The Long Feud Between the Weather Planning Division and the Cloud Painters

Today Vihal had two more shifts to his name. For now, he decided to take an early lunch in the dining hall and write his letter of explanation there.

It was the dining hall shared by the two weather divisions; angels came to it from the Cloud Painters and from the Weather Planning Division both.

The Cloud Painters, who outnumbered the Planning Division two to one, came in scattered fashion whenever their rest periods allowed. The Planning Division's angels, by and large, arrived just after twelve.

Having finished eating and cleared his tray, Vihal had just risen to go and write his letter when he saw the Planning Division's angels filing in—and, thinking *oh no*, he made his large frame as small as he could.

Chattering as they came, the Planning Division's angels spotted him. One of them said, loudly, for everyone to hear:

"Oh! There he is—the one who made so much extra work for us today!"

"Because of you, we've been doing work that wasn't ours. Don't you think an apology is in order?"

It was true. The amount of cloud had exceeded the specification, that had affected the weather afterward, and they had been forced to change the schedules for the neighboring skies as well.

If it came to it, he had troubled not only the Planning Division but the neighboring Cloud Painters too, by forcing their schedules to change.

Vihal stood and bowed at once.

"I'm very sorry…"

"Tch… saying sorry isn't enough, you know."

They were all angels; why were their natures so different? It was not only the Planning Division—but there, especially, were many rough-tempered ones.

There were, of course, those who were not like that. But such angels only watched from a distance and said nothing.

"I promise I won't cause you any trouble on my next shift…!"

One of the angels, looking down at Vihal's bowed head, reached idly for a nearby water jug…

"Hey, you. There's white trash stuck to your head."

And with that, he poured it over Vihal's head with all his strength.

"…!!…"

At the water streaming and dripping down, the onlookers who had held still until then began to murmur.

"*Gahk—kff—!*"

Vihal choked as he breathed in the water running down over his face; he lifted his head and wiped with his hands at the water dripping into his eyes and nose.

"See? Still there, isn't it? I'll get it off for you, so put your head down!"

One of the angels went around behind him as he said it, and tried to force his head down.

But Vihal had noticed—he turned toward him on reflex, and caught the hand that had been reaching for him.

"…!…"

"…I'm truly sorry…!"

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