Chapter 152 Why me, That’s what I want to hear
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
Mitsuha’s persuasion finally wrapped up, and the acting head of the family, ever the restless one, decided a bit of exercise would clear her head. She strode out to the garden to join the idiots training there.
”Tatara-sama, about that household assistance discussion earlier,” Mitsuha began.
”Eh? I thought we’d finished that.”
”Yes, moving here is postponed for now, but I wanted to talk about cleaning equipment.”
”Ah, I see…”
So it’s not about moving after all—she’s curious about my cleaning tools. Fair enough. If I showed those to the city mayor, she’d probably faint on the spot. Maybe I’ll gift some as a housewarming gesture.
”Understood. Sorry, but could you accompany me to the workshop?”
”Sure.”
She follows me obediently—helpful, though honestly she should do something about that hair dragging behind her. Even tangled like that, it’s stunningly glossy. Still, in housekeeping, first impressions matter. Maybe Mother-in-law can help coach her on that.
Inside the workshop, I project the design schematics for the cleaning devices I once built for the Seisouchou, blueprints glowing in the air.
”This is… such a range of high-performance cleaning Magic Devices,” Mitsuha murmurs.
”The base model exists in the Whirlwind series, but these are my own designs. Custom specs for a client with abundant Mana reserves.”
”Oh? Then they may not suit me, might they?”
”Right. So, I’ll propose an alternative.”
I copy the design and adjust the internal structure, linking the Mana core to additional energy stones inside the housing.
”This configuration should add more power sources inside the device.”
”I see, rather than using my own Mana, the cleaner draws from embedded sources.”
”Exactly. That way it can handle a mansion or two without running dry.”
Even a single small Mana Stone could keep one of these running all day—household consumption isn’t trivial. Still, reliability is everything.
”If the demand is that high?” she asked.
”Housekeeping services don’t yet exist here, but better safe than sorry. You might be cleaning several estates in a day.”
If Mitsuha weren’t an oni, I’d probably design it to draw from her own Mana pool. But instinct says that’s not wise.
”Anyway,” I continue, “these are the types I can build—floor sweepers, polishers, that sort of thing.”
”Oh, that’s perfect. I’d been planning to rely only on cloths and dusters, so this will help tremendously.”
Her gratitude makes me a little uneasy—I haven’t even built them yet.
”Please, save your thanks for when they actually exist. Right now, they’re still ideas.”
”But from what Mother said, you can finish in an hour, can’t you?”
…Wait, why does she even know that?
”Well, yes, technically I could.”
”I thought so. The stories about Tatara aren’t exaggerations after all.”
”And here I am, getting this kind of treatment from my foreign-born sister-in-law already.”
I let out a sigh—the kind that carries both amusement and quiet exhaustion. Something in my head feels slightly eroded.
An hour later, the full set of tools is done. I hand them to Mitsuha: custom grip, balanced shaft, colors chosen to her taste. I expected cool tones, but like Mother-in-law, she favored cherry blossom pink. So I went with that—pale pink body, white accents, petal motifs. She gasped, then smiled—a smile eerily like Yohira’s—and I nearly lost my composure.
Out in the garden, the jerk and Ibara-san were sparring—or so I assumed. Their movements were so furious I couldn’t be entirely sure.
There’s an old saying: in swordsmanship, one needs triple the skill to beat a longer weapon. Ibara was deflecting the katana with her fists and charging in. How skilled was she really?
”Oh my, has facing talented youth softened you?” she teased.
”Come on, I can’t go full strength with the head watching,” he shot back.
”Excuses, excuses. Wielding such a dull blade that can’t even scratch my skin—try attacking to kill, darling.”
”…Don’t you dare call this katana dull.”
Their clash escalated—the air cracked with impact. He’d been holding back, sure, but now the blows were real. Fists met steel in blinding speed.
”Fufu, finally taking me seriously?”
”Shut it, you eternal spinster.”
”…I will end you for that.”
The aura rising from Ibara was wild—Mana and something darker, explosive. She hammered him with blinding speed, each strike thunderous, while he countered with brutal efficiency. This was no duel between nobles.
”Elder Sister’s troubled about her matchmaking,” Mitsuha whispered beside me. “She’s devoted to martial arts, so most men can’t handle her.”
I had no idea how to respond. One wrong word, and I might be next in the ring.
”…Shall we, um, start dinner preparations?”
”Yes, would you join us, Tatara-sama?”
”Yeah, I think I’ll avoid the battlefield for now.”
Mitsuha covered her mouth, laughing softly. How could three sisters differ so much in their grace?
She cooked like someone who’d turned housekeeping into an art form. Her traveling knife—yes, she actually carried one—was spotless, the edge honed and cared for with the kind of reverence only a true practitioner gives her tools. I found myself blurting that I ought to give her a knife, and she lit up as if I’d promised her a small miracle.
She made nikujaga as her specialty. I tasted it: mild salt, but the dashi was deep and coaxed the ingredients into harmony. I couldn’t help but admire it. The main dish, by the way, was miso-simmered fish—daikon tucked in so the flavors bled into the sides, a slightly luxurious set of courses when you considered the company. If Ichika had tossed in a thick tamagoyaki, it would’ve been a perfect menu.
”Look—your little sister’s making dinner. Maybe you should practice a bit of bridal training too?” someone teased.
”Hoho, that’s her business. If she can do it, fine; I don’t need it,” came the frosty reply.
”You say that and then wonder why nobody’s lining up for you. Be honest with yourself.”
”Oh dear—parading your face, your skill, and your fame but letting your temperament chase suitors off? That’s the kind of loser who howls from the sidelines, isn’t it?”
They traded barbs, veins bulging on foreheads, the kind of family-fire that felt perilously close to mutual murder. Charming place.
I watched and let my mind drift; then someone—watching the fighting, laughing or recruiting—commented on technique.
”Hmm, her katana swings and how she gauges distance… I heard she only took instruction a month ago. That’s frightening.”
”Thank you!” Mitsuha said brightly.
”Good manners, too… ahah. Why not bring the whole family to my Torakuma domain? There’s plenty of land to farm and I’ll give you a samurai for the house—here we call them knights.”
”Sorry—recruitment goes through the office.”
Oblivious to the brawlers and recruits, the acting head of the family kept trying to woo the jerk. I felt deja vu—didn’t I hear something like this from Mother-in-law before?
”Hmm, Tatara-dono, would you come?”
”If I go to Hizuru, I’ll make Aarem fashionable and turn Torakuma into a Tatara-run land,” I muttered.
The jerk shivered at the thought. I’d probably send extra farmhands—well-selected ones, of course—to help. Only the households that paid their taxes neatly would get them.
”Would you settle as our house blacksmith?” the offer continued.
”No thanks. I’d need to work at least like a Crafter at the Whirlwind to consider that.”
”Tatara—is he a workaholic?”
”Rude. Crafting is my hobby; if I don’t hammer out a sword a day, I might lose my mind.”
’Scary!!’ someone yelped.
I stare into the forge’s glow, hammering; if I don’t make at least one thing with my hands every day, I feel unmoored. The technique ‘Kuuretsu’ Master taught me is perfect for that. I can only make one a day, but that single piece forces me to face my craft and my soul.
Conversation lulled; the exhausted fool who’d been training threw himself into practice with renewed vigor. Acting Head of Family and I watched with our arms folded like proper elders—though the real master, the jerk, kept going with Ibara until the mock battle nearly finished. They must’ve had a lot bottled up.
We saw them off—the fool, Hinagiku-san, and the jerk—and waited for Ichika and the others to return. They were a little late, which made waiting feel oddly fraught; I never got used to idle time.
”By the way, Tatara-san… may I ask you something?”
”Sure.”
I was staring into space when Ibara called out—unexpected. What did she want?
”Today I sparred with the sword instructor, but it was only a trifle,” she said.
”…A trifle.”
That hardly looked like play. They’d been hitting each other with what seemed like murderous intent. Oni are intimidating.
”The instructor’s blade—when it cut me, there was pain but no blood.”
I exhaled. Right—the blade is a conceptual armament, devastating to humanoids in some ways but designed not to kill. In that fight with the bird-thing, the jerk had cut it up without killing it; the effect was real.
”What kind of thing is that dull blade?” Ibara asked.
”Do you realize you’re asking me that?” I replied.
”Yes—Mother told me, but you were the one who forged the katana the father and instructor wielded, weren’t you?” she pressed.
Calling a weapon I made a ‘dull blade’—especially to my face—lacks delicate tact. No wonder some people miss their marriage windows.
Acting Head of Family jumped in, sharp as ever.
”Ibara, don’t call the maker’s work a dull blade. That’s rude.”
”Oh? A blade that can’t cut people is a dull blade, isn’t it?” she retorted.
Not entirely wrong.
”If a sword cuts what its owner wants cut and spares what they shouldn’t cut, isn’t that a mark of a true katana?” I found myself saying.
I hadn’t meant to be so lofty, but there it was. If you called the jerk’s blade a dull sword for not killing, what then do you call the ‘Ryugekiran’ I gave the Acting Head of Family?
”So you’re saying the instructor’s blade is a true katana?” the Head asked.
”I wouldn’t go that far on hubris, but if it performs the requested function, I’m satisfied.”
”Tatara-sama—what was the function required of that katana?” Mitsuha asked, curious and wide-eyed.
”It was forged to be ‘a blade that cannot kill people.’ If it wounds but does not kill, then it’s doing its job—Mitsuha-san.”
Mitsuha listened and then asked another, clearer question. Her face was full of both fear and awe—probably stunned that a conceptual weapon could be made so casually by a human.
”A blade that only cuts people, yet can’t kill them?” she repeated.
”Yes. A concept-bound armament that harmonizes the idea of cutting humanoids and the idea of not killing—both baked into it.”
”…A concept armament, and humans made it?”
She seemed shaken. Understandable; something that takes ages to make elsewhere I can shape with focused intention because Master taught me how to form the vessel. Feed it enough directed thought and it will carry a function.
”Can you make such concept blades into knives?” she asked.
”Yes—I have them.”
I reached into my inventory and pulled out ‘Shinguro’—not a kitchen knife in the ordinary sense but a tuna-slicing blade that looked like a katana. Mitsuha’s eyes widened.
”This one has ‘seafood-effective’ written into it. It’s specialized to kill aquatic life—cuts through crustacean shell and even a sea-dragon scale like slicing air. Because of how the concept is bound, it won’t cut anything that isn’t aquatic life, so you won’t accidentally slice your hand.”
”That is… a wonderful knife!”
Her eyes shone brighter than forge-light, and suddenly I wanted to make her a blade worthy of that gleam.
The Acting Head of Family spoke, voice like rolling steel: “For reference, Tatara-dono’s talent surpasses even Amatsu—yes, that woman herself admitted it.”
”Is that… true, Father?” Mitsuha asked.
”Of course. Even Amatsu can craft a vessel for a Concept Weapon, but she cannot forge one on the spot. Tatara can. That alone proves he exceeds our nation’s best blacksmiths.”
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t claim to surpass my Master. Even if I can make one ‘Kuuretsu’ a day, her foundation is leagues beyond mine. I only hope to keep chasing her silhouette. As long as I do, the divine smith she is will remain what she’s meant to be.”
Mitsuha clasped her hands. “Then, Tatara-sama—may I watch your smithing?”
”Uh… I make one sword a day. Watching’s fine, if you don’t mind the sparks.”
Her eyes lit like a sunrise. The Acting Head, watching our exchange, nodded approvingly. “Then I shall join as well.”
”Be my guest.”
”Much obliged.”
Fine—one more audience wouldn’t hurt. Maybe I’d even get feedback on my aerial transport design.
”…Then, might I attend as well?” Ibara asked smoothly, pretending disinterest.
”Sure. Just observe. Don’t interrupt.”
”Oh? Do you think I lack decorum?”
”I’ve seen you insult a craftsman’s work before. I don’t need misguided righteousness or charity killing my focus.”
Her lips twitched. Mitsuha looked startled, while the Acting Head folded his arms, impressed.
”Hoho, you think me so ignorant?”
”Yes. What would it take to prove otherwise? You insulted my work right in front of me. Did it cross your mind how that feels?”
Even if she was Yohira’s sister—or potentially family—I wouldn’t smile through someone trampling my pride.
”Ibara, that’s enough,” the Acting Head cut in.
He stepped forward, calm but commanding. I didn’t feel triumphant—just regret for forcing his hand.
”Father…”
”You started this, Ibara. Criticizing a smith’s work first—unacceptable.”
She faltered. “I…”
”No more disgrace. The fault lies with you.” His words struck clean as a hammer-blow. She bowed her head.
A deep breath, and Ibara turned to me. “My apologies. I spoke out of turn and offer my sincere regret.”
I inclined my head. “Apology accepted. My words were harsh as well.”
That could’ve gone uglier; thankfully, it didn’t.
With time to spare before Ichika’s return, we entered the workshop—Acting Head first, Mitsuha and Ibara trailing. I didn’t object. I powered up the Magical Word Processor and summoned an old blueprint. A drone, really, but shaped purely by indulgence: twin vertical rotors on fixed wings, half-helicopter, half-transport plane. Foldable landing gear at four corners made it look like a dragon resting its wings.
”I was planning to unveil it tomorrow at the arena,” I told them, “but I wanted your feedback first, Acting Head.”
He leaned forward, eyes boyish. “Hmm, what is this contraption that so tempts the heart of a man?”
”It began as an alternative to bird-type golems for flight transport, but stabilizing midair proved tricky back then.”
It had been shelved early—airflow and power issues—but now, with better runes and engines, I could fix those flaws.
”These wingtip rotors spin for lift; changing their angle gives directional thrust.”
”And its advantage?”
”Hovering stability. It can hold position better than bird golems—and it looks cool.”
”Indeed. Style matters!” he declared.
We shared a grin. Ibara sighed in disbelief; Mitsuha smiled quietly, like she was watching a pair of boys showing off their toys.
”Wind disturbance and balance are solved using a Flight Spell Formula and a wind barrier. Weight’s offset by mithril frame and an antigravity spell array.”
As a tilt-rotor, propulsion itself was simple enough—vertical lift and agile control.
”With this, we can hover and transport light cargo through the sky.”
”Excellent! Then you can carry my Crimson Lotus, yes?” the Acting Head’s eyes glittered, entirely childlike.
Yeah, he’d turned into a twelve-year-old. Couldn’t blame him—I felt the same.
”Tatara-sama,” Mitsuha interjected gently. “You wanted his opinion, didn’t you?”
”Ah, yes. I need feedback—not praise.”
The Head laughed. “You mean to ask what exactly?”
”Not technical details. Something else.”
I expanded a second schematic beside the first, transforming the model: fans embedded in the wings, rear engine powered by a wind-core jet. A lift-fan configuration. Anyone familiar with certain mecha shows would recognize the silhouette immediately.
”With current tech, we can even make flashier designs,” I explained, tracing my finger over the glowing schematic. “The rear jet engine here has a vectoring nozzle. By redirecting thrust downward, we gain lift and stability at takeoff.”
I wasn’t an expert in aerodynamics, but I’d watched enough movies from my past life to fake it convincingly. One nozzle isn’t stable? Fine—add more. Test in an hour. Fix in minutes.
”The big difference between this and the tilt-rotor model is top speed,” I continued. “That, and honestly—looks.”
Every boy knows the real thrill: the deep WHUMP of rotors carrying a robot through the sky. That distant rumble that makes you look up—and there it is, a walking weapon dangling beneath a helicopter. If that doesn’t spark something in your chest, you might already be dead.
”Hm. Tatara-dono,” the Acting Head mused. “They say seeing is believing. Could you not make both and test them?”
”…Father, you simply wish to see them both,” Ibara said flatly.
He averted his gaze, muttering excuses. “W-well, one might fail in enclosed spaces… redundancy is prudent…”
Mitsuha smiled. “You can just admit you want to see both, Father. Tatara-sama will build them regardless.”
Fair point. If he asked honestly, I’d indulge the curiosity. “Alright. Tomorrow, we’ll test both in the arena.”
Using mithril and mana condensers, I got to work—no ‘Egg’ cores this time. Using those would make them remote-controlled Golems like Aarem, not autonomous flyers. First came the frame: rotors, conduits, psychic link receivers. Spell formulas for angle control etched along each shaft. Rotor movement limited to ninety degrees. Any more, and I’d risk midair disassembly.
Next, variable tailplanes—modeled after a legendary flight simulator’s dragon-like jet. Stylish and practical: prevents breakage during sharp turns. Even mithril can warp under arrogance; I’d seen a plate bend once from a sneeze of the wrong entity.
Once motion formulas and test controls checked out, I finished the outer shell—black and silver, heavy as pride. “Done,” I murmured.
The Acting Head peered at it. “Fascinating shape. These spinning vanes are quite the curiosity.”
He wasn’t wrong. To untrained eyes, a propeller’s just sorcery in motion.
Time for the lift-fan version: delta wings beneath the body, inspired by a predatory aircraft from my old world. A fan in the center—graceful, not combat-ready, just evocative. The rear jet used a wind-core to modulate thrust, with adjustable nozzles for full 3D vectoring. Thin streams of wind hissed—PSHHH—as they stabilized posture midair. That sound alone was worth the trouble.
Landing gear folded inward, suspension tuned for shock absorption. Finally, I painted it a deep navy, the color of midnight skies. “Phew… maybe I overdid it.”
Mitsuha chuckled. “Tatara-sama, you built two aircraft in an hour. Isn’t that… a bit much?”
Behind her, the Acting Head trembled with anticipation; Ibara’s jaw was tight with disbelief.
I might’ve shrugged. “Built a house in an hour once. With Golem help, though.” Still—new tech from scratch? Even I had to admit it was fast.
I almost started a test flight when Ichika and the others returned. We sent them to bathe while I prepped dinner. I’d wanted Ichika’s tamago-yaki, but she’d just come back from exploration—so I cooked instead. The result… edible, but lacking her warmth.
When Ichika emerged, towel-damp hair framing her ears, she froze. “Master hath made the egg roll—degozaru…” Her tail drooped like a fallen banner.
Dahlia took a bite. “Master’s cooking is quite good, truly.”
That wasn’t the point. For Ichika, cooking was love in edible form. “I… wished for Master to eat mine, degozaru,” she murmured, voice small.
Tatia chuckled. “You truly live to feed him, don’t you?”
I couldn’t deny it—I enjoyed her food, her joy. “Ichika, shall I expect your cooking tomorrow morning?”
Her ears perked instantly. “Of course-degozaru!!”
Her gloom evaporated into radiant energy. Yeah. Ichika smiling again—that’s worth more than any machine that flies.
Ibara, watching this simple exchange, looked quietly stunned.
”Ichika, you’ve gotten awfully bright lately,” Ibara observed, voice clipped but curious.
”Of course-degozaru! When one meets their true master, one’s heart shines-degozaru!” Ichika declared, chest puffed out with pride.
Apparently, since we’re not on Torakuma lands, her tone had relaxed. Ibara’s eyebrow twitched—maybe the dialect grated on her noble sensibilities. I’d seen this before: Ichika drops honorific stiffness when she feels at home. That’s the whole point of my workshop, really—to let people breathe.
Mitsuha smiled softly, but Ibara’s irritation lingered. Maybe the samurai phrasing rubbed her the wrong way.
”Master,” Dahlia called. “A request?”
”Go ahead.”
”Would this be… a night service?”
”…It was about learning a Magic Device, but never mind.”
Tatia sighed. “Must that joke always precede every serious discussion?”
”Seems to be tradition at this point,” I muttered.
Dahlia tilted her head. “You wished to teach me a Magic Device, master?”
”Right. If you learn it properly, I’ll even give you a day off during the city festival.”
Her eyes lit. “A date, then?”
”If you’ll take that as payment, sure.”
”…Eh?” She froze mid-sentence, brain clearly rebooting.
When she found her voice again, it was small. “I-I never thought master would accept…”
”Say fewer weird things and I’ll agree to more,” I said, shrugging. “Anyway, this isn’t romantic. It’s training.”
”Then let’s start immediately!!”
”After dinner, Dahlia.”
”…Yes, master.”
Her eagerness was almost cute. Mitsuha looked caught between laughter and a sigh. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame her—my household’s conversations never stay normal.
After the dishes were done, I led Dahlia to the garden. She practically vibrated with anticipation as I revealed the two gleaming Telekinesis VTOL prototypes. Mana shimmered under the moonlight.
”These,” I explained, “are floating Aarem variants—telekinetic VTOLs.”
”Aarem…?” she echoed, puzzled.
Ah, right. I’d never explained that to her. Once I did, her eyes sparkled like a kid discovering sugar. “Master!”
”I know, I know. I’ll build you one later. But for now—try flying these.”
”Yes, my Master!!”
I handed her the twin-sticked controller. The right stick for altitude and pitch, left for throttle. Simple in theory. Hard in practice. I demonstrated; it took finesse. Real RC helicopters were pricey back home—I’d never touched one. Turns out I was underestimating my automaton entirely.
”Master! Look!”
”…That’s… not normal,” I said as her VTOL spun gracefully through the air.
She danced it like a ballerina of steel and mana, weaving rolls, dives, and impossible arcs. Five minutes in, she pulled off stunts that only top-tier fighter jets could manage. Cobras, hooks, even a culbit. “It’s not supposed to survive that,” I murmured.
Then I noticed one move missing. “No Immelmann turn? Though… I guess that’s not for VTOLs.”
Dahlia lowered her gaze, voice softer now. “That maneuver… was the first thing you ever taught me. I can’t use it lightly.”
”…I see.” Without thinking, I reached over and patted her head. She flushed, averting her eyes, yet her craft hovered steady above. Of course it did—she’s an Automaton Maiden. Logic-defying precision is her nature.
Naturally, the Acting Head spotted the flying craft and immediately wanted one. I pretended not to hear him.
Later, I reclaimed the machines and headed back to the workshop. Tomorrow’s arena demo awaited, but first came Dahlia’s follow-up request.
She raised a hand dramatically. “Let us recreate my ‘Triteleia’ armor in Aarem form!”
”Denied.”
It wasn’t impossible, just catastrophic. A mini-Dahlia with full combat specs would collapse the arena in ten minutes flat.
”But why, master!?” she protested.
”Because no one needs a cute-girl Aarem yet. That concept belongs to the next decade.”
Her expression softened. “…So I am a ‘cute girl,’ then?”
”Visually? Undeniably. Personality-wise… let’s not tempt fate.”
She looked away, blushing bright crimson. “Very well. Then please, a female-type design from your previous world—one suitable for Golems.”
I sighed. “You really don’t ask for simple things, do you?”
I stared up at the rafters, mind blank. Dahlia’s request—*a female-type Aarem*—should’ve been simple. But every design I pictured either looked too heroic or too tragic. I couldn’t hand my little sister-figure something that reeked of despair.
Then it struck me—the tragic sister from that space-knight remake. Beautiful, loyal, doomed. The memory hurt, but the idea fit. I began forging at once, Demonsteel hissing under mana heat.
The body curved softer than my usual builds—slender frame, rounded armor plates, helmet styled after Dahlia’s hair. A bit more volume in the chest and thighs than intended. “Well,” I muttered, “heroic proportions suit her.” If Dahlia admired beauty, she could have beauty.
For the controller, I debated between crystal core and armored host. Crystals looked mystical—but impractical. A piloted armor shell? Equally absurd. Still, my worst habit is thoroughness: if I can imagine it, I *must* see it move.
Yet every Aarem obeys only its creator. If I die, it stops. That thought gnawed at me. A silent partner gathering dust beside her would break Dahlia’s heart. And maybe… mine too.
I must’ve gone quiet, because she tilted her head, brows faintly downturned. Even her nearly expressionless face showed concern. “I’m a lousy master,” I sighed. “Can’t even finish a design alone.”
”Then ask,” she said simply. “That’s what companions are for.”
I chuckled, defeated. “Alright then. But promise me one thing—if you call it ‘night service,’ I stop immediately.”
”…Understood,” she answered primly, though a faint smile tugged at her lips.
”Here’s the issue.” I projected blue schematics mid-air. “Your controller—should it be pure crystal or housed inside a larger armored carrier?”
Her eyes shone. “The crystal splitting open like light… that is divine!”
”Glad you think so,” I said, switching the image to a slender Aarem emerging from a massive variable armor frame. Her pupils widened—literally.
”Which one?” I asked.
”The latter,” she whispered. “But, master—you were troubled about something.”
”Yeah. Power consumption. Two units mean twice the mana. Recharging will crawl.”
She tapped her chin. “Then separate the core and the supply. Let the levitation stone handle energy while the core governs identity.”
I blinked. “…Brilliant.”
Her idea lit the workshop. I sketched again—levitation stone centered, antigravity and mana-recovery runes spiraling outward. As the design evolved, her eyes stayed wide and luminous, a paradox of calm and excitement. I smiled. “You look like you’re witnessing a sunrise.”
”Perhaps I am,” she murmured.
We forged together—pure Mithril this time, heavier for balance. My hands moved without thought; I could now *feel* impurities in the ingot without appraisal. Growth, perhaps—or obsession. The great armor took shape, one and a half times the Aarem’s height. When the front opened, the smaller frame fit perfectly within, limbs aligned like mirrored souls.
Runes for flight carved into the wings; the last wind-core set at the back for thrust. A gentle hiss marked the first ignition. The silhouette resembled the steed of a cosmic knight—but sleeker, alive. Honestly, it looked powerful enough to punch the stars themselves.
When it was done, Dahlia stood before it, awe softening her usual composure. “Master,” she asked quietly, “what are their names?”
I hesitated. The obvious name carried tragedy. So I twisted it toward hope. “The inner unit—*Valkyria*. The outer armor—*Pegasus*.”
Her smile bloomed like dawn. “A battle maiden and her winged steed. It reminds me of that annoying imitation, but these are far more beautiful!”
Her laughter echoed across the forge, bright and warm against the hum of mana. For once, creation didn’t feel like defiance against death—it felt like *life* itself.
Notes:
• Mitsuha – Second daughter of the Torakuma family (Yohira’s sister). She is quiet, awkward, surprisingly deadpan, and possesses a gentle, nurturing side (shown with Cornremu). Hair so long it trailed across the floor like Tomie Kawakami (Junji Ito), face half-hidden by hair, single dark horn (above brow), loose violet robes.
• Yohira – Torakuma’s first name. Oni warrior.
• Ibara – Eldest daughter of the Torakuma family (Yohira’s sister). She is sharp, formal, and possesses a predatory confidence and dry humor. Relative of the Narrator’s ex-companion (Yohira) and a new house guest/guard. Short black hair (neatly at the shoulder), crimson horn (from forehead), eyes of molten gold, red and black kimono like Shuten-dōji (Fate).
• Ichika – The fox girl. Kunoichi. Virgincest⚠️, becomes pregnant immediately.
• Hinagiku – A tengu woman as Ranka’s potential companion. She stays with Tatara’s group after travels. Joins household scenes only. Linked to Ranka by shared gluttony jokes. No direct tie to Tatara beyond cohabitation. Cheerful eater.
• Amatsu – A master blacksmith and a female. Demonstrate forging skill to Tatara. The duel arises from Tatara’s request for guidance. Senior craftsman guiding Tatara. No kin known. Golden right eye and calm mastery define her.
• Dahlia – The automaton.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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