By the time Yekase dragged her weary bones back to the rented room, she set water to boil like a kettle sighing and flicked on the TV like a window snapping open to neon.

New headline blazed across the screen like a red flare: [New Hero Appears?! Mysterious girl calling herself “Flashblade Red” defeats man in black mecha.]

Under the slanted banner, the host smiled a storefront smile, voice smooth as lacquer: “Around seven tonight, a man in black armor attacked on Changhong Road. Unrecognized Consortium X has claimed responsibility. A new hero stepped up—previously unseen in public—Flashblade Red.”

A grainy, snatched photo popped up at the host’s side like a fly stuck in amber.

“We can see her scarlet frame echoes the enemy’s in some unknown way,” the host purred, like rain hinting at thunder. “Given how many heroes now share origins with their foes, the Twin Towers City government urges everyone not to spread rumors. Trust and support every hero.”

Oh come on—if you don’t bring it up, who notices the silhouette? One’s a bespoke unit, one’s mass-produced; even the weapons are different, like a sword versus a folding chair.

Beep-beep-beep-beep!

Ling Yi’s call landed right on cue, like a sparrow tapping the window.

“Doc! Did you see it, Doc? I’m on TV!”

“I saw, I saw…” Her voice drifted like steam.

Getting on TV shouldn’t make you this giddy. Join a Sinister Organization and even tailing some thug gets you screen time—just with the face blurred out, like a ghost behind frosted glass. A shiver flickered through Yekase—would Ling Yi run around telling everyone she was Flashblade Red?

“Can we meet and talk?”

“Uh? Sure, but don’t you need to rest?” Concern hung like a soft blanket.

“Right now, rest’s not the priority! There’s something more important! I’ll pick you up!”

Wait—

Clack.

The call cut, clean as a paper fan snapping shut.

Yekase stood holding her phone, anchored like a post in rain.

Something more important…

Did that chatty host tip her off about the link between “Kagari” and “Zec”? The thought forked like lightning.

Why does the Doc have a Sinister Organization-grade weapon, and know it like the back of her hand? Is that black armor also hers? Questions would bloom on their own like weeds through pavement; trust would crack like thin ice.

Beep-beep-beep-beep!

“Doc, what do you want to drink?”

“Passionfruit Double Shot, full sugar, no ice.” The order rolled out like a habit worn smooth.

“Got it!”

…Uh. Said it on autopilot, like a key turning by itself.

Yekase lowered the phone, still rooted like a stone.

Between trusting a lovable idiot and worrying about her own sugar intake, the scale tipped toward sugar, heavy as a sack of candy.

I want to ask everyone… did I mess up? If I say that, passionfruit itself would jump up to object, like a citrus sprite wagging a finger.

Ten minutes later, Ling Yi knocked, plastic bag swinging like a flag.

“Doc orders milk tea like a pro. As your friend, I’m proud. You get one point.”

“One point for what?”

“Girl power.”

“Girl power includes milk tea?”

“Being torn between sweet cravings and scale panic—that push-pull is the cute nerve of a teenage girl,” she said, like ribbons tugged by wind.

“You’re not?”

“I’m not,” she said lightly, like a runner loosening her laces.

Not? Yekase’s heart tripped, like a cat almost falling off the sill—did Ling Yi also—

“I run every day. My weight’s under control.”

“…Sports type…” The words landed like a pebble in a pond.

Damn normie.

Ling Yi took out the Passionfruit Double Shot, handed it over like a baton, pinched the straw with her middle and ring fingers, and popped the seal with a neat stab, collecting the wrapper like a tidying magpie.

“Please.”

Yekase sipped. The first rush of sugar came like sunlight on a cheek.

Ling Yi had hit the closest milk tea place—the same one Yekase frequented. The staff were already fully trained; when making full sugar for Passionfruit Double Shot, they added an extra scoop on top, like sweet rain tipping into flood.

She chewed the coconut jelly to bits, swallowed, and let out an uncoiling breath like fog leaving a lake.

“So,” she asked, eyes on the night like a net, “it’s late—what did you want to say?”

“Nothing special. I celebrated my birthday at home with dinner. Before the day slips away, I wanted to celebrate with Doc, just the two of us.”

Right. Ling Yi had said it was her birthday. Otherwise she wouldn’t have been at that convenience store last night, drifting like a moth to lamplight.

“I don’t have much to offer.”

“You’ve given more than enough,” she said, voice warm as a blanket.

Ling Yi sat on the floor and scooted over, inch by inch like a caterpillar, until she came to rest beside Yekase.

They leaned against the damp-seeping wall of the rental, shoulders sharing weight like two books on one shelf.

They watched the night in silence. The city’s phosphorescence flowed through four pupils like a river of light, leaving no trace, dissolving into the sleepless static that hummed like cicadas. The moon wore a projection of a brand nobody had seen, like a coin stamped with a new emperor; the last company up there didn’t even get its market cap to the heavens before a higher bid chased it off like a hawk scattering doves.

Neither Ling Yi nor Yekase had seen the world before Shadow Curtain International and the Sinister Organization were born; their history started mid-storm, like kids waking in rain.

The Organization Management Act let registered groups collect protection fees and offer local defense—on paper like crisp snow. But officials and gangs held hands, and the Act became a ghost docket; the fees were collected like harvest, while the “defense” never showed, like a promised sunrise that didn’t.

So more organizations sprouted from thin air like mushrooms after rain; more young people joined, and the city looked busy and blooming, weeds and wildflowers both. Some stood to resist, thin as reeds against current, and ended up “heroes,” a word painted gold over splinters.

But Yekase’s mind wasn’t on policy. It moved like a shy fish under shadow.

“‘Uh…’” they both started, words bumping like two raindrops.

“…You first,” she said, a hand gesture like a gentle nudge.

“Doc, the Sky Striker system you gave me—is it the same set as the armor that bad guy wore today?”

She asked it, after all. If something might connect to the Sinister Organization, even Ling Yi couldn’t look away; the truth tugged like a thread through cloth.

A lie stood ahead like a closed gate.

“Yes.” The word dropped like a stone.

But Yekase refused to lie to this sincere, kind girl on her birthday; honesty tasted sharp, like cold water.

“Most of Unrecognized Consortium X’s tech was developed by me,” she said, the confession slow as dusk. “Including the five-element Flashblade System. And that big robot that trampled the farm fields.”

“Doc…” Ling Yi’s voice trembled like a tight wire.

Ah. That about does it. Time to crash out, like a sandcastle under the tide.

A friendship propped up by lies for not even two days—youth gifted from seventeen to twenty-seven, a season Yekase never had—would end here, in this shabby, grimy room that matched her like a mirror with cracks.

“Threatened by the Sinister Organization, forced to make murder machines, and still bolted with a final trump card—Doc, you’re amazing! Even more amazing than I thought!” Her words flew like confetti.

“No, you—misunderstood—”

“How?” Ling Yi’s eyes blinked like clear pools.

“Even if I’ve only booted it twice, I felt it: the Flashblade System was born to protect, so Doc can’t be bad. Where’s the misunderstanding?”

“…Uh, how’d you see ‘protect’ in it…?” Yekase’s voice tiptoed like a cat.

“Because it feels good on the body.” Her answer landed like a warm breeze under armor.

“Huh?”

“And the Sky Striker looks dangerous, but the blade’s not even sharpened. It won’t cut anyone.” Her hand sliced air like a harmless fan.

“That’s because Flash Energy alone is already en—”

“Flash Energy only affects machines and magic and stuff. It’s a gentle power, right?” Her certainty rang like a temple bell. “I don’t get the principle, but I tested it at home.”

“Tested? How did you test it?” Panic twitched like a startled bird. She didn’t stab herself, did she? Flash Energy does no harm to human tissue—that’s true, a strange kind of grace—but Yekase had forgotten to explain—

“Last night, a wild idea hit me. I tried using it for a pedicure.” Her grin sparkled like a mischievous star.

…

“Give it back! Give the Sky Striker back!” The shout burst like a thrown pot.

“Eh—so it’s fine to chop enemies, but not fine to fix my feet?” Her pout curved like a crescent.

“No!” The refusal snapped like a twig.

Why do you, a seventeen-year-old flower of youth, have athlete’s foot?! The whole character image goes weird, like a watercolor smeared by rain!

As Yekase launched an angry tackle that fluttered like a tiny sparrow, Ling Yi just laughed, no dodge, no flinch, and folded Yekase into her arms like a blanket scooping a kitten.

“Easy, easy.” Her voice smoothed like hand to hair.

“Damn sports type…” The grumble thudded like a soft drum.

On a CoC character sheet, Yekase’s stats were classic: Investigation, Craft, Mechanics, Library maxed, combat at zero—an umbrella in a sword fight. Ling Yi? Her six primary stats alone tell you where to spend points. One good Brawl might crack Yekase’s skull like a coconut.

In that setup, trying to punish her physically was a bad idea, dumb as kicking a hornet nest. To keep her from using the Sky Striker for weird stuff (like pedicures), only long-term gentle guidance would work, like drip irrigation on stubborn soil.

Ling Yi didn’t let go, and slid the topic aside like a stone skimming water: “I’m done with my question. What were you about to say, Doc?”

“Uh… Nothing big,” Yekase said, the words soft as dusk. “Just… surprised that I’d ever share a night view with someone.”

“Where’s Doc’s family?” Ling Yi asked, quiet as a lantern.

“They’re far away,” Yekase said, blinking, then whispering by Ling Yi’s ear like a reed in wind.

Ling Yi jolted, arms cinching tighter around Yekase’s waist like a belt: “…Uh, sorry.” Her breath trembled like thread.

“Huh? What are you imagining? I didn’t say they died.” The correction came bright as a lamp switched on.

“Ah?” Her surprise popped like a bubble.

“I had a fight with my family,” Yekase said, voice steady as a train on rails. “Ran hundreds of kilometers to Twin Towers City. Almost no contact since.”

“Still—sorry. I made you remember something sad.” Her apology fell like a leaf.

“Not sad.” Yekase breathed out, a cool lake surface. “My family’s pretty traditional. Dad’s mid-level at a company. Mom’s a full-time homemaker. And I’ve got a younger sister who’s a teacher.”

Ling Yi went “Hm?” like a bird tilting its head.

“A younger sister… who’s a teacher?”

…Oops. Another slip, and by now Yekase was numb to it, like fingers gone cold. Still, she didn’t rush, because—

“I get it,” Ling Yi said, nodding like a bobbing buoy. “Like those teacher training vocational colleges parallel to middle school? After graduating, you can teach at a kindergarten or elementary, right?”

“Yep, yep.” The relief shone like a small sun.

Because Ling Yi would happily explain it to herself. Luckily, Yekase hadn’t blurted her sister’s age; even Ling Yi’s special talent might have struggled to patch that hole.

“It’s late.” The words settled like dew.

“Mm.” Agreement hummed like a soft chord.

“Doc, come crash at my place tonight.” The invite opened like a door on warm light.

“Uh?” Surprise blinked like a firefly.

“It’s just… even if I only drove him off, it was still equal strength, real steel-on-steel.” Her voice dipped, red rising on her cheeks like a sunset. “Tonight I might…”

“Not sleep?” Yekase’s guess flowed like tea.

“…Yeah.” Ling Yi’s face flushed deeper, a ripe apple under moonlight. Yekase had never seen that expression on Ling Yi; instinctively, she reached out and set a hand on Ling Yi’s head, rubbing gently like smoothing a restless foal.

“Doc…?” The whisper fluttered like silk.

“Then let’s go,” Yekase said, smile curving like a crescent. “If you really can’t sleep, I’ll tell you all about how your girl Yekase built the Flashblade System solo—pure gold, no filler.”

“Awesome!” Ling Yi’s cheer leaped like a spark into the night.