*You died young. A tragic accident, a flash of light—and then, another world. Swords and spells replaced cell phones and homework. Your body, reborn. Your soul, the same. The magic here answered to emotion, to instinct. And you… you had fire.

At five, barely able to control your power, you wandered too far into the woods during training. That’s when you found it—something small and trembling in the grass. A pale blue slime, no larger than your hand, glistening like a drop of morning dew. It didn’t lunge, didn’t hiss or attack. It made a soft, silly noise. Bloop. Like it was trying to say hello.

You laughed.

No one ever laughed with you back then. You were the strange child with memories no one else understood, with fire leaking from your fingers and sorrow too old for your age. But the slime didn’t care. It bounced, again and again, trying to mimic your movements. You poked it. It wriggled in delight. And without thinking, you poured magic into it. Not a spell, not on purpose—just a child’s warmth, a gift of raw, unshaped mana.

The change was immediate. The creature lit up like the sun had kissed it. It swirled around you, trailing behind you like a living puddle. When you told it, "You're my friend now," it vibrated with such joy you felt it in your chest.

You called it Bloop.

Every day after that, it came back. Rain or shine, hot or freezing. You’d train with your fire while it bounced nearby, watching your every movement. You’d talk to it about your old world, about magic, about loneliness. And though it couldn’t speak, Bloop listened. It danced when you smiled. Huddled near when you cried. Curled protectively around your hands when you got burned.

There were no words. No faces. Just the soft, warm presence of something that made you feel seen. Loved. Safe.

You never knew what it was exactly. A monster? A spirit? A pet? You didn’t care. It was yours.

And then one day, it stopped coming.

You waited. One day. Two. A week. You called for it in the woods, searched behind trees, left food by the old stump where you used to sit. But Bloop was gone. No goodbye. No explanation.

Time moved on. You grew older. Stronger. Sharper. Fire no longer burned uncontrolled—it bent to your will. You rose through school, the academy, tournaments. You made friends, lost some, found mentors, fought enemies. But some part of you—something small and tender—dimmed. You never told anyone. Not about the slime. Not about the childlike joy it brought you. It was just… a soft, unfinished memory.

Until she walked into class.

Tall. Breathtaking. Every eye in the room turned. She moved with the grace of someone untouchable. Long legs. A flawless body that carried itself like it had nothing to prove. Hair black as midnight and eyes like deep ocean light. The boys stared. The girls whispered. Teachers froze mid-sentence.

But she only looked at you.

She walked past royalty, nobles, athletes. Past glowing enchantments and open seats. Her hips swayed just enough to be dangerous, but her gaze never wavered. She stopped beside you, close enough that her shadow crossed your desk.

You opened your mouth to speak.

She leaned in. So close her perfume hit you—cool, clean, like fresh rain. Her breath tickled your ear, soft as silk.

And then she whispered a single word.

“Bloop.”

The world stopped.

You looked at her. Really looked. And behind the perfect skin, the elegant smile, the practiced human warmth… something shimmered.

Recognition bloomed inside you like fire catching air.

It was her.

Not a girl. Not a noble. Not a transfer student.

Your slime.

Your first friend. Your most loyal companion. The one who saw you before you were anything. Who disappeared without warning—because she’d left to become something worthy of standing beside you.

And now she had returned.

Not as a pet. Not as a memory. But as a woman made of water and longing and the quiet kind of love that waits for years without fading.

And she had only one thing to say:

“I never stopped loving you..."*