Chapter 80 – Milea, Whatever Shall We Do…?

Brilliant sunlight fell across the wide park in Seldia's general residential district, setting the green of the tree-lined paths in vivid relief. A mild breeze drifted through the leaves.

In that peaceful, holiday-quiet park, two figures walked side by side.

One was a young woman with a wide-brimmed cap pulled low, her glossy dark-purple hair cleverly tucked and hidden from sight, dressed in an oversized denim jacket and sneakers -- a look so casual it bore almost no resemblance to her usual self. Letaria.

Beside her walked Milea -- stripped, for once, of the familiar white coat, and wearing what could only be described as feminine and girlish civilian clothes: a soft pastel-colored top and a skirt that swayed lightly with each step. Even the clip she normally used to tie her hair back in its usual careless fashion had been swapped today for something with a considerably cuter design.

"...Letaria. I really am not comfortable in this. Are you absolutely sure it doesn't look strange?"

Milea fidgeted as she walked, repeatedly smoothing down the hem of the skirt and adjusting the collar of the top.

In truth, the story behind the outfit involved Sora -- her colleague, who had previously ambushed Milea into wearing a sweet-lolita confection and declared it a triumph -- reappearing before this holiday with a new offering: a gothic-lolita ensemble, pressed upon her with the insistence that "it absolutely suits you, I promise." Milea, who could not summon the courage to walk through the city streets in that, had fought a desperate rearguard action against it. The result of that resistance and the eventual compromise was the current look.

Letaria studied her with a considering eye, and let a smile cross her lips.

"Not at all -- it suits you very well, Milea. Your usual style is perfectly fine, but seeing you like this feels genuinely fresh, even to me."

"If only it weren't only you and Sora who said so..."

Still faintly self-conscious, Milea scratched her cheek and shifted her gaze toward a family laughing together on a picnic sheet laid out across the park lawn.

The outing had come about after the second Arden test flight: Letaria had suggested, "Milea, shall we go out somewhere, just the two of us?" and so this holiday had been arranged. A promise had been made -- just for today, the cover-up efforts, the unsettling contacts from the other branch, all of it would be left entirely behind.

"...Well. Perhaps something like this, every now and then, isn't so bad."

Removed from the noise of work, the tension Milea had been carrying in her shoulders began, gradually, to ease.

They walked along the tree-lined path together for a while, and presently a small cluster of vending machines and stalls came into view at one side of a plaza. A large sign above them advertised cold alcoholic drinks in appropriately holiday-appropriate fashion.

"Ah..."

Milea's eyes drifted, as if pulled by instinct, toward the image of a cold beer. After days of grinding through the Perda branch situation and taxing her mind to its limit, her feet began, quite naturally, to turn toward the stall.

"Cold beer... in this weather, it would be absolutely perfect..."

The murmur was pure office worker at the end of a hard week. Letaria caught Milea's sleeve and tugged it firmly.

"Excuse me, Milea. Getting drunk in the middle of the afternoon is not what a lady does. Today, we are spending an elegant holiday together."

An actual, earnest scolding -- from Letaria. The reversal of their usual dynamic was so thoroughly unexpected that Milea blinked at her, momentarily without words.

"You really are oddly strict about certain things... all right, all right, I'll resist."

She bought two fruit juices instead, with a rueful smile, and handed one to Letaria before opening the other for herself.

"There. Happy now?"

"Quite. It looks cold and delicious. Thank you, Milea."

They settled on a bench and drank. The sweet-tart juice was pleasantly cool against the dryness of a day outdoors.

They had just begun to settle properly into the quiet of the moment when:

"-- Excuse me. Do you have a moment?"

A young man's voice came from behind them -- easy-going, a little breezy, but with a manner that seemed genuinely amiable.

Both Milea and Letaria stiffened at the same instant. The thought -- (a journalist? Did someone recognize us?) -- flashed through both their minds simultaneously. Milea moved reflexively, putting herself between the man and Letaria as she turned to face him.

But the man's eyes were not on Letaria. They were on Milea. He had both hands pressed together and was looking at her with an expression of undisguised admiration.

"Sorry to surprise you! It's just -- you are incredibly striking. You have such a refined kind of presence, and that outfit suits you perfectly. I was wondering -- have you ever considered modeling work?"

"...Pardon?"

Milea froze entirely.

The person this man was regarding with such focused enthusiasm was, unmistakably, herself. She had done nothing but tidy her normally half-secured hair, and submit to Sora's insistence on this girlish outfit -- and the idea that simply doing those things could cause her to be talent-scouted in the middle of a public park was a scenario that had not come within any distance of her calculations.

"M-Me...?"

The composed authority she normally carried as head researcher had vanished entirely. Milea went red across her face and pointed at herself with an uncharacteristic flutter of self-consciousness.

The man, sensing he had made an impression, pressed the point with increasing warmth.

"Yes, you! The one with the black hair! I feel like I've just found an uncut gem, honestly."

From beneath the brim of her cap, Letaria studied the man's face with quiet attention. And then something clicked.

(... I recognize this man.)

Of course -- this was the scout who had approached her twice before, while she was walking through the residential district, asking if she would consider modeling.

While Letaria was placing him, the man had pressed closer to Milea: "Even just a contact number would be wonderful!" Milea, now thoroughly flustered and unsure how to decline, was beginning to look genuinely panicked.

Letaria decided to step in, pitching her voice slightly lower.

"Um... that is to say... this person is a very dear friend of mine..."

"Hm? Oh, sorry -- I didn't realize your friend was with you--"

The man turned toward Letaria with a momentary expression of mild inconvenience. And then -- the moment he caught the outline of her face beneath the cap, and heard the particular quality of her voice, he stopped completely.

He leaned forward, trying to see her face more clearly, and drew in a sharp breath. Then, exercising what appeared to be very deliberate consideration, he lowered his voice to barely a whisper.

"...Wait -- are you, by any chance... Letaria-san?"

Both of them went rigid simultaneously. But the man had been quick-thinking enough to keep his voice down, and no one nearby turned to look.

Watching their mutually and very transparently alarmed reactions, the man gave a single, quiet, understanding nod. Still in a whisper.

"I knew it! I watched the whole Syn-Fibra commercial and the Vision Neijon special! The 'Runaway Lady' making her mark in the vigilante corps!"

The enthusiasm was so unrestrained that Letaria and Milea could only exchange a helpless glance. They had heard of the price of fame, but being recognized even under a cap pulled this low was not something either of them had fully anticipated.

"I've been a complete fan since that broadcast. But I honestly never dreamed that the girl I'd approached on the street a couple of times was actually Letaria-san herself... what are the chances of running into you again today? I am so lucky."

He marveled at the coincidence in genuine delight, bowing several times with feeling.

"And I'm so sorry to your companion -- I must have seemed like I was coming on. Listen, if it's not too much trouble... could I possibly... get a signature? I'll treasure it for the rest of my life."

He produced a pen from his pocket and held it out.

A signature. It was not a custom from her original world, but Letaria had by now learned that it was how people in this world showed warmth toward those they admired.

(Milea... whatever shall we do...?)

Letaria looked at her with wide, uncertain eyes. Milea let out a quiet breath as the flush faded from her cheeks, and made a judgment: the best course was to comply quickly and quietly, before a crowd gathered and things escalated.

"...That much should be fine. Let's get this done and move on."

"Very well. ...Will my name suffice?"

The man nodded with an enthusiasm that would not have been out of place on a small child.

"Yes, please!"

Letaria accepted the pen, thought for a moment, and then -- on the white fabric of the jacket he had extended toward her -- moved the pen without the slightest hesitation.

The characters she wrote were ones that existed on no station in this universe. The flowing, distinctive script of the world she had come from. To any eye in this world, it read more like an elegant personal emblem than a name.

"-- There we are."

"Woah...! That's such a cool signature! It looks like your own personal symbol or something -- that's amazing. Thank you so much! I'll be cheering you on!"

The man interpreted the unfamiliar characters simply as a distinctive, original logo design of her own creation, and left with a full and satisfied smile, the jacket held carefully as though it were something precious, bowing several times as he went.

The small storm passed, and quiet returned to the tree-lined path.

Letaria lowered her hand and looked at Milea with a slightly uncertain expression.

"...Was that all right? The different script -- do you think he found it suspicious?"

"It's fine. If that reaction is anything to go by, he only saw a stylish celebrity signature. Honestly, it was far more convincing than if you'd struggled through this world's script and the result had looked awkward."

Milea took a last sip of her juice and settled back fully against the bench.

The Perda branch inspection. The Arden System's future. How to shield Letaria -- this singular anomaly -- from the turbulence of corporate interests going forward. The worries piled up, still turning somewhere beneath the surface.

(But...)

"...Every now and then, a stretch of time like this -- genuinely clearing your head, no agenda -- really is necessary. Thank you for suggesting it, Letaria."

"My, Milea -- so formal all of a sudden. There's nothing to thank me for."

Letaria smiled, warm and pleased, and promptly steered the conversation back toward the subject of Space Watermelon Gelée with all the enthusiasm she could muster. Milea listened to her voice drift pleasantly through the dappled light filtering down through the leaves -- and in it, found something quietly, simply good.