Miss Witch Doesn’t Want to Become a Songstress

Although the bar setup matched Hestia’s preferences perfectly, she couldn’t help but feel nervous when it was time to step onto the stage.

After all, it was her first time. Who knew how it would turn out?

That evening, after work, about 20 maids gathered in the small room. If there had been enough space, even more might have come in.

“Botis, aren’t you going inside?” asked Zagan, who had tidied up the bar after closing. Now free, she sat behind the bar, watching Botis, who appeared eager for a drink.

“I’m not going,” Botis replied, holding a glass in one hand and swirling the liquid inside gently.

“There are already too many people. Squeezing in with the juniors wouldn’t feel right.”

She tilted her head back and drank most of the contents in one go, her slightly tipsy demeanor becoming evident.

“That’s unusual,” Zagan commented, not attempting to guess at the complexities of Botis’ feelings. Leaning against her spot at the bar, she looked up at the simulated sky, now lit with fiery hues of the setting sun.

“When feelings run too deep, it’s easy to feel heartache,” Zagan remarked cryptically.

“Most people come here to drink because they enjoy the flavors, but some are simply looking to pour out their sorrows.”

“Are you worried that once Dantalion starts school, you’ll find it hard to bear the separation?”

“You’ve always known many people at work, but your interactions were mostly limited to brief exchanges during shifts. Outside work, you were mostly in the jungle among venomous creatures. Having someone to keep you company must have made you a lot happier.”

“Zagan, despite being from the Horned Bull race, you have a delicate and thoughtful side,” Botis murmured as she lay on the bar, looking sleepy.

“Should I take that as a compliment or an insinuation that I’m fat?” Zagan chuckled, unfazed.

“Horned bulls naturally have a large frame. In ancient times, we were often fierce generals on the battlefield. By our standards, I’m considered slim.”

“Alright, enough about that.” Zagan shook her head and stopped gazing at the drifting clouds above, sitting upright instead.

“Have you truly decided to leave the songstress world behind? It’s a shame—I used to listen to your songs. ‘Emerald Serpent’ really suited you.”

“Don’t bring up that title in the shop, it’s inappropriate,” Botis slurred, clearly drunk.

“Alright, I won’t mention it again. Want another drink? If not, I’ll be closing up here.”

“One more ‘Emerald Serpent,’ please.”

“Got it~”

With the sound of liquid being poured into a glass, a clear emerald-green cocktail was placed before Botis.

“Here you go. This ‘Emerald Serpent’ is probably your most iconic creation during your time in the Four-Leaf Crystal. Many rock musicians and racers still love to have a glass.”

“A blend of emerald-green absinthe, a touch of anise liqueur, and green cranberry juice, shaken with ice. With an alcohol concentration as high as 89%, it chills your throat with a refreshing burst when sipped, then ignites your body with the aftertaste, creating a mild euphoria and a fleeting hallucination, like transforming into a beast of the night.”

“Back when I worked in a night market bar in Southern 3rd District, I witnessed several underground racers ordering a glass before rushing headlong toward death. Both awe-inspiring and perplexing.”

“It’s surprising to see you so gentle and sentimental now,” Zagan said as she finished tidying the bar. Lowering the white metal shutters, she stepped out to sit beside Botis.

They continued to reminisce about the past, recounting the legendary tales of the underground world in the Four-Leaf Crystal—the rockers and racers who raced toward their fates.

Meanwhile, on the other side of Crystal Dream, in the newly built circular library;

About 20 maids with varying appearances and demeanors surrounded a figure seated on a high stool. Some sat, others leaned, all amidst a sea of flowers swaying in a gentle breeze.

Hestia opened a large illustrated book, its size enough to completely cover her legs, revealing a world painted with autumnal hues of golden leaves.

Her voice, lilting like a song, narrated an ancient tale—the story of the flower-crowned maiden, Isanisha.

Known in later years as the “Golden Flame Rose,” this celebrated songstress once lived on a remote, rarely visited planet.

In the Fourth Epoch, exploration fleets set out from Earth to find new settlements across the vast universe. Some returned with joyous news, while others vanished into the starry abyss, their traces or remains only rediscovered millennia later.

Isanisha’s ancestors were among those who crash-landed on a desolate planet. Unable to return to Earth and cut off from communication, they struggled to survive and gradually adapted to their new home.

Generations passed, evolving from fighting for survival to establishing settlements and seeking better living conditions. Slowly, they laid roots on the planet and began terraforming it as their technology recovered.

Two saplings were planted, symbols of hope and future.

As the trees grew, their lush canopies protected the inhabitants from the planet’s toxins, purifying the environment. The springs flowing between the trees provided drinkable water without further purification.

Centuries passed, and the two trees became towering giants, reaching the clouds. Legends claimed that standing atop their crowns allowed one to view most of the planet. Suspended among the branches were cities like golden fruits.

“The twin trees that hold up the world, the world trees.”

People prayed, sang, and celebrated year after year. Beneath the twin trees, the most beautiful and melodious maiden was chosen to perform.

Isanisha, the 312th flower-crowned maiden, was born of a human father and an elven mother, reflecting the planet’s diversity. From childhood, she played and grew with friends of all races beneath the twin trees, her eyes seeing no differences beyond appearances.

Time flowed onward. After countless stellar years, a lost spaceship emerged from the void, entering this solar system and marveling at the emerald-like planet.

“Like a verdant amber, it embodies humanity’s legacy and dreams from the past era.”

Having endured the galaxy-spanning wars of the Fifth Epoch, where many habitable planets were destroyed or rendered uninhabitable, such a pristine, paradise-like world was incredibly rare.

The spaceship descended to the uncharted planet, bringing advanced technology, including faster-than-light travel, and shared news of the galaxy’s current state.

The Fourth Epoch was long gone, the space had entered the ruins and remnants of the Sixth Epoch.

Two years later, the spaceship departed, carrying with it a golden-haired, golden-clad woman—Isanisha—whose legend was about to unfold.

…

Her delicate voice, like morning sunlight and dew filtering through the leaves, soothed restless hearts, bringing tranquility.

While technology had made life fast and convenient, it also spread anxiety, intertwining with every corner of the mind, leaving no escape. In urban areas and across the interstellar network, an overwhelming flood of information frayed nerves, stirring desires and unease, like invisible cobwebs ensnaring and binding people.

The figure beneath the dappled shadows of the twin trees turned a page in her book. Her voice, as melodious as a song, transported listeners from their earthly burdens to vast histories and myths. The shining stars and tales of rise and fall reflected their own paths forward.

Now, have you gained the courage called “serenity”—the strength to face life calmly without fear or anxiety?