Life as a part-time maid at Victoria Housekeeping Co could be summarized in three words: Chaotic, Loud, and... Sugar-deficient.
The main headquarters was, as usual, in a state of "aristocratic panic."
"Aaaaa! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I dropped a speck of dust on the floor again!"
Corin's panicked shrieks echoed from the drawing room, accompanied by the terrifying roar of a chainsaw. She was currently trying to "vacuum" a microscopic speck of dirt using her giant, spinning buzzsaw.
Ellen was lying sprawled on the velvet sofa, a strawberry lollipop bobbing in her mouth, scrolling through her phone for news on the latest Gashapon release. She sighed, her jet-black shark tail twitching lazily behind the sofa in a rhythm of pure boredom.
"Corin," Ellen drawled, her voice lazy around the candy. "It's just dust. It doesn't have teeth. It won't bite you. Turn off the saw before you cut Lycaon's coffee table in half."
"But... but what if the client sees it?!" Corin teared up, her hands trembling on the handle.
"The client isn't here. And if they come, I'll bite their head off if they complain." Ellen replied flatly.
She used her tail—agile as a third arm—to hook around Corin's waist and gently drag the girl away from the poor table.
"Ellen."
A deep, polite voice came from behind. Ellen didn't need to turn around to know who it was. She rolled her eyes but sat up (slightly).
Lycaon entered, holding a pocket watch. His white fur was immaculate, not a single hair out of place, and his posture was so perfect it was annoying.
"Your sitting posture is wrinkling your uniform," Lycaon reminded her, gentle but strict. "And how many lollipops have you had this morning?"
"Three. Just three," Ellen lied smoothly (it was five). She stood up, smoothing out her skirt. "Boss, no Hollow duties today, right? I'm heading out."
"Where to?"
"Refueling. My blood sugar levels are at critical red."
"Oh? If Ellen is hungry, why not try my new creation?"
A sweet, floating voice drifted in. Rina glided into the room, hovering inches above the floor. In her hands was a plate of... something.
It was neon purple. It was emitting green smoke. And it seemed to be pulsating.
"Pickled Cucumber Cookies with Spicy Chocolate Sauce," Rina smiled benevolently. "Very good for vitality."
Lycaon stiffened visibly. His ears flattened against his head. Even the perfect butler had fear. Corin looked like she was about to faint.
"Oh no... please..." Corin whimpered.
Ellen looked at the plate. She looked at Lycaon's terrified face. Then she shrugged.
"Sure. Whatever."
She reached out, grabbed a purple, pulsating cookie, and popped the whole thing into her mouth.
Crunch. Crunch.
Lycaon stared at her in horror. Corin covered her eyes.
"Hmm," Ellen swallowed. "Texture is a bit rubbery. And it's spicy. Needs more sugar, Rina."
"Oh my! I will take note of that!" Rina beamed, happy that someone appreciated her art. "Lycaon, would you like one?"
"I... I must decline. I have... silver polishing to do. Immediately." Lycaon retreated rapidly, abandoning his dignity to escape the cookies.
"I'm out too," Ellen grabbed her shark-shaped bag. "See ya. Don't die, Corin."
***
The Godfinger Arcade was Ellen's ocean. It was dark, loud, and full of prey. The air smelled of ozone and cheap popcorn, a scent that instantly calmed her nerves.
She walked straight to the Retro Corner. She needed to reclaim her territory on SNAKE DUEL: HYPER SPEED. She held the local record of 850,000 points, a score born of three weeks of boredom and skipped meals. It was her machine. Her high score.
But as she approached, she saw someone sitting in the chair.
A guy. Cheap black tracksuit. Long, messy black hair covering his face like a curtain. He looked like he was sleeping with his eyes open.
Ellen leaned against the neighboring machine, unwrapping a new lollipop. 'Let's see how long he lasts,' she thought, crossing her arms. 'The speed on this machine is set to 'Hardcore'. Most rookies crash in thirty seconds.'
She waited for the "GAME OVER" screen.
And she waited.
And waited.
The guy didn't move his body. He didn't lean into the turns or grit his teeth. Only his hand on the joystick twitched—small, microscopic adjustments. But on the screen? The pixelated snake was moving at light speed, weaving through a maze of its own body with mathematical perfection. It wasn't playing; it was optimizing. It was like watching a screensaver, perfect and terrifying.
900,000.
950,000.
999,999. [MAX SCORE].
Ellen's candy almost fell out of her mouth. Her tail stopped wagging. 'Excuse me?'
The guy let go of the joystick. He didn't cheer. He didn't pump his fist. He just sighed, a sound of profound boredom, like he had just finished filing taxes.
"Too easy," he muttered. "Input lag is terrible."
Ellen felt a vein pop in her forehead. Too easy? She had bled for that high score. She had missed dinner for that score.
She stepped forward, casting a shadow over him.
He swiveled the stool around.
He looked at her.
Ellen knew how she looked today. She wasn't in uniform. She wore high-waisted, wide-leg culottes in a pale grey-blue that swished when she moved. A black belt cinched her waist, and from it, a small silver chain dangled on her left hip, a tiny Star of David charm catching the arcade's neon light. On her feet were a pair of bright red canvas shoes with white laces—low-tops that looked well-worn from patrolling.
Her hair was jet black with striking red streaks on the inner layers that framed her pale, bored face. In her mouth, a lollipop stick bobbed up and down.
But she knew the most terrifying detail was behind her.
Her massive, sleek black shark tail, thick with muscle and tipped with a dangerous fin, swished back and forth with menacing weight.
Swish. Swish.
She saw him look at the tail. Then she saw him look at the sharp, serrated teeth peeking out from behind her lips as she chewed on the plastic stick.
Usually, when she loomed over someone—or just let her tail twitch aggressively—people apologized. They ran. They stammered.
But he didn't jump. He didn't gasp. He just... observed. He looked up, meeting her eyes with a familiar blank expression.
"This machine does not have your name on it," he said, his voice flat. "It says 'Top Rank'. I just filled in the blank."
The lollipop in Ellen's mouth stopped moving. She narrowed her eyes. He didn't stare back with fear; he stared back with eyes that looked emptier than a drained pool.
Crunch.
She bit through the candy, shattering it.
"Gutsy," she drawled, the corner of her lip twitching up to reveal her jaws. "I worked hard on that score. It took me... like, twenty minutes."
"It took me ten," he replied.
Ellen's eyebrows shot up. A spark of genuine interest lit up her bored eyes.
"Oh? You think you're fast?" She leaned in, invading his personal space. She smelled of sugar and something sharp, like sea salt.
"Want to prove it? 1v1. Versus mode. Loser buys candy for a week. Winner... gets to walk away without a tail slap."
He checked the time on a cheap black phone. "Fine. But be fast. I have to go home and... incubate."
"Incubate? Anyway."
She sat down on the stool next to him. A small crowd began to gather, whispering. The "Shark" was challenging a stranger.
"Duel!"
The match began.
Ellen played aggressively. Her style was explosive. She attacked relentlessly, her reflexes sharp, cornering his snake, trying to force him into a trap. She played like a predator hunting prey, cutting off angles, moving with bursts of speed.
But he didn't flinch.
His eyes were glued to the screen. The world around him—the noise, the crowd, her shark tail swishing near his leg—faded away. Only pixels remained.
He moved with cold, mathematical certainty. He didn't attack; he simply outmaneuvered her, cutting off her escape route.
[GAME OVER]
[WINNER: CID]
The screen flashed the victory message. He relaxed his hands, exhaling a long breath.
Ellen stared at her "YOU LOSE" screen. Her tail stopped swishing. She looked stunned.
"Tsk," she clicked her tongue, standing up and dusting off her culottes. "Fast hands. You cheating?"
"No," he said shortly, standing up as well. "Just geometry."
She stared at him for a second longer, then shrugged. "Alright. I'll let it slide this time. You're not bad."
She reached into the pocket of her wide trousers and pulled out a wrapped lollipop—strawberry flavor. She tossed it to him.
"Take it. Consolation prize for having to look at my losing screen."
He caught it. "I won."
"Yada, yada," she waved a hand dismissively, turning to leave. "I'm Ellen. Remember it. Next time, bring your wallet. I don't lose twice."
She walked away, giving him a firm thwack on the shin with her tail as she passed. Just to let him know who was actually in charge.
***
One day later, the arcade was a war zone. It was Sunday, which meant it was packed to the rafters with screaming kids and button-mashing amateurs.
Ellen sat at her favorite spot in the fighting game corner—the Player 1 seat of the Street Fighter III cabinet. She was bored out of her mind. She had scared off the last challenger ten minutes ago, and now her massive black tail was occupying the entire aisle behind her, swishing lazily to the bass-boosted beat. It acted as a natural "Do Not Disturb" barrier; no one dared to get too close to the fin.
She wore an oversized black t-shirt with a skull print that hung off one shoulder, paired with short black denim shorts. A chocolate bar dangled from her mouth like a cigar as she stared at the "INSERT COIN" screen.
'Boring. Is there no one in this city who can actually play?'
Then, she saw a reflection in the dark screen of the neighboring machine.
A figure in a cheap black tracksuit navigating the crowd like a shadow. Long, messy hair. Dead eyes.
It was him. The Snake Guy.
He paused. He looked at her back. He looked at her tail blocking the path. He clearly considered turning around and leaving to avoid trouble.
'Oh no, you don't.'
Ellen swiveled her chair around instantly, catching him before he could escape.
"Yo," she drawled, her voice lazy but her eyes locking onto him with a glint of recognition. "If it isn't Snake Guy. Where you going?"
He stopped. "Looking for a machine."
"This one's open," she jerked her chin toward the empty Player 2 seat next to her. "Sit down. Playing against the CPU is boring. They don't scream when they lose."
He hesitated. He looked at the seat, then at her sharp smile.
"Unless you're scared?" she added, a small smirk playing on her lips.
That did it.
He walked over and sat down. Clink. He dropped a token into the slot.
"Change of pace today," Ellen said, slapping the control panel with satisfaction. "Street Fighter III. A real fighting game. Let's see if those fast hands of yours work when I'm punching back."
[SELECT FIGHTER]
Ellen picked Chun-Li. She knew this character's frame data by heart. She knew every combo, every mix-up. She was going to destroy him.
He picked Ken. The basic shoto. 'Predictable.'
"Best of five," she announced, popping the chocolate into her mouth. "First to three wins. Ready?"
"Ready," he said.
[ROUND 1]
The whistle blew. Ellen didn't hold back.
She went full aggression. Corner carry in three seconds. High-low mixups. Tick throws.
He couldn't even breathe. He blocked wrong. He mashed buttons. He looked completely disoriented.
KO.
[PERFECT]
Ellen suppressed a yawn as the golden text flashed on screen.
Winner: Player 1.
Score: 0-1.
[ROUND 2]
"Gonna cry?" she smirked.
He didn't answer. But she noticed something shift. He adjusted his stance. He stopped attacking blindly. He stopped mashing.
He just... watched.
He watched her spacing. He counted her rhythm.
She won the second round easily, but he had landed a few counter-hits. He was learning.
Winner: Player 1.
Score: 0-2.
[ROUND 3]
"Match point," Ellen muttered, sounding bored. "Let's wrap this up."
She jumped in for her usual combo starter. It had worked every time so far.
BOOM.
Ken rocketed upwards. SHINRYUKEN!
Ellen flinched. 'What?' An anti-air? He read the jump?
Before she could recover, he dashed in. A punish combo. Clean. Precise.
Ellen sat up straighter. 'Okay. He had some skills in the pocket huh?.'
Winner: Player 2.
Score: 1-2.
[ROUND 4]
The air in the corner heated up. The clicking of buttons became violent.
This was a slugfest. He wasn't playing like a newbie anymore. He was teching her throws. He was whiff-punishing her pokes. He wasted no movement.
It went down to the wire. He snatched the win with a forward throw in the final second.
Winner: Player 2.
Score: 2-2.
A crowd had started to gather behind them. Ellen felt her tail thrashing against the floor in agitation. She was the "pub stomper" of Godfinger. She was not losing to a novice.
[FINAL ROUND]
Tension.
Ellen bared her sharp teeth. "Alright. Playtime's over."
She switched strategies. She turtled. She used Chun-Li's range to keep him out, chipping away at his health bar pixel by pixel.
50%... 30%... 10%...
He was cornered. She had him.
His health bar dropped to nothing.
The Magic Pixel.
1 HP.
Anything would kill him. Even a blocked special move would kill him via chip damage.
Ellen chuckled. "Checkmate."
Her meter was full. Her fingers flew across the input.
Super Art II: Houyoku-sen.
She unleashed it. Chun-Li flashed blue and launched the barrage. Seventeen lightning-fast kicks.
If he blocked, he died. If he got hit, he died. There was no escape.
'Die.'
CLANG.
A metallic spark.
Ellen's eyes widened.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!
The sound wasn't the dull thud of a block. It was the sharp, piercing ring of a Parry.
He wasn't blocking. He was tapping forward. Into the attack. Seventeen times. In a fraction of a second.
'No way.'
He wasn't human. His purple eyes were wide, unblinking, reflecting the flashing lights. His hand on the stick was a blur.
CLANG!
Sixteen.
The final kick came—the overhead finisher. He didn't wait. He jumped.
He parried the last kick in mid-air.
CLANG!
Seventeen.
Chun-Li stopped, recovering from the move, completely vulnerable.
"My turn," he murmured.
Still airborne, he came down with a heavy kick. He landed, connected a medium kick, and canceled it into his own Super Art.
Super Art III: SHIPPU JINRAIKYAKU!!!
Ken unleashed the flaming kicks. Ellen watched her full health bar evaporate in a blaze of fire.
[K.O.]
[WINNER: PLAYER 2]
The arcade erupted. It was pandemonium. People were screaming.
Ellen stared at the "LOSE" screen. Her brain had flatlined.
'He parried the Houyoku-sen? On reaction? With 1 HP?'
She turned to look at him. He had let go of the joystick. His hand was trembling. He was hunched over, rubbing his forehead like his brain was overheating.
"Wow," she shook her head, the arrogance completely gone. "That was... insane."
She reached for an unopened can of cold soda on the console and pressed it against his cheek.
"Here," she said, her voice softer. "Drink. You look like you're gonna pass out."
He took the can, pressing it against his throbbing head. "Thanks."
"Good game," she stood up, stretching her arms over her head. "I haven't lost like that in... ever. But don't get cocky. Next time, I'm breaking your guard."
She grabbed her bag and turned to leave. The crowd parted for her like the Red Sea.
Suddenly, she stopped. She turned around and walked back to him.
Thwack.
Her tail swung out and tapped him on the shoulder—gentle, but firm.
"Hey," she said, tilting her head, her red eyes locking onto his. "What's your name?"
He blinked. "Cedric."
"Cedric..." she tested the name on her tongue. A small smile curled her lips, revealing a sharp tooth. "Alright, Cedric. See you around."
She waved over her shoulder and sauntered out, her tail swaying happily behind her.
…
…
…
The next few days, bad luck followed Ellen into Box Galaxy.
The shop was a neon nightmare of consumerism, smelling of fresh vinyl and desperate wallets. A cheerful 8-bit tune played on a loop, mocking everyone who entered with empty pockets.
Ellen stood in front of the Demu: Aquarium Series display shelf, a look of murderous intent on her face. Her wallet was significantly lighter, and her mood was darker than the depths of the ocean.
In her hands were four unopened boxes. She ripped the first one open.
Yellow Sea Horse.
"Ugh." She tossed it into her basket with a clatter.
She ripped the second one.
Yellow Sea Horse.
"Are you kidding me?" Her tail twitched violently, knocking a box of trading cards off the lower shelf. She ignored it.
Third box. Yellow Sea Horse.
Fourth box. Yellow Sea Horse.
"This game is rigged!" Ellen hissed, crushing the cardboard box in her hand until it crumpled. "Useless, I just want the Shark! Is that too much to ask? Why does the universe hate me?"
As someone with shark genes, owning the Shark Figure was a matter of honor. It was the principle of the thing. But RNG (Random Number Generation) was slapping her in the face repeatedly. She felt the urge to bite the display case. She considered just eating the Sea Horses out of spite.
"Maybe if I buy the whole shelf..." she muttered, calculating her remaining funds. It would mean no snacks for a month. Unacceptable.
And then, the "Guy" appeared again.
"What are you looking for?"
Ellen jumped slightly. Her massive shark tail, which was resting heavily on the floor, swished aggressively in reflex, knocking a box of trading cards off the lower shelf.
She spun around, her red eyes narrowing as she recognized the intruder.
"Oh. It's you," she drawled, relaxing her posture but keeping the scowl. "The Arcade Guy. Don't tell me you're here to steal my gacha luck too? Because I have none left."
"I am buying a case," Cedric replied, holding up a matte black brick of a case. He bent down and picked up the fallen trading cards, placing them back on the shelf with annoying neatness.
He glanced at her pile of open boxes. "You are hunting?"
"I'm collecting," Ellen corrected defensively, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm trying to pull the Shark. It's the only one I want. But I keep pulling this curly yellow thing."
She pointed a gloved finger at the army of Sea Horses lined up on the shelf. "Look at them. They're mocking me."
She watched as Cedric looked at the remaining boxes. There were about fifteen left. The abrasive chiptune music of the store was clearly giving him a headache, and he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. But he stared at the boxes with a mild, detached curiosity.
"I'll buy one," he said.
"Don't blame me if you get something you don't like," Ellen warned, popping her lollipop back into her mouth. "This batch is cursed."
He grabbed a box at random from the middle of the stack. He walked to the counter, paid for it and his phone case, then returned to stand next to her.
He ripped the tab open.
Rrrrip.
He pulled out the figure.
It was a boy wearing a grey shark hood with a sharp fin on top.
The Shark.
THWACK.
Ellen's tail hit the shelf again, harder this time.
"No way," she whispered, taking the lollipop out of her mouth.
She let out a short, disbelief huff. She looked at her army of yellow Sea Horses, then at the Shark in his hand.
"Of course," she muttered to herself. "I buy five and get a cavalry of failures. You buy one for fun and get the one I actually want. RNG hates me."
Cedric looked at the Shark figure in his hand. Then he looked at the pile of Sea Horses next to Ellen.
"I prefer that one," he said, pointing at a Sea Horse.
Ellen blinked. "The Sea Horse? Really?"
"Yes," he said.
He held out the Shark figure to her.
"Trade?"
Ellen stared at him. She looked at the Shark figure she desperately wanted. Then she looked at his deadpan face. Was he mocking her? No. His purple eyes were completely serious.
"You want to trade... the Shark... for a duplicate I was about to give away?"
"Yes," he said. "I like the yellow one."
A slow smirk spread across Ellen's face.
"Deal," she said immediately.
She grabbed a fresh Sea Horse—still in its foil—from her pile and swapped it with the Shark in his hand.
"No take-backs," she said, pocketing the Shark figure happily. "Finally. My collection is complete."
Cedric pocketed the yellow Sea Horse. He looked satisfied.
"Pleasure doing business," he said.
Ellen stretched her arms above her head, her joints popping satisfyingly. She checked her phone.
"Man, opening boxes is exhausting," she sighed. "My brain sugar is depleted. I need a refill."
She looked at him. He was weird. He was quiet. But he wasn't annoying.
"Hey," she said. "I'm getting a drink. You coming? My treat. Since you basically just handed me the one I wanted."
Cedric hesitated. He seemed to be listening to something invisible for a second. Then he nodded. "Fine."
…
…
…
They sat at a small round metal table under a parasol outside Coff Cafe. It was a prime spot for people-watching, but neither of them seemed interested in the crowd.
Ellen had ordered a "Mochaccino". Cedric sat opposite her with a glass of plain iced water.
Ellen took a long sip of her drink, humming happily as the sugar hit her bloodstream. She licked a bit of foam from her lip, her eyes half-closed in contentment.
"So," she said, pointing her straw at his glass. "You really drink water at a cafe? You're so boring. Life is bitter enough, why drink boring water?"
"Hydration is essential," Cedric replied, watching the condensation bead on his glass. "Sugar causes energy crashes. Caffeine causes jitters. And water is... water."
"Sugar causes happiness," Ellen corrected. "And sleepiness. Which is the ultimate goal."
A light breeze blew through Sixth Street. It was refreshing, cutting through the afternoon heat. However, for Cedric, it seemed to be a nuisance.
His long, untamed black hair was loose again today.
The wind whipped a thick strand of hair across his face. He brushed it away, looking annoyed.
He picked up his water glass to take a drink. The wind blew again, stronger this time. His heavy bangs flopped forward, the ends dipping dangerously close to the surface of the water.
"Tsk," he made a noise of irritation.
He tried to tuck the hair behind his ear, but the strands were too silky and heavy; they slid right back out, covering his eye like a curtain. He tilted his head awkwardly, trying to drink from the side of the glass without eating his own hair. It was a losing battle.
Ellen watched him over the rim of her cup. She watched him struggle for a full minute, her expression shifting from boredom to mild amusement, and finally to a sort of twitchy irritation.
"You know," she drawled, setting her cup down with a clack. "Watching you drink water is exhausting. You look like you're fighting a squid."
"I forgot my ribbon," he muttered, brushing his bangs out of his eyes for the tenth time. "Structural failure. The wind is hostile today."
Ellen rolled her eyes. She reached into the pocket of her loose shorts.
"Ugh. Just... here. Hold still."
She pulled out a spare hair clip. It was black, shaped like a small, jagged shark jaw.
Before Cedric could process what was happening, Ellen leaned forward. She didn't just reach across; she really leaned in, her torso crossing the small table, invading his personal space completely.
He stiffened. He flinched slightly, pressing his back against the chair, his eyes widening.
"Don't move," she ordered, her voice right in front of his face.
Her hand reached up. Her fingers brushed against his forehead—cool and callous-tipped from holding a weapon.
She gathered his messy bangs. She swept the heavy curtain of black hair up and to the side with surprising gentleness.
Click.
She snapped the black clip into place, securing his hair away from his face.
"There," she said, her hand still lingering near his temple for a fraction of a second to adjust the grip. "Problem sol—"
She stopped.
With the hair pulled back, Cedric's face was completely exposed to the afternoon sun.
Ellen found herself staring.
Without the gloom and the shadows, he looked... different.
His skin was pale and flawless. His cheekbones were high and sharp, giving him a delicate, almost aristocratic look.
His deep purple eyes, usually half-hidden and dull, were now fully visible. They were framed by long, dark lashes that cast shadows on his cheeks. They weren't dead; they were just quiet.
He didn't look like the weird arcade guy. He looked... unexpectedly soft. Like a porcelain doll that someone had dressed in a cheap tracksuit.
'Oh,' Ellen thought, her brain stalling for a microsecond. 'He actually has a face. And it's...'
She didn't finish the thought.
She suddenly realized her hand was still hovering near his temple. She realized she was leaning over the table, just inches away from him.
She could see the flecks of violet in his irises. She could feel the warmth radiating from him.
It felt suddenly... intimate. Too intimate.
A faint, subtle pink tint dusted her cheeks. It wasn't a full blush, but a flicker of self-consciousness that was rare for her.
She slowly retracted her hand, clearing her throat quietly. She sat back in her chair, breaking the eye contact and looking down at her drink.
"Yeah," she mumbled, swirling her straw a bit aimlessly. "That works. It's... better. You can see now."
Cedric blinked, touching the clip. "Is it secure?"
"It's fine," Ellen said, keeping her gaze strictly on the street traffic. "Just... drink your water."
She took a sip of her coffee, trying to look bored, but she shifted in her seat, crossing her legs the other way.
"…"
"…"
The silence was a little awkward, vibrating with the static of the "hair clip incident."
Cedric sipped his water, unbothered. He reached up and touched the black clip. It held his heavy bangs back perfectly. It was efficient. Practical.
Opposite him, Ellen was slowly regaining her composure. The scent radiating from Cedric—a cool mix of mint and herb—was doing its job. It was hard to stay tense when the air smelled like a spa.
She tapped her fingers against the metal table, eager to change the subject.
"So," she said, her voice regaining its usual drawl.
Cedric checked the date on his phone screen. His eyebrows knitted together slightly.
"26 days," he murmured, his voice heavy with a sense of impending doom.
"Hm?" Ellen looked up, blinking. "What's in 26 days?"
"School," Cedric said gloomily. "Semester starts."
Ellen groaned, a long, soulful sound of misery. She let her head fall back against the top of the chair, staring at the underside of the parasol.
"Ugh. Don't say the 'S' word. My summer freedom is evaporating. I have so much sleep to catch up on before the grind starts again."
She lifted her head, looking at him with genuine curiosity. She realized she didn't actually know anything about him other than his gaming skills and his weird luck.
"Wait," she asked, swirling her straw. "So you actually go to school? I thought you were... I don't know, a NEET?"
"I am a student," Cedric corrected, slightly offended. "Technically. I have papers."
"Oh? Where do you go? Some private cram school?"
"New Eridu High," Cedric replied.
Ellen's eyebrows shot up. Her red eyes widened.
"Seriously? That's my school."
She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm, scanning him with a new interest.
"I haven't seen you around campus. You're hard to miss... well, actually, you're probably very easy to miss if you wear black and hide in corners."
"I am new," Cedric said. "Year 1. Transferring in."
A slow, lazy smirk spread across Ellen's face. The awkwardness from before vanished, replaced by a sudden sense of hierarchy. She sat up straighter.
"Year 2," she said, pointing to herself with her thumb. "That makes me your Senpai. Lucky you."
Cedric blinked. "Senpai?"
"Yeah. Upperclassman. The one you have to show respect to," she teased, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Maybe buy me bread at lunch if I'm too lazy to walk to the cafeteria."
"Illogical," Cedric countered flatly. "You have legs. And a tail. Your mobility is superior."
Ellen laughed, a short, sharp sound.
"You're fun to tease. But seriously, rookie, listen up. Since you're my kouhai, I'll give you a piece of free advice. Vital survival intelligence."
She pointed her spoon at him like a baton of authority.
"The gym teacher," she said darkly. "Mr. Pan. He's a Panda Thiren."
"Panda?" Cedric imagined a slow, bamboo-eating creature. "Sounds... harmless."
"That's the trap!" Ellen slammed her hand on the table lightly.
"He looks cute. He looks fluffy. But he is a demon wrapped in fur. He believes in 'Youth' and 'Spirit' and 'Sweat'."
She shuddered dramatically.
"He makes us run marathons until we see the light at the end of the tunnel. If you want to survive his class with your sanity intact, you need a strategy."
She leaned in, whispering like she was sharing a cheat code.
"Fake a cramp on day one. Establish a history of 'weak ankles'. If you sell it well enough, he lets you sit on the bleachers and keep score."
Cedric nodded solemnly, taking mental notes. This was valuable data.
"Fake cramp. Weak ankles. Avoid 'Spirit'. Understood."
"Good boy," she smirked. "You learn fast."
They finished their drinks in a comfortable silence. The sun was beginning to dip lower, casting long shadows across Sixth Street.
"Alright," Ellen said, standing up and stretching her arms over her head.
"Break's over. I gotta go before my actual job calls me and screams."
She grabbed her bag from the ground. As she turned to leave, she spun a little too fast in her haste.
Immediately, she felt the heavy drag of her tail swinging out wide behind her due to the centrifugal force. A sinking feeling hit her stomach. She knew the layout of the table behind her. She knew exactly where that glass of water was standing. And she knew her tail was on a collision course.
'Crap. I'm going to break it.'
She braced herself for the sound of shattering glass and splashing water.
Thump.
No crash. No splash. Just a soft, dull impact.
Ellen paused. She turned back slowly, dreading the mess.
But there was no mess.
Cedric was sitting there, calm as a statue.
His left hand was holding the glass steady on the table. His right hand... was holding her tail.
Ellen's breath hitched.
He had caught it.
He wasn't squeezing. He was absorbing the momentum, cradling the heavy muscle of her tail with his bare palm to stop it from sweeping the table clear.
"Tail," he said simply, looking her in the eye. "Watch your hitbox."
Ellen stared at him. She looked at his hand pressing against her scales. It was cool and firm.
Usually, if someone touched her tail without permission, her instinct would be to thrash or bite. It was a weapon, sensitive and dangerous.
But he wasn't attacking. He was stabilizing.
For a second, the sounds of the street faded. She didn't pull away immediately. She felt the strength in his grip, the strange calmness that radiated from him.
He wasn't afraid of her. He just saw a problem and fixed it.
She gently pulled her tail from his grip. A strange shiver ran up her spine. Not a bad shiver. Just... surprised.
"Not bad," she said, her voice a little huskier than she intended.
She couldn't just walk away on that note. She needed to reclaim the upper hand.
She swung her tail again—deliberately this time—and lightly tapped his cheek with the flat of the fin.
Pap.
It wasn't hard enough to hurt—barely a love tap—but it was firm enough to make him blink.
"Why you hit me?" he asked, rubbing his cheek, confused.
Ellen looked back over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes with a mix of mischief and warning.
"Don't get any ideas," she said coolly. "Next time? Don't touch without asking. A Shark Thiren's tail isn't for petting. It's not something just anyone can handle. Remember that, my kouhai."
"Understood," Cedric replied. "High-value asset."
"Oh, and hey," she noted, her tone casual but her eyes lingering on him. "You haven't been to Godfinger lately."
"I checked the leaderboards," she continued, leaning on one leg. "I have no one to play with for days. It's boring playing against scrubs."
Cedric blinked. "I was... training."
"Well, come back soon." Ellen said. "I need a real opponent. Don't leave me hanging."
She waved over her shoulder and walked away, her red sneakers scuffing the pavement. "See ya."
…
…
…
Back in her dorm room at Victoria Housekeeping, Ellen kicked off her red sneakers and flopped onto her bed, burying her face in her shark plushie.
"Aaaaaah... my social battery is dead..."
She rolled over onto her back, staring at the ceiling. She held up her hand—the one that had brushed his forehead. It still felt cold.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Her phone, lying on the mattress, exploded with notifications.
Ellen groaned. She unlocked the screen. It was the group chat with her school friends: Ruby, Monna, and Lynn.
[Group: The Shark Tank]
Ruby: [Image Sent]
Ruby: [Image Sent]
Ruby: OMG ELLEN!!! EXPLAIN THIS!!!!
Ellen clicked the image. It was a photo taken from the bushes near the cafe. It showed her leaning over the table, pinning Cedric's hair back. From this angle, it looked... intimate. Like she was caressing his face.
Monna: Since when do you groom guys? Is this why you ditched us?
Lynn: He's wearing black. You're wearing black. Is it a matching couple outfit?
Ruby: WHO IS HE?! IS HE THE ONE?! HE LOOKS LIKE A PRINCE!
Monna: Wait, did he just touch your tail in the second pic?! ELLEN!? NO ONE TOUCHES YOUR TAIL BEFORE, EXCEPT US!
Ellen felt her face heat up. A stupid, traitorous blush crept up her neck.
She furiously typed a reply.
Ellen: You guys are delusional. He's just a Kouhai I met at the arcade. He didn't have a hair tie. I was helping him out because he looked pathetic.
She paused. She looked at the photo again. The way he was looking at her in the picture... his eyes weren't empty. They were focused on her.
And the memory of his hand on her tail… was strong.
She deleted the message.
Ellen: It's not what you think. He's just a friend. Delete the photos or I will eat you.
She threw the phone aside before they could reply.
"Ugh!"
She grabbed her giant shark plushie and buried her face deep into its soft, synthetic belly, trying to suffocate the embarrassment.
"Stupid..." she mumbled into the plush, her voice muffled. "Stupid kouhai... stupid hair clip..."
She turned her head to the side, just enough to see the shelf. Where the Shark Demu stood.
"25 days until school starts," she whispered, closing her eyes and hugging the plushie tighter.
"If he's really going to be there..."
A small, barely perceptible smile tugged at her lips against the fabric.
"...Maybe this year won't be a total drag after all."
Her tail wagged slowly behind her, thumping rhythmically against the mattress.
The summer just got a little less boring.
…
…
…
Note: There will be another chapter about Anby's POV.