Noon in Himlabacken was scorching, but people don't find things troublesome when they are up to no good.
Margarita wore a wide-brimmed hat, paired with a pair of sunglasses she had dug up from somewhere, and a white dress as she sneakily slipped out of the academy's side gate. She purposefully took a detour to avoid students on the main street, jogging along the shadows of the eaves until she reached the entrance of that swimsuit shop.
Hehehehe... the more revealing, the better...
Margarita wore a sinister smile, as if she could already see Constance standing by the sea in a swimsuit. Her long golden hair would be tied up, her charcoal-gray riding habit replaced by thin fabric, and that perpetually cold face would be flushed with an embarrassed blush.
“Welcome—” The clerk behind the counter was the same one from last time, and her eyes lit up when she saw Margarita. “Ah! It’s the mint green little sister from before.”
Margarita took off her hat and sunglasses, flashing her professional smile. “I’m here to help a friend pick something out today.”
“A friend?” The clerk rounded the counter, enthusiastically leading her toward the clothing racks. “What kind of friend? What color does she like? Is her style conservative or—”
“Revealing,” Margarita said decisively.
The clerk blinked, stunned.
“The more revealing, the better,” Margarita added, her smile becoming increasingly sinister. “That friend of mine usually dresses way too strictly and has a cold personality. I want to give her something that will help her loosen up a bit.”
The clerk’s eyes sparkled with a look of shared understanding. She turned and pulled one piece after another from the back row of the rack. A black lace two-piece where the top consisted of only two triangular patches of fabric tied across the chest with thin strings; a neon pink halter-style bikini with so little fabric it could barely cover a single hand; and a bright red one that was completely backless from the shoulder blades down to the small of the back, connected at the sides by laces—wearing it would be practically the same as wearing nothing at all.
Margarita looked them over one by one, her smile deepening.
“This one.” She picked up the bright red one and flipped it over in her hands. “Backless, minimal fabric in the front, and it has laces. This is it.”
“How is your friend’s figure?” the clerk asked. “This piece is quite demanding. She’ll need a slim waist and upright shoulders to pull it off.”
“Her figure is excellent,” Margarita said without hesitation. “Her waist is very thin, her back is straight, and her legs are long. You can tell even when she’s wearing a riding habit. She’ll definitely look great in a swimsuit. Plus, she’s blonde with green eyes; this will suit her perfectly. Wrap it up for me.”
...
The sun was high in the sky when Constance stepped out of the Knight Order’s custody room.
She and Clara had spent the entire morning performing a thorough soul scan on those two members of the Sacrosanct Circle. The conclusion was exactly as she had anticipated: their memories had vanished, leaving only instinct behind. Clara mentioned that recovery would take at least six months, and even then, there was no guarantee how much they would remember.
In that case, they would just have to keep them for now.
Exiting the Knight Order’s building, Constance walked along the main street toward the academy. Her mind flipped through the schedule for the next few days: the gear for the entire group’s mobilization, contact with the Arlan garrison, the family’s strongholds in the city, and the activity range of that little Consultant after they reached Arlan...
Her steps paused momentarily in front of a shop.
The swimsuit shop, with its lace curtains and two wooden mannequins at the door. Several new summer styles were displayed in the window, their vibrant colors eye-catching in the afternoon sun.
Constance had intended to just glance past it. But then she spotted a white figure in a wide-brimmed hat, sunglasses, and a white dress, sneakily slipping into the shop.
Margarita.
Standing across the street, Constance watched the little Consultant duck into the swimsuit shop with movements so practiced it looked like she had staked the place out beforehand. She tilted her head, her gaze sweeping over the swimsuits in the window before looking down at her own charcoal-gray riding habit.
Constance’s foot had already moved forward.
Margarita stood at the counter with her back to the door, talking to the clerk, completely unaware of the presence by the window.
“...This will suit her perfectly. Wrap it up for me.”
Constance just stood there with her arms crossed, looking at Margarita’s back. The white dress, the hair braided to the side over her right shoulder, the silver-gray satin ribbon tied neatly. The midday light streaming through the glass door coated her in a warm glow.
Then Margarita paid, and the clerk handed over the paper bag. As she reached out to take it, her peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the door.
Constance almost couldn't suppress a smile when she saw the expression on that small face switch from a professional smile to one of total panic at being caught.
“I just came from the Knight Order’s custody room to discuss the recovery status of those two members of the Sacrosanct Circle with Professor Clara,” Constance said as she pushed the door open, the doorbell chiming once. “I was passing by.”
Margarita tried to hide the paper bag behind her back. Constance glanced at it, seeing a corner of burgundy wrapping paper peeking out from the bag’s opening.
“What is in that bag?”
“Nothing, just a gift for a friend.”
“I saw it from outside,” Constance said, her tone level. “Burgundy, with side laces.”
The clerk looked back and forth between Margarita and Constance, then suddenly let out an “Ah!” and pointed at Constance. “Blonde hair, green eyes, good figure, long legs—”
Constance looked down at herself.
She was indeed blonde with green eyes. Her figure wasn't bad, and her legs were certainly long. But hearing it from someone else, especially in this setting, made her ears feel a bit hot.
“Consultant,” she spoke up. “That friend of yours—blonde hair?”
“Yes...”
“Green eyes?”
“Mhm...”
“...Haha.” Margarita let out a dry laugh. “President, why are you here...?”
Constance reached out and took the paper bag. Margarita didn't dare stop her. She opened it and glanced inside: a burgundy two-piece swimsuit with side laces, tie-up top, and only a thin string across the back. There was so little fabric that Constance wanted to laugh.
But she didn't laugh. She closed the bag and tucked it under her arm.
“Side laces,” she remarked.
“The clerk recommended it,” Margarita’s voice was as small as a kitten’s mew.
“The top only has strings.”
“The burgundy color... it compliments the complexion.”
“And the back is just a single thin string.”
“Um, if the President doesn't like it, I can return—”
“No need,” Constance said. “Since it’s a gift, I’ll accept it.”
Margarita was stunned. Constance looked at that face filled with surprise, suppressing the amusement in her heart even deeper.
“In exchange.” Constance placed a document bag on the counter. “You’re going on night patrol tonight.”
“Night patrol? We leave tomorrow, and I’m on patrol tonight?”
“The hills to the east. There have been reports of monster activity lately. Take Joshua with you.” Constance pulled a patrol route map from the bag and placed it on the counter. “From eight o’clock until midnight—four hours.”
“Why Joshua?”
“Patrick has extra practice tonight, Irene and Erica need to prepare potions, and Lovell hasn't officially joined the action group yet.” Constance looked at her. “That only leaves you and Joshua.”
Margarita took the map with a complicated expression. Constance knew what she was thinking; the arrangement was indeed deliberate, but there was no proof.
“Fine.” Margarita tucked the map away. “Night patrol it is.”
Constance nodded and turned toward the door. After a few steps, she stopped again.
She tilted her head. Margarita was standing at the counter, clutching the map, the afternoon light making her glow. That face was indeed beautiful; Constance had noticed it the first time she saw her by the training grounds. But what made her remember that face were those blue eyes that always seemed to be calculating something.
Having such a friend probably meant life would never be too boring.
...
That night. The Eastern Hills.
“Where are those monsters we were promised?” Margarita drew an 'X' on the topographical map in her hand.
“I don't know. Maybe we scared them off.”
The moon was bright, illuminating the gravel path clearly. Margarita and Joshua walked east along the patrol route, their shadows stretching long in the moonlight. Joshua carried his sword, walking on the outer side. Margarita held the map, her steps leisurely.
“Margarita,” Joshua spoke. The night wind blew the black hair back from his forehead, revealing those blue eyes.
“Yeah?”
“You don't seem to be in a very good mood tonight.”
“I’m fine.” Margarita glanced at him. “I just feel like Constance has every single step calculated. She even happened to run into me when I was buying a swimsuit.”
Joshua didn't respond. The two walked in silence for a while, passing through a patch of low shrubs and skirting around several large boulders. Insects chirped in the night breeze, and an owl hooted in the distance.
“Joshua.”
“Mhm.”
“Do you want to hear a story?”
Joshua turned to look at her.
“What story?”
Margarita thought for a moment, tucked the map into her arms, and counted on her fingers. “The Sword Saint and the Red-Haired Thief, the Sword Saint and the Icy President, or the Sword Saint and the Motherly Instructor.”
Joshua frowned. “What kind of stories are those?”
“Just a few possible futures a Sword Saint might encounter.” Margarita looked at him, the moonlight highlighting the tear mole on her face and making her blue eyes sparkle. “Which one do you want to hear?”
Joshua was silent for a while.
“Isn't there one...” he began, “about the Sword Saint and his childhood friend?”
Margarita’s steps faltered.
“The childhood friend is dead,” she said, her tone as flat as if she were reading from a script. “Dying before the Sword Saint reaches his full potential.”
Joshua said nothing. They walked for another stretch, the night wind fluttering a few strands of Margarita’s white hair.
“Then the Sword Saint must be in a lot of pain,” Joshua said.
Margarita glanced at him.
She had seen the Joshua from the game. In the original work, he set out on a path of revenge after Percy Village was slaughtered, recruiting teammates along the way—Lovell, Clara, and Constance appeared one by one on his journey. But Clara’s route didn't completely redeem him. The official 'Hero x Thief' route only ended with him learning how to smile while living on. As for Constance’s route, it was purely mutual exploitation from beginning to end.
No matter which route was taken, Joshua always ended up burying his pain deeper. Margarita hadn't thought much of it when she cleared the game—it was just plot necessity. But now, standing here and looking at the Joshua who was listening so seriously to her stories, she suddenly felt a tightness in her chest.
“Yeah.” She nodded. “It’s very painful.”
“So,” Joshua stopped and turned to face her, the moonlight reflecting brightly in his blue eyes. “What if the childhood friend didn't die?”
Margarita looked up at him.
“If the childhood friend survived, would the Sword Saint’s story be different?”
Margarita opened her mouth to speak.
Wait... stop talking... I’m trying to feed you a walkthrough, why are you trying to open a new route...?
“Joshua.” She turned her face away. “A story is just a story. There are no 'what-ifs'.”
“Then I want to hear the story of the Sword Saint and his childhood friend,” Joshua said. “I don't want the Red-Haired Thief, the Icy President, or the instructor.”
Margarita’s hand tightened around the map in her arms.
Don't say any more... we won't be able to stay 'siblings' at this rate...
...
The moonlight spilled over the small figure before him, dyeing her white hair like the starlight in the sky.
Joshua had always known his childhood friend had many secrets, but he never asked. She made decisions for everyone and arranged a path for them all. She protected him so well that he sometimes forgot she was also just a fifteen-year-old girl.
“Night patrol.” Margarita cleared her throat and turned to keep walking, her pace significantly faster than before. “Pay attention. There are reports of monsters to the east. Don't just focus on chatting.”
Joshua followed, walking by her side. As the moonlight hit her from the side, he saw that Margarita’s ears had turned red.
“Okay,” he said.
The two continued forward. Joshua didn't speak again, but he kept that question tucked away in his heart. He would wait for the day Margarita was willing to tell the story of the Sword Saint and the childhood friend.
If she was willing.
Rate on N.U.
