Miss Witch Doesn’t Want to Become a Songstress

“I’m back.”

Sliding open the door, Hestia leaned against the wall with one hand and removed her shoes with the other. She slipped into a pair of comfortable slippers, her feet, clad in white socks, sinking into their soft embrace—a feeling of relaxation spreading from her soles.

Time for a bath, Hestia thought as she headed upstairs.

“Hestia’s back,” Grandma He called out from the kitchen as Hestia reached the stairs.

“Yes, I found a job today, so I got home a little late.”

“You look like you’re in a good mood. I assume the job went well,” Grandma He said with a warm smile.

“Go change your clothes first; dinner will be ready soon. Cheng, Lisa and the others will be joining us for dinner later.”

“Alright,” Hestia replied, stepping lightly into her upstairs bedroom. After picking out a change of clothes, she headed downstairs to the first-floor bathroom to shower.

Compared to her own home, Grandma He’s house was much larger, even boasting a dedicated bathroom instead of the cramped shower stalls typical of smaller houses.

It was said Grandma He bought the house 50-60 years ago when prices were still low and this residential area had just been developed.

Since dinner was almost ready, Hestia opted for a quick shower instead of a soak in the bath.

Steam filled the bathroom as hot water poured from the showerhead. Standing under the cascade, she wet her hair first, then squeezed a bit of light blue shampoo into her palm. Rubbing it into a lather, she massaged it into her hair, her fingertips working through her scalp and strands, the gentle rustling sound soothing her nerves.

After washing her hair, she stood beneath the showerhead to rinse out the thick foam, occasionally lifting her hair to ensure every detail was attended to.

Once the suds were gone, she felt instantly refreshed. Hestia wiped a hand across the fogged-up mirror, revealing a clear section where her reflection became visible.

Closing her eyes, she shook her head lightly, scattering a few water droplets. Slowly, her gray hair darkened to a deep black, and when she opened her eyes again, a pair of dreamlike azure irises stared back at her in the mirror.

How strange…

Hestia closed and reopened her eyes, taking a moment to adjust to her new appearance.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that these changes went beyond mere shifts in hair and eye color. Reflecting on her body and mind, she sensed something profoundly different ever since her near-death experience and subsequent recovery.

First, there was her hair and eye color. While her hair’s transformation surprised her, it wasn’t entirely beyond her expectations. Both her mother and sister had black hair, making her previous gray hair the anomaly.

But her eye color was another matter entirely. Her mother had the common black irises she once shared, while her sister possessed striking violet eyes—an unusual and captivating trait that stood out.

Unlike her own plain and unremarkable youth, her sister’s life had been dazzling and unforgettable. Though her sister passed away like a meteor at just 18 years old, her brilliance left a lasting impression on many.

Hestia’s sister was six years older than her. At 12, Hestia had the opportunity to attend her sister’s school’s winter festival with their parents.

At the prestigious high school for prodigies and the wealthy, her sister shone like a star. Her beauty was unparalleled, and her talents in both transcendent sequences and music awed everyone. Countless admirers surrounded her, and at just 18, she reached the pinnacle of Sequence 5—a rare and perfect-grade transcendent sequence—breaking numerous records and earning admiration and envy alike.

Tragically, an accident claimed her sister’s life. Grief-stricken and weakened, their mother passed away two years later, when Hestia was just 14.

Does eye color signify a different talent than my sister’s? Hestia wondered.

Though she felt a peculiar sense of intuition coursing through her mind and body, it was elusive—something she couldn’t quite grasp, as if the thread leading to it was hidden.

Forget it. Let’s finish the bath.

Hestia poured some body wash into her palm and began scrubbing her body.

Minutes later, the sound of water ceased. Drying her hair and body with a towel, she prepared to don the clean clothes she had set aside. As she bent down, a few droplets of water rolled off her hair, sliding down her neck and shoulders, sending a slight chill across her skin.

“Ah…”

She shook her head lightly, hoping to shed the lingering droplets faster.

It’s so troublesome being this wet. If only I could dry instantly. The thought floated through her mind as she ran a corner of the towel over her ear.

Suddenly, a faint sound echoed through the bathroom.

Tiny fragments of ice—delicate, bead-like—fell with a soft clinking sound, scattering across the floor.

A strange sensation swept over her. From her hair to her back, a cooling wave radiated as her inner core pulsed with vitality. Her awareness sharpened dramatically, and without turning her head, she could “see” everything around her in vivid detail.

What’s happening?

Unable to finish dressing, Hestia spun around to examine her surroundings. The floor was littered with crystal-clear ice beads—unlike ordinary, opaque white ice, these were perfectly transparent and strikingly different.

Even the areas that hadn’t frozen earlier quickly crystallized as her gaze lingered. Transparent, glistening beads of ice rolled from the walls, accumulating everywhere.

Afraid of slipping on the round ice beads, Hestia cautiously moved toward the mirror, keeping one hand on the wall for support.

This…

Her reflection in the mirror now looked even more vibrant than before. Her once-blue irises seemed almost alive, shimmering with a strange and captivating allure that could easily draw someone in.

She blinked at her reflection, finally confirming after several seconds that it was indeed her.

Is this my talent manifesting?

Hestia tried to recall anything she’d learned about such occurrences.

Throughout history, the Rose Federation had produced countless extraordinary talents, but few ever described the moment of their abilities’ awakening. Thus, she could only guess that her situation, while unusual, was likely within the realm of possibility.

But how do I clean this up?

Dressed now, Hestia sat on the small bathroom stool, her gaze flitting helplessly over the countless round, crystalline beads scattered across the floor.

Picking one up between her fingers, she held it under the light for closer inspection. The bead was flawlessly spherical, free of air bubbles or impurities—a pure and transparent beauty that exuded simplicity and elegance.

How do I undo this? By melting it? Hestia murmured internally, but nothing happened. Her talent clearly wasn’t associated with heat or burning.

Dissolution? No, that didn’t feel right either.

Restoration?

Just then, a faint wave of fatigue washed over her. Instantly, all the scattered ice beads melted, transforming into thin streams of water that drained into the nearby outlet.

Finally.

Hestia let out a relieved sigh, glancing at her reflection. Slowly, her vivid blue eyes faded back to their usual black, and her hair returned to its fine gray hue.

Whew, that’s better.

With the issue resolved, Hestia exhaled deeply before opening the bathroom door.

“Time to eat, Hestia,” Grandma He’s voice called from upstairs.

“Coming!”

Placing her dirty clothes in the washing machine, Hestia stepped lightly up the stairs, her movements brisk and cheerful.