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Sera’s gaze flicked toward the academy gates. Her tone was casual, but her words were not. "I want to co too."
John blinked. It was such a simple statent, and it hit him like a push to the chest.
"You cannot just—" he began, then stopped, because he realized he did not know the rule. He only knew the feeling. "Sera, you are a senior. People will see."
She lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. "People already see. They always see. That does not change if I walk in a different direction. I want to support you. I want to see your shop."
Fizz leaned closer and whispered loudly, "Support ans buying things. Buying things ans snacks. I approve of this plan."
John cleared his throat. "Sera, you do not need to spend your money."
Sera’s smile sharpened. It was the look she wore when she decided sothing and the world was expected to accept it. "I will spend my money," she said. "The shop is yours. It is also the proof that my gift was not wasted. I want that proof to succeed."
John wanted to argue. He wanted to refuse. He wanted to protect her reputation, protect his own fragile calm, protect the thin wall between them and the academy’s hunger for stories.
But there was sothing in Sera’s face that made the argunt feel childish. She was not asking to be rescued. She was choosing to stand beside him.
Fizz clapped his paws once. "Settled. We go. She buys. I eat. John panics. It is a perfect day."
John looked at Fizz. "You are not helping."
Fizz looked offended. "I am helping your heart develop resilience."
Sera glanced at the courtyard. The watching students pretended very hard to be normal. She lowered her voice. "We go now. Before my courage turns back into shyness."
John nodded. "All right."
Fizz bobbed happily. "Excellent. I will tell my fan club."
John turned sharply. "No."
Fizz already looked like he had not heard him.
Sera frowned slightly. "Fan club."
Fizz lifted his chin like a commander addressing troops. "My followers. My loyal believers. My sweet distribution network. They have been begging for another outing. I will bring them. They will carry snacks. Also they will spread rumors in a way that benefits our brand. This is called marketing."
John rubbed his forehead. "This is called chaos."
Fizz floated up, bright and decisive. "I will make a public announcent of my personal pilgrimage to the holy land of comrce. Anyone who follows will be blessed."
Sera’s eyes widened. "John, please tell you are not actually letting him do this."
John sighed. "I have tried. Many tis."
Fizz drifted toward a nearby group of students wearing tiny orange ribbon pins, the unofficial symbol of his club. They noticed him instantly. Their faces lit up like the sun had personally greeted them.
Fizz raised both paws, and his voice sohow carried without magic, purely through confidence and the fear of missing information. "My beloved admirers," he declared. "Today we go on a glorious outing. We will witness comrce. We will witness craftsmanship. We will witness eating sweets purchased by a generous supporter who is definitely not trying to buy my loyalty but may succeed anyway."
The students gasped, thrilled. A few older ones rolled their eyes and still leaned closer.
Fizz pointed toward the gate. "et there in ten minutes. Bring coin if you want to buy tools. Bring discipline if you want to survive John’s mood. Bring snacks if you want to survive mine."
The club cheered quietly, because loud cheering earned punishnt, but quiet cheering earned gossip, and gossip was their favorite spell.
John watched the whole thing like a man watching a cart roll downhill, knowing he could not stop it, only choose where to stand so it did not crush him.
Sera looked at John. "You live with him."
John nodded. "Yes."
Sera’s voice softened. "It must be exhausting."
John replied honestly. "It is also the first ti in my life I have not felt alone."
Sera’s face ward. Her gaze dropped for a second. Then she lifted it again, steadier. "Then let us go. Before your exhausting spirit attracts half the academy."
Fizz drifted back, pleased. "They are coming. Only a few. A small respectful crowd."
John muttered, "That is how riots start."
They moved toward the gate. The academy guards checked their permissions. Fizz floated with the confidence of a man who believed rules existed for other people. John kept his posture polite. Sera walked like a quiet storm in white, composed and untouchable even when she was trying to be ordinary.
A handful of Fizz club students arrived, three girls and two boys. They tried to look casual and failed. One carried a small pouch that clinked. Another carried a paper bag that slled like sugar. They bowed to Fizz as if he were a visiting prince. Fizz accepted their reverence like it was overdue rent.
The group stepped out of the academy, and the city air imdiately felt different. Warr. Dirtier. More alive. The capital was a beast that ate people’s ti and spat out coins.
Fizz breathed dramatically. "Ah. Freedom. The sll of street food and opportunities to commit minor mischief."
John glanced at Sera. "Are you sure you want to be seen walking with us?"
Sera replied simply. "Yes."
John could not argue with that.
Fizz led them into the streets like a tour guide who had never read a map but was confident the world would adjust around him. The Fizz club followed like ducklings. John and Sera walked side by side.
Fizz stopped at the first sweet stall.
"Fizz," John said.
Fizz held up a paw. "Negotiations are happening."
The vendor stared at the floating orange fur ball. Then stared at the group behind him. Then he decided today was not the day to question reality.
Fizz pointed at a tray. "Those. The honey twists. And those. The sugar squares. And that thing that looks like it might be bread but I do not trust it."
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