Whitechapel District.

Moen walked along the deserted street alleys, gazing at the somewhat familiar modern buildings lining both sides of the road, and couldn't help but feel a hint of sentimentality in his heart.

This place… was actually where he had his last date with his senior.

Neither the original self nor the current Moen frequented the Lower City District. So until stepping onto this street, Moen hadn't realized the connection.

"Senior sister said she used to live on this street..."

Would she hide in a place familiar to her?

Whether intentional or accidental.

If accidental…

Moen felt a slight unease creeping in.

However, this only made him quicken his pace.

The renovated commercial buildings on both sides receded rapidly, and soon he arrived at a place neither he nor his senior sister had stepped into during their last meeting.

At the end of the street, the line of shiny new buildings abruptly stopped. It was like encountering a fault line—a sudden stretch of dilapidated houses and a vast empty lot extended unexpectedly towards the horizon.

"Lockata Academy..."

Moen's gaze swept across the crumbling wooden sign hanging on the fence.

According to the intel, this used to be a school set up for impoverished children. However, in order to make room for the planned commercial district, it was abandoned despite the protests of numerous lower-class civilians.

Ironically, the construction of the commercial district ground to a halt due to inexplicable funding issues, leaving the academy's land untouched.

Thus, the academy remained forsaken, along with the incomplete, abandoned buildings initially erected for the commercial district. These uninhabited structures eerily formed a desolate and gloomy area, even in the densely populated Lower City District.

Moen's gaze passed over the vacant academy grounds and the eerie buildings lurking in shadows nearby. He instinctively reached for the rusted, locked gate to pry it open.

"Damn it, this has almost become a habit."

Even now, he couldn't shake off the instinct to pick locks—it was turning into some bizarre occupational quirk.

Moen slapped his restless hand away, adjusted his hat, and cautiously looked around.

Confirming he was alone, he leaped lightly over the fence, stepping into the academy grounds.

After crossing the overgrown, abandoned lawn, he entered an artificially planted grove typical of most schools. Drawing out "Elizabeth," he silently cleared a path through dense thickets and hedges ahead of him.

Past the grove stood the ominous building, lurking like the shadow of a devil in the deep darkness.

The lock was open.

Moen glanced at the building’s entrance, and his figure blurred briefly into a shadow, slipping through the door unnoticed.

The silent corridor reeked of dust, cobwebs draping the corners of the ceiling in tangled webs. Fat rats scrambled alarmed along the windowsills into the shadows.

It seemed like no one had been here for a long time.

Pulling out "Elizabeth," Moen activated a subtle field of electric arcs that spread invisibly across his body, masking any trace of him entirely.

He began to walk down the corridor quietly, his eyes scanning each classroom through the windows.

First floor.

Empty.

Second floor.

Empty.

Third floor.

Empty.

It wasn't until he reached... the sixth and highest floor.

At this height, the view was significantly better.

Given that the Lower City District had few buildings taller than six floors, one could take in a vast expanse of the district from these windows. Even the bright lights of the Upper City District glimmered faintly, brightening this floor considerably.

But it remained eerily quiet—as desolate as a haunted hell.

Moen proceeded cautiously, not letting his guard down as he searched classroom after classroom along the walls.

One.

Two.

Three.

Until the very last classroom.

Still, no one was there.

Not a single soul. Except for the occasional nocturnal rat scuttling away, the entire building was quiet, as if immersed in the void of the vacuum-free cosmos.

"As expected, it won't be that easy to find her, huh?"

Facing the final classroom, a glimmer of disappointment crept into Moen's eyes.

The academy wasn’t particularly large. If she wasn’t here, other potential hiding spots became even less plausible.

"Not here? Or was the intel incorrect?"

Either way, the search had to continue.

Moen turned, preparing to retrace his steps back.

But at that moment, a distinct chill swept over him. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a streak of shadow flash swiftly past.

Who?!

Moen spun around abruptly.

But he didn’t encounter the silhouette he anticipated.

Instead, all he saw was the curtain swaying under the nocturnal breeze, unsettling in its restless motion—like a ghostly apparition.

The chill, too, seemed attributable to the night wind.

With heightened vigilance, he re-scanned the classroom, confirming no trace of life before turning back in disillusionment.

Was his tension strung too tightly?

"Better leave now. I can't waste too much time here. There are still numerous places needing investigation."

Moen stepped forward, intending to depart.

But as his gaze brushed over the classroom one last time, a sudden, inexplicable sense of familiarity dawned upon him. His mind flashed with realization.

The curtain?

He jerked his head back, staring into the classroom—not searching, but actively perceiving.

The entire layout unfolded before his eyes.

It was a wider classroom than the others. However, the second half of the classroom was cluttered with piles of miscellaneous items, visually reducing its apparent size to match a typical room.

The front half, however, had been meticulously cleared of debris, leaving only a solitary desk situated by the window. The pale blue curtain swayed gently in the breeze, the scene stirring an odd familiarity.

Though details differed, the layout of this room unmistakably resembled the ancient potion club's classroom.

Moen's heartbeat thudded harder against his ribs.

Ignoring potential disturbances caused by creaking, rusted doors, he rushed into the room and strode straight toward the lone desk by the window.

If his guess was correct, the senior sister’s usual behavior might have left some clue upon it.

Arriving at the desk, hope quickly turned to disappointment.

The instant his hand touched the surface, he found… it was utterly cold.

There was no trace of human presence.

"Could it be mistaken? Was this classroom’s layout purely coincidental?"

Moen stared at the desk thoughtfully before making an internal decision.

Bringing his palms together, he murmured softly:

"I'm not a creep, I’m not a creep; this is strictly for confirmation purposes!"

After delivering this disclaimer to avoid imparting bad habits to impressionable minds, Moen bent forward deliberately and lowered his cheek onto the desk’s surface…

Please, don’t misunderstand; he really was just ensuring his assumptions were correct.

But his cheek registered the same coldness—no warmth left behind by human contact.

Even sniffing deeply brought forth no peculiar scent.

By all appearances, this was merely an ordinary desk left abandoned here.

Yet Moen refused to give up. His eyes suddenly sharpened with determination as he whispered resolutely:

"Maybe… licking it might help?"

"…"

Before his voice fully faded, murderous intent erupted within the silent classroom.

A terror-chilling wave surged up behind Moen instantly.

In the shadowed dead corner above the doorframe, a slender figure shot like a coiling snake charged for Moen’s heart.

The air screamed under sudden, violent compression.

However, as if preemptively wary, Moen sidestepped abruptly, narrowly avoiding the strike.

Still, the attack grazed his shoulder. His specially tailored suit absorbed much of the impact but nonetheless left him with burning pain.

Moen’s gaze flickered, catching a glimpse of his assailant.

The faint light filtering through the curtains revealed—it was a long whip.

A whip he had seen before.

But before excitement could surface, the fully extended whip abruptly recoiled!

Its razor-sharp tip charged forth with lethal precision, targeting Moen’s face intently.

Moen retreated!

One step back.

Then another.

But ultimately, there was nowhere left to retreat!

In the midst of his befuddlement, Moen curled his fingers into claws like a beast’s talons.

"Thunder: Basic Form!"

Shockwaves rippled outward.

The whip’s tip, seemingly guided by an intent of its own, recoiled under the energy's surge.

Seizing the opening, Moen quickly created distance using Shadow Step.

Yet just as he steadied himself, he heard a strange, rapid yet melodic chant.

Arcane symbols condensed into a single, compressed sentence. The utterance sounded faintly absurd, like a recording sped up tenfold.

However, lurking behind this absurdity was an unmistakable ominous force—a formidable spell being unleashed.

Indeed.

With death warning signals clamoring in his head, Moen heard a cold, melodious murmur:

"Explosion."

In that instant, the surrounding air compressed rapidly.

From the corner of the room, where a figure draped in a black robe had closed in, radiant light and scorching heat erupted from her fingertips!

Among all possible threats worldwide, someone who crammed explosive spells directly against someone’s forehead could only be one individual. But Moen spared no moment for astonishment. Only by personally experiencing it could someone truly appreciate the horrifying pressure felt by that macho Archpriest from back then.

There was no hesitation.

Magic surged. The alchemical core activated.

Burning heat rose behind him.

Tenfold! Time delay!

It was as if reality had been slammed into slow-motion. Everything before Moen’s sight turned languid.

He glimpsed the figure cloaked in black—despite her disguise, her exquisite curves could hardly be concealed.

He saw beneath her hood a part of a familiar, cold, and stunning face.

The instant recognition struck, Moen's thoughts reeled furiously, finally piecing together the crucial puzzle.

Yet he shelved further contemplation for now.

Redirecting his focus, he noticed the delicate fingertips poised to deliver the deadly explosion mere inches from his head.

Dodging quickly.

Yet the vast disparity between their abilities and physiques now clearly emerged. Even under a tenfold slowed time, her movement seemed unnaturally swift within Moen’s perspective.

Thank goodness he still managed to evade.

The immeasurable brilliance and heat emanating from those dainty fingertips grazed across Moen's head, reducing his habitually tweaked hat to ashes before engulfing the rear portion of the room in devastating flames.

Reality resumed its normal tempo.

"Huh?" A light "Hmm" escaped the robed figure—a subtle indication of puzzlement over her usually perfect strike missing its mark.

But it didn’t matter.

The second explosion spell was already forming on her fingertip.

Her aim shifted downward at Moen, ready to strike again.

Amid the hyper-fast chant, the signature light and heat linkable to explosive magic brewed ominously once again.

"Sh*t."

Moen broke out into a cold sweat instantly.

Without worrying about anything else, he quickly raised both hands and performed a standard military salute from a certain country in his past life.

"Senior, it's me!"

The silhouette paused slightly.

Moen's eyes lit up with joy as he hurriedly extended his hand to peel off the human-skin mask covering his face.

Damn it, the mask was too realistic—almost flawless.

This thin, cicada-wing-like texture, resembling actual skin, made him nearly forget that he was wearing someone else’s face.

If his disguise had caused his senior to mistake him for some random pervert and she ended up killing him, that would have been truly unjust.

Luckily, he caught it in time.

"Senior, it’s me, Moen."

A faint light glowed from Moen's palm, illuminating the surroundings so the figure could clearly see his face.

Moen exhaled a long breath.

"Senior, calm down for a moment, we—"

Before he could finish his sentence.

Moen's pupils constricted sharply.

Because at that very moment, urgent chanting once again echoed near his ears!

But unlike the explosive magic from earlier, this chanting was more melodious, like a distorted symphony!

The air began to flow, forming winds—violent winds! Then... hurricanes!

The overwhelming airflow surged into the narrow classroom, transforming into howling gales. The burning debris was instantly extinguished, and just as Moen remained stunned for a brief second, the hurricane swiftly condensed again, as if an invisible giant hammer had struck him hard in the chest.

Moen was violently slammed against the wall, the dense winds compressing around him, transforming into a suffocating undersea pressure. The horrifying force enveloped his entire body, rendering him immobile.

He could only barely keep his eyes open, looking at the figure before him.

"Senior… why?"

The silhouette walked closer.

Amidst the howling storm, her wide hood was blown back, finally revealing her true face.

That delicate face was still so stunning, so breathtaking.

But there was no charm, no tenderness left on it—only the cold indifference of stone.

And those once mesmerizing eyes had transformed into something icy cold… serpent pupils!

Anna gradually approached Moen, extending a hand that pointed to his chest.

At that moment, Moen began to hear her slightly heavy breathing, and from within Anna's icy snake-like gaze, he caught a trace of... desire.

It wasn’t lust, but… hunger.

The kind of hunger a ravenous traveler might feel at the sight of a grand feast…

"You…"

Anna stared directly at Moen and finally spoke, her voice hoarse.

“Your heart looks… delicious…”

Moen’s breathing suddenly hitched.

It felt as though an invisible hand gripped his heart tightly, making it throb with pain.

In his mind, he suddenly recalled Banshee’s words.

*“Perhaps it’s better if you see her current state for yourself.”*

“So… that’s it?”

Moen’s fists clenched involuntarily as realization dawned upon him. Now, he understood why Banshee would had his senior walked away.

Because from the very beginning, the senior had never truly escaped her control.

The serpent transformation had already advanced to this stage?

But there was no time to wallow in sorrow. Moen saw Anna once again gripping her long whip. The sharp tip of the whip, like a coiled serpent, slithered through the air, striking toward him.

A surge of coldness flooded over him.

Yet Moen was pinned down by the oppressive wind and unable to move. There was nowhere to escape.

At this moment, his only chance of survival was…

Moen twisted his wrist, pressing his palm firmly against the wall, and then… *Thunder!*

Shockwaves rippled out, instantly cracking the wall.

In that moment, just as if a water-filled container had sprung a leak, the compressed wind pressure filling the entire classroom erupted outward.

The wall, unable to withstand the sudden force, shattered instantly. Without the restrictions of the walls, the currents of air, continually compressed under magic, finally found their release.

The hurricane burst forth from the broken wall, carrying debris and Moen into the sky, sweeping him nearly a hundred meters up.

During his fall, Moen caught sight of Anna standing at the broken edge of the classroom.

Amidst the still-burning sparks on the scattered debris, Moen caught a fleeting glimpse of her chest, barely concealed by her billowing black robe. A glint, faint yet familiar.

That was…

Before he could confirm, Anna swung her long whip again.

The whip, now imbued with the remnants of the wind’s fury, struck directly at the plummeting Moen, leaving no room for escape.

In desperation, Moen pulled out *Elizabeth*, crossing the pure white short blade in front of his chest to block the attack.

*Clang!*

Metal clashed against metal, sparks flying.

The immense force traveled down, numbing Moen’s hands.

But with no footing mid-air, Moen was sent flying like a swatted fly, hurtling backward.

He crashed onto the academy’s open grounds, though the terrifying force hadn’t fully dissipated. It dragged him further, tearing a half-meter-deep groove in the ground, eventually breaking through the academy’s boundary railing before halting on an empty street.

Anna stood at the broken edge of the classroom, her icy gaze cast downward.

Dust clouds billowed, almost shrouding half the street, masking Moen’s current state.

Across the street, someone in a nearby home seemed to be roused by the commotion. A light flickered on.

Anna stopped in her advance.

“Too far,” she muttered.

“What a shame.”

She turned back.

But as her foot stepped forward, she hadn’t even heard the sound of her own step—

A howling wind echoed.

But her spell had already concluded. Where was this wind coming from?

Anna whipped her head around, and in the deep shadows of the night, a disheveled man with tattered clothes, covered in dirt, vaulted upward with the agility of a hunting leopard.

In his hand, the pure white blade gleamed. With a flick of his wrist, the icy arc of the blade slashed down!

Anna instinctively lifted her long whip to block.

But under the oppressive aura exuded by the man in that instant, and against the piercing sharpness of his weapon in that moment, Anna’s whip seemed fragile—utterly inadequate.

Yet, the expected break never happened.

Because the descending blade was not the edge—it was the flat side.

In Anna’s astonished gaze, Moen shouted: “*Elizabeth!*”

And then, he released his grip.

*Buzz—*

*Elizabeth* trembled as though alive, spinning of its own accord. It tore the long whip from Anna’s grasp and rolled away swiftly.

The whip’s sharp tip tried to rise but was quickly smacked down by *Elizabeth*. With a final, decisive blow, it dragged the whip into a pitch-black corner.

Unimpeded, Moen leaped toward Anna, grabbed her wrists, and pinned her beneath him.

Lowering his head to look into those cold, unfamiliar yet familiar eyes, Moen finally managed to crack a smile and say the words he had longed to speak:

“Senior, it’s been a while. I’ve finally caught you… eh, eh?!”

Before he could finish, he suddenly felt a powerful force surge through her arms.

Before he could react, he was overwhelmed by a dizzying whirl.

The tides of battle flipped instantly.

Moen now found himself pinned beneath Anna.

And the senior was atop him.

Moen’s lips twitched; he could hardly believe it.

What’s going on?! His physique had been enhanced—how was he still being overpowered by a girl? This wasn’t logical!

But this was no time to debate logic.

Anna lowered her gaze, her cold serpent eyes fixed on Moen.

“I want… to eat your heart.”

Her voice was soft but carried the chilling conviction of a predator.

It was as though the one beneath her wasn’t her junior, but an exquisite delicacy.

A shiver ran through him.

Yet, as Moen stared at the girl above him, icy and monstrous, he smiled warmly and brightly.

“All right,” he said.

“If it’s you, Senior, then go ahead.”