The fever finally broke by morning.
Sirin had slept through the night without another word, her breathing soft, her fingers still curled lightly in john's shirt. He stayed by her side until sunlight began to filter through the curtains, washing the room in warm light.
When she finally opened her eyes, she didn't speak right away.
She just looked at him—like she'd found something she thought she had lost forever.
That was the moment it started to change.
Not instantly. Not like magic.
But something inside her—soft and scared—began to harden. Resolve, slowly forging itself from fear.
By the next day, she stood in front of the mirror, staring at a stranger staring back.
And yet… not a stranger at all.
Wait a minute—this… this isn't right!
Where was her long, flowing violet hair?
The hair that used to rest so luxuriously against her back—the one her mischievous aunt always joked about stealing to use as a pillow.
Gone.
In the mirror now stood a girl with short blue hair.
Neatly trimmed. Clean-cut. Elegant even.
But… it wasn't her.
Sirin stared silently into the mirror.
The girl reflected back at her was beautiful. No doubt. Delicate features. Porcelain skin. A picture-perfect image of youth.
But it wasn't *her*.
"…What is this?" she finally asked.
Her voice was calm, but her tone was tight—sharp with confusion and something else.
She turned toward john, who stood beside her quietly.
He smiled gently, not rushing to explain. Instead, he took her hand and led her to the window.
"Don't you think… this version of you is cute too?"
Sirin didn't answer.
She only frowned slightly, eyes narrowing.
"And," john added, his voice lower now, "this way… certain people won't be able to trace your old identity."
Sirin snorted. "You think I care what they think of me?"
"I do," john said simply. "Because I care whether you're safe."
Her expression wavered.
"…You're afraid I'll get caught again," she said softly. "That they'll use me like before."
john nodded.
There was no point in hiding it.
Silence stretched between them, heavy and uncertain.
Then finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, "…I'm not afraid of them anymore."
She paused.
"But… thank you."
It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't emotional. But it meant everything.
—
Later, she stood in front of the mirror again, now fully dressed in her magical girl outfit—a new one, fitted to her new appearance.
She turned to john, her face unreadable.
"So then…" she said lightly, "should I give them a little response?"
"A response?"
Sirin gave a soft laugh.
But there was steel behind it.
"They've been looking for me for a long time, haven't they? Searching. Digging. Hoping to find the Herrscher of the Void again."
She smiled.
Cold. Beautiful. Deadly.
"Then maybe it's time I stopped hiding."
john's eyes narrowed.
"What are you planning?"
"I want them to know," she said, stepping forward, her eyes glowing faintly gold.
"That the Herrscher of the Void… is back."
There was no trembling in her voice.
No hesitation.
Only conviction.
The kind that only comes from pain… and power.
—
john said nothing.
He only stepped closer and placed his hand on her shoulder.
He wasn't afraid.
Not of her. Not of the consequences.
Because no matter what she chose to become, no matter how much power she reclaimed—
She wouldn't be alone this time.
He'd stand with her.
Even if the whole world turned against them.
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