Dinner was… prickly.
Kokomi, who had arrived earlier with the funereal calm of a doomed heroine, was now all smiles, topping off Su's bowl like the most diligent attendant in the archipelago. To Lumine and the others, though, something felt off: there was none of that familiar, otherworldly "Su-granted power" humming around her. What there was, unmistakably, was a star-struck glimmer—more idol-worship than flirtation.
Su lifted a shoulder: even he hadn't expected this development. But once Kokomi had confessed that the sword-stroke that erased Osial had lived rent-free in her head, that the diary's spacefaring vignettes felt like the best sci-fi she'd ever read, that his strange inventions at the Ministry of Construction were exactly the kind of "future tech" she dreamed about—well, the picture clicked. Like Jean in Mondstadt, Watatsumi's tactician was a closet novel geek; the diary had simply swapped paper heroes for a breathing one.
Night spread black glass over the sea.
A soft knock. "Come in," Su said.
Shenhe stepped in—snow-silver hair, expression as cool as a mountain lake—dressed in an outfit that screamed Cloud Retainer curated this personally. It framed strength without blunting the purity of her bearing. Su mentally awarded the adeptus thirty-two likes.
"I thought you'd go on ahead with Lumine," he said. "The star-barque's faster."
"My master said you are the key to my fate," Shenhe answered without hesitation. "So I should follow you. Tell me how to change it."
Her mind had lingered on Orobashi after dinner—the exile's luck, the crushing wheel of destiny. Was there right and wrong in any of it, or only the weight of rules from Above?
"Your case," Su said, "isn't as impossible as it looks. Even without 'outside power,' you can bend the pattern by reconnecting to people. Your 'Solitary Star' life harms those bound by this world's system. But those outside it—me, and Lumine—aren't affected. You won't hurt us."
Retainer's red cord had kept her curse in check—but at the cost of feeling. To heal, Shenhe needed what the cord suppressed: bonds, emotion, the warmth of living. The paradox was cruel, and there wasn't a tidy mortal fix for it. There was Su.
Shenhe considered, then reported with disarming frankness: "Master told me to find you at night, lie flat, and not react—no matter what. Then my fate would break. She said it is the simplest method. It would only take a moment."
Su blinked. Cloud Retainer's "euphemisms" were getting bolder by the day. (Also: rude, but… accurate.)
Before he could untangle the phrasing, another knock. White-silk stockings. A pink-to-blue ribbon. Kokomi eased the door open, saw Shenhe lying prim and still upon the desk like a porcelain experiment, and nearly yeeted herself back into the hall.
"Stay," Su said. "You're just in time. We'll teach Shenhe some… human world basics. Together."
Kokomi: "?"
Shenhe and Kokomi lined up like students as Su beckoned the priestess to him and, with no preamble, drew her gently into his arms.
Shenhe watched, chin in hand, as if observing a rare bird. "Is this related to Master's instructions? I don't understand."
Kokomi's heart tried to exit via her throat; she had not prepared for a live demonstration. Meanwhile Shenhe's gaze remained calm, clinical—the way she might evaluate a cryo formation in the wild.
"Start at the start," Su said, teacher-steady. "Between people there is context, trust, shared understanding. Kokomi knows me through my diary; I've learned her measure in turn. That's foundation. Not fireworks at first sight—foundation. From there, you can… practice first, polish later."
Shenhe blinked. "I see."
Kokomi's ribbon slid askew; her Vision chimed against the knot at her waist. Shenhe's brow knit, then smoothed, a click of realization behind the eyes.
"So that is the method." Pause. "In my judgment, this behavior merits a severe beating."
Su snorted. "Head grabbed, three bounces on the deck?"
"Three would be insufficient," Shenhe said, perfectly serious. "But given your strength, no one could bounce your head. My ruling only applies when there is no emotion involved."
Her gaze moved to Kokomi—who, despite shy nerves, was unmistakably happy. The acceptance wasn't mindless capitulation; it was a choice made eyes-open, warmed by trust.
"Therefore," Shenhe concluded softly, "this is the power of emotion. It makes such acts… rightful."
"Look at you." Su smiled. "Apt pupil." He shifted, demonstrating with gentler care. "What your master described is this. I knew you didn't have the schema, so I'm spending the time to give you one."
"Master and… Ganyu as well?" Shenhe asked, voice a feather. Su nodded.
Her face barely changed—but he felt the internal balance adjust. Not outrage. Not jealousy. Alignment. Acceptance.
"This is normal," Shenhe said at last. "Because of the diary."
Su tilted his head. "Go on."
"I understand Kokomi because I am the same. Recently I've waited for your updates. Your travels… your power… the truths you record—about our past, and what waits beyond the False Sky." She drew out her own copy. "It fills something I was missing. Perhaps that is the feeling you meant."
"Exactly," Su said. "So—shall we try?"
Shenhe's answer was simple, solemn, and brave: "As we should."
Fade to black; lesson begins.
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