Ling Yi was nudged awake, like a leaf stirred by a soft breeze.

She blinked. The hatch stood open again, and a woman in a plastic Ultraman mask hovered between seats, leaning in like a shadow at dawn.

“Eh?”

“At least throw on a disguise. Otherwise it looks like I don’t take my own proposal seriously.”

The mask spoke with Professor F’s voice, calm as a still pond.

Can a five-buck plastic mask count as “serious”? The thought popped like a soap bubble.

“Where’s the doctor?”

“She already took the luggage to the room,” came the reply, light as rain on stone.

Ling Yi reached beside the seat. The bag was gone. Her snack-stuffed pack weighed like a brick; she winced, guilty as a cat caught raiding the pantry.

She hurried off the ship, feet tapping like quick sparrows.

The scene wasn’t the drill base she’d imagined. A dozen houses climbed the slope in artful scatter, stitched with flowers and trees like embroidery. Far off, a flat training ground lay calm as a lake. The air carried a humid breath, sea-mist curling behind the ship. Down below, a crescent beach glimmered like a silver cuticle.

It felt like a resort, a place that invited you to exhale—except it was empty, quiet as a temple at noon.

“You and Dr. Yekase are in 103.”

“Thanks!”

Ling Yi weaved through the villas like a rabbit on stone paths, found the plate marked 103, and slipped inside through the ajar door.

Two bags sat on the sofa like parked turtles. No doctor in sight, just stillness.

Maybe she’d slept too long? The thought pricked like a nettle.

She glanced at the clock.

12:56.

“Uh!”

She’d slept straight into noon. The doctor had probably dropped the bags, saw the sun high, and went to scout the cafeteria alone—so very like her, a breeze that doesn’t double back.

Did Professor F sit across from her and watch her nap for hours? The idea felt absurd and warm, like sunlight on a closed eye.

“Ugh… I’ve given my new hero senior a ‘sleepyhead’ first impression.”

“It’s fine. Don’t fuss about etiquette,” came the reply, easy as tea steam. “Most rangers are problem children. Relax.”

Professor F glided to the doorway on a hovering mechanical disc, newspaper stack in hand like an old grandpa out for a stroll.

It was polite talk, but it settled her heart like sand in a jar. Ling Yi followed beside Professor F, feet pattering on the stone, deeper into camp.

“What are the seniors like?”

Professor F didn’t answer head-on. She smiled and lobbed the question back like a kite string. “What do you think I’m like?”

“You? Gentle and steady,” she said, the words careful as folded paper.

“Drop the honorifics. And I’ll take the compliment.”

Her gaze felt like it could pierce a one-way visor, watching Ling Yi’s face through glass.

Then she reached out and tapped Ling Yi’s helmet, a light touch like tapping a drum.

“You’ve got your own view.”

“It’s just first impressions…”

“You’re still in high school, right? It might be early to say this.” Her voice fell like a bell. “This land is fouled to the roots. Under open sky, wraiths roam. Facing that nauseating evil, we need our own spine of judgment, and we have to hold it—whether as heroes or as people.”

She’d said it anyway. It landed like rain on tilled earth.

It felt like parents explaining life with a warm sternness, ending with, “You won’t get it yet,” and she both didn’t and somehow did. Ling Yi listened, as if the words could soak in.

“So, what the seniors are like—confirm it with your own eyes.”

“I understand.”

In her head, she tacked on two more tags for Professor F: eloquent, and righteous. They glowed like small lanterns.

Next stop, the cafeteria—time to meet the Beast King Squadron.

…

…

They didn’t.

The whole hall held only Yekase, sitting bold and at ease at a corner table, three or four lunch boxes arrayed like chess, and a classic passionfruit tea beading with sweat.

She looked natural, like she’d just ordered takeout at home.

“You’re here! I woke late and skipped breakfast, so I rushed over to hunt food. Sorry.”

Professor F shook her head, a willow’s sway. “We didn’t give you a map, and you found the cafeteria by yourself. Strong life skills.”

Life skills… that doctor being praised for life skills…

Ling Yi’s worldview wobbled like a lantern in wind.

Wait—maybe I’m the one mistaken. She escaped the Sinister Organization; that demands EQ, IQ, and a fox’s adaptability. No way she’s helpless at daily life—her usual laziness is just pure slack.

No, slack isn’t acceptable. The resolve tightened like a knot.

“I’ll—”

“You’ll take yours back to the room.”

“Huh??”

“Someone’s wearing a mask and can’t eat. I won’t say who.” Yekase popped a shrimp ball into her mouth, cheerful as a sparrow, then lifted the passionfruit tea in a teasing toast toward Ling Yi.

“Can’t you retract half the visor?”

“Half? I didn’t design any joints. Not even a seam. Give up,” she said, crisp as a chisel.

“Feels like the Sky Striker’s design language is closer to our squad than to armored Kamen Riders. I don’t see any prop-switch gimmicks.”

“Because the miniature Sky Striker used for transformation has separate forms. Switching means re-transforming,” Yekase replied, the explanation clean as a schematic.

“Right… and it makes adding partners easy.”

They drifted into mecha talk, gears turning anywhere and everywhere. Ling Yi stood there, staring at the food like a distant moon—visible, untouchable. Her heart rippled hard, a pond under thrown stones.

The ripples crested—and then—

“Ah.”

A scarlet ripple swept across her visor, quick as a dragon’s tongue. The one-piece tempered glass’s lower half faded in silence, like acid erasing frost.

Her mouth was simply there, bare as dawn.

“Ooh! You should’ve told me you had that feature!” She brightened, sparks flying. “I get it—the doctor wanted me to discover it myself, to train my control over the Flashblade System.”

“Uh… yeah, you found me out,” Yekase said after a blink, agreeing like a tossed coin landing heads.

The visor had no moving parts; that was true. Engineers sacrifice convenience to cut failure points; that’s craft, steel-hard.

But what just happened?

That red ripple—was it Flash Energy? The Sky Striker ignored Yekase’s commands like a mule, yet Ling Yi woke it without prep, like calling a hawk. She pulled power in ways not designed, conjured a joint from nothing. She bent what was rigid.

The will to evolve.

In her hands, the Flashblade System might grow into something even Yekase, its creator, couldn’t imagine—a tree sprouting new branches in midwinter.

Interesting. Very interesting.

“Doctor, your smile is gross.”

“Huh, is it?”

“She’s happy for you,” Professor F chimed in, warm as coals.

Ling Yi sat down, happy as a drumbeat, and raised the chopsticks like a poster of Khrushchev clutching corn. “Now I can eat with everyone! So, where are the squad seniors?”

“They arrived last night,” Yekase said, casual as a breeze. “They probably haven’t noticed we’re here yet.”

Yekase caught herself on the numbers. “Only two are joining?”

“Right. Home base still needs patrol. We called in Eagle and Shark.”

The cafeteria door banged open, sharp as a cymbal.

Speak of the devil. The Dragon God Shark walked in, clad in blue, his visor lined with shark teeth like a tide of white.

“Professor, good noon.”

“Shasha, you’re here.” Professor F’s tone softened like linen. “These two are Flashblade Red and the Doctor.”

“Hello.” The Dragon God Shark nodded, brief as a blade, then headed straight into the kitchen to fetch lunch.

“He’s very serious,” Ling Yi whispered at Yekase’s ear, voice like a pebble.

“Mm.” Yekase’s expression went sly, a cat seeing something funny.

After a moment, the Dragon God Shark came out hugging a big plastic bin, broad as a crate.

“What is that…” Now Yekase froze, surprise hanging like an exclamation.

“Shasha is still growing. He eats more,” Professor F said, amused as a brook.

Yekase watched the bin recede and just couldn’t accept it, like a balloon refusing to deflate. “Isn’t that… too much?”

“Eh? I think it’s fine,” Ling Yi said, unbothered as clouds. “Yaya and I, at an all-you-can-eat, can match that. We just eat less to save money day-to-day.”

“A sudden foodie attribute!”

“You can’t just learn me. You should learn about me too.”

“Yes…” She’d been schooled; Yekase lowered her head, chastened like a pupil.

“So that’s your relationship,” Professor F mused, eyes soft as tea.

“What relationship?”

“As hero and doctor. Mutual trust,” Yekase answered, quick as a spark.

Ling Yi nodded with her mouth full, the agreement round as a dumpling.

Professor F nodded, approval bright as a lantern. “I’m liking you two more and more. With you here, Twin Towers City will climb off the crime-rate charts and get better…”

“If we can’t beat the Heavenly Prison King, it’ll only get so much better,” Yekase cut in, cool as rain.

“Doctor, pouring cold water again…”

“To beat her, we should use this special training well,” Yekase said, voice like steel wire. “No cost worries here. Eat well, train hard. I’m looking forward to your growth.”

“Okay!”

Ling Yi answered with fire, a banner snapping. She was being led by the nose—but if it was toward good, why fight the bridle?

She sprinted into the kitchen, footsteps bright as beads. Ten minutes later, she came out hugging a bin as big as the Dragon God Shark’s, grin wide as sunrise.

“Damn, you’re doing it for real…”

“A streamer only plays it real.”

She dropped the bin onto the table with a thud, like a drum. Popped the lid. Laid out boxes like a painter laying pigments.

Stir-fried lettuce, braised pork, shrimp balls, meicai kou rou, egg pancake, roast duck, lettuce-stem salad, green peppercorn chicken, corn fritters, pork kidney soup, shredded pork with green pepper, pan-fried meat patty…

“If you leave leftovers, you’ll write me a reflection,” Yekase warned, stern as a yardstick.

“&$#×@!”

“Didn’t catch that!”

“#*&××@#%.”

Yekase covered her face. “Okay, okay, stop. Just eat. Professor, show me the rest of the camp.”

“I prepared another hover-disc. Come.”

They left Ling Yi alone to face a rainbow of dishes, bright as a festival.

And then, barely ten minutes later, Ling Yi finished everything and chased after them, light as a swallow in spring.