Peaceful Mornings didn't feel like real mornings anymore.
It felt like the world had decided to act normal just to mock me.
Sunlight pushed through the blinds in pale stripes across my room, dust motes floating like nothing had ever happened. My phone sat where it always did. My school bag was slumped against the desk. The clock ticked with that stupid, steady confidence that time meant something.
And still—my chest felt too tight.
I rolled over on instinct, half expecting to see Kotoris face or Origami's dead stare, or Tohka leaning too close like she owned the concept of personal space now.
Instead, I saw nothing.
Just my wall. My closet. Silence.
My brain took a second to catch up: I'm home.
Not Fraxinus. Not a battlefield. Not a classroom full of people whispering like I was an animal in the exhibit.
Home.
I exhaled, slow. My hands were damp. I didn't remember sweating in my sleep.
A flash of the dream tried to surface—warm presence, a voice that felt ancient and kind, and the weight of a promise that didn't belong to me.
My jaw tightened.
"Of course," I muttered
I pushed myself upright, hair in my eyes, still half-groggy. The sheets slid down my waist. The floor looked cold.
I blinked.
Then blinked again.
My right hand froze midair, hovering over the blanket.
Because floating beside my bed—at eye level, close enough that I could've reached out and slapped it if my body worked—was a skull.
Not on a shelf. Not hanging. Not part of anything.
Just there. Suspended in the air like gravity didn't apply to it.
White and smooth like polished bone—except it wasn't bone. It was too clean. Too perfect. The jaw hung slightly open like it was about to speak or bite. And inside the empty eye sockets, blue light burned, cold and sharp, like two small stars trapped inside.
My breath hitched so hard it hurt.
My heart didn't ramp up gradually.
It detonated.
The sound that came out of me wasn't even a scream at first—just a strangled, stupid noise as I jerked backward and slammed my shoulder into the wall beside my bed.
Pain flared.
The skull didn't move.
It stayed there, hovering, watching.
I scrambled off the mattress, feet tangling in the blanket, and nearly went down. My heel caught the edge of the bedframe. I threw a hand out to catch myself on the desk.
The chair rolled with a tiny squeak.
I flinched like it was gunfire.
"—What the hell?!" I snapped, voice high and cracking.
The skull's blue glow pulsed once.
Not bright. Not dramatic.
Just... a subtle flicker, like it acknowledged the sound.
My throat went dry instantly.
No footsteps. No voices. No Kotori yelling from downstairs.
The house was dead quiet.
Nobody was home.
I stared at the skull, hands half-raised in front of me like I could block a beam with my palms.
"Don't—don't do anything," I said fast, stupidly bargaining with a thing that wasn't supposed to exist. "Don't shoot. Don't—whatever you do, don't—"
I didn't even know if it could shoot.
But my body clearly thought it could.
A skull like that didn't look like it belonged in a museum. It looked like it belonged in a nightmare .
It hovered, still.
The jaw remained slightly open.
The blue light held steady in its sockets.
I swallowed. My mouth tasted like sleep and panic.
"Okay," I forced out, voice lower. "Okay. I'm... awake. This is... real."
I pinched my forearm hard enough to make my eyes water.
Pain.
Still real.
The skull stayed.
My pulse hammered.
I glanced toward the door. If I bolted, could I make it down the hallway? Could I get outside? Could I—
The skull drifted a fraction of an inch.
Not toward the door.
Toward me.
I went cold.
My breath came shallow, quick. I held still, afraid movement would trigger something.
"Stop," I said automatically. "Stay there."
The skull didn't stop moving because it barely moved at all. It wasn't lunging. It wasn't charging.
It simply... adjusted.
Like a camera correcting its angle.
Like a guard dog shifting its stance.
I stood frozen, back pressed to the wall, trying to understand what I was seeing without my brain melting.
This wasn't a Spirit.
It didn't radiate that pressure Tohka used to. It wasn't like standing next to a storm.
This was... something else.
Something wrong in a different way.
My eyes flicked to my nightstand—my phone. Calling Kotori was the first sane idea I'd had.
I moved my hand half an inch toward it.
The skull tilted immediately, blue glow sharpening.
My hand snapped back like the air had burned me.
My heart tried to climb out of my throat.
"Okay—okay," I whispered, then clenched my jaw. "So you're watching my hands. Great. That's... fantastic."
I forced myself to inhale slowly.
In.
Out.
Nothing exploded.
The skull stayed hovering. Its jaw didn't widen. No beam fired. No sound.
A minute passed.
Maybe less.
Time felt like it was dripping instead of moving.
I tried again, smaller movement—just shifting my weight, a cautious step to the side.
The skull drifted to match me.
Not aggressively. Not chasing.
Keeping the same distance and angle like it was tethered to an invisible point in front of my face.
I took another step.
It followed, smooth as a thought.
My skin prickled.
It's... linked to me.
The idea landed heavy in my chest.
I didn't say it out loud. I didn't want to give the room any more words than necessary, like speaking too much would make it more real.
But my brain wouldn't stop anyway.
That dream of a promise. The lingering warmth. The intrusive spike of that word—JUDGEMENT—like it wasn't mine.
And now this.
A skull cannon floating in my bedroom like it belonged here.
I swallowed again, jaw tight.
"Are you... mine?" I asked quietly before I could stop myself. The question sounded ridiculous the second it left my mouth.
The skull didn't answer.
But the blue glow pulsed once—like a slow blink.
My stomach twisted.
That wasn't confirmation.
That was just... reaction.
I forced my hands down to my sides, trying to look less like prey.
"Alright," I said carefully. "If you're going to be here, you're not going to—" I swallowed, corrected myself. "You're not going to attack me. Right?"
No response.
No movement.
Just that unwavering stare.
I held my breath, then let it out slowly.
Nothing happened.
I stared at it, eyes burning, trying to catch the smallest change. My room had never felt so unfamiliar. The sunlight looked wrong. The air felt thin.
I edged closer—one slow step.
The skull did not retreat.
I stopped.
My heart was pounding so hard it made my vision throb.
I raised my hand—slow, palm open.
The skull's glow intensified a fraction, like it was focusing.
I froze again.
My hand hovered midair, fingers trembling.
"Easy," I muttered, more to myself than it. "Easy. I'm not... I'm not doing anything."
I moved my hand down.
The glow softened.
I stared.
Okay.
So it reacts to movement...?
I tested that—tiny shift of my fingers.
Pulse of glow.
Stop.
Glow steadies.
This was starting to feel less like an animal and more like a machine.
A machine waiting for input.
My throat tightened.
That was worse in some ways.
Machines didn't hesitate because they cared. They hesitated because they were waiting for a command.
And I had no idea what commands my body could accidentally give.
A sound from downstairs—the house settling, a pipe ticking—made me jump.
My foot shifted.
The skull snapped half an inch forward.
I yelped, stumbling back.
"Stop!" I barked, then bit my tongue, furious at myself for feeding panic into the room.
The skull froze—hovering in the same place.
The blue glow held steady.
It didn't fire.
It didn't lunge.
It simply stayed.
My breathing was ragged now. I dragged a hand through my hair, nails scraping my scalp.
"Okay," I said again, but this time the word came out like a threat to my own fear. "Okay. Fine."
I looked toward the door again.
I needed to move. I couldn't just stand here forever.
But if it followed me out—
No. That would be insane.
I shifted, slow, and took a careful step toward my door.
The skull drifted with me.
Same distance. Same angle.
My stomach dropped.
"You're coming with me," I whispered, not liking the way that sounded.
I reached for the doorknob—
The skull's glow sharpened and its jaw opened wider by a small but noticeable amount.
Every nerve in my body screamed.
I froze with my fingers an inch from the knob.
"Okay—no," I said quickly, heart hammering. "We're not doing that. We're not opening the mouth thing. We're not—"
I pulled my hand back.
The jaw eased slightly, not fully closing but relaxing a fraction.
I stared at it, pulse roaring.
So that—that was a trigger.
I didn't know if it was a trigger for firing or just focusing. But I wasn't about to test that by accident. Perhaps it was linked to emotion or intent?
My tongue felt heavy.
I forced myself to speak in short, practical pieces, like giving instructions to a skittish dog even though this wasn't a dog.
"Stay," I said, softly. "Stay right there."
I took a step back.
The skull followed.
I frowned.
"No. Not—" I exhaled sharply. "Stay there."
I held my palm out at it like a stop sign and backed away again.
The skull stopped moving.
Not because it understood English, but because my hand and motion did something.
I lowered my palm.
It stayed.
My chest loosened a little—not relief, not safety, just the smallest crack of control.
"Alright," I whispered. "So... you respond."
I didn't like how fast my brain was trying to make sense of it. The more sense it made, the more real it became.
I glanced at my mirror.
In the glass, I looked pale and wild-eyed, hair a mess, breathing too hard.
And beside me, reflected perfectly, was the floating skull with blue eyes.
Not a hallucination.
A real object in the space.
My skin crawled.
I stared at my own reflection and forced my voice down to a shaky whisper.
"What are you?"
The skull didn't answer.
Of course it didn't.
But the blue glow pulsed slowly, once... twice... as if it were idling.
Like it was waiting.
For me.
I took a careful breath and tried the simplest test I could think of.
"Move," I said, quietly, and lifted my hand a little to the left, like guiding.
The skull drifted left.
My eyes widened.
I stopped my hand.
It stopped.
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
That was... an answer.
Not in words.
But in function.
It listened.
Not to my voice, maybe, but to the intention behind the motion. Like the air around my hand was an interface.
My heartbeat slowed a fraction—not calm, not peace, just less panic. Enough to think.
Accidentally subconsciously activated.
That's what this felt like.
Like a muscle you didn't know you had suddenly moved on its own.
I swallowed hard and tried not to think about what else could "move" without my permission.
"Okay," I said under my breath, voice tight. "Okay. You're not attacking. That's... good."
I didn't say friendly. I wasn't stupid.
I glanced at the door again and weighed my options.
If I left it here, would it stay?
If I stayed in here, would it stay?
If I panicked, would it fire?
My mouth went dry again.
I raised my hand, palm open, and very carefully lowered it like soothing an animal. The skull's glow softened slightly.
It's reactive.
That was all I knew for sure.
And then—just as the idea formed that I might be able to test it more, maybe guide it away, maybe—
The blue glow flickered.
Once.
Twice.
The skull's edges shimmered like heat haze.
My breath caught.
"No—wait," I blurted, stepping forward on instinct. "Don't—"
The skull didn't explode. It didn't fire. It didn't do anything dramatic.
It simply... unraveled.
Like the air decided it was done pretending.
White fragments of light peeled off its surface, drifting upward like dust caught in sunbeams. The blue glow dimmed, not snuffed—more like sinking underwater.
In two seconds, it was gone.
Nothing remained.
No scorch marks. No smell. No sound.
Just my room.
Just my breathing—too loud.
Just my heartbeat, now pounding with a different kind of fear.
I stood there with my hand half-raised, as if I could grab the empty space and pull it back.
My throat tightened.
For a full ten seconds, I didn't move.
Then I let my arm fall.
And I realized my whole body was trembling.
Not because it had attacked.
Because it hadn't.
Because that meant the worst possibility:
It wasn't a random threat in my room.
It was something inside me that could appear in my room.
Was this...
Was this related to the spirits?
I swallowed hard and looked down at my palm as if it had betrayed me.
"...What the hell am I turning into?" I whispered.
The house stayed silent.
The morning light stayed innocent.
___
After school, my body moved on autopilot and my brain just... dragged behind it.
It wasn't the normal kind of tired. Not "I studied too late" tired. Not even "I ran in P.E." tired. It was the kind where everything felt slightly unreal, like I'd been awake for a day and a half and someone kept changing the rules while I wasn't looking.
This morning had started with the floating skull-shaped... thing staring at me from the air beside my bed.
Just hanging there. Silent. Patient. Like it belonged.
And then school...
Yesterday's classroom chaos had turned into today's "pretend everything is normal" routine. Teachers acted like a rebuilt building meant a rebuilt life. Origami acted more normal again as well albeit the hostility towards Tohka, Tohka acted like sunlight in a place that didn't deserve it—except she was still stuck in isolated Fraxinus quarters most of the time, "for safety," "for observation," "for procedure."
Even sealed. Even okay. Still controlled.
And that made my stomach twist every time I thought about it.
Ratatoskr had helped. They'd saved people. They'd saved her. They'd saved me.
But they still felt like a machine that could smile while tightening a collar.
Kotori was the only one I believed in inside that machine. Kotori was blunt enough to be honest. Mean enough to be real. If she said she'd protect someone, she wouldn't hide behind "protocol."
She was also my sister and arguably the most important person to me...
Everyone else however... everyone else felt like they'd write reports about you while calling it kindness.
So I walked home with my head full of static.
And because my life is apparently a joke, the one thing my body wanted—desperately—was a hot dog.
No deep reason. No symbolic meaning. Just a sudden craving so sharp it made my mouth water and my mood worse, like my brain was trying to latch onto the dumbest possible "normal" thing so it wouldn't collapse.
So I'd gone out, bought one, and now I was on my way back with a warm paper bag in my hand like it was the last remaining proof that I was still human.
It was colder than it should've been.
Not winter-cold. Just that off-season chill that sneaks under your uniform and makes your skin feel too exposed. The kind that makes you regret not bringing a jacket... and then regret bringing the jacket you did bring.
Because the jacket I brought was... lazy.
Light blue. Loose. Slouchy. Thrown on over my uniform like I didn't care how I looked—which was only half true.
The other half was that I did care. I just cared in a petty way. Like: if the world is going to wake up crazy, I'll be a little crazier than it for a change.
It wasn't my proudest philosophy.
It also didn't help that I looked down at my feet and saw my own disgrace.
Grey flip-flops.
With socks.
Not cool socks. Not coordinated socks. The socks you wear around the house right after you get out of bed and don't want your feet touching cold wood floors.
I'd worn them to school.
Why did I wear them to school again?
I remembered the exact moment it happened—me half-awake, staring at the closet like it was a puzzle, and thinking, I don't care. I don't care. I don't care.
Teachers had scolded me. Origami had blinked at me like I was an alien impersonating Shidou. Tohka had blinked too, but hers was more like confusion—like she was trying to understand why I would voluntarily dress like a stray cat.
But now, walking home, I almost felt justified.
Almost.
A cold drop hit the back of my neck.
I flinched and looked up.
The sky had turned into a heavy gray ceiling. Clouds rolled over each other like they were trying to cover the sun.
Another drop.
Then another.
The rain started politely, like it was asking permission.
Then it stopped being polite.
The next wave came down hard enough that it felt personal.
"Seriously?" I muttered, hunching over the paper bag so the hot dog wouldn't get destroyed. My jacket soaked through fast, the fabric darkening, clinging. My hair started dripping into my eyes.
I jogged, irritated, trying to shield the bag with my elbow. Water splashed off the pavement. The sound of rain grew louder until it was all I could hear.
I rounded a corner toward a T-junction—
and stopped dead.
Because someone was there.
In the wider open area where the street met a small walkway—almost like a break between residential blocks—I saw a small figure moving in the rain as if the rain was music.
A small girl.
Alone.
Wearing a hooded mantle that was too big for her, with decorative rabbit ears sewn into the hood. Blue hair peeked out in damp strands. Her face was mostly hidden by the hood and the curtain of rain.
And on her left hand—
a rabbit puppet.
Not a plush tucked under her arm.
A puppet worn like a glove. Positioned like it belonged there.
The girl hopped through puddles.
Spun once.
Splashed water with small, careless steps.
Like the rain was her playground.
And then I felt it.
That subtle pressure in my chest.
Not pain. Not fear.
Just... wrongness.
Like the air around her was slightly heavier. Like my instincts recognized a pattern my brain didn't want to name.
Is she.... A spirit..?
The thought formed automatically.
But I didn't say it out loud. Didn't move toward her right away. Didn't call out.
I was tired. Too tired to jump to conclusions. Too tired to let my heartbeat start sprinting again.
So I watched for a second longer.
The girl did another small hop—
and her foot slid out from under her.
It happened fast. Her mantle flared, her arms flailed, and she went down hard—face-first into the wet pavement with a sound that made my stomach drop.
The puppet flew off her hand and landed a short distance away in a shallow puddle.
I didn't even think.
I ran.
My flip-flops slapped against the ground, socks immediately soaking through. I dropped to my knees beside her and carefully turned her onto her side, not yanking her, not rushing in a way that would hurt her neck.
"Hey—hey, are you okay?"
Her hood slipped back a little.
And I saw her face.
Delicate. Doll-like. Pale. Blue hair framing cheeks that were already turning pink from impact.
She looked young—around Kotori's age, maybe. Younger, even. Small enough that the mantle swallowed her.
Her eyes fluttered.
For a second she looked dazed, like she didn't know where she was.
Then her gaze focused on me.
And her expression changed so fast it was like someone flipped a switch.
Fear.
Pure, sharp fear.
She scrambled backward, pushing herself away from me with shaking hands. Her shoulders curled in. Her breath hitched like she was trying not to make noise.
"P-please..." she whispered, voice trembling. "Please... don't hurt me..."
The words hit me like a gut punch.
Not because they were loud. Because they were automatic.
She didn't know me. She didn't know what I wanted. I'd just helped her off the ground.
And her first instinct was: he's going to hurt me.
I forced myself to freeze.
No sudden movement. No reaching.
I lifted both hands slowly, palms out, showing emptiness.
"I'm not going to hurt you," I said, keeping my voice low. Calm. Steady. "You slipped. I just—wanted to make sure you weren't hurt."
She didn't answer. Just stared at me like she was trying to decide whether to believe my words or her fear.
My eyes flicked to the puddle where the puppet had fallen.
It lay there face-up, soaked, rabbit ears drooping.
I pointed at it instead of reaching for her.
"Your... puppet. It fell."
Her gaze snapped to it.
A flash of longing crossed her face—she wanted it, badly—but she didn't move.
Fear pinned her in place.
Okay.
That told me a lot.
Slowly, I leaned forward and picked the puppet up by its ear—careful, gentle, like it was fragile. Water dripped from it. I shook it once, lightly, and held it out with my arm extended.
"I'm going to put it down right here," I said, like I was narrating for a scared animal. "Okay?"
I set it on the ground between us—not too close to her, not too close to me.
Then I scooted backward a little, increasing the distance. Giving her space.
She stared at the puppet like it was the only thing anchoring her to reality.
Then, inch by inch, she crawled forward—still trembling—and snatched it up with both hands, hugging it to her chest for a second like it was oxygen.
Then she slid it back onto her left hand.
The moment it was on, something shifted.
Her posture didn't fully relax, but it... steadied. Like she'd put armor back on.
And then—
the puppet's head tilted toward me.
Its mouth opened.
"Okay, first of all Big bro!" a high-pitched voice said, sharp as a whistle, "why are you crouching like that? You look like you're about to propose!"
I blinked.
My brain stalled for half a second.
"...Did your puppet just talk?"
The puppet puffed its tiny chest out like it had been waiting for this.
"Puppet?" it repeated, offended. "Excuse you. I am a refined gentleman of impeccable character...And also the only thing standing between this child and suspicious strangers in wet socks."
I felt something like disbelief... and then, weirdly, relief.
Because the puppet talking meant she wasn't alone in her head. It meant she had something that could speak for her when she couldn't.
And honestly? If I'd had a talking puppet in my life lately, I might've been less stressed.
I sighed. "Okay. Refined gentleman. Impeccable character."
The puppet narrowed its stitched eyes at me.
"Don't mock me. I can tell when people mock me."
"I'm not mocking you," I said. "I'm... adapting."
"Uh-huh," the puppet said with exaggerated skepticism. "That's what they all say right before they do something awful."
I raised an eyebrow. "Something awful like helping someone up?"
"Something awful like luring small children into basements," the puppet snapped back.
The girl flinched at that word—basements—as if it hit too close to something real.
I immediately softened my tone. "Hey. I'm not trying to scare her..."
The puppet's bravado faltered for half a beat.
Then it recovered and snapped, "Then stop existing so suspiciously!"
I stared at it.
"...How do I exist less suspiciously?"
It pointed at my feet like a prosecutor presenting Exhibit A.
"Start by changing those."
I looked down. My flip-flops squelched.
"Oh. That."
"Yes," the puppet said, huffy. "That. You look like a damp raccoon who stole a school uniform."
I couldn't help it.
A laugh escaped me—small and tired, but real.
The puppet froze like it hadn't expected laughter.
The girl's eyes widened too, as if she'd never seen an adult laugh at being insulted instead of getting angry.
I rubbed the back of my neck. "Fair. I deserve that."
The puppet blinked. "Wait, really?"
"Yeah," I said. "Today's been—" I cut myself off before I dumped my life story into the rain. "Anyway... You slipped pretty hard. Are you hurt?"
The girl hesitated, then shook her head in tiny movements.
The puppet leaned in toward her, voice lowering—not gentle, but encouraging.
"Yoshino, answer properly. Use your words."
She swallowed. "I-I'm... okay..."
"Good," the puppet said briskly, then turned back to me like a guard dog. "And you—what's your name? Your full legal name. Your blood type. Your criminal history."
"Wow," I said. "Straight to questions."
"Don't dodge the question, Wet Socks."
I sighed. "Itsuka Shidou."
The puppet squinted. "That sounds fake."
"That's literally my name."
"Convenient," the puppet muttered. Then it looked at Yoshino. "Do you know him?"
Yoshino shook her head.
"Do you trust him?"
Yoshino hesitated—then shook her head again, smaller.
The puppet nodded like a judge. "See? The witness does not trust you."
I held up my hands again. "That's fine. She doesn't have to."
The puppet paused.
That answer seemed to throw it off more than an insult would've.
"...Huh," it said, suspicious of my lack of defense. "That response was... annoyingly reasonable."
"Thanks," I said dryly. "I practice."
The puppet crossed its tiny arms. "Then prove it. Why did you run over here? Why didn't you keep walking like a normal person who doesn't want trouble?"
I glanced at Yoshino, then back at the puppet.
"Because she fell on her face..?" I said simply. "And because leaving her here alone would be worse."
The puppet's eyes narrowed again, but not in hostility—more like it was weighing my tone.
Yoshino clutched the puppet, still half behind her hood, still trembling a little from the fall and the rain.
I noticed her hands were shaking more from cold now than fear.
The rain kept coming down, soaking all of us.
I shifted my grip on the paper bag.
The hot dog was still warm.
The puppet noticed the bag and snapped, "What's that?"
"Food."
"Food," it repeated suspiciously, like food was a crime.
"It's a hot dog," I clarified.
Yoshino's eyes flicked to the bag for half a second—curiosity, hunger, something like it.
The puppet immediately caught it.
"Ohhh," it said, dramatic. "So you are trying to lure her."
"No.. I didn't.. it was.... Ugh.." I sigh
They both looked at me
I huffed making them both blink.
"It's raining," I said slowly "She's freezing."
"It's raining, yes," the puppet said, offended. "And yet you're the one dressed like a runaway clown."
I stared at it.
"...Are you homeless or something?" the puppet demanded, voice rising with curiosity "Why are you wearing flip-flops and socks in public? Are you okay? Is this a cry for help?"
I blinked, then looked down at myself.
Blue jacket over my uniform. Soaked hair. Wet socks. Flip-flops.
I looked like I picked my clothing in the dark.
I exhaled through my nose.
Then I pointed at them—at Yoshino and the puppet—standing in the rain like it was a lifestyle choice.
"I was going to ask you the same thing," I said. "Who plays in the rain like this?"
The puppet bristled.
"We are not 'playing.' We are—"
It paused, as if searching for a dignified word.
"—Admiring the... outside."
"Right.." I said. "Admiring the Outside... In a thunderstorm?"
The puppet proudly nodded
Yoshino made a tiny sound—almost a laugh, but she swallowed it fast.
The puppet noticed and immediately turned to her, smug.
"See? Even Yoshino thinks you're ridiculous."
I raised an eyebrow. "She didn't say that."
"She didn't have to. I speak fluent Yoshino."
Yoshino's cheeks pinked. "Y-Yoshinon..."
"Don't 'Yoshinon' me," the puppet said, puffing up again. "I'm protecting you."
I watched that exchange, and something clicked quietly in my head.
The puppet wasn't trying to pick a fight because it loved conflict.
It was trying to keep control because fear makes you want control.
And Yoshino... Yoshino was small and cold and scared, and the puppet was the only part of her that could bite.
So I kept my posture loose. Nonthreatening. Didn't step closer without warning.
"Look," I said gently, "I'm not here to force anything. But you're going to get sick if you stay out here."
Yoshino flinched at the word "sick" like she'd heard it used as punishment.
I didn't even know if spirits can get sick honestly.
The puppet tilted its head, watching me.
"You're... not yelling," it said suspiciously.
"Should I be?"
"Most people do... a lot when they see us.." it muttered.
That landed heavier than it should've.
I didn't ask why. Not yet.
Instead I held the paper bag up slightly.
"I have food," I said. "And my house is close."
Yoshino's eyes widened at "house."
The puppet immediately snapped, "Aha! There it is! The classic line! 'My house is close'! Everyone says that right before they do something illegal!"
I sighed. "Do you have any other settings besides 'panic'?"
"I have 'panic,' 'rage,' and 'biting,'" Yoshinon said. "Pick one."
I nodded like I accepted the menu. "Okay. 'Biting' is fine. But I'm still going to offer."
I took a slow step backward instead of forward, gesturing down the street with my thumb.
"My place is that way," I said. "You can come over and wait out the rain. Dry off. Eat. Then you can leave."
The puppet narrowed its eyes. "And why would we trust you?"
"You don't have to," I said. "You can say no. I won't follow you."
Yoshino hugged herself, shivering now.
The puppet saw it too.
Its bravado flickered again, just a little, replaced by an annoyed sort of concern.
"Tch," it muttered. "Yoshino, you're shaking."
"I-I'm fine..."
"You are not fine. Your teeth are going to start playing castanets."
Yoshino looked down, embarrassed.
I kept my voice light, teasing instead of pitying.
"If it helps," I said, "I'm also soaked and miserable. So it's not like you'd be joining a luxury experience."
The puppet looked me up and down again and snorted.
"Yes, clearly. This is the worst advertisement I've ever seen."
"Thank you," I said. "I do my best."
Yoshino's gaze drifted to my hand—empty, open. Not reaching.
I thought about what had worked with Tohka, even in the middle of chaos.
Simple offers. Gentle patience. Let them choose.
So I tried something else—something lighter.
I held my hand out, palm forward.
"Hey," I said, forcing a small, stupid grin onto my face. "Handshake to a pal, won't you?"
Yoshino stiffened instantly, unsure.
The puppet went still.
Then it leaned forward and hissed, "Do NOT touch him, Yoshino. This is how they transmit weird germs."
"It's a handshake," I said.
"It's a TRICK," The puppet insisted. "His vibe is trick-adjacent."
Yoshino hesitated, staring at my hand like it might bite her.
I didn't move it closer. I just held it there.
Her eyes flicked to the puppet.
The puppet sighed like a long-suffering guardian.
"...Fine," it said dramatically. "We will conduct a controlled handshake. Yoshino, do it with caution. If he tries anything, I will sue him."
"You can't sue people," I said.
"I can sue people emotionally."
Yoshino—still trembling—slowly reached out and took my hand.
The second her fingers closed—
PFFFT.
A whoopie cushion sound exploded between us.
I couldn't help it.
A quiet laugh slipped out of me.
"Hehe," I said, letting the grin show. "Works every time."
Yoshino jolted so hard she nearly fell backward again.
She blinked...
Then she realized it was a sound.
A fart sound
Her cheeks got slightly brighter
Her cheeks puffed.
Her eyes narrowed.
She pouted so intensely it was like watching a tiny storm cloud form under her hood.
The puppet stared at me in horror.
Then it pointed dramatically.
"You are the WORST!!!"
Yoshino made a small offended sound—half pout, half whine—and hid her face under her hood like she was trying to disappear.
I raised both hands again, still amused.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I couldn't resist."
The puppet marched its little rabbit head side to side like it was delivering a verdict.
"This is what he does, Yoshino. He gains your trust and then commits terrible crimes!"
Yoshino peeked out just enough to glare at me.
I softened immediately. "Hey. No harm. Just a dumb joke."
The puppet's tone shifted—still teasing, but less hostile.
"A dumb joke," it repeated, then sighed. "Okay. Dumb jokes are... acceptable."
I blinked. "They are?"
"Not for YOU!" the puppet snapped instantly, "but in general."
Yoshino's pout lingered, but the fear in her body had eased by a fraction.
That was the point.
Not to humiliate her. Just to break the ice—break the tension.
The puppet noticed the change too, and—importantly—didn't punish her for relaxing.
Instead it leaned toward her and said, in that sharp-but-encouraging voice:
"See? You're okay. You didn't explode. Progress."
Yoshino whispered, "...Yoshinon..."
"Don't 'Yoshinon' me," it huffed, but the protectiveness underneath was obvious. "I'm doing my job"
I shifted my weight, rain dripping off my hair, and tried again—gentler.
"Seriously," I said. "Come with me. You can dry off. Eat something. Then if you want to leave, you can. I won't stop you."
The puppet crossed its tiny arms.
"And if you try anything weird Big bro," it warned, "I will scream at a frequency that shatters glass."
"I believe you," I said.
"Good."
Yoshino hesitated, eyes darting around the empty rainy street like she expected someone to appear and yell at her.
She looked so small under that big hood.
So alone.
And the way she'd flinched earlier—like pain was familiar—made my chest tighten.
I didn't ask about it.
Not yet.
I just waited.
Yoshino's gaze flicked to the hot dog bag again.
The puppet followed her eyes and sighed dramatically.
"...Food?" it asked, tone softer despite itself.
"Food," I confirmed.
Yoshino swallowed.
The puppet leaned in toward her, voice lowering like it was coaching.
"Yoshino... we are cold. We are wet. And he has food."
Yoshino whispered, "B-but..."
"But nothing," The puppet said, then shot me a glare. "Don't make me regret this, Homeless looking Big bro."
I raised two fingers like a promise smiling. "You won't."
Yoshino's shoulders trembled.
Then, very carefully—like she was stepping onto thin ice—she nodded.
"O-okay..."
The puppet immediately puffed up again like it had made the decision.
"Fine," The puppet declared. "We will accompany you to your residence for temporary rain-avoidance and snacks."
I nodded, keeping my grin small, not pushing it.
"Deal," I said. "Temporary rain-avoidance. Snacks too."
Yoshino took a tiny step closer, still wary.
Still unsure.
But no longer running.
And as we turned together—me leading slowly so she didn't feel chased, The puppet perched like a tiny suspicious judge on her hand—I felt something settle in my chest.
Not certainty.
Not safety.
Just a quiet thought that I didn't say out loud:
If she's a Spirit...
Then I'm not going to treat her like a problem.
The rain kept falling.
And we started walking.