Science Building, fourth-floor stairwell.

Yekase held a sticky note, matching the outside view to its scribbles like stars to a compass. At last, the setter’s vantage locked onto here.

So what could hide in this narrow throat of stairs?

In plain sight: a half-height bookcase. The walls, dressed for mood, wore huge ocean prints—rolling blue that passed for a reading nook.

If this were a puzzle novel, the shelf would be the trick—pull the right book and a passage yawns. So Yekase started with the books.

Ocean History.

The Big Encyclopedia of Insects.

Why Don’t Penguins’ Feet Freeze.

Ah, this one. I read it when I was little...

Nostalgia pooled warm as winter tea. Her hand reached for the deep-blue cover.

No. Focus. Clues first.

[Secret Passphrase]—the note’s single matching code. She figured there must be a keypad somewhere, but the walls showed no machine scars. If anything, it hid behind them.

She lifted books in order, skimming fast for a fresh sticky. Her lips murmured on autopilot: Secret passphrase, secret passphrase...

—

The wall panel slid. A passage opened like a gill.

Yekase froze.

That’s it?

Voice-activated?!

Fancy enough. The tight tunnel held a cramped stair. She craned and saw a small room, maybe ten square meters. No one inside.

She wasn’t stopping here. Hands and feet, she climbed like a cat up a fence.

Inside: a recliner, an electric fan, a snack crate, a low table... even a half-drunk cola, its sweat beading like a tired runner.

Like someone lived here, nesting under the eaves.

Pretty cozy, actually.

Cables crossed the wall like tangled vines, feeding the door she used. That should be the hidden door’s control.

Lines pulled any which way, tape slapped down, a junky secondhand receiver with a face only a garage loves...

Great. The more I look, the more it feels like I built this.

What?

Do I really sleepwalk? Nap at lunch, sneak over, and build a secret base? Finish it yesterday and leave myself a ticket in a dream?

Her heart knocked like a loose drum. Yekase began a careful sweep of every object.

The recliner—one of those canvas loungers you buy for pocket change. Its corners showed a life of wear, battle-scars even CS:GO would call “well-worn.” That’s years of sitting.

So I sleepwalk, come from class just to lie down, and drink cola? Then jog back before the bell?

From grinding teeth to kicking blankets to sleepwalking, now I’ve evolved into sipping cola in dreams?

Hopeless. My sleeping self is a natural disaster, a hurricane in pajamas.

Eh.

She picked up the cola to check the date. Under the bottle sat a square card, white with blunt black type.

Next clue?

She snatched the card. In stark, ugly font it read: Dual Kings Arsenal.

No phone. No name. No address.

Can this even be called a business card?

She flipped it.

The back held an inked dial, a pointer shape, with a time stamped in the corner.

120:00.

Right before her eyes, the printed number shivered on the card stock—then changed.

119:59.

Printed ink... can change?

119:58.

119:57.

No time to marvel at ink dancing like a LED. This second-stage puzzle was clearly on a timer.

Find Dual Kings Arsenal within two hours. That was the new condition.

No choice. I’m skipping all my afternoon classes.

An honor student who never cuts felt a familiar courage rise like floodwater. She grabbed the card, left the secret room, and sprinted out before lunch ended.

A magic detail: when she turned, the ink pointer pivoted too, always holding one direction, a silent compass.

That direction had to be the destination.

What was the setter trying to do? Lure her to a prop shop and sell toys that look cool and do nothing?

She’d buy them. Absolutely.

On that point, Yekase knew herself with bitter clarity, like tasting salt on wind.

She followed the ink’s lead, bolted down a quiet noon sidewalk, cut through intersection after intersection like threading beads.

She entered her old neighborhood, a warren of lived-in buildings.

Yekase realized she wasn’t tired. Not even a stitch.

Her own handwriting on the note, the rooftop secret room, first-time truancy feeling weirdly practiced, and this impossible stamina...

Ha.

Either the world or I has gone mad. At least one of us.

She laughed under her breath, but her steps stayed sharp. She zigzagged another ten minutes through alleys.

The setter clearly didn’t want her to memorize the route. In this maze of old lanes, she passed the same convenience store for the third time. The cashier was watching now. Her sense of direction scrambled, and she gave up on pinning the spot with her phone map.

Then the ink pointer rounded into a soft dot.

Destination reached.

Whew...

Yekase lifted her head.

And looked at her own home.

...?

Uh.

Upstairs?

The rental had only two floors. Upstairs was air and pigeons.

Downstairs?

Downstairs was a long-abandoned warehouse. Through the window: a floor of trash, no one in or out.

Thud-thud-thunk.

All signs drummed toward one result—

Me? Is it me?

Dual Kings Arsenal was... Yekase’s home?

If all other paths were closed, and no detail was missing, the remaining answer had to be true.

For a moment, Yekase wondered if a second self slept inside her.

Say, a puzzle-loving mad scientist. Or a truant queen who treats cutting class like breakfast and rules a room like a den.

As for what was in her home, she didn’t need to check. Anything not hers would’ve jumped out even before step one.

Which meant... the trail went cold.

Tsk.

Her tongue clicked, sharp as a pebble on glass.

What else could she do? Lunch break had a little left. She’d head back.

Her strength dumped all at once, like a bucket spilled. She flagged a cab, melted into the backseat, and rode to school.

After that, she wore a keep-away face without meaning to, storm-clouded through the whole afternoon.

By the way, she meant to keep the card as evidence and study it later. In second period, it suddenly caught fire in her desk, a skittering blaze that panicked the class. The “evidence” became a drift of black ash.

Leaf-sis?

Mm?

Yekase answered from her desk with a nasal grunt, face planted like a sleepy cat.

Wow. You look super down. You were fine this morning. What happened at lunch? Did you find a bug in your rice?

Yekase didn’t move.

Go to the clubroom. Don’t worry about me.

Speaking of clubs—did you turn in your club application, Leaf-sis? I remember the class rep came to chase you this afternoon, but you totally ignored her.

No.

Haven’t decided?

My review says Go-Home Club.

Ling Ya played with Yekase’s ear, the one facing up like a shell. Nope. Every student has to join something. I know a few low-effort clubs. Just show up and sign, then bail. Wanna pick one?

Mm... that works.

The word “slack” put a little spring in her. Still cheek to desk, she snaked a hand back to feel for her backpack.

She patted around for a while and got air.

Where’s my application?

Uh... you didn’t bring it?

She rewound last night. She’d set the form on her desk to fill it. Stared, had no idea what to write, then slid it back into the book stack.

Right. I didn’t.

Leaf-sis can be a little silly sometimes.

Don’t sweat the details.

I’ll stall a day. Should be fine. If a teacher asks, I’ll say I need to see the clubs firsthand. Perfect day to visit my shortlist.

Yekase’s grades were strong, and strong students carried quiet privilege at school, like a pass stamped in gold.

So, which lazy clubs?

First, the anime club.

Yekase was half a gamer geek and two full measures of mechanical geek. A previous loop taught her the ones who thrive in anime clubs are well-adjusted extroverts with a brush of “2D.”

They have anime topics and extrovert social skills—a hammer blow to ordinary nerds. In the end, inner circles form worse than the outside world.

Pass. Next.

Classical Literature.

Sounds busy already. Pass.

The Bird Study club.

That one’s workable...

If it’s just talking birds, I can sign in and slip out. Even if rules tighten, I can sit in the room and fake reading.

Film club.

Also good.

They love bootleg cuts of R-rated stuff. Terrible resolution. Ninety percent of the frame drowned in ketchup. The sound’s a bomb.

Then I have to check it out.

If she gets to watch restricted films every day, Yekase doesn’t mind actually showing up.

She’s got a heart for fast cars and gunfights, not the courage. Movies are the perfect snack for that hunger.

I’ll visit Bird Study and Film.

Decision made, Yekase packed up and stood.

Ling Ya asked, reluctant as a trailing ribbon: Really not joining our swim club?

You might as well ask what day I’ll be a hero.

Which day?

Tomorrow or the day after. Kidding.