Chapter Twenty-Three

Hanamura tugged at her sock, trying to compose herself as she joined the others. She could still feel the weight of a heavy red gaze follow her across the yard, and it was enough to warn her she was in deep trouble. Stumbling slightly, she reached out to Asano for support.

"Goodness, Suzume," she said, sounding ominous. "Two minutes of conversation and he's already trying to kidnap you." She waved to Tendou with a small grin, murmuring, "you two certainly waste no time."

Hanamura flushed.

"What on earth did you say to him?"

She refused to glance over her shoulder. If their eyes met again, her mind would melt into a warm soup, leaving her senseless. She couldn't afford to lose her grip on reality just yet. She needed to be sharp for their meeting.

Rumi lifted her brows.

"Wow. He looks dangerous and," she paused, narrowing her eyes consideringly, "thwarted."

"Is he going to be a problem?" Tashima asked.

"Probably," said Hanamura in chagrin, "but I'll manage."

When they all peered at her with obvious skepticism, she knew she had been caught in her bluff.

"Somehow," she added sheepishly. Then, unable to help herself, she asked, "Is it just me or has he gotten stronger?" Her blush deepened. "He picked me up like I weighed nothing!"

Asano smirked.

"The school thought it was welcoming back a hero," she mused, "but a leopard doesn't change his spots. If anything, he's evolved into a super villain."

Tashima pursed her lips.

"Alright, here's what we're going to do. We're going to establish some ground rules," she said preemptively. "We can't have him whisking you away every afternoon if we have any hope of staying on task. Don't forget, you're the brain of this operation."

Hanamura bit her lip, chastened.

"Why not just tell him what we're up to?" Izakaya suggested practically. "He can help us out."

Hanamura spread her arms wide and ushered them forward.

"No, I don't want him to know," she said stubbornly. "This is meant to be a surprise. For everyone, including him."

"Why?"

"Because of reasons, Takashi," she said vaguely. "Rivals don't share their trade secrets with each other. It interferes with the competition."

Izakaya stared at her for a moment, frowning.

"Competition?" He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in a very frustrated, scholarly manner. His glasses shifted up his forehead. "You just can't make any of this easy, can you?"

Tashima turned on him, her face rife with disdain.

"You're one to talk. Did you really have to wear that today of all days?" She asked him critically, gesturing to his blue tunic. "We're about to enter negotiations with one of the most powerful student organizations at school and you look like you've just come from a renaissance fair!"

Izakaya dropped his hands, balling them into fists.

"I beg your pardon? This is part of my process," he argued heatedly, standing tall in his silvery-blue robes. "Haven't you ever heard of method acting before? I need to embody the character fully to perfect my performance. We're coming up to the final arc in the Crystal Lotus Campaign this weekend and I have the leading role!"

"No offense, but I don't think Zeldor the Blue needs to make an appearance this afternoon," Tashima remarked with a sharp breath through her teeth. She meant all the offense in the world, gauging by how Izakaya reacted. His jaw dropped and he gaped at her with open fury.

Hanamura hastily stepped in between them.

"Tashima, let him be," she ordered firmly. "Takashi, stand down. Let's not get off track here. We're a team now, remember? We have to work together."

Tashima and Izakaya simmered before turning away from each other, grumbling. Hanamura shared a bracing look with Asano. This new team dynamic would take some getting used to if they had any hope of maintaining a unified front. So far, it was like mixing oil and water. As they continued across the grounds, Hanamura let Rumi take the lead as they headed toward the building sitting on the edge of campus.

"Right. So, just keep in mind that the marching band is not so different from a cult," she warned them suddenly as she led them into the music hall. "The band director is very particular about who he allows into rehearsal, so try to refrain from making any off-color remarks. He's extremely volatile." She took care to direct this warning to Tashima and Izakaya who both flinched at being singled out. "I just want you to be prepared for what you're about to encounter," she explained. "None of you have firsthand experience."

"Geez, Rumi," said Asano, trailing a plume of white smoke behind her as she swung her incense diffuser on a silver chain. "You make it sound like we're crashing a ritual."

Rumi froze.

"Rehearsal is a ritual, Reiko," she intoned sternly. "I cannot stress this enough – be on your guard, and whatever you do, don't let him get inside your head. He's a master manipulator."

Asano drew to a halt, causing Hanamura and Izakaya to bump into her.

"We can still go back," Izakaya pleaded, grabbing hold of Hanamura's arm. "We don't have to do this. A boombox is just as good!"

Hanamura shook him off.

"No! If we're doing this, we're doing this the right way. There's no turning back."

She glanced to Tashima who nodded in agreement.

"They're just a bunch of band geeks," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "How bad could it be?"

But as they entered the music hall – a large, grandiose room with amphitheater-style seating large enough to fit an entire symphony orchestra – Tashima's words seemed to fall flat as they stepped into a haunting requiem of deepest, darkest despair. The school choir had joined in the ensemble, their voices bellowing with such heart-wrenching sadness, Rumi may as well have led them into the final moments of the apocalypse.

A tall figure presided over the band.

"More agony! More despair!" The director shouted as he raised his baton. "Let me hear the heavens weep! I want to hear your instruments bleed out! Give me suffering, unlike none which has ever existed!"

He conducted from a raised dais in the center of the room, his long, curling hair hanging chaotically in his face. He had removed his blazer and sweater but wore his tie around his head like a sweatband. His whole body moved in tune to the music, his baton a mere extension of his arm.

Hanamura recognized a tremendous power in the way the band watched and waited for his every cue. They were a well-oiled machine, playing their instruments with perceptible mastery. As Rumi led them down into the orchestra pit, Hanamura tried to quell her rising nerves.

Tashima was right. They were about to approach one of the most powerful student organizations at Shiratorizawa, second only to the boys' volleyball club. And they were walking right into the middle of their rehearsal unannounced.

Swallowing thickly, she followed Rumi across the pit.

"Really, Ryu? A death mass?" Rumi yelled above the music. "Whose funeral are you planning now?"

The director stood erect, lifting a hand that brought the music to a crashing halt. The overture – a seamless tapestry of woodwind and brass flowing together in perfect tandem – quickly tangled into a cacophony more jarring than pots and pans clattering to the floor. The sound of it made them all jump. It wasn't long before the entire room fell silent. Annoyed by the interruption, the band peered at them with hostile looks, causing Asano and Izakaya to flinch.

The director turned slowly to their group.

"What's the meaning of this? Who said you riff-raff could come in here? I believe the sign on the door made it perfectly clear this is a closed rehearsal," he lectured coolly. "I'm in the middle of composing a requiem for the defeat of Aoba Johsai at the Summer Nationals Qualifier. How dare you–"

He froze immediately, his face flashing with shock, then anger, then, surprisingly, delighted self-righteousness. A cruel grin twisted his face.

"Well," he said, lacing the word with venom, "if it isn't our little renegade, Miss Rumi Hara." He crossed his arms over his chest, savoring the moment. "I knew you'd come crawling back to us someday; I just never expected it to be so soon. Tell me, have you grown tired of the science club already? Not enough thrill for you?"

Rumi returned his sneer with a look of studied patience.

"For the last time, Ryu, I didn't defect," she said slowly as if speaking to a child. "You knew I had plans to switch clubs. Ever since I plateaued in my music career, I've wanted something different. Botany is my calling now."

The director pursed his lips.

"If that's what you tell yourself to sleep at night." He shrugged. "Then by all means."

The band broke out into scandalous chatter.

Hanamura stared at her roommate in shock. She knew Rumi had once been a part of the marching band and, judging by the amount of sheet music crammed inside their closet, had been extremely dedicated at one time. But the way Rumi used her flute as a paperweight more and more these days led Hanamura to believe it was something she had tried out and decided wasn't for her. She hadn't expected Rumi to have such a close affiliation with the director himself, or to be the recipient of such animosity.

They were all staring at her as if she had returned from exile.

The director must have seen the conflict on Hanamura's face for he pinned her with his dark gaze.

"Oh yes, your friend here was slated to be the first chair flute in my ensemble. Shiratorizawa sought her out all the way back in middle school for our music program," he revealed. "She has the lung capacity of a deep-sea diver. Fingers deft enough to weave spider's silk. The Twelve Fantasias for Flute is mere child's play for someone of her caliber–" He stopped suddenly, wincing. "Oh dear. Forgive me, Mika, darling. I meant no offense."

Ryu bowed to a girl sitting in the front row who was holding a flute and gaping in shock.

Turning back around, he fixed his gaze on Rumi once more.

"But, apparently, Miss Hara woke up one day and decided to give it all up."

Rumi stood her ground.

"Just because you're good at something doesn't mean you have to do it," she said dourly.

"You most certainly do when you have talent no others possess!" Ryu fired back. "You think I can just go out and replace you all willy nilly? Shop at Flutes'R'Us for the next grand soloist? You think people with your God-given talent grow on trees?" He stopped, realizing the error of his retort. "Again – you have my deepest apologies, Mika, dearest. You're a marvelous understudy."

The first chair flute slumped in her seat, crushed.

There was a loud growl.

"Enough of this!" Tashima snapped, clearly losing her patience. "We didn't come all this way to discuss old vendettas, so you can save the sob story for someone who actually cares!" She moved to the front of their group, confronting the director head-on with flaring nostrils and an angry look on her face. "Let's get to the point, shall we? We're here to discuss business between the marching band and the art club. We want to collaborate!"

Hanamura and the others flinched. This was exactly what Rumi had warned them not to do. But nerves had gotten the better of Tashima. She stood in top form, peering at him with such disdain it was capable of stripping a person of all their dignity, reducing them to ash.

They all fell quiet, waiting. The feeling of impending doom filled the space.

As to be expected, Ryu swept Tashima with his malevolent gaze. He tilted his head, assessing her with the same revulsion one might assess vermin on the streets. But something overcame him suddenly. The venom bled from his eyes. The rancor faded from his lips, and as he ripped the tie from his head to smooth back dark, curling hair, his mouth parted in awe.

"What an enchanting creature," he uttered softly, causing the entire room to ripple in shock. He stared at Tashima with a rapturous look, taking her whole profile in like a work of art. "Give me wings and call me Eros," he said in a daze, touching fingers to his lips, "To think – Psyche has appeared before me in the flesh! Such anger! Such spite!" Before anyone could react, he fled the dais, catching her hand and raising it to his lips.

"Enchanté, mademoiselle. Ryuunosuke Hara, at your service." He kissed her knuckles with a flourish. Cradling her hand in both of his, he asked suavely, "And who might you be?"

Flummoxed, Tashima tensed, snatching her hand back so fast she whacked herself in the chest. She withdrew from him with a look of utter repugnance on her face.

Ryu stood, mesmerized.

"Rumi, I had no idea you kept such elegant company," he said, half-gaping, half-smiling. "Your friend makes quite the impression."

Hanamura and Asano instinctively stepped in to shield her.

"Wait a minute. Hold on," said Izakaya, scowling, "Hara. Does this mean–?"

Rumi nodded. "Yes, we're cousins." She said flatly. Then, as an afterthought, she added, "Surprise."

Hanamura and the others studied the two, suddenly drawing the connection:

Dark hair, dark eyes, a sardonic slant to their mouths...

"Ah, I see it now," whispered Asano.

"Ryu, please try to focus," Rumi ordered. "They're here to commission the marching band."

Ryu drew his gaze from Tashima, peering at his cousin with a quirked brow.

"Really? And why would we cater to the art club?" He sneered. "In case you've forgotten, we play on the national stage among the top powerhouse schools in the volleyball circuit. We bring star players to their knees on live television." He looked on them with a condescending gleam. "What business could we possibly have with the likes of you? You're the redheaded stepchild of Shiratorizawa."

"Hey!" Asano cried out resentfully.

Ryu simpered. "Well, it's true, isn't it? Your club has become so obscure, no one knows who you are anymore. And who can blame them? You hardly ever leave that flea-ridden mess you call a studio. What do you have to show for yourselves beyond a few fruit bowls and sad self-portraits?"

Asano lifted her brows, a garbled noise escaping her throat.

"You wanna run that by me one more time?" She hissed.

Izakaya immediately grabbed her arm.

"Don't let him get to you," he muttered through the side of his mouth.

"I'm not. I'm just gonna give him a high-five – across the face – with my incense burner," She said darkly as she began slinging it like a ball-and-chain flail.

Izakaya grabbed her around the waist, trying desperately to hold her back.

"Reiko, no!"

"LET ME GO, TAKASHI!"

"NO!"

They scuffled for a moment, Asano growling in rage until the diffuser pitched high into the air before whopping Izakaya on the head. They both disappeared amid a cloud of ash.

Ryu tapped his chin with his baton, appearing totally unimpressed.

"As I was saying – What proposition could you possibly have that would entice us?"

Tashima was huffing and puffing now, looking very much like she wanted to stab him with his own baton. She had turned the color of a chokeberry. "Why you…," she snarled under her breath. Hanamura threw an arm out to keep her partner in place, but she knew they were quickly losing control of the situation. They had underestimated the flippant hostility that was Ryuunosuke Hara and found themselves on the verge of an all-out war with the marching band.

Hanamura wracked her brain for a strategy, a way to recover their diplomatic mission, but it was Rumi who stepped in, bringing their argument to a halt.

"You're right," she said much to everyone's confusion. "I don't know what we were thinking. You like to play it safe. Don't you, Ryu? The volleyball team always ensures you have a stage to perform. It's not like you have to work very hard to get there in the first place, right? Always riding on the coattails of others."

There must have been a seed of truth to her words for Ryu lost his smugness instantly.

Behind him, the band began to fidget.

"Rumi, what're you doing?" Hanamura whispered, shaking her head.

"No, no, let's go. Clearly, the marching band has lost its touch concerning true artistic achievement. They wouldn't be able to wrap their minds around what it is the art club has in store for the culture festival anyway," said Rumi as she motioned them toward the exit. "Sorry, Suzume. We'll have to take our vision elsewhere. Operation Magpie will just have to solicit musical accompaniment elsewhere."

"Wait! Rumi!" Hanamura protested.

Her roommate leaned in, whispering, "Just follow my lead. Trust me."

They headed for the doors leading out of the music hall, Asano and Tashima looking very much like they wanted to upend a few music stands and the garbage bin on their way out, but urgent whisperings broke out among the band. Even the school choir was weighing in, shooting anxious glances at the director over their programs.

It wasn't long before they reached an agreement.

"Wait, wait," Ryu stopped them. "Let's not be hasty. I didn't realize this was regarding the culture festival." He scoffed. "You could have led with that, you know. That changes everything."

Rumi flashed Hanamura and the others a triumphant grin.

"What is this Operation Magpie you speak of?" He asked.

Rumi turned to face her cousin once more.

"Takashi, why don't you show him the plans?" She suggested.

"Yes, little fairy boy. Show me the plans," ordered Ryu with a snap of his fingers. "Quickly now."

There was a sharp intake of air.

Izakaya dragged his gaze from one Hara to the next, cementing a new familial hatred of the latter. If rage were a magical power, they were all certain it would have allowed him to transform into an ice-breathing dragon. The ash seemed to puff straight out of his nostrils, his eyes so unnaturally white, they blended into the pale light reflected off his glasses, turning his whole face into a sheet of ice.

The air around him suddenly went cold.

"Give me the book," he ordered crisply.

Still dazed and smarting, Tashima passed him her portfolio in silence. Izakaya took it, striding forward onto the dais where he laid it over Ryu's sheet music with a hostile plunk. The band director was impervious to his death-summoning glare as they passed each other, his dark eyes already skimming the pages with his baton tucked behind an ear. As he absorbed himself in the project outline, a wondrous grin began to spread across his face.

"Oh my. This is very ambitious. And–" he drew his brows together "–dangerous too. Are you sure the school administration will go for this?"

Hanamura squared her shoulders.

"Better to ask for forgiveness than permission," she stated simply.

Ryu pulled his gaze away from the book and studied her. His scrutiny had a destabilizing effect. All of a sudden, she was acutely aware of how awkwardly she stood, how apprehensive the expression must be on her face. With incredible effort, she projected a mask of calm.

It wasn't long before recognition sparked in his eyes.

"Wait a minute." He paused. "I've heard about you. You're the freshman who dumpster-dives in between classes…the trash collector…scavenger girl."

When Hanamura made no signs to correct him, he let out a sudden bark of laughter.

"No wonder you're friends with this little traitor!" He said, motioning to Rumi who simply rolled her eyes in response. "You're Magpie Girl."

Hanamura lifted her chin.

"I am. And this is my crew," she said, gesturing to her friends who all stood a little bit taller, swelling with pride and their shared desire for retribution. "We're Operation Magpie."

Ryu tilted his head once more, grinning. He seemed amused.

"You know, there was a time not too long ago when the art club caused a ruckus on campus. There was a student who practiced anarchy in the courtyard for months. Drove the principal mad."

Hanamura returned his grin.

"Yeah, we know of him."

Ryu tapped the baton against his lips, deliberating.

"Your idea is brash, and dare I say, borderline criminal. Only a lunatic would try to pull a stunt like this at Shiratorizawa." He said bluntly, causing her to flush with anger. "You're playing against forces beyond your comprehension, scavenger girl. The disciplinary committee will have no qualms in shutting down your operation the moment it catches wind of this."

"Which is why we've come to you," she said, taking a step forward. "With such a prestigious club as our ally, your endorsement secures our place in the festival. We'd be sharing the stage together."

Hanamura balled her hands into fists to hide the fact that she was shaking. She refused to cower, and her resolve must have been noticeable for the others quickly took their stances behind her.

Ryu scoffed.

"And why should we risk our necks for you?"

Hanamura cast her gaze about the room, taking in the band with a bright gleam.

"Because this is something that's never been done before. Isn't that reason enough?"

For a moment, no one moved or spoke. There was a long, drawn-out silence, punctuated only by the sounds of birds chirping from outside. A wager had been cast, and now it was time to see which side would fold. The marching band looked to their director for the final verdict.

"Hmm. I suppose we could entertain this concept of yours a bit longer," he said begrudgingly, fingering the pages of the portfolio. His eyes were lost in thought. "We're particularly good at composing duels after all…"

Hanamura hazarded a glance at Tashima who remained wary.

Ryu shut the book.

"Okay. We're in," he said at last. But before anyone could relax, he held up a finger. "But on one condition. I get a date with your friend, the frost maiden."

Tashima opened her mouth to respond but was immediately drowned out by everyone else.

"NO!" They all shouted at once.

"Over my dead body!" Asano threw in for good measure.

Tashima paused. The turmoil escaped her face instantly as she peered at them all in shock.

"But – what about my sentence? 50 Good Deeds," she reminded them under her breath. "I thought you'd all jump at the chance to make me suffer."

Izakaya held up a bell-capped sleeve.

"The art club doesn't dabble in quid pro quo," he stated chivalrously, "Not on my watch."

Tashima looked on him with newfound appreciation. Something in the way he delivered those words, dressed in his elvish blue gown and ash-covered exterior, seemed to reorient her opinion of Zeldor the Blue forever.

Ryu scrunched his mouth to the side.

"Hmph. No matter," he shrugged, nonchalant. "Then the turncoat must reprise her role as first chair flute. I won't have any subpar performances at the festival–" he paused, grimacing in error "–Again I'm so sorry, Mika, sweetheart. Maybe you should wait outside while we talk?"

At this point, Mika looked as if her dreams had just been ripped from her hands, torn to pieces, and tossed into a muddy puddle in the streets. She glared at Rumi with unappeasable hatred, clutching her flute like a weapon.

Hanamura looked to her roommate as well, trying to catch her eye.

You don't have to do this, she wanted to say. We'll find another way.

But Rumi faced the marching band as if she had known she would have to contend with them once and for all. There was a look of resignation on her face as she stood with hands on hips, issuing a loud sigh.

"Fine, I'll do it. But just this once," she announced to the room. "My heart belongs to science!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Ryu waved in dismissal. "Then we have ourselves a deal."

He held out his hand.

A few moments passed before Hanamura realized they were all waiting on her. Tashima gave her a small push, and she quickly moved to join him on the dais. Facing Ryu under the heavy gazes of the marching band, the school choir, and members of the art club, she reached out and shook his hand firmly.

"Er…Welcome to the flock," she said.

Ryu gripped her hand, drawing her close.

"The marching band accepts your proposal, but don't make us regret this, Magpie Girl," he said in warning. "All eyes will be on you should this whole thing fall apart. I hope you've prepared for the worst."

Shockingly, Hanamura didn't feel a spike of fear in reaction to such words. Instead, she felt the low, burning desire to prove him wrong, a challenge she was willing to accept if only to demonstrate that she was more capable than he gave her credit. His words only served to reinforce her resolve. And then, just like all the times she had witnessed Tendou smirk at rival players on the court, illustrating the depth of his confidence, she let a chilling smile touch her lips.

"And I hope you can keep up," she said, squeezing his knuckles in return. "We've got a lot of work to do between now and the festival. We need something powerful for the stage. What do you have to offer us?"

Simmering, Ryu released her to clap his hands.

"Allegro! Emporté! Appassionato!"

Without further repose, the marching band broke out into a glorious aria behind them. The choir raised their voices, the bassoons and violins winding in an upward spiral toward the heavens, the cymbals and harp ushering open the gates to a glittering, floating world. And as the music cascaded over Hanamura and her friends, a feeling of triumph more real and more consuming took hold of them.

They had secured their first ally.

The only direction to go now was forward.

. . . . . . . .

"Your cousin is the absolute worst," said Asano to Rumi as they all reconvened in the girls' dormitory. After nearly an hour of discussing the logistics of their commission with the marching band, they had all come back victorious but filled with an uncontrollable thirst for bloodshed. Izakaya had parted ways, mumbling about a few turtles he was eager to detonate in the kiln that evening. Surprisingly, Tashima accompanied him, having found unexpected friendship in someone else who was as skilled at venting as she was.

"You're preaching to the choir," said Rumi sardonically. Picking up the jar of dead flies from the windowsill, she offered it to Asano. "Wanna feed the flytrap? It'll help take the edge off."

Asano studied the jar for a moment before nodding in agreement.

Hanamura unclipped her bowtie and slipped out of her socks as she rummaged through her closet for fresh clothes. With the marching band on board, she and Tashima would be able to move forward with the next set of action items on their list, but everything was beginning to feel much more real. She was stepping into the public sphere and bringing her friends into the fold. As her reputation as Magpie Girl grew, the stakes would begin to raise as well.

She hoped she was brave enough to handle it.

"Rumi, are you sure you want to get roped back into the marching band?" She asked, still feeling guilty over their negotiated terms. "This will conflict with the science club."

Rumi handed a pair of tweezers to Asano to fish out flies before retrieving the flute that was sitting atop a bag of potting soil. Dusting it off, she palmed it appreciatively.

"Nah, it's alright. Knowing Ryu, he'll pick the most over-the-top musical arrangement, and you'll need someone as a good go-between. I'll make sure to keep him in check."

Hanamura smiled. "Thanks. This means a lot."

Rumi returned her smile.

"Suzume, are you going out tonight?" Asano asked her curiously.

"Mmm-hmm. I have a cake to deliver," she said as she pulled a shirt over her head. "Practice should be nearly finished. If I head down now, I can catch Satori on his way to the dorms."

Asano shared a glance with Rumi.

"And you're going out in that?" She asked, motioning with the tweezers. The flytrap was closing its many mouths behind her.

Pausing, Hanamura glanced down at her shirt and shorts. "Yes? Why? What's wrong?"

Asano burst into laughter.

"Oh no, no, no," she said, rising with a shake of her head. "My dear, if you intend to keep all this a secret from Tendou, you're going to have to up your game. Here, I have something for you." She grabbed her wool purse off Rumi's bunk bed, pulling out a bundle of fabric of which she handed to Hanamura.

She took it gingerly, frowning at Asano in confusion.

"What? You didn't think I forgot about you?" She said with a smile. "When Tendou made his announcement on television, I knew I had to finish this right away. Fortunately, I had just wrapped up Takashi's mage costume, and I was able to find fabric and thread in Tokyo to work on it between ghost tours. Something just for you."

Curious, Hanamura unraveled the bundle, holding up a garment made from cherry-red canvas.

She recognized it immediately.

"Reiko!" She exclaimed in wonder. A smile spread across her face. She had almost forgotten. "This is my painting. The alcohol experiment!" She gasped. "This is what you had planned all along?"

The fabric had retained its vivid marbling. A field of red interspersed with gold and black. Asano had layered it with silk organza, softening the colors into a polished textile print. Hanamura marveled at the delicate thread work, the lines of gold catching the light from her reading lamp. The thread traveled in slanted lines, condensing near the waist in a clean, geometric mesh.

"It's beautiful," she murmured in awe.

"Put it on! Let's see it," urged Rumi.

Curious, Hanamura quickly swapped clothes, removing her shirt and shorts and letting the dress slip over her head down to her thighs.

"For you, it needed to be something simple, yet sporty. You have a good pair of shoulders, so I immediately thought of a mod cut. This is called a bateau," Asano explained, stepping into designer mode as she motioned to the high neckline of the dress. "It cuts straight across the neck just underneath the collarbones, no sleeves, but the real show-stopper's in the back."

Without warning, Asano unhooked Hanamura's bra and slipped the straps down her arms. Hanamura instinctively held herself, feeling strange in such a garment, but Asano had lined the inside with a soft jersey material that was light and comfortable like a slip. Turning to glance at herself in the mirror, Hanamura was shocked to see that from behind, the dress tapered into a low v-line at the middle of her waist, leaving her shoulder blades exposed. It was daring and provocative. The girl in the mirror appeared to have stepped out of a 1960s fashion spread. It was the most decadent thing she had ever put on.

"Reiko, this is too much." Hanamura stared at her reflection, feeling unworthy of the dress. It was out of her comfort zone. "I can't pull this off."

"Nonsense. This is your work. I created this to be a compliment to you, not the other way around," she said proudly. "It fits you like a glove!"

When Hanamura remained unconvinced, Rumi joined them at the mirror.

"Look, you just landed your first major ally. You're free from academic probation. You're dating a demon." She produced a pair of black sandals of which she handed to Hanamura. "It's high time you embrace your power. Flaunt it."

"Like Takashi in his mage costume," said Asano.

"Like Zeldor the Blue," agreed Rumi.

Hanamura laughed, feeling a peculiar mix of emotions. She peered at them suspiciously.

"What is this? Are you two my fairy godmothers? I feel like Cinderella being sent to the ball."

Asano and Rumi shared a look.

"My dress is better. Just saying," said Asano in a self-congratulatory tone. "If Tendou doesn't falter when he sees you, then I'll give up my dream of becoming a textile designer forever."

"The sandals are much comfier than walking in glass," said Rumi with a grin.

Hanamura studied their faces in the mirror. Asano was still sporting a massive bedhead with incense ash coating her face, holding the tweezers with a particularly juicy black fly at the end. Rumi was beside her, every bit the shadow assassin with her black hair buns and tarnished flute. As they stood there like that, a trio of misfits in front of the mirror, she couldn't help but grin. She spun around and gave them both a hug, squeezing them tightly until they wheezed with laughter.

"You make me feel like I can conquer the world," she said.

"Good. Because that's exactly what you're going to do," said Asano. "Starting with him."

Hanamura felt her heart leap into her throat. Glancing at the alarm clock on her desk, she gasped.

"It's late. I have to go!"

Releasing them, she hurriedly grabbed the gift bag off her desk.

"Thank you," she said, kissing their cheeks affectionately. "More diabolical scheming when I get back. Rumi, you might have to help me sneak back into the dorms if we're out past curfew."

"Atta girl, Suzume," Rumi smirked. "You sound more like an evildoer already."

Hanamura cracked a smile. "Wish me luck!"

"Good luck!" They called back as she bolted through the door.

A/N: If the art club gang teamed up in Izakaya's Crystal Lotus Campaign, they'd make one hell of a party, don't you think? Hanamura would be the pick-pocket scavenger, Asano the kitsune necromancer, Rumi the rogue assassin, and Tashima the Valkyrie berserker. It was fun crafting their meeting with the marching band like a dungeon raid. They had to overcome their differences to unite against the incredible snark that is Ryuunosuke Hara.

Another favorite gimmick of mine surfaced in this chapter too. The Transformation Trope - that highly-anticipated moment in the story where the leading lady gets a makeover to match her new lease on life. Gets me every time, I swear. Do you enjoy this trope too? I had so much fun looking at 1960s fashion for inspiration. Hanamura's very active and outdoorsy, so it was fun searching for a style that fit her spunk. The mod dress seemed to suit her the best.

"Mrs. Elton Arrives at Hartfield" - Isobel Waller-Bridge & David Schweitzer

"I Was Made for Lovin' You" - Gaga Symphony Orchestra

"Fire in Your New Shoes" - Kaskade ft. Dragonette

Happy Holidays everyone! I hope this update comes to you during a time of much-deserved rest and relaxation. Don't be afraid to over-indulge in the hot chocolate and Christmas cookies this weekend! Another update is right around the corner.

Until next time,

lavendermoonmilk