On the road, the blonde girl braced both hands on the window frame, her small head resting there, gold strands dancing like sunlit threads in the wind.

But now her sight felt different, like a curtain lifting; if she tried, she could see ghost-lines of nearby cars a few seconds ahead.

“How do you feel…” Bloo’s voice cut in like a pebble rippling a quiet pond, and Little Loli jolted as if pricked by a thorn.

“Ah… feel what?” Her thoughts shorted like a blown fuse, sparks skittering in her mind.

Bloo didn’t answer; he slammed the pedal down, and the Mercedes roared like a caged beast before leaping down the lane.

“Wah!” Little Loli thunked her head on the door frame, a dull bell in a metal chapel. “Wuwuwu…” She rubbed the tender bump, her pout blooming like a cherry bud.

“It feels like everything comes earlier to my eyes, like the horizon stepping closer; nothing else yet,” she said after a beat, her voice drifting like mist. “Will there be other powers?”

“Don’t know,” Bloo said, the words dropping like a stone into dark water.

“Responsible, aren’t you,” she muttered, her sarcasm a tiny spark under ash.

“It’s a test drug—we grabbed it when we forced our way out; no one’s used it,” Bloo tossed the lines out like flat pebbles, and behind his shades, deep-blue eyes flickered like a reef lit by a passing wave no one could see.

“Uu… fine.” She hugged her head and folded into a corner like a small cat in shadow. “A bit reckless… but there’s no better path, right?”

In a basement, the air sat damp like soil after rain, the light cold as steel; Ouyang Si stood rigid while two, three middle-aged men and a lab-coated researcher lounged on sofas like stones in a river.

“First, I apologize for the result,” Ouyang Si said, voice steady as a held blade. “Intel never told me the girl had another form, so the mission failed. Please watch this.”

The video flickered like a storm lantern—Little Loli’s change surged and rampaged like wildfire breaking loose.

“Didn’t expect forced teleportation,” one middle-aged man said, his words curling like smoke. “Even in our organization, few can read that.”

“Agreed. This failure isn’t on you,” another said as he lit a cigarette, ash snowing softly while he crossed his legs.

“We must capture that girl!” the lab coat hissed, tone a scalpel gleaming under bright light, his face twisting like a mask.

“Don’t rush,” the smoker murmured, pushing out a smoke ring like a pale halo. “We’ve got another chance; this time we net her.”

“But… Lin Fan,” Ouyang Si said, uncertainty rolling in like fog. “He’s searching for the girl with everything he’s got; any noise, and he’ll spot us.”

“Who said we have to move ourselves?” The middle-aged man smiled, thin as a knife, and a photo bloomed on the screen like a captured butterfly. “With her, it gets easier; that girl might come on her own.”

On the screen, a brown-haired, brown-eyed cutie looked out, warm as autumn bark and bright as glazed porcelain—Joanna.

“Xue’er, you look off today,” Lu Ke said, watching Xiao Qianxue step out in pajamas, her usual spark dimmed like a lamp at dusk.

“Nothing, big bro, I’m just a little tired…” She wobbled toward him, a willow in a light rain, and slipped, her small body falling into his arms like a feather.

“What’s wrong? Forget it, I’ll take your pulse,” Lu Ke said, not bothering with doctors; his hands were steadier than quacks, keen as tuned instruments.

“It’s fine, big bro. Was the student council tiring?” Little Loli sank into the bed, and he lifted her right hand, fingers pressing the pulse, now firm, now light, feeling a river under ice.

“Hey, big bro, are you taking advantage of me?” she puffed, cheeks tinted like peach petals, breath warm as tea steam.

“Tsk… something’s off.” He withdrew, brows knotting like storm clouds, then set his fingers back with a surgeon’s calm.

“Mmm…” Xiao Qianxue drifted into half-sleep, lashes lowered like moth wings; ever since she returned, sleep tugged like a tide that wouldn’t crest, and inside, it felt like gears were being refitted on a hidden loom.

“Xue’er?” He snapped back, and saw her eyelids heavy as twilight; he drew her up, one arm circling her back, the other under her knees, and lifted her in a princess carry like cradling new snow.

“Big bro… perv… zzz,” she breathed, the word fading like frost, and slid into deep sleep.

“This is strange… how could this be?” He laid her in her room and kept turning the thought, his mind a millstone. “It felt normal and calm, like a pond at night—but under it, a riptide.”

“Eat first, fill the furnace; no strength, no thinking,” he muttered, heading toward the kitchen like a weary hunter.