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76.26°: Coco's Secret Reaper Shop's Jelly Donut

It hadn't been a single conversation that had pushed her to her limits, but all of them. Everyone's thoughts. Everyone's outlooks. As many different opinions and possible futures as there were people in Shibuya.

Ladies Coco and Tsugumi had opened up her eyes to two of them.

Nagi had long considered herself quite the Def Märch fan, albeit not exactly a groupie; she limited her enjoyment to knowing their discography in and out, taking in their tunes with some regular frequency that waxed and waned as her moods shifted, and collecting Lord Ishimoto's various sets of merchandise, if for no other reason than that having a completely curated collection gave her a certain pleasurable thrill down the back of her spine and through her heart. A good thing that the Consumer Affairs Agency had banned kompu gacha back in 2012, or she would have truly completionisted herself out of house and home.

But Lady Coco, self-proclaiming as Princess Coco, and Lady Tsugumi, who was apparently visiting for a few days to Shibuya amongst the great reboot of Shinjuku, were in another class entirely.

Or had been, at least.

Apparently years they had met on the now-defunct Def Märch fansite -Live Remix-. Back then, not knowing one another's true identities, much like rindragon and Swallow in those early days of the Game and before, Lady Coco—nezumimi_LIVE—and Lady Tsugumi—bakuwaku_HYPE—had both strived to be the greatest Def Märch fan who ever lived, or at least had convinced themselves as such.

The two of them trolled one another endlessly in an epic cosmic rivalry that got them repeatedly banned off of -Live Remix- and earned the ire of their fellow Mixers, something that Nagi could never envisioned doing herself. One of them believed that a certain song represented the best of the discography and that fans had pulled Def Märch into the wrong direction. The other believed in the opposite, that Def Märch had never released better music than the most recent album, and the two clawed at each others' throats constantly until for reasons that Nagi heard but could scarcely fathom had become the best of friends and then eventually begun to date.

Even if she could not fathom, she could be happy for them, sincerely, agenuinely.

And now they had the capacity to convince Sho to go pick up dinner for them of his volition.

Sho had changed in his own ways in the past year, with or without Nagi. It made her smile.

Lady Coco at the time had written steamy fanfiction of the band members, and Lady Tsugumi had collected and curated her own merch. Both of them had worked to become the superfan in various ways. Nagi could only have bowed her head at the explanation, every word of it percolating down the grooves of her spine.

Except that...

That had been then.

Now, while the two of them continued to celebrate their half-fought happy ending, holding hands, sharing soufflé-cakes and shaved ice, kissing the whipped cream off each others' face and then their lips in ways that made Sir Tosai blurt out, "N'awwww!" Ladies Tsugumi and Coco no longer raffled their lives and ruffled their feathers trying to prove themselves as Def Märch's one and only top fan.

Lady Coco had...grown out of it.

The story had quieted Nagi more than the revelation that Her Ladyship had been convinced that the band members had it going on behind the scenes.

She still loved Def Märch and attended their concerts with Lady Tsugumi, but she kept her love to concerts, albums, and discussing them with her girlfriend. She hadn't found her previous self 'cringey' or anything of the sort—she had grappled with that years ago and won, according to her, although Nagi had the impression that she still found many things about herself 'cringey' if not that specific thing—but she had simply lost interest over time in that part of the fandom. Her friendship with Lady Tsugumi had gotten briefly bumpy during her transition, but they had many other things to speak to one another about. Def Márch had brought them together, but their friendship and later romance were self-sustaining.

Lady Coco had become...not necessarily a fan, according to herself. An enjoyer. Someone who appreciated that Def Märch existed and engaged with it, but didn't revolve her whole life around it.

Nothing to do with 'cringing' and everything to do with her own simple growth.

She could speak about its flaws, could carry on conversations about her opinions with Lady Tsugumi, and then she went home to her interests—the decora fashion and especially Top o' Topo, the extensive collection of guns that she meticulously maintained—without even needing to look up the news. She heard about album drops from Lady Tsugumi, mostly; otherwise she would probably find out randomly a few months later when she spotted something about it online in some unrelated space or just noticed it for sale at CYCO.

Perhaps one day she would grow out of Def Märch entirely.

Lady Tsugumi, on the other hand, had transitioned from one kind of fan to another. She remained greatly attentive to the fandom sphere, contributing to curative efforts, reading and writing analyses of the albums, collecting and collating merch, wearing those bat-wing jeans to every concert because the band's head had signed in black ink across one of the bat wings, barely visible unless one shown a specific light over it, but known to Her Ladyship. That didn't sound like Lord Ishimoto, at least not the present Lord Ishimoto. No, Lady Tsugumi had confessed, she was talking about the previous—it didn't matter.

What mattered, according to Her Ladyship, was that Lady Tsugumi no longer worried about what kind of fan she would be.

Well, she did in some respects: she made every effort to be a welcoming fan to long-time veterans and newcomers alike, to accept fans' differing reasons for enjoying Def Märch whether they came for the music or for an obsession over Lord Ishimoto, to support casual enjoyers and hardcore fans and everyone in-between, and so on.

But she didn't worry about whether she looked hardcore enough to other superfans.

In most instances. She did find it funny to engage in mock battles about merch collections with Nagi. But Lady Tsugumi only did that because they were fun, mock battles. Even if Her Ladyship 'lost' a given bout, Nagi didn't doubt her love of Def Märch, because her love of Def Märch and how she chose to express that had allowed her entry into the fun competition at all.

Lady Tsugumi only engaged in such battles because she and Nagi found them fun. And for no other reason. The moment one of them found it not very enjoyable Her Ladyship would cease.

Because she did so for fun, not to care about who won or prove herself the bigger adoring fan.

Likewise, she had admitted to herself that certain parts of the fandom just didn't engage her. She didn't read fanfiction, didn't look at art of the band members, didn't pry too much into their personal lives without the merchandise that Lord Ishimoto chose to put out as merchandise. She didn't think poorly of those who fanfiction or the like; it just didn't represent something that she enjoyed.

And she had realised, years ago, that this made her no less of a fan than others. She did not have to like all parts of a fandom to be a superfan. She could simply pick and choose, and be.

Lady Coco, who had grown out of Def Märch fandom, and Lady Tsugumi, who had stopped trying to fit herself into a certain imaginary mould.

And both happy, in their lives and with each other.

Two possible futures. Out of as many possible futures as there were people in Shibuya. Nagi's love of Elestra could go either way, or any number of those other possibilities, or a possibly all her own. But Ladies Coco and Tsugumi had shown her that her love for EleStra and her participation in the fandom could vary and transition with the seasons and the years, and that she would not necessarily lose herself.

Nagi had known that. Yet seeing it unfold in front of her, from two people who had remained just as close if not closer—

Even if she someday, say, did the unthinkable, hit her head, and quit EleSra, it would not spell the end to her and Sir Tosai's friendship.

"...and thereby I have realised that, while we must leverage all of our characteristics to overcome every adversity, this does not go hand-in-hand with forcing myself to engage with aspects that I, in the end, do not find fun. It would be the equivalent to me forcing myself to create teams dedicated to Lord Yari as well to Lord Tomonami. I have no ill will towards the Valley of the Hunt or Lord Yari's fellow hunters—as his fans are known—but 'twouldn't make me happy to construct such a team for the sake of being a 'true' fan of EleStra. Likewise, I needn't write self-insert fanfiction with His Radiance to prove myself a proper fan of His Lordship. The recognition that I so long for is not necessarily the recognition of all. Even a single friend's recognition...it is enough. I had been asking for attention, when I had needed affection."

Falling silent, Nagi clapped her palm against the counter to punctuate the ending of her statement. Then she perked up.

"Affection, and efforts at understanding, and acceptance of the way that I am. Sharing with my friends, and being shared with in turn, is the greatest recognition, for me. Something I never would have had the opportunity to realise about myself ere...my development of a friend circle. So late in life, but better late than never. I can construct those genuine bridges and make those genuine bonds, and in doing so form a place for myself. 'Tis hardly a hill; 'tis certainly no mountain. Yet this small mound of dirt is mine. Who knows what it shall be in the future? Q.E.D."

Now she fell silent, breaths slightly quickened, panting from the exertion, cheeks flushed, grin parting her lips. Perhaps a weird grin that looked more like a disdainful sneer to some. But those who knew her would understand it. And if they did not understand it...they could accept it.

As they had accepted all of her.

Because she was...all of her.

"Heh, nice, Specs. You've been busy the past month." Sir Hanekoma rubbed his scruff. "I was real worried abou'cha when you left WildKat last time, kid. I thought you'd hear what I'd said about the straight and narrow and burn yourself out trying to be something you're not." He eyed her, and she met his gaze coolly back. "How you feelin' about the whole thing? S'okay if you feel some kinda way about it. Disappointed or anything else. It'll pass. Like I said, you got so much stuff you're good at. Production, compassion, Dives and the Imagination needed, bolstering your friends—nothin' to sneeze at, writer or no."

Now Nagi's grin truly did gain something of a disdainful smirk, as she laughed and pointed to him. His eyebrows rose.

"Something up, boss?"

"Whoever said that I had decided not to write at all?" Nagi drew upon the sound she had heard from Sho so many times: she scoffed. "Yes, I have elected not to write EleStra fanfiction, because that is not something I have fun. 'Twas Lady Coco who pointed it out to me yesterday, citing what I already had mulled over: that specific fantasy no longer appeals to me because I have built up my own reality."

He hmmmed curiously. She could imagine a nami dash adorning the end of the sound if written. "And what did the young lady mean by that, hmm?"

"She meant..." Breathing in, Nagi steepled her fingers under her chin, slotting the short fingers of one hand between the stubby fingers of the other. "...that for me specifically, I do not want that self-insert fantasy. It appealed to me years ago, and I sought to capture that feeling, of wishing for someone to read my mind and make decisions for me so long as they benefitted me. But I am not that Usui Nagi anymore, and I do not think I will never be again."

Sir Hanekoma hummed in response. He didn't appeared convinced, or unconvinced, but something of a nonjudgmental inquisitiveness, curious to see where this was going.

"The Lord Tomonami who would read my mind and do the things that I wished for to me even against my spoken will—so that I would not be punished for asking for those things—was a comfort in my adolescence. I would never need to ask him for a spoon; he would simply have one, because he would know better than I would that I needed one."

"A spoon, huh?" With his hand over his chin, he seemed to be trying to fit the pieces together.

Nagi affirmed: "A spoon. Such as a spoon to eat shaved ice with. 'Tis not what I wish for any longer. What I wish for...is a space to make my own decisions. To communicate my needs, and to have those needs met, whilst I meet others' needs. A space where I can be selfish in seeking my own happiness and where others are, as well. A space...where I can wish to eat chocomint or mango shaved ice, notice that I need a spoon and do not have one for whatever reason, ask for one, and receive one without any judgment or punishment."

"Sure," Sir Hanekoma said amiably. "Think gettin' a spoon for shaved ice's a pretty reasonable thing to ask for."

"But that is the point I seek to make. 'Tis reasonable to request a spoon for shaved ice. But what of my other needs, those deemed much less reasonable? 'Tis not that I think anything I ask for ought to occur. If I wished for all the riches in the world to be mine, I would consider that both unreasonable and not a true need. Yet 'tis not only the things that are normal by popular majority opinion which qualify as reasonable needs."

Nagi spread her fingers out over the counter.

"Asking to wear modified clothes of my choosing instead of a school uniform. Asking to be able to have my own dorm so that I can retire somewhere with peace and quiet when I need to. Asking to be able to bring food out of the cafeteria. Asking to be able to skip certain kinds of assignments. Asking to be able to eat as I want to eat, with the way that my body responds, without judgment, and without being treated as a piece of entertainment for others. These are things which affect me in the every day, and yet which I have struggled or struggle to have met."

She flattened her palms out. The gloves she wore insulated her palms from the coldness of the counter. One of the spoons that Mother had given her, years ago, and which she now maintained for herself.

"'Tis easy to remember a spoon when most people eat their shaved ice with spoons. But I lack spoons where others do not even recognise that I might need a spoon...and therefore I wish for a space where I can ask for those spoons. 'Reasonable' or not. My true needs are 'reasonable'. We can determine, together, the 'reasonable' way of meeting those needs."

Sir Hanekoma's eyebrows quirked up further.

"Perchance the person who gives me the spoon—perchance I cannot meet any of their needs. But I can meet the needs of others, and so pass on the kindness. And the kindness that I pass on to the world, and the kinder world that results, will strive to meet the spoon-giver's needs as well, even if I am not the one who does so."

Nagi dipped her head.

"This is the world that I am trying to create for myself. And the world that I am. I have no need of this fantasy of Lord Tomonami, when I have...the real Sho, and all of his exquisitely human flaws, and his beautiful capacity for not mind-reading but for indifference, that makes me feel at ease. When I have the real Sir Tosai, and his desire to hold my hand, and his attentiveness to the needs I have expressed before. When I have the real Lady Shoka, and her willingness to ask someone I did not feel comfortable approaching on my behalf. When I have the real Sir Rindo, and his efforts to give me space to learn how to manage needs on my own, if I wish to, whilst having a safety net to fall back on."

His neutral inquisitie smile was giving way to more of a genuine one.

"When I have the real Sir Beat," she continued, "and his tolerance—no, his happiness to share in my enthusiasm even for that which he does not understand. When I have the real Lady Rhyme, and her connections with others as far-reaching as Mexican Dog, that I met so many people willing to show me kindness even though they had scarcely known anything of myself, Her Ladyship's kindnesses passed on to shopkeepers passed on to me. When I have all of those connections: all of the people who fed me, listened to me, advised me, taught me.

"Wherefore, thusly, do I need such a fantasy, when I have this reality?

"Some of those needs may sound 'normal'. Some of them may sound unusual to another's ear. That I appreciate Sho's indifference to my suffering at times? Yes. That is what I wish. His indifference grants me space in which to feel discomfort or pain—discomfort or pain that no amount of accommodations will ease away—without fearing that I am hurting others. His indifference does not preclude the compassion of his actions."

Nagi shook her head.

"'Tis not something that would fulfil everyone's needs. 'Tis not something that has to. I do not ask for everyone to need what I need. I do not think that everyone should eat shaved ice with a spoon. And I do not think that everyone should eat shaved ice with the same spoon. Everyone should decide how they eat it. Spoons, or chomping, or something else entirely. But I think that, those who do eat shaved ice with a spoon should be given spoons and allowed to do so. And they should be given the spoon that works for them. Mine may be small; another's may be large, or shallower in curve, or shaped in a way that I would not immediately think is a spoon."

She smiled. It may have been more of a smirk than a smile, but it was hers.

"Just because I do not immediately perceive it as a spoon does not mean 'tis not a spoon. The person needs merely to communicate their needs—no easy feat in of itself, this I know—and together, we can find a spoon that fits."

Leaning forward, Nagi lifted a hand to point directly at Sir Hanekoma, who glanced down at her forefinger as though asking, "Me?"

"You, too, have helped me along that journey, Sir Hanekoma. Thank you. For teaching me the difference between the surmountable and the sustainable. I believe that that conversation, all those months ago, prompted much of this introspection, along with all of the other circumstances and coincidences which have led to me to become the Usui Nagi who stands—ermermerherm, sits—before you now." Nagi motioned to herself, and then to him. "And so...thank you."

"Happy to help, boss. Good on you for takin' that lesson to heart and keepin' yourself healthy." Sir Hanekoma rubbed the back of his neck. "Happy that you got all that sorted out for yourself, too. You're a little like Pi, Specs."

Nagi curled her finger into a question-mark around her chin. "'Tis a compliment, I take it?"

"Mmhm! Can't go a second talkn' to ya without learnin' something new about humanity." He paused; she could sense the puzzlement klk into place. "But what's this got to do with your writing?"

"Hhhwagk! Ah! Yes! 'Twould behoove me to make the connection!" Nagi sat up. "I shall continue to write for my own sake! Because I find it...fun! To write with my friends, and to share with them! I need no other reason to write. It matters not to me whether I am any good. It matters not to me whether I can fit through that gate. And 'tis not a stain upon the sacred act of creation if I do write for the affection or attention of others."

Drawing up the leatherbound volume from her lap, she embraced it like an old friend, as much her recent companion as her shadow.

"And the writing gives me a chance to introspect. In writing I can explore feelings or actions that I do not necessarily feel in reality. I can try them on: bitterness and regret, for instance. I can learn things about myself in the process. I can develop analogies that I will carry forward into the future—such as that of the spoons. I can create my own fantasy, and I can curate my responses to it. I am not fitting a fantasy of fandom's design and trying to squeeze myself into it. I am...fantasising about what kind of world I want to live in, so that when I put the pen and paper away, I can move towards that better, kinder world. I can..."

She could feel the fondness in her smile, the tenderness, towards herself.

"...be kind to myself."

A breath. Slowly inwards, and slowly outwards. The smell of coffee, and warmly baked donuts, and a spicy tingle of pumpkin. Some yummy, some yucky, and all worth her time to try.

"And in being kind to myself, I can better understand how I can ask others to be kind to me. And in doing so, I am being kind to them. I do not ask for my mind to be read. I do not ask to even be understood. I ask to be given spoons, even if someone cannot see why it is a spoon, so long as the spoon-giving does not harm them. And I, in being kind to myself, and in being selfish with that kindness, put myself in a position to give spoons to others." Nagi peered at Sir Hanekoma through her lenses. "That is how it connects to the writing, and why I shall write even if I am not particularly good at it."

"Hm," Sir Hanekoma answered, continuing to scratch at his chin. "I think I'm pickin' up what you're puttin' down. Doesn't matter if you're any good at creation or not, since you're doing it for yourself. Guess if it's in your own privacy, I don't see what's wrong with that." His lips curved up in a beam. "Good on ya, Specs. Food's almost ready, by the way."

"Gnufufueh! Indeed, I can smell it. However." Nagi thwacked the leatherbound volume onto the counter. "'Tis not merely something I do in the comfort of my own home. 'Tis something that I would like to share. Even if it has nothing of value to offer you! Perchance it might offer something to someone else. Mayhaps it will not. Yet, on the off-chance that someone reads it and sees themself in it, and knows that they are not alone...or on the off-chance that someone reads it and does not see themself in it, and learns about another possible existence..."

She ran her fingers over the volume. The volume that had seen so much this past month. The volume that she had set out to leave pristine, but which she had covered in ink, and condiments, and saliva, and tears, and snot, and other bodily fluids, and soup-stains, and greasy fingerprints, and all manners of things besides. The volume from which she had occasionally torn out pages for sanitary reasons. The volume which still bore the marks of a month spent well-loved.

Lady Nishimura—Lady Shoka had asked, when she had gone to ask about Her Ladyship's pharmaceutical partner, when Nagi had met the sagely herbalist—used a pencil when she wrote because she preferred to erase mistakes in the moment, to save space and keep things neat and tidy.

And that was how she wrote.

But Nagi: Nagi would ever use a pen, unless she ever chose to change it. But the Usui Nagi of the here and now would use a pen and strike things out with a single line, so that all of the decisions she had thought about before, and all of her exquisitely human flaws and mistakes that lended themselves to writing something more hers, would remain. Because she wished to see them. And she wished to show others.

Even if messy. Even if unclean. Even if impure. No: especially if messy, and unclean, and impure. She was messy, and unclean, and impure. She was human. She was a person. And she could be all of those things, and still be, and still be recognised and loved, by herself, by her friends, by others who would only ever know her through her words on a far-away screen.

And that was how she wrote.

And there were as many different ways of writing as there were people.

"...I can share with you my work, if you wish. 'Tis long and meandering. 'Tis full of irrelevant, irreverent details. 'Tis verdant with verbiage. 'Tis a word hogs the hedges and lets the wilds grow sure and strong. 'Tis stuffed with things I like and dislike. 'Tis filled with my pain and my complaints, as well as my delight and my joys. My fears for the past and my hopes for the future. 'Tis something that I shan't take personally if you do not care for it, or even dislike it. 'Tis something for which I will listen to any feedback that you wish to share, if you have any and choose to share, and I shall choose for myself what to do with your feedback."

Nagi thumbed the pages. Once perfectly crisp, now curled at the edges, tattered, bent, well-loved.

"I shan't guarantee that it would be to your taste. 'Tis not exactly straight, and 'tis certainly not narrow. Rather, I set out to write something narou, at the start of this month, without any understanding of what shape my narou would have."

She grinned so widely that her cheeks squinching up her eyes set her glasses somewhat askew.

"And this, what I have written, with its blend of creation and curation, as I curate that which I love: 'tis my narou."

The world she saw through her glasses askew: a world, itself, as well.

"'Tis a story told in twenty-six instalments, plus an epilogue, in which I have curated my own tastes in Shibuya's foods. Thank you, Sir Hanekoma, for having given me the idea of using food for inspiration. I think, perchance, that you did not mean it so literally. But 'tis a curation of the foods that I like...and the world that I wish to live in.

"It is the story of Mount Nsena, and of creation and destruction. Ah! But no need to overexcite yourself.

"Only the first chapter is written, thus far—

"'Twas written yesterday, with my friends.

"But I have ideas for the rest. If those ideas should change and transform as I write, then so be it. I shall open up my eyes to the possibility that my narou will change even further in shape as I learn more about what I wish to write. But I know this: it shall be a curation of that which is important to me, and a creation of the fantasy which supports those, so that I can someday make that reality."

She nodded to herself.

"Yes...I shan't spoil the final line of the first chapter for you, but I encourage you to read the author's notes as well! The last sentence, especially. 'Tis an answer to a question that you did not even realise you posed, I believe. Because when you said it, you believed it in full, without question. But I questioned it, and so learned about myself. Read it if you wish! Gnishishishi..."

Sir Hanekoma ran a hand over the back of his neck. "Sure, kid. I'll give it a try. No hard feelings if I tell you it ain't beans?"

"None whatsoever, just as you have no hard feelings if I inform you that your cooking might be beans in the technical sense of 'including coffee beans as an ingredient' but which may be, in the proverbial sense, 'ain't beans'?"

He chuckled. "You got it, boss. Here you go. I do have the usual hot chocolate for you too, when you're done."

Setting down the plates, cups, and bowls, Sir Hanekoma slid them across the counter, as Nagi slid her tome the other way, open to the page of the story she hadn't yet given a name. But she would think of one, sooner rather than later.

Sir Hanekoma rested his hand on the book's spine. She watched his pupils scan each line of characters, up to down, right to left, working across the page in record time.

Perhaps, to a different eater, he would have finished his reading before she finished her eating.

But she was Usui Nagi. The big eater.

Fortunately her self-curation of her own taste had given her a good sense of the food even before she had tasted it. As usual, Nagi began with a sniff. The donuts: sweetbread, not too sweet, but she still found the glaze a touch too sweet for her without anything to temper it, and the breading itself dissolved to crumbs in her mouth too quickly. A two out of four. Something she would say, "Om...nom..." about. And even if she spoke repetitively, every time—so what? That was how she chose to eat. That was how she enjoyed herself and her life.

The coffee, as expected, had her doing spit-takes at the smoky—no, smokey—taste that clogged up her throat. "Ain't beans," Nagi decreed. "I shan't be ordering that again." At least not unless she ended up in another Game and needed to hork down something for stats, and soon.

The pumpkin soup in its stylish green bowl had that, and only that: a stylish green bowl. The chowder within: a samey, bland mess, with only the pumpkin as a vaguely interesting flavour, completely undone by its traitorous soup-y nature. "I shan't be ordering that again," she said, for the second time.

Yes, she categorised the food in tiers of four. Why not? It gave her a sense of what to do in a restaurant when she had reached the end of her rope. If she had the mental faculties to order something else, she could. But if she didn't, if she had reached her limits, if she simply felt terrible and needed food, then she could rely on the simplicity of the system she had created for herself, of the spoon she had given herself. The capacity to arrange her likes into a spreadsheet did not diminish her simultaneous ability to see herself as a full, complex, messy, sticky, unclean, impure, lovable human being.

If she assigned a trait to herself, if she called her a curator or a creator, compassionate or Edgelord, she called herself that out of a hope and a desire to embody that trait.

No different from writing her hopes and desires on the stone beneath that mossy fur on Sage Isu's flank.

Nor did it contradict the Usui Nagi she was in that moment, and the Usui Nagi she was becoming. In the moment that she ate: an eater. And in all the moments that she did not eat: a big eater, the hope and desire to embody that.

Each individual aspect of her formed but a single delicate aspect that could change, bend, and break. But fit together, in all of her complexities, and her sometimes contradictory traits, and the nuances interconnections between them, she became a bundle of sticks: harder and harder still to break entirely.

Just as she herself formed a single stick in a bundle with all of her friends, with all their complexities and nuances and impurities, whom she loved so very much.

Her traits didn't define her. The traits that she chose for herself, like the categories of foods, provided a framework for her to walk on, to know herself, to understand and accept for herself the person she wanted to become, the fantasy she wanted to realise into the world around her.

Then the crepe, which gave her pause at the difference between crêpes and crepes, if one existed, or if Sir Hanekoma could be bothered to write espresso instead of expresso but couldn't be bothered to write crêpe on his menu over crepe. Filled with strawberries and cream, which she might have enjoyed in another dish. But in the crepe, it merely led to a soggy not-bread outside and an overly sweet creamy inside with occasional random entire chunks of fruit. Such differing mouthfeels that she had to eat carefully and identify the strawberries ahead of time to prepare herself for them. "Om...nom..." she said, and yes: she would rate it that way, too.

At length Nagi leaned back in her chair and regarded Sir Hanekoma, who rattled around behind the counter—no chainsaw noises as she had heard in Shadow Ramen—and brought out a mug of hot chocolate with a cinnamon stick laid out on top, there for her to use if she wanted it, there for her to discard if she didn't.

It reminded her of their first meeting, when she had awkwardly asked Sir Hanekoma for what amounted to dating advice about Sho, and he had seen through her tactics straight to the lust-motivated inquiry she was actually making.

Nagi'd squeezed the cinnamon stick so tightly that it had exploded in her palm.

He'd accepted her so easily, just given her some advice on Sho's behaviour and psychology in general, and encouraged her to learn more about him.

The same applied to herself. To learn more about herself...

She'd call the hot chocolate with the swirl of dissolving cinnamon positively ambrosial.

Closing her eyes, Nagi took in the moment, comfortably seated at the WildKat bar, the cool conditioned air a welcome respite from the baking summer heat, the acrid coffee stench overtaken by the hot cocoa she breathed in from the warm mug held in her glove-insulated hands, someone she trusted and respected and disagreed with and argued against and would give spoons to and ask spoons from reading her work, the warmth of hot chocolate radiating from her belly through her entire body.

The moment would end, like the song would, but it was beautiful.

She heard the soft pomf of the leatherbound volume replaced on the counter, listened to Sir Hanekoma's hmmm. "Say, Specs, before I get into the feedback. Wanted to give you a heads-up. Since you've been my most loyal customer the past couple of months, huh boss?"

Nagi's lids lifted. Light returned to her vision. She blinked his solemn expression into focus. "Surely you shan't grace me with the decision to convert the pestilent and ever-present coffee 'aroma' into one of, say, hot cocoa?"

He chuckled. "Don't you wish."

She sighed dramatically. "Leave me not in suspense. Permit me to guess—more beans?"

"Less."

Nagi stared at him, eyes opened fully widely.

"It's a bit of a long story, but..." Sir Hanekmoa scratched his cheek. "I was thinkin' about what you said at the start of the month. About a shame that such a potential creative nexus—think those were your words—doesn't get anyone in here, since I'm technically on the hush-hush from the folks upstairs."

"I do vaguely recall a conversation of that nature..." Nagi squinted at him. "...during which you had mentioned the Legendary One?"

"Yep. Mystery Circle's been squatting the property for a little too long, ya catch my drift? Figured I'd pass the torch. At least for a while. Tide this place over and give Shibuya's stray cats a place to yowl together until I can yowl a little myself." Sir Hanekoma shrugged. "I'm tellin' ya this so you can get ready."

Nagi grasped the strap of her itabag for a moment while she processed a possible response. "O...oh. You recalled my request."

Sir Hanekoma chuckled. "Yeah, you said you need some time to get used to changes before they happen, right?"

"I-indeed..." She adjusted her spectacles. "My metaphorical vehicle must must see the bend in the road so that I can turn slowly, without swerving..."

"Awright. So, once Phones gets his hands on the place—I'll give ya another heads-up before it happens, so you'll know, but you've got a few weeks at least—it'll get a whole heckuva lot busier here. Won't be your little oasis in the middle of Shibuya, y'know? You won't see me much around, either, depending on where I'll end up. But relax. I'm not abandonin' ya. I'll be around. Might be a while before you can just swing like this by yourself. That's the twist, Specs." She watched his pupils flickering up in her direction over the tops of his half-shades. "If you really need me, you can ask Pi. He'll know where to get my attention in a jiffy."

"Hoeeehhh...mwweeeeehhhh..."

His wrist went limp and loose as if both apologising and implying something like them's the breaks at the same time. "You good, kid? Need anything? Like I said, telling you way ahead of time so you've got time to prep. And not swerve off the road, ya dig?"

"M-merely a moment..." Gripping the itabag strap tightly, she allowed her hand to skirt up and down its length, the rough-but-not-too-rough texture soothing her until she could hold the strap without shifting. Her heartbeat slowed after a time, and she let herself exhale the breath she'd caught in the back of her throat once the initial snakebite of hyperventilation had worn off. "'Twas unexpected. I shall...break myself of the habit of resting here ere returning to the bus terminal, I suppose."

"Well, it was gonna open back up eventually. Even when I take it back, y'know, it'll be hoppin' hip scene again."

Nagi's shoulders drooped. "Y-yes...'twas but a temporary watering hole."

Sir Hanekoma tilted his chin up. "But y'know, maybe we could arrange something. For one thing, I used to be closed half the time anyway." He chuckled to himself. "Awright, more like six-sevenths of the time. Could lob you a lob—of the key variety—and let you make yourself at home whenever ya want, whether I'm here or not. Got a few Reapers on my shortlist who make the cut, too."

It would take her some time to think through the implications. For now she dipped her head. "...many thanks, milord."

"And, well, I'll have to ask Pi for permission, 'course, but maybe any time you swung by, you could squirrel on upstairs. You seen it?" Sir Hanekoma jerked a thumb up to some vague direction behind him.

Shaking her head, she peered owlishly at him in perplexion.

He hummed. "Don't think he'd mind if I tell ya, but loose lips sink ships. I'll have to ask 'im first. Anyway, even if he says naw, I can get you something set up in the back. If you don't mind bags a' beans, you're welcome to hole up in my storeroom. Stinks of coffee, is what you'd probably say, but so does the bar—" He patted the counter like an old friend. "—and you're squiggled up nice 'n' cosy on that stool."

"I do appreciate," Nagi said immediately, "a locale in Shibuya to which I can abscond at any time without concern or judgment should I require some time alone. Previously, I've made use of telephone booths and the like, but occasionally people do still make use of them—the one at PARCO, at least."

"Heh, old superstitions die hard."

"However..." She made several thoughtful noises under her breath while Sir Hanekoma observed her, not rushing her, not making her feel like she were wasting his time, just considering. "...'twouldn't be the same without being able to sit here like this speaking freely with you."

He responded with a little smile and a quick exhalation through his nose, his hand on the back of his neck, so similar to Sir Tosai in angle of arm, and yet so different in feeling of pose. "Aw, kiddo..."

"I know very well that I cannot take up so much of your time, that this time with you has come about due to external circumstances and your inability to intervene." Letting go of the itabag strap—not yet the itabag itself—Nagi rested both of her hands on the same counter that he had patted like an old friend. It cooled her fingertips as though she'd dipped them gently in a placid pond. "Nonetheless, I make my selfish request. Should you consider it, permit me to clarify the request. It need not be when WildKat runs freely, or when you have patrons pleading for another pot of caffeinated poison."

Sir Hanekoma laughed, a warm and mellow sound, like the audible equivalent of a cirrus cloud.

"Yet, I would like chances to speak with you, in private. Not whilst customers clamour for cuppa catastrophes and I find my empathetic attention split a hundredfold, but simply like this. Your viewpoints...are fascinating. The ones that I agree with and the ones that I disagree with alike, 'tis always a learning experience. Thank you for the advice that I adopt and the advice that I do not adopt for myself but safeguard within my pocket to pass on to others who might benefit from it. Thank you for the comments that make me reconfigure how I see the world and the comments that make me ponder just how much of a narcissistic streak you have. Thank you for the humanities that you've shown me, and inhumanities as well."

His eyebrows arched. "Inhumanities, huh...?"

"Yes. Such as your comments regarding your art as objectively good, or such."

He hummed. Such an easygoing, casual, nonchalant hum, the kind that—for most—would diffuse any tension in the air with the deftness of an expert disarming a bomb. But Nagi had studied him on enough occasions to tell that he was choosing his words carefully, reviewing the humanities he had borrowed to determine which one might best operate for this situation. "Mind explainin' what you mean?"

"Certainly." Nagi swept her arm around WildKat's interior. Though dark and still now, she could picture it crowded with artisans from all walks of life, united in how the strongly imaginative sentiment of this establishment drew them in, as well as their terrible taste in hot beverages. "When we spoke initially, you implied that you had no ulterior motives to commercialising your art. You framed it in the sense of spreading your messages for the sake of assisting others. I agree that art can spread messages. I would like to do the same with my own art, after all: to allow people to see themselves, or else to see other perspectives."

"Right..."

"Yet, what is the difference betwixt myself wishing to be recognised as a creator and imbuing my works with my own worldview, and you intentionally preparing works that are popular for the sake of sending your messages?" The coolness of the counter kept her fingertips on it. "You wish to be recognised by the general populace as well. You recognise the need to do so, in order to spread your messages. Otherwise, you would not bundle all of your work together as CAT. You and I are different people, which naturally lends to differences between us. Yet, stepping back, I do not think that there is a true distinction between your motives as uniquely pure and artistic, and mine. We both recognise that to spread our message requires recognition. And 'I am a creator' is a message as well, even if you disagree with it."

Sir Hanekoma rubbed his chin. "Sure, Specs, but there's all types of messages. Don't think that a message about, say, opening up your world to others is the same thing as a message about closing yourself off, or bein' hateful."

"Yet that is a value judgment. I do not disagree: I would rather see and spread messages about opening oneself up than about closing oneself off, or acting hatefully. Yet!" Nagi raised one hand as if about to slam it down onto a buzzer at a trivia show. "That is a value judgment. There is no intrinsic moral fabric to the universe. The stars are indifferent to whether we are open or closed, peaceful or hateful, giving of spoons or punishing of requests."

"Hmm, getting existential, huh kid?" He fixed her with that gentle look of someone who knew better, the kindest of dismissals.

But she gripped the thread and refused to let go. "Your messages, including the ones I agree with, are not objectively good, nor objectively pure. You believe that you know the rest for humanity, and you consider Shibuya full of possibility, full of people who can imagine the future, because they accept your art widely."

He caught his head before he went through the motion, but she noticed how the muscles in his neck had tensed for but a moment: about to nod. How very human of an error.

"Yet there could be a Shibuya that rejected all of your art and nonetheless had a bright, kind, compassionate, and humanistic outlook. Shibuya is full of possibilities, but it is not because Shibuya accepts your art. It is because Shibuya is full of people, and people can change. There is no person, no matter how hurt, or bitter, or lacking in Imagination, or closing themself off, or...shadowing themself in the dark, or—" She gazed right through him. "—obscuring themself in the light, who cannot change."

"Hm," he responded.

Emboldened by his lack of outright dismissal, Nagi thrust her uplifted hand towards him, pointing rudely once more. A trait that she and Sho shared. "It is because our morals and ethics are subjective that we can change this world. If an objective morality existed, it would imply that the suffering in this world was fated, or meant to be, or inevitable. But the suffering in this world is only that: suffering. It is something that is probable, because humans shall ever err. But there is naught objective about it. We all have our subjectivities. About the foods we like, and about the messages that we consider moral, too."

"Hmmm," he answered.

"You act as though you know better than humans. There are humans who believe their tastes in the right: I know a ramen-maker who told me that even in a world where no one had heard of light ramen, she would try to introduce people to her taste. 'Tis not a crime to believe your moral values to be good ones that deserve to be spread. I believe the same. Else, we would not believe in the morals that we do. 'Tis not bad to critically judge others' messages, as I judge yours and you judge mine. Yet we must admit that these are subjective and that we are not uniquely pure. You preach the importance of listening to others' worlds, yet you view yourself as the arbiter beyond, above it all?"

She felt herself sneering. Not intentionally.

"Nay. I do not know better than you do, and you do not know better than I do."

"Hmmmm," he replied.

"I have had many people in my life tell me that they know better what I need than I do. That they are doing this for my own benefit, when they punished me for requesting spoons, or took my spoons away." Nagi jabbed her forefinger back towards Sir Hanekoma. The tip nearly reached his vested sternum. "So many people said this to me over so many years that I began to believe in it myself. My fantasy was of a man who could know better than I and act on my behalf against my will. But no longer. I have had enough of people claiming that they know better than I. I know myself. I am not perfect. I am flawed, messy, impure. I am learning about myself all the time. And I shall ask for my spoons. And, I believe—"

Nagi reached. The tip of her forefinger brushed against the scratchy fabric of his off-grey vest. Sir Hanekoma gazed down at the pale sliver of her flesh against the darker shade.

"—that you are like me. Flawed, messy, impure, and all the better for it. You do not know better than I, or anyone else. You have your own viewpoint, and you spread your messages, and you are as impure as I can, as all of us are. Your inhumanities are not bad. Humanity, in of itself, is not intrinsically good, nor inhumanities bad. Rather, 'tis how we treat others and ourselves, and how we think of others and ourselves: to add your rhythm to the cacophony, but not to presume that you can conduct it into a euphony. 'Tis for all of us, humans and non-humans, to decide together, collectively, the future in our hands in all of its subjective possibilities—"

Her heart was thundering so forcefully in her ears that she could hardly make out her own words above that mighty whuffling roar, but perhaps Sir Hanekoma could.

"No need to rely on special powers."

At some point, without noticing—whilst poking him with her forefinger, perchance—she had risen from her seat and now stood, panting so hard that she could taste iron in the back of her mouth, intermingling with the salt of her mucus and tears streaked down her face.

For a moment Sir Hanekoma simply looked at her, expression unreadable.

"Hmmmmm," he said, and then he lifted both hands, palms empty and facing her. "Y'know something, Specs? You're right."

Her arm drooped from the shock. "Fhsdfhgrawk!?"

"S'what I told...someone else in a similar position to myself. 'It's their world. They get to decide what to do with it.' Heh, I'd said that, but the same me was thinking about Shibuya as worth it because they'd agreed with my art."

Sir Hanekoma returned her gaze openly, sincerely, almost terrifyingly in how little light of humanity his eyes held in that moment, nothing but the endless void of infinity. No, not terrifying. Surprising. Startling. Something she had not seen before and did not understand. Yet even if she did not understand, she could witness and accept.

"I'm not sayin' I agree with you entirely. I'll hafta think about it. But you're right that I should be looking at myself with the same scrutiny I'd give anyone else." He paused, humming to himself. "Should take my own advice. It is your world—yours, collectively. You get to decide what to do with it, not me."

"Hehbhemggleh!?" Her mouth flapped uselessly open and shut.

He chuckled. "Take your time, specs. And here. I'm not sayin' I know better, I'm asking. You want another cinnamon stick? Think yours ended on the floor."

At least it hadn't exploded that time.

Nodding, she held a shaking hand out, but her fingers trembled too badly for her to do much more than to paw at the cinnamon stick he offered without managing to grasp it in hand.

After a frustrating moment, Nagi slapped her palm onto the counter and thumped her hand against the cool material.

"Hm? You want me to put it down?" She bobbed her head vigorously. "Sure thing, boss. Here, I'll put it in a bowl so it doesn't roll away. Actually—that good? Or you want it on the bare counter? That means that's good? Awrighty."

Several sips of hot chocolate and nibbles of cinnamon later Nagi had calmed herself enough to sit. "...many thanks, milord."

"Don't sweat it."

"...yet I wish to correct one thing." She took another long quaff of hot cocoa to ease the burning in her throat.

Sir Hanekoma had retrieved the floorbound cinnamon stick and was sanding off the outer surface with a paper towel rub and some divine elbow grease. "Oh, yeah? What's up, boss?"

"'Tis...'tis your world too. You live in it. You are not outside of it, above it all. I ask only that you see your rhythm as one of many." Nagi clenched the mug more tightly. At her request and suggestion, he'd gotten some reinforced ones rather than pure ceramic, and she could gratefully squeeze them without fearing a scalding and ceramic-sharded implosion. "If you see yourself as living in this world, affecting the world and being affected in turn, able to spread your messages with the same impurity as anyone else..."

"Heh. Hm. That's an interesting way of thinkin' about it. I'll give ya that." She watched him seemingly examine the floortouched cinnamon stick in his hand, the rub of orangey-brown on the paper towel. "Huh...I'll think about that one. Oh, and about your earlier question."

"M-my earlier question?"

He wiped the cinnamon stick a final time, then poured himself a cup of—mercifully for her nostrils—hot cocoa and swirled the stick around in its hot depths. "About having chances to come talk to me in private." Nagi blinked at him. "You got it, boss. I dunno when that'll be, but when things finally settle down, heh..." He shrugged. "Assumin' I'm still around and haven't gotten my wings clipped, that is."

Her palms flattened against the counter as she gripped the edges with her thumbs. "Merhegmegh..."

"Might be a while. But if I'm still around, you'll hear from me. You really march to your own rhythm, Specs. I like that about you." Sir Hanekoma nodded to himself.

"...th-thank you...?" Nagi sniffled. "'Twas a touch all at once. But it heartens me that you would choose to reach back out to me someday. I would like to hear more of your opinion, and your thoughts...and I would like to disagree with you in the future, to debate and see where our mutually accepted and mutually respected friction brings us."

He laughed out loud at that, so loudly that her ears twinged, but only for a moment. "Sure thing, Specs. Not every day I meet someone who walks right up to an Angel and tells 'em to quit acting high and mighty and start seeing 'emself like everyone else."

"'Tis what I believe," Nagi answered, "is the subjectively correct thing to do."

"Ha!"

"...may I have another cup of cocoa?"

He reached for the pot he'd made it in, his grip firm and sure. "You got it, boss."

"...and, did you have anything to say about my writing?"

Sir Hanekoma snapped his fingers. "Sure do. You want the long version or the short?"

Nagi grinned. "The short first, followed by the long."

"Awrighty. Short version's that you've got some good ideas, but this isn't my kinda thing to read. It's not bad, I'd say. But you're right. I like my art in bite-sized pieces. A three-minute song, graffiti you can take in in a flash. Doesn't mean there isn't plenty of details to chew over, but you can take it all in at once. So, heh, when I say 'straight and narrow', I'm really talking about my own taste."

She nodded. "'Tis an acquired taste, certainly, much like...your cooking. Some prefer bite-sized snacks. I am a woman of many hungers. A big eater. And a big reader as well. 'Tis merely what my taste, to have it be as long and as meandering as the serpent in the garden."

"My cooking, eh? Quick tangent: how'd you like the second half of the menu?" He winked at her.

Nagi grimaced. "Two, one, one, two, today, since you were curious."

He chuckled. "I 'ppreciate the honesty, kid. I like what you got goin' on with the world and the messages. Feels like the author's notes should've been its own little short story, since ya more or less word-vomited the themes back up more concisely than you had in the story itself. The dialogue's a little, eh? So-so. Everyone talked a little bit too much the same for my liking. Lotsa tangents that didn't feel like they went much of anywhere, even if I got the point of why they were here. A little bit too on the nose with the symbolism and fourth-wall-breaking, 'specially with the Shadowed One—also known as you, the author—giving his-slash-her little spiel at the end." He eyed her with a lopsided smile. "Shadowed One. Fun name, by the way."

She chuckled back. "Is this still the short version? But yes, 'tis a very fun name. A cool name, I would say."

"Sure is. If you've got the time, I can go through line by line. Just given' my subjective opinion. But if you think it's not worth your while 'cause you and I have different aesthetic tastes—"

Nagi raised her hand. "I said nothing of the sort. Yes, I do not like what you like, and you do not like what I like. Yet we still respect one another's thoughts, do we not? I can learn much from people who dislike my work, or do not understand it, so long as they are willing to accept it. So long as I feel...as if I, as a person, with the words that I have, am accepted, I can handle any critique. Or I would like to learn to do so."

She hadn't yet gone back to speak to Lady Sonobe, but she would. The newest thriller in the Mako Sine-ergy series had been revealed to drop within the next month.

Sir Hanekoma scratched his scruff. "Awright. If you say so. So, want the long version?"

"I do, if you are willing to give it. But, before we begin, did you like the final line of the author's notes?" Nagi leaned forward, snickering excitedly to herself under her breath from sheer uncontainable excitement.

"What, 'Strait is the gate, and narou is the way'? Yeah, I thought it was a pretty cute way to tie everything. You ever think about writing nonfiction? Like I said, the author's notes could work as their own essay. Could even have the pun as the title of it, get people interested in what you mean." Sir Hanekoma rolled his shoulders. "Up to you. You're right. If narou is your way, then you pick what you want to write. I'm just tossin' stuff out."

"I appreciate the tossing. I sadly lack the reflexes to catch, but I can at least pick up off the floor and dust off. I take it that the cinnamon stick you dusted off has not yet eviscerated your stomach from the inside out?"

As though in response, Sir Hanekoma twirled the stick around his mug and drank deeply. He licked his lips. "Tastes pretty good to me."

"I concur. Nonfiction? 'Tis indeed a mix of curation and creation..." Nagi poked her own cinnamon stick with her thumb. "I shall consider it. Should I find it fun, I shall pursue it. Not because I am 'good at it', but because I wish to."

"I get it, I get it. And good. Heh...I'd like to see what possibilities come out of that." Sir Hanekoma hummed thoughtfully. "The Wicked Twisters got me thinkin' about Imagination. Kanade Rindo...and his middling Imagination, who still managed to save Shibuya, by leveraging all his friends and allies together. Heh, what people are good at, eh..."

Nagi beamed. "'Tis when bundled together that humanity in the collective becomes strong, not when a single individual is particularly skilled at something. Sho learned this lesson, as well. He said it thus: he could keep increasing the coefficient of his term, but it would only ever increase the coefficient of a single term, when he could increase the coefficients of all the terms in the equation to acquire a higher range in a smaller domain."

Sir Hanekoma sipped musingly. "That so, huh..."

"Indeed. When we embrace that which selfishly makes us happy, so long as we do not harm others, there is so much more than we can do. The hot cocoa has a much more rich, delicious, and beautiful taste for the gluttonous luxury of the cin-namon stick, than it would with the self-bound, self-limited, self-tempered virtue-namon stick." She snickered at herself, smirking from ear to ear.

That drew a nearly incredulous laugh from him. "Here's some feedback: better work on that material, Specs. You're not wrong. Surpass your limits."

She studied him; those last three words sounded almost like a quote, or something he had said to someone else before, a bit distant, a bit wistful. When he said nothing more and only continued to imbibe his hot cocoa, she ventured: "...but, Sir Hanekoma, I was not referring to that line." She could sense the cheekiness of her smirk. "I believe you failed to see the final page. 'Strait is the gate, and narou is the way', is the penultimate line. Flip one more."

"Hmm?" He glanced back down at the leatherbound volume. "Didn't think I saw any text when I peeked."

"'Tis but two lines, written in the middle of the page. They are quite easy to miss if one is looking at the margins."

"Speaking of being easy to miss, that reminds me." Stooping down, he went for something under the counter. Nagi peered curiously after his sloped shoulders. "Not allowed to say who, but a certain someone wanted me to give you something. Apparently you made someone really precious to that person happy. So, when they heard that you like food and like eating big, they got you something. As a gift. They told me..." He laughed to himself. "...to let you know that usually these cost eighty-five real-world yen."

Nagi's brow furrowed. "R-real world yen...?"

"But that person said to tell you that you're a total weirdo, but the kind of total weirdo that can be good company. So as thanks for being kind to that precious person to them, they're giving this to ya. Here. I'd toss it out, but I don't think you'd want to dust this off. Oh, and I'm not supposed to call it a jelly donut, no matter how funny I think that is, so there you go." He winked. "I'm not callin' it a jelly donut, ya dig, Specs?"

"I dig so deeply that I shall shovel to the centre of the earth with nary a jelly donut in sight." She saluted.

Sir Hanekoma held out a wrapped package in glitter-glued pink and teal paper adorned with tiny sparkly Topo stickers.

She burst out laughing. All that supposed secrecy, and for—ah. Oh. Oh. No secrecy intended at all. Only a play at it. A silent exchange and understanding: that they would both know exactly who had given Nagi the gift, but not acknowledge it. Nagi would act with appropriate discretion, then, just as Sage Isu had acted with the Shadowed One, and follow suit. The decadent, salty, pressed-rice fragrance she could detect through the paper already had saliva frothing at her lips, at whatever present the mystery gifter had in store for her. She would keep it a secret—a secret one-hundred-and-thirty-eighth food from a secret twenty-seventh food shop, reaping what she had sowed, kindness for kindness.

"So what's with the last two lines?" Sir Hanekoma inquired, startling Nagi from her food-induced reverie and bringing her to wipe the trail of spittle from her mouth.

"A-ah...they are my final answer. At least, the final answer that the present me has. Perchance one of my future selves—tomorrow's me, my 'bestie'—shall have a different answer. We shall see. I change every passing moment, after all. But, for now..."

She breathed in, breathed out, and spoke up.

"'Tis the answer that frees me, so that I can face the future. I am the Usui Nagi that I am now, and the Usui Nagi that I am becoming. I am Nagi the Curator. I am Nagi the Creator. I am Nagi the Big Eater, Nagi the EleStraniac, Nagi the Wicked Twister, Nagi the Edgelord, and Nagi the—"

Her fist trembled.

"—Edgehog too: I am all of me. What will I do if I am myself, and no one is kind to me, no matter whether I only march to my own rhythm, or whether I try to break myself to fit an outline by someone else's hand? What will I do if I bare myself in sincerity, show the world my most honest self in my writing, and the world rejects me? What will I do...?"

Nagi clenched her fist and felt the gauze crinkle against the joints of her fingers: her friends' kindness, with her even now. She did not need to read the words that Sir Hanekoma could see in the red ink she'd borrowed from Sho and scribed by fingers Sir Tosai had bandaged, from her own heart, in her own hand, by her own choice, to say them out loud. Not a recitation, but the words that resonated the truth in the here, and the now. Her contribution to the melody of the mountain. For as long as she existed, she would live and learn. And for as long as she existed—

If the world chooses to become my enemy,
I will write like I always have!