September 1st.

First day of school.

A date that should’ve had nothing to do with Yekase, like a blank square on a calendar.

“Ha...”

Yet she wore a school uniform like borrowed skin, a single-strap bag fished from a cabinet’s bottom, standing on the road to Heavenly Heart High School.

In the end, she’d still come to this step, like a leaf pushed downstream by quiet current.

Twenty-seven-year-old genius inventor, a storm-front name in Flash Energy, a mech designer, a master weapons smith, a pillar in a year of war.

“Dr Ika,” “Mechbreaker,” “Yekase”—now heading to high school, like a comet suddenly dropped into homeroom.

She felt a prickle of defeat, like grit under the tongue; her little sister had finally played her, and the world felt skewed.

Students in matching uniforms flowed in clumps, like shoals of fish, chatting about summer, letting laughter flick like minnows.

No one noticed Yekase sighing beside them; on the narrow sidewalk, warmth and chill pooled like sun and shade.

Fine... to school, then, she thought, the words heavy as rainclouds.

Yekase stamped once and clenched her teeth, then burst into a run, feet drumming like quick rain.

Before, if she tried this pace, her lungs would turn to bellows and stall, wasting time with wheezing.

But after her walk across the Causal Horizon, everything felt rewritten, like a script with new margins.

Maybe what Ivaris called body remolding wasn’t just scar repair and “ordinary girl” settings; maybe it doubled her flagging endurance like a forged spring.

She felt bold enough to nail a one-kilometer run under five minutes, like slicing through wind on a clean edge.

Okay, five minutes isn’t exactly a banner headline, like fireworks on a weekday.

But could a plain kiss alone do this, like a spark that leaves no warmth behind?

She hadn’t felt any nourishing glow then, like a seed sleeping in winter soil.

Ivaris must’ve done something under the surface, like a craftsman hiding joints inside polished wood.

There was no other way to explain it, like a puzzle with only one fit.

She couldn’t ask now; the thought tangled sweet and awkward, like a drama CEO chasing his runaway bride.

She dumped that restless thrum into her stride, like thunder grounded into footfalls.

Hands clasped behind her back to press the bag tight, she sprinted in that useless posture, like a kite pulling against its string.

Not tired. Not tired at all, like a fresh wind filling a sail.

Yekase had once dreamed a simple dream—like a sunlit street without end.

In that dream, she never felt fatigue, she could run and play, from one street to the next like stepping stones.

Just that, just that—like a promise with no frills.

“Ha ha...”

Real laughter leaked from her mouth, bright as a bell in the morning air.

Not the old dry self-mockery, but something honest and light, like spring water.

“Hahahahaha!”

In that instant, rebirth flushed through her, like dawn crossing a ridge.

Inventor, craftsman, researcher—ten years to become this self, a road paved like steel, never regretted.

But beyond that—what could “seventeen-year-old Yekase” be, like a path branching under green leaves?

Most people just circle their first field, like planets stuck to their orbits.

Yekase saw endless possibilities, like constellations blinking awake.

Let that be the core and design Luciferin, like a heart beating under armor.

Let it echo Flash Energy’s nature, while drinking in other Infinite Power as its own, like rivers merging.

And as for specific weapons—do they really matter, like labels on a storm?

A truly mighty robot can shake the cosmos with a flying fist and an iron axe, like drums and thunder.

——From the outside, though, it was just a cute girl in the same uniform suddenly sprinting and laughing on the street, like a wind-up toy gone loose.

People glanced over with a wash of pity, like fog on glass, thinking something must be off upstairs.

Yekase took the sidewalk at fifty-meter-test pace, legs flicking like oars, and hit the gate in ten minutes.

“...Whew.”

Only then did familiar fatigue tap her ribs, like a cat pawing.

But the heavy panting ebbed fast the moment she stopped, like foam sinking back into water.

She figured five minutes would see her stamina back to full, like a bar refilling in a game.

She smoothed her wind-ruffled collar and walked through the gate, like a blade slipping into a sheath.

Nearby, a few tall boys with clipboards whispered like crows, looking like student patrol.

Yekase wore the uniform perfectly, skirt cut exact, that little tuft of red over her bangs pinned away like a hidden spark.

Naturally she didn’t care; she strode past them, a calm line drawn through a busy page.

“—Hey, you. Hold up.”

“Huh?”

She was called to a stop, the word snagging like a hook.

She’d even buttoned the top button, neat as stitches—Yekase turned, puzzled, to face the patrol.

“You’re Yekase, right?”

“Yeah.”

When did she get this famous, like a rumor with its own legs?

Especially in a school she’d barely visited twice, like a ghost on the attendance sheet.

The tall, broad-shouldered boy snorted a smile. “Then do you know who I am?”

Irritation pricked, like pepper on the tongue; she shot back, “Who the hell are you, and why should I care?”

The other two patrol boys slid left and right, flanking her like gateposts, ready to question.

Yekase saw it clear: they’d come to make trouble, like dogs herding a sheep.

Still, how had a law-abiding little civilian like her offended strangers, like a sparrow accused by hawks?

“I was your classmate last year, but I guess I’m your senior now,” he said, puffing up like a drum.

“You idle, free-wheeling delinquent—turned back to shore?”

She ran the math in a heartbeat, like beads on an abacus—she could beat them if it came to it.

They were tall and solid, but not pro-level hitters, like amateur wrestlers in matching tees.

Back before any Flash Energy boost, her foes had been pro-level and up, like wolves in steel boots.

But she’d never trained formal; her attacks were just wild haymakers powered by burst and speed, like swings in a summer brawl.

If these guys had any practice, at this close range, control wasn’t guaranteed, like dice with two faces.

Maybe seventy-thirty odds, like a scale tipped but wobbling.

Making a big scene on day one felt wrong, like ink spilled on the first page.

It’d put Liu RuoYuan in a bad spot, even if they’d started it, like a stain on someone else’s sleeve.

“And? If there’s nothing, I’m leaving,” she said, cool as a lake.

“Then—based on your past misdeeds—we suspect you’ve got contraband not allowed at school.

Please cooperate with our check,” he said, voice sharp as chalk.

“Oh, you mean knives? Sure, I brought two—too many enemies, self-defense,” she said, deadpan as stone.

“For example, a phone—” he began, then froze like a statue at her answer.

“...Huh?”

“Kn-kn-knives?! You brought knives to school?!” the boy beside him yelped, voice cracking like glass.

“Kidding. I’ve got no enemies,” she said, smile mild as tea.

“Kidding about which part?!” he fired back, words hopping like sparrows.

“About the whole sentence,” she said, airy as a cloud.

With a Transport Cube in her life, why carry knives on her body, like a chef pocketing a stove?

“...Anyway! Please cooperate with our check!” the leader barked, finally finding his edge like a blade.

He set his hand on her shoulder, aiming to steer her toward the patrol room, like a sheepdog nudging.

“I’m rushing to grab a good seat in class. Noon break works, yeah? We’ll meet here,” Yekase said, as if truly negotiating, like neighbors over a fence.

“You delinquent—”

He didn’t finish the line, the word chopped like a rope.

Yekase’s uniformed left arm curled around his wrist like a green snake; a light twist sent his hand off her shoulder, outward like a reed bent by wind.

“Ugh!”

“Great, now I look like a delinquent for real,” she muttered, humor dry as dust.

“You’re just realizing that?!” the quip guy blurted, the designated straight man, sharp as an arrow.

Even teachers don’t have the right to open student bags, she thought, gaze flat as slate.

“You guys—been running with the street crowd?” she said aloud, casual as rain.

“!!!”

Their flinch said enough, like leaves shivering in a sudden gust.

High schoolers these days were something else, like cubs with old scars.

“You street boys calling me a delinquent—seriously?” she said, baffled as a fish on land.

“At school you follow school rules!” he shot back, posture rigid as a fence.

“You don’t?” she said, one brow lifted like a sail.

“No, really, I’m not tight with the Sinister Organization,” she said, voice light as a feather, knowing they wouldn’t buy it now.

She shifted tactics, folding Shen Shanshan’s swagger into her tone, like smoke over water.

“Once you’re in the life, you’re in it for life.

Nobody gets to play good student just because there’s a gate.

We’ve all seen a bit of the world, so give me some face.

I was personally begged by your teacher to attend—otherwise I wouldn’t waste time here,” she said, street flavor turned up like a trumpet.

“You treat rules like air!” the leader snapped, anger flashing like flint.

He grabbed again, this time full force, no hint of carelessness, like a trap springing.

“So we’re measuring fists now? Broad daylight—this isn’t great,” Yekase said, tone smooth as silk.

She caught his reaching hand with her same-side grip, precise as a lock picking a key, making it look like an odd, friendly handshake.

One pull, one twist—her body rebounded upward like a plank on a hinge; two white arcs flashed as her skirt swayed like a banner.

Her pale, smooth legs clamped his neck like a guillotine’s jaws; weight and shock teamed up like twin hammers.

He lost balance at once and slammed down, like a tree cut at the base.

Yekase slid off, then hauled him up, neat as a rope toss.

“Fighting here is a bad look. If you really love brawls, after school—I’m game,” she said, voice steady as stone.

Her movements flowed like water, as if rehearsed a thousand times in the mind, each beat clean as calligraphy.

She’d wanted to pull this off for ages; before, her stamina crumpled on the block and throw, leaving her wheezing like a bellows.

No master’s aura, just panting; today the little dream finally bloomed, like a flower opening on cue.

“Don’t dare, don’t dare. I’m no match for you,” the leader said, bobbing apology like a buoy.

“Uh—no, no,” Yekase said, the act slipping like a mask.

They were still at the gate; a dozen or two students had gathered, noses bright as sparrows, crowding for fun.

Seeing Yekase drop a big guy so easily, they whooped for the show, voices fizzing like soda.

“Drop him!”

“The big lug got owned!”

“Nice hit! Give him one in the gut!”

He didn’t seem popular, but to a veteran of real battle, the calls were harmless hype, like foam chasing the shore.

“Name’s Ma Donghua,” the boy said, scratching his head like a dog, “and these two are my brothers.

We signed up for the Disciplinary Squad to find fights, but...”

“You found no fights and turned into campus bullies?” Yekase said, tilting her head like a sparrow.

Ma Donghua shook hard. “No, no! The Squad felt more and more right—like finding a purpose.

We don’t fight at all now.

It’s just... I got excited seeing you,” he said, words stumbling like stones.

“Excited about what?” she asked, voice mild as shade.

“He saw you and remembered his old self, and wanted to talk you back from the brink,” the quip guy explained, resigned as a sigh.

“...Uh.”

Ma Donghua’s face flushed red in a rush, like a lantern lit, and he grabbed his buddy, mock-choking him like two cubs wrestling.