All My SSS Beasts Are Cute but Invincible!

"You saw nothing," she said. She tried hard to reclaim her usual haughty tone, yet traces of her earlier embarrassment lingered in her voice.

"I saw you fall, and I caught you."

"You can keep that part."

"I also saw you blushing."

"—Erase that memory at once!"

Cecil stayed crouched on the snow, meeting her gaze at eye level. The little girl with silver‑blue hair stood amid the snowflakes; a few snow‑flakes clung to her pale‑blue‑and‑white skirt. Her hands clutched the icy crystal patterns along the skirt’s hem, and her tail swished restlessly behind her.

Though her blue eyes glared at him, a thin layer of glistening moisture pooled in their depths, a messy blend of shame and something far softer that she had not yet managed to hide away.

"How long can you hold this form?" Cecil asked.

"...I don’t know." Gwendolyn’s tail flicked faster, her voice growing quieter. "I shifted into this by accident while practicing control. I should revert back before long."

"Until then—"

"Shut up before you say another word."

"I was only going to say—"

"Shut."

Cecil fell silent. He remained crouched on the snow, watching the silver‑haired girl struggle to mask her burning‑red cheeks behind a fierce scowl. Snow kept falling; fine ice crystals drifted down from the pale‑teal sky and landed on her eyelashes. She blinked once, shaking them free.

After a long while, she mumbled in a voice barely loud enough to hear.

"...Stop staring at me."

"I’m watching the snow."

"You’re clearly staring at my face."

"The snow is landing on your face."

Gwendolyn pressed her lips tight. She ducked her head and drew a lopsided, messy circle in the snow with the tip of her boot, then bowed her head even lower. Her tail coiled tight behind her, relaxed, then coiled up again, tense and restless.

"You’re full of contradictions," Cecil remarked.

At his words, the tip of Gwendolyn’s ear twitched. She did not lift her head.

"This shy, flustered look on this girl‑form of yours —" Cecil rested both hands on his knees, genuine confusion in his tone, "‑‑I can barely believe it’s you. Where is that sharp‑tongued spirit that snaps at everything, including me? Where is the pride of that palm‑sized lizard who held her head high and claimed ’I am your ancestor’?"

Gwendolyn’s shoulders tensed. Her tail coiled even tighter behind her, like a compressed spring ready to snap. Several seconds passed before a muffled, indistinct sound escaped from her bowed face.

"...I don’t know."

"You don’t know?"

"I don’t know." She lifted her head just a little. One blue eye peeked out through strands of silver‑blue bangs, darting a quick glance at him before looking away again. "My body feels different in this form. Nothing like when I’m a lizard. As a lizard —" She paused, thinking the idea through carefully, "‑‑as a lizard, I can sense clearly that you are beside me, how far away you stand, when your gaze falls on me. But that is only raw information: my contractor is within range."

Cecil listened quietly.

"But in this human‑like form —" Gwendolyn’s fingers squeezed the crystal patterns on her skirt hem, clenching and unclenching repeatedly, "‑‑your presence feels different. Before, I merely knew you were there. Now I feel you are there. I cannot put the difference into words, but it is real."

Cecil studied her face. The pink blush spreading from her earlobes across her cheeks had faded slightly, yet it still lingered like thin sunset glow over pale snow. Her tail stopped coiling; instead it swayed slowly in small, gentle arcs behind her, as if testing something unknown.

"So what you feel for me —" Cecil chose his words carefully, "‑‑depends entirely on which form you take?"

Gwendolyn stayed silent for many seconds. Then she gave a tiny nod, as if afraid even that small motion might shatter this fragile conversation.

"When I am a lizard, I know you are my contractor. Duty, the urge to protect you, irritation — all of those stem from our contract. But now —" Her voice shrank, thinning like a stream dwindling in winter, "‑‑there is something extra layered on top. I cannot tell where it comes from. Perhaps this body is closer to my true original form. Or perhaps —"

She trailed off, leaving her sentence unfinished.

Cecil waited two beats. She said no more.

"Or perhaps what?" he prompted.

Gwendolyn’s tail lashed out hard, striking the snow beside her and sending a spray of ice fragments flying. "‑‑If I knew the answer I would have told you already! Ugh, this is so frustrating!"

She spun around, turning her back to him. She dropped to her hands and knees and scraped wildly at the snow, half‑drawing shapes, half venting her tangled emotions. Her long silver‑blue hair spilled over her shoulders, its tips touching the snow and catching tiny ice crystals.

Cecil gazed at her back.

"Gwendolyn."

"...What?"

"You said you can feel my presence. What kind of feeling exactly?"

Her movements halted. Her hands rested buried in snow, fingertips reddened by the bitter cold. Her tail slowly flattened behind her, like a flag being lowered gently to the ground.

"...My heart races when you get too close," she whispered, her voice nearly swallowed by the wind. "That never happened before. Even when you stood inches away as a lizard, I only stayed alert. But now —"

She did not turn around, yet Cecil caught the faint tilt of her face, revealing half of one eye.

"‑‑now when you draw near, I find myself wanting to get even closer to you. It’s strange. I don’t understand what is wrong with this form."

Cecil crouched lower. He reached both arms around her from behind and held her softly.

It was a light embrace. His arms circled loosely in front of her torso, wrists resting just before her abdomen, no pressure, only gentle contact. His chin hovered above her shoulder, never touching her hair, yet close enough to see tiny ice crystals glinting among her silver‑blue strands beneath the pale‑teal sky.

Gwendolyn’s whole body went rigid.

Every bone along her shoulders and spine locked solid in an instant. Her tail shot straight upward, frozen stiff, not even the tip trembling. Her hands remained planted in the snow; snow around her fingertips melted visibly.

Her breath caught. When it resumed, her breathing pattern was completely broken.

"...What are you doing?" Her voice was flat, stripped of all her usual poise, as though her words had been frozen solid and would shatter at the lightest touch.

"Testing what you just told me," Cecil’s voice came softly beside her shoulder, calm and curious. "You said you want to draw nearer. So I drew near."

Gwendolyn’s tail finally moved. It lashed outward instinctively, yet cut its own motion halfway, as if her instincts were forcibly restrained. She pulled her hands free from the snow and balled them into small, white‑knuckled fists.

"‑‑You. Let go of me."

"You’re blushing."

"I am not‑‑"

"Your ears are red. So is your neck."

Gwendolyn whirled toward him. She turned too fast; her silver‑blue hair swept across her shoulder and brushed Cecil’s cheek. Her blue eyes were inches away, their pupils swirling with unrestrained emotion, as though a stone had been tossed deep within them, sending ripples spreading outward. Her lips parted, ready to snap out a sharp retort, yet all that came out was a strange sound halfway between a whimper and a sharp intake of breath.

"‑‑How dare you‑‑"

"Dare what?"

"Dare‑‑to‑‑hold me‑‑"

She could not finish the sentence. Pink flushed from the tips of her ears all the way down her neck, deep like sunset‑soaked snow. Her tail flailed through the air several times before settling lightly across Cecil’s sleeve — resting there, not striking, soft as a cat testing water temperature.

Cecil glanced down at her tail. Slender, pale‑blue‑and‑white, tipped with a tuft of icy‑blue fur, trembling faintly against his sleeve. He did not loosen his hold, nor squeeze tighter, keeping exactly that gentle pressure, a quiet witness to something miraculous unfolding.

"So," he said, his tone still steady, "do you want to be close to me right now?"

Gwendolyn opened her mouth. No sound came out. She tried again, then abandoned words entirely. From deep in her throat escaped a barely audible sound like that of a kitten whose tail had been stepped on.

"...Mm."

Cecil let out a quiet little laugh, soft, as if afraid loud laughter would shatter whatever fragile thing was forming between them.

"Then I won’t let go."

Gwendolyn gave no reply. But her clenched fists slowly relaxed. Her fingers fell to rest against the snow, one fingertip lightly brushing Cecil’s arm beside her.

She bowed her head and rested her forehead upon his shoulder, her silver‑blue hair pouring down like a waterfall, hiding her whole face. The tension drained slowly out of her shoulders, bit by bit, like ice slowly thawing under warmth.

Her tail pressed a little more firmly against his arm.

Snow kept falling. Beneath the pale‑teal sky, the two of them stayed crouched on the snow. One’s arms wrapped gently around the other; the other rested her forehead on his shoulder. Far off, ice‑formed landforms hummed faint low notes in the wind, as though the whole snowy wilderness watched over them in silence.

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