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“Besides, I think Noche’s hair is beautiful—like the night sky.”

There are plenty of black-furred animals that aren’t monsters, and not all monsters are black anyway. And as someone who used to be Japanese, Noche’s black hair actually felt kind of familiar and comforting.

In the village, there had been plenty of dark brown-haired folks, but that jet-black, almost East-Asian kind of hair was extremely rare.

“If anything, other people keep saying our white-hair is like grandma’s.”
“Yeah…”
“…Eh.”

When clean and brushed, our fur shines pure white, like glittering snow. But in our current state, without proper care, it looks more like an old woman’s white hair.

Back in the village, the bratty kids used to tease us, calling us “Granny.”

So I tried using that as a comparison, but Filia just made a really complicated expression in response.

“Alice, Sufi… white fur on a girl means she has the color of a princess, you know…?”
“…What kind of metaphor is that?”

That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting. Tilting my head in puzzlement, I saw Filia lowering her brows in troubled exasperation.

“Mete…for…? Uh, well, in the old days, the kings of the beastkin kingdom all had white fur. That’s why my mother told me that white fur among beastkin is the color of kings and princesses.”
“I see…”

So by “beastkin kingdom,” she must mean the old Beast Kingdom.

It was a nation of beastkin in the snowy plains of the central northern continent, and from what I’ve heard, it was destroyed several decades ago during a Fiend Lord’s¹ assault.

The Fiend Lord is like the leader of monsters, a calamity that appears out of nowhere in history and has destroyed nations time and again.

The beast king at the time, along with the royal family, died in a mutual kill with the attacking Fiend Lord. The survivors of the Beast Kingdom mostly fled to their ally nation Alveria, while the rest escaped south to the Beast Fang Federation in the woodlands.

…Wait. If Filia’s parents are from Alveria, then is she—? No, that can’t be. The royal family supposedly all perished fighting the Fiend Lord.

Maybe some relatives of the royal family escaped? It’s possible… but there’s no point speculating now. We’re just ordinary wolf beastkin, simple sisters.

“Damn it, you’ll pay for this!”
“S̲h̲i̲t̲! Damn you half-beast!”
“Don’t ever come back here, nya!!”

My thoughts were interrupted as the fight seemed to reach its conclusion. The ringleaders, beaten black and blue by Noche, were running away.

As for Noche, she’d only gotten a small scratch on her arm, probably when someone tried to grab her. Practically unscathed.

She hadn’t gone overboard either—it was a clean victory, obvious even to an outsider that she was the stronger one.

My guardian in my past life used to say: *“When you win, make it decisive. They’ll look down on you if you don’t finish the fight, but that doesn’t mean you can go overboard either.”* Noche completely overwhelming her opponents while staying in control was exactly that.

Or rather, the fact that she single-handedly beat five boys her age meant Noche must be ridiculously strong. In a brawl, she might even be stronger than Sufi.

And Sufi’s strong enough that, even at just a year older, she can easily flatten three boys at once.

…Maybe beastfolk in general just have higher combat ability. I’m the only weak one.

“…Hmph.”

As I was mulling that over, Noche stomped back toward me and shot me a glare.

Maybe she was annoyed that I’d been casually chatting while she was fighting. Honestly, that would be fair.

Her tail was flicking in a complicated pattern… hard to read her emotions.

“…I’ll treat that wound.”
“This is nothing, nya.”
“Those boys probably had dirty nails. It’s bad to leave the wound uncleaned.”
“…Fine, nya.”

I reached out and gently took her injured arm, brushing off her protest. Just a small scrape with a bit of redness.

A quick wash and some of the potion I made yesterday should heal it right up. It can’t handle deep wounds, but for something like this, it’s perfect. …Guess it was worth making after all.

“Sufi’ll make breakfast.”
“Okay.”

Leaving breakfast to Sufi, I started treating Noche. We went to the storeroom, washed her hands and the wound with stored water, then I scooped a little of the potion’s clear layer with my finger and dabbed it on.

“…Hmph.”
“…All done.”

Before our eyes, the scratch faded away, leaving her skin smooth again. Thank goodness it was the kind of injury a crude potion could still heal.

“…Thanks, nya.”
“Mm.”

She didn’t exactly look happy, but… somehow, her attitude toward me felt just a little softer than before.

*…Hmm. I don’t get her.*

■ ■ ■

After breakfast, I was grooming with Sufi in the main room.

Since we don’t have a brush, we just used our fingers to untangle each other’s hair and tails. Because of all the shedding, it’s not something I like to do where we sleep.

“…Come to think of it, alchemy needs special tools, right, nya?”
“Yeah.”

Noche, who had been lying nearby, suddenly turned her gaze on me.

Since there had been trouble in the morning, we decided not to go out gathering today and instead live off our stockpiles. With nothing else to do, everyone ended up hanging around in the main room.

Those kids probably only acted out because the rain kept them from finding food. I’d like to think they’ll keep their distance again once the weather clears up.

We really can’t afford to stop gathering for too long.

“Can’t you make the tools yourself, nya?”
“I don’t have the tools.”
“Nya?”

When I answered immediately, she gave me a puzzled look. Alchemy circles have to be drawn with perfect precision—there’s no way to do that freehand. Even for disposable use, I’d need exact rulers and protractors.

In most cases, such measuring instruments are managed by the feudal lord, and the replicas by major guilds. Making one by yourself from scratch is difficult, and they’re hardly on the market.

…In other words, I don’t have the tools to make the tools.

“I don’t have the tools to make the tools, and I don’t have the tools to make the tools to make the tools, either.”
“…? I don’t really get it, but… okay, nya?”

Looks like she understood well enough despite my explanation. All the more reason I regret that old man taking my alchemy tools. Recreating them is seriously hard work.

“It’s such an amazing skill, though. What a waste, nya.”

I was a little surprised by her straightforward compliment, and exchanged a glance with Sufi. I don’t know what triggered it, but she was showing signs of opening up.

“…there’s nothing we can do about it.”

What’s gone is gone. Since I can’t use it right now, it’s only natural that people think I’m useless. That’s what I’d believed—and honestly, it’s not wrong.

But having the effort I put into learning is recognized made me feel kind of, well… ticklish inside.