After seeing Jiang Bailu off, Yekase felt the leash cinch like a tightened collar, pressure slamming down like a stone slab, and a hot itch to craft a new gadget for Ling Yi flared.

Doot-doot-doot!

"...Hello?"

"Doctor, Doctor! Disaster!"

That opener rang like a twice-told joke, fluttering in like a fly against a window.

Yekase snapped up like a carp breaching, yet only went from lying to sitting, and blurted, "Villains on the street again, attacking people?"

"No! I forgot my lunch!"

...That’s it?

Yekase let herself fall back like a dropped pillow, air puffing out like steam, and muttered, "That’s it? Grab some bread and coast."

"What do you mean, that’s it?! If Mom sees I forgot lunch again, she’ll explode like summer thunder!"

"So you’re a repeat offender, huh?"

"Please, Doctor, I’m begging you! Bring it for me! It’s 11th Grade, Class 10. Tell the guard you’re delivering lunch. He knows my lunchbox like his own kettle!"

"Even the guard knows you? That’s a superstar offender."

"I’m not that famous! Okay, bye, I’ll wait for you like a cat at the door!"

Proud, aren’t you. The Doctor isn’t your idiot nanny software, even if the tone purrs like a spoiled pet.

She cursed under her breath like wind through dry reeds and headed downstairs, feet tapping the steps like rain.

Third time at the Ling family’s door in two days, she peeked through a window like a cautious sparrow, saw no one, and let a sigh drift like cool tea steam.

After the Night King’s fall, Ling Yi’s father must’ve found new work; with that, no interrogation about why she ran errands like a courier in the sun.

"—Wait, then how do I get in and grab the lunchbox?"

Thunk-thunk!

Yekase’s mind sprinted like a hare over frost.

Did she really have to use that trick?

The ultimate escape tool she hadn’t needed, even when Jiang Bailu caught her red-handed last night, a secret device that demanded a week of charging for one use.

She pulled a heart-guard pocketwatch from the chest pocket, gleaming like a moon coin.

"B-007, Phase Shifter."

For 3.25 seconds, her existence drops to zero like a dissolving mist; she can pass through attacks and walls like a ghost, yet touch nothing like a shadow on water.

For Yekase, whose grip is as weak as a paper crane, that downside is a breeze that never reaches the leaves.

But 3.25 seconds is too short to cross the whole yard; she needed a setup, like stepping stones in a stream.

She checked left and right like a wary fox, saw no one, jumped in place, and grabbed the top of the iron gate like a cliff ledge.

"Hmm?"

The bars were slick like rain-polished bamboo; her legs scrabbled midair like beetle legs on glass, and she hung there like a dried salted fish in autumn wind.

"Uh..."

Not a great combo, like oil on wet rope.

She remembered high school, when she was the only one who could do twelve pull-ups, light as a willow leaf, and she had shown off before hundreds, soaking in full marks and gasps like lantern light.

She hadn’t thought she’d sag to this, like a banner in still air.

While she sifted those days like old photos, her hands burned sour, tremoring like overused strings; to slim the frame, had all her muscles been trimmed like bonsai?

Don’t be so artisanal here, old man, she groused, words dry as dust.

Before she slipped, she let go and dropped like a pebble into a shallow pond.

"What now, what now..." Her voice drifted like a lost kite.

Caught by something this basic, she saw her flaw glint like a hairline crack: she chased sudden inspiration like meteors, and ignored everyday functions like keys for a locked door.

No, in a normal apartment she’d pop the Phase Shifter and glide in like mist; this was a freestanding house with a garden, a little island of walls and hedges.

Complaints are wind; the problem needs hands, she told herself, heartbeat steady like a drum.

Doot-doot-doot!

"Doctor, the keys are in the flowerpot behind the fourth pillar to the left of the gate, like seeds tucked under soil. Both the fence and door keys!"

"...So you knew I couldn’t get in."

She hung up, found the two keys looped together like twin fish, and felt relief settle like shade.

She weighed them in her palm like coins; her IQ felt mocked like a kite tugged by a child. Sunk cost gnawed like mice.

She opened the gate, slipped in like a breeze, found the lunchbox on the table like a waiting loaf, left, locked up, and hid the keys back like a squirrel burying nuts.

Time to deliver the box like a warm parcel.

It was past eleven; morning classes would end soon, like a bell rolling downhill. Yekase hopped onto a public bike and followed her phone’s route like a river line to Heavenly Heart High School.

The school sat amid housing blocks like a garden among stones; on the map it looked twice the size of her old shabby high school, a giant shadow over a small pond.

She peered in from the gate like a curious cat, drawing the guard’s eye like a lantern.

"What’s up?" The guard’s voice rolled like gravel.

"Oh, I’m delivering a lunchbox to 11th Grade, Class 10... If it’s a hassle, I’ll call her down," she said, keeping her tone smooth like water.

"Ling Yi, right?" The uncle’s smile curved like a crescent moon. "That kid forgets lunch every other day like the tide. Go on."

Thank goodness, the dreaded "Why aren’t you in school?" never came, the worry dissolving like salt in tea. Yekase slipped through the cracked gate like a thread and jogged toward the teaching building, feet light like sparrow hops.

"Class 10, Class 10..." Her whisper trailed like chalk dust.

The corridor was empty, quiet as a pond; class hadn’t ended. Yekase searched door by door like turning pages, and found 11th Grade, Class 10.

She looked in through the rear window like a lookout; the last rows held three or four students, phones and books tucked like birds under wings. A teacher’s-eye view, all moves clear as ripples.

She swept her gaze forward, and there was the familiar back like a known tree. Ling Yi was...

...asleep.

Damn. The word dropped like a stone.

Second row, and she sleeps like a cat under sun.

The teacher paced by her like a cloud and didn’t care, a breeze over wheat.

Privilege, huh? That’s what top-three looks like, a high branch in a quiet grove. Yekase decided to tease her later, and slid down the corridor wall like a leaf.

"This student, what’s wrong?" A voice turned the corner like a shadow.

"Uh!" Her heart hopped like a startled frog.

Only minutes left, and still she got caught, luck flicking like a thin flame. She thanked the sky she hadn’t pulled her phone, gratitude cooling like rain.

She put on half-true embarrassment like a mask, hid her face like a moon behind clouds, and spun a story:

"My uniform got torn last night by a thug passing by, like cloth snagged on thorns. The teacher wouldn’t let me in, and I was about to—"

She rolled the dice like bones. Twin Towers City ran high crime like a fever; student uniforms often got ripped like paper, and many schools sold new ones like fruit at a stall.

This birthed suspicious school-issue JK uniforms online like mushrooms after rain, yet right now it covered her missing uniform and hallway spot like snow.

"I see. Go quickly," the teacher said, calm as a lake.

Perfect. A teacher unfamiliar with Class 10, suspicion drifting off like smoke.

"Um, it’s my first time. Where is it?" she asked, voice small as a reed.

"Beside the infirmary on the first floor."

"Thank you, Teacher!" She bowed like a sapling and hurried off like wind.

She reached the logistics office; the staff took one look at her own clothes like a flag and knew. Without a word, they tossed an S-size uniform onto the counter like a folded sail.

A finger tapped the tag like a woodpecker.

300 yuan.

She’d have Ling Yi reimburse, a promise perched like a bird on a branch.

She took the uniform and slipped into a restroom stall like a hermit crab.

That morning she’d checked: the girls’ uniform at Heavenly Heart High was a blazer set, navy with white trim like frost on night water, a white shirt with ribbon, and a plaid pleated skirt like tartan fields. There was a sleeveless sweater and knee-high socks like twin rivers.

In this heat, the shirt was enough like shade; the jacket went back in the bag like a stored cloak. Yekase changed in a rush, motions crisp like scissors, and waited in the stall for the bell like a hunter by reeds.

Back at Class 10’s door, Ling Yi was there, eyes scanning like swallows.

She spotted Yekase, and her gaze lit like lanterns. "Doctor! Why are you wearing our uniform..."

"It just flowed that way like water finds a channel... Here, your lunch."

"Thanks! Let’s eat at the secret base," Ling Yi said, voice bright as morning.

"Secret base?"

Ling Yi raised a finger to her lips like a silver fish.

"Follow me and you’ll see," she whispered, leading Yekase toward the tech building like a guide through reeds.

Yekase trailed her, eyes sweeping through corridor windows like kites, catching clusters of students like flocks, and couldn’t hold the question:

"Hey, I didn’t process it this morning, but..." Her doubt pooled like rain.

"Mm?" Ling Yi’s answer was a small ripple.

"Isn’t it summer break? Why is everyone in class like it’s normal?" The scene felt odd like snow in May.

"Do 11th and 12th graders get summer break?" Ling Yi’s smile tilted like a leaf.

"Sounds... not wrong," Yekase admitted, words thin as mist.

"Just kidding. We’re not in class. Today’s August 16, the second return day of summer," Ling Yi said, casual as shade.

Oh.

Yekase’s eyes went dead-fish, flat as still water.

She’d thought they had full-summer classes like her era, nostalgia curving in like smoke; turns out it’s watered down like tea, a sigh in her chest like wind.

"We’re here. Secret base."

Ling Yi stopped at the stair corner to the tech building roof, the space blank like a white card. Yekase looked around; only a bookshelf and plastic boards painted with sea creatures like drifting jellyfish.

"Where?" Her voice tapped the air like a pebble.

"Here." Ling Yi slid the shelf right like a door in a cave; the boards wedged between shelf and wall swung out like scales.

Behind them, a stair climbed up like a hidden spine.

"...Holy." The word came out like a whistle.

"This used to be a small observatory. Three years ago the school built a larger one on the main building, this one got sealed, and they hid the entrance with a shelf and boards," Ling Yi said, history falling like leaves.

"How did you find it?" Curiosity pricked like nettles.

"I came to see stars in seventh grade, like a moth to a lamp."

Ling Yi crouched and slipped into the hidden stair like a eel, only her head visible like a moon.

"Doctor, come in. I’ll close the door from inside," she said, voice soft as velvet.

"Okay." Yekase leaned in, breath steady like a tide.

The stairwell was narrow, only one adult wide, a stone throat in a hill; no wonder they built a new one, though why they made it this tight stayed a riddle like fog.

She squeezed in and they pressed together like books on a shelf. Yekase wrapped an arm around Ling Yi, turned like a wheel, and climbed to the tiny top landing.

Ling Yi caught a hook at the wall side of the shelf and dragged it back like a gate; she slid the boards into place like shutters.

"OK." The word clicked like a latch.

They traded a grin, bright as sparks.

"Everything here, I carried in," Ling Yi said, pride soft as wool.

Yekase looked around. The small observatory took eight or nine square meters, a round dome like a shallow bowl barely over two meters high, its telescope slit sealed like a scar.

Inside stood a folding lounger, a few stools, a small table, a plastic bin, and a fan, all simple as river stones.

No computer, no AC; it could rival Yekase’s rental like twin huts on a hill.

"Fancy setup," she said, smile curling like smoke.

"Hehe. I didn’t expect you today. Only one lounger, so I’ll take a stool like a stump. I’ll bring another later," Ling Yi said, easy as rain.

"You sit first. This afternoon you’ll return to class, and I’ll have plenty of seat like a chair in shade."

Ling Yi stopped being polite and sank into the recliner like slipping under cool shade. He flicked on the fan, its blades scattering heat like dragonflies over water, then set lunch on the table like placing an offering.

"Thank you, Doctor, for bestowing me food," he intoned, like a monk before steaming rice.

"Thank your mom," the Doctor said, as dry as a leaf in late autumn.

"Thank you, Doctor, for bestowing me strength," Ling Yi tried again, cradling the lunch like a warm ember.

"That one checks out. As for the other keys, I’ve contacted someone," the Doctor said, voice steady like a compass. "She’ll try to handle the hardware. It’s not a sure fix, but it’s a light on the horizon."

"Great! Transformation’s a core part of mecha play!" Ling Yi brightened like a flame catching. "The so‑called Beast of Possibility..."

"I know that one—the Core Gundam, Riku Mikami’s build," the Doctor replied, as if pointing to a star he half‑remembered.

"Uh," Ling Yi said, the sound a pebble skipping and sinking.

"Did I get that wrong?" the Doctor asked, a faint frown like a crease in still water.

"Switching through different color forms... that does sound closer," Ling Yi said, counting colors like leaves in wind, "but it’s not Riku Mikami!"

"Sorry—Riku Mikado," the Doctor corrected himself, grasping at a name like catching mist.

"That’s even further off!" Ling Yi groaned, the protest fluttering like a startled sparrow.