"Okay, but you have to admit that Gunbuster is just better paced than Diebuster," I said, flipping a page in the manga I was only half-reading.

Kiyomi, standing behind the counter, let out an exaggerated sigh as she measured out tea leaves with all the grace of a conductor leading an orchestra. "Elexis, sweetie, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but you do not have the experience necessary to make any definitive statements on ‘80s and ‘90s mecha pacing.”

I frowned. “I’ve watched both of them! WITH YOU!!!"

Kiyomi gave me a long, slow look over the rim of her extra oversized heart-shaped glasses. “Oh, my sweet summer child. That’s adorable. But no.”

I scowled, crossing my arms. "I don't see why I have to keep watching more. I've already sat through Bubblegum Crisis, GaoGaiGar, Revolutionary Girl Utena, Noir, and an entire week of nothing but Space Battleship Yamato! I need a break!”

Kiyomi gasped theatrically, pressing a hand to her chest like I had personally insulted her ancestors. "A break? From anime education? Oh, no, Elexis, we can’t have that. Next thing you’ll tell me is that you’d like to live in ignorance—walking through life unenlightened—never knowing the tragic brilliance of Crest of the Stars or the utterly transformational experience that is Macross Plus.”

I groaned, dropping my head onto the counter. “Kiyomi, I swear to God—”

"Swear to Haruko Haruhara, at least,” she quipped. “I’d respect you more.”

I glared up at her. "I hate you."

"You love me," she corrected with a grin. “And if you want a real break, maybe go find a filler arc to sit through. A nice slideshow recap episode, perhaps? Ooh, or a hot springs episode! That’d suit you.”

I rolled my eyes, about to retort, when the bell over the door jingled.

I didn’t turn immediately. I knew better.

Instead, I braced myself, gripping the counter as a rush of cold air that wasn’t real swept through the shop, and then—

I saw it.

Not the shop. Not anymore.

Instead, I was somewhere else—watching the world unfold through someone else’s eyes.

The gas station neon flickered.

Jack Calloway sat in his car, staring through the windshield at the dark stretch of highway ahead, his hands resting on the wheel but not gripping it. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there. The road in front of him led home, but he hadn’t driven it in years.

Not since he came back from the war.

Not since he started telling himself that staying away was better.

Jack used to be someone people relied on. He used to be the one leading others, the one making the calls. But something changed when he got back. The weight of things no one else could understand had settled deep into his bones, and before long, his voice had stopped carrying weight.

His mother still left voicemails. His sister sent texts. But what was he supposed to say? Sorry for being a ghost? Sorry for not being the son you deserved? Sorry for turning into a man I don’t even recognize?

Instead, he just kept driving.

But now he’d run out of road.

He sighed, leaning back against the seat, staring blankly ahead, when something shifted.

He smelled something—warm spices, vanilla, something like old books and nostalgia.

Jack blinked. He turned his head, and—

The shop was there.

Between the gas station and a closed auto shop, a building that had not been there a minute ago now stood as if it had always existed. Soft lavender walls. Ivy creeping up the edges. A glowing pink sign with elegant cursive:

Mistress Kiyomi’s Tea Shop

He hadn’t been looking for a place to stop. He hadn’t even been thinking about tea.

But before he could question it, his feet were moving.

He stepped inside.

The world snapped back into focus.

I gasped, my hands trembling against the counter as the warmth of the tea shop settled around me again.

That… had been jarring.

Not because it was the first time I’d been shown a guest’s arrival—no, that had been happening for a while now. The tea shop had a way of letting me see. Letting me understand before Kiyomi even opened her mouth.

But this?

This hurt.

The weight of it had hit me all at once, like I’d taken a punch to the ribs. For a moment, I could feel the sheer emptiness he carried—the way his loneliness had wrapped itself around him like a shield until he barely even existed outside of it.

And for just a second—just a fleeting moment—it hurt so much I teared up.

I wiped my eyes before Kiyomi could see.

Jack Calloway stood in the doorway, silent, taking in the shop with that same tired, world-weary look I’d seen in the vision.

Kiyomi smiled. Not kind. Not cruel. Just knowing.

“Jack Calloway,” she said smoothly. “Oh, you are so in the right place.”

I swallowed hard.

This was going to be a rough one.

I was pretty sure the tea shop told Kiyomi more than it ever told me.

I couldn’t prove it—not yet. But what I got was already a lot.

Every time a new guest stepped through those doors, the shop showed me something—glimpses of who they were before they arrived. Not enough to piece together a full story, but enough. Enough to feel the weight of them, enough to feel how much they needed this place.

And this guy?

Jack Calloway?

He was drowning.

And if I could feel that much, I had to wonder—how much did Kiyomi already know? Because she always greeted people like she’d been expecting them for ages, like they were simply characters walking into the next scene she’d already written.

Not that I could ask her about it. Kiyomi never answered anything straight.

And right now?

Right now, she was circling Jack like a cat who just found a particularly interesting new toy.

Jack stood near the door, his posture stiff, his expression locked down like he was still waiting on an incoming mortar strike. His gaze flicked over the mismatched furniture, the CRT screens playing old anime openings, the countless jars of tea lining the walls. He had no idea what to do with any of it.

Kiyomi, of course, grinned like she lived to make people uncomfortable.

“Jack Calloway,” she said, resting her elbow on the counter. “You, my dear, are a walking case study in self-inflicted suffering. Just a big, broody tragic hero with a crippling case of ‘I must carry my burdens alone.’”

Jack tensed, but before he could get a word in, she bulldozed forward.

“You don’t call home, you don’t visit, you sit in your car at gas stations staring at nothing for hours—what’s the endgame here, hmm? Just gonna sit there until you turn into an old roadside cryptid? Ooh, maybe they’ll call you ‘The Ghost of Route 17,’ and kids will dare each other to leave cans of Monster Energy at your feet to appease your spirit.”

Jack blinked. “What the—”

“Oh, I love this part,” Kiyomi interrupted, voice positively gleeful. “This is where you get defensive. ‘Oh, no, Mistress Kiyomi, I’m just FINE. I like being alone and miserable, actually.’” She mimicked a deep, gravelly voice and folded her arms dramatically. “‘This is just who I am now.’”

Jack scowled. “I never said—”

“Oh, but you think it.” She leaned in slightly, green eyes glinting behind her oversized heart-shaped glasses. “And you’ve been thinking it for years.”

Silence stretched between them, thick enough to choke on.

I watched from my usual place at the counter, chin resting in my hand. Kiyomi’s methods could be… exhausting. She was relentless, a steamroller of self-awareness, and I could already tell she wasn’t letting up anytime soon.

Jack clenched his jaw, eyes dark. “You don’t know me.”

“Jack,” Kiyomi sighed dramatically, flipping her violet curls over her shoulder. “I know you the way I know Elexis over here spent the first three weeks of her new life screaming about how bras were a conspiracy.”

I immediately sat up, offended. “Okay, first of all—”

Kiyomi turned to Jack, ignoring me entirely. “It was adorable. Oh, the existential crisis? The ‘why does my hair get in my mouth every time I turn my head?!’ breakdowns? The absolute meltdown over walking through a doorway and catching her new hip bones on the frame? I should’ve filmed it.”

Jack gave me a look. I crossed my arms, scowling. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“She’s very sensitive about it,” Kiyomi whispered loudly.

I hated her.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t always—?”

“No,” I grumbled. “Long story.”

Kiyomi smirked. “She used to be a grumpy, emotionally repressed loser, much like yourself, if you can believe it.”

“Gee, thanks,” I muttered.

“Oh, don’t pout, Elexis,” Kiyomi sighed. “I think you’ve adjusted wonderfully. You’re tiny and adorable, you have tiny and adorable boobs, and you don’t scream every time they move anymore! That’s growth!”

Jack blinked. “…You screamed?”

“THAT WAS ONE TIME,” I snapped.

“Several times,” Kiyomi corrected. “Oh! And the first time she sat down too fast and realized she had an ass? Priceless.”

“WHY ARE WE TALKING ABOUT THIS,” I demanded.

“Because,” Kiyomi said, turning back to Jack with a wicked grin, “transformation is about more than just change. It’s about realizing how much you’ve been fighting something better and letting it happen.”

Jack exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”

“You’re here because you do know,” Kiyomi said simply. “You just won’t say it out loud. You won’t admit it. Because the second you do, you have to face it.”

I watched as something in Jack’s expression cracked, just slightly.

Kiyomi had him now.

He was angry, but not at her. Not really. She’d pried open the first layer, dug her claws into something real, and now he was feeling it.

I knew the pattern.

She’d broken down his armor.

Next, she’d show him something better.

I sighed, tilting my head back against my chair.

"Alright. Stage one complete. Where’s the obligatory flashback episode?"

Kiyomi turned toward me, smug. “Oh, Elexis.” She gestured grandly to the floating CRT television behind the counter as it flickered to life.

“Right on cue.”

The screen flickered to life with the distinctive hum of an old CRT television, colors warping for a moment before settling into crisp, saturated early 2000s anime grit.

The opening shot? A war-torn battlefield on the surface of a ruined moon.

The camera panned dramatically over towering mecha suits locked in brutal combat, laser rounds scorching the sky. The air was thick with radio chatter, all of it inexplicably Japanese, even though Kiyomi and I both knew Jack wasn’t Japanese. The subtitles rolled in bold yellow text, translating perfectly-timed, overly poetic dialogue about the nature of war, sacrifice, and duty.

Then, he appeared.

Or rather—Anime Jack.

He stood on the crumbling remains of a ruined outpost, silhouetted against an exploding starship in the background. His uniform? Black and gold military fatigues with way too many unnecessary buckles. His expression? Painfully intense. His eyes, somehow glowing, because that’s how anime worked.

A voiceover echoed across the battlefield:

"The legend of Commander Jakku Kallowa began on the bloodstained dunes of Io…"

I barely had time to register that before his squad appeared, flanking him with all the dramatic energy of an opening lineup in a ‘90s shonen anime.

I blinked. “Wait, why does your squad look like a bunch of teenagers?”

Jack, stiff beside me, rubbed his face. “I was a U.S. Navy SEAL, not—whatever the hell—this is.”

Kiyomi leaned lazily against the counter. “Creative license.”

The first battle sequence kicked in with all the force of hand-drawn, unnecessarily fluid sakuga animation. Jakku Kallowa moved like a storm, leading his squad into battle with precise, calculated efficiency. The soundtrack swelled—heavy on electric guitar, a classic 2000s military-mecha hybrid sound—while he dodged enemy fire, pulled a wounded comrade to safety, and launched himself into a final, suicidal charge to take out the enemy leader.

It was badass.

It was terrifying.

It was him.

The next few episodes played out the same way. Bravery. Action. Intensity. Jakku Kallowa was a hero, the kind war movies tried to sell you on. He saved lives. He completed impossible missions. He did things no normal soldier could.

But then.

The anime shifted.

The palette darkened. The colors became muted.

The faces of his enemies became familiar.

The next mission was a bad one.

A shadowy general figure (who I assumed was a metaphor for real-life military command) gave orders. Jakku’s squad hesitated. He hesitated. The mission didn’t feel right.

But he followed orders.

The animation quality went insane during the next sequence—a flash of gunfire, blurred movement, too fast to track. And when the dust cleared, he was the only one standing.

His squad—his kids—were gone.

The screen held on his expression.

Blank. Empty.

No grief, no pain, just a man shutting down.

Beside me, Jack hadn’t moved.

I glanced at him—his hands clenched into fists, his breathing shallow. He wasn’t watching anymore. Not really. He was remembering.

I didn’t think. I just moved.

I took his hand.

He flinched, startled by the contact.

But he didn’t pull away.

I wasn’t stupid. I knew he needed to watch this. Kiyomi’s lessons didn’t work unless you faced yourself. But he also didn’t need to be alone for it.

So I just sat there, hand in his, and let him feel it.

The anime kept playing.

More missions. More choices.

Jakku Kallowa became hardened. He stopped hesitating. He did what was necessary.

The animation was different now—tighter shots, colder colors.

And when his war ended, and they sent him home, there was nothing left of him.

The final scene before the credits rolled?

Him sitting alone in a car, staring at the road.

Just like real Jack.

Just like now.

The screen faded to black.

For a moment, the shop was silent.

Then—

THEME SONG.

A full, over-the-top 2000s anime OP blasted from the CRT speakers, completely ruining the moment with its ridiculously upbeat, high-energy lyrics.

I squinted at the subtitle translations.

「戦士の道は孤独だけど、

いつか朝日が照らすよ！」

("The warrior’s path is lonely, but someday, the morning sun will shine upon it!")

「痛みを抱きしめるんだ、」

「それが僕の運命さ！」

("Embrace the pain, for that is my destiny!")

…Goddamn it. It was catchy.

By the second episode, I was humming along.

By the third?

…I might’ve been singing under my breath.

Jack slowly turned to look at me.

I coughed. “It’s a good theme song, okay?!”

Kiyomi cackled from behind the counter. “Oh, Elexis. Otaku corruption progresses exactly as planned.”

I scowled. “Boss. You planned this?!”

“Oh, honey.” She smiled, infuriatingly smug. “Of course.”

I froze.

Because I realized something.

I liked this. Not the anime. Not the horrible emotional devastation.

I liked being here.

Being with Jack. Helping.

It felt… right.

I’d spent so much time resisting my new life. Complaining about being short and cute and soft and a girl.

But here?

Holding his hand, helping him face something too big to carry alone?

I didn’t feel small.

I felt strong.

I felt important.

And I finally understood.

This was never just about Jack.

This was about me.

Kiyomi never needed an apprentice.

She needed support.

And so did the people who walked through those doors.

I was part of the plan.

And maybe?

Maybe I was okay with that.

The theme song finally ended, and for a long moment, the shop was just… quiet.

Jack hadn’t said a word since the last episode finished. His eyes stayed locked on the blank screen, his body tense, like he was still bracing for impact.

Kiyomi, of course, had zero patience for brooding.

“Well,” she said, stretching dramatically, “I think we can all agree that was emotionally devastating. What’s next? A beach episode? Maybe a cooking challenge? Something fun and lighthearted?”

Jack exhaled sharply. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Oh, so much.” Kiyomi grinned. “But that’s not the important part, is it? No, the real question is…” She leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand, her sharp green eyes locking onto him.

“What did you learn?”

Jack scoffed. “That anime directors have no idea how the military actually works?”

“Wrong answer.”

She didn’t blink. Didn’t let him retreat.

Jack shifted, glancing away. “I learned that I’ve been sitting in parking lots too much.”

“Still wrong.”

Kiyomi tapped a spoon against the counter, the soft clink echoing in the silence. Then she tilted her head.

“You learned that you were never really a hero to yourself, Jack.”

His hands curled into fists.

Her voice was softer now, but no less direct. “You thought you were doing the right thing. You thought you were making the hard choices because no one else would. And maybe you were. But tell me…”

She held his gaze.

“Did it make you happy?”

Jack swallowed. His throat worked, but no sound came out.

I could see it—the war in his eyes. The part of him that wanted to say no. That knew it was no. But saying it out loud meant admitting it.

Kiyomi waited.

Waited.

And finally—

“…No.”

The word was hoarse. Small.

And real.

I let out a slow breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

Kiyomi smiled gently. “Good. Now we can actually start.”

Jack frowned. “Start what?”

She leaned back, casually gesturing to me. “Elexis, darling. Be a dear and prepare the blend.”

I blinked. “Wait, me?”

“Yes, you. It’s an apprentice lesson.”

I groaned but got up anyway, heading toward the tea jars. Kiyomi had already arranged them—the loose leaves, the dried herbs, the little delicate components that would make this blend his.

Jack watched me, confused. “What is she doing?”

“Oh, she’s supporting you, Jack.”

Kiyomi turned her gaze back to him, her tone carefully measured. “Like she always does. Like she did while you watched your story play out. Did you notice?”

Jack hesitated. “Notice what?”

Kiyomi smiled. “That you needed her.”

Jack stiffened. “I didn’t—”

“Oh, please.” Kiyomi rolled her eyes. “You let her hold your hand. That’s practically a marriage proposal by emotionally constipated man standards.”

Jack flushed. “That’s not—”

“But she was there,” Kiyomi continued, cutting him off. “And you didn’t push her away. Because deep down, Jack, you know something very, very important.”

Her voice softened.

“You don’t want to do this alone anymore.”

Jack’s breath hitched.

And I realized she was right.

His whole life, he’d been trained to think that a man’s role is to carry the weight. To bear the burdens. To suffer silently so that others don’t have to.

But he was breaking under it.

Kiyomi leaned forward. “You keep telling yourself that being alone is better. But the truth is…”

Her voice was softer.

“You’re just scared to admit that you need help.”

I poured the hot water over the leaves, watching as the golden liquid swirled, infusing with the oolong.

Jack stayed silent, his jaw tight.

Kiyomi tilted her head. “Tell me something, Jack.”

He didn’t look at her. “What?”

“What would your story have looked like if you had been different?”

He stilled.

Kiyomi’s voice was low now, coaxing. “Not braver. Not stronger. But softer. If you had let people in. If you had let yourself be taken care of. If you had seen yourself as…”

Her next words were gentle.

“…Something other than a man.”

Jack’s breath caught.

And I saw it—the way his hands trembled, the way his shoulders tightened.

Kiyomi leaned on the counter, voice light, almost amused.

“I mean, it’s working for Elexis, isn’t it?”

I sputtered. “BOSS!!.”

Jack turned to look at me, and I panicked. “D-Don’t look at me! I was forced into this! Against my will!”

Kiyomi beamed. “Oh, yes. She was so mad. Do you know how many times she ranted about boob jiggle?”

“BOSS!! CAN WE NOT?!”

“Oh! And the high voice! That was weeks of her trying to ‘sound more normal.’”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “But you do sound normal.”

“NOW.”

“Oh, and let’s not forget her tiny, adorable stature.” Kiyomi sighed wistfully. “I did such a good job with that.”

I glared. “I am not adorable.”

Jack, who was about to have his entire world flipped upside-down, somehow managed to look deeply amused. “You kinda are.”

I threw my towel at him.

Kiyomi turned back to Jack, her tone gentler now.

“But you see, Jack,” she murmured. “Elexis changed. And she hated it. She resisted it. But tell me…”

She grinned.

“Do you think she’d go back?”

Jack turned to me, a question in his eyes.

I hesitated.

Because I’d spent so much time screaming about how much I hated being turned into this—a small, cute, feminine girl.

But the truth?

I had spent so long thinking this transformation had taken something away from me. But here I was—strong, steady, someone’s lifeline in their hardest moment. And I liked it. That meant something, didn’t it?

…I wouldn’t change back.

Not for anything.

I met Jack’s gaze.

And I smiled.

“No Boss,” I said softly. “I wouldn’t.”

Kiyomi’s smirk deepened.

She slid the teacup in front of Jack.

“Drink up, darling.”

Jack stared at the tea.

And then?

He reached for the cup.

Jack lifted the teacup, hesitating for only a second before he took a sip.

The effect was instant.

The air around him shimmered, as though reality itself had been dropped into boiling water. A golden glow pulsed from the cup, spreading outwards in slow, rolling waves, distorting the space around him like heat rising off pavement. The shop lights dimmed, the CRT monitors flickered with static interference, and somewhere in the distance, I swore I heard the first dramatic chord of a transformation sequence BGM.

And then—it began.

The glow tightened around him, wrapping him in layers of light that pulsed with each beat of his heart. His body lifted slightly from the ground, arms spreading outward as if accepting something inevitable—or maybe fighting it.

At first, it was subtle.

His shoulders softened, losing the rigid, unyielding width that had once squared him against the world. The bulk of his muscles shifted, reshaped, keeping their strength but refining their edges, sculpting him into something leaner, sharper, yet undeniably powerful. His arms, still toned, still trained by years of discipline, no longer carried the excess tension of a man constantly bracing for impact.

His torso pulled inward, his waist curving slightly, but the steel remained. He was built for resilience, not fragility—every inch of his new form screamed capable. The kind of strength that didn’t loom, but held steady. The kind of strength that endured.

Then came the dramatic flourish.

Because of course there was a dramatic flourish.

Gold light erupted from his chest, radiating outward in a series of cinematic, slow-motion bursts. The fabric of his military fatigues dissolved into shimmering flecks of light, revealing the new contours of his form. His once-flat chest pushed forward, the swell of new curves forming perfectly balanced with the rest of him.

Full, but firm. Soft, but strong.

A soldier’s body, but a woman’s frame.

I scowled immediately.

“Oh, come on!” I threw my hands in the air. “That is so unfair.”

Kiyomi, watching the transformation like a proud stage director, gave me a knowing look.

“Something wrong, darling?”

I pointed accusingly. “Why does she get perfectly proportional perky ones, while I got stuck with—"

Kiyomi grinned. “With what, Elexis? Say it.”

I clamped my mouth shut and turned back to the glowing spectacle.

Jack’s legs lengthened, but not as much as before. He was tall, but not towering anymore. A solid 5’8”, a height that still carried presence, still demanded attention, but no longer felt like it was keeping people at arm’s length.

His hips broadened slightly, his stance shifting into something more balanced, less braced for hard impact. His frame remained muscular, well-defined, built for action, but every adjustment flowed together seamlessly.

Jack had been a soldier.

Now?

Now she was a goddess, an Amazon.

One who did not have to be made of stone to be strong.

Her face was last to change.

For a moment, I caught a glimpse of conflict in her eyes—one last second of resistance. And then, as if finally letting go, her features melted into something new.

Her jawline softened, losing its harsh angles but keeping a chiseled definition that suited her. Her cheekbones lifted, her lips fuller now, naturally settled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but close.

And then her hair—

Oh.

Oh, that was different.

Instead of the short, military-cut style she’d once kept, waves of red spilled free, cascading down past her shoulders in a fiery, vivid display of color.

Not soft curls. Not delicate ringlets.

It was wild.

Sunlit copper, strikingly rich auburn, layered with streaks of deep mahogany red like flames flickering through autumn leaves. It was commanding. It was untamed.

It was a statement.

And then—the final touch.

The glow faded, leaving behind something real.

She landed gracefully, feet solid on the ground.

And when her new green eyes blinked open—

They weren’t glazed with shock.

They weren’t wide with fear.

They were focused. Sharp. Unshaken.

The shop hummed.

The transformation was done.

Silence stretched, except for the faint echo of magic settling into place.

Jack—no.

She.

She exhaled.

Lifted her hands.

Stared at them.

Slowly, carefully, flexed her fingers.

“…It’s different,” she murmured.

Her voice was husky, smoother, laced with something deeper. Not smaller. Not delicate. Just changed.

She shifted her stance, rolling her shoulders. Testing the weight of herself.

Kiyomi watched, arms folded, an almost satisfied glint in her eyes.

And then?

Then she grinned.

“Well, well, well,” Kiyomi said, voice silky with amusement. “Look at you.”

Jack—the red-haired warrior woman who stood in her place—lifted her head, meeting Kiyomi’s gaze.

Still tough.

Still resilient.

Still herself.

Just… different.

Changed.

And not less.

More.

Kiyomi smirked. “So? How do you feel?”

Jack paused.

And then, for the first time since entering the shop—

She smiled.

I didn’t even have time to react.

One second, she was standing there—tall, solid, the weight of everything she’d carried for years finally settling into something bearable.

And the next?

I was yanked off my feet, crushed into the most overwhelming bear hug I’d ever experienced.

“Wha—?! HEY—!” My protests came out as wheezy gasps because oh my God, she was strong.

“You are so much smaller than I expected!” she declared, sounding delighted.

“I KNOW!” Kiyomi called from the counter. “She’s my most adorable apprentice yet!”

I flailed uselessly. “Boss, do something!”

Kiyomi sipped her tea. “I am. I’m enjoying this immensely.”

Jack—**or whatever her name was now, because let’s be real, the shop was about to rename her—just laughed, squeezing tighter.

“Alright, alright, enough,” Kiyomi finally said, waving a hand. “Put down my apprentice before she malfunctions.”

“Fine,” she relented, setting me down carefully. I stumbled, gasping dramatically for air.

Kiyomi sighed, shaking her head. “Honestly. You people get so emotional after a gender shift.”

I glared. “Boss, I will start screaming about bras again.”

She smirked. “Oh, Elexis. As if you ever stopped.”

I huffed and turned back to our guest—who still didn’t have a name.

And just like clockwork, Kiyomi reached forward, tapping a single, delicate finger against the woman’s forehead.

“Now, now,” she murmured. “We can’t have you walking around untitled, can we?”

The air hummed. The magic settled.

And then, soft as a whisper:

“Hope.”

The name settled over her like sunlight breaking through clouds.

She inhaled, deeply, then let out a slow, steady breath.

“Hope,” she repeated, as if testing it.

She smiled.

“Yeah. I like that.”

The records never needed adjusting.

Her name had always been Hope Calloway. The records had never needed adjusting—leave it to magic to make sure the world never questioned it. Every tour, every mission, every battle remained exactly as it was. Only now, the name on the uniform had always been Hope.

Everything she’d done, every mission, every tour, every struggle—all of it remained exactly as it had been.

Only now, she wasn’t Jack Calloway, the lost soldier.

She was Hope Calloway, the woman who finished her service and dedicated herself to helping others heal.

She left the shop lighter.

Not because she had forgotten the past.

But because now?

Now, it wasn’t crushing her.

Kiyomi flicked a hand at the CRT screen, and the final episode played.

Hope stood in front of her family’s house, hesitant—just for a moment.

Then?

She stepped inside.

And the moment she did?

Her mother rushed forward, arms open, pulling her into an embrace.

Her sister squealed, practically tackling her, laughing through happy tears.

And Hope?

She laughed too.

Because to them?

She had always been this woman.

They had always loved her.

And she was home.

I burst into tears.

Full ugly sobs. Just complete emotional destruction.

And Kiyomi?

Kiyomi, my utterly obnoxious boss, wrapped me up in a hug and laughed.

“There, there, my deeply emotional apprentice.” She patted my back dramatically. “Let it all out. Let the anime finale emotions consume you.”

I wailed into her shoulder. “It’s TOO MUCH!”

She snorted. “Oh, please. I’ve seen you cry over less.”

“That’s a lie!”

“Oh? You didn’t cry when Fushigi from The Thousand Winds of Fate died in episode 26?”

I stiffened.

Then screamed into her kimono.

“THAT WAS DIFFERENT!”

Kiyomi cackled.

Five minutes after my absolute emotional collapse, I was slouched at the counter, arms crossed, glaring at nothing in particular.

Kiyomi, completely unbothered, poured herself another cup of tea, sighing like she’d just wrapped up a particularly successful episode of a long-running series.

"Well," she said, stretching her arms behind her head, "that was heartwarming."

I sniffled, still recovering. "Shut up."

Kiyomi beamed. "Oh, but why? You cried so beautifully. Just like the final episode of Air."

I groaned. "Stop making obscure anime references when I'm suffering."

"You’re always suffering," she pointed out cheerfully. "I mean, first it was about being tiny, then it was about boobs, then—"

I sat up immediately. "Speaking of boobs—"

Kiyomi's grin widened. "Oh? Finally accepting your tiny-chested fate, Elexis?"

I smacked my hands on the counter. "Why the hell does Hope get perfectly proportional perky ones when I—"

"Ah-ah!" Kiyomi wagged a finger. "You complained for weeks about having any at all. Surely, you wouldn't want more?"

I scowled. "That's not the point. It’s just—" I waved a hand vaguely. "Maybe it’d help me—I dunno—get a girlfriend?"

Kiyomi took a sip of tea so aggressively smug, it should’ve been illegal.

I paused.

"…Okay, why did you laugh?"

She took a long sip, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, no reason. Just… Elexis, sweetie."

I narrowed my eyes. "No. No, no, no. Say it. Say it. What’s funny?!"

Kiyomi hummed, visibly enjoying my suffering.

"Oh, it's just… you thinking bigger boobs would be the thing to help you get a girlfriend. When, really—"

She sipped again, dramatically.

"—so many other things would be more helpful."

I threw my towel at her. "JUST SAY IT, YOU DEMON."

She cackled. "Oh, but where’s the fun in that? I’m letting you figure it out on your own! Like the heroine of a magical girl anime discovering her true power!"

I gasped. "Wait. WAIT. Is this one of your weird plans?! Is this some character arc nonsense?!"

"Maybe."

"Boss, I swear to every god in the Evangelion timeline—"

"Which ones? The original series gods? The Rebuild gods? You need to be specific, Elexis.”

I grabbed the nearest thing on the counter—a jar of tea leaves—and lifted it menacingly. "You absolute gremlin woman, I will throw this."

"Oh, please." She waved a hand dismissively. "You don't even know which tea it is. You could be throwing Golden Serenity, and then what? I'd be covered in tea, but also unusually calm."

I gawked. "You’re unhinged."

"You say that like you haven’t known me for months now."

I exhaled heavily, rubbing my temples. "I swear, I was a normal person before I met you."

Kiyomi gasped theatrically. "Oh, sweetheart, no you weren’t."

I froze.

And she grinned.

"And now," she continued smugly, "you're my precious, otaku-in-training apprentice."

"I AM NOT—"

"You knew every lyric to the anime theme, Elexis."

I gasped. "That doesn't mean anything!"

"You cried at the anime finale."

"ANYONE would have cried at that!!"

"You're starting to quote anime in regular conversation."

I paled. "Wait, no I'm not—"

"You;re calling me 'Boss' like we're in a Yakuza anime."

I froze.

She smirked.

“…Oh no.”

"Oh yes."

I slumped forward onto the counter, defeated.

"I hate you," I groaned.

"Love you too, my tiny apprentice."

"I AM NOT TINY—"

"You're literally adorable."

"I SWEAR TO Haruko Haruhara, I WILL DESTROY YOU."

Kiyomi smirked. "My, my, Elexis. How very tsundere of you."

I threw another towel at her.

The End.