After dropping Ling Yi off, Yekase didn’t go home like she’d said. She slipped into the black market, the alleys coiling like a snake’s nest.

3333 showed up steady as a lighthouse, so punctual she half-suspected he lived down here. No coy games; she told him she needed a favor.

He didn’t stall either. He agreed, clean and sharp.

He said once he’d gotten an inventory bar, the whole grind got streamlined. Find target, solve problem, vanish—three clean steps, like footprints in wet sand. Even the group’s profits shot up; they were eyeing expansion. All thanks to Yekase. He couldn’t refuse this ask.

“My friend’s small outfit got war-declared. Battle’s in two days. I want you to shore up our firepower.” Yekase leaned on a cold wall in the maze-market, eyes on the crooked lanes.

“Which outfit?” 3333 mirrored her posture, arms folded, voice low behind the mask.

“Unrecognized Consortium X.”

“The one whose head of development died recently?”

“Uh… that’s them.”

Head of development. Fresh term. It hit the ear like a new coin.

“Is the declaring side called Triple Calamity?”

“You know them?”

“Of course I do.”

…?

Wait.

3333 chuckled, a dry hum from behind porcelain.

“Guess why I picked this number.”

Holy crap. Small world, or a noose.

Yekase went numb for a beat, then felt a spark of relief. Good thing she’d only said “shore up firepower,” and never mentioned backdooring their base. Maybe this could still be saved—

“Even though I said yes,”

He rubbed his chin beneath the mask.

“Betrayal, huh…”

“Uh… with odds this weird, we can drop it…”

“Gonna cost extra.”

“…”

“I’ve fought on gear alone this long. I can go without a boss. I can’t go without you.”

“Not all your gear comes from me.”

“Such possessiveness…”

“Is that what this is about?!”

Yekase covered her mask and let out a long sigh, breath fogging like a winter pane.

He called it betrayal and didn’t even blink. She didn’t understand him anymore. Maybe she never had.

“Hey, it’s an annexation war. Even if Triple Calamity loses and gets swallowed by Consortium X, your coworkers stay your coworkers. Feels the same in the end.”

“You plan to face them after turning turncoat?!”

“Turncoat? Don’t follow. I’m the outside help Consortium X hired, the mysterious 3333.”

“That…”

The identity switch was whiplash-fast.

So this was a merc, all right. Reliable in the way quicksand is reliable.

“Not a place for details. Let’s meet tomorrow, in the open.”

Hearing “meet” made her stiffen. “Uh, you know Consortium X’s address. Just show up and help in two days. What’s there to discuss…”

“You want me to defect on the field. That’s no small favor.”

“Ugh…”

“We’ve been friends this long. What’s a face-to-face? Who knows—you might find out you’re the one who profits.”

“I profit? From what?”

“Mm-hmm, who knows…”

3333 reached to clap her shoulder. She slipped aside like a fish.

“Deal then. Tomorrow at ten a.m. Panlong Lifestyle Plaza, first-floor atrium. I’ll wear a red top.”

“Do you instant-buddy types all love red that much?”

“Fine, white.”

“Works…”

…

That was that.

Given how blunt she’d always been, the way she moved and spoke, 3333 had to think she was male—she had been, once. You couldn’t just show up and say you transitioned. Who knew how hard that would hit him.

Meanwhile, she tried to picture 3333. A senior enforcer of some org—now she knew it was Triple Calamity—maybe one of the “Suishen.” He fought with tools and traps, a boisterous shell hiding a fox’s tight coils. Still, he kept to a code.

And beyond that?

Thanks to black market rules, they were friends who knew nothing about each other, fog on opposite banks.

In the morning, a feeling—half tide, half wind—pushed her to pull out the beige cinched dress Ling Yi had bought days ago. She wrestled into it, hands a little clumsy.

Makeup, hair… forget it. Natural’s a mountain stream, clean and fine.

She set a straw hat from a countryside vacation on her head.

Mirror check.

“Damn, that’s way too intellectual.”

She couldn’t help clapping for herself, palms like quick rain. Full marks. Letting herself go was easy, but dressing up had its own bright reward.

She needed something to prove who she was… A small gadget she’d made this week would do as a gift. With their rapport, he’d clock it as 3614’s handiwork at a glance.

N-405, the Chat Wheel. It looked like a button. Charge it, pin it, and you can thumb a virtual wheel to fire off pre-set voice lines anytime, anywhere. Up to eight at once.

She even preloaded four lines for him.

First: [Screw it—I’ve held it in long enough.]

Second: [Ez game.]

Third: [Mad or nah?]

Fourth: [You’re this bad—won’t your boss be mad, bro?]

…That was the vibe.

No cooldown, one finger-drag. You could spam while fighting, sandpaper on the opponent’s nerves. Classic mind games.

“Whew… let’s go.”

Truth was, she wanted to see 3333’s real face, to drop the masks and be real friends. Even if he was a muscle-brick, or a sleazy, squinty-eyed creep…

As long as it didn’t spiral into unhealthy plotlines, she could live with it. Probably.

With a tangle of thoughts, she rode her e-scooter to Panlong Lifestyle Center, the building glassy as a still lake.

First-floor atrium. A few steps past the doors.

She buried the nerves of a blind date under a blank surface, eyes sweeping the crowd like a fan. She hunted for a white top that could be him.

After a while, two candidates.

First: a slim woman in a classic white blouse with a pleated skirt. Twenty-something. Brown waves brushed her cheek. She leaned on a pillar, absorbed in her phone.

Second: a sturdy man in a white T and brown trousers. A Korean 7–3 cut softened him. He was on his phone too.

Their bodies said the same thing: waiting.

Yekase ran a quick calculus. Last night he’d said red first. She’d shot it down; he switched to white. That implies he can swap those tops at will; a white T fits. He’d planned red, now it’s white. Checks out.

A red blouse with a pleated skirt? No one pairs that.

She walked up to the man and opened, easy as a door sliding: “You’re early. Been waiting long?”

“Not long. I just arrived.” He pocketed his phone and smiled. “Didn’t expect Miss Scythemaster to be this cute.”

Scythemaster?

Said out loud, it did sound a lot like “3614.”

He went on, words like hooks. “Shall we get to the point?”

“Sure. The Consortium’s base is—”

“Consortium? What consortium?”

“Huh?”

“Didn’t we set this up online to…” He set a hand on her shoulder. “Not much up top, but your face is neat. No need to play coy now.”

“Eh?”

Given their history, an arm around the shoulders wouldn’t be weird… and yet something stank, like fish in the sun.

“Sir—you’ve got the wrong person.”

Another voice, clean as a bell.

She turned. The white-blouse woman.

“Wrong person?”

“Wrong person?” Yekase froze too.

“Let’s go.” The woman smacked the man’s hand off Yekase, crisp as a slap-shot, and tugged her away at a brisk clip.

“Hold up, and you are?”

“Who am I? Use that genius-inventor brain of yours and think who I could be.”

“Uh…”

No way.

“Three—”

“Shen Shanshan.”

Even the name was triple-three.

Shen Shanshan steered Yekase into a family restaurant, slid her into a seat, then sat across.

“…”

“…”

Nothing to say, the air a held breath.

Yekase scratched her chin and looked aside.

Shen Shanshan curled into the booth, arms folded.

“I’ll—”

“Um—”

“You first.”

She’d been given the first move.

Yekase fished out the little button and a card, set them on the table, and slid them over. “A meet-and-greet gift. N-405, the Chat Wheel. And my card.”

“‘Yekase.’ What a half-assed fake name. Arms of the Twin Kings, prop shop… Tianxin District, XX Road, number XX. Isn’t that the old town? You live in a place like that?”

“Hidden in plain sight.”

Shen Shanshan thumbed the wheel.

[Screw it—I’ve held it in long enough.]

“Fitting.”

Half joking, Shen said, “Wanna move in with me? My place is pretty big.”

“I’ll pass on being the bastard for now. So, what were you going to say?”

Across the table, she tucked a strand of hair back, leaned in, elbows to wood. “You are pretty cute. Small chest, though.”

Yekase kicked her under the table. “You too, huh! So that ‘you’ll profit’ thing from last night—what was that?”

“I was gonna say, if you were a thirty-year-old STEM virgin, I’d comp you one round. Something like that.”

“Kind of don’t need that…”

Thirty-year-old STEM virgin.

It stung. Just a little.

“Didn’t expect a young girl.” Shen stretched, then flipped the menu like turning leaves. “Genius inventor prettygirl. Not bad.”

“Mhm…” The server set down tea. Yekase cupped the warm porcelain, took a sip, heat curling into her chest.

“But it’s fine. I’m bi.”

“Pfft!”

“Wanna do it?”

“Sis Shen, Auntie Shen—I’m only seventeen.”

Shen didn’t budge. “How long you been in this line? How long have we known each other?”

“…Six years.”

“Black market at eleven, huh.”

“Six years ago I was seventeen too, y’know.”

“One classic ochazuke. One wasabi octopus. What are you having?”

“…Cream soup and toasted crusts.”