Night’s soft glow spilled like silk, lighting a darkness that shouldn’t exist. On the tower’s crown, a black‑cloaked girl skimmed rooftop after rooftop, a lone shadow trailing like smoke.

A familiar presence brushed her side, like a reed stirring in still water. She stopped on the flat roof and let the night wind slap her coat like cold palms.

“What do you want this late?” Yun Shi asked, cool and frayed at the edges, the question cutting like a thin blade.

“Can’t I just catch up?” Shen Ling Zou came from behind with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, like frost pretending to be dew.

“Ten minutes. I’ve got things to do.”

“Fine, Night Phantom. Coffee?”

“Hand it here.”

She took the paper cup, didn’t fuss, and tugged down her mask. The rim touched her lips like a shadow sweeping the moon. She sipped, slow.

The coffee hit bitter, like bark steeped in night. No sugar at all. It dissolved on her tongue and stung her nerves awake. Then the bitterness unfurled a hidden fragrance, like a chrysanthemum after frost. Sweet would drown her; sweetness is a mire. Bitterness she disliked, but she’d never say it. That’s who she was.

“Not bad. Bye.”

She set the half cup on the concrete and didn’t look back. One leap. The cloak snapped like a raven’s wing. She vanished into the night.

These midnight meetings were his idea, ripples sent toward a rock. Shen Ling Zou just wanted to see her more. Each time, the minutes were grains through a clenched fist.

He stared at the half cup and at the ledge where no familiar shadow lingered. His smile went bitter, like the coffee that never finds its end.

…………

Memory rose like a tide, and his mood sank like stone. Why, he thought, does the one I love stand across a line drawn by blood?

“Huff…”

Across from him, Yun Shi dragged in air, mask pushed down. She drank oxygen like cold spring water. Against Shen Ling Zou, she couldn’t seize the high ground; he was strong as iron. But he wasn’t unscathed. His arms were marked with wounds she’d carved.

“I don’t want to fight you.” Shen Ling Zou clutched his injured arm. His voice was steady as a blade laid flat.

“……”

“Night Phantom, I only want you. War, family ambitions—none of it matters to me.”

“……”

“You know why I joined that Artifact Spirit heist? It was for you.”

“?”

She remembered. Before the Second Soul Artifact chose a master, he’d brawled with Yanbu Junichi. Back then she didn’t get it. Even now, fog clung to the reason.

So she couldn’t understand his words.

Shen Ling Zou’s smile tilted, tasting ash. He had expected this. He didn’t want her to understand.

He’d wanted that hard‑won Artifact Spirit to forge a Witch for the Clan Head. All for a Witch called Night Phantom. In the Underworld, her name was mud—dirtiest of the dirty. Born of the Clan Head, yet she defected to the Magic Institution. Even those people wouldn’t accept her. So he would create another Witch born of the Clan Head. Then the Underworld’s scorn might thin. And he could use that pretext to invite Night Phantom into his own Clan Head. Two birds, one stone.

Only he knew.

“I’m going to start the Crystal Tower and erase everyone,” he said, voice like falling ice. “You can’t leave this zone. Surrender. I won’t kill you.”

“I refuse.”

“Why refuse? You know what the Crystal Tower is. It’s a weapon that carves the world—”

“Then I’ll make it stop.”

“Don’t kid me. You can’t crack that thing by force.”

“Then I’ll kill you. Without your blood, the Crystal Tower won’t start.”

No more words. Yun Shi sprinted. Her body blurred like heat over stone, leaving a black afterimage sketched on the ground.

Shen Ling Zou’s jaw set. He joined the dance. Crystals flared from his palms, deep red, and slammed toward her like hail.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gun in hand, Yun Shi ran and fired at the oncoming crystal, bullets threading through. Shards fell like garnet rain. Shen Ling Zou spat a storm of crimson crystal. Yun Shi didn’t flinch. Fingers clenched. Space twisted like warped glass. The barrage buckled and stopped.

He moved to release more—then a girl was suddenly there. Too fast to track, like lightning crossing water. Twin combat knives in both hands, stabbing hard. He slipped past, the edge kissing his coat. She pressed the assault, blades weaving, thrust after thrust, a knife‑dance in tight quarters gouging scars into the earth.

Suddenly, emptiness tugged at him. Something was gone. Yun Shi had already slid back, widening the gap like a tide pulling away.

He drew breath to speak. Then he saw them—test tubes glinting in her hand, red as pomegranate seeds.

“When did you…!”

He hadn’t seen a thing. Shock emptied his voice.

“This is direct blood from the Divine Ling Family,” she said, cool as winter rain. “Also the fuel that starts the Crystal Tower, right?”

“Uh…”

“I knew you carried it. If this blood is gone… then everyone gets a happy ending.”

Clack.

Glass hit concrete. The blood splashed like scattered petals. A few drops kissed her boot; she didn’t care. She watched his face curdle and knew—without his blood, the tower wouldn’t stir unless he bled himself.

“There’s a way to wreck the Crystal Tower,” Yun Shi continued, voice like a chalk line. “Inject blood that isn’t yours—the tower takes it wrong, goes berserk, and self‑destructs.”

“Heh. Don’t get cocky.” His mouth curved, eyes hard. “It’s just you and me here. You can’t inject wrong blood. You’re of the Clan Head. If you use your own blood to make it rampage, the tower will expose your family’s secret arts. Then I’ll know which Clan Head you’re from.”

“Tch…”

He had a point. If she did that, the cost was a name burned into the dark. Whatever happened, he must not know who she was.

“Give it up.”

He gathered a mass of crystal and hurled it like a red comet. She was a beat late. A few spikes punched into her arm. Crimson dripped like plum blossoms in snow.

Boom!

Space ripped under her like paper. The ground opened its jaw. Yun Shi slipped and fell, clutching her arm. She glimpsed Shen Ling Zou’s body flung back, a ragged silhouette in the dust.

She was ready to drop—when a familiar hand seized her wrist.

“Miss Night Phantom!”

Mizuki spread the Black Iron Wings, black steel fanning like a raven in the storm, and caught her midair. Urgency burned in her eyes like lantern fire.

“Kiseki… Mizuki.”

Yun Shi’s mind fuzzed. The name left her lips woodenly, like a charm spoken in sleep.

“Hold on to me!”

Mizuki didn’t waste breath. She wrapped Yun Shi close and glided down into the factory’s gut. This was the place Yun Shi meant to break—the Crystal Tower’s formation slept here. Shen Ling Zou had interrupted her before. Now…

“Cough, cough…”

She spat a thread of blood, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and stood. Her eyes met Mizuki’s, full of worry like rain filling a well.

“Why did you come? You knew it was dangerous.” The question cut first; the worry hid behind it.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m here to save you,” Mizuki said, earnest as sunrise.

“You know I don’t need saving.”

“But… I won’t hide.” Her voice trembled, then steadied like a reed in wind. “Leaving you here alone? I can’t. You were in danger. How do I talk myself out of coming?”

“What an idiot!”

Yun Shi snapped, anger flaring like flint to tinder.

“You’re weak. You’re not as good as me. And you just ran in here. You’re an idiot, right? Say it—you’re an idiot!”

“That’s… a bit harsh…”

“Get out. This place isn’t for you.”

“Miss Night Phan—”

“Don’t stroll in like a fool. This is a battlefield. One misstep and you die!”

“I know.”

“If you know, then—”

“I’m here for Miss Night Phan—no, for Night‑chan. Is that reason good enough?”

…

Mizuki’s hands pressed her shoulders, firm and warm. Somewhere along the way, she’d changed how she called her. Yun Shi went blank for a breath.

Because…

No one had ever said these words to her. Not once.

Mizuki was the first.

“Night‑chan, I want to help you. That’s all.”

Mizuki held her gaze, eyes deep as a night lake, and spoke from the heart.

Why can this infuriating soul say something so cool like it’s nothing? Why would she do this?

Doesn’t she know it could mean death?

“You—!”

Yun Shi began, and Mizuki cut her off.

Mizuki opened her arms and folded Yun Shi in. Gentle as water. A harbor that forgave everything. Yun Shi’s mind stalled, heat rising to her face. The hug was so warm, like sunlight trapped under skin.

“I’m here. So don’t carry burdens that aren’t yours. Not alone.”

Care. Gentleness. Resolve. All of it felt real as rain.

This was Miyuki Kiseki—her light—piercing the soot‑black depths and sketching a new path.

“Then… help me with something.”

Yun Shi fisted Mizuki’s coat, awkward as a cat asking for milk, and made her request.

Outside, Shen Ling Zou heaved a boulder aside. He coughed twice, ignored the streaks of blood, and hunted that familiar shadow like a hawk riding thermals.

“Night Phantom! Night Phantom!”

He shouted. The night swallowed his voice like the sea swallows pebbles.

Suddenly, the factory pulsed with deep‑crimson power. It speared the sky like a bloodied lance. At the apex, it congealed into cruel crystal—then shattered to grit, raining down. The raging energy stained the night a thin red, like dawn before dawn.

“The Crystal Tower… rampaging?”

Shen Ling Zou stared, stunned, as if thunder had struck a dry tree.

Then the Crystal Tower erupted fully, a sky‑killing blaze of crystal light. It broke into dazzling rubble, like a star dying in silence.