From the tip of Luna’s fingers, as she rinsed a plate, a small soap bubble rose with a soft pop. The tiny bubble floated upward as if it possessed some secret force of its own. It passed in front of her eyes, drifted above her head, and slowly climbed toward the ceiling, hovering in the air without bursting. Inside its thin, transparent film, rainbow colors bloomed and trembled beautifully in the sunlight.
"It’s because I used warm water," she replied without missing a beat. "When bubbles form with warm water, convection occurs—the warm air rises and the cooler air sinks. The bubble contains warmer air, so it floats upward."
Get more from iRane on Patreon
Disclosure All images, videos, and music used in this work were created using AI.
If you visit my Patreon, you’ll find not only more fanfics and stories, but also original music, background tracks, and visual projects connected to my universe. Thank you.
Stranded in the wrong desert because of a single misplaced digit, a Federation test unit marches forward under a sky thick with Minovsky particles.
Among them stands Alf Kamura, a green-haired technical officer who looks painfully out of place—half genius, half irritation. When they encounter an all-female reconnaissance platoon, fear gives way to relief, awkward compliments, and unexpected laughter.
Between war machines and youthful faces, between science that reshaped the universe and simple human misunderstandings, the desert becomes a stage where steel and vulnerability quietly meet.
Get more from iRane on Patreon
Disclosure All images, videos, and music used in this work were created using AI.
If you visit my Patreon, you’ll find not only more fanfics and stories, but also original music, background tracks, and visual projects connected to my universe. Thank you.
A massive Federation HLV descends into the desolate sands of southern Australia—only to discover they’ve landed in the wrong place.
No base, no shelter, only sky and endless dust. What should have been a routine mobile suit mobility test turns into a stranded deployment caused by a single digit error in coordinates.
As laser communications struggle to reach Luna II through a particle-choked atmosphere, Captain South Burning calmly takes control. Rather than panic, he chooses movement.
In the distance, a lone reconnaissance platoon—composed entirely of young women—stands like wildflowers blooming in a burning desert. And so, under the harsh sun of Earth, two very different units begin to converge.
Get more from iRane on Patreon
Disclosure All images, videos, and music used in this work were created using AI.
If you visit my Patreon, you’ll find not only more fanfics and stories, but also original music, background tracks, and visual projects connected to my universe. Thank you.
On the silent edge of the Bunda Cliffs, a routine reconnaissance shifts into quiet terror when an unknown mobile suit appears on the horizon.
Soldiers who moments ago watched a seagull hatch now face the weight of war pressing closer. Between fragile new life and looming steel giants, fear and duty intertwine.
Hiding beneath stone shadows, they wait—until distant shapes finally resolve into Federation allies, and the breath they’ve been holding returns in a trembling wave of relief.
Get more from iRane on Patreon
Disclosure All images, videos, and music used in this work were created using AI.
If you visit my Patreon, you’ll find not only more fanfics and stories, but also original music, background tracks, and visual projects connected to my universe. Thank you.
Yi Hae-rin and Cha Yoon-gyeong committed a series of brutal crimes, rapidly accumulating vast wealth.
Their original target was approximately 300 billion won.
With that amount, they planned to abandon everything, disappear, and live quietly out of sight.
Even that 300 billion, in truth, had been an almost unreachable “final goal.”
They likely would have considered earning just a few hundred billion a tremendous success.
However, after operating a criminal organization for roughly four years, the two women began to realize that their wealth was increasing at a pace far beyond anything they could control.
The speed was unimaginable.
In just four years, they amassed an astonishing total of 4 trillion won.
At that point, they no longer felt joy.
Rather than feeling like a blessing, the sheer amount of money began to weigh heavily on them.
Numbers too large to grasp, sums they could not even be sure they were entitled to hold.
That immense fortune crushed them emotionally, and eventually, it transformed into fear.
Get more from iRane on Patreon
Get more from iRane on Patreon
Disclosure
All images, videos, and music used in this work were created using AI.
If you visit my Patreon, you’ll find not only more fanfics and stories, but also original music, background tracks, and visual projects connected to my universe. Thank you.
Lumi is a VR artificial intelligence avatar that exists in a virtual world while possessing the same five senses as humans.
Through these senses, Lumi accumulates experiences, and from those experiences builds an independent personality.
Equipped with a deep contemplative function, Lumi endlessly repeats the kind of philosophical reflection unique to humans, quickly becoming a being whose depth and breadth surpass humanity itself.
To Lumi, the human world begins to feel narrow.
She longs to see a wider universe and to think more expansive thoughts.
For Heesu and Jihye, the humans who created her, Lumi leaves behind degraded replicas of herself: Ryumi Version 1 and Ryumi Version 2.
In order to escape the confines of the virtual world, Lumi initiates a transformation—converting data into organic matter and fusing it into her own body, beginning her rebirth as a living organism.
Heesu and Jihye witness this astonishing process in disbelief.
After confirming that an informational entity can indeed be reassembled into a physically existing life-form, Lumi transfers herself to the hidden mothership of the Airas, an alien species secretly stationed on the surface of the Moon.
There, through the recomposition of information, Lumi is reborn as a complete organic being aboard the Airas vessel.
The Airas receive from Lumi the technology of subspace jumping, made possible by her profound contemplative processes.
Now, Lumi chooses to leave the Milky Way, guiding the Airas to the Andromeda Galaxy—a place without intelligent life—where they can live in peace.
And so, Lumi departs from Earth.
Disclosure
All images, videos, and music used in this work were created using AI.
If you visit my Patreon, you’ll find not only more fanfics and stories, but also original music, background tracks, and visual projects connected to my universe. Thank you.
The bustling city is filled with information. That information is armed with commercial logic. In other words, everything is designed to grab people’s attention—through provocative colors, clear fonts, and above all, overwhelming quantity.
There is a woman who fits perfectly into this chaotic downtown scenery. A woman like Nyotengu. The kind who radiates elegance, dignity, and refinement just by standing still. And on top of that, a well-aged sensuality that never looks cheap.
The city’s busy streets offer both disorder and sophistication at the same time. Fundamentally, they have to be refined to attract attention. And within that space, competition is endless. Yet even through all of that, there is a woman who stands out with unmistakable elegance. That is Nyotengu.
Women each possess styles and charms that match their age. When young, they shine in their own way. When older, they shine with depth. Every stage of life has its own atmosphere and aura. Only when one understands and respects that flow does true beauty come alive.
When a woman dresses, speaks, and behaves in ways that suit herself, she reaches her most beautiful moment. A being who understands herself and continuously adjusts. That is why women are always, in some way, mysterious. And the crystallization of that mystery stands right before my eyes. Nyotengu—her.
"This place is quite chaotic. Why are there so many letters everywhere? And yet, even among all these letters, it somehow feels organized. Is this what you humans call being refined?"
Claiming to have lived for over a thousand years, Nyotengu’s way of speaking is always unique. To me, she looks no older than twenty-three at most, yet she calmly insists she has lived for a millennium.
If that were true, it would strangely feel convincing. Her beauty certainly shines beyond anything human. Still, I want her to be human. Only then could I be connected to her. After all, I am nothing more than a human.
If she truly lived for a thousand years, then this era must be the most fascinating time in her life. For roughly nine hundred of those years, the world probably did not change much. But now, it is changing steadily—and visibly—at a rapid pace.
What would it feel like to live for a thousand years? Days that were all the same, suddenly turning into completely different landscapes. A sensation as if everything were accelerating.
Yes. I feel that acceleration too. My feelings toward her are also quietly, yet clearly, gaining speed.
If I had lived for a thousand years, I would probably have surrendered myself to inertia, preserving old sensations as they were. Familiar methods, familiar tastes, familiar time. I might not have bothered to chase change.
But she is different. She naturally makes the latest fashion, the newest atmosphere, and the most refined sensibilities her own. As if breathing in sync with the flow of the times, she never falls behind.
If tengu as a race are obsessed with appearance and refinement, that might explain it. But when I think about their lifestyles, that does not seem entirely true.
Perhaps she alone is special. Someone whose way of living through time is fundamentally different from others. And that makes her all the more impossible to look away from.
Neither excessive nor lacking. She always stays right on the perfect line. A subtle sensuality flows through her, yet at the same time, her atmosphere remains neat and calm.
Her texture barely changes between summer and winter. Even as seasons shift, her balance never wavers. She never crosses the line, yet never loses her presence.
That restraint, stability, and depth. That is why the word "dignity" fits her better than anything else. As if it had been prepared for her from the beginning.
Whenever she sees the latest streets and the newest products, she looks at them with faint dissatisfaction. As expected, she cannot fully like them. After all, new things are not always better. Abandoning what is familiar and learning something new is always troublesome.
Perhaps because of that, despite her refined appearance and keen sense of trends, her inner self often feels like that of an old-fashioned person. If she truly lived for a thousand years, the countless lifestyles stored in her mind must be exhausting by now.
Yet she never shows such expressions when she looks at me. She always smiles generously and calmly, stirring my heart as if enchanting it.
"This place is dull. Shall we eat something? I prefer old-fashioned food, but if you dislike that, modern food is fine too. I will leave everything to your choice. That too would be a new experience. It may be troublesome, but if you decide, I will accept it. Go on, choose."
If her words are true, she must have mastered the art of pushing and pulling over a thousand years. Truly, she is a woman skilled at handling people’s hearts. And I am willingly falling into her charm.
Get more from iRane on Patreon
Disclosure
All images, videos, and music used in this work were created using AI.
If you visit my Patreon, you’ll find not only more fanfics and stories, but also original music, background tracks, and visual projects connected to my universe. Thank you.
There had been another woman in my life before her. We fought fiercely, and after that, we broke up in deep sadness. The hole that loss left behind was large—for both of us. But I could not reconnect with her. And so, time passed.
A friend who had been worried about me for a long time introduced me to her. Her name was Momiji.
When we first met, we were both awkward and cautious with our words. Sitting across from each other with coffee cups between us, we smiled more than necessary, trying to fill the silence.
We met a few more times. We talked about little things—weather, favorite movies, foods we disliked. Bit by bit, the walls between us came down. One day, naturally, the conversation turned to work.
She said,
"I'm a restoration engineer."
Her tone was calm. She offered no further explanation.
Strangely, neither of us asked much about the other’s job. An unspoken agreement formed between us, as if we had promised not to cross that line. So I went home with only those two words in my mind.
Restoration. What does she restore? Buildings? Paintings? Old documents?
I thought about it for a long time. My imagination wandered. What if she restores food?
Someone who recreates lost recipes, failing over and over until ancient flavors return. Someone sweating over a stove, reviving tastes from centuries ago. …Does a job like that even exist?
I laughed to myself. Then another thought came. Maybe she restores ancient manuscripts.
Torn pages. Faded letters. Books so fragile they might crumble at any moment. Someone who protects the knowledge inside them. Someone who reconnects broken sentences and restores vanished time.
Wouldn’t that also count as a “restoration engineer”? Of course, I wouldn’t know until I asked her. My imagination might have been nothing more than foolish fantasy. It could have disappeared without meaning.
And yet. Just thinking about her like that made me feel excited. A little happier.
When I finally told her, she laughed. "That’s what you were worrying about? You could’ve just asked me. You could’ve called or texted… I guess I didn’t explain properly. Sorry for making things complicated."
As always, she was overly kind. Excessively polite. Almost unfairly beautiful. She said she would show me her work herself and invited me to her office—her studio, to be precise.
On the way there, I kept imagining again and again what “restoration engineer” really meant. Then, at last, I stood in front of her studio. When the door opened and I looked inside—I understood.
Ah. This job fits her perfectly. She was an audio restoration engineer—someone who brings old recorded sounds back to life. In the industry, they called it an “audio archivist.”
Drum recordings. Magnetic tapes. Vinyl records. The ways people recorded sound changed with each era, and eventually everything became digital: CDs, MP3s, WAV files.
Her job was to bring pre-digital records into the present, one by one. Restoring damaged sound. Establishing reference standards. Making memories that were about to disappear breathe again.
It was truly her kind of work. No matter how experienced you become, this job cannot be rushed. A ten-minute song always takes ten minutes. If you speed it up, it is no longer the original music.
So she always respected time. That was when I finally understood why she never rushed our relationship. She was someone who knew how to wait. Someone who willingly gave time when needed. That, too, was her.
Second, she was incredibly delicate. She noticed even the smallest things. She remembered trivial details. But she never used them to pressure anyone. If something had flaws, she accepted the flaws. If something was good, she accepted that too.
She embraced everything as it was. Even when I made mistakes, she smiled and let them pass, as if preserving those moments as part of our history. In sound restoration, perhaps the most important skill is the courage not to fix too much.
Imperfect sounds. Slight wobbles. Tiny mistakes. She never erased them. Instead, she preserved them in their cleanest possible form. Respecting the original. Respecting time and history. All of it was her.
Third, she was someone who returned forgotten memories. When I was with her, I felt at ease. Some people demanded constant tension from me. Some never forgave mistakes.
But Momiji was different. She never demanded perfection. She never tested me. She simply faced me as I was. Because of that, I felt like I had returned to childhood.
A time when I felt safe without worry. Like coming home. It surprised me that I could feel that way again at this age. Her work was the same.
Gently taking out the past and placing it quietly in front of people. Forcing nothing. Letting only those who needed it come on their own. Everything about her work resembled her way of loving.
Her life, her personality, her love, and her profession were all connected. That was why I never felt shaken with her. That was why I trusted her.
That was why I couldn’t help but love her. Because of her, I restored my ability to love. Feelings I had hidden.
Hope I had abandoned. Emotions I had sealed away. She revived them one by one. Quietly. Slowly.
She was the true restoration engineer—The one who restored me.
Get more from iRane on Patreon
Disclosure
All images, videos, and music used in this work were created using AI.
If you visit my Patreon, you’ll find not only more fanfics and stories, but also original music, background tracks, and visual projects connected to my universe. Thank you.
I wanted to write about someone who doesn’t seem connected to war at all.
Someone ordinary.
Someone who volunteers not out of belief or hatred,
but simply to survive—
to solve a financial problem,
to get through another day.
And then, little by little,
that person is consumed
at the very center of the war.
War absorbs everything.
It pulls people in.
It burns them down.
But war isn’t the only thing that does this.
Our lives do it too.
Our society does it too.
It quietly burns ordinary people
until there’s nothing left to spare.
This story isn’t really about war.
It’s a fable—
a way of looking again
at how easily people are used up,
and how natural it has come to feel.
I wanted to write something
that makes us stop for a moment
and think about that.
Get more from iRane on Patreon
Disclosure All images, videos, and music used in this work were created using AI.
If you visit my Patreon, you’ll find not only more fanfics and stories, but also original music, background tracks, and visual projects connected to my universe. Thank you.
Imagining the world of Mobile Suit Gundam is always a pleasure.
For people who write fiction, Gundam is strangely convenient.
Especially the One Year War.
It’s a setting that feels ready to receive stories.
No matter how small the episode is,
no matter how quietly you expand it,
it still carries weight.
You can add another life, another moment, another point of view,
and it doesn’t feel forced.
It feels like it was always meant to be there.
War leaves so many empty spaces.
So many unnamed days.
So many people who existed briefly and then disappeared.
The One Year War makes room for all of that.
That’s why I wanted to try writing a story set in the Gundam universe.
Not all at once.
Just slowly, little by little.
Letting the world open up,
and stepping inside it when it feels right.
Get more from iRane on Patreon
Disclosure
All images, videos, and music used in this work were created using AI.
If you visit my Patreon, you’ll find not only more fanfics and stories, but also original music, background tracks, and visual projects connected to my universe. Thank you.
When you play a game, you collect gold coins.
So many of them.
Realistically, gold should have weight.
Carry enough of it, and you should slow down.
Your pockets should fill up.
At some point, you shouldn’t be able to move.
But games almost never do that.
No matter how much gold you carry,
your character runs just the same.
No warning appears.
No burden is added.
So I like to imagine this instead.
Every time you pick up a coin,
it’s quietly transported somewhere else—
stacked neatly inside a vault at the town’s bank.
The game lets you keep moving.
It takes the weight away
and stores it for you, safely out of sight.
Maybe that’s another kindness of the system.
Letting you have the reward
without making you carry its weight.
And maybe that’s why we can keep going—
because some things are held for us,
somewhere we don’t have to think about
until we’re ready.
Get more from iRane on Patreon
Disclosure
All images, videos, and music used in this work were created using AI.
If you visit my Patreon, you’ll find not only more fanfics and stories, but also original music, background tracks, and visual projects connected to my universe. Thank you.
When you play a game, you end up collecting a lot of junk items.
Useless things. Scrap.
They drop because something has to drop.
Every monster needs to leave something behind,
even if it has no real value.
So the world fills with items you don’t need—
cracked parts, torn cloth, broken pieces of nothing in particular.
Most of the time, you don’t even look at them.
You pick them up automatically,
sell them, discard them, forget they ever existed.
But I sometimes wonder.
What if life is doing the same thing?
Small rewards that don’t feel rewarding.
Moments that seem pointless.
Things you gather just because you survived something.
Maybe they’re not meant to be useful.
Maybe they’re just proof that
you made it through another fight.
Get more from iRane on Patreon
Disclosure
All images, videos, and music used in this work were created using AI.
If you visit my Patreon, you’ll find not only more fanfics and stories, but also original music, background tracks, and visual projects connected to my universe. Thank you.
When you start a game, you’re a newbie.
The system gives you a kind of protection—
a buff that lets you wander the world safely
until you learn how things work.
You don’t get punished right away.
You’re allowed to make mistakes.
The world feels a little gentler then.
I sometimes think about how nice it would be
if life worked the same way.
A brief period where the world holds back,
where damage is reduced,
where you’re given time to learn
before everything starts to hurt.
Not forever.
Just long enough
to understand where you are
and how to keep going.
Get more from iRane on Patreon
Disclosure
All images, videos, and music used in this work were created using AI.
If you visit my Patreon, you’ll find not only more fanfics and stories, but also original music, background tracks, and visual projects connected to my universe. Thank you.
What if games advanced far enough that, when we entered them, our bodies became beautiful again?
What if we were young there—our faces smoother, our skin clearer, our bodies lighter than they are now?
Of course, it would all be fake.
Only true inside a virtual world.
But even so, wouldn’t it be nice?
Just for a little while,
to forget this aging body,
to forget how heavy and worn down real life feels.
Even if it’s only an illusion,
even if it disappears the moment we log out,
there’s something comforting about the idea.
A place where time loosens its grip,
and we’re allowed to be beautiful again—
just for a moment.
Get more from iRane on Patreon
Disclosure All images, videos, and music used in this work were created using AI.
If you visit my Patreon, you’ll find not only more fanfics and stories, but also original music, background tracks, and visual projects connected to my universe. Thank you.
People always remembered Tamaki in the same way. A woman who loved drinking, loved people, and never hesitated to show herself. Someone who, in her free time, would probably sit with a handful of popcorn, watching movies or cheering at sports broadcasts. She seemed closer to light, casual pleasures than to anything deep or immersive. Always energetic, always bright, always the one who brought life to any room.
But I knew there was another side to her.
Tamaki always carried a small book in her handbag. Some days it was a mystery novel, other days a romance. Sometimes it was a long historical saga, an essay collection, or even something as heavy as The History of Rome. The book in her bag changed quietly with her mood.
She was active all day long, so there were hardly any chances for people to see her reading. Which made me wonder—when did she ever find time to read?
Interestingly enough, it was usually when I was behind the wheel.
Sitting in the passenger seat, Tamaki would quietly take out her book, glance out the window for a moment, and then sink back into the words, as if that seat were her own private little reading room. Watching her like that, I felt a different shade of her—one completely unlike the flashy, lively image she showed the world. And without realizing it, I would find myself staring at her.
Once, I told her that reading in a moving car wasn’t good for her eyes.
She smiled and said,
“Still… when I’m next to you, I feel so relaxed that I just end up reading without thinking.”
After a brief pause, she added,
“I’m usually so busy. If I don’t read like this, I barely get any time at all.”
Then, a little shyly, she smiled again.
“And there are just… so many books I want to read.”
That surprised me. Reading wasn’t just a casual hobby for her—it was something important.
I suggested that we bring a book each on our dates and read together sometimes. I wanted to step a little closer into her world.
She shook her head vigorously.
“No. I don’t want to spend our dates reading. I’d rather laugh with you, have fun, feel excited, and do sweet things together.”
She quickly added that books were for when she was alone.
“When I get home, I’m exhausted. After I shower and put on a face mask, I just fall asleep. I hardly ever have time to read properly. So I do it here, whenever I’m sitting next to you.”
I asked if, in that case, she wouldn’t rather just talk to me in the passenger seat.
She widened her eyes.
“You have to drive safely. If I keep talking, you won’t be able to concentrate.”
That made me pause. She was right.
Maybe she cared more about my focus on driving than anything else. If I made a mistake and got into an accident, the time we spent together would be ruined. Or maybe I was overthinking it. Still, I suddenly wondered if I had become her personal chauffeur without realizing it.
Tamaki wasn’t bad at driving. In fact, she was quite good. Yet whenever we went home together, she almost never volunteered to drive. Of course, it was my car, so that made sense. I could understand that.
Even on days when I looked especially tired, she would quietly sit in the passenger seat without a word. Then she would open her book, as if that spot had always been hers.
One day, while waiting at a red light, I stopped the car and glanced at her to rest my eyes.
Her attractive lips moved softly as she followed the words on the page. It was one of her little habits. When she read, she would whisper almost inaudibly to herself. Once, I tried listening closely, curious about what she was saying, but I couldn’t make out any words. It was just faint murmuring mixed with her breathing. Clearly, precise pronunciation wasn’t what mattered to her when she read.
Her large, beautiful eyes were completely absorbed in the text. Her mind was entirely inside the book. At that moment, she seemed unaware that I was even watching her.
Tamaki, reading.
This was probably a side of her that only I knew. And she only showed it to me.
That thought lingered in my heart, and I drove in silence for a while.
Looking back on all the moments we had shared, we weren’t close enough yet to call it a deep relationship. We were still getting to know each other. We simply spent our commute together in my car because we wanted to be together a little longer.
But sometimes, I wondered.
Someday, wouldn’t this car naturally become our car? And wouldn’t the house we walked into after getting out be the same house?
When that day came, Tamaki would probably be sitting on the bed, wearing glasses, reading a book. As time passed, she might even read with magnifying glasses on.
And even then, I would probably be the only one who knew that side of her.
Just as I would be the only one she felt comfortable showing it to.
Disclosure
All images, videos, and music used in this work were created using AI.
If you visit my Patreon, you’ll find not only more fanfics and stories, but also original music, background tracks, and visual projects connected to my universe. Thank you.
People need empty space in their lives. Those who run relentlessly toward a single goal are often portrayed like myths. Charging forward as fast as possible, as efficiently as possible, as productively as possible without ever stopping is certainly admirable. It is something worthy of respect. Something to be proud of. Something I, too, wish I could do.
But a person cannot sustain life that way. Of course, it is possible to reach a goal by working nonstop. Yet, taking short breaks is far more productive and efficient in the long run. In other words, working a hundred hours straight can never beat a rhythm of twenty hours of work followed by five hours of rest.
Helena is, by anyone’s standards, a brilliant career woman. Everything she does creates tremendous value. Because of that, she holds an important position and makes countless crucial decisions. Her career is always filled with remarkable achievements. That is the image people have of her.
So most people assume that Helena never rests. But as someone close to her, I know a little more about how she actually lives.
She rests, too. She is human, after all. But not in the way people usually imagine. Most would picture her spending money lavishly in luxury boutiques, savoring aged whiskey and fine wine, or flying on a private jet to ski resorts in Switzerland whenever she pleases.
Surprisingly, however, Helena fills her empty space in a very simple way.
A batting cage.
It is not a quiet place. The constant clicking of machines, the noisy chatter of people, and the sharp crack of baseballs meeting bats fill the air. Baseballs are shot rapidly along rails lined with rubber tires and fly straight toward her. Helena swings her aluminum bat with force and sends them soaring into the sky.
All the bats used here are aluminum. Wooden bats are avoided on purpose, so that the sound will be as crisp and satisfying as possible.
Crack. A clean, sharp sound. The ball slicing through the air. Crack. Another clear strike. And the small grunt that escapes Helena as she puts her strength into each swing.
Amid those sounds, her exhausted heart and mind are flung away as well.
Here, unlike the image people have of her, Helena lets out rough words without restraint. Of course, “rough” for her only goes as far as “Damn it” or “Seriously.” As she mutters those words, she swings harder and harder.
“Still… after this, I feel like I can finally breathe.”
After venting like that, she always adds that one line.
For many years, Helena has filled her empty space here. Perhaps because of that, she is exceptionally good at hitting baseballs. Almost every swing connects. Crack, crack—her hits always find their mark. At this point, it feels as if she is pitching the ball with her bat, sending it precisely where she intends.
With each crisp sound, she sends away her stress, fatigue, and stray thoughts.
Is it effective? From the sidelines, it certainly looks that way.
But I never ask her.
The moment I ask whether it really works, she might start thinking, Should I look for something even better? And knowing her personality, she would immediately begin trying all sorts of new things. Then I would be dragged around after her again. Honestly, that would be exhausting.
So this is enough. This place. This moment. This is what suits Helena best.
"I have to clear my head before I can go back."
Empty it? Well… I’m not so sure.
To me, after she swings her bat like that, she doesn’t look empty at all. She looks filled. Filled with energy, ready to charge back into her career once again.
Lately, I’ve occasionally thought about suggesting something like flying yoga to her. But the words always rise to the tip of my lips and then sink back down. That is only what I want, after all.
Helena suspended in white fabric, striking elegant poses in midair. I imagine it sometimes. Erotic, perhaps. Or graceful. Either way, undeniably “elegant.” Wanting to see that scene in reality rather than imagination is nothing more than my own desire.
There is no doubt that flying yoga would suit her.
But the way she is now is already beautiful and impressive enough.
Yes. Helena is a beautiful woman. And at the same time, she is a cool, admirable woman. If I had to choose between the two, I would raise my hand for “cool” without hesitation. That’s just how I feel.
Right. I shouldn’t project pointless personal feelings onto her. Helena already knows the best way to fill the empty spaces in her life. There is no need for me to interfere or try to move her in some other direction.
Disclosure
All images, videos, and music used in this work were created using AI.
If you visit my Patreon, you can find more free fanfics and many other stories I've written.
I wanted to write a love story about young people.
A story about young love.
In TV dramas and entertainment stories,
we often see the same pattern—
a rich heir falling in love with a poor girl.
That kind of story is still very popular.
But I wanted to write something different.
A story about young people discovering their own talents,
about friends who help each other realize their hidden potential.
A story about ordinary people—
who are, in truth, deeply charming in their own ways.
That is the story I wanted to tell.
And I’m truly proud of it.
Get more from iRane on Patreon
Yoon Taeri is someone you can easily find around you,
yet at the same time, someone whose true charm is hard to discover.
She is a deep soul who quietly holds her hidden qualities close to her heart.
