Upper District, Serval's workshop.
Serval was enjoying a rare moment of leisure, cradling a steaming cup of plain water and sipping it slowly. Her gaze was unfocused, lost in some old melody.
The shop had a "Closed" sign hanging up; only the scattered parts and musical scores on her workbench kept her company.
"Knock, knock."
A slow, steady knocking sound echoed.
"Hmm?"
Serval snapped out of her thoughts and looked toward the closed door, calling out, "Who is it? I'm closed today. If you need something repaired or want to buy a record, come back tomorrow."
Having said that, she took another sip from her cup, the hot water sliding down her throat and bringing a touch of warmth.
It was quiet outside for a moment.
Just when Serval thought the person had left—
A guitar melody, so familiar it made her soul tremble, rang out clearly through the door!
"Strum~ strum-strum~ strum, strum-strum~..."
The simple yet iconic chords and rhythm instantly struck a locked box deep within Serval's Remembrance.
"Pfft—! Cough, cough, cough!"
She nearly spat out all the water, her hand shaking violently. Most of the water spilled, burning her and causing her to gasp. She clumsily set the cup down on the table with a loud "clatter."
"That music is! Wait! I'm coming! Don't stop!"
Serval practically sprang from her chair. The movement was so sudden that the chair legs screeched against the floor, and she stumbled, nearly tripping over nothing.
She didn't care about her image at all, scrambling (a bit of an exaggeration) toward the door, her heart pounding in her chest.
"Whoosh!"
She yanked the door open.
The "person" standing outside left Serval's excitement and questions stuck in her throat, her expression frozen in a comical state of surprise.
The newcomer's height and build were similar to the person in her Remembrance, but... they were bundled up like a snowfield explorer preparing for winter, and wearing cheap gear at that!
A thick, bloated, drab-colored coat, pants that didn't look like they fit well, a beanie pulled low over their head, and a dusty scarf wrapped tightly around their face, covering most of it. They even had oversized, exaggerated sunglasses perched on their nose bridge! The little bit of exposed skin was hard to make out.
This image—compared to the perpetually elegant (at least on the surface) and imposing Supreme Guardian in Serval's Remembrance... couldn't be called identical; it was completely unrelated.
But the person was holding a well-maintained guitar in their arms, and the familiar melody from just moments ago was clearly played by her.
In Serval's dazed gaze, this "suspicious individual" looked around, then nimbly squeezed into the workshop, shut the door with a "bang," and slid the inner bolt home in one fluid motion.
Immediately afterward, she seemed to sigh in relief. Her free hand immediately reached up toward the scarf wrapped tightly around her face, trying to pull it down.
She pulled hard—the scarf didn't budge. She pulled again, and it still didn't move. She pulled once more... the scarf seemed to have grown onto her face, or was tied in a dead knot.
"Hmm?"
The newcomer let out a confused nasal sound and began pulling with both hands, her body leaning back from the effort, and the guitar bumped against the door panel.
Serval just stared blankly as this "bundle" wrestled with a scarf in her shop; the scene was incredibly bizarre and... somewhat funny.
After struggling for a dozen seconds, the scarf remained secure.
The newcomer seemed to give up and turned toward Serval. Through those large sunglasses, Serval could feel a gaze of helplessness and anxiety.
A lowered, yet incredibly familiar female voice, tinged with obvious annoyance, came muffled from behind the scarf: "Serval! Don't just watch! Come help me! This damn scarf won't come off! Who tied this dead knot?!"
This voice, this tone...
Serval's eyes widened instantly, her last shred of hesitation vanishing, and a huge wave of surprise surged into her heart: "This voice...! It really is you! Cocolia?!"
The guitar melody from earlier was a piece they had secretly composed together while huddled in an old music store in their youth. Only the two of them knew the melody; even Gepard hadn't heard the full version!
Having confirmed her identity, Serval immediately stepped forward to help, not bothering to ask questions.
Two people, four hands, wrestling with that pile of "disguise" at the door. The hat and sunglasses were easy enough, but the coat buttons seemed to be buttoned in the wrong places, and the belt on the pants seemed to be tied in a strange knot... It was truly a "disguise removal disaster."
"Hey, don't pull my hair! The hat is snagged!"
"How did this button get buttoned into that loop?!"
"Easy, easy! Is this scarf glued to my face?!"
"Don't move, I'll find some scissors... Never mind, it seems like I can pull it off..."
After a chaotic flurry of activity, mixed with quiet complaints and suppressed laughter, the layers of "seals" on Cocolia were finally removed, piling up messily on the floor.
Cocolia, breathing the air of freedom again, had blonde hair that was a bit messy from the hat, and she let out a long sigh of relief, with a faint red mark from the scarf still visible on her face.
She walked over to the workbench, picked up the cup Serval had just been drinking from, and drank the remaining warm water in one go, her movements as fluid as if she were in her own home.
"Ha... I shouldn't have agreed to those unreliable people."
Cocolia set down the cup and cast a helpless glance at the pile of disguised clothing on the floor that could only be described as "performance art."
"Especially that girl Stella; her aesthetic sense is worrying."
She briefly explained the situation: Stella felt someone had to go to the Upper District first to scout and understand the current situation. As the one with the strongest combat power and the most familiarity with the Upper District, she naturally became the first choice. Seele had volunteered to go along but was ruthlessly rejected on the grounds that she "didn't need someone who might be a burden."
"You should have seen it; that girl Seele's face was as red as a ripe Sunfruit, and in the end, she retreated, pouting angrily."
A mischievous smile curled at the corners of Cocolia's mouth.
"Then they insisted on making a disguise for me... and ended up wrapping me up like that. They said it was to 'blend in with the public and be inconspicuous.' I think they might have a misunderstanding about what 'inconspicuous' means."
Serval listened and imagined the scene, especially imagining the usually cold-faced Cocolia (even in this version that seemed much livelier) being surrounded by a group of young people and dressed up as a "country bumpkin." She finally couldn't help but "pfft" and laugh out loud, unable to stop, with tears almost coming to her eyes.
She just wanted to laugh now; she didn't want to think about why Cocolia was in the Lower District or why she needed to scout the Upper District.
"Hahaha... Cocolia, you, you have your days too!"
Serval wiped away the tears from laughing.
"But what's with the sudden mood to run to my crappy workshop? And... making it so 'creative'."
She pointed at the pile of clothes on the floor, smiling.
Cocolia looked at her old friend who was laughing so hard she couldn't straighten up. The helplessness on her face gradually faded, and her expression became serious.
She sighed softly, looked directly into Serval's eyes, and asked, "Serval, do you trust me?"
There was no extra explanation, no build-up; she just asked it directly.
Serval's laughter slowly stopped.
She looked at the woman before her, whose appearance was exactly the same as the dear friend in her Remembrance, but whose demeanor was more vibrant and whose eyes held a light she hadn't seen for a long time. Without any hesitation, she nodded, her voice clear and firm: "I trust you."
She stepped forward and took Cocolia's hand, her fingertips feeling a warmth in the other's palm that was different from cold armor.
"I have always trusted you. I did before, and now... I still do."