The weather carried the kind of cold that settled into stone and stayed there.
No snow yet. Just a pale grey sky layered beneath heavier clouds, the promise of rain hanging somewhere above the rooftops.
"So, so," Noi said between barely restrained laughter, "you have to persuade her parents to let her go study in the West."
She leaned back in her chair with one leg folded beneath herself, her novel abandoned face-down beside a cooling cup of tea.
"To study magic," she added, smiling wider now.
"Yes," I sighed.
Outside the office window, the street looked stripped bare by winter. Trees stood skeletal along the road, dark branches cutting against the cloudy sky. Even the pedestrians moved differently now—heads lowered, coats drawn tight, breaths fading pale into the cold air.
"And," Noi continued, unable to help herself, "you haven't even been to the West yourself."
The laughter escaped her fully this time.
I ignored her and turned toward Mr. Bao instead, hoping for rescue.
He sat at his desk with the same composed posture he always seemed attached to, fingers tapping lightly beside his teacup while he considered the situation.
Honestly, I didn't trust that calm expression anymore.
Usually it meant he was about to say something deeply inconvenient.
"Honestly," he began, "all you can really do is answer vaguely and professionally."
He lifted the cup, steam brushing past his glasses before he took a slow sip.
"But," he added afterward, "I do think studying in the West would benefit her."
The office quieted slightly.
A clock ticked somewhere behind me.
I glanced back at Noi. She had already returned to her book as though she hadn't just volunteered me for diplomatic negotiations disguised as dinner conversation.
Do we seriously spend this much time drinking tea? I wondered.
"But it would still be difficult," Bao continued.
I looked back toward him. "Why?"
"Well." He placed the cup down carefully. "The West training a mage from the East is comparable to handing over strategic military knowledge."
The words settled heavily into the room.
For a moment, I simply stared at him while my thoughts caught up.
Then it clicked.
Oh.
This was less "student exchange" and more "please educate our future weapons engineer."
"It's like teaching another nation how to build a nuclear bomb," I thought grimly.
I didn't like that comparison.
Mostly because it immediately made sense.
And suddenly dinner with her parents became significantly more terrifying.
The city had grown quieter by the time I left work.
Winter had chased most people indoors early. Wind moved through the streets unhindered now, carrying the smell of rain and chimney smoke.
I adjusted my scarf after stepping out of the shop, balancing the small package I had bought beneath one arm. My breath fogged softly in front of me.
"Here we go," I murmured.
The carriage ride toward Mayumi's house felt longer than usual.
Bare trees lined the roads, their branches scratching softly against one another whenever the wind strengthened. The farther we moved from the commercial district, the calmer the streets became.
Too calm, maybe.
The kind of quiet that gave your thoughts room to become annoying.
Eventually the carriage slowed before a fenced home tucked beneath the pale evening sky.
The house looked warm even from outside.
Light glowed behind the windows. Somewhere within, I could hear movement and faint conversation.
For a second, I almost envied it.
Just—
the certainty of belonging somewhere that completely.
I stepped up to the door and knocked.
For a moment, only the wind answered.
Then footsteps approached.
"Sino ito?" a voice called from inside.
The door opened.
"Ah—Miss Con… Victoria," the woman corrected herself quickly, smiling as she stepped aside.
She was tall and beautiful, dressed simply but elegantly, with soft canine ears resting atop dark hair and a tail swaying slowly behind her.
Warmth drifted out immediately, carrying the smell of food with it.
"Come in, come in."
"Thank you for having me," I said quickly, stepping inside before the cold followed further.
The difference in temperature hit instantly.
Warm air.
Cooking spices.
The faint sound of dishes shifting somewhere deeper in the house.
It felt lived in.
Not polished. Not performative.
Real.
"Vicky, you're here!"
Mayumi nearly collided with me.
She wrapped her arms around me before I could properly react, and my entire body stiffened immediately.
My eyes shifted toward her parents on instinct.
Her mother chuckled softly.
"Yumi, you are bothering her."
Mayumi finally let go, though not without grinning first.
I tried to recover whatever dignity remained.
Not much survived.
"Good evening, sir," I greeted her father as he approached. "Thank you for having me."
He carried himself calmly, the kind of composed presence that made silence feel deliberate rather than awkward.
"How's work?" he asked as we moved toward the dining table.
"Busy," I answered automatically.
Not technically a lie.
Just incomplete.
The dishes were already being brought out one by one.
Steam curled upward from bowls and plates spread across the table. Crab. Rice. Braised vegetables. Chicken coated in dark sauce. The smell alone nearly distracted me from the political landmine waiting somewhere ahead.
Crabs. Nice.
For one glorious moment, I considered focusing entirely on survival through seafood.
"Please make yourself feel at home," Mayumi's mother said warmly.
I nodded perhaps too quickly.
"Thank you."
We began eating.
For a while, conversation stayed light.
Utensils clinked softly against plates while the warmth of the food gradually pushed the cold from my hands.
"My daughter tells me you've been helping her," her father said after some time.
His chopsticks paused above his bowl.
"I wanted to thank you."
"Ah—it's nothing really," I replied quickly. "She helps me too."
I nearly choked immediately afterward remembering our first meeting in the bookstore.
Across the table, Mayumi looked entirely unconcerned, focused instead on dismantling a crab leg with alarming concentration.
Help me here, please.
"She also told us about the spell," her mother added.
I swallowed my water too quickly.
"Ah." I adjusted my posture slightly. "I mostly asked colleagues and approached it from a… practical angle."
"Hm."
The dangerous silence arrived.
I felt it before anyone spoke again.
Conversation slowed. Chopsticks moved less frequently.
And then—
"She says she wants to study in the West."
There it was.
Her father's voice remained calm, but the weight behind it sharpened the air slightly.
"She argues institutions here in Hǎi'àn would not be sufficient."
I glanced toward Mayumi.
She sat straighter immediately.
Nervous.
Trying not to look nervous.
"I don't want applied knowledge," she said quietly. "Magic is part of me. I want to understand it properly."
The room settled again.
Outside, rain finally began tapping lightly against the windows.
Soft at first.
Something about the sound made the silence feel heavier.
I inhaled slowly.
"I can understand why she feels that way," I admitted.
Because it was true.
Eastern universities taught Aether engineering, industrial applications, controlled environmental systems—
But mana?
Actual magecraft?
That belonged mostly to the West.
And everyone at the table knew it.
"How is the West?" her mother asked after a moment. "Safety-wise."
She glanced briefly toward Mayumi before looking away again.
There was worry there. The kind that had likely lived quietly inside her for years.
I straightened instinctively.
"The Concord maintains rigorous cross-border regulatory frameworks to ensure standard compliance."
The sentence came out smoothly.
Professionally.
Convincingly.
Internally, however:
I have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about.
But according to Noi it's probably fine.
Silence followed.
I took another careful bite of food while everyone processed the statement as though I had delivered classified geopolitical analysis.
Across from me, Mayumi looked genuinely impressed.
Please stop believing I know things.
Her father cleared his throat.
"How does the local engineering curriculum compare to Western magecraft?"
I froze for half a second.
Too many eyes suddenly.
"The structural methodologies differ fundamentally in their operational execution," I replied.
Inside my head:
One uses blueprints. The other throws steam at people.
"Please pass the mutton."
Her father nodded slowly like I had spoken ancient wisdom.
Beside him, Mayumi looked moments away from spiritual revelation.
Oh no.
She thinks I'm protecting forbidden magical doctrine.
Her mother noticed the expression on her daughter's face and sighed quietly into her tea.
"I see," her father said eventually. "Do you have any recommendations?"
"That," I answered honestly this time, "I would need time to look into."
Thankfully, he accepted the answer.
The tension eased after that.
Not completely.
But enough for breathing to become less deliberate.
Conversation finally drifted toward lighter things afterward. The atmosphere loosened little by little while food steadily disappeared from plates.
Outside, the rain strengthened, tapping softly against the house while warmth and conversation filled the dining room.
And annoyingly enough—
I actually started enjoying myself.
By the end of the meal, my shoulders no longer felt locked in place.
The dinner had genuinely been wonderful.
Apparently difficult conversations paired well with excellent cooking.
"Thank you again for the gift," her mother said near the doorway as I prepared to leave.
Before I could refuse, she placed a small wrapped bundle of potions into my hands.
I stared at them briefly.
That felt expensive.
Outside, evening had fully settled across the neighborhood.
Warm light glowed behind nearby windows while the rain had softened into a thin mist that silvered the streets beneath the lamps.
"Goodnight," Mayumi called.
I waved lightly before stepping through the gate.
Cold air greeted me immediately, but after the intensity of dinner, the quiet felt welcome.
I refused their offer to have someone walk me home.
I needed the silence a little.
Instead, I moved slowly down the street alone.
My breath drifted pale in front of me. Somewhere in the distance, a carriage rolled across wet stone.
I exhaled deeply, feeling the last of the tension finally leave my chest.
"This is rather difficult," I murmured.
Not the dinner.
Not even the politics.
Just—
people.
The city answered only with rain and winter wind as I continued walking beneath the dim evening sky.