Monday morning, Yekase set her bag by the desk and sank into sleep like a leaf slipping under dark water.

Last night, with Sandryon shouting like thunder over a lake, she inscribed several spell arrays into the Polaris Staff—elemental shields, and most crucial, flight—constellations etched in light.

By the time she stepped out of Valhalla, dawn was a gray veil; she vaulted the school wall like a cat clearing a garden fence.

The classroom door was locked, so she curled up in the observatory, a small moon among telescopes; first period almost pecked her like a jealous clock. Attendance is iron law.

Weird.

Why did she insist on going to school, again?

In the muddled tide of her mind, a question rose like a bubble, then drowned with other thoughts in a deep, black sea.

“...Sis. Yekase, lunch break.”

That familiar tone tugged her awake; her body lagged behind, and her throat spilled zombie-groans.

“Mmm—nn—ugh—ah—oh...”

“What kind of zombie dialect is that?”

Cheek pressed to the desk, she groped in her bag like fishing in murky water, and pulled out a keyboard.

Then a gamepad.

Then a stack of draft paper.

“Where’s my lunchbox... oh. I didn’t go home last night...”

A seventeen-year-old drifting the shopping street and not returning till dawn—spread that, and it’s tabloid fodder.

Tonight, Liu RuoYuan will scold her like cold rain on hot stone.

“If you want to keep living as Yekase, then I’ll treat you as Yekase.” After the Yearlong War, Liu RuoYuan had said that—words like a boundary line in sand.

Clearly, Yekase is at most a slightly clever high-school girl; she shouldn’t vanish at midnight to brawl in alleys—this is the price of ducking a straight explanation, silence like a shadow tax.

“No choice, I’ll raid the observatory for snacks.”

“Snacks for lunch? That’s so unhealthy.” Ling Ya frowned, her voice crisp as winter air. Yekase eyed the transparent lunchbox—two meats, one veg, a mound of rice like a white hill, enough to feed two Yekase. No wonder a sports girl glows like a sunrise.

“I’ll go eat with my friends. Bye, Doc.”

“Mm, bye.”

Ling Ya had her circle in class; Yekase wouldn’t disturb that pool of light. Ling Yi was bright too, yet had few close friends; her warmth sometimes scorched, sometimes drew whispers from other girls—the ones who got past those thorns still faced Pu Lu’s teasing like a cold breeze.

So that woman was the real problem cloud, wasn’t she.

Yekase slid the keyboard and gamepad back into her bag; then stared at the keyboard, thoughtful, tucked it under her arm, and went.

She climbed into the observatory; Ling Yi and Pu Lu were already there, like two birds on the railing.

“Doc, you’re here.”

“Mm. Forgot lunch. Any instant noodles left?”

“Looks like one shrimp-fishcake bowl.”

“Ew. Shrimp-fishcake? Even dogs would turn their noses up.”

“Same,” Pu Lu said, dry as dust.

...

“Eh? No passive-aggressive digs at me?” Yekase blinked, genuinely startled, like catching a sunbeam in rain.

“Were you hoping for them?”

“No, just—uh—if you’re willing to be friends with me, I’m happy.”

“...Good. As long as you know.” Pu Lu turned her face aside like a willow leaf.

Ling Yi clapped, brisk as sparrows. “Okay, okay, then we’re all friends! As a friend, I bestow this sacred braised chicken upon you.”

Do friends “bestow” food? Yekase was baffled, but leaned in and bit the chicken like tasting a festival.

Back at her stool, just as she opened the snack cabinet, Pu Lu stared out the window, then jabbed over a piece of meat with her chopsticks like a straight arrow.

“...Here.”

“........”

She ate it without words, like accepting a seal.

She didn’t know why, but it felt like recognition, a small flame catching.

After the Water Park incident, Pu Lu’s stance toward Yekase softened a little—because of the “rival in love” layer, it wasn’t as smooth as Ling Ya’s thaw, but a path still cleared like snow melting.

When the four stood up together from the poolside table, they seemed to understand something without speaking. After a month of lunches and passing bells, they finally counted as friends.

Hard-won, like a bridge built plank by plank.

Yekase took an apple from the mini-fridge—Ling Ya had specifically requested apples—then peeled it with her dagger, the blade a silver ripple.

Pu Lu watched the knife, said nothing, her gaze a quiet pond.

The peel spun off in a single spiral ribbon and fell into the trash like a red comet tail. She palmed the apple, sliced it into even bars, lifted each on the knife tip, left then right, dropping them into their lunchboxes like precise rain.

“Such delicate knife work,” Pu Lu said, a note of grudging respect.

“Can’t build machines with shaky hands,” Yekase said, the words firm as a bolt.

In the end, they still made the shrimp-fishcake noodles; a compromise like lukewarm tea.

Yekase checked her phone—no new chats; she drifted into the forums like stepping onto a busy street.

[How do you rate Twin Towers City’s new generation of heroes?]

A big, bright title flashed like neon. Hot thread, hundreds of replies, pushed to the front page.

Yekase liked searching herself—purely to track the wind of opinion, not vanity—and dove in.

[Lately Twin Towers has a bunch of new heroes. Is the Lower Yangtze plague finally easing?]

[Haven’t watched the news. Who’s out there?]

[Silverstar, PeaceWarrior, Mobile Warrior ZX, Flashblade Red, Mechbreaker]

[How do you forget Icarus]

[Hope they aren’t treating hero work like a game]

[Making it a career’s not right either. If it’s fueled by love, quit when tired, that’s fine]

[Don’t derail. Since we know them, discuss together]

[Silverstar? Feels OCD. Motions and speech kinda off. Combat’s strong; he protects bystanders]

[I also think Silverstar has some issues. After finishing enemies he keeps air-slashing, repeatedly. Creepy as hell]

Silverstar... Yekase barely remembered that hero. A tall, thin guy around twenty, wielding a custom gun-blade like a crescent. He was active a while, then vanished; rumor says he’s prepping for grad exams, hiding like a fox in reeds.

[PeaceWarrior]

[Do we even need to ask?]

[As expected?]

[Alright, next.]

PeaceWarrior had records across nearby cities and contact with the Beast King Squadron. Unlike their clean reputation, she was a hazard beacon.

Called “PeaceWarrior,” but her way to “pacify” a fight was indiscriminate bombardment—friend or foe swept in one storm; useful only for grunts who bail fast like fish sensing a net.

Yekase had reason to suspect she was an R&D operative from some organization, wearing the hero flag while blowing things up for fun, fireworks in wrong skies.

[ZX? If it’s not a crafted persona, it’s impressive—in the art of near-misses]

[Visitor from Mars]

[What’s the point of hero personas. You expect your darknet tip jar to maintain a mech?]

[Agreed. He’s probably real Martian]

[How many scenes did he actually catch? Water Park once? Any others?]

[Last year at Tangma Mountain for quake relief. During the Yearlong War he mixed with the mech corps and cleared mobs. I saw him]

[Bet the cockpit pilot’s a ditzy cute girl. I’ve single-stanned ZX since birth]

[The pilot’s name is Pulas]

ZX... no comment. He really was Martian—an orbit away.

[How about Flashblade Red? Feels like a nice little sister]

[+1]

[Fights hard every time; shows up a lot. You can tell she’s trying]

[Looks like she doesn’t even have a tip channel]

[Ships with Mechbreaker for clout. Enough already]

[Go ship your relative’s CP; go hype their ashes while you’re at it]

[Good roast. Justice approved]

Seeing Flashblade Red praised online, Yekase felt relieved, like a knot loosening. Still, mixing with Mechbreaker’s tainted jacket had misled some eyes like smoke in mirrors...

Forget it. Let the wind blow.

Being a hero isn’t for them, anyway; it’s for the quiet lights in the dark.

...Next should be Mechbreaker and Magical Girl Icarus... Yekase bit a cookie, half afraid and half eager, and scrolled down like wading into a river.

[Looks like Mechbreaker found a conscience lately. I take it back]

[What, she stopped tearing up your home mech?]

[She used to be a rabid dog, but lately at least three mechs passed right by her intact]

[True. Shame, during the Yearlong War with all those alien mechs, she was nowhere. Pity]

[Mystic Eyes of—Death! Sick cool]

[Fine, dodge trademarks, but why bleep that word?]

[What eyes do you think they are?]

[A hand ahead, but a cave]

...Grass.

Same as last time she searched; the wind was slowly turning. The path was subtle, like moss creeping over stone.

[How’s Icarus?]

There it was.

Finally, the question that mattered most—the one she cared about like a string tied around her heart.

Mechbreaker’s recognition came from jacket and mask; anyone with a similar build could wear it, a mask you could shed like a skin. If that identity got into trouble, Yekase could walk away like a shadow fading.

But Icarus was different—bound to Yekase’s body like a second pulse. To change it, you’d need to fly to near-earth orbit and rewrite satellites; and the fine control of Infinite Power it gave her was the single bridge to a true front-line fight she craved. She couldn’t cut it off; it was a blade and a lifeline.

If that identity became too hot to appear, her strength would drop to early-days levels—maybe more stamina, but less edge. Luxury to frugality is a cold wind; even as the quiet courage behind her hero work, she had to handle Icarus with careful hands.

[Calling herself a Magical Girl is kinda cringe; otherwise fine]

[Too few wins; not enough data]

[Gathered around Luciferin! A Magical Girl who knows Gundam memes—instant stan]

[Ahoge loli in a sailor uniform; a crystallized dream]

[Bit too knowing. Is the person inside a basement uncle?]

[I won’t let you insult Icarus!]

[Aerial maneuvering is expert-level]

[My heart’s been stolen; I’ll know no joy or sorrow again]

...Uh...

Seems okay? Strip out the NSFW crowd, and the rest were bright leaves; managing two masks was working like a balanced scale.

That one reply about the “person inside” made her flinch like a bird startled, but no one backed him, thank the wind.

“Doc, what are you reading? Your noodles are swelling into soup.”

“Doing public sentiment management...”

“Huh?”

“To protect those who protect us.”

She said it while looking at Pu Lu, gaze steady as a lantern.

Their eyes met for a heartbeat like two comets crossing, then slid away, each into their own sky.