My Streaming Life With SSS-Rank Girls With Want My Kids

The village of Mirfeld had its own logic.

Serah noticed it as she walked — the well-organized stalls, the houses with small gardens, the women greeting each other with the familiarity of people who’ve been building something together for a while.

It wasn’t like Valdris.

It was something more deliberate.

More cared for.

She could feel the feminine influence in the place.

Jameson walked beside her with his hands in his pockets.

"That stall was set up by Renne two years ago," he said, pointing to a shop with colorful fabrics.

"When I arrived, she had nothing. Now she exports to three cities in the sector."

Serah looked at him.

"Did you help her?"

"I got her the contacts. She did the rest." Jameson shrugged.

"That’s what I can do well. Connect people with what they need."

Serah didn’t answer.

She kept walking.

The silver markings pulsed at a rhythm she wasn’t actively monitoring — which was unusual in itself, because she normally always monitored them.

---

They reached an area of the village Serah hadn’t seen when they arrived.

A small plaza with wooden benches painted in colors that didn’t exist in Aethon — lemon yellow, sky blue, mint green.

And in the center, a metal structure spinning slowly with the wind: not a Ferris wheel, something smaller, with hanging figures that made sounds as they moved.

Serah stopped.

"What is that?"

"A wind mobile." Jameson looked at her. "You don’t know it?"

"No."

"It’s decoration. From the world we come from." A pause.

"From the world Kai comes from too, I suppose."

Serah watched the hanging figures spin.

"Would he like these things?"

The question came out before she fully processed it.

Jameson observed her for a second.

"Probably," he said.

"Though Kai doesn’t seem like the type who cares much about decoration."

"No." Serah kept watching the mobile. "But they’re things from his world."

"How did you get all this?" she asked after a moment.

"Gifts from my viewers." Jameson sat on one of the yellow benches.

"The same thing you see when Kai receives coins. But my viewers send physical objects. Things from there."

Serah looked at him.

"From Kai’s world?"

"From the same world, yes."

Serah processed this. Looked at the wind mobile. Then at the blue bench beside Jameson.

She sat down.

Not because she had exactly decided to sit. But because the logic of the moment suggested it, and something in the plaza’s atmosphere made resisting the logic of the moment require more energy than usual.

---

"What does A_D_M want from Kai?" Serah asked.

Jameson looked ahead.

"I don’t know for sure."

"But you have an idea."

"I have a guess." Pause.

"Kai shouldn’t be here. He wasn’t sent as punishment like the rest of us. He has no registered origin in the system." Jameson turned the cup between his hands — at some point another cup had appeared; Serah hadn’t noticed when.

"To A_D_M, that’s an error. And errors get corrected."

Serah looked at him.

"How do they get corrected?"

Jameson didn’t answer immediately.

"Well," he finally said,

"it doesn’t matter much anymore."

Serah frowned.

"Why not?"

"Because Kai already left."

Serah’s markings pulsed.

"He’ll come back."

"Are you sure?"

"He said he would come back."

Jameson looked at her with something resembling pity.

"The men of this village also said they’d come back," he said, quietly.

"That they were going to find a better future." A pause. "Kai used exactly those words, didn’t he?"

Serah didn’t answer.

Because it was true.

And because something inside her — her wolf instinct — stirred in a way she didn’t like.

"Kai isn’t like them," she said.

"No," Jameson agreed. "Kai is different in many ways." He looked at the wind mobile.

"But he also arrived here suddenly, without a plan, without a known origin. And now A_D_M is looking for him." Pause.

"Maybe leaving was the smartest decision he could have made."

Serah said nothing.

The markings pulsed irregularly.

---

It was at that moment that the flower appeared.

It was a long flower, thick-stemmed, with layers of petals fading from orange to yellow like a flame cooling from top to bottom. Serah didn’t recognize it from any Aethon bestiary.

"It’s from the outside world," Jameson said.

"A gift from one of my viewers. It’s called Kniphofia. In Kai’s world they call it ’Tritoma’ or ’Poker Torch.’"

Serah took it.

She examined it with the same attention she applied to everything — structure, texture, scent.

The scent was warm. Slightly sweet.

"It’s strange," Serah said.

"Yes."

"But interesting."

"Also."

Serah held it a moment longer.

Something about the shape of the petals — the way each layer supported the next — seemed almost mechanical to her.

And for some reason she had the urge to eat it, and so she did — she split it in half and began to lick the flower.

Without fully realizing it, her silver markings had dimmed in intensity.

---

The afternoon progressed.

Jameson showed her the rest of the village — the mill they had rebuilt, the small library one of the women had organized with books from various worlds, the greenhouse where they grew plants not native to Aethon.

Serah asked questions.

Not many, but the ones she asked were specific — about the objects from the other world, how they worked, whether Kai would know them.

Jameson answered.

And every time Serah mentioned Kai, Jameson let a second pass before responding.

Just a second.

But seconds accumulate.

She met Renne — the one from the fabric stall, who turned out to be direct and unpretentious and showed her the textiles with genuine pride, and she and Jameson kissed in front of her, which Serah found irritating for some reason.

She met Mira — the one from the greenhouse, who spoke about plants with the same intensity Kai spoke about combat technique, and the same thing happened: she too kissed Jameson.

She met four, five, six other women who had something in common that Serah took a while to name: none of them seemed to be under any effect. They were simply people who had found a place — and love — to stay.

Which was, Serah thought, exactly what made the effect hardest to remove from within.