"Your control over your strength is honestly absurd. Not a single person has noticed anything off."
In the depths of 永恒流星's mind, X couldn't stop marveling.
The field's aftereffects had clearly reduced her fine motor precision, yet she was still cheating reality with nothing but prediction and acting.
When she'd played fighting games with 千明代表, even when she resorted to dirty tactics, she only dared use characters that needed two buttons at most.
And yesterday, when she'd been sculpting the finishing details on the cakes, she'd used "you keep stealing bites" as an excuse to drive 黄金船 away—so Gold Ship wouldn't catch the tiny irregularities in her movements.
"…I can't tell if you're insulting me or praising me," she muttered.
"I'm definitely praising you."
Meteor didn't answer again.
She lay flat on the bed, limbs splayed like a starfish. She raised her right arm toward the ceiling and flexed her fingers in front of her eyes—slowly, repeatedly.
That faint delay.
That fraction of a beat where the body didn't respond the instant she willed it.
It was a quiet, merciless reminder: the reaper wasn't a story anymore. It was a schedule.
She stared until her arm began to ache. Then she let it drop.
Her hand hit the mattress with a dull thump, bounced twice, and went still.
She rolled onto her side and hauled the blanket into a thick cylinder, hugging it with both arms and legs. She buried her face into it, leaving only her ears visible—twitching faintly.
"Scared?" X asked. "Of the body rejecting the soul?"
"…Yeah."
This time, she didn't speak inside her head.
Her voice came out muffled against the blanket in the real world.
"How could I not be scared? Especially when it keeps making itself known."
She lifted the upper half of her face out of the blanket. Her small nose trembled as she breathed. Her eyes were unfocused—lost somewhere between thought and dread.
"I prepared myself from the start," she said quietly. "But when I can feel it… when I can clearly feel my soul peeling away bit by bit… I can't stop the fear."
X hesitated, then asked what it genuinely didn't understand.
"Then why not live as an ordinary horse girl? Just enjoy these five years."
Meteor's gaze drifted—down into a memory that felt like cold water closing over her head.
And then she surfaced again.
She looked at her own hand—so small, so delicate—and clenched it hard, as if she could squeeze the fear into something simple and usable.
The fog in her eyes vanished. What remained was a fierce, burning decision—bright enough to scorch.
"Because that would be a waste," she said, voice steady now. "If I've been given another chance, I want to do it properly. I want to do it at my best."
Her throat tightened, and something darker slipped out—something she'd been circling, refusing to say.
"And I can't stop thinking about one question."
She swallowed.
"What if I end up as a vegetable? Lying in a hospital bed, waiting—while Death, which I threw off for a while, just… walks back to me."
Just imagining it made her skin prickle.
Worse, imagining the people around her.
Visiting.
Watching.
Being kind.
If she had to show everyone that version of herself—the version that couldn't even live on her own—she'd rather someone pull the plug.
X answered without hesitation.
"You won't. You'll retain the ability to move until the end."
Meteor's shoulders sagged, as if a weight had been unhooked from her spine.
"…Good. That's good."
The haze over her mind broke, like a curtain yanked open. Her breathing steadied. The panic that had been curling inside her finally unclenched.
X's voice turned complicated—almost reluctant.
"So you just needed to say it out loud. You didn't even need comfort."
Meteor smiled—wide and bright, as warm as sunlight through a window.
"That's why I'm glad you're here."
In another world, having someone who could take the whole truth—every ugly, frightened piece of it—was rare luck. A private place to put everything down, even for a moment.
"Alright, time's up. Class dismissed."
The teacher glanced at the clock above the board and began writing homework assignments in chalk. When she finished, she picked up the review materials she'd personally organized for Meteor.
That incident still haunted her. Some nights, it even kept her from sleeping. She wanted to make up for it—somehow.
"And as for 永恒流星, since she's injured, is there anyone willing to help—"
She didn't get to finish.
A wave of hands shot up across the classroom, the air filled with the rustle of sleeves and desks shifting.
Meteor was well-liked.
Her grades were excellent—except history. When classmates asked for help, she never showed impatience; she explained carefully. Sometimes she brought snacks and shared them with everyone. People remembered that. They wanted to give something back.
"I will!"
Before anyone else could even speak, 东海帝王 had already jumped to her feet.
She swung her bag over her shoulder, sprinted to the podium, snatched the stack of materials from the teacher's hands, and bolted out of the classroom like a gust of wind.
Behind her, the students who'd been a fraction too slow could only stare—and regret their reaction time.