Vivian dropped onto his bed like a stone falling into a pond.
His whole body felt heavy, not because of the long talk with Robwin, but because of the loud, dramatic voice that kept echoing in his head.
[Before I beca a sword spirit, I was the most handso... wait... was I a man or a woman?]
Vivian rubbed his face and answered without energy, ’You don’t even know your own gender. That’s just ignorant.’
[Hey! Hey! Watch your mouth! If you count my age, even your grandpa would call grandpa!]
Vivian kicked off his boots and lay back, staring at the ceiling.
’Sure. Big age. Big pride. But how do you plan to prove what gender you were?’
There was a sudden silence in his head, the kind that made the room feel even more still.
[...Let think. I must have been a man. Handso usually ans man, right?]
’No,: Vivian said, rolling to the side. ’Many won are called handso too.’
[...Then I was a woman! A very very handso woman!]
Vivian sighed so hard it felt like his soul left his body.
’You’re just guessing.’
[Well what do you expect? Soone turned into a sword! My mory is like a broken pot.]
Vivian closed his eyes, one hand on his forehead.
’Then keep thinking. I want an answer before you start shouting in my head again.’
[Fine! But I better get respect once I rember. I was important. I felt important.]
Vivian muttered, ’You feel noisy, that’s what you feel...’
The sword spirit gasped in his head, acting as if it had been stabbed.
[Noisy?! I am not noisy! I am—]
Vivian pulled the blanket over his head. ’Good night.’
The spirit sputtered.
[You can’t just say good night and end the conversation! Hey! Hey! Listen to —]
Vivian pretended he couldn’t hear anything at all, enjoying the first mont of silence... even if it would not last long.
Vivian was just pulling the blanket up when the door flew open so hard it hit the wall with a loud thud.
[Who dares— wait, hey softie, there is a girl.]
The sword spirit’s voice rushed into his head.
It could see and hear through him, but it couldn’t show itself or speak outside.
Vivian didn’t even need to look to guess who entered.
Only one person in the whole place would open his door like they were kicking down a bandit hideout.
Charlotte.
He pushed himself up, his tired eyes landing on her as she fixed her dress, acting like breaking into soone’s room at night was normal.
"Charlotte, what are you doing here at this ti?" Vivian asked.
His voice carried more exhaustion than concern.
He truly wanted sleep, sleep was the only thing that could drown out the spirit’s nonstop chatter.
[ Hey softie, who is she? Is she your girlfriend?]
He started making weird sounds.
Annoyed, Vivian ntally shoved the voice aside.
Charlotte finished straightening her clothes, then looked at him with a serious face, too serious for soone who just kicked open a door.
The mont stretched as if she was deciding how to start.
The strange part wasn’t that Charlotte ca at night.
The strange part was that nothing about her looked like "night."
Her dress was light, sowhere between a nightdress and a normal outfit, as if she couldn’t decide which one to wear and chose both.
A soft bit of makeup brightened her face, and her cheeks... those were turning red by the second.
Vivian blinked at her slow blush like he was watching paint spread on a wall.
"Charlotte, are you going sowhere?" He asked.
That was the only reason he could think of for her odd look.
"Huh? No... I’m not going anywhere..."
She stopped, eyes shifting away.
Her face turned even redder, almost glowing now.
Sothing had clearly invaded her mind.
Her mother’s voice echoed in her mory.
"Charlotte, my daughter... it seems you are struggling?"
At the ti Charlotte had frowned. "What do you an?"
Her mother had clicked her tongue with that sharp sound only mothers could make.
"If anyone saw you two, they wouldn’t think you are a couple."
That sentence had crashed into Charlotte’s brain like a hamr hitting soft dough.
She had tried ignoring it all day, but now, standing at Vivian’s door at night, her mother’s words pushed her forward like she was being nudged by an invisible hand.
Vivian, of course, had no idea.
He just stared at her, confused and tired, while in his head the sword spirit muttered:
[...Softie, her face is red. Red ans danger, my instincts are screaming that she is about to kill you. Be careful.]
Vivian stared at Charlotte’s red face, then at the wall, then back at her.
Inside his head, the sword spirit was proudly announcing nonsense, and Vivian could almost feel his last brain cells packing their bags.
’What a weird guy,’ he thought.
If soone’s face was red, it usually ant embarrassnt... or they were about to do sothing embarrassing.
But that genderless sword spirit sohow jumped to a conclusion so wild it belonged on another planet.
Vivian let out a long sigh, the kind that ca from the soul.
"Charlotte... the eting hasn’t ended yet?"
He asked, hoping she would say yes, walk back, and let him sleep.
She didn’t answer.
Instead, her eyes took on a strange, slightly fanatic shine, like she was seeing sothing only she understood.
Because in her head, her mother’s voice replayed again and again.
"If you don’t try hard enough... then with his looks and talent... many young and beautiful won will be head over heels for him. I’m sure so already are. Head over heels, heels, heels..."
Her mother repeated it with such joy it almost echoed in Charlotte’s skull.
Charlotte’s thoughts scrambled.
The na Marinate popped up, soone who had once confessed to Vivian.
He had rejected her, yes, but what if she tried again?
What if soone new appeared?
What if soone bolder, prettier, or more daring made a move?
Charlotte’s heartbeat jumped. Her face heated.
"No," she whispered to herself.
She shook her head so fast her hair flew like she was trying to fling the thought out of her skull.
’I can’t let anyone near him... no matter what.’
Back in that mory, her mother had watched her panic with the calm joy of soone watering a plant.
"Don’t wait. Go. Leave your mark. Prove you are my daughter."
Charlotte had swallowed those words whole, and now here she was, in Vivian’s room, at night, dressed halfway between casual and intimate, trying to control her racing mind.
Vivian sat there staring, very, very confused.
In his head, the sword spirit whispered:
[Softie... she looks like she’s about to do sothing crazy. I can feel it. I don’t know how, but I can.]
Vivian whispered back in his mind, ’So do I.’
Charlotte took a step toward him, her eyes still strange, still burning with ideas that didn’t feel natural.
"I’m sorry, Vivian," she whispered.
"I trust you... but what if soone tries sothing? What if soone uses dicine to trick you? You... you haven’t done those things, right?"
Her voice shook.
Her thoughts shook even harder.
Vivian felt his stomach twist.
"Charlotte... don’t. We’re not adults yet."
[Softie, I’m getting a bad feeling.]
’ too,’ Vivian answered in his head.
Charlotte didn’t stop.
"My body might be young, but I’m really... really old inside."
Her steps were slow, controlled, almost like she was fighting two voices in her own head.
Vivian tried to back away, but she grabbed his hand.
"You’re old enough too," she said, pulling him forward.
Their faces ca close, far too close, and her lips touched his...but the mont it happened, Vivian froze.
Not because of the kiss.
But because he felt sothing was wrong.
Sothing in her wasn’t normal.
Sothing in her wasn’t acting like Charlotte.
Her lips pulled back after a mont, and she stood there breathing hard.
The fanatic light was still in her eyes, but it had weakened, as if soone had loosened a rope inside her.
Vivian’s mind was blank, shocked, and all words were stuck in his throat.
Inside his head, a voice suddenly spoke:
[Hey softie... I think I’m a man.]
Vivian almost choked on air.
The timing was so out of place, so absurd, so painfully stupid, that he nearly forgot the heavy mont in front of him.
Charlotte blinked at him, looking confused, as if she herself didn’t understand why she acted like that.
Her breathing slowed, her eyes trembling.
Vivian slowly caught her shoulders, not in fear, but in worry.
"Charlotte," he said softly, "what happened to you just now?"
Outside the room, under the soft night air, a woman with bright red hair and matching red eyes, so clearly Charlotte’s mother, was crouched behind a pillar like a mischievous child hiding from a teacher.
She giggled to herself, trying to keep quiet but failing completely.
"It’s a pity," she whispered, wiggling her shoulders in disappointnt.
"She didn’t get provoked enough to lose her mind. Such a pity, pity... I was ready for sothing dramatic!"
She puffed her cheeks, pretending to sulk.
"I wasn’t aiming for anything extre," she muttered, waving her hands as if she had to explain herself to the moon.
"I just wanted a tiny push. A small spark. A little chaos. Sothing fun to watch!"
Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
"Instead she stopped at one tiny kiss?"
She clicked her tongue. "My daughter has the talent of a sleeping turtle."
She peeked around the corner again, hands on her knees like she was watching a stage play.
"I swear, young people need so much help. I’m basically doing community service," she whispered proudly.
She giggled again, quiet, high-pitched, and far too excited for soone watching her own daughter panic.
"She’ll thank soday," the mother said with full confidence.
"Probably. Maybe. Hopefully."
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