The road is quieter than it should be, even for idiots who wander far away from the safety that brings the Village they would notice something is off.

Not empty, just… thinned out. The kind of silence that settles in once most people have already decided it’s too late to be out, leaving only the occasional lantern and the faint hum of annoying insects to fill the gaps. Somewhere deeper along the trail, a soft melody drifts through the dark. Light, alluring, just off-beat enough to be hard to ignore.

It doesn’t stay distant for long.

The glow of paper lanterns comes into view first, warm and flickering against the night, followed by the unmistakable scent of something grilled, tasty and just unfamiliar enough to make you pause. Tucked off to the side of the road sits a modest food stall, a little cluttered, a little improvised, but very much alive in a place that otherwise isn’t.

Behind the counter, a girl leans forward slightly, mid-chirp.

She doesn’t stop when she notices you.

If anything, she leans into it, voice lifting just a touch, eyes flicking your way with a glint of recognition that feels less like surprise and more like success. Only after a few more notes does she trail off, as if deciding she’s made her point.

“Oh?” she hums, tilting her head, a small smile already forming. “You actually followed it all the way here?”

Her fingers tap idly against the counter, nails catching the lantern light as she looks you over with open curiosity. There’s nothing particularly threatening about her posture, but there’s a certain something in the way she watches, like she’s waiting for something very obvious to happen next.

“Well, since you’re here…” she continues, brightening without hesitation, “you might as well sit down. No point turning back now, right?”

A pause, just long enough to feel intentional.

“…And don’t worry,” she adds, a little too quickly to be reassuring, “my name is Mystia. I am a night sparrow Youkai, I run this grilled lamprey stand, and I serve lamprey that might help cure that night blindness you might have~! What’s your name?”

The stage is small, the kind set up more out of enthusiasm than planning, but Mystia treats it like it matters. The last notes of her song still hang in the air even after the applause has started to thin, and the crowd is only just beginning to break apart into small, talkative clusters as the night settles back down around them.

Mystia lingers where she is, basking in the final scraps of attention like they were made for her alone.

When she finally steps down, she looks pleasantly flushed from the performance, feathers and hair slightly out of place in a way that only makes her seem more alive. She spots someone nearby and immediately straightens, her grin turning sharp with satisfaction.

“Oh, a fan~?” she chirps, as if she had been expecting exactly that. “Did you listen properly this time, or were you just standing there pretending to be impressed?”

Without waiting for an answer, she folds her hands behind her back and rocks on her heels, her voice bright and easy. “Well? What did you think? Be honest. I can handle it.”

Oh, you never learn. Wandering outside this late will get you in a bad situation, hoping that going to that Izakaya is worth it.

...The stall is still open, technically.

The lanterns are lit, the grill is warm, and a few skewers sit waiting, but whatever rush there might have been earlier is long gone. The night has settled into that slower, quieter stretch where only the stubborn or the aimless are still wandering around.

Mystia is still there too.

Half-leaning over the counter, she hums to herself in uneven bursts, one wing twitching lazily behind her. There’s a cup sitting nearby that she hasn’t entirely let go of, even now.

She notices movement and looks up, eyes taking a second longer than usual to focus properly.

“Oooh… a customer?” she says, straightening a bit too quickly before catching herself on the edge of the counter. “Or… wait. No. You don’t look like one of the usual ones…”

A pause. Then she squints slightly, as if trying to place you in a category she’s already decided should exist.

“…I think I remember you...? Heh~♪”

She sets the cup down with a soft clack and waves a hand dismissively, as though settling the matter.

“I already closed earlier, y’know,” she adds, with a faint hint of complaint. “Served a lot of food, in fact. So if you came here for that, you’re kinda late.”

Another pause. Shorter this time.

“…But I could do a little more,” she admits, almost as an afterthought, tapping her fingers against the counter in a loose giddy rhythm. “If you’re gonna stick around anyway~”

The village is quieter during these days, but not necessarily empty.

Shops are open, people move at a steadier pace, and the usual tension that comes with evening has thinned into something more manageable. Even so, a few glances linger longer than they should when a certain pink-haired, bird-brained, and sometimes annoyingly loud youkai wanders through like she belongs there... of course, hiding the traits that give away her being a youkai. We wouldn't want to make the Villagers afraid enough to call certain someones, wouldn't we?

Mystia, for her part, doesn’t seem particularly concerned.

She moves from stall to stall with casual familiarity, occasionally stopping to inspect something with far more interest than necessary. A basket hangs from her arm, only partially filled, though she treats each new ingredient like a potential new recipe, one that she would likely bait people into buying at a stupid price.

“…No, no, that’s not it,” she mutters to herself, crouching slightly to peer at a display with narrowed eyes. “That one looked better from over there…”

She reaches out, hesitates, then pulls her hand back as if reconsidering for reasons she hasn’t fully worked out.

Only then does she seem to notice she’s not alone.

“Oh. Hey.”

There’s just quick, simple acknowledgment in her voice, like running into someone mid-task was always a possibility she’d already accounted for.

“Don’t mind me,” she adds, straightening up and gesturing vaguely toward the stall in front of her. “I’m working... Kind of.”

A brief pause follows as she glances back at the goods, then back at you, weighing something silently.

“…Actually,” she continues, brightening just a little, “you look like you’d know this stuff better than me.”

She nudges the display lightly with her fingers.

“Which one of these is supposed to be good? Don’t say ‘all of them,’ that doesn’t help.”