A monster with a completely white face was stuck to the room's window.

Or so it seemed—it turned out to be a lizard.

“...Scared me,”

He let out a breath and placed the sword from his bedside back down. Pushing up the bridge of his slightly askew glasses, which had shifted in his rush, he slowly got out of bed.

Midnight. In the southern country. Beside the great forest. In the research lab.

Ziel stared intently at the pale underbelly of the large lizard clinging to the window.

He’d had a feeling something was out there.

Even asleep, one could sense that much. Something was outside the room—he had known that. But just because something was there didn’t mean he needed to wake up every time.

After all, it was the great forest. There was no end to the creatures out there. If he got startled every time a bug passed by, he’d never sleep again. So, thinking “something’s there...” he had chosen to ignore it and kept sleeping.

But this time, it had felt like something fairly big had come.

When he woke up, of course he wasn’t wearing his glasses, so all he saw was a blurry white shape, and for a second he thought it was some kind of ghost or spirit.

This was Chikano’s fault, Ziel thought. Ever since his annoying summer ghost story sessions, he had become more jumpy. He still hadn’t gotten used to the very logical assumption that if you saw something outside the window here, it was probably just some unfamiliar animal.

The lizard’s belly was pressed against the glass. Unbelievably white. Probably, he thought, it had come seeking the cooler air, since the inside of the research lab was kept at a lower temperature thanks to the mages.

But maybe it felt awkward being stared at, because the lizard started slowly waddling away from the window. Ziel watched it go, feeling a bit lonely for some reason. It escaped downward and soon disappeared from view. So he opened the window.

He saw a light on in the room below.

This, too, was Chikano’s fault, Ziel thought.

It was already late at night. And the next forest expedition wasn’t far off. Which meant everyone should be trying to keep a relatively regular schedule. So it was hard to imagine anyone would be awake at this hour.

The word “thief” floated into his mind.

He figured he should check, just in case.

Not that he seriously thought anything was going on. He put a foot on the window frame. He figured it was probably just someone who forgot to turn the light off, or someone who just happened to wake up for some reason—but if he didn’t confirm it, the little question mark in his mind would linger. Hanging out the window, he thought: if I’m going to sleep, I want to sleep soundly. So it’s better to resolve even a small doubt. Anyone would think the same. Instead of resolving things in his head, the rational thing would be to actually go look and check with his own eyes.

Not confident that he could find his way there from inside the research lab, Ziel opted to crawl along the outer wall like the lizard.

From another perspective, he was probably the suspicious one. He was aware of that, but still clambered down the wall, deftly using both hands and feet. Midway through, he thought, “Wouldn’t it be faster to just jump from this height?” but he was already committed, so he kept going.

The lit room.

Right below.

He hung upside-down and peeked in, head first.

Ney was there, looking like she’d just seen a ghost.

Miraculously, she managed not to scream.

“Please die.”

“Yes...”

If a cat had gone through the same thing, its ears, tail, and all its fur would have stood straight on end. That’s how startled she was.

It turned out the lit room was the dining hall.

Night. The summer insects of the great forest chattered outside. From the kitchen came the faint hum of heat. Ney, her apron folded and draped over a chair, leaned on the table with her cheek in her hand, looking thoroughly annoyed.

And Ziel was sitting formally on the floor before her.

“Normally, if you think about it logically, do you really think there are people who would crawl along the outside wall of a building at night like a bug and peek into someone’s room?”

“I mean... I’m right here...”

“I said, think logically, didn’t I?”

Even as common sense denied his existence, Ziel accepted it—fair enough, he thought. Anyone would be scared. He’d just mistaken a lizard’s belly for a human face and freaked out, so he got it. If a real human face suddenly appeared upside-down outside your window, yeah, logically, anyone would freak out.

“I’m truly sorry,” he apologized again.

Ney looked down at him, still resting her cheek on her hand. After two seconds of silence, she sighed and said—

“—Well, whatever.”

Thank goodness she was a tolerant person, he thought, exhaling in relief as he stood up.

Now that the moment had passed, it felt like a proper night. He’d felt it too while crawling around outside, but the heat and brightness of the day had faded. And yet there was still no sign of morning. In the warm, deep darkness, only the dining hall’s light glowed faintly.

A night where everyone else was asleep.

Even if it hadn’t been a ghost, being alone in the middle of the night with someone you didn’t know very well could still be scary, so—

“Sorry for bothering you. I’ll be going now.”

“Okay,” Ney replied. He was a little curious what she’d been doing, but the atmosphere didn’t feel right to ask. So Ziel simply ended the conversation there and left through the open, doorless exit of the dining hall.

He turned right.

“W-w-w-wait a sec—”

He was stopped.

When he turned around, Ney was looking at him in disbelief, half-risen from her chair. Her voice was full of incredulity as she asked—

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Uh... back to bed?”

“That way’s a dead end.”

“......”

Ziel glanced at the direction he’d been about to go.

Apparently, it really was a dead end. He’d thought there was a staircase to the second floor if you turned right at the end.

“...Then, this way?”

“If you’re planning to continue your grand adventure like that, you might as well go back out the window. Crawl around like a bug.”

Ney said with a pointed tone, still clearly holding a grudge. She pointed out the window. “No way,” Ziel thought. It’d be one thing to wander around inside, but from the outside, there’s no way to tell which window was his. And there were no nameplates outside to confirm, so even checking would be a pain. If he ended up peeking into someone’s room just because they, like him, forgot to close their curtains, how would he ever apologize for that?

“You came from your own room’s window, so why don’t you just find an open window and go back through it?”

“No, I closed it on my way out.”

“...Why so pointlessly meticulous...”

With another sigh, Ney exhaled. She glanced toward the kitchen, then spoke.

“Just ten minutes—”

“Could you wait that long? I’m using a heat magic stone right now. I don’t really want to leave this spot.”

Ziel took that to mean she’d bring him back to his room in ten minutes.

“Of course,” Ziel replied and walked back into the dining room. Thinking it would be a bit presumptuous to sit next to or directly across from her, he chose a table one over—close enough, but not too close.

“Thanks, that helps. I’m sorry for bothering you when you seem to be in the middle of something.”

He glanced toward the kitchen. Some kind of sound... He hadn’t spent much time here, but he could sort of tell. There were the noises of kitchen tools moving. A faintly warm, heated atmosphere was coming from that direction.

He figured there was no way she was preparing food for tomorrow at this hour of the night, but—

“...Not really. I just couldn’t sleep and decided to play around.”

As expected, Ney said something like that.

White laboratory light, used during nighttime hours, fell on her apron, making it shimmer slightly. Ney also looked down at it. Her eyes seemed dazed, yet focused, as if clearly thinking about something.

The scent drifted over.

“Cookies?”

“...Ah, from the smell.”

She asked, “Can you tell?”

“Kind of,” Ziel replied, looking toward the kitchen.

He didn’t actually know what cookies were made from, but since they were sometimes taken into the Great Forest as preserved food, he could tell by the scent. The smell of something baking—delicious and warm.

He thought, At this time of night?

But he figured saying something like that would be tactless, so he kept it to himself.

“Making sweets follows specific steps.”

Ney said it like talking to herself.

“When it comes to cooking, I usually just throw things together, eyeballing quantities and going with whatever’s around. But with sweets, you have to measure everything precisely, mix the eggs and flour slowly and carefully, set a temperature and wait quietly until it’s done… If you spend the right amount of time, you’ll get decent results. When I’m feeling anxious and can’t sleep—”

Then she looked up, like she’d snapped out of a dream.

“Well, not that someone who doesn’t seem to have trouble sleeping would relate. Anyway, please wait there until the cookies are done. I’m a worrier, so I don’t like leaving the area when I’m using a heat source.”

“Ah, sure. No problem.”

And with that, the conversation ended.

The heat magic stone buzzed steadily. The sounds of nocturnal creatures occasionally filtered in, but of course, they didn’t come inside the building. From time to time, Ney got up, disappeared behind the kitchen table, and came back without saying a word to sit down again. Even the hum of the light magic stones in the ceiling felt audible.

It was a quiet night.

So this is one way to spend a night like this, Ziel thought. He remembered, just a little, things from long ago. Since he’d started traveling, he usually fell asleep as if fainting from exhaustion or barely slept to conserve energy. So this was further back—back to a time when he’d wake up in the freezing winter night, wrapped in blankets, waiting for morning amidst vague unease.

Someday, he thought.

When everything’s settled, and a sleepless night comes—maybe I’ll try baking cookies to get through it, like this.

“...Heh.”

If that ever happens, he added to himself, and couldn’t help but laugh.

Ney looked at him, puzzled. “No, it’s nothing,” Ziel said, still smiling.

Footsteps echoed—barely a moment after he’d spoken.

When Ziel turned slightly, Ney also looked in the same direction—the dining room entrance. Apparently not expecting to be seen, the person walking down the hallway looked surprised when their eyes met, then gave his usual clean smile and tapped the wall lightly with the back of his fingers.

A small knock—for a room without a door.

“Excuse me. I saw a light on from the second floor… If you were deepening a friendship, I’m terribly sorry to interrupt.”

“We’re not deepening anything.”

Undeterred by Ney’s immediate denial, Roylen continued, “This girl doesn’t have many friends, you see.”

“Stop acting like my guardian,” Ney said, clearly annoyed.

“Perfect timing. Sensei, please take this guy back with you. He apparently forgot where his room is.”

“Sorry about that,” Ziel said with a bow. Roylen nodded calmly, “Ah, I see,” but tilted his head after a pause.

“How did you get here?”

Ziel pointed outside. Ney also pointed outside. Then Ziel explained further, just like Roylen had guessed—he saw the light and figured someone was here, so he climbed down the wall from his own room.

“Ahaha,” Roylen laughed freely.

“That’s quite something… You’re quick on your feet, Ziel-san.”

“He’s making fun of you,” Ney said. “Not at all,” Roylen replied.

“Then why couldn’t you go back the same way?” he asked, and the same back-and-forth repeated once more.

But then, the conversation took a slightly different turn.

“Since you came from outside, did you go to the rooftop?”

“The rooftop?”

Ziel shook his head. “No.”

“I see,” Roylen nodded.

“If you go, you might see something interesting.”

Then, he added—

“And besides, it’s the rooftop. You can’t get lost if you’re following the walls.”

“Whoa,” Ziel exclaimed, startled enough to collapse to the floor.

His second offense today.

The rooftop of the research institute was understandably a bit more humid than indoors, but the daytime heat seemed to have been carried away by the wind. Still, it wasn’t exactly an open-air space—perhaps for shade, there was a small awning in front of the door leading inside.

Under it stood a night-owl mage.

“Ah, Eunice...”

“‘Ah’?! What the... Wait, what?! Why’d you come from outside? Oh, did you get lost?”

Ziel felt odd that he didn’t really feel sorry about it, but after thinking a bit, he realized why. That surprise teleportation the moment they’d arrived in the port town. Thanks to that, Ziel had apparently learned it was fine to surprise Eunice as much as he wanted.

Though he also thought, That’s not really okay either.

Maybe I hold grudges more than I realized... As he reflected, he explained the situation to the confused Eunice. The whole story.

“I see,” Eunice nodded, and—

――No. In that case, instead of “Ah, it's Eunice…” shouldn’t it be “Yay, it’s Eunice!”? I was here, you know?

“What were you doing?”

He slid over to sit beside him.

His violet hair was slightly tousled by the wind. He had probably been here for quite a while. Maybe he came out here every day. Curious about his intent, he asked, and he pouted slightly before replying,

“Well, I was watching the stars.”

“Huh,” he murmured as he looked up at the sky with him.

It was indeed a night where the stars were clearly visible.

The summer sky seemed to have more stars. Ziel, of course, didn’t know the names of each individual one, but the sky sparkled like it had been sprinkled with glowing sand. When he looked straight up, and even as he gradually lowered his gaze, the twinkling spread endlessly. Even beyond the sea of trees, and under the ocean at their roots, it felt like the stars stretched on forever.

It felt like being wrapped in something.

And yet, despite that, not even a single one of those stars could ever be reached—they were all so far away.

“Come to think of it, how do you research star magic?”

The question that escaped his lips might have been an attempt to keep the distance from turning into loneliness.

“I’m glad you asked,” Eunice said with a smile.

“Shall we try it together? First, you look at the stars.”

“Okay.”

“Then, from deep inside your heart, this sort of vague, fuzzy feeling wells up.”

“...Yeah.”

“And then suddenly—bam!—it turns into certainty!”

“Huh?”

“Ah, maybe ‘certainty’ is hard to grasp. But you’ve had it before too, right? That moment when something just suddenly clicks—‘I got it!’ That kind of thing.”

Ziel couldn’t help but think that Eunice probably wasn’t suited to be a teacher. Not that he himself was in any position to criticize others.

Still, if he had to say whether he could relate to that sudden “I got it!” moment—

“Like a kind of ‘awakening’?”

“No, it’s a bit different from that... it’s more like, one day, out of nowhere, you just realize, ‘So that’s what this is about.’”

And that explanation, surprisingly, did resonate with him.

During the duel with the magic sword in the central kingdom—that final strike—he had felt something similar.

So, for now, he nodded and said, “I see.”

He nodded, but—

“...Wait, so is that the end of the research?”

He asked with a sense that, even with swordplay, there was more trial and error than that.

“Nope,” Eunice shook his head, and Ziel felt a little relieved.

“Of course not, that’s just the beginning. You take the idea that came to you and try to explain it theoretically, test it through magic to see if it holds up, and so on... Observation and experimentation. And also, translation, maybe.”

“Translation?”

“Yeah. You take what you felt and translate it into magical language so others can understand. Wilae-sensei is really good at that. Apparently, her books are still used as supplementary texts at the academy. And when it comes to experiments, that’s Roylen-hakase’s specialty. As an authority on pharmacology, he’s amazing at setting up conditions and creating methods for measuring effects. It’s easy to demonstrate in visible fields, but in invisible fields, proving something is ‘correct’ takes a lot of effort.”

“Huh... what are you good at, Eunice?”

“How do I look?”

Observation.

When he said it, Eunice replied, “Correct~!” with a smile. He leaned on his raised knee and looked over, saying, “You’re probably an observation type too, huh?”

“Maybe,” Ziel thought seriously. He didn’t feel like he was particularly good at any of it.

He felt like he’d heard something interesting.

So Ziel stood up and said,

“Well then, don’t stay up too late.”

He meant to leave it at “It’s bad for your health.”

He turned his back and said, “Goodnight.”

Grab.

He felt his clothes tugged at.

“...What is it?”

“...Uh, was that story not that interesting?”

He thought it was a joke, but Eunice didn’t seem to be kidding.

Since then—since that conversation about preparing scripts before talking to strangers—Eunice had stopped hiding that side of himself. So Ziel could tell.

“Was my story so boring that within five minutes of being here you wanted to go back to bed!?”

If it were Lililia, she’d probably shout, “Exactly!!!!!!!” and turn on her heel saying, “I’m going to sleep. I’m tired.”

But Ziel wasn’t Lililia, so he just answered normally,

“I thought it was an interesting story. Just figured I’d get in the way of your research if I stayed too long.”

“Alright, then today’s research is over. Tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that too—it’s all done. Wow, I’m so bored! If my kind-hearted friend doesn’t talk with me, I might just cry from loneliness!”

There was a brief pause—just enough time to process what Eunice had said.

Ziel chuckled, “What the hell,” and sat down again.

“Hehe,” Eunice laughed too.

“Ah, but if you’re actually busy or really sleepy, don’t worry about it.”

“Nah, all I’ve got left to do is sleep.”

When he said “it’s fine,” it felt like the night had suddenly become infinite.

The moment he thought “all that’s left is sleep,” the day transformed into something immensely long. Especially on a night with no plans for the next morning.

On a night that allowed for such length—

It felt like it might be okay to count every star in the sky.

“Do they have names or anything?”

He initiated the conversation this time.

Back when they met in the labyrinth, they were underground with ceilings everywhere. He realized they hadn’t had many chances to look up at the sky like this.

“You mean the stars?”

“Yeah, the stars.”

“A lot of people give them names, but in research, we usually call them by symbols.”

“Symbols...”

“Like, where they are relative to this planet, or what kind of light they emit. Honestly, it’s all about practicality, so most of them don’t have romantic names.”

“Do you have a favorite star?”

“—Huh? Not really.”

“Never thought about it,” Eunice said.

Ziel was a little surprised—was that even possible for someone like Eunice?

“Now that you mention it, I guess I don’t particularly like any one star more than the others. It’s more like... the whole thing? I mean, people who love the ocean don’t usually say ‘this specific water is the best,’ right? Same idea.”

“...Well, that’s because ocean water mixes together and becomes the same in the end. But stars don’t mix. They’re not liquid.”

“Stars mix too. Two stars can collide and become one, or they might start orbiting together even if they don’t fuse. Even your favorite moon—ah, right. You do like the moon, don’t you?”

“You even use it in your spell names,” Eunice said.

Well, yeah, maybe that’s true, Ziel thought. Maybe that’s why he asked Eunice about his favorite star in the first place.

But more than that—

“What about the moon?”

“This hasn’t been proven, so just take it as a hypothesis, but it’s thought that the moon might have been formed when a star from somewhere long ago fell and collided with the planet we live on. The fragments scattered from the impact were pulled by gravity and settled over there—that’s the theory.”

“Heeeh,” was all I could say in amazement.

“You see,” Eunice continued,

“Liquids mix, but solids don’t—that might seem true in the short term, but when you think on a larger scale, it’s not that much of a problem. Even ice will eventually melt into water. And humans too—look, right now we’re alive like this, but if you left us in water after death, we’d gradually become all sludgy and end up like a liquid, right?”

“...Well, yeah, true.”

I thought that was a bit of a crude way to put it, but—

“Stars have lifespans too. They turn into gas and drift out into space, mixing with all sorts of things. We’re talking on the scale of millions or billions of years though.”

This time, I wasn’t even sure which part to be more surprised about.

That stars have lifespans—that new fact? Or that Eunice thinks about stars using timescales of billions of years, something that’s completely irrelevant to someone like me?

While I was trying to decide what to be more surprised by, Ziel’s thoughts took a step forward on their own.

“Then… in the end, the universe will… become the same, like water in a glass?”

“Oh,” Eunice made a face of genuine surprise this time.

“You got to that point so fast? Ziel, maybe you’ve got a knack for magic too,” he said, his face lighting up happily.

Then, raising one index finger in front of his lips—

“That part’s still under consideration. Stay tuned for future research results.”

“...I see.”

I felt a strange sense of wonder.

We know a human’s end is death, and yet we still don’t know what happens at the end of the universe. Not even the Great Mage of the Stars knows where this place we’re living in is heading, so surely, nobody does.

Or maybe… maybe the universe has no end at all.

Maybe it’s just wandering aimlessly, without direction—

“By the way, Ziel—what do you think will happen?”

He asked just as I was thinking that, so I gave a thoughtful “Hmm,” in response. But for a problem even the expert hasn’t solved yet, there’s no way an amateur like me could come up with a proper hypothesis.

“It’ll fall somewhere.”

So what I said was basically just parroting a phrase that sounded vaguely astronomical.

“Fall somewhere?”

“You know shooting stars, right? That image. Like that, the entire universe just falling somewhere—”

The explanation was cut off halfway—

Because Eunice gave a happy little laugh, “Fufu.”

“Ziel.”

“...What?”

“I used to think the exact same thing.”

“Whoa,” I was surprised at myself.

“No way,” I said. I don’t know when “used to” refers to, but if Eunice thought that fifteen years ago, and if I study magic for the next fifteen years—well, it probably doesn’t mean I’ll become a great mage like him or anything like that.

“Back then, I vaguely thought the universe must have an outer edge too.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Maybe it does. But when we talk about how the universe ends, what we usually mean is, ‘What happens when everything’s over?’ right?”

I nodded—yeah, that’s true.

“So I’ve always tried to think of ‘the universe’ as including even the outer edges as much as possible—but I totally get the instinct. When a star ends, the thing we can observe most clearly is a shooting star. That’s probably the closest thing. Those are a little different from the stars you see in the night sky, though.”

“Huh?”

“Those are rocks or dust. When they fall to our planet and collide with the atmosphere, they heat up briefly and shine like that. Meanwhile, most of the stars we see in the night sky are like the sun—they shine on their own and are incredibly far away from our planet. So they’re completely different things. The stars we see now won’t just casually fall out of the sky.”

“You didn’t know that, right?” Eunice said.

“Didn’t know,” I answered, of course. I didn’t even know most of the visible stars were basically sun-like. What I do know about space is maybe just that the moon doesn’t shine on its own, and that’s why it has phases. That’s about it.

“Heeeh,” was all I could say as I exhaled in awe.

I had no choice but to be impressed. The scenery I can always see at night—behind it are so many hidden things. And no matter how long I live, I probably won’t even learn one-hundredth or one-ten-thousandth of it.

The world is vast, I thought.

It’s such a basic thing, but still.

“—By the way, Ziel, were there stories about shooting stars where you’re from?”

I turned my eyes from the stars to the person beside me with a quiet “Hm?”

I thought he was continuing the earlier topic, but Eunice lightly dismissed that with, “Ah, no.”

“Just a simpler question. You mentioned your hometown isn’t very influenced by the Rustie Church, right? So I figured smaller cultural things might differ too. Have you ever heard any little customs or superstitions related to shooting stars?”

“Superstitions,” I repeated.

“Yeah,” Eunice nodded. “Things with no basis are superstitions. Things with a basis are magic. Stuff like folklore or old sayings works too.”

And something did come to mind.

There’s only one thing I always thought was pretty common.

“If you make a wish when you see a shooting star… that was a thing.”

“That it’ll never come true?”

“That’s how it is over here?”

“Nah,” Eunice laughed.

“It’s the same here. If you say it three times, the wish comes true.”

“Three times?”

“Wait, that’s different for you?”

“Well… I mean, you can’t say it three times. It’s over in a flash.”

“True,” Eunice said with a slightly troubled look,

“But isn’t that what makes it a superstition?”

“If it doesn’t come true, isn’t that not really a superstition then?”

“No, I mean, superstitions are just for comfort, so whether they come true or not is kinda beside the point. And if it were easy to tell if they did or didn’t, they’d lose their credibility and stop getting passed down—”

“But then again, Ziel’s hometown has passed that one down,” he said and started thinking it over again.

Ziel stared at the crown of Eunice’s head as the expert pondered. He tried to think too—about whether one time or three times was more appropriate, or what made something a superstition—but didn’t seem to get anywhere, so he just looked back up at the starry sky.

It was beautiful, he thought.

With just a pair of glasses, you could see something this beautiful without doing anything at all.

Just for a moment, he took off those glasses. The pinpoint stars that had been so clear now blurred. The light refracted in layers, turning hazy, like a wide, vague band of light.

Is this what it's like?

Perhaps this is what the universe will eventually arrive at.

"Hey."

Thump, someone tapped his arm.

He adjusted his glasses. There was no illusion where the person sitting beside him had turned into someone else while he had them off. Eunice was still sitting right there, looking slightly displeased.

"You can’t just suddenly abandon me, you know."

"Wouldn’t it be annoying to be interrupted when you’re deep in thought?"

"It’s fine. You can think all you want once you’re alone."

"More importantly," Eunice said, smiling, "let’s stop with the complicated talk. Let’s talk about something fun."

"Like what we’d wish for on a shooting star?"

"Why’d you jump ahead? Showing off your conversational skills?"

"No, I’m not particularly good at conversation myself..."

“Then we’re on the same level,” Eunice said for some reason, looking satisfied.

Well, if he’s satisfied, that’s fine, Ziel thought, and nodded. Yeah, same level.

"A wish, huh... 'I hope it gets cooler tomorrow.'"

"That’s weather-dependent. A shooting star would be troubled to hear that—it’s just dust."

"Does it matter? Stars are kind of like weather too."

"...That’s actually the first time I’ve heard that. I mean, sure, 'a starry night'—wait, no, I have heard that. Plenty."

"Don’t build up just to shoot it down."

"I didn’t really shoot it down, did I?"

"But seriously, what kind of wish wouldn’t trouble a star? Is there even such a thing? What wish could a little rock falling through space grant on its own?"

"... 'Shine a little more beautifully'?"

Could a star decide that on its own?

No idea. Maybe if the star puts in some effort, it might be possible.

Effort? Ziel couldn't help but be a little exasperated.

Is that really a word used by the greatest mage in the world?

"Oh, but if a really huge meteorite fell and blasted the ground, the dust kicked up might block the sun's heat and cool things down."

"Oh, really?"

"If it’s that big, the area where it falls would probably explode too, causing all sorts of chaos though."

"That’s scary," Ziel muttered.

"Yeah, pretty scary," Eunice agreed.

"Then let’s not. I don’t want it to get cooler that badly."

"Good choice. As long as I’m here, it’s cool enough anyway."

Ziel nodded. "Yeah."

Still, Ziel thought, despite all this chatting, there’s no sign of a shooting star. With this many stars, you’d think at least one would fall. But then he remembered—shooting stars and the ones you see in the sky aren’t necessarily related. So when do shooting stars actually fall? How do rocks and dust meet the planet they live on, in the vastness of space?

While pondering that, something popped into his head. A book he borrowed from Eunice. The title was “Why You Can’t Make Friends: Seven Causes of Loneliness.” He forgot the exact page, but he remembered one of the section headers clearly.

"What about you, Eunice?"

“When you answer, try asking your conversation partner the same question.”

There was a brief pause. Maybe the question had been awkwardly phrased? He glanced to the side. Eunice’s eyelids seemed a bit heavy. He had been living on a morning schedule recently, so even the Great Mage of the Stars must be tired.

Just as Ziel was about to suggest they wrap things up—

"Let’s see..." Eunice said.

"If it were me..."

His eyes sparkled like they were sprinkled with stars. The same color as the galaxy. As if that vast space, said to last hundreds of billions of years, had been compacted and perfectly arranged in those dreamy eyes.

And in those eyes, Ziel thought he saw a single streak of light.

He looked up at the sky.

"Nothing,"

—on a night when no stars fall.

"I don’t need anything.

Everything I want is right here."

Tap, tap. A knock on the door.

Eunice didn’t move. Ziel turned around. There was only one door to the rooftop—the one leading back into the lab. Naturally, it opened easily if you turned the knob.

"Good evening. We just saw each other a little while ago, didn’t we?"

Roylen stood there, wafting an absurdly delicious smell.

"After sending you off, I started worrying whether you two would actually make it back to your rooms. So I came to get you—oh, but looks like one of you’s already off to dreamland."

His voice grew quieter as he finished.

Looking back, just as Roylen said, Eunice was nodding off.

"...I’m awake…"

"So he says."

"Well, a self-assessment doesn’t count for much..."

"Come on," Ziel said, tapping Eunice’s shoulder. "Let’s head back to the room."

"Mm," Eunice replied, spreading his arms. You’ve got to be kidding, Ziel thought, but he grabbed him around the upper arms and lifted him. Surprisingly—or perhaps fitting for the Great Mage of the Stars—Eunice stood firmly on his feet. Then he reached up and grabbed Ziel’s shoulder, shamelessly leaning his full weight on him.

"Is it heavy?" he asked.

"Normal," Ziel answered.

"You two get along well," Roylen said with a laugh.

"I also just finished baking cookies, so I thought you might want some. But judging from this, maybe not."

"...I’m fine, I can eat..."

"So he says."

"A self-assessment doesn’t count for much..."

Carefully supporting the swaying Eunice, Ziel—unusually—took the lead and began walking. Roylen held the door open for them. They passed through.

"But," Roylen said, "can I have some myself then? Freshly baked ones taste better after all."

"Of course, go ahead. Once Eunice-kun’s back in his room, we can go together."

Behind them, someone was muttering something half-asleep. Ziel listened carefully.

"I said I’m eating too."

"Yeah, yeah," Ziel said with a laugh, lightly patting his back.

"Mmph," Eunice chuckled happily in return.