The Blueprints of a "Bean"

Location: Sumeru — The House of Daena

The House of Daena was a tomb of silent thoughts, where the only sound was the occasional rustle of a turning page or the soft hum of the elevators. Haruka Kiritani sat at one of the heavy circular tables, surrounded by a fortress of books. Her brow was furrowed in a way that suggested she was calculating a complex Geo-resonance formula, but the titles of the books told a different story: Migratory Patterns of the North, Fauna of the Frozen Frontiers, and A Comprehensive Guide to Snezhnayan Finches.

She sighed, a small puff of breath that ruffled the bangs of her blue hair.

"If you stare at that page any harder, the ink might actually crawl off out of sheer intimidation."

Haruka didn't jump. She recognized that voice—sharp, melodic, and layered with a cynicism that had become strangely familiar over the past few weeks. She looked up to see Sora leaning against a nearby bookshelf, his arms crossed and his wide-brimmed hat tilted just enough to shadow his eyes.

"Sora," she greeted him with a polite, tired smile. "I didn't see you come in."

"Well, you should’ve. If you always let your guard down, who knows what may happen to you.” he replied, hinting with a worry with a scoff. "Plus, sneaking into a library isn't exactly a high-difficulty maneuver. What are you doing? You look like you’re trying to solve the secret of the Ley Lines with a book on... birds?"

"I was looking for something specific," Haruka admitted, touching the small penguin pin on her lapel—a relic from her world that she wore even here, in a land of dragons and gods. "But Teyvat’s records are... lacking."

Sora moved closer, his footsteps silent on the polished floor. He peered over her shoulder at a drawing of a Snezhnayan Snow-Finch. "It’s a bird. It flies. It chirps. What is there to research?"

"No, that’s just it," Haruka said, her eyes lighting up with the spark of a true enthusiast. "The creature I'm looking for doesn't fly. It waddles. It lives in the harshest cold, sliding on its belly and huddling with its friends for warmth. They’re called penguins."

Sora stared at her. His expression shifted from boredom to genuine, flat-eyed confusion. "A bird... that doesn't fly. In a world where even the slimes can take to the air? That sounds less like an animal and more like a biological error."

Haruka puffed out her cheeks slightly—a rare show of indignation. "They aren't errors! They’re incredibly resilient. They’re dignified, in their own way."

"Right. Dignified," Sora drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And I suppose they have four wings and breathe fire?"

"No, they look like..." Haruka paused, realizing words were failing her. She reached for a scrap of Akademiya-grade parchment and a charcoal pencil. "Here. I’ll show you."

Sora watched, his gaze intense and unblinking, as Haruka began to draw. She wasn't an artist by trade, and her style leaned toward the "chibi" aesthetics of the merchandise back in her world. With a few quick, determined strokes, a round, egg-shaped body appeared on the paper. She added two flippers, two stubby feet, and a small, pointed beak.

She slid the paper toward him. "That’s a penguin."

Sora picked up the paper, holding it between two fingers as if it were a suspicious artifact. He turned it sideways. Then upside down.

"Haruka," he said slowly, "this is a bean. You’ve drawn a bean with a face."

"It’s not a bean! It’s the aerodynamic shape for sliding on ice!"

"It has no knees," Sora pointed out, his voice rising in an amused, disbelieving pitch. "How does it walk? Does it just vibrate across the tundra? You’re telling me that this is your ideal of dignity?"

"They waddle!" Haruka insisted, her face turning a soft shade of pink. "It’s very efficient for their environment. And they’re very cute."

"Cute," Sora repeated the word like it was a foreign language he refused to learn. He looked back at the drawing, his lips twitching. He wanted to call it ridiculous. He wanted to tell her that she was wasting her time dreaming of flightless beans when there were gods to defy.

But then he looked at Haruka. She was smiling—a real, genuine smile that reached her eyes, the kind she usually reserved for successful missions or her friends back in the Sekai.

He huffed, snatching the paper and stuffing it into one of the many folds of his sleeves.

"I’m keeping this," he declared, turning away abruptly so she couldn't see his face.

Haruka blinked, her hands hovering over the table. "Eh? Why? If it’s just a 'bean' to you..."

"Because," Sora snapped, his back still turned, "I need it as evidence. If I ever find a researcher who specializes in 'imaginary failures,' I’ll show them this to prove how delusional you are. It’s for... research purposes. Nothing more."

Haruka stared at his retreating back, then at the empty space where her drawing had been. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Research, huh? You’re surprisingly diligent, Sora."

"Shut up," his voice floated back, muffled by the library's acoustics. "And keep reading. Maybe you’ll find a book on how to draw a bird that actually looks like a bird."

Haruka laughed softly, the sound like a small bell in the silent hall. She didn't mind. She had a feeling that, for someone like Sora, keeping a drawing of a "bean" was a much bigger deal than he was willing to admit.

Location: Sumeru City — The Grand Bazaar

Sora walked through the bustling corridors of the Grand Bazaar with his usual air of detached boredom. He told himself he was merely monitoring the flow of information in the city's heart, but his fingers kept brushing against the scrap of parchment tucked into his sleeve. The "bean" with flippers.

He stopped near a stall draped in vibrant silks from Fontaine. A small crowd had gathered around a woman wearing a mechanical-looking monocle and a mountain of colorful yarn.

"One day only! The Fontaine method of 'Amigurumi'—the art of bringing yarn to life!" the woman chirped. "Free introductory course for those with the patience of a clockmaker!"

Sora scoffed. Patience of a clockmaker? He had lived through centuries of betrayal and reconstruction. He had been built by a god and refined by the Abyss. What could a bit of string possibly offer him?

He turned to leave, but then he looked at the blue yarn sitting on the table. It was almost exactly the shade of Haruka’s hair.

‘I’m just testing my accuracy skills,’ he rationalized, stepping toward the stall. ‘. This is just... an exercise.’

"You there, young man!" the instructor beamed, oblivious to the fact that she was addressing a centuries-old wanderer. "Care to try your hand? It’s quite difficult for beginners."

"Difficult?" Sora sat down on a stool, his expression cold. "Provide the hook. I’ll show you how 'difficult' it is."

An hour later, the instructor was staring in stunned silence. While the other students were struggling with simple chains, Sora’s hands were a blur of calculated motion. His Anemo energy subtly stabilized the tension of the thread, and his puppet-jointed fingers never missed a loop.

He pulled the crumpled drawing out of his sleeve and placed it on the table. He didn't need a pattern. He simply looked at the "bean" and began to create a doll based on Haruka’s description and the sketch into a reality.

Round body. Navy back. White belly. He even found a scrap of yellow yarn for the beak.

"My goodness," the instructor whispered. "You've captured such... personality. Is that a bird?"

"It's a failure of evolution," Sora muttered, though his focus remained absolute. "A flightless, waddling absurdity."

Location: Near the Hostel — Twilight

Haruka was leaning against the stone railing near their hostel, watching the sunset paint the Sumeru sky in shades of violet and gold. She was still thinking about the library—about how Sora had taken her drawing. She wondered if he had already burned it.

"You’re still idling," a voice sharp as a blade cut through the evening air.

Haruka turned, smiling as Sora approached. "I was just thinking about the day. Did your 'research' go well, Sora?"

Sora didn't answer immediately. He stopped a few feet away, his hat tilted low. He reached into his pocket and, without looking at her, tossed something small and soft toward her.

"Here," he said, his voice flat. "Catch."

Haruka caught it with practiced ease. When she opened her hands, her breath hitched.

Sitting in her palms was a perfectly crocheted penguin. It was round, soft, and bore an uncanny resemblance to her "bean" drawing. The stitches were so tight and precise they looked like they had been made by a machine, yet there was a certain... care in the way the little yellow beak was slightly tilted.

"Sora..." she whispered, her eyes wide. "This is... you made this?"

"I found a merchant from Fontaine who was teaching a class," Sora said quickly, crossing his arms and looking toward the Puspa Café. "She was incompetent, so I had to show her how it was actually done. I needed a subject to practice on, and that ridiculous drawing of yours was the first thing I found. It’s just a prototype. A waste of yarn."

Haruka stepped closer, her face glowing with a joy that was far more radiant than the sunset. She hugged the small doll to her chest. "It’s perfect. It’s exactly how I pictured them. You even got the 'bean' shape right."

"Don't get used to it," he snapped, though the tips of his ears were turning a faint red. "It’s just to stop you from moping about 'missing' creatures that don't exist here. Now I won't have to hear you sighing in the library anymore."

Haruka looked up at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You know, for someone who hates 'senseless effort,' you spent a lot of time on the stitching. And the color... it matches my ribbon perfectly."

"Coincidence," he hissed.

"You’re actually very sweet, Sora," she teased, taking a step toward him.

Sara scoffed in return, with a hint of blush in his cheeks. 

"I thought you didn't really care about my obsession. And yet, you made me a penguin," Haruka laughed, the sound bright and warm. She held the doll up. "I think I’ll call him 'Sora-kun.'"

"You will do no such thing!" Sora shouted, though he didn't move away. He huffed, pulling his hat down to hide his face completely. "Keep the toy. Just... stop talking about it."

"Thank you, Sora," Haruka said, her voice turning soft and sincere.

The Wanderer stayed silent, but as they walked back toward the hostel together, he didn't complain when she tucked the little penguin into her belt, right next to her Vision. He simply looked away, his heart—or the place where one should be—feeling a little less hollow than it had that morning.