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Mifuyu had never felt such pressure from being in a car that cost more than her organs. Her hands trembled against the steering wheel, her knuckles white enough to match the crisp sleeves of the chauffeur’s uniform she’d borrowed. It fit her—Touka’s family employed people of all statures—but the dignity of the suit was rapidly eroding under her own perspiration.
“Mifuyu, you have the spatial awareness of my classmates.” Touka sighed from the passenger seat. She didn’t look up from her tablet, yet somehow seemed to sense every mistake Mifuyu made. “Your inconsistent speed is one thing, but your inability to maintain a central position within the lane is embarrassing.”
“I-I’m sorry, Touka,” Mifuyu whispered, her eyes darting to the rearview mirror.
In the backseat, Alina was draped across the leather bench like a bored feline, her boots dangerously close to the upholstery. She’d begun to incorporate Mifuyu’s clumsy driving and the movement of the car into a series of sketches with markers. Every time Alina let out a laugh, Mifuyu’s foot jerked on the accelerator.
Nemu turned a page of her thick hardcover book without looking up. “One would assume that a decade of seniority would grant a certain level of emotional fortitude, yet empirical evidence suggests a complete regression of motor skills under scrutiny.”
Alina chirped leaned forward so her chin almost rested on Mifuyu’s shoulder. “The struggle! The terror! It’s such a vibrant, messy palette, Mifuyu! Keep shaking like that and you’ll turn the whole car into a masterpiece of scrap metal!”
Mifuyu’s breath hitched. A large semi-truck roared past them in the adjacent lane of the highway, and she instinctively jerked the wheel to the left.
“Watch it!” Touka barked. Her hand shot out to grab the side of the steering wheel and wrenched it back to the right just as the sedan’s side mirror came within a breath of the concrete barrier.
The car swerved, then stabilized. Mifuyu felt her heart hammer in the back of her throat. She wanted to throw up.
“You almost crashed!” Touka scolded, finally setting her tablet aside to glare at Mifuyu. “The friction alone would have decimated the exterior finish. Do you have any idea how many hours of labor it takes to restore this specific paint grade? Honestly, Mifuyu, I expected better. We have an appointment in Kamihama after lunch, remember? At this rate, we’ll be eating our appetizers in a highway ditch…”
“I… I can do this,” Mifuyu choked out, though her vision blurred slightly. She felt like a toddler being lectured by a strict father. Something like shame weighed heavy in her chest.
They were halfway between Mitakihara and Kamihama, stranded in a sea of idling engines. There was no exit for kilometers.
Nemu gave a soft sigh. “I recommend you focus on the road, rather than the existential dread of failure.”
Mifuyu gripped the wheel tighter, desperately trying to blink back the moisture in her eyes. The highway stretched out before her looked like an endless gauntlet she was trapped in. One far worse than any Witch’s Labyrinth.
She could only pray the Magius wouldn’t start arguing among themselves.
Despite Nemu’s advice, the clock on the dashboard was a cruel reminder of her failure. Past noon. The atmosphere in the car had shifted; Mifuyu felt like she was in a metal can with three very hungry carnivorous dinosaurs.
“I, Alina, cannot make art without sustenance!” Alina groaned. Her boots thumped against the back of Mifuyu’s seat. Thump. Thump. Thump. “Stop the car, Mifuyu. Stop it at the first place that has something dead and fried.”
“Alina, stop kicking the leather, you’re going to scuff it!” Touka’s stomach gave a traitorous growl. She looked out the window as they finally rolled off the highway into the outskirts of Kamihama. “Fine, whatever, just pick the first place you see! Mifuyu, pull into that KFC. That should satisfy Alina before she actually starts chewing on the headrests.”
Mifuyu’s heart sank. She saw the red and white sign, but more importantly, she saw the drivethrough lane. A narrow corridor carved out of a tiny corner lot, lined with menacing yellow-painted metal guards.
“Since you’re in uniform, you’ll handle the transaction. A chauffeur who can’t manage a simple order is useless. Don’t make us look bad, okay?”
“I didn’t exactly prepare for this…” Mifuyu weakly protested, her palms sweating as she guided the sedan toward the entrance.
“Adaptability is the hallmark of a capable mind, Mifuyu,” Nemu said, already scrolling through the KFC app on her phone. “I’ll read the menu. Listen closely; I don’t intend to repeat myself.”
As they crawled forward in the queue, she rattled off the options with a curious tone, as if expectant of what her fellow Magius would pick. Mifuyu tried to memorize their choices while simultaneously trying to judge the distance between the expensive wheels and the unforgiving curb.
Finally, they reached the speaker. The curb was so close it may as well have been a serrated blade against the car’s flank. Mifuyu held her breath and slowly advanced until the speaker was perfectly aligned with her window. If she had to unbuckle to reach it, she knew she’d never hear the end of it.
“Welcome to KFC,” a crackling voice announced. “May I take your order?”
Mifuyu swallowed hard. “Yes. We would like… one chicken fillet burger set, please. But swap the fries for a corn salad and… a water. Then, a seasonal pot pie, a spicy chicken fillet, and a Mountain Dew. Also, five nuggets, a coleslaw, and an oolong tea. And finally, a two-piece original recipe chicken with box fries and a lemonade. That’s all.”
She’d survived. She’d survived this first part of the process, if nothing else. She navigated the sharp turn to the second window. A young employee appeared, bowing slightly and holding out a black tray.
Without a word or a glance, Touka reached into her wallet and produced a sleek black card. She handed it to Mifuyu with two fingers, her gaze still fixed firmly on her tablet—disinterest, maybe?
Mifuyu tried not to act surprised by the literal weight of the card. She placed it neatly on the tray and extended it to the employee with both hands, maintaining a professional posture despite the sting of tears in her eyes. When the card was returned with a long, curling receipt, she carefully scrutinized the line items as if she were checking a contract.
“The total is correct, Touka,” Mifuyu said, handing the card back with both hands.
“Good. Now find a place to park,” Touka commanded. “And not just anywhere. I want a lot with at least three empty spaces on either side. I’m not having some greasy delivery van ding the door while we’re eating.”
The smell of fried chicken began to fill the car instantly after the employee handed over the bags—neatly double-bagged with plenty of oshibori wipes.
“Don’t even think about touching that,” Touka warned Alina and Nemu as they reached for the bags. “Wait until we’re stationary. And if anyone drops a single crumb on this carpet, you’re cleaning the entire car before the help gets to it. I mean it.”
Nemu watched Touka meticulously fold back the paper wrapper of her burger so that not a single millimeter of her skin touched the bun. “Your insistence on maintaining the appearance of a Victorian debutante while eating fast food in a parking lot is truly a feat of cognitive dissonance.”
“It’s called having standards, Nemu,” Touka replied, taking a tiny bite. “Mifuyu, you’re still driving. No chicken for you until the car is parked.”
Mifuyu sighed. The scent of the poultry in the bag beside taunted her. She circled the back of the parking lot, searching for a desert of asphalt wide enough to satisfy the Magius, and almost broke into tears when she found it. It was a desolate corner of the parking lot where five pristine spaces sat empty on either side of a single streetlight. She guided the sedan into the exact center of the middle stall and checked the lines in the backup camera three times before daring to put the car in park. Once she killed the engine, she immediately adjusted the auxiliary power to keep the climate control humming at twenty-two degrees Celsius; she would rather not be yelled at while eating because the Magius were uncomfortable with the temperature. Finally, she reached for the bag of oshibori and distributed the moist towelettes to her superiors.
“Finally!”
Alina tore into her pot pie with reckless abandon. Hopefully, it would not splatter all over the seats or carpet. Hopefully.
Touka, however, didn’t seem keen on peace. “Now, Mifuyu, while you ingest your incredibly sodium-heavy lunch, we shall review the theoretical portion of your exam. If you fail the written test after I’ve spent so many days tutoring you, I will be forced to-”
Nemu gently placed her hand on Touka’s shoulder. “Let her eat, Touka. You don’t want her to choke on a drumstick out of stress.”
The shorter girl huffed, but relented and returned to her meticulously wrapped burger. Making Touka listen had to be some sort of magic greater than anything a Magical Girl or Witch was capable of.
Mifuyu felt a wave of relief, then another spike of anxiety. She looked down at the chauffeur’s uniform—crisp, in great part white, and borrowed from a woman who clearly took pride in her laundry. She couldn’t afford a single grease spot. Her upbringing reminded her just how hard it was to get that kind of stain out of this kind of fabric. So, she grabbed every spare napkin in the bag and tucked them into her collar one by one until she had constructed a paper barricade that covered her tie, her lapels, and most of her chest.
“You look like you’re awaiting a surgical procedure,” Nemu remarked. “Or perhaps you’re being prepared for a very polite execution.”
Mifuyu didn’t answer. She took a piece of the original recipe chicken, but she didn’t touch it. Instead, she used the wax paper as a protective sleeve, peeling it back just enough to expose a small section of meat. At long last, she took a bite, hunched forward to ensure any potential debris fell onto her napkin-bib rather than the seat.
Thwack.
Touka tapped Mifuyu’s arm. “A driver for the Satomi family does not slump like a tired salaryman at the train station. Sit up. Maintain your dignity even when consuming common processed poultry.”
Mifuyu quivered, but straightened her spine until it felt like a rod of iron. She must have looked like a terrified mannequin wearing a paper beard—Alina’s giggles told her as much. She reached for a fry and stared longingly at the ketchup packet. “No,” she thought. “Ketchup is too risky.”
She ate the fries plain, one by one, checking the crevices of the seat after every bite to ensure not a single crystal of salt had escaped her vigil.
Soon, the air was thick with the scent of at least eleven herbs and spices. Touka reached for the dashboard and tapped a button.
“The ionizer will scrub this smell out in three minutes once we’re done, thankfully… This whole detour is a result of your poor time management, Mifuyu. If you’d navigated the highway with more confidence, we’d be eating wagyu right now.”
“Mifuyu is a slow learner,” Alina chirped, her face dusted with pastry crumbs. “It’s kind of sad. Touka could probably drive a tank, but Mifuyu can’t even handle a drivethrough without crying.”
“My learning curve… isn’t quite like Touka’s,” Mifuyu lamented.
“I suppose it is a matter of innate genius,” Touka preened, then took a polite sip of her water. “Though I maintain that anyone can be taught if the instructor is competent enough.”
Nemu glanced sideways at Alina. “And what about you, Alina? You’ve been providing a constant stream of critique. Could you perform better under these conditions?”
Alina grinned; it made Mifuyu’s stomach do a slow roll. “Obviously! But, I’m not wearing that uniform.”
“I could teach you in five minutes,” Touka challenged.
By the time Mifuyu realized where the conversation was heading, it was too late.
Alina laughed, already unbuckling. “Move over, guidatore inutile.”
Mifuyu watched, paralyzed, as Alina climbed over the center console and pushed her out of the car. By the time she got back in beside Nemu, Touka had typed in an address in Hokuyo Ward for Alina to follow.
“All you have to do is drive us to this address.”
The engine roared back to life and Alina gripped the steering wheel with a manic glint in her eyes.
Mifuyu started to rehearse what she would say when they were stopped by law enforcement.
The drive to Hokuyo Ward had been… an experience Mifuyu would not soon forget. Where she had been hesitant and stuttering, Alina was aggressively confident. The artist had sliced through gaps in traffic that left Mifuyu clutching the grab handle until her knuckles clicked. To Mifuyu’s utter despair, Alina pulled into the narrow driveway of the target address and parked with such symmetrical perfection that it looked like the car had been lowered there by a crane.
Alina killed the engine, tossed the keys onto the dashboard, and stretched her arms over her head. “That was incredibly annoying. I, Alina, am never doing that again.”
Mifuyu climbed out of the back seat feeling as though she had aged half a century in the span of one morning. Her uniform was still pristine, at least.
Touka stepped out and smoothed her skirt. “Your execution was adequate.”
“Where… Where are we, exactly?” Mifuyu asked
She looked up at the elegant two-story wooden home. It was a Western-style house tucked behind a wrought-iron gate, surrounded by a garden that looked plucked from a storybook. Not all that surprising for Hokuyo Ward, but she wondered if this was a family friend of Touka’s, or…
“My family’s seamstress lives here,” Touka explained matter-of-factly. “She’s the one who tailored that uniform you’re wearing, actually. We’re here to pick up new outfits.”
“Touka insists that if we are to attend social functions together, we must match,” Nemu added as she took her place beside Touka.
“It’s a matter of visual cohesion, Nemu! It’s important.” Touka scoffed, though she didn't look particularly upset by the requirement. She turned to Mifuyu and her expression softened just a fraction. “Mifuyu, you can go home for the day. Take the train and get back to your studies—I’ll send someone to pick up the uniform from your apartment later. And don’t look so miserable. Your technical foundation is solid. You didn’t do a terrible job today, and I’m sure you’ll pass your exam tomorrow.”
Mifuyu blinked. The unexpected praise hit her like a nice breeze. She smiled. “Thank you, Touka.”
“Alina, do you want to wait and drive us back to the estate?”
“Ugh, non. The road was irritante and the scenery on the way here was drab. I’ll find my own inspiration. Ciao!”
Touka shrugged, already reaching for her phone to call her staff for a pickup later. “Alright. We’ll see you both at Fendt Hope tomorrow.”
Unsure what else to do, Mifuyu gave the two remaining Magius a brief bow and looked around for the third, only to realize Alina had once again disappeared. She hurried down the street towards her apartment at a pitiful pace.
Once the gate clicked shut behind them, Touka and Nemu were thankful for the scent of blooming jasmine that replaced the lingering ghost of fried chicken as they walked up the stone path toward the house.
“Did you have to be so rigorous with her, Touka?” Nemu asked softly. “I suspect Mifuyu will be seeing yellow curb guards in her nightmares tonight.”
“Proper technique and manners are critical.” Without thinking, Touka slid her arm through Nemu’s and interlaced their fingers. “If I don’t hold her to a high standard, who will?”
Nemu looked down at their joined hands. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “And is it considered ‘proper manners’ to cling to me so tenaciously in public?”
Touka let out a tiny huff. “I can get away with whatever I want in this regard. Besides,” she leaned her head slightly toward Nemu’s shoulder, “you haven’t pulled away.”
“I could.”
“You won’t.”
She wouldn’t.
The front door opened before they could knock. An older woman with sharp eyes and a warm smile appeared, her bony hands visibly calloused from decades of fine needlework. “Ah, Lady Touka, Lady Nemu! You’re right on time.”
Touka straightened and gave her a polite bow, without letting go of Nemu. “Good afternoon. We brought a small token of our appreciation as usual—some French sweets we thought you might enjoy.”
“You’re always so thoughtful.” The seamstress took the box and returned the bow. She stepped aside and gestured toward the sunlit atelier at the back of the house. “I have the new coordinates ready for the both of you. Would you like to try them on?”
Touka’s eyes lit up with genuine glee, her grip on Nemu’s hand tightening for a second. “Yes! We’d love to!”
They knew the way, but followed the seamstress politely. They’d visited enough times that the smell of various fabrics and the ticking of a grandfather clock had become familiar.
“I have the dressing rooms prepared, or would you prefer the larger suite?” the seamstress asked. “I recall you two often find it more efficient to share the space.”
She’d already led them to the right place; she knew. Mannequins draped in silk and velvet stood around the room.
Regardless, Touka didn’t hesitate, already unbuttoning her coat. “The suite is fine.”
“My, you two are always so inseparable. Most girls your age are far more guarded.”
Touka and Nemu exchanged a brief look.
“It’s a matter of familiarity,” Touka replied with a practiced smile. A partial truth spilled from her lips like she’d said it a thousand times before: “We were hospitalized together for a significant duration not too long ago. Privacy is a somewhat redundant concept for us at this point.”
The seamstress nodded and began helping them into the new coordinates. Well, mainly Touka. Touka’s bodice was a deep, rich crimson, accented by sharp black ruffles and a delicate white lace collar. The skirt cascaded in heavy tiers of red and black, tied with dark ribbons and draped with silver chains. Along the hem of the white underskirt, a series of embroidered red roses bloomed with startling realism.
Beside her, Nemu hadn’t needed much assistance. Her pants and waistcoat were the same regal red, trimmed with black lace and silver hardware that mirrored Touka’s chains. With Nemu’s permission, the seamstress undid her braids and rewove them into a more elegant shape.
“There.” The seamstress stepped back to let them view the full effect. “What do you think?”
Touka stood before the floor-length mirror and performed a graceful twirl. The heavy fabric flared out beautifully, the rose embroidery spinning in a blur of white and red. She beamed at the sight. “It’s super cute!”
In the reflection, her gaze shifted to her companion. Nemu stood still, her expression uncharacteristically soft and her eyes tracing the lines of Touka’s new dress.
Touka turned and leaned forward slightly with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “See something you like, Nemu? You’re supposed to be checking your own fit, you know. Am I too distracting?”
Nemu’s cheeks tinted with a faint rose. She cleared her throat and looked away, adjusting the cuff of her sleeve. “The cut is comfortable. I approve.”
Touka giggled, but didn’t push further. For now. Instead, she turned back to the seamstress. “They’re wonderful. Do you have the accessories we discussed too?”
“Of course. I stashed them away in a separate case, I’ll be right back with them.”
She hurried out of the room and the door clicked shut.
Nemu narrowed her eyes slightly at Touka. “You sent her away on purpose.”
“I have no idea what you’re implying, Nemu. Besides, don’t I look lovely?”
“You always do.”
Just a pace away, Touka gave a playful tilt of her head. “Do you remember the choreography for the charity ball this weekend?”
Nemu offered a courtly bow, then extended her hand in the traditional invitation. Wordlessly, Touka placed her hand in Nemu’s. They moved through the steps of a fast-paced waltz; the heavy silk of Touka’s skirt brushed against Nemu’s trousers as Nemu led her with a firm hand on her waist, guiding her through a series of turns that made the red and black tiers of the dress bloom. With a graceful shift in weight, Nemu lowered Touka into a gentle dip. Touka let out a light giggle as her hair spilled toward the floor and looked up at her dance partner.
Before Nemu could pull her back up, Touka used the momentum to twist. She inverted their positions so they were chest-to-chest and leaned forward until their noses nearly brushed.
“I’ll have to keep you on your toes, then,” she whispered, her breath ghosting over Nemu’s lips. “Otherwise, the evening might get a bit… boring. And we can’t have that, can we?”
Nemu didn’t pull away. She pushed back just enough to stabilize them both, but she stayed within Touka’s bubble. They both looked down—a shared glance at the other’s mouth, a silent calculation of the distance. The impulse was there, but the invisible walls of their arrangement held firm. Their unspoken rules were clear to them both. There was a line, and neither wanted to be the first to cross it.
Simultaneously, as if choreographed, they both pulled back, taking a single step away from each other to reset the air.
“You’re not supposed to dance with the same person more than twice, Touka. Social etiquette dictates that you mingle. To do otherwise would invite unnecessary speculation.”
Touka pouted and crossed her arms. “Papa is the one hosting the gala, which means I make the rules. If anyone else wants a dance, they can grovel at my feet or leave empty-handed.”
“Picky, are we?”
“I have no interest in entertaining the sons of businessmen who can’t even explain how entropy works. Even if they can, they’re always deficient and incompetent in too many areas of importance.”
Nemu chuckled fondly. Any tension between them broke into familiar warmth. Smoothly, she stepped forward once more to offer a deeper bow just as she took Touka’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it.
“It is a great honor to be your choice, my dearest princess.”
Touka’s face flushed a brilliant scarlet that rivaled the color of her dress. She squeezed Nemu’s hand and let out an indignant huff, though she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips.
“W-well, duh!” She turned back to the mirror to hide her face. “It’s only logical that two geniuses should occupy the same space. Anyone else would just be… a statistical outlier.”
Something about that felt like it should ring a bell.
Instead, the chime of the atelier door signaled the seamstress’ return. She bustled back into the room, her arms laden with a small velvet-lined tray, but she stopped short when she saw them. Grown woman or not, she let out a delighted squeal.
“Oh, look at you two! I’ve never had a more perfect couple of muses. The contrast is simply divine. You look as though you’ve stepped straight out of a painting.”
She approached with two delicate boutonnieres. They were practically masterpieces of miniature floristry—roses in a deep claret, intertwined with silver filigree and obsidian beads. With a quick nod for permission, she carefully fastened Touka’s onto her wrist with a black lace ribbon, then pinned the twin piece onto Nemu’s lapel.
“And the finishing touch!” The seamstress held out the large silken bow meant for the back of Touka’s hair. She looked at Nemu with a knowing smile and offered it to her. “Lady Nemu, would you like to do the honors? It really brings the whole ensemble together.”
Nemu hesitated for a fraction of a second before quietly accepting the ribbon. She stepped behind Touka, but as she gathered the russet locks to secure the bow, she found herself lingering. The sunlight streaming through the atelier windows caught the warm, reddish-brown tones of Touka’s hair, and it shimmered oh-so-beautifully. It was incredibly soft—a texture Nemu knew well, but rarely had the chance to appreciate in such a serene light.
She didn’t realize she was staring, or how her gaze must have been more transparent than she ever intended. Touka didn’t move, didn’t tease, and didn’t break the silence. The seamstress had already retreated to a far corner. She’d busied herself with gathering the heavy garment bags and cedar hangers.
Finally, Nemu smoothed the last of the ribbon. Touka turned around slowly, her face still slightly flushed. Instead of a witty remark or a boastful comment, she gave a soft, melodic giggle. She gently butted her forehead against Nemu’s. Gratitude, if Nemu had to guess, or… no, not that.
The moment was interrupted by a buzzing from the vanity table.
“Your phone?”
“Yeah, one second.” Touka picked up the device and swiped the notification. “The driver is outside. Our actual professional driver. Which means we’ve reached the end of our allotted time for leisure.” She looked at Nemu, then at their reflection in the mirror. “Let’s get these packed.”
“As you wish.”