Dragon God Pioneer dropped to its knees, arms spread wide like a supplicant beneath storm clouds.

Whatever had coiled around it was about to swallow the whole frame; even the tiny corner lights flickered like dying fireflies.

“Separate!”

At Dragon God Eagle’s shout, the twin arms piloted by Dragon God Tiger popped free from the core with a sharp ka‑chak, jets snarling as they clawed for vine‑free sky.

“Unleash the single‑target finisher!”

“Don’t need your coaching!”

What the heck—why’s their team chat on public speakers? Annoying, but Ling Yi could finally hear how they call plays mid‑fight.

“Claws of the Dragon God, Overclock Burst—‘Tiger‑Claw Cyclone’!”

Exasperation hit first, then the thought: So is it dragon claws or tiger claws?

Your species settings are so weird.

The two claws—dragon or tiger, who cares—spun like twin halos in the wind, whipping up oversized tornadoes that sliced the vines into a blizzard of confetti.

The unknown thing, ravaged, thrashed like a netted beast; the Dragon Rangers seized the opening and fired the cannon mounted beneath the Dragon God core—right at the robot’s “navel”—blasting the enemy skyward.

So… maybe don’t combine next time. Just lead with the slicer.

“Finish it in one push!”

“Tail of the Dragon God, Overclock Burst—‘Deep Sea Impact’!”

The robot pivoted; its massive steel tail lashed upward like a breaker, catching the falling unknown and ripping its path.

Clang!

The strike rang out, and the unknown object tumbled back into the glare like debris in a gale.

“Leave the last hit to me! Head of the Dragon God, Overclock Burst—!!”

Dragon God Eagle’s voice boomed a notch louder than the others; Yekase suspected he’d juiced his mic. Ling Yi, though, watched with unabashed glee, eyes bright as lanterns at dusk.

“Tzolkin Ray!!”

A scarlet beam, almost unreal, knifed through the sky without a sound.

Clouds parted cleanly in two, the cut stretching into a cobalt distance beyond sight like a scar across heaven.

“Oh… my god…”

“This is the power of active heroes. If you faced that monster, how likely not to get your limbs bound by vines and lose mobility?”

“I—I’d just pop Blazing Rekindle and burn the vines off!” Ling Yi’s voice came out stiff as armor before a charge.

“You know the answer in your heart.”

“Mm…”

Yekase stood, dusted himself off like sand off a shoreline, and headed for the small observatory. Ling Yi hurried after, breath catching like a kite tugging its string.

“…Ah, they flew off. Such a strong squad—how come I’ve never seen them before?”

You’ve never left Twin Towers City, of course you haven’t.

The Beast King Squadron’s Dragon Rangers were based in another city, dozens of kilometers away; they arrived fast because their ship was a monster in its own right. As for how Yekase reached them—that’s a trade secret.

“If Flashblade Red had appeared, what do you think would’ve happened?”

“…He’d take down the enemy in style?”

“From minute one, the range a single suit can reach draws a clean circle in the map.”

“In most cases they act before anyone gets hurt, which could nail your true identity to the school like a butterfly in a case.”

Yekase tapped a finger to Ling Yi’s chest and traced a slow circle, ripples under a pond’s surface. With the other hand he fished out the iced tea can and found his pocket soaked like grass after rain.

“And school is special; who showed up inside, a few keystrokes reveals it. If that happens, even if I don’t revoke your key, you won’t get to use it.”

He popped the can and took a sip—time hadn’t passed long; a thread of cool still clung like shade under trees.

“Besides, you’re not going to wait for someone to get hurt.”

“That’s true… but if the Beast King Squadron hadn’t made it in time, I’d go out even if the Doctor chewed me out!”

“Sure, sure.”

Honestly, Ling Yi sitting and watching had already surprised Yekase; looks like the bruiser had an obedient side, like a tiger cub curled by the hearth.

“Then our hero should head back to class. I’m going up for a nap; what time do you pick me up at the observatory?”

“Four o’clock on the dot.”

Yekase waved, squeezed behind the bookshelf, and burrowed in—breathing like an old man climbing a hill. Ling Yi watched the secret passage slide shut and smooth over like calm water, then headed downstairs to Class 2–10.

The evacuees hadn’t all returned; only a dozen scattered heads sat like pebbles in a creek. Ling Yi scanned the room—no sign of Pu Lu.

Snuck off to play? Whatever.

Thankfully, the homeroom teacher hadn’t fled. He counted heads at the podium, voice a bit tight, then said, “Let’s resume the return‑day flow. If someone’s missing, pass it on later. Term starts September first…”

It felt like the world she knew again, like slipping back into worn shoes.

For no clear reason, a small sigh welled up in Ling Yi’s chest.

Before, when trouble hit, she could only run. Now she had an entry option, and the watching angle had changed—

She suddenly noticed: everyone’s used to monsters “escaping from some organization,” like storm warnings in summer, yet somehow none of her acquaintances had died. Folks were good at staying alive—no small feat.

She propped her cheek on one hand and gazed at the half‑ruined field like a battlefield after rain.

At this rate, fifteen days won’t restore it. Our chronically ill P.E. teacher’s woes grow, and the staff will legally morph P.E. into whatever other classes, like clouds drifting into new shapes.

Maybe the pit holds a leftover seed from that unknown. Like a sequel’s Easter egg buried in dirt… I’ll check with the Doctor after school.

A robot drifted down and settled on the field like a hawk landing.

…

……

Hm?

“—Why are we getting another one?!”

“Ling Yi, why are you suddenly shouting…”

The homeroom teacher spoke half a sentence, then followed her gaze to the window like a compass needle swinging.

“Eh?”

The machine’s armor was purple dusk streaked with dark‑pink striping; its shoulders bulged irregularly, almost as big as the torso, studded with heatsink slats and gunports like scales. Its hands were sharpened iron claws, and its feet twisted into upturned tips like medieval boots.

Everything about it screamed a machine no “good guy” would drive.

The class rippled into chatter like wind through reeds: “What the heck is that?” “Should we just run?” “Whoa, a Diamond‑something soldier!” “Even school isn’t safe—what’s wrong with society…”

Ling Yi’s fist tightened around the key. An hour earlier, she’d have bolted out to transform like lightning. Yekase’s words held her still, cool as shade.

Other classes noticed the newcomer replacing the last unknown on the field, and the building stirred again like a stirred hive.

The purple machine’s mic gave a hum, like a wire touching water—

“Monster?”

An electronic voice, tuned clean but still confused, carried across the field: “I’m Puras, pilot of Mobile Warrior ZX. I heard a monster attacked here…”

Oh hell, he’s here to help.

Whoever fed him the tip is way off…

He searched, found nothing, and left awkwardly, like a ship turning out of a fog bank.

Students, having watched a whole performance‑art “visit,” sank into a long silence that felt like a held breath.

“…Uh, let’s continue.”

The homeroom teacher’s composure frayed like paper, but he forced the topic back.

“About summer homework progress—no checks today, but please make a plan. Don’t let it disappear, get soaked, or look like the dog ate it.”

A smatter of chuckles rippled like small waves.

“And plagiarism. Remember the winter break test‑booklet copyfest? We had six class committee members; three were replaced. Seven group leaders; two were replaced.”

“The rest of you—though we didn’t catch you—did you really do your sheets yourselves?”

Ling Yi frowned, a crease like a drawn bowstring. She remembered: the teacher suddenly checked the never‑checked winter homework and found over ten people copying each other, even duplicating the same sloppy scrawl that mixed up 2 and Z. They were hauled in to rewrite.

She had tried to copy Pu Lu’s answers, only to find that woman behind her pace. She bit down and finished her own, then lent it out—dodging the arrow.

“But I get wanting to relax before the junior‑exam sprint. So this summer’s final check won’t carry penalties.”

“Do it well, though, and you unlock achievements and rewards. Next term, when we reseat the room, you get first pick.”

Heads lifted across the room like sunflowers turning.

In that instant, Ling Yi thought of something bright.

She could ask the Doctor to do her homework.

With his brain, the sciences were a breeze, barely a splash on stone. And zero risk of getting caught.

Then she could use the saved time to play gam—patrol the streets and uphold justice. A perfect win‑win, like two cranes rising together.

A few runners who remembered to come back slipped in through the rear door and took their seats like cats returning. Pu Lu was among them.

“What did the teacher say? He didn’t call us out, right?” she whispered as she sat beside Ling Yi, voice soft as thread.

“No,” Ling Yi whispered back. “Where’d you go? I hadn’t seen you since the vine monster hit the ground.”

In Ling Yi’s mind, Pu Lu was the jealous type—people who tried to befriend Ling Yi often fled the pressure Pu Lu gave off—but in a teacher’s line of sight, she was always a good kid.

Bolting out to play mid‑chaos was too risky. Pu Lu would never.

“Mm… I went to buy drinks with that woman, remember? She suddenly ran off, so I came back to class first. Then I heard you on the broadcast telling everyone to evacuate, so I hid on the gym’s second floor.”

“Gym’s second floor… fine.”

The ping‑pong room up there had been their rally point before the observatory map unlocked. Since she put it that way, Ling Yi chose to believe her, like accepting a leaf carried by the stream.

“After school, let’s help the Doctor buy clothes.”

“No way!”