Yekase left the third shop with parts for Ling Yi’s shapeshift weapon, ready to suggest drinks, when a muffled boom rolled from the Sun Palace like a drum under snow.

“Still a match going?” His voice flicked like a lantern in wind.

“Mm. The last one today… Emerald Pool versus Dading.” Her tone was flat as stone by a river. “I don’t love either, and if we watch we’ll miss the market, so I bailed.”

“Oh…” The sound trailed like mist over water.

Emerald Pool and Dading? Both are gearheads; turning away was like putting a rival’s poster in a fire.

Yekase wanted to peek, but tonight he’d promised Jiang Bailu all his time, a gentle rain after using her like a tool before.

“Find an izakaya and start World War II?” His grin flashed like a blade.

“Yes, yes.” Her eyes brightened like tea steam.

Yekase pulled his phone, searching bars as if casting nets on a dark lake.

A new message slid across the top like a silver fish.

[Heavenly Prison King: Emerald Pool’s got something.]

…You’re watching too, huh? The thought prickled like sparks.

Next she’d ask Yekase to “study” Emerald Pool’s tech, copy it for the conglomerate, forging new single-soldier armor like iron under a red moon.

This woman never cares if she’s on duty; she moves like wind over a wall.

[Heavenly Prison King: They chickened out last time; looks like they saved a big one.]

Big? Yekase glanced at the Sun Palace’s “Giant Egg,” the seamless white dome gleaming like bone under starlight; that boom was a thunderhead cracking.

What was Mira waiting for? What was Emerald Pool weaving behind those clouds?

—Boom!! Crack!

Like a chick breaking its shell, light bled through a fault line across the white dome, a dark river on porcelain.

“…What the—?” His breath snagged like a kite string.

That’s the Giant Egg… that’s the Sun Palace, the city’s moonstone, second only to the Twin Towers.

The crack spidered, then shattered like ice under boots.

Two machines beyond “powered armor,” brushing “mecha,” grappled like hawks, dragging long tail flames as they burst from the widening wound.

“What… what’s happening?!” Jiang Bailu flinched behind Yekase, a sparrow hiding behind a taller pine, but the shelter didn’t reach.

“Out of bounds, wild as a storm; both should be fouled and forfeit.” Yekase steadied, pulling her toward neon like a tide to shore.

Judges would chase, pin them to the ground like nets, and call disqualification, or so the thought fluttered.

He looked down at the route again, trying to read the street like lines on a palm.

[Heavenly Prison King: The host says it’s too exciting to stop. Committee’s orders.]

…? The pause hung like frost.

Casual judges, playing gods on a windy hill… Wait.

[Worldbreaker: You’re fighting over the city. What if stray rounds or falling wreckage punch into homes like hail?]

[Heavenly Prison King: Unavoidable loss.]

Hiss… breathe… The air burned like pepper smoke.

“You never let people rest.” The words tasted bitter as cold tea.

Yekase bit his lip, mind weighing options like stones in a hand.

“Doctor?” Jiang Bailu watched him halt, puzzled, her eyes clear as a well.

The two fighters were blood-hot, wolves with no leash; leave them, and civilians might fall like leaves; intervene, and you might be tagged a saboteur, a storm against the tournament.

Her face dimmed with steel, brows knotted like cords; his right hand in pocket pressed the Polaris Staff inside the transport box, hesitant as a bird before flight.

Up above, missiles crossed and burst, fireworks braided into the night like a river of flame.

People on the street tilted their heads, stars reflected in eyes, watching war like a show on a summer night.

Live rounds. The next step would be a brighter blade.

A silver laser lanced the night, cleaving the sky like cold moonlight, popping Emerald Pool’s missile swarm into a burning row of flowers.

Laser. The word felt like ice.

“Doctor, this… feels bad, right?” Jiang Bailu’s voice wavered like a reed.

“More than a little.” His sigh drifted like fog; he scanned for a blind corner where shadows held.

“I’ll be right back.” The promise hung like a ribbon.

He let go of her hand, the warmth fading like sunset on stone.

He stepped into an empty alley, a throat of darkness, where light didn’t reach.

He snapped his fingers, ending the night like pinching a candle.

…Jiang Bailu stood still, watching his back recede like a silhouette swallowed by rain.

“I feel you by my side.” The line floated like pollen.

The secondhand bike saddle from a junk store finally had a stage, a little throne on steel.

Yekase dug a wrench, two rails, and a fist of screws from the transport box, squatting like a craftsman at dusk to bolt a seat onto the Polaris Staff.

It would look ugly—no, criminally ugly—so ugly Ivaris would rise like a ghost to curse him.

Yekase didn’t care; he loved the wasteland patchwork, rust and steel under a red sky.

He tightened the seat, then micro-tuned the forked branches at the staff’s crown, growing two stable crossbars as footrests for subsonic flight, like roots gripping soil.

Mod done, he saved the configuration like sealing a talisman.

N-404-2, Schrödinger’s Inventory, derivative specialized—Schrödinger’s Glamour Cabinet—a little shrine that trades storage and speed for one trick: record a specific item’s coordinates, fixed-point transport like a swallow returning to its nest.

One-click outfit change for clothes like shedding a skin.

It counts as dressing the staff too, like draping silk over a spear.

“Branches closed, balanced mode; branches open, strong… passion mode; this one’s aerial mode.” His voice rang like iron. “Name… Comet Broom. OK, saved.”

He straddled it like a rider on a comet.

“Celestial Speech, Passion Flight Technique.” The words hummed like a spell on wind.

Straight up to the sky—I go! The line sparkled like a stolen lyric.

He shot toward the two mechs, a streak in the dark like a firefly darting.

Emerald Pool Industrial is a famous developer in Twin Towers City, and infamous too, a name stained like oil after the Water Park incident.

Yekase’s impression was ash; his tongue tasted the soot.

He couldn’t deny it: their industrial mechs are iron bulls, durable and obedient, otherwise they’d never dare gut every other contractor for a single payment, fishing a lake to mud.

Now they build for war, not work; the idea unfurled like a banner—pivoting off this match for a showcase.

Red armor was Dading’s Bowman; the deep green bird was Emerald Pool’s fighter, shape warped, more flying pile driver than man, more trench cutter than knight.

“…Do all of you love working the site that much?” His laugh was dry as gravel.

Gauntlet did it, Dading did it, now Emerald Pool too; the city felt like a quarry in the clouds.

Gauntlet started as thicker steel; that swarm of scary add-ons was Jiang Bailu’s wild grafts, branches on a trunk.

Add in Dading’s history of copying Kagari; the smoke smelled old as pine tar.

Hmm. Not right; the coil in his chest trembled like a struck string.

They couldn’t have Jiang Bailu and Dading hand in hand, both plagiarizing Emerald Pool, could they?

Yekase wobbled with the thought, almost slipping from the seat like a leaf in wind.

Bailu, what did you do? His heart thumped like a drum.

Buy a few brutal machines from Emerald Pool, then use Flash Energy’s metal morph to stuff them into the Flashblade System like meats into a dumpling?

Your “I figure” is neck and neck with Ling Yi; the joke sparked like flint.

He felt he’d found a secret coiled like a snake; words scattered like birds.

No—right now, stop those two and cool them down; the city is a pond under hail.

Whoosh— A stray missile brushed past Yekase, hot as a hornet.

“Tsk… did you all pop something before you went on?” His tone cut like a wire. “Dancing Light!”

A burst bloomed before the red mech’s face like a sunfruit, and Bowman skittered back two meters, wary as a cat, turning to see Yekase arrowing in.

“Parallel Passion Continuous Oz Floating Discs! …Hey, you lucid? What’s the situation?” His words were coins tossed into a well.

He stacked floating discs between them, a quick barrier like a glass wall, then lobbed the question at Bowman like a stone.

“Who are you? Why interfere with our match?” The retort snapped like a twig.

Yekase felt like arguing on Weibo and getting hit with “So what,” a dead-end lane, the air stale as a cellar.

…Fine. That worked too; a pivot felt like rain on dust.

He lowered his head, took a deep breath like filling a bellows.

He lifted his face with a bright sweet smile, sugar over steel.

“Horse-face, I’ve been sick of you for a while.” The jab flashed like a knife.

Red-silver laser spat from the staff’s tip, branding a char-black groove on Bowman’s chestplate like a burn on hide.

“—?!” His shock popped like a seed.

“Endangering public safety, and plagiarizing my work. Dading’s two sins, and you’ll carry them first.” His voice rang like a gong. “Parallel Silence Delay Chain! Demon cyborg, die for me—!”

He tossed Emerald Pool’s fighter aside like a reed, drew blade, and surged, a hawk stooping.

“Where did this mad woman crawl from…!” Bowman’s words clattered like bolts.

Still baffled, he tried to bail, but the smoking scar on his chest screamed at him like a brand, pushing him backward into shadow.

Bump! His back hit something hard as invisible glass.

Nothing was there—yet space shattered into transparent shards, glittering in city light like frost.

Oz Floating Disc.

Usually a footstep, lowest-tier magic, a plank in air, a carpenter’s trick like a quick scaffold.

At the base, workers flick them out like stools; on the tournament stage, no one bothers.

Surprise hadn’t settled when Yekase’s chase arrived; his reverse-gripped dagger slid into the seam behind Bowman’s shoulder armor like rain sliding under tiles.

With triple suffix, Oz Floating Discs bloom silently for minutes under continuous chant, popping up like lily pads where Yekase points.

High mana cost, can’t insert other spells midstream, but it’s sleek and convenient; strength just enough to check a move, like a hand on a chest.

“I’m starting to think you don’t ‘ignore’ civilian harm—” His words were cold as river stones.

He dropped flight, swung to Bowman’s rear flank, and dragged the blade down, sparks fountaining like fireflies.

“—you don’t even perceive it.” The line fell like ash.

Bowman didn’t hear the rest; Yekase used the Polaris Staff to release the delayed flight, rising to match height like a gull.

Two guard-breaking hits lit Bowman’s temper like dry grass; he ditched the match and aimed to swat Yekase out of the sky.

He extended both arms; four micro launchers opened like hungry mouths; with only rough aim, he spat missiles at Yekase like angry bees.

Seeing almost no time gap, Yekase spent 0.5 seconds on phase shift, walking through the barrage like a ghost through fog—but as she revealed, the four missiles whipped 180 degrees and chased, tails hissing like snakes.

Homing. The word pricked like ice.

She knew she couldn’t shake them; she didn’t conjure discs to block; she dragged them with her, charging Bowman’s face like a stormfront.

When they were nose to nose, she snapped backward and punched engines, ninety-degree climb like a lark.

Bowman grabbed for her, but a disc sat in front like a sudden pane; he tried to sidestep, but discs bloomed around him like a fence, sealing five major lanes, leaving him to watch the cornering-limited homers arc in like hawks.

Boom! The disc in front blew apart like brittle glass.

Boom boom boom! He ate the other three rounds head-on, flames chewing his armor like wolves.

“—Urk.” Yekase gag-coughed, eased speed, body steadying like a boat after chop; dinner almost leapt like a fish.

Smoke rose like a gray tree, but if Bowman wasn’t falling, the hunt wasn’t done.

He reached into the transport box, fingers closing on a finger-sized firecracker… and a single fried noodle, absurd as a red thread in war.

…Damn it—didn’t scrub it clean.

“B-277, [Black Spider]!”

A scratch-bomb packed with steel shot—simple, direct, brutal.

She struck it on her boot leather, then whooshed it toward Bowman’s zone, petals scattering on a storm wind.

Two beats later, smoke hung like a wet veil. Crackle-pop burst inside. Steel shot clattered, and a few pinged off the Polaris Staff’s tip, chiming bright.

“Hu…” She let out a ribbon of breath, thin as mist.

Annoyance prickled. If this still didn’t end it, she’d have to call Ling Yi.

Her moves looked arcane and flashy, but Yekase’s straight punch was about this much—fireworks, not a sledgehammer.

Close-quarters in midair with Bowman, buffed again after the opener? You’d need to be drunk to try that.

And, well, she was a little drunk.

She stole a heartbeat of space and sneaked a look at the Emerald Pool delegate, left on the sidelines. He hadn’t left, didn’t plan to join in, and watched like a man at the theater, amused.

“Womaaan—!!”

…Uh-oh.

Hearing that voice, seeing that silhouette harden from haze to blade, Yekase wanted to rip Luciferin into play right now and drop something huge on him. Too bad—she’d swaggered in with her own body, and the golden window had already slid shut.

“You’ve succeeded in angering me! Mode shift—”

“—Megaton Hundred-Armed Gale!!”