The battlefield didn’t look like a battlefield in the dream.

  It looked like a classroom.

  Desks overturned.

  Chairs scattered.

  Sunlight cutting across dust.

  There was no screaming.

  No demons.

  Just silence.

  And at the front desk—

  Something sat there.

  Still.

  Waiting.

  Hifumi stood frozen.

  Rigid.

  Upright.

  Unable to move.

  The thing tilted its head.

  Black wings twitched faintly behind it.

  A butterfly.

  No.

  Not a butterfly.

  Something wearing the shape of one.

  It raised a single finger toward her forehead—

  —

  Beep.

  Beep.

  Beep.

  Her eyes opened slowly.

  The ceiling above her was normal.

  White.

  Uncracked.

  Her room.

  Her alarm continued its polite, persistent beeping.

  Not a Code Red.

  Not an emergency alert.

  Just work.

  “…Right,” she muttered.

  She rolled onto her side and silenced it.

  Her heart was steady.

  Too steady.

  That was the weird part.

  She lay there for a few seconds longer, staring at the wall.

  Then she sat up.

  Work.

  Shower.

  Suit.

  Tie.

  Routine.

  The world hadn’t ended.

  It had just shifted.

  Shoji Shiraishi survived.

  Barely.

  The news had spread through the guild by nightfall. By morning, it was official.

  Coma.

  Stable.

  Under observation.

  Enhancement-induced neural failure.

  The words sounded clinical.

  They didn’t feel clinical.

  Liora had taken full responsibility.

  Of course she had.

  There had been a conference.

  Hifumi had watched it on a monitor in the operations room. Guild banners behind Liora. Press questions. Controlled tone.

  “We are reviewing our internal compliance systems.”

  “We will be implementing stricter monitoring.”

  “We will cooperate with the Hunter Association fully.”

  She never once threw Shoji under the bus publicly.

  Privately?

  Different story.

  But publicly?

  She protected the guild.

  As she always did.

  Hifumi adjusted her tie in the mirror.

  The black suit was pressed perfectly.

  She didn’t wear glasses.

  She never had.

  But she briefly considered her reading pair on the desk.

  Then left them.

  She didn’t need the extra weight today.

  Yesterday the paperwork had been hell.

  Absolute hell.

  Incident reports.

  Cross-guild documentation.

  Medical assistance coordination.

  Damage assessment.

  Liability forms.

  “Why is there always a Form C-17 and then a Form C-17A?” Kaede had whispered at one point, near tears.

  “Because bureaucracy hates us,” Hifumi had replied flatly.

  They’d stayed three hours past shift.

  Again.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Even the medical wing had needed help moving stabilized hunters to secondary recovery rooms.

  Hifumi had helped push stretchers.

  Kaede had nearly tripped over IV lines twice.

  Neither complained.

  Not really.

  Not out loud.

  Shoji had been moved under heavy supervision.

  No glow.

  No twitching.

  Just still.

  It was strange seeing someone so loud… silent.

  Hifumi stepped out of her apartment and locked the door.

  Morning air.

  Cool.

  Ordinary.

  A few pedestrians walked past, unaware of how close the city had come to collapse the night before.

  That part always felt surreal.

  World-ending battles.

  Then… traffic.

  She walked toward the station.

  The guild atmosphere had changed.

  Not dramatically.

  Subtly.

  Hunters were quieter.

  Staff moved more carefully.

  Even the operations floor felt… heavy.

  No one said it outright.

  But everyone had seen it.

  Power without restraint.

  Strength without control.

  That thin line.

  And how fast it could snap.

  Hifumi reached the guild building.

  Badge scan.

  Elevator.

  Doors opened.

  Kaede was already there.

  Of course she was.

  She stood near the operations desk, typing furiously.

  Her brown hair was tied into its low ponytail, that right-side strand framing her face. Two red hair clips secured neatly on the left.

  Four beauty marks exactly where they always were.

  She looked tired.

  Very tired.

  “Hifumi,” she said without looking up.

  “Morning.”

  “…You’re early.”

  “So are you.”

  “…I didn’t sleep.”

  “Same.”

  Kaede finally looked at her.

  Brown eyes.

  White pupils catching the overhead light.

  There was something hesitant there.

  Something unresolved.

  Hifumi stepped closer.

  She was taller — noticeably so — and she always tried not to loom.

  Today, she forgot to adjust.

  “About yesterday,” Hifumi started.

  Kaede stiffened slightly.

  “I was harsh.”

  Kaede blinked.

  “I raised my voice.”

  “You always raise your voice.”

  “I mean… in a bad way.”

  “…Oh.”

  Silence.

  A long one.

  Operations screens hummed quietly behind them.

  Hifumi looked down at her hands.

  Then back up.

  “I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.”

  Kaede’s fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the desk.

  “I shouldn’t have shut you down.”

  Hifumi tilted her head slightly.

  “You were scared.”

  “So were you.”

  “…Yeah.”

  That surprised them both.

  Kaede’s shoulders sagged slightly.

  “I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if you weren’t there,” Kaede admitted quietly.

  Hifumi didn’t respond immediately.

  Because she’d been thinking the opposite.

  “If you weren’t there,” Hifumi said softly.

  Silence again.

  Not uncomfortable.

  Just real.

  Kaede swallowed.

  “I don’t like fighting with you.”

  “…I know.”

  “I mean it.”

  “…I know.”

  Kaede’s voice cracked just slightly.

  “I don’t want us to become the kind of people who start resenting each other.”

  Hifumi blinked.

  Then stepped forward.

  And without overthinking it—

  She wrapped her arms around Kaede.

  Kaede froze.

  Then relaxed instantly.

  Because Hifumi’s hugs were solid.

  Grounded.

  Warm.

  Kaede fit against her naturally — shorter, lighter, always just slightly under Hifumi’s chin.

  Hifumi rested her cheek gently against the top of Kaede’s head.

  “You spiral when I’m not around,” Hifumi murmured quietly.

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is.”

  “…Okay, a little.”

  Hifumi almost smiled.

  “And I overthink when you’re not there.”

  Kaede shifted slightly.

  “…Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “…You don’t look like you overthink.”

  “I’m very good at hiding it.”

  Kaede let out a small laugh.

  Then hugged her tighter.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  They stayed like that longer than necessary.

  But not long enough to be awkward.

  Just long enough to reset.

  Finally, Kaede stepped back.

  Wiped her face quickly.

  “Okay,” she said, inhaling sharply. “We’re professionals.”

  “Yes.”

  “We will not cry in operations.”

  “Correct.”

  A beat.

  Kaede glanced sideways.

  “…Unless it’s really bad.”

  “…Unless it’s really bad.”

  They both nodded.

  Agreement reached.

  An alert chimed softly.

  Not red.

  Just standard.

  Routine.

  Hifumi glanced at the screen.

  Minor gate formation in District 12.

  Containment team already en route.

  Normal.

  Manageable.

  Life continued.

  She exhaled slowly.

  Behind her calm expression—

  The dream still lingered.

  The desk.

  The finger.

  The wings.

  But she didn’t mention it.

  Not yet.

  For now—

  Paperwork.

  Operations.

  Routine.

  And Kaede beside her.

  That was enough.

  Later during our lunch break.

  It was Kaede who suggested it.

  Which meant she had been thinking about it for at least three days.

  “We never got our food.”

  Hifumi blinked.

  “What?”

  “The McKing. The kitchen disappeared. We never actually got to eat.”

  “…You’re still thinking about that?”

  “Yes.”

  “…You’re unbelievable.”

  “I almost died before getting my spicy double.”

  “That’s not what happened.”

  “That’s how it felt.”

  Hifumi stared at her.

  Kaede crossed her arms.

  “…We deserve closure.”

  Hifumi considered that.

  Then slowly nodded.

  “…Fine.”

  Kaede lit up immediately.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Before something else explodes.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “…Okay.”

  The McKing had reopened.

  Apparently, when an entire kitchen vanishes into another dimension, corporate moves very quickly.

  New interior.

  New fryers.

  New management.

  Same plastic seats.

  Same faint smell of oil that would never leave the walls.

  Hifumi pushed open the door.

  Nothing collapsed.

  Nothing flickered.

  No centaurs in tutus.

  Good sign.

  Kaede scanned the ceiling suspiciously.

  “…It looks stable.”

  “It’s a restaurant.”

  “You said that last time.”

  “…Fair.”

  They approached the counter.

  A normal teenager stood there.

  Bored.

  Alive.

  “Hi, welcome to McKing. What can I get you?”

  Hifumi and Kaede froze for a brief second.

  Just in case.

  Nothing exploded.

  No dimensional rifts.

  No red alerts.

  Kaede slowly turned to Hifumi.

  “…Is this real?”

  “…Order.”

  Kaede swallowed.

  “…Spicy double meal. Large. Extra sauce.”

  Hifumi stepped forward.

  “Teriyaki chicken burger. Medium. No pickles.”

  She paused.

  “…And a vanilla shake.”

  Kaede blinked.

  “You’re getting a shake?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re emotionally unstable.”

  “I deserve it.”

  “…Fair.”

  They paid.

  They waited.

  They stood near the side counter like normal, average citizens.

  Hunters weren’t here.

  No one was glowing green.

  No one was swiping at invisible menus.

  Just normal people complaining about fries.

  It felt… surreal.

  Hifumi leaned lightly against the wall.

  Kaede glanced at her.

  “…You’re quiet.”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “About what.”

  “…It’s strange.”

  “What is.”

  “We almost died several times this month.”

  “Don’t phrase it like that.”

  “And yet this feels… bigger.”

  Kaede looked at her carefully.

  “…You mean the Shoji thing.”

  “Yes.”

  Silence.

  The number board chimed.

  Order 117.

  Not theirs.

  Kaede lowered her voice.

  “Do you think he’ll wake up?”

  “…Yes.”

  Kaede blinked.

  “You sound certain.”

  “I am.”

  “Why.”

  Hifumi looked forward.

  Because this isn’t over.

  Because people don’t crash like that and just disappear.

  Because something about this world is shifting.

  But she didn’t say any of that.

  Instead she said—

  “…Because Liora won’t let him die.”

  Kaede exhaled slowly.

  “…Yeah.”

  Order 119.

  Still not theirs.

  Kaede shifted her weight.

  “…When he wakes up.”

  “Yes?”

  “…You think he’ll hate us?”

  Hifumi glanced down at her.

  Kaede was 155 cm of unresolved anxiety.

  “…Why would he hate us.”

  “We were there. We saw him. We saw him lose control.”

  “That’s not our fault.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Kaede.”

  Kaede looked up.

  Hifumi’s voice wasn’t stern.

  It wasn’t harsh.

  It was steady.

  “We didn’t make him choose that.”

  Kaede swallowed.

  “…Okay.”

  Order 121.

  Their tray slid across the counter.

  Both of them stared at it like it might grow legs.

  Nothing happened.

  Hifumi carefully picked it up.

  The weight was real.

  Warm.

  Solid.

  Kaede followed her to a booth.

  They sat.

  The world did not collapse.

  No sirens.

  No green glows.

  No berserk hunters crashing through the wall.

  Just fluorescent lights and distant fryer beeps.

  Kaede slowly unwrapped her burger.

  “…It smells normal.”

  “That’s generally how food works.”

  “Shut up.”

  Hifumi unwrapped hers.

  Steam rose gently.

  She took a bite.

  Paused.

  Chewed.

  Kaede stared.

  “Well?”

  “…It’s good.”

  Kaede immediately took a bite of hers.

  Eyes widened.

  “…Oh my god.”

  “Don’t say that in here.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  “You’re dramatic.”

  “I almost died for this.”

  “You did not.”

  They ate.

  Quietly at first.

  Then slowly more relaxed.

  Kaede dipped fries aggressively.

  Hifumi sipped her vanilla shake.

  “…This is nice,” Kaede admitted.

  “Yes.”

  “…It almost feels like before.”

  Hifumi’s hand paused mid-air.

  Before.

  College.

  Interviews.

  Coffee shop tables.

  Job rejection emails.

  Back when the worst thing in their lives was unemployment.

  “…It’s not the same,” Hifumi said gently.

  “I know.”

  “But we’re still here.”

  Kaede nodded.

  “…Yeah.”

  They finished their food.

  No incidents.

  No cosmic interference.

  No butterfly shadows on the ceiling.

  Just crumbs.

  And empty cups.

  Hifumi stood first.

  Kaede followed.

  They walked toward the exit.

  Kaede pushed the door open.

  Evening air greeted them.

  Calm.

  Ordinary.

  For now.

  Hifumi stepped outside—

  And paused.

  Not frozen.

  Not rigid.

  Just still.

  Kaede noticed immediately.

  “…What.”

  Hifumi looked up.

  A small butterfly fluttered near a streetlight.

  Ordinary.

  Brown.

  Harmless.

  It landed briefly on the edge of the sign.

  Hifumi’s breath caught.

  Her fingers twitched.

  Just slightly.

  Kaede followed her gaze.

  “Oh.”

  “…It’s normal,” Kaede said quickly.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s just a butterfly.”

  “…Yes.”

  It took off again.

  Vanished into the night.

  Hifumi exhaled.

  Slow.

  Measured.

  Then she adjusted her jacket.

  “…Let’s go.”

  Kaede nodded.

  They started walking.

  Side by side.

  The city lights flickered gently above them.

  Behind them, the McKing sign buzzed softly.

  Ahead of them—

  Whatever came next.

  But for tonight?

  They got their burgers.

  And for now—

  That was enough.