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CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
magic potion

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༇ BAYA stands in front of the mirror, twirling slightly to see the full length of the dress. It's bright and flowery, a cheerful mix of yellows, pinks, and greens that almost make her look like a walking garden. She smiles at herself, pleased with her choice. It's a bit out of her usual style, but something about it feels refreshing.

When she steps out of the bedroom, Niragi is lounging on the couch, his eyes immediately lifting from the screen of his phone. He doesn't hide his gaze as it scans her from head to toe.

"What do you think?"

"Not bad," he says.

"Really?" she asks, spinning around again. "You think so?"

He leans back, his hands tucked behind his head. "Yeah. You're pulling it off."

Baya's smile widens. It's comforting to hear him say that. She believes him. There's no reason not to. Her new housemate has always been a bit rough around the edges, but she's learned to accept that.

"I thought I'd try something new."

"You've got the body for it, so why not show it off?"

"Thank you." She grins. "I'm going to the store. What do you want for dinner?"

"Anything's fine. Just make sure no dude's hitting on you in that store."

Slowly, her brows furrow. "What do you mean?"

"A dress like that just screams that you're an easy target," he says casually.

"Oh." A lump forms in her throat. "Well, whatever. I'll be back. See you."

"See you."

She adjusts the straps of her dress as she heads toward the door. But as soon as she takes a step, she feels a sharp pain in her heart, a sudden tightness that makes her pause mid-stride.

Her hand instinctively presses against her chest, trying to soothe the discomfort, but it only seems to worsen. She winces, biting her lip, and looks down at the floor, willing the pain to subside. She doesn't want to admit it to herself, but it's been happening more and more frequently over the past few days. It doesn't feel like anxiety, or at least not the kind she's used to. No, this feels like something is physically wrong with her heart.

She glances back at Niragi, who's still sprawled on the couch. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," she lies, swallowing hard as the pain lingers. She gives him a quick smile to mask the discomfort.

But Niragi doesn't seem convinced. He's looking at her closely, his eyes narrowing with a slight glint."You sure?" he asks. "You should see a doctor if the pain continues."

"Yeah," Baya mutters. "I might." She pushes through the door, the pain still lingering in the back of her chest, but she's determined to make it to the store.

She picks out her items. The usual joy she gets from picking fresh food feels distant. The throbbing in her chest lingers, gnawing at her.

She's starting to suspect a sugar overdose—if that's possible. Ever since she left the hospital after the meteorite, she has been craving a very specific brand of cookies. She just can't stop buying them.

The cashier gives her a weird look every time she shows up with another five packs of cookies. Something tells her it might not be the cookies that are strange, though.

She's covered in scars, and it's noticeable. Three months have passed and it's surely not enough for them to fade. Deeply carved into her cheek is a cut, as well as a disturbing mess of skin near her temple. Her arms and ribs have suffered, too.

Standing near a bathroom mirror when the meteorite hit was not ideal.

So the cashier, and many other people, look at her weirdly. Baya doesn't mind, though. Not everyone can say they survived the hit of a meteorite. Besides, she's better of than Niragi, whose body is half-burned. She has not once commented on it.

It's not difficult to find others who survived as well. The unhealed scars on people's faces say it all. The same haunted look in their eyes.

And yet, she feels better than ever. The black market had been her reality for as long as she could remember. She'd been raised in a world where survival meant making hard choices, and those choices often involved illegal deals, dangerous people, and blurred moral lines. It wasn't easy to walk away from that life. For one, she had known no other way of living, and for another, the connections she had made with people in that world were still lingering. People didn't let go of their ties to the black market easily.

But after everything that had happened, Baya started questioning everything. She no longer wanted to be a part of that dark, cruel underworld. She didn't want to continue making deals that left others broken and empty, just like she had once been.

The turning point was simple: she realized she was tired. Tired of being used. Tired of the constant fear. Tired of not knowing who to trust. And most of all, tired of being stuck in a cycle where she could never break free.

She started by quietly distancing herself from the people she used to know. She stopped answering calls, ignored texts, and faded into the background. When they came looking for her, she had nothing to say. She made sure to burn every bridge, though that came with consequences. There were threats. There were moments of doubt. But in the end, her will was stronger than the fear.

Her next step was less certain, but more exciting than she had ever imagined. She enrolled in night classes at a local community college, signing up for a psychology course. She'd seen enough broken souls in the black market to want to understand why people did what they did, why they hurt, and how they could heal. She wanted to help people, not use them.

The first few weeks were overwhelming. It was all so new and different. But Baya threw herself into it. She spent hours reading textbooks, attending lectures, and trying to grasp concepts. She'd sit in the library, under the harsh lights, with her nose buried in books that spoke of human behavior, emotions, and therapy. Slowly but surely, she found herself becoming more absorbed in her studies than she had ever been.

Her new routine became a welcome escape. Baya now spent her days taking notes in class, learning how to read people, how to communicate with them in ways that could heal rather than hurt. It was a strange shift for her, but it felt right.

In the back of her mind, she always wondered if she was fooling herself. If the darkness of her past would always follow her.

Over time, she found herself going for more advanced classes, ones that dealt with the complexities of mental health and trauma. Baya had become increasingly interested in the way people reacted to stress, to pain, and to the kinds of circumstances that shaped their actions. She saw parts of herself in these theories—the coping mechanisms, the defense mechanisms, the struggles that people tried to hide beneath their surfaces.

She makes money by multiple tasks. She cleans fancy houses for a good amount of money. Now and then, she babysits the rich people's children. They pay her well.

Enough for her to pay her half of the rent, and enough for her to study. There's little left for groceries and clothes, but she assures herself that once she's done studying, she'll become some sort of psychologist. She's not sure what kind yet, but it'll work out.

Out of a sudden, another tug of pain jolts through her chest. She accidentally drops the bag of groceries, causing oranges to roll downhill. She hisses while she tries to grab them, but her heart continues stabbing itself.

Down the hill, two people catch the fruits. Baya watches as they make their way up, lifting her bag from the ground and putting the oranges back in. One of them is a man, his dark hair wildly on his head, his clothes loose. The woman looks rather sporty, with a neat bob and a training suit.

"Are you okay?" She asks Baya.

"I— yeah," Baya murmurs.

The pain subsides just a bit, but it still lingers at the edges. Baya's hand shakes slightly as she takes the bag from the woman, offering a weak smile in return.

"Thank you," she says softly.

The man, tall and with a faintly familiar glint in his eyes, watches her carefully. She forces herself to meet his eyes but quickly looks away. "You sure?"

Baya nods, biting her lip as she tries to steady herself. She's more than aware that something's off—about her body, her heart, but it must pass eventually.

"Yeah, I just..." She takes a deep breath, trying to will the pain away, but it doesn't quite work. "I'm just tired, I guess."

The man looks at her for a moment longer. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

Baya nods politely. She doesn't want to get caught up in this conversation any more than she already has. "Thanks," she mutters, turning away from them quickly. "Really, I'm fine." She doesn't wait for their response as she hurries off.

As she walks, however, her mind keeps circling back to the man's eyes. There was something familiar about him. She can't put her finger on it. Maybe it's just her imagination running wild, fueled by the pain and the constant unease in her chest.

With her bag tightly in hand, she tries to focus on the task at hand. Arriving home, getting the groceries put away, and avoiding any further pain.

Her phone buzzes, pulling her from her thoughts. She looks down.

Are you Yuzuki Baya?

Her breath catches in her throat, the world momentarily spinning. She's almost afraid to look around, afraid to see someone, anyone, watching her. It's a constant feeling, this sense of being observed.

She doesn't reply. Her fingers hover over the screen, but she doesn't know what to say. Who is this person? What do they want?

The pain in her chest flares again, sharper this time. She whimpers and presses a hand against her chest, trying to ignore the throbbing.

Finally inside the apartment, she puts the groceries away. She finds Niragi in the kitchen, already preparing the drinks he makes them every night. It's usually tea. He's convinced it helps with sleep or something.

But he is right. Baya always feels sleepy not long after finishing the mug. She even falls asleep on the couch sometimes.

When she wakes up, it feels as if she drowned in the sheets. Her vision is hazy the first five minutes, her mind still disoriented, her body aching from a night of sleep so deep.

Without the tea, she can't sleep properly, so she figures it's for good purposes only.

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🂱 — A/N: ...

A bit of a boring introduction to my alternate version of season 3

Another reminder you can also read the version based off the real season 3!! It's a separate book called "Visage"

Have a good day!!