Story:

And Peach knew, with the certainty of shared campaigns, exactly what that meant. There would be no quietly savoring her ordinary school days now.

Two powerful, seducing witches—witches who thought stealth was a fun optional challenge, who considered subtlety a hobby, who had both charmed entire armies—had installed themselves four feet behind her desk, in the same classroom as Bill Ebonhart, with Reika's investigative senses already twitching like a smoke alarm.

Her ordinary school life, the one she had missed for ten years, the one she had cried about last night—was destined to be ruined. She gave it a week. She gave it three days. She gave it until Violet's first cooking class.

Peach covered her head with both arms and lay there, on her desk, in the middle of the cheerful classroom noise, and could not even begin to imagine what would happen next.

Behind her, muffled by the crowd, she heard Butterfly's elegant, ancient-Japanese voice say something that made the whole room laugh, and Violet's warm seductive voice follow it up, and Peach—despairing, and despite everything smiling into her own arms—thought:

...It's already happening. May the gods of both worlds have mercy on class 2-A.