Hong Wei had been their first teacher, a steadfast pine in winter; he knew Tang Ke’s origins and knew Su Xinhua, a trust that ran deep as an old river for the Tang family.

But now, Hawkeye stared at Hong Wei lying on the hospital bed, eyes closed, and a sour chill pooled in his chest like cold tea.

“Who’s managing the Shadow Division now?” he asked Renegade, voice tight as a drawn bowstring.

“Me.”

The voice came from the doorway, quiet as a blade sliding free; Hawkeye hadn’t noticed anyone approach. He turned, surprise flickering like a moth around a candle.

The man wore a black suit, his build compact and iron-solid, about six-foot-three with a buzz cut; a scar ran from temple to ear, a pale lightning strike across stone.

“You are?” Hawkeye asked, words crisp as frost.

“Doctor.”

Renegade dipped his head with a rare hint of ceremony, a reed bending in a sudden wind; that alone made Hawkeye’s brow knot—this team never worshiped rules, least of all Renegade.

“Doctor?”

“Doctor’s my call sign. I’m Hong Wei’s younger brother, Hongcheng.”

The middle-aged man smiled like a wolf showing no teeth and offered his hand.

“Oh.”

Hawkeye clasped it, grip guarded as a door latch.

“Old Hong’s brother? How have I never heard of you?” His doubt stood like a cattail against current.

“My brother and I entered the Shadow Division in the same cohort. When our generation disbanded, he stayed in the shadows, and I went to Country F as a mercenary. Last month, he messaged me to come back. He knew his body was fading, leaf by leaf…”

Hongcheng’s words fell like dusk across a courtyard.

“I see…” Hawkeye said, but his hesitation hung in the air, a mist that wouldn’t lift.

“My brother’s condition can be held from sliding further, barely, but… ah…”

At that, grief cut across Hongcheng’s face like winter wind.

“…”

“All right. You just got back. Let’s not dwell on this. I’ve got other questions for you.” Hongcheng’s tone steadied like a leveled blade.

“Okay.”

Hawkeye followed Hongcheng to his office—the same room that once belonged to Hong Wei, the air still smelling faintly of old tea and iron.

“Sit.”

Hongcheng settled into the sofa with the ease of a man in his own forest; Hawkeye sat, posture alert as a hunting hawk.

“I know you’re the finest intel specialist the Shadow Division’s ever had. I want you back. We’re on the back foot, and too many treat us like a splinter in the eye.”

He spoke straight, words hard as gravel.

“Oh? Then Renegade coming back is also…”

“Yes. He’s already our head instructor for the rookies.”

“Right… that tracks,” Hawkeye said, though the pattern felt off, like a drumbeat out of step.

“What about the others?” His voice drifted like a searchlight.

“As far as we know, Princess and Phantom are in Huaguo’s Ninghai City. We’ve sent people to bring them in. Wildcat hasn’t answered. Asura… ah…”

At Asura’s name, bitterness spread over Hongcheng’s face like rain soaking clay.

“…”

Hawkeye watched that expression, his thoughts tangling like ivy; earlier, a woman had called claiming she was Asura, and only Asura knew that number. So who was that voice?

A brief, strange glint flashed in Hongcheng’s eyes, a fish turning in deep water, then it vanished.

“But I asked you back also because of Asura.”

“Because of him?” Hawkeye’s heartbeat tightened like a drumhead.

“Yes. We detected a strong Anomalous Energy signal in Ninghai—and it’s very much like his. The target hides well. We haven’t found them. I want your help. Maybe… he isn’t dead.”

“Not dead… huh…” Hawkeye murmured, the words falling like loose ash.

“Sorry. About rejoining—I need to think. We chose to leave, and our squad… scattered like leaves. Right now, I want to find my teammates first.”

He spoke after a beat, resolve steady as a stone lantern.

“…”

Hongcheng’s face went blank, a smooth lake mirroring nothing, then he said:

“Did you receive any message?”

“Hm? What message?” Hawkeye’s tone sharpened like a blade ringing once.

“About Asura.”

“Our captain? No. I’ve heard nothing. I don’t even know if he’s alive.” Hawkeye let out a bitter sigh, a wind through bare branches.

“…”

Hongcheng watched him without speaking, gaze a tight knot.

“Fine. I’ll go to Ninghai to find them.”

Hawkeye rose, motion clean as a drawn arrow.

“Hold up. You don’t need to go,” Hongcheng cut in, voice flat as slate.

“Hm? Why?”

“I told you—someone’s already going to fetch them. You just wait here.” His tone hardened, a gate closed.

“Oh? Then I’ve got a question.” Hawkeye’s eyes fixed on him, a hawk sighting a flicker in grass.

“…”

Hongcheng listened in silence, a coiled spring.

“Why not contact them and let them return on their own? They’re not hiding, just living there. You didn’t reach out to them; instead, you had Renegade contact me. Is it because you couldn’t find me…?”

“What are you trying to say…” The look in Hongcheng’s eyes changed, a winter frost creeping over stone—cold, and stripped of mercy.

“I think… you know Princess and Phantom won’t obey you. Your reason won’t hold up. You’re using ‘news of Asura’ as bait. Maybe they actually know where he is.”

Hawkeye said it plain, like a bell struck in daylight; with uncertain men, he offered no courtesy.

“…”

Hongcheng went quiet. After a moment, he exhaled, a tired wind through barracks.

“Correct. I sent people to Ninghai to force them back. That’s the Shadow Division’s rule.”

“Shadow Division’s rule?” Hawkeye’s doubt rose like fog. Hongcheng stood, hands clasped behind his back, and walked to the window, staring out over the base—a grid of steel and obedience.

“People don’t leave the Shadow Division just because they want to.”

“What do you mean?” Hawkeye’s voice snapped, flint on iron.

“Know why the Shadow Division is feared by every mercenary outfit? Because our strength stays with us. It never leaks to outsiders. Folks here serve the Shadow in life, and die under its banner.”

“Bull. We never heard of that rule!” Hawkeye’s shout cracked like thunder.

“You didn’t know because my brother’s soft heart. The rule was meant to be told when your squad disbanded. But Asura’s death moved him. To compensate Asura, he broke protocol and let the rest of you leave safely…”

“…”

Hawkeye stared, mind reeling like a compass spun by storm.

“But I’m not soft. I’ve lived it. I left for Country F—weeks of quiet, then assassins like locusts. For years, every day was slaughter.”

He clenched his fists, knuckles white, rage a fire behind glass.

“Why?” Hawkeye asked, voice edged.

“Shadow members don’t ‘quit.’ Either you work for the organization until you die, or you die outright!!” Hongcheng roared, a pillar struck by lightning.

“…”

“So I’m disappointed in my brother. As leader then, he wasn’t lenient with me. Now he coddles you, even breaks the rules. So I hate him! I hate you!”

Veins bulged along his neck, anger braided like rope.

“I get it. So Hong Wei’s condition is tied directly to you. And you had Renegade call me to keep me under thumb…”

“Ha ha ha ha!!”

Hongcheng’s laughter spilled out, wild as crows scattering.

“Not just you! Those two in Ninghai. Even that neither-dead-nor-alive Asura. None of you deserve the Shadow. You all deserve to die!”

In Hawkeye’s eyes, Hongcheng had tipped into madness, a torch burning dry straw.

“So today, you don’t leave.”

Hongcheng’s smile went cold, a knife in winter.

Boom!!!

Hawkeye’s private jet exploded on the base runway; outside, fire climbed the sky like a red pine.

“…”

Hawkeye looked at the wreck, mind working like gears under pressure.

“Never thought I’d end up fighting here…” He spoke softly, then pulled out a pair of glasses from his pocket—plain as rain, yet the split-body device Tang Ke had given him. Since Tang Ke vanished, the piece had lost its function, but Hawkeye kept it close, like a charm. His features were already refined; with the glasses, he looked even cleaner, snow on a still pond.

“Hmph. You plan to fight here? You’re a solid intel expert, but without Asura’s auxiliary Armor, your combat ability is nearly zero.”

Hongcheng’s disdain was a shadow cutting cold.

“Oh? And how do you know that?” Hawkeye asked, tone cool as glass.

“Heh. Someone much smarter than you. Come in.”

The office door opened. Renegade stepped inside, silent as a night cat.

“Renegade…” Complex feelings crossed Hawkeye’s face like clouds over the moon.

“Hawkeye… we need you. You know it. You can’t beat me.”

Renegade stood framed in the doorway, calm as a drawn bow.

“Why? Did you forget our squad?” Hawkeye’s memory flared, embers under ash.

“Forget? Never. We were one squad—yet our endings split like two roads at the mountain pass.”

His laugh was thin, cold as frost.

“What?” Hawkeye couldn’t find the shape of it.

“After he died, you all got normal lives. But me? I left here and hunters chased me nonstop. I asked you for help. None of you responded!”

“Impossible! Why would anyone hunt you? And we never got your calls.”

Hawkeye’s protest rang, disbelief a storm against the walls.

“Heh. In the end, he saved me. Brought me back here. Told me everything.”

Renegade glanced at Hongcheng, eyes dark as iron.

“…”

“Renegade, breathe. There has to be a misunderstanding!” Hawkeye tried to cool the air, voice gentler, a hand over a flame.

“Misunderstanding? What misunderstanding?” Renegade’s words cut, sharp as broken glass.

“I…” Hawkeye stopped; his gut warned him—don’t mention that earlier call.

“Seems… you do know something about Asura.” Hongcheng’s voice slid in, smooth as oil.

“Doesn’t matter if you won’t talk. Our new device will make you. Renegade.”

“Yes.”

Renegade rolled up his sleeve, revealing a bracelet; he tapped it, and black particles swarmed like a storm of gnats. A black, beast-shaped Mech snapped onto him, armor closing like a predator’s jaw.