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The two fabrics looked nearly identical until Lumine leaned closer.
Both were woven in shades of deep blue, but one caught the afternoon light with a faint silver sheen. The other carried a subtler pattern, small waves disappearing into darker thread whenever the cloth shifted beneath Ayato's hand.
Paimon hovered over Lumine's shoulder. "Paimon still thinks the one on the left looks nicer."
"You said the one on the right a moment ago," Lumine reminded her.
"That was before Paimon looked at them properly."
Across the counter at Ogura Textiles and Kimonos, Ayato regarded the two bolts with the solemn attention of a man considering matters of state.
"In her defense, the distinction is not immediately apparent," he said.
Lumine glanced at him. "You have been deciding between them for how long?"
"Long enough that answering would reflect poorly on me."
She smiled despite herself and looked at the fabrics again. Ayato had explained that they would be used for attire worn during official functions. Ordinarily, the estate staff would have handled the selection, but the Kamisato Clan stood at the center of Inazuma's cultural affairs. Even the colors and patterns they wore could invite more scrutiny than they deserved.
The fabric with the wave pattern was elegant without calling attention to itself. It felt like the sort of choice Ayato would make after convincing everyone else it had been theirs.
"This one," Lumine said, touching the darker bolt.
Ayato studied it, then nodded. "An excellent choice."
"You were going to say that whichever one I picked."
"Of course. Disagreeing with the person who resolved my dilemma would be terribly ungracious."
He placed an order for five bolts to be delivered to the Kamisato Estate. By the time they stepped back into the street, the afternoon had begun softening toward evening.
Ayato had business with one of the shrine attendants, while Lumine and Paimon had planned to visit the Grand Narukami Shrine. Walking together had seemed the simplest arrangement.
By the time Ayato finished his business, sunset had faded into violet.
The shrine was quieter then. Wind moved through the sakura branches in long, fragrant breaths, loosening pale petals that drifted across the stone paths and caught in the folds of shrine maidens' sleeves. Somewhere farther up the mountain, a bell chimed once. Below, Inazuma spread toward the darkening sea, its islands cut into silhouettes.
They stood on the broad upper landing where the shrine steps began. The main courtyard and its fortune-slip counter lay immediately behind them, while the stairs descended openly along the mountainside ahead. Smaller sakura trees bordered the landing, their branches reaching over the railing toward the sea.
Beside Lumine, Paimon balanced a small lacquered plate a shrine maiden had lent her and hurriedly swallowed the last bite of sakura mochi.
"Paimon was told visitors could have some," she said defensively.
"I said nothing," Ayato replied with perfect innocence.
Lumine laughed.
"Thank you again for helping me choose," Ayato said. "I had considered those fabrics for longer than I care to admit."
"You had already narrowed it down. I only made the final choice."
"Which was precisely the choice I could not make." His smile softened. "Should you ever require attire for an official occasion, I hope you will allow me to return the favor."
Lumine smiled. "I'll remember that."
"Then allow me to thank you properly in the meantime. Dinner tomorrow evening. No commissions, no reports, and no discussion of the state of Inazuma unless you insist upon ruining the evening yourself."
Lumine blinked. "You don't have to do that."
"I know. I would like to."
"Will there be sakura tempura? And tricolor dango? Oh, and tonkotsu ramen?" Paimon jumped in
Ayato regarded Paimon with perfect composure. "I believe that can be arranged."
"Then Lumine accepts."
"Paimon..."
"What? You were going to say yes anyway."
Lumine looked at Ayato. He had helped her, and she had helped his family. Somewhere between political crises and commissions, they had become something resembling friends. A quiet dinner with him sounded nice.
"Tomorrow evening," she agreed. "But nothing formal."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
That probably meant he had already planned everything.
Ayato stepped toward the shrine stairs, then glanced back. "I'll have someone meet you near the estate."
"I can find the dinner location myself."
"I know. I am attempting to be a good host."
Before Lumine could argue, he inclined his head to them both. "Until tomorrow."
Paimon waved. "Goodnight! Tell Thoma not to forget dessert!"
Ayato's smile warmed by a fraction. "I will make a note of it."
Before he turned away, his gaze moved past Lumine toward one of the smaller sakura trees bordering the overlook. For no more than a heartbeat, it rested on the far side of its trunk, where the flowering branches cast their shadows across the path.
His smile did not change, but something in his eyes sharpened.
Then he descended, and they watched until the last glimpse of pale blue disappeared between the trees.
"Ayato is always so nice to us," Paimon said.
"Who's that?"
Lumine nearly drew her sword.
She spun. Tartaglia leaned against the trunk of a sakura tree at the edge of the overlook, several paces behind them, arms folded and one ankle crossed over the other. His red scarf shifted lazily in the evening breeze. He looked completely at ease.
Too at ease.
As though lurking behind a shrine tree while she spoke to another person was a perfectly normal thing to do.
"You?!" Paimon pointed at him. "How long have you been hiding there?"
"Hiding is a strong word. I was enjoying the view."=
Lumine glanced at the tree. "From there?"
"Good tree."
She stared at him. He pushed away from the trunk as if that settled the matter.
"So," he said. "Kamisato Ayato."
"You were listening," Lumine said.
"Hard not to. Sound carries well here."
Paimon looked across the overlook. "We weren't speaking that loudly!"
"Loud enough."
Lumine bit the inside of her cheek. "What do you want to know?"
"Nothing in particular." Childe's gaze drifted toward the stairs. "You two seem close."
Something in the way he asked made Lumine pause. She was not yet sure why.
"He's my friend."
"Does he invite you often?"
"Why? Are you keeping count?"
Childe's smile remained easy, but his gaze had returned to the empty stairs.
"Professional curiosity. He's one of the most politically powerful men in Inazuma. I'm a Fatui Harbinger. Knowing his relationship with someone I regularly associate with is useful information."
"Of course," Lumine said.
"Exactly."
His fingers tapped once against his folded arm before going still.
Paimon looked from one of them to the other. "Why are you both being weird?"
"We aren't," they said together.
Paimon frowned. "That was even weirder."
Lumine watched Childe. Surely not.
There was one way to find out.
She glanced toward the stairs. "He is handsome."
Childe's fingers stopped moving. His eyes returned to hers.
"Handsome," he repeated.
"Very."
The smile he gave her was perfectly pleasant. It did not reach his eyes.
"Huh?" Paimon looked between them. "Why are we talking about whether Ayato is handsome now?"
Lumine kept her eyes on Childe. "Polite, too."
"How fortunate."
"Intelligent."
"So I've heard."
"And powerful."
Childe looked at her. "You seem to have made a thorough assessment."
His voice remained disturbingly smooth. Perhaps she had not imagined it.
"And he invited me somewhere nice."
"I can take you somewhere nice."
Silence.
The wind stirred the sakura branches above them.
Childe's expression changed. Not much, just enough for Lumine to know the sentence had surprised him as much as it had surprised her. Her heart gave one inconvenient beat.
Why would you? rose to her lips.
But asking would make the answer matter.
Before either of them could examine the moment too closely, Lumine looked back toward the main courtyard. "We haven't drawn our fortune slips yet."
Childe stared at her.
"Would you like to join us?"
Paimon's eyes brightened. "Come on!"
She flew toward the counter before either of them could object. After a moment, Childe fell into step beside Lumine.
"Lead the way, comrade."
They found Paimon hovering impatiently beside the bamboo cylinder. The shrine maiden explained the process, then held it out. Paimon insisted on going first.
She shook the cylinder with enough enthusiasm to alarm everyone nearby. One thin stick finally clattered free.
"Number two!" Paimon announced.
The corresponding slip was fetched and unfolded. Paimon's mouth fell open.
"Great Fortune! Paimon got Great Fortune!"
"Try not to shout it across the whole mountain," Lumine said.
Paimon ignored her and read aloud. "A joyful surprise waits where warm food is shared. Generosity will return to you before the day is done." She clutched the slip to her chest. "This is definitely about tomorrow's dinner. There will be dessert. Maybe two desserts."
"A remarkably specific interpretation," Childe said.
"Fortunes require interpretation," Paimon replied with dignity.
Lumine took the cylinder next. She shook it more gently until a stick slipped into her hand.
Her fortune was Rising Fortune.
"What does it say?" Paimon asked, immediately leaning over her shoulder.
Lumine moved the slip so they could both read it.
"A familiar road may reveal something unseen. Do not mistake what is unspoken for what is absent."
Paimon tilted her head. "That one doesn't say anything about food."
"How unfortunate," Childe said solemnly.
Lumine folded the paper carefully. She could feel him looking at her, so she took her time tucking it into her pouch before meeting his eyes.
"Your turn."
"I don't need a piece of paper to tell me my future."
"Afraid of what it might say?"
His eyebrows rose. "Afraid?"
That was all it took.
Childe accepted the cylinder and gave it one confident shake. Two sticks fell out.
Paimon burst into laughter. "You broke your fortune!"
"The cylinder lacks discipline."
"Put them back and try again," Lumine said, unable to hide her amusement.
On his second attempt, one stick landed neatly across his palm. He exchanged it for a slip and opened it.
His smile became very still.
He folded the paper before either of them could read it.
"What did you get?" Lumine asked.
"Nothing useful."
"Bad fortune?" Paimon asked.
"Modest Fortune."
"What does it say?"
"That the shrine should consider hiring a better writer."
"Then let us see," Lumine said.
She reached for the slip. Childe lifted it beyond her grasp.
Paimon darted upward from the other side, but Childe shifted the paper easily into his opposite hand. Lumine tried again while he was distracted. He stepped back just in time, laughing as both of them missed.
"Absolutely not."
"Why not?" Paimon demanded.
"Because watching the two of you try to steal it is far more entertaining."
Despite their combined efforts, the folded slip disappeared into his pocket unread.
Lumine narrowed her eyes at him, then stepped back. "Keep your secrets, then."
"Very generous of you, comrade."
Paimon crossed her arms. "Paimon almost had it!"
"You already have Great Fortune. Don't be greedy," Lumine said.
Paimon looked offended. "Wanting to know everything is not greed."
"What would you call it?" Childe asked.
"Curiosity."
Lumine glanced at him. "Professional?"
His laugh came quietly. "Naturally."
They started down the mountain together, Paimon floating ahead while she planned which desserts tomorrow's fortune might bring her. Lantern light pooled across the stone steps. Whenever the path narrowed, Childe moved behind Lumine without being asked, close enough that she could hear the faint rustle of the fortune slip in his pocket.
At the first landing, Paimon looked down at the small lacquered plate still in her hands.
"Oh! Paimon forgot to return this! Paimon will catch up!"
She sped back toward the courtyard before either of them could answer.
Childe watched her disappear. "Should we wait?"
"She'll catch up."
They resumed their descent. For several steps, neither spoke.
"Try not to let the Commissioner bore you to death tomorrow," Childe said at last.
Lumine looked at him. "Ayato isn't boring."
"You sound very certain."
"I know him. He's good company."
Something shifted in Childe's jaw. He looked ahead.
"I'm only warning you."
His hands remained in his pockets, his expression composed, but the carelessness in his voice had begun to sound deliberate.
"Is that friendly or professional advice ?"
"Friendly advice."
"From a friend?"
And there it was again. Tartaglia, Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers, rendered speechless by a single word.
Lumine smiled, not mockingly this time. Something softer.
She descended two more steps, then paused.
Perhaps he really was jealous.
The possibility no longer seemed quite so absurd. Lumine still did not know what to do with it.
Before she could decide what to do with that possibility, Childe spoke.
"And this dinner tomorrow," he said, as though the question had only just occurred to him. "Is the Commissioner entertaining anyone else?"
The casualness was too carefully placed. Lumine felt her suspicion sharpen into something warmer and far more troublesome.
Mischief, however, was easier.
She glanced back. "I won't be alone with Ayato."
Childe's posture eased.
Barely.
Lumine allowed herself one beat before adding, "Thoma will be there."
His expression stilled. "Thoma."
"Goodnight, Childe."
Lumine continued down the stairs before her smile could betray her.
Ayaka would be there too. She had simply decided that he did not need to know that yet.
Childe remained on the landing long after Lumine disappeared between the lanterns.
This was absurd.
Kamisato Ayato was politically important. That was all. A useful person to understand, and a possible obstacle depending on how Fatui interests developed in Inazuma. His questions had been reasonable. Strategic. Professional.
Ayato had reason to invite her. She had helped his sister, his clan, and his nation. Dinner between friends was ordinary.
And now there was Thoma.
His presence should have made the dinner less concerning.
It did not.
Childe knew the name. Housekeeper and retainer of the Kamisato Clan. Mondstadter by birth. Well connected among the people of Inazuma.
That was not enough information.
He had spent years learning exactly what he wanted. Strength, battle, the next impossible opponent. Wanting had always been simple. If something stood beyond his reach, he fought until it wasn't. If something stood in his way, he defeated it.
Then Lumine had arrived.
First as a curiosity then an opponent, then a comrade. Then something he had apparently begun thinking about while hiding behind perfectly respectable trees.
He remembered waking in Northland Bank after Teucer's departure, his injuries bandaged with delicate care and the warmth beside him gone. He remembered the Mystic Onmyou Chamber and the exhilaration of turning in battle already knowing she would be there. He remembered her fingers around his wrist and the words that followed.
"Come back alive," he murmured.
Then, more sourly, "Handsome."
The word irritated him more now that Lumine was no longer there to hear it.
Kamisato Ayato had smiled at her and invited her to dinner.
What had Childe wanted her to say? That she would not go? That she already had plans? That she would rather spend the evening with him?
There was the problem. Nothing existed between them. Not officially. No promise, no confession, not even an agreement that the strange thing growing in the spaces between battles was real.
He had no claim on her time. No claim on her affection. No claim at all.
The knowledge should have made the feeling easier to dismiss.
It did not.
Childe finally pulled the folded fortune from his pocket and opened it beneath the nearest lantern.
Do not pursue so fiercely that you fail to see what already walks beside you.
He read it once.
Then again.
Already walks beside you.
The words felt less like a fortune than an accusation.
He had spent his life treating everything he wanted as something ahead of him, something to pursue until he caught it. The possibility that what he wanted had already been keeping pace beside him was far more unsettling.
His gaze lifted toward the stairs. Lumine had walked beside him for most of the way down, close enough that the quiet between them had felt companionable. Now the path was empty.
The shrine, apparently, had decided subtlety was wasted on him.
He folded the fortune carefully and returned it to his pocket.
By the time he reached the foot of the mountain, he had already decided which Fatui agent to summon. Looking into the Yashiro Commissioner was ordinary intelligence work. Learning more about the man's close retainer was only thorough.
This was not jealousy.
It was caution, thoroughness, professional curiosity.
At least, that was what he tried to convince himself.
The fortune slip pressed against his pocket as if disagreeing.
Childe frowned and walked faster.
Even he no longer believed himself.