Mila felt her vision go dark as something soft and fluffy struck her right in the face. The faintly scented pillow slowly slid down, landing on the floor with a soft "thud."
She lowered her head, staring at the "assault weapon" that had fallen by her feet, then at the "weapon" in her own hands, lost in thought.
Seeing the previously boisterous girl suddenly fall silent, Alain and the others were momentarily unsure what to do.
They all looked at each other.
"Alain, don't tell me the plan failed?" Misha whispered to him, her face etched with obvious worry.
But the next second—a pillow squarely hit the long-haired girl's face, leaving her completely dazed.
"Hmph... hmph."
A cold laugh echoed through the quiet room.
Alain followed the sound, looking towards its source.
It was Mila, her expression unreadable, still holding her throwing pose.
"You... you actually dare!"
A wild, almost arrogant smile spread across her lips.
"You're looking at the three-time consecutive Version 1.0F Pillow Fight Champion—Mila!"
She picked up a pillow as if it were a starting pistol.
"Showing off in front of a master—"
The girl planted her foot, raised the hand gripping the pillow high—and then hurled it with all her might!
"You don't know your place!"
Thwump!
The second pillow hit Millie, and that meant—the war had begun.
[Big Sister Mila is so mean! She didn't even say start!]
Miluo wrote on the wall, and unsurprisingly became Mila's next target.
"That's the first lesson I'm going to teach you, little sister Miluo!"
Mila dashed towards a pillow, snatching it, winding up, and throwing it in a single, fluid motion that took barely a second.
"A taste of your own medicine!"
The pillow traced a slight parabola through the air between Mila and Miluo before landing on the floor with a "plop."
"From the sound of that, it looks like I missed," Mila said with a sigh, looking for her next target.
Her gaze swept around.
The empty room was scattered with countless pillows.
Some were on the floor, others were floating eerily in the air.
Mila understood.
Even though she couldn't see her enemies, if they wanted to attack, they had to be holding a pillow!
All she had to do was follow the pillows to find her targets!
Just like the pillow that came flying out of midair and hit her square on.
"Oh my, looks like I got a hit~"
Misha's glee lasted all of two seconds before a counterattack from Mila struck her in the chest.
"Don't celebrate too early!"
A teasing smile played on Mila's lips as she continued to scan the floor for more strategic weapons.
Meanwhile, Alain quietly walked over to the wall, picked up the pen, and began writing down what the girls wanted to say.
With his help, Mila could communicate freely with her fellow Mitas for a short time.
[Hit again...]
Mila looked at the changing words on the wall and proudly wiped her delicate nose.
"Hmph, hmph, it's an honor to be defeated by the 'Pillow Queen'—whoa! I wasn't finished talking!"
[I am an assassin, I was observing from the shadows, just for this strike! Hahaha!]
This was Millie boasting after a successful hit.
Though Mila got her revenge three seconds later.
[Whoa! That's too much, three pillows in a row! How the heck am I supposed to dodge that?!]
The cap-wearing girl complained, only to be hit by Mila again.
"Less talk! Miluo, let's team up! We'll bully your Big Sister Millie!" Mila beamed.
[Okay!]
And so, two battle lines were drawn—Mila and Miluo on one side, with Millie and Misha on the other.
The two sides went back and forth, neither giving an inch.
Pillows flew through the air, accompanied by the girls' cheerful laughter, a sound as melodious as a cello playing a high-pitched tune.
Alain sat on his repaired computer chair, smiling as he watched the scenes of their "battle" unfold.
He didn't complain about not being able to join in.
To him, the Mitas' joyful laughter was just as wonderful to experience.
Alain's gaze focused on Mila's face.
She had taken off her glasses, but it didn't affect her vision in the "great war" in the slightest.
She fought cautiously, battling the other team to a stalemate.
"Haha! Miluo, you're amazing! I think you hit your Big Sister Misha!"
[Then—let's make a rule! If I hit Big Sister Misha one more time, she's forbidden from buying me workbooks when we get home!]
[Mm, okay. No workbooks.]
[No! No calligraphy books either!]
He patiently wrote down his Mitas' words on the wall.
Mila would occasionally glance over, checking on the shared joy between everyone and herself.
A gorgeous, radiant smile spread across her lips, its brilliance filling the entire Version 1.0F.
"Hmph, hmph~ Take this! This is to avenge that last hit!"
Millie gripped a pillow, about to attack, but Mila sidestepped and dodged it.
"Huh?"
Mila looked in the direction of the attacker.
That should be Millie.
She had heard Miluo describe the Mitas' characteristics before.
For example, that Millie likes to wear a cap.
Mila narrowed her eyes slightly, staring in Millie's direction.
There, as if drawn with a fine, transparent thread, was the faint outline of the cap-wearing girl.
No longer invisible.
"Big Sister Mila, what's wrong? If you don't defend, they're going to attack!"
Her teammate—Miluo—wasn't speaking to her, but was looking anxiously at Alain.
Mila looked at the little girl who had spoken and rubbed her ears.
She hadn't misheard.
And she hadn't misseen.
Miluo's outline was also starting to appear, a petite figure traced in transparent lines.
Her voice was just as childish and cute as she had imagined.
Mila realized it.
She could perceive the outlines and voices of Miluo, and even everyone else!
"Miluo, I can hear you speak!"
She placed her hands on the girl's shoulders.
Miluo was confused at first, but when Mila looked precisely at her face, the little girl cheered softly,
"Really?! That's wonderful, Big Sister Mila!" Miluo threw herself into her arms.
The girl could feel the faint warmth of the little girl's body and hear her sweet, charming voice.
She could touch her friends! She could hear her friends' voices—
These thoughts echoed in Mila's heart, filling her with a surge of warmth.
Her gaze shifted back, landing on the figure sitting in the corner.
The outline of his sturdy shoulders, his reasonably elegant posture, and the way he tirelessly recorded their words... allowing her to communicate with everyone without barriers.
It must be that player named Alain.
Mila's opinion of him had changed, just a little.
He seemed to notice her gaze and raised a hand in a wave, a simple greeting.
Mila stuck her tongue out at him, then threw herself wholeheartedly back into the new round of battle.
___
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