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Reborn in Type-Moon: Starting by Adopting Sakura - Chapter 4
🕑 Added 2025-07-15 05:48:29 +0000 UTCYuu’s old bookstore sat tucked away in a quiet pocket of Akihabara—a three-story white building that looked more like a mountain lodge than something you'd expect to find near Japan’s loudest electronics district.
Just a short walk from the front door, around the corner, you could already see the buzz creeping in: clustered neon, glowing signage, narrow roads choked with vending machines and blinking lights.
Manaka stood in the doorway for a moment, her eyes drifting toward that direction, watching the empty asphalt like she was waiting for something to drive out of the dark.
She tilted her head, touched her pale chin with one finger, and smiled like a child remembering the answer to a riddle only she had ever heard.
Then, humming to herself, she opened the trunk of Yuu’s white Santana and pulled out a suitcase nearly as tall as she was.
“…Heavy.”
Gripping the handle with both hands, she began dragging it toward the shop. Her pace was slow—four steps, pause, breathe, another five, rest again—but she didn’t complain. Just moved like it was all part of some quiet routine.
“Phew~”
She let the suitcase drop with a thud and smoothed out her dress. Under the edge of her blue skirt, her white-stockinged legs folded neatly as she sat down on a low wooden stool by the bookshelf. Chin in her hands, eyes half-lidded, she stared up at the stairs where Yuu had disappeared with the sleeping girl.
“…”
So that’s all it is, huh? Just a stray kitten, picked up on the roadside.
Her thoughts drifted quietly. Yuu was still unreadable to her—like a fog she couldn’t part. But the girl? Sakura? She was simple. Soft. Her entire future could be seen like pages in a thin picture book.
Of course, no one else knew what kind of creature Manaka Sajyou really was.
To most, she was a magus' apprentice. Quiet. Sweet. Maybe a little odd.
But since the moment she was born, she had been bound to the Root—the source of all things. The thing other magi broke themselves trying to touch was, to her, nothing more than a childhood toy.
The world connected to her, and she to it. Everything in existence could be shifted, rewritten, erased.
And so she gave herself one rule:
—Don’t look at your own future.
Without that restriction, there’d be no point in living. No joy, no risk, no meaning. With too much knowledge, even being human starts to feel like a chore.
She could peer through any person, any possibility. The world itself was a sandbox—predictable, familiar, and frankly a bit boring.
If she hadn’t met Yuu, she might’ve wandered this sandbox forever, wearing a saint’s face, playing a doll’s role until the curtain finally fell.
But then came that afternoon. That garden. That sunlit moment from a year ago.
And him.
The first thing she’d ever come across that didn’t give up its secrets right away. The one blind spot in her otherwise perfect world.
Unknowable. Untouchable. Incomprehensible.
In that moment, something strange bloomed in her chest—curiosity, wonder, even a flicker of fear.
And from then on, her eyes had followed that black-haired, black-eyed young man.
He’d been an old acquaintance of her father—originally stopping by to ask about a few relics. Later, she found out he’d opened a strange old bookstore in the backstreets of Akihabara, and practically begged to visit.
At first, he turned her down. Said he didn’t take apprentices. But she kept showing up, offering to help sort books or dust shelves. Eventually, after enough persistence, Yuu-sama agreed to let her stay and manage the odds and ends in his magical workshop.
From the outside, it looked like an ordinary three-story white cottage. But the moment you stepped inside, the space folded. Layered bounded fields distorted depth and distance—one of many signs this was no mundane residence, but the workshop of a proper magus.
Manaka sat near the wall, her back straight and hands neatly folded in her lap. A strand of golden hair slipped over her pale forehead as she glanced up toward the second floor.
“But, but… this is kind of troubling,” she murmured.
Her voice was soft, but the pout blooming on her lips was hard to miss. She puffed out her cheeks just slightly, vexed in a way that was almost… human.
“A stray cat has snuck into my love nest with Master.”
For someone who viewed the world as a sandbox, irritation was a rare and curious thing. And yet, here she was—mildly annoyed, very much like a normal girl.
Thump, thump, thump.
Footsteps thudded down the stairs. Manaka quickly straightened her posture.
“Master.”
“Clear out the second-floor storage room,” Yuu said as he reached the bottom. “The one with the ancient artifacts. Be careful not to damage anything.”
That room? She wasn’t even allowed to dust in there.
Manaka blinked. “Eh? But that’s your special collection. I thought I wasn’t supposed to touch—”
She trailed off. She already knew what it meant.
“Mmm. Sakura’s affinity is… different. That room’s better suited to her.”
"Mmm. Sakura’s talent is a little… unusual. That room will suit her."
A quiet pang stirred in her chest.
“…I see.”
“Thanks for handling it.”
“Of course, Master,” she chirped, back to smiling.
Whatever annoyance she'd been holding onto evaporated completely the moment he thanked her.
The night settled in calm and still. A bright moon hung over the rooftops outside.
Inside his study, Yuu finally had a moment to himself. He lit a small lamp and opened a brittle, ancient text across his desk.
Hours passed in silence as Yuu read.
By the time the lamplight flickered out, morning had already begun to slip through. Birds sang quietly on the branches outside, and pale sunlight filtered through the thinning clouds, striping the rooftops with gold.
A few thin rays found their way through the gaps in the tightly drawn curtains. The chill and hush of night faded as if they had only been a dream.
What had been “tomorrow” when he closed his eyes was now, undeniably, today.
…
“Mmm...”
A soft sound escaped Sakura as she stirred beneath the heavy covers. Her eyes fluttered open, slow and drowsy, the remnants of sleep still clinging to her lashes.
But then—something was wrong.
The moment her vision cleared, her heart lurched.
She couldn’t move.
A pair of bright blue eyes hovered inches from her face. They stared without blinking, wide open, filled with eerie stillness.
No breath. No expression. No sound.
The girl—if it was a girl—stood perfectly still beside the bed, half-shrouded in shadow. Her golden hair hung like silk threads in the gloom. Her skin looked unnaturally pale, like something left too long in the cold.
Sakura’s throat tightened. She opened her mouth to scream. Nothing came out.
Then the thing laughed.
A soft, tinkling laugh—genuine, almost cheerful. Like someone amused by a kitten’s confusion.
The pressure in the room vanished instantly. The chill lifted. And the figure stepped into the light.
“Oh, you’re awake.”
The girl's expression bloomed into a sweet, warm smile. Her blue dress swayed gently as she clasped her hands behind her back, tilting her head.
Sakura blinked rapidly, her chest still tight. “...H–hello...”
“You’re up late,” the girl said, cheerful as morning bells. “That won’t do.”
“...S–sorry.”
“What would you like for breakfast?”
“Um... I—”
“Any foods you hate?” she asked brightly, taking a step closer.
Sakura shook her head. “N–no... nothing.”
“That’s wonderful,” the girl beamed, pressing her hands together like she was making a wish. “I’ll go cook something for you. But wash up quickly, Master doesn’t like lazy children.”
“Okay...” Sakura murmured, watching as the strange girl turned and walked off, humming softly to herself.
Still half-dazed and not fully grasping where she was, Sakura slipped out of bed and padded toward the door, still blinking the sleep from her eyes. She paused in the hallway, frowning slightly.
"...Um, where’s the washroom?" she asked, blinking up at Manaka.
“Out the door, turn right, all the way at the end,” Manaka replied, gesturing gracefully with one hand.
“Thank you.” Sakura gave a polite little bow before hurrying off.
Manaka stood quietly for a moment, watching the child disappear down the hall. The sound of running water reached her a few seconds later.
Her lips curved into a smile. “Nothing she doesn’t dislike, hmm?”
Then, with a voice as sweet as honey and twice as dangerous, she added. “Wonderful. I’ll make something very nutritious. Lots of tomatoes… and bitter melon. Fufu.”
She turned, her dress swaying lightly as she glided toward the kitchen—humming the same gentle tune from before, cheerful as a spring morning.
