, his mind had been in chaos.

Most of his past memories were asleep.

They were blurred and faded like worn stones,
but not completely gone. Not sealed like something inside the lock.

They were simply sunk beneath a deep sleep, no longer troubling him.

If forced, he could bring them back—like when Pure Vanilla asked about the witch… He could remember if he tried.
But he didn’t bother.
There was no reason to recall the past.
So naturally, he forgot it.

But here, deep within Shadow Milk himself,
a place no one could reach, and which even he rarely sought—
there, he briefly brushed past an unpleasant and ancient memory.
Scenes he thought forgotten revived sharply, like a wound on his palm.

Clink—

He raised his head.
Memories weren’t ‘rising,’ but ‘replaying.’
As if alive, they unfolded before him.

Behind him, the sound of a silver fork dropping.
The cold metallic noise struck somewhere deep inside his heart.

He saw his past self resisting the chains binding him, dripping jam. Sticky red jam—that was anger, sorrow, and perhaps the remnants of affection.

“Hah. More pitiful than I remembered.”

Shadow Milk sneered at his past self, twitching his eyebrow, as if it had nothing to do with him.
It was probably some kind of defense mechanism.

His past self’s furious eyes held the Witch of Light.
In those eyes was a cream-colored wave of hair shaking.
A tall pointed hat rested on her head.
Five forks rotated and hovered around her.

“How—how could you do this to me! Now, now, damn it!”

The witch’s will spoke something, but Shadow Milk didn’t want to hear anymore. He was tired of it.

“Shut up. I don’t want to be answered with another question like before. I don’t need your teachings!”

Shadow Milk’s voice was cold. No logic, no emotion, no meaning was needed.
He was someone who had already reached his conclusion.

The answer he had sought for so long was final.

“Wake up, you fools! What you wish for will never come true. Such things don’t exist in this world!!”

Alright. That should satisfy you. I solved the problem you didn’t understand. This is my answer.

He no longer cared who asked the question.
And he didn’t care if this answer was ‘correct.’
Because no other answer ever existed.

“worthless cookies!! have no right to exist! All you damn humans should die! Damn it! Die, die all of you!!!!”

…Yeah. That must be the answer.

“So everything you wished for, and the reason we were created!! All lies, miserable delusions!”

The Shadow Milk in his memories
had a face so crazed it looked ridiculous even to himself.
Was he even breathing properly?
Shaking with rage and screaming,
he blinked once and pushed the memory away.

A sudden void quietly slipped in.

Shadow Milk began locking the memories away before the next one could pop up.

Closing the door to his memories, locking it tight—he continued sewing in silence.

Then, suddenly, a muttered thought escaped without him noticing.

“…She never really wanted the ‘answer’ in the first place. She just wanted a well-crafted model garden.”

His fingertips grew heavier.

He knew.

That question had been a badly designed riddle from the very start.

The witch? She locked herself in a damn maze without even having the brains to build an exit—

then bullshit forced Milk to find the way out for her.

Did she mean harm? Hell if I know.

But here’s the ugly truth:

She didn’t have the slightest fucking clue how to reach the end herself.

Not knowing why, how, or even what exactly she was supposed to escape from—

she just sat there, babbling some empty nonsense about hope,

waiting for Milk to come along and pull her out like some poor sap.

“The world was just broken from the start. Completely fucked.”

And—Shadow Milk recalled once more.

“…If the world was really trustworthy,

then why were you all cast out? The first thing you saw after being born was the truth—and it took you forever to realize it.”

That was the first sight Milk ever saw.

An incomprehensible flight.

The smell of burning wood.

Footsteps slicing through the night.

Eyes filled with malice.

Pointing fingers.

Fearful minds. Rejection of what’s different.

At that moment, the world made it clear.

They never wanted anything better.

If there was such a thing as truth, that was it.

Milk knew then.

He had already touched the bottom of life.

The endless malice.

The will to swallow everything whole.

And without even a moment to ask ‘why?’

he’d already felt it deep in his bones.

But…

Despite the rejection, they still believed.

They understood the other side with endless love.

Because of lack, they knew emptiness; because of sorrow, they knew the weight of tears.

Born from malice, they tried to break the cycle.

Filling the world with true ideals and compassion,

but humans said, “We don’t want it.”

So,

how do you give salvation no one asks for?

The witch finally turned her gaze.

Looking at the pure cookies she made with her own hands.

The ideal humanity never reached. Even if it couldn’t be achieved,

if life could be shared so the cookies could live—

she believed that was a fine story.

Though one life had ended,

something would begin anew at that end. That’s how she put it.

Shadow Milk glanced at that memory, then burst out a sighing laugh.

“She’d already given up on even living, so what the fuck’s the point now?”

Shadow Milk calmly tore the memory apart.

Here, it’s a hassle. Even useless memories pop up.

Without cynicism or anger.

Just words flowing quietly like a conclusion.

He looked back at the lock again.

It was quietly but surely

returning to its former shape.

Just need to fix a bit more. Gotta get out before the night ends.

That’s how sewing is. Whether magic or puppets…

Sewing quietly, your mind wanders off to random thoughts.

Usually, it doesn’t happen like this elsewhere.

Like I said, this place is a bit special—

It drags you deep into all sorts of reflections.

"Don’t shove your fucked-up problems onto someone else."

The words were quiet,

but they ended everything in one sentence.

But within those words was a solid wall, a clear line.

No more believing.

No going back to that hellhole.

No more wasting my goddamn time chasing empty-ass ideals.

…But what was it Pure Vanilla said again?

“You don’t actually hate the witches,” or something like that.

Maybe he was right.
Apart from swearing never to go back to that hell—
yeah, maybe… he could’ve even loved them, in some way.
If you think about it logically…
Really, if you think about it very, very generously.
If you think about it logically.

There’s a very, very subtle difference between swearing off that damn ideal and resenting the witches,
and Shadow Milk knew that much.

So… borrowing just a little bit of Pure Vanilla’s incomprehensibly deep…
patience, to put it lightly—

Yeah… maybe he could forgive them a little,
and recall those nights and memories from back then as childhood memories.

“It’s incomprehensible—”

His stitching hand stopped again. Just at those words, it froze.

“Incomprehensible, huh…”

The moment that phrase slipped out,
Shadow Milk sharply felt something long lost vanish once again.

To be understood—
is truly a difficult thing.

He wanted to be understood.
But the words to express that feeling didn’t even exist in the first place.
So even he himself had no way to understand it.

What was it that he wanted to be understood for?
He didn’t know.
So it remained unfulfilled.

Because it was empty, he even forgot what he wanted to be understood about.
And having forgotten, it couldn’t be understood…

Shadow Milk stared blankly at the lock,
then summoned the Milk Crown one last time
to check if it was working well.
Inside it was his entrails.

Shadow Milk pulled out all his entrails and sealed them away.
He had to tear out what was already rotten or he felt like he’d die,
so he became an empty doll.

No sincerity, just so light.
Truly—a clown.

But he didn’t regret it. Whatever he had locked away, he knew it had to be locked away.
It was something no one could ever understand.

Because it couldn’t be understood, he sealed it. Yet he still wanted to be understood.
But he didn’t even know what he sealed away… still—
he believed it would never be understood.

Something beyond his own understanding—
beyond the realm of wisdom, beyond rational logic—there was something else.

At this very moment, fragile yet precious, his happy newlywed life,
he didn’t want to put all of it in danger.

Salt once said that society is stable on lies.
He felt that deeply.

No one really wants to know the truth. It’s not necessary.
If belief is needed for society’s stability, then truth doesn’t matter.
So is it really so wrong to seek peace in lies?
It’s not even a huge lie.
It harms no one.
It’s just… closing one’s own eyes.

Mortal beings always chase something unfulfilled.
Because at death’s moment, if that emptiness isn’t filled, they’ll regret it forever.
Because they are mortal, they have an end, so they want to be satisfied somehow.
At their final moment, they want to feel they’ve lived a ‘decent life.’
They run toward that moment when they can finally get off.

But then what about an immortal like him—how can he be filled?
How can he be satisfied?
Mortals probably cling to their own fragile truths and find satisfaction.
But he was not like that. He couldn’t be satisfied.

Those who are satisfied with themselves don’t seek approval from others.
They’ve already completed their world inside.
But what could Milk do to earn approval?
What could fill him?
There was nothing like that.
He had already given up looking for something inside himself.
His mind, so confused and empty,
didn’t care about being recognized or not.
Which made sense—there was nothing there.

But it’s okay.
Because there’s Pure Vanilla.
The empty parts inside me, he fills them all. He understands everything—even the parts he doesn’t realize he understands.
Sometimes, I wonder what exactly it is he understands. But surprisingly—
He even understood the question, “ I want to be understood, but understood for what? ”

And now, even though I don’t quite get what that means myself...

 ...Anyway, he understood.
That’s what matters.
That there is someone who holds this monster, hollow inside.

So... Shadow Milk has found a refuge.
A warm sun that perfectly fills the gaps left empty inside.
So it’s okay.

“I’m fine just like this. Don’t ever think about opening.”

Shadow Milk sealed the lock, now completely filled,
Layering on more lies until the finish was perfect.
The power of the Soul Jam responded to his movement, shimmering quietly like a dance.

‘Ah~ Of course. Yeah, it’s fine. It has to be fine.’

The Soul Jam of lies whispered.
At first, its words sounded like meaningless jokes—
But if you think about them carefully, you can sometimes catch a glimpse of truth inside.
Of course, most of it is false.
Even the nuance is just a fake imitation of emotion. Yet ironically, Within those lies, some truths become visible.
Because lies distort and twist the truth as they show it.

Shadow Milk had just fallen from the sky through the void space, and Pure Vanilla was slowly approaching him, looking slightly unkempt.
His eyes were keenly sensing the subtle magical energy lingering in the air.
It was as if he had noticed something hidden beneath Shadow Milk’s surface.
…Or maybe it was just that pesky tattletale snitch again.

“Milk! Where on earth have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you…”

Pure Vanilla’s voice trembled slightly with urgency, but worry was evident beneath his tone.
However, Shadow Milk didn’t realize that this worry was more than just simple concern.
He shook his head sharply and let out a playful sigh.

“…Ah, sorry, sorry~ I got so annoyed that I kept writing the script and lost track of time. Whew~ This is what you call artistic work!”

He laughed lightly as if nothing was wrong. He really seemed like nothing had happened—perhaps even brighter than usual.
Pure Vanilla’s heart sank a little at his attitude, but he tried not to dwell on those feelings.

“…I was really worried. You weren’t in our room, or at Black Sapphire’s place either…”

His voice softened gradually, but deep concern for Shadow Milk’s condition still showed through.
Shadow Milk shrugged his shoulders slightly and replied.

“…Sorry… well, so…”

But his words trailed off.
His gaze wavered for a moment before regaining calm.
Pure Vanilla stepped closer and spoke gently.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize. I was just worried. …Because something like that happened before.”

Pure Vanilla’s voice was full of comfort and understanding.
Shadow Milk forced a playful smile.

“Ahh~ really~ Vanilla, am I whining too much? High charm… You know me, I tend to get annoyed and whine sometimes!”

Though he ended with a cheeky laugh, his eyes briefly glanced down.
Pure Vanilla sighed and gave a faint smile.

“…Are you really okay?”

Shadow Milk smiled as if nothing was wrong, but Pure Vanilla knew better.
He wasn’t really okay.
Even though he looked perfectly fine now, Pure Vanilla painfully understood that this was the most dangerous state.
“Really, seriously, I’d stake everything! More than that…”
Suddenly, Shadow Milk sniffed the air excitedly, trying to change the mood.

“I smell something sweet… Could it be Sugar? Did he stop by while you were asleep?”
“…Yeah.”

Pure Vanilla answered shortly.
Then hesitated, recalling a name he hadn’t confessed in his heart.
Silent Salt.
He had met him too, but he didn’t want to mention that name to Shadow Milk in his fragile state.
After a brief silence, Pure Vanilla carefully spoke again.

“…Milk. I’m thinking about going to Blueberry Yogurt Academy.”
Shadow Milk’s eyebrows lifted reflexively.

“What? Why all of a sudden? Could it be because you’re still bothered by that earlier thing?”
Pure Vanilla nodded.

“…Yeah. I think there might have been some misunderstanding. So… I want to meet him directly.”
“Meet him…?”

At those words, Shadow Milk’s breath slightly faltered. A faint flicker stirred in his eyes. His voice carried dry cynicism.

“You know Blueberry Yogurt Academy… is already ruined, right? Seriously, it’s completely gone. It had a history of over a thousand years. They worked their butts off building it, but it just collapsed? Our diligent honor student and guardian ‘accidentally’ destroyed it and kept quiet about it. Right?”

Pure Vanilla spoke calmly.

“I know. I was there. But… Milk, that’s not what I want to say.”

As Pure Vanilla spoke seriously again, Shadow Milk raised his hands in the air and retorted lightly.

 “Ah, it’s not like I’m lying saying it was just like that, right?”

But Pure Vanilla wasn’t shaken by such forced cheerfulness.

“…Lily wanted to summon the ‘first principal’s’ spirit. Until now, I thought that first principal was the form you transformed into. So I believed there was no ghost of the first principal… but what if the one with the title of the first principal was you and your disciple…”

At that moment, Shadow Milk’s gaze changed. After a silent, fleeting pause—
He suddenly smiled brightly and hugged Pure Vanilla.
That smile was grotesquely bright, and his embrace strangely warm.

“…Our Pookie Bear, my Vanilla~ so admirable. I really only need you. I don’t need anything else. I don’t even need to know about that guy. Seriously? The rotten yogurt that’s been dead for ages isn’t even worth eating.”

His voice was tender, and his tone familiar—but
Pure Vanilla could feel the false calm hiding in Shadow Milk’s embrace, as if he was shutting his emotions down to escape.
Nevertheless, Pure Vanilla quietly said, filled with all his affection.

“But still, I want to meet him. For us.”
Shadow Milk stopped hugging him for a moment, then whispered in a low voice.

“…There’s no guarantee he really exists. That bastard’s been dead for over a thousand years.
I don’t even know if his soul would still be around.”
Pure Vanilla gently pulled away from Shadow Milk’s embrace and said.

“…It’s okay. And honestly, I’ve wanted to go to Blueberry Yogurt Academy sometime.
I used to have no power to keep the teachers and students from wandering as spirits…
But now I have strength, right?
With this power, I want to try to save the school.”
His eyes were on the past, but his heart was facing the future.
…It really is Pure Vanilla, Shadow Milk thought quietly. His figure, who never lets the light go out no matter what, reminded him of an ideal he had once seen.

“…Pure Vanilla, if it’s something you want to do, I won’t stop you. Really, I won’t.
But you don’t have to do anything for me , okay? I mean it. I’m not hung up on the past at all.
As long as you’re here, I don’t need anything else.
Even if it’s for your sake, I can put up with the others. You know that, right?
I know you want to help me… I know you want to save something…
But honestly—truly—I’m fine.
Because you’re here, I’m already content. I just want to live like this, exactly as we are.”

Pure Vanilla hesitated at those words.
He says he doesn’t seek the truth—that he’s content.
…And perhaps that, too, could be a kind of happy ending.

But the more he heard it, the more it sounded like the Soul Jam of Truth was whispering:

“How is saying ‘I’m fine living like this’ any different from staying in a burning house just because the smoke seems to have cleared?”

…He wasn’t sure if that voice came from the Soul Jam of Truth or from somewhere deep within himself.
But still…
That’s what he thought.

The next morning was somewhat chaotic.
The morning air was noticeably colder than the day before, yet the warmth of the festival still lingered, drifting through the breeze.
If yesterday’s decision held true, he would soon be leaving this place for a while.
Perhaps that’s why he observed the kingdom with more care, more quietly.

In a corner of the square, the cookies who had been running around until late were sitting here and there, holding their heads.
Among them, wizard cookies and healers moved busily, handing out hangover remedies.
“This is a potion to neutralize the berry juice — at least your headache should stop.”
“Ugh… next time, I won’t drink like that… never again…”
But in this kingdom, where more than half the population were wizards or healers, even hangovers were just another illness to be conquered.
What a relief.

Meanwhile, in the market alley, half-cold cookie pies and baskets of fruit were lined up.
Nearby, a few cookies were having a small debate about future recipes.

“Next time, let’s try a different recipe. The spices were a bit too much.”
“Before that, shouldn’t we figure out how to escape the Turkeyberry? Hollyberry won’t always come to help every year, you know?”

Chantilly Cream Cookie had come out early and was organizing inventory alone.
He quietly flipped through the ledger, checking yesterday’s expenses and today’s remaining supplies.
He had worked hard. But since he wanted the festival to succeed so much… it must have been worth it.
Would he finally be satisfied?

…Somehow, it seemed like he was already planning for Christmas too…

Pure Vanilla chuckled softly and shook his head.
That would be a fun festival in its own way.

Though he didn’t know that yet.

Meanwhile, in the distance, an airship was preparing to depart.

And then—

“Pure Vanilla! I had so much fun!!”

With a familiar voice, energetic strength came rushing over.
Hollyberry grabbed his hand warmly; their hands were warm.

“Already leaving?”

When Pure Vanilla asked, Hollyberry shrugged.
“Ah~ well, it was a sudden visit! But next time, we’ll hold the festival on our side. I’m seriously inviting you. You told Sugar about it yesterday, right? You have to come! There’s plenty to see on our side too~ Though you probably know that better than me!”

Pure Vanilla smiled gently. Hollyberry squeezed his hand for a moment, then lowered her eyes slightly.
“I’m glad I got to see you.”
“…Me too.”

Hollyberry paused, then added a playful laugh.

“Well, you know… we have some rather unusual friends. And they live in the most complicated social spots~ and it’s all so~~~~ complex, isn’t it?”

Pure Vanilla chuckled softly.
The beasts and the tangled relationships around them… maybe complexity was fate.
Once he had decided to get close to them, there probably was no easy path.
The Beast of Lies. The Beast of Sloth.
Both were ‘dangerous beings’ to someone, and these two had willingly chosen to stay by their side.

“Sometimes…” Hollyberry continued,
“I wonder if this really was the right choice. But, well—”
“But…”
“They’re cute, aren’t they?”

At Pure Vanilla’s words, Hollyberry burst out laughing.
“Cute, stubborn, a handful to clean up after, never listen! But cute! Oh man… it must be tough for you, huh? At least I hope those two take care of each other. I mean, they even fight by grabbing each other’s heads!!!”

Ah, that was definitely a sight no one wanted to see.
Seeing near-godlike beings who had lived thousands of years grabbing each other’s heads in a fight was nothing but awkward.

“So, I thought I should come see them. Because we’re going to be together from now on.”

Hollyberry laughed but didn’t lose her sincerity. Pure Vanilla felt warm inside at the depth and breadth of her heart.
She always cared for those around her better than anyone else.

“Thank you, Hollyberry. I feel the same—and I hope they find their way.”

“Are you his boyfriend or his mom? Seriously!”
Hollyberry giggled, then grew serious again. She held Pure Vanilla’s hand tightly, her passionate words ringing out.

“But I’m serious. Whenever it’s hard, just call me. I’ll come running! With a shield! Or a keg of juice! Whatever it takes! I know you’re the type who hardly asks for help, but I’ll always be on your side.”

Pure Vanilla nodded slowly.
“Yes, I always believe in you.”

Pure Vanilla quietly breathed in as he gazed up at the sky where Hollyberry had just left.

Watching her disappear beyond the clouds, he steadied his heart once again.

The time to truly leave was drawing near.

He quietly turned his head.

The messy remains of the festival were slowly being tidied up.

Bits of paper and decorations littered the roadside, but familiar cookies passed by as usual, chatting, laughing, and living their everyday lives.

It should be fine to leave for just a little while, right?

Among the familiar faces moving about as always, he spotted some he knew well.

He approached a cookie sitting on a bench, sorting through something.

“Oh, Pure Vanilla! Good morning!”

GingerBrave tapped on a pile of papers sticking out of an envelope to straighten them.

Pure Vanilla approached cautiously with a gentle smile.

“Yes, always good to see you. Good morning. Um... by any chance... did you ever go the Yogurt Academy?”

GingerBrave’s eyes sparkled brightly.

“Yeah! It was an amazing adventure! The phantom teachers, the mysterious atmosphere... and, um, there was Lily back then too. Well, technically, she was a dark witch cookie pretending to be Lily!”

Pure Vanilla gave a faint, bittersweet smile at the mention of the cute child. That memory… was not something he wanted to recall.

“So… I was wondering if you could tell me what happened inside at that time, how things were going?”

“Huh? Oh, right! I actually have some documents that summarize what happened back then!”

“...Really?”

Surprised by the unexpected reply, Pure Vanilla asked again with a startled expression.

Inside the envelope GingerBrave handed him were neatly stacked handwritten notes, maps, sketches, and diagrams.

Some of the papers looked like doodles, but overall, they were surprisingly well-organized and systematic.

Pure Vanilla accepted them carefully.

As he flipped through the pages, locations marked with remnants of ancient magic, signs of collapse, and areas where magic was unstable were detailed precisely.

“To have prepared such materials... thank you so much. This is incredible.”

His words carried genuine amazement and admiration.

GingerBrave shrugged with a smile.

“Shadow Milk asked for the same thing! I even showed him how to organize documents! So I put it all together and gave it to him too!”

Pure Vanilla’s eyebrows twitched slightly.

“So… he was curious too. Well, that makes sense.”

“Yeah! He asked about where the ruins are, which parts are structurally weak, and which zones have unstable magic! He was especially thorough about checking places with a ‘risk of collapse.’ Guess he’s worried about things falling apart!”

At that moment, Pure Vanilla’s hand froze over the papers.

A light breeze flipped the page, but his fingertips stayed still.

“Did he say anything about where he was going?”

GingerBrave tilted his head, then rolled his eyes as he tried to recall.

“Um… I think he said he was going to the Mage Candy Research Lab. Maybe to mess around with Espresso?”

Pure Vanilla’s expression hardened instantly.

Without a breath, he sprang to his feet.

His gaze was resolute, but his fingertips trembled slightly.

He had absolutely no good feeling about this.

“No…!”

The air in the Magic Candy Laboratory was strangely still, bathed in the faint glow emitted by the enchanted sweets.
Amid the soft scent of coffee drifting gently, in a corner of the lab, Espresso Cookie leaned quietly against the wall, catching his breath.
His eyes were half-closed, but behind the calm sound of coffee being brewed, he kept a wary watch on Shadow Milk.

Meanwhile, Shadow Milk was as relaxed as could be.
He strolled slowly between the display shelves as if wandering through an art gallery, picking up magical candies one by one.
He held each candy up to the light, rolling them like small sculptures in his hands.
“Hmm... this one’s a bit too much. And this one... too weak.”

He muttered softly and set the candy back in its place.
Espresso Cookie silently brewed coffee, then glanced sideways before lifting his mug and sitting down.

“As long as you don’t use it to mess with cookie lives, I don’t care.”

His voice carried a mix of indifference, curiosity, and a hint of caution.
“Don’t worry,” Shadow Milk smiled.
That smile felt like... something had burst inside him, and he had let everything go.
Had the cookie lost his mind?
“I only use explosions where they’re needed. Like… old yogurt that’s been sitting way too long.”

Then suddenly—
The door slammed open roughly.

“Shadow Milk!”

Blinding morning light poured through the gap, and Pure Vanilla rushed in, panting heavily.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, his breath ragged.

Shadow Milk turned to him, picking up a magical candy. A deep indigo-purple magic pulsed at his fingertips.
“Welcome. I was just preparing for the trip.”
He smiled.
“There was some hesitation... but as of last night, that’s completely gone.”

“What exactly are you planning to do with that?!”

Shadow Milk looked at him with an innocent grin.
The smile felt eerily familiar.
Pure Vanilla suddenly remembered—
That expression he had when madness crept in, when he swallowed magic with pure curiosity.
Maybe this smile was even darker and deeper than before.

“I will finish the work I started with my own hands.”
Shadow Milk held up the candy.
“And… an explosion is an art.”

Pure Vanilla’s face turned pale.
“That’s not art, that’s a disaster! What are you even trying to do with that?”

Shadow Milk tilted his head.
The purple light reflected in his eyes.
“It’s not really my style, but explosions clear out a lot of things. Evidence, traces… even ghosts sometimes.”

Turning away while still holding the magical candy, his eyes glinted coldly.
“Destroying the imperfect isn’t a crime. It’s just tidying up for perfection.”

Pure Vanilla pleaded urgently.

“Blueberry Yogurt Academy is my alma mater! And you like it there too! There’s so much knowledge there!”
But Shadow Milk shrugged lightly, as if it was no big deal.
“Knowledge? Oh, that. Don’t worry. It’s all in my head. The stuff left there is just materials for the other cookies to see.”
He paused, staring into the air, then narrowed his eyes.

“If you want, I could destroy it and build a new school. Not too far, not too strange... yeah, maybe in the Vanilla Kingdom.”

“No, no, no! Think about the history there!”
Pure Vanilla’s breath caught. This was nonsense. Could this even be called a plan?
But Shadow Milk smiled as if it was all trivial.

“Wow, in times like this, Burning Spice’s words make sense. History is... after all, creation through destruction.”

“No!”

Pure Vanilla shouted desperately.
His voice was no longer pleading but a desperate cry to hold onto the last thread.

Espresso Cookie silently put down his mug.
The quiet clink echoed through the room.
He looked across the table at Shadow Milk and deadpanned,
“...Please submit the data after the explosion.”

Pure Vanilla realized he should have known last night—Shadow Milk wasn’t normal. Of course, he rarely was. But explosions? With magical candies? What was he even trying to do?
For someone who held the pinnacle of all knowledge, saying that was terrifying beyond words.

“Milk! I’m not trying to blow everything up and make it disappear. I’m looking for a better way. I’m... searching for hope.”

“Hope?”
Shadow Milk’s eyes flickered for a moment.

“Pure Vanilla, I thought you’d understand.”

He looked up.
A faint smile, but his eyes were surprisingly serious.

“As long as I have you, that’s enough. That’s all I need.”

Pure Vanilla hesitated.
“...What?”

“I said yesterday, didn’t I? I’m fine because I have you. Hope? I don’t believe in that. I don’t expect things to get better. Just being like this now is enough.
Vanilla, as long as you’re by my side, I truly—need nothing else.
You can be happy. My very self has accepted you.”

“That’s... comforting, but...”

Did he really mean it?
“Something happened, but it’s okay because we love each other?”
Could it really end like that?

Pure Vanilla looked at him.
“Shadow Milk... please. I want to know. You know how that feels too...”

“Don’t worry.”
He smiled again.
“I won’t set it off yet.”

Pure Vanilla jumped.

“Not yet...?”

“Plans need to be refined carefully. The land and buildings of Blueberry Yogurt were built meticulously. Back then, we truly believed we were creating a school that would last forever. So don’t worry.”

“Shadow Milk!!!”

After a long, long time persuading him,

“Then you agree I meet that bastard first and exorcise his soul?”

Shadow Milk nodded, finally setting down the magical candy.

...Pure Vanilla was determined—he would be the one to find the founding principal first.

And at that moment,
The sound of coffee brewing stopped quietly in the background.
Espresso Cookie quietly set down his mug and whispered,

“…They’re both losing it.”