Twenty minutes passed.
The plates had long been cleared, yet Cecilia remained seated, her posture relaxed but her attention subtly adrift. Her gaze lingered toward the far end of the restaurant—where Himeko had left earlier, accompanied by the two unfamiliar figures. They had not returned yet.
"Mom?"
The soft voice pulled her back.
Cecilia turned to meet a pair of golden eyes staring up at her—clear, attentive, quietly observant. Sirin's phone rested loosely in her hands, forgotten for the moment.
Cecilia smiled and reached out, gently brushing the top of Sirin's hair. The familiar motion soothed her more than she expected.
"It's nothing," she said lightly, as if dismissing a stray thought.
"I see." Sirin nodded, satisfied, and returned her attention to the screen.
Cecilia watched her for a moment longer.
At the beginning, she had told herself that becoming Sirin's mother was an act of responsibility—perhaps even guilt. A way to atone her guilt. But time had a way of reshaping intentions. Somewhere between shared meals, quiet nights, and Sirin's small, earnest smiles, Cecilia had crossed a line she hadn't noticed.
This was no longer obligation.
She had begun to think of Sirin as her child.
Not a role she played. Not a name she borrowed.
A truth she felt.
And perhaps what unsettled her most was how familiar Sirin felt—not as a sirin from another bubble, but as that Sirin. The one whose story she had once known only as fiction. The child shaped by loss, betrayal, and loneliness.
Knowing that… how could she not want to protect her?
How could she not want to give her memories untouched by despair?
A sudden tap on her shoulder broke the quiet.
Cecilia turned.
Himeko stood beside her.
Behind her were two figures.
The same two young women Cecilia had noticed earlier.
For a brief second, confusion crossed her face.
Himeko said nothing—only stepped aside slightly, her eyes shifting toward the girl who stood half a step behind, head lowered, shoulders tense. It was an unmistakable gesture: this is your moment.
The girl didn't move.
"Himeko," Cecilia asked softly, careful not to startle Sirin, "who are they?"
At the sound of her voice, the girl flinched.
Her hands trembled.
A tear fell, striking the floor with a sound so faint it was almost imagined.
Cecilia's chest tightened.
Instinctively, she turned her attention to the other girl—the one standing beside her. That was when recognition struck.
White, no, blonde hair.
Familiar features.
A resemblance that felt like looking into a distorted reflection.
Cecilia's breath caught.
The girl's expression was composed, almost emotionless, yet her eyes betrayed something deeper—an ache, restrained and enduring, as though she were holding memories she had never been allowed to keep.
"…Kiana?" Cecilia said before she could stop herself.
The name slipped out instinctively.
Immediately, realization followed.
No. That isn't right.
Bianca.
That was her name now.
Then—
Did that mean the trembling girl beside her was…?
The girl turned away abruptly, wiping at her eyes, taking a step back as if retreating were her only defense.
"I—I'm sorry," she whispered, voice breaking. "I shouldn't have—"
She tried to leave.
Himeko caught her wrist gently but firmly.
"Kiana," Himeko said, her tone calm yet resolute, "you said you wanted to face her."
Kiana froze.
Her entire body shook as if the courage she had gathered moments ago had shattered all at once. Her mouth opened—but no sound came out.
Before she could force the words out, the other girl stepped forward.
She met Cecilia's gaze directly.
"Now my name is Bianca," she said clearly, evenly.
"…Mom."
The word landed heavily.
Cecilia felt it like a blow to the chest.
She had made a mistake—a devastating one.
Not as player.
But as both Cecilia and player.
She had known this story once, hadn't she? As a player. As an observer. She knew how Kiana had suffered—how learning the truth of her existence had hollowed her, how being "not the real one" had carved doubt into her very identity.
And just now… she had unknowingly reopened that wound.
Cecilia looked at Kiana.
The girl who feared she might never be accepted.
The girl who had stood at the edge of her own worth, waiting to be pushed away.
Her heart clenched painfully.
I almost broke her.
But fear had no place here.
Because no matter what world this was—no matter how twisted reality had become—the truth remained unchanged.
The Cecilia she knew would never abandon her child.
And neither would she.
Not now.
Not ever.
After all, she was no longer just someone who knew their story.
She had become the mother they had been longing for.
Cecilia's gaze shifted to Bianca.
At first glance, the girl appeared composed—calm, restrained, almost distant. Yet Cecilia could feel it. Beneath that controlled exterior lay a quiet sorrow, one Bianca herself might not even recognize.
What if she had remembered?
What if, from the moment her name was taken, she had watched the world move on without her—watched her father and aunt speak the name "Kiana" with affection meant for someone else, while assuming that Bianca was already gone?
What kind of loneliness would that have carved into her?
Perhaps losing her memories had been a mercy—a blessing disguised as tragedy. A way for fate to spare her from a pain no child should ever endure.
Cecilia inhaled slowly.
Two girls stood before her—unexpected, fragile in different ways, yet bound by the same invisible ache.
Two children who needed a mother.
She hadn't prepared for this.
She hadn't planned for this.
Yet her heart opened without hesitation.
Cecilia rose from her seat.
Kiana stiffened instantly as Cecilia stepped closer, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. She looked like a child bracing for rejection—afraid that the next moment would decide everything.
Cecilia said nothing.
She simply wrapped her arms around her.
The embrace was firm, warm, unmistakably real.
Kiana froze—then broke.
Her breath hitched as she clutched at Cecilia's clothes, tears soaking into the fabric she had feared she'd never touch. All the words she couldn't say dissolved into silent sobs.
Himeko remained where she was, quietly watching, choosing not to intrude.
Cecilia lifted her gaze.
Bianca stood two steps away, as if deliberately maintaining distance. Her expression was neutral, her posture composed—but her hands were clenched tightly at her sides.
Cecilia loosened one arm and opened it toward her, an unspoken invitation.
Bianca didn't move.
So Cecilia closed the distance herself.
She reached out, took Bianca's hand, and gently drew her in—pulling her into the embrace without force, without pressure.
Now both of Cecilia's arms were full.
Two daughters.
Two lives she refused to let slip away.
Sirin sat quietly nearby, watching the scene unfold. She didn't know what to say. She wasn't even sure what she was feeling. Her emotions twisted into something complicated—confusion, familiarity, something aching and unnamed.
When her gaze settled on the girl called Kiana, a strange sensation stirred in her chest.
It felt like looking at a fragment of herself.
No one spoke.
The restaurant faded into the background, replaced by the quiet weight of shared warmth—the kind that didn't need words to exist.
Then, gently, reality returned.
"Ahem… excuse me," the waitress said, clearly hesitant. "I don't want to interrupt a family reunion, but some of the other customers are starting to feel uncomfortable."
Cecilia loosened her embrace and nodded apologetically.
"I'm sorry about that," she said warmly. "We'll be leaving now."
--------------------------divide------------------------
They moved a short distance away from the restaurant, settling in a quiet corner of the street where the noise softened into a distant murmur. Warm afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows across the pavement—private enough, safe enough.
Cecilia listened.
She didn't interrupt.Didn't rush.Didn't guide the conversation.
She simply opened her heart and let Kiana speak.
Kiana talked about St. Freya Academy—about how she had arrived with nothing but stubborn optimism and reckless courage. About the people she met there, the ones she came to call family. She spoke of battles against Honkai beasts, of clumsy heroics, of saving someone she cared deeply about.
At one point, she pulled out her phone and showed Cecilia a photo.
"This is her," Kiana said quietly. "The girl I like."
Cecilia studied the image for a moment, then nodded—not with judgment, not with surprise, but with quiet acceptance.
Kiana continued.
Her voice wavered when she spoke of Himeko—of sacrifice, of loss that still ached no matter how much time passed. Then came the truth she had struggled with the most: discovering she was a clone. That the name "Kiana Kaslana" had once belonged to someone else. That the original was still alive—standing right beside her now, under a different name.
When the words finally ran out, Cecilia reached out and gently rested her hand atop Kiana's head.
"That must have been incredibly hard," she said softly."You don't have to carry it alone anymore. Mom is here."
The moment the word left Cecilia's lips, Kiana's composure crumbled.
She leaned forward instinctively, eyes shining—longing plain on her face.
Cecilia didn't hesitate.
She pulled her into a hug, warm and grounding, the kind that promised you are not alone without needing to say it aloud.
Kiana held on like she was afraid the moment would disappear.
Cecilia then looked up.
Bianca had remained silent the entire time—listening, observing, never interrupting. Her posture was straight, her expression calm, but there was something restrained beneath it, like a door left deliberately closed.
"Bianca," Cecilia said gently. "Is there anything you want to say?"
Bianca shook her head.
"No," she replied after a pause. "The past can stay in the past."Then, quieter, "But… I would like to hear about my childhood."
Cecilia stilled.
For a brief moment, uncertainty flickered through her.
She wasn't the original Cecilia.
I read them, she thought. I watched them. But I didn't live them.
She hesitated.
Before she could speak, a strange sensation washed over her—a sudden flash, sharp and vivid.
Warm sunlight.
A familiar voice.
A teasing smile.
Her body jolted.
Wait—did I just… flirt with Siegfried?
Cecilia stiffened.
No. No. Absolutely not.
Her face heated instantly.
If Kiana and Bianca could cross into this world bubble…
Then—
Cecilia turned sharply toward them.
"Before that," she said quickly, a little too quickly."Kiana. Bianca."
"Yes, Mom?" they answered in unison.
Her heart skipped.
"Is… is there anyone else who came to this world?" Cecilia asked.
Kiana shook her head. "Nope. Just me and Sister Bianca."
Relief flooded through Cecilia so fast she nearly sagged.
Good. I'm not ready for that.
But then—
"Oh! But Dad and Aunt Theresa will be here soon," Kiana added cheerfully, like she was commenting on the weather.
The world froze.
Cecilia blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"…Who did you say was coming?" she asked, very carefully.
"Stinky Dad and Aunt Theresa," Kiana replied, puffing her cheeks. "Mom, when Dad comes, you have to punish him! He never taught me common sense!"
"And Aunt Theresa is super strict! She keeps drowning me in homework—even after I saved the world!"
Kiana kept complaining animatedly, but none of it registered.
Cecilia's mind had gone completely blank.
Siegfried… is coming.
Her soul screamed.
No. No no no no no.
She could accept being a mother.
She had accepted that already.
But being a wife?
To Siegfried?
Absolutely not.
She smiled stiffly on the outside, while internally spiraling into sheer panic.
I did not sign up for a husband.
Not now.
Not ever.
And definitely not him.
------divide-----
(A/n: cooked)