"No-wa-ru! Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead!"

The form of a girl upon the ground seemed to flinch, her nose giving a snort before resuming a quiet, unsteady wheeze.

"OI! Noire!"

A low groan could be heard before the girl's body slowly unfurled. She halted in the midst of a stretch, the wince visible on her face making it obvious that she hadn't had the best night's sleep. Another groan came from her, louder this time.

"My, my. I had heard the rumors that Lastation's CPU was a beast to be feared in the morning, but…"

Awareness came with the greatest of reluctance to Noire. Her entire body felt as if it had been left in a tumble dryer for several hours. Every motion brought with it a flash of soreness, but remaining motionless caused a dull ache to persist, which was just as intolerable. Typically, she only found herself in such a state after a difficult battle, perhaps against another CPU – and there was no better cure than a long, relaxing soak in the bath.

Of course, there was no bath in sight when the goddess' eyes fluttered open. A wave of emotions crashed over her without warning, bringing a familiar blurriness to her vision and a terrible pressure to her head. In the next moment, she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing down a painful swallow. She pushed herself to a sitting position, ignoring the protests from her nervous system as she brought her hands up to wipe her eyes clean.

"Here," said Blanc. "It's for you."

Noire blinked as Blanc leaned down to place something in front of her. "Th-Thanks, but I don't—"

"Take it," Blanc whispered, having moved her head closed to Noire's ear. The CPU of Lowee rose back up, giving Noire a seemingly blank look before stepping away.

Noire had to strain her eyes to make out just what Blanc's gift was. It was still quite dark in the CPUs' hideout. In fact, it seemed as if the night had never passed.

A bottle?

The surface of the bottle was smooth – plastic. Something sloshed inside of it when it was lifted. After some effort, Noire managed to open the top with a few twists of the hand, and she brought the bottle to her lips.

Water.

It was lukewarm, but she gulped it down as if it was a delicious cream soda all the same. One of the first steps of her morning routine had always been to get a glass of cold water – had Blanc known that?

Better question – where had she gotten the bottle?

Noire replaced the bottle's top before rising to her feet. The enormity of the situation threatened to push her right back down, but she shrugged it off with the same iron will she applied to her work ethic. A whole world was out there, waiting to be saved from some unknown threat, and it was up to her to bring this motley crew of goddesses up to snuff before it was too late.

The gang of CPUs had decided that splitting up was the best strategy in order to cover the most ground, but they had all been given a single task to focus on – learning as much about this world as possible. Thus, they would flex their information-gathering muscles, as underused as they might have been.

Noire had hardly complained about being forced to go out alone, even as some part of her was trembling at the idea. At this point in her outing, her pep was starting to fade, her knees aching as if belonging to the body of an old maid. She hadn't exactly been getting the most exercise over the last few months, had she? Certainly, she wasn't as fit as she had been during the old days of constant conflict. She shook her head, narrowing her eyes as she hurried onward, arms swinging deliberately with each step upon the sidewalk.

Forward march!

One, two, one, two, one, two, one, two…

Where she was hurrying to, she had no idea. Or, rather, she had some idea, but each one she had tried thus far on this sortie had turned out to be a bust. The Basilicom had been completely closed to unauthorized visitors, its front door staffed with more than a few heavily armed guards. The Guild was likewise unavailable, not being open to conduct public business during a holiday. Simply finding her way around the city was proving to be daunting enough, not to mention her limited funds causing entry to be barred to so much. Of course, talk was cheap, but stopping to ask questions almost universally just gave her some awkward looks, and sometimes even a few harsh words that hardly seemed deserved.

CPU? Uh, you mean, like, a computer, right?

The goddess of Leanbox? Ahah…I'm afraid the only goddess I know of is THE Goddess. If you'll excuse me…

Deary me. Does your mother let you strut around like a harlot in that getup, young lady? The nerve! I ought to report you for indecent exposure!

What, you got those twin-tails pulled up too tight or somethin'? Look, I only deal with girls that don't need to go under the knife twenty times to fix that horseface, you know what I'm sayin', dollface?

Only the tiniest scraps of information had been collected thus far, leaving Noire with far more questions than answers. She was quickly realizing that she would make a poor detective if for some reason she ever stopped being a CPU. Admittedly, her conspicuous appearance wasn't doing her any favors, but, at the same time, she was surprised by how few people had recognized her thus far. They seemed more concerned with being stunned by the stylishness of her outfit than anything. The number of raised eyebrows being thrown her way was growing uncomfortable, even for her.

Surely she had been through worse before, though – like introducing Uni to the Basilicom. Those first few weeks had been filled with more awkward conversations than the average romcom. How hard could detective work be compared to that?

Green, green, green, and more green. If somebody pinches me, they're going to regret it.

"Why's she in a costume? Is it Halloween?"

"Oh. She must be one of those…"

Noire's ears just happened to pick up on a conversation nearby. She turned to spot a typical family – mother, father, and daughter, who must've been around six or seven – eating together at a table outside a restaurant. They stared back at her, uncertainty in their eyes.

The father placed a hand on his daughter's arm as if to reassure her. "Don't look at her, Alisa. You don't want to grow up to be like that."

"But why not? She's pretty. I wanna be pretty when I grow up, too."

"Because I said so, alright?"

The goddess' gaze narrowed into a glare for a moment before she continued onward, deciding that it wasn't worth getting into an argument so publically.

"One of those," eh?

Eventually, she stopped upon reaching a street corner, her progression being blocked by a startlingly red "DON'T WALK" light and a busy procession of cars taking their time rolling down the road.

"Life has a funny way of putting up roadblocks, does it not?"

It took a moment for Noire to realize that she was being spoken to. Standing next to her was a man dressed in a slim business suit, which lacked in distinct features, yet provided a sense of dignity and wealth all the same. Of course, even such a nondescript attire still stuck out among the revelers crowding around them. If his clothing was not enough to distinguish him, then his facial features would suffice, possessing a gaze sharp and narrow enough to invite comparisons to a hawk.

"I guess it does," said Noire. "Especially when you have somewhere important to be."

"Hm." Incidentally, the man happened to be taller than the girl he was speaking to. The scrutinizing look he was giving her was not a comfortable one. "I noticed that you were in quite the hurry, stomping down the sidewalk as you were. To which important place might you be headed, if I may ask?"

"Ah…" A thousand possible answers popped into Noire's mind, but not one escaped her lips.

The man gave a light chuckle. "Forgive me. There is no need to answer if you do not wish to."

Noire only realized that she was staring open-mouthed at him when the crowd started to shift around them. She quickly snapped out of her daze, moving along with the flow across the street, where vehicular traffic was now halted. By the time she had reached the next sidewalk, she had lost sight of the man – had he rushed on ahead? She couldn't even explain why, but she began to push and shove her forward way through the crowd. Her skill at such a maneuver was clumsy at best, eliciting a number of angry comments, each of which she hardly took a moment to utter a quick apology for. Her eyes darted about, her hopes sinking with every foot she accidentally stepped upon—

There!

Moving along with both hands within pockets, gaze tilted slightly downward, could be seen that overdressed man, having cleared the thicker portion of the crowd. The urge to rush after him was powerful indeed, but the more cautious side of Noire told her to hang back. She followed for a time, and their path became a winding one through the city, seemingly without rhyme or reason.

Oh, just talk to him already!

Sighing to herself, Noire finally decided to shorten the gap between them. She attempted to call out to him, but the words choked in her throat.

You're not a scared little girl, are you?

"Of course I'm not!"

"Eh? Is…something the matter, miss?"

Noire nearly jumped at the sound of the voice, barely having registered that she'd stomped her foot and balled her fists as if throwing a tantrum. She moved her gaze up – and then up a little further – to see that familiar man standing there. It was easy to feel the heat building within her cheeks. She put on her best smile, making an uneasy laugh. "Ahahah…no, nothing's the matter. Nothing at all."

The man stared for a moment, his gaze obviously questioning. "I…see." He turned as if to walk away.

Wait!

Her mind screamed the word, but her efforts were wasted, her voice refusing to comply. She stood there panting, hands placed on her knees, suddenly feeling as if it was hard to draw breath.

What's wrong with you?

There were a lot of potential replies she could make to that thought – first and foremost on her mind was the fact that she was referring to herself in second person.

But there was no time for self-reflection. Her mark was getting away at the incredible speed of a power walk. She resumed her slow chase, an act that was more akin to stalking than she wanted to admit. Readying herself for any attempts at evasion by her target, she kept at what she assumed was a preferable distance for the task at hand.

To her surprise – and relief – it turned out that she wouldn't need to follow much further. The man took a sudden detour into one of the many storefronts lining the streets.

"'Green Pasture Brews, home of Leanbox's finest green tea since 20XX,'" Noire mouthed, reading the sign above the set of double glass doors. "Huh."

She pushed her way inside to be greeted by a scent possessing such a power of invigoration that, somehow, she felt herself lose just a little of the tension in her shoulders. The interior was lit warmly with shades of red and brown, serving as a welcome contrast to the glaring greenness outside. Ah, and the quietness – as soon as the door had shut behind Noire, the din of the city had faded to a murmur barely noticeable over the tinny sound of whatever radio hit was playing over the speakers inside. For the first time since setting foot in this land, she felt a little sliver of familiarity wash over her.

She had the sneaking suspicion that Blanc spent a lot of time in places like this.

By the time Noire remembered why she had happened upon this establishment, her mark had made his way over to a table, where several other finely dressed men of foreign descent could be found. The sight of tea and snacks laid out on their table caused Noire's stomach to rumble – she hadn't eaten since before her arrival in this world, had she? For some reason, she was finding it difficult to recall the events of the past few days.

Noire's eyes moved over to the front counter and the goods on display there, feeling herself fill with envy far greener than any tea that may have been present. Of course, stepping up to the register would've been foolhardy – she didn't have the funds to purchase so much as a piece of bubblegum at the moment. Sighing, she forced herself to move to a table in the far corner of the room, hopefully away from prying eyes and ears, where she would do a bit of prying of her own. Luckily, the teahouse was fairly crowded at the moment, providing a bit of cover for her.

"…not quite certain that it is wise to be here at this time. The lands of Gamindustri are united, of course, but they have sometimes failed to sing in perfect harmony. There is a dissonant – but small – voice in this land that does not always wish good tidings to its fellow citizens from across the water."

"Eh? Afraid of a few Leanboxers, are you? Don't be ridiculous."

Noire perked up as she made her way across the floor, doing her best not to actually look at what was clearly a few businessmen having a meeting.

"Ah…I am not afraid of personal injury, of course. It is just that this may not be a…politically expedient part of the year for this kind of activity. This….Festival of the Union should serve as a reminder that we are all followers of the Goddess, but the vocal minority has a habit of growing bolder during this period."

There was a gruff laugh audible behind Noire. She didn't even need to look to picture the chortling man waving his hand as if such a gesture could wave all problems away. "Don't worry about that, my friend. The LEPD may not be quite as well-funded as Lastation's finest, but you can believe that they will be quick to stomp any revelers who have a little too much of the purple punch."

Another one of those sneaking suspicions struck Noire – this one told her that this deep-voiced "friend" had a habit of smoking cigars. There was no way to confirm this, though, as the teahouse was a smoking-free establishment.

"Of course." A third voice was speaking. "We cannot let petty political concerns stop us from conducting legitimate business across the four lands of the Union. The protestors will see that they cannot stop the inevitable…eventually."

Finally, Noire made it over to the table she had decided upon. She pulled out a chair from beneath the table, a sense of trepidation going through her as she sat down – a sensation that immediately faded when she sank further into the cushion. She barely had the presence of mind to cross her legs as her head lolled against the backrest, a wave of fatigue crashing down upon her with irresistible force.

"…surrounds herself with a nest of vipers. It appears that the approach will be difficult."

"Oh, come on. You worry too much, Ganache. You really think those yellow-backed bureaucrats in the Parliament will be any tougher than what we deal with day to day? I don't think so."

Noire suddenly perked up, chiding herself for nearly having drifted off in the middle of important work. Ganache? She knew she'd recognized that smug – and admittedly handsome – mug from somewhere. But what was a member of her Basilicom's staff doing here? A part of her wanted to step right over there and remind him in no subtle words that she was his boss, but now was hardly the time for that. Passivity was crucial for the time being. If the CPUs managed to get into trouble, that was it – game over.

Easier said than done, eh, Blanc?

"Approaching through the official process seems unfavorable. Even if we were to be heard, it is likely that any request would remain unanswered in an impressively idle stack of similar requests."

"Yes. The Duchess of Leanbox is well known for her fanciful interpretation of the pocket veto. She prefers prancing around the parks of Leanbox and sipping fine wine to spending time in the Duchess' chair."

"Maybe her 'amnesia' is to blame? Ah, but how is one to remember what one's job title is? It is so much work! Off to the bathhouse I go! Do not worry, Leanbox – I am sure I will remember eventually!"

A round of laughter followed this remark.

"Yes, well, I must admit that I find this to be an unusual situation. Perhaps a direct approach would be best?"

"How 'direct' are we talking? I'm sure she'd be quick to wave off anyone in a suit and tie."

And so the discussion went, the trio scheming various legally questionable methods to bother the Duchess of Leanbox with whatever business was at hand. Something about tariffs on overseas processor units or some such. Noire had to admit that, while some of the terminology they were beginning to rattle off was vaguely familiar, most of it was going right over her head. Speaking of which, her head had been moving closer and closer to the table, until her cheek was finally resting upon her arms. She was so very tired – she needed but a moment to relax and recover.

"E-Excuse me, miss."

"Neptune…stop clinging to me…"

"Miss? I'm afraid that you'll have to move. We're rather busy, and, um, we have people waiting for an open table, so…"

Noire lifted her head with some reluctance. Her eyes were bleary as she blinked, not quite able to focus her vision. A mighty yawn suddenly came upon her, which she quickly moved to hide with a hand. Her eyes eventually found the woman standing over her.

"Eh?"

Realization came in several distinct but rapid stages. The CPU practically jumped out of her chair, nearly knocking the poor woman next to her out of the way.

Not again!

Uni had commented several times about her sister's habit of falling asleep at the desk, PC still open to whatever pertinent files had been the subject of the previous day's work. Each time, Noire had reacted with a potent mix of annoyance and mortification. Of course she could handle whatever Lastation needed her for. She just needed to do better…to work just a little harder.

She could practically hear one of Uni's little sighs of pity. Such a tiny sound somehow managed to be one of the worst things in the world.

Well – of one world, at least.

Noire's flight from the teahouse was a total blur, and it was likely that she preferred it that way. She had enough embarrassing memories to haunt her without adding yet another to the pile. Her exit from autopilot came suddenly and without provocation several blocks away. She nearly tripped mid-stride, the switch in awareness proving to be both subtle and startling.

The next sensation to hit her was panic as a dozen thoughts struck at once.

How long was I out?

I can't believe…just when I may have had a lead…

I hope the others managed to do better.

I need to get back to them!

There was just one problem, one that she had suspected would rear its head somewhere around this time – she had absolutely no idea where she was. How was she supposed to find their meeting place ever again? Even if she'd had a map or – goddesses forbid – a GPS, she doubted she could point out where it was supposed to be.

She could swear that she heard one of those little sighs from Uni right about then.

Noire's hands were clenching and unclenching, before finally, her panic exploded into frustration. "Oh, fine! This is how it's going to be, huh? Then I'll just keep looking and looking until I find them! How hard can it be?!"

At the very least, she knew what the neighborhood around their "hideout" looked like – dirty, dark, and dingy, largely devoid of the crowds interested in the festivities. It was hardly on her list of top one hundred places to visit, but there weren't exactly many other spots a group of flat broke girls could crash. Yet, there was no clue as to which direction she should begin to head. The streets seemed to stretch longer before her, the myriad of stoplights, signs, and streetlamps fading into a dull blur.

"Noire."

The Noire in question spun on her heel and then nearly jumped out of her skin when she spotted a certain someone standing just a few feet away. "Blanc?! Ah…hah…hah…what a funny coincidence, running into you just now. I-It's funny, so I'm laughing…a-and…"

Blanc's expression remained flat – if she was convinced by the Lastation CPU's forced smile and laughter, there was no way to tell. "Follow me."

The phrasing was terse, but it said all that needed to be stated. Noire deflated with a defeated sigh as she complied, fighting off the urge to reach out for Blanc's hand to be guided like a child through the crowds.

How had she known where to find me? Did she know I was lost?

Those questions would remain unanswered. By the time Noire had worked up the nerve to ask them, she was back in slightly more familiar territory.

"No-wa -ru! Where've ya been? We've been waiting aaaaages! We got snacks!"

Speaking of familiar…

Another quiet sigh escaped Noire's lips. Perhaps it was only the hundredth of several thousand to come.