“Heisenberg’s uncertainty, and Pauli’s exclusion—fog and barred gates.”

PeaceWarrior gave a slight nod, a reed bending to a still wind.

“I’ve noted it—etched like a cut on stone.”

Unease pricked like needles; her face was a mask, unreadable. I hope she bought it.

“The factory’s ash; no need to linger here.” Her tone slid like dusk over water.

…She lowered the muzzle, a storm cloud sinking.

Looks safe for now, a pocket of calm in rain.

But bolting in silence would stink of fear, like rats scattering.

PeaceWarrior’s legend is lone-wolf, a blade that cuts alone.

That means she’s strong across the board, a fortress unto herself.

That includes gathering intel, eyes like hawks over a field.

If our identities feel off, one breeze of checking will tear this cicada-wing disguise.

Then we’d land on her hunting list, deer marked in red.

…

“Do you know this is a Twin Towers subsidiary?” The words hung like a banner in wind.

Yekase feinted retreat and stepped in, speaking as PeaceWarrior scanned the ruins like a hawk.

PeaceWarrior turned, eyes flat as winter water, measuring Yekase; the wariness didn’t drain a drop.

“Not my concern.” Her voice dropped like a stone in a well.

So that’s a no, a door closing with a soft click.

“Then why choose this factory to strike?”

“From what I know, Emerald Pool’s reputation is foul, and they run plenty in the Yangtze River Delta, a swamp of holdings.”

…

No reaction, a wall with no echo. Steering her toward Emerald Pool didn’t land; talking to the taciturn is heavy as wet rope.

“Also, from my notes, this outfit moved in only months ago, a tent pitched overnight.”

“After that came floods of second-hand evolution gauntlets on the market, prices dropping like leaves.”

“Beyond that, no clear moves; as a city-level subsidiary, they hired only the bare minimum of fighters, thin as a crescent.”

Shen Shanshan glanced from the corner of her eye; words flowed from Yekase’s lips steady and detailed, a river under moonlight.

“So I want to know your reason for choosing this place, a stone you threw into this pond.”

“Does that concern you?” The question shut like a gate.

“Not me, but it concerns whether the much-debated PeaceWarrior is hero or thug, smoke or flame.”

In truth, Yekase didn’t care about hero or thug; it was her old play, a mask she wore to press like a thumb on a bruise.

A subtle, misplaced high ground, standing on a dais in a storm.

She avoided fighter words like “rules” and “profit,” and showed no intent to arrest, leaving the net slack.

Even if PeaceWarrior refused a question no one cared to answer, Yekase’s aim was already sunk like a hook.

A cerebral hero, mistrustful and even resentful of peers with bad rumors—an eagle with a furrowed brow.

That was the persona Yekase laid out, ink on a paper mask.

If PeaceWarrior started weighing “whether to prove innocence” and “how to prove it,” she’d have stepped into the trap, taking “Yekase is also a hero” as the given, like walking over a painted bridge.

Like a card’s cost—you can pay it even when the effect won’t fire, coin to a silent altar.

Alright, let’s see your answer—the die tossed into the bowl.

PeaceWarrior tilted her head and lifted the cut-down shotgun, a thunderstick raised against dusk.

“Don’t question me.” The words fell like ice.

…Uh.

Yekase realized she’d still underestimated how little she heeded words, wind ignoring flags.

She raised empty hands, palms open like white leaves, signaling no hostility.

Her mouth kept running: “Smashing a Sinister Organization’s factory is good however you cut it.”

“Still, I’ve got personal curiosity about the PeaceWarrior who shows the head, hides the tail, like a dragon in mist.”

“If you don’t want to talk, we’ll withdraw now, tide pulling back.”

The muzzle didn’t shift a hair, a nail sunk in wood.

“Alright.” She exhaled like steam.

Anyway, Yekase wasn’t truly curious, her interest a paper lantern.

She tapped Shen Shanshan’s shoulder and turned toward the factory wall, footsteps crisp as pebbles.

Shen Shanshan felt she should say something; she didn’t know how heroes spoke, and Yekase’s parley seemed sunk, water pressed from stone.

“Stay safe,” tossed like a leaf in the wind.

PeaceWarrior watched coldly as they reached the wall, gaze like winter glass.

“We’ll be off then—” Words waved like a handkerchief.

Yekase glanced back for a final goodbye; she was sure she caught a micro-expression of impatience, a ripple on stone.

Yeah, time to leave cleanly, cutting rope in one stroke.

In PeaceWarrior’s mind, they’d be those annoying heroes you bump into once, too many times already; deeper pursuit wouldn’t sprout.

Beep-beep-beep-beep!!

Right then, the quiet around the plant split with a shrill alarm, knives on glass.

Rows of red spotlights flared on the walls, draping everything in the yard like blood-washed cloth.

The beams painted PeaceWarrior’s calm face with fresh blood; she folded her arms and, for the first time, spoke with a hint of feeling, a bell struck once.

“Now you know? The reason.”

“No, I don’t!” Panic popped like hot oil.

Yekase wanted to ghost through the wall and run, fear beating like wings; then she pictured a dozen reinforcements beyond it—stepping out would be walking into the net.

Shen Shanshan picked up the thread: “So that’s it… this factory is a Twin Towers branch, defenses thin as paper because their garrison sits nearby!”

“You couldn’t say that earlier?!” Her words flew like thrown stones.

“I didn’t know earlier either!” Her voice hopped like a startled sparrow.

Shen Shanshan insisted this wasn’t on her, planting a flag; Yekase strongly suspected she’d heard half a sentence, catching only the echo.

Faced with groundless blame, Shen Shanshan flared, anger burning like dry grass.

“Uh… bottom line, never heard of it!” She banged the drum of her point.

Yekase stared at Shen Shanshan, gaze straight as an arrow.

Shen Shanshan stared back, two cats on a fence.

“…Fine, I’ll trust you this once,” a coin tossed to fate.

With magic at hand, hauling Shen Shanshan out would be easy, so Yekase stood fearless, backbone like steel wire.

The question now: what would PeaceWarrior do, her shadow drawn like a blade?

As a classic radical, cold-hard and imperious, Yekase couldn’t picture her running with her back to a Sinister Organization, a tiger turning tail.

But heroes who stay free these days all know when to bend, wisdom like bamboo in wind.

Yekase looked to PeaceWarrior, silent at the side, still as a statue.

…With the alarms ringing like anvils, she was swapping magazines on an assault rifle, hands steady as stone.

“Uh… you planning to take them head-on?” Yekase asked, curiosity and anticipation sparking like flint.

“I told you. That’s why I stand here,” words firm as a pillar.

Magazine seated, she checked the rest of her gear—buttons pressed, switches flicked—both hands moving in order like gears in a clock.

“…I see,” a pebble dropping in water.

Even as Twin Towers City’s largest group, Twin Towers wouldn’t pour all forces to guard a branch.

Reinforcements here might not be a flood, more a stream.

Draw them out in batches, in proper numbers and strength; chip away at Twin Towers like chisel to stone.

That was PeaceWarrior’s plan.

Repeat two or three times.

By the time the higher-ups realize a hero dared hit a D-class organization, she’ll have broken at least two squads.

Like storms felling trees.

Once Yekase saw it, her gaze toward PeaceWarrior held a thread of respect, a silk line glinting.

“Shen… Heisenberg, you can’t handle this many, right? Get inside, hide, and find a way out elsewhere,” words like guiding lanterns.

“What about you?” The question rose like breath in cold air.

“Me?” Yekase flicked her right wrist, motion like a fish tail. “I’ll do what I think is right,” a stake set in earth.

In her hand, she held a keyboard, plain as a black brick.

A basic black membrane keyboard, worth maybe fifty bucks, cheap as roadside iron.

“…Keyboard warrior?” The phrase bent like a half-smile.

“Mm.” The hum buzzed like a bee.

“What do you mean mm?! That’s your secret weapon from earlier?!” The words popped like firecrackers.

“Yeah.” She nodded like a reed.

Yekase flipped the keyboard; only then did Shen Shanshan see what set it apart, a seed under the shell.

On the underside, an elastic strap messily taped with yellow tape, a makeshift vine.

…

Yekase slid her left forearm through, cinched the strap, and fixed the keyboard, snug like a bracer.

“B-667, Witch Workshop.”

At that name, Shen Shanshan shivered, a chill like stream water.

She’d named it, christening a blade.

Shen Shanshan knew Yekase’s habit: only works she liked earned numbers and names.

After years of B/N mixed runs, they’d only reached six-hundred-something, a slow-growing grove.

And this plain keyboard had a name too, a crow wearing a crown?

The name evoked that hidden street treasure, the Alchemy shop Witch Workshop, a lantern in alleys.

What sky-breaking function did this keyboard hide, to make Yekase this confident, thunder trapped in wood?

PeaceWarrior showed little when Yekase volunteered; but at the sight of the keyboard, her eyes narrowed, blades behind lashes.

“If you’re going to fight, you’d better have resolve,” a line drawn like flint.

She probably thought they were messing around; by common sense, it looked like play, children with sticks.

Yekase’s fingers pressed onto the keys, ten birds landing on a wire.

“Resolve to kill or be killed? To shoulder lives? That’s old hat,” she said, tossing those words like dead leaves.

Four fingers blurred and danced across the keyboard, swallows slicing dusk.

“Fighters trade high risk for high pay at the end of the day. And me? I’m their risk,” she said, smile thin as a knife.

White runes began to lift from the floor, frost rising.

Then linking keys appeared, threads of light weaving like vines.

Complex letters of light floated and interlocked in air, settling into a rhythm.

Shen Shanshan’s mouth opened wider, a door in a gale.

“This is… Alchemy?” Awe rose like incense smoke.

But it felt different from the Alchemy she knew, a river with a new bend.

Seeing that, PeaceWarrior understood Yekase needed no hand; she continued her battle prep, a craftsman sharpening steel.

Shen Shanshan… obediently slipped into the building, a fish into reeds.

Then, a drumbeat in the chest.

The alarms cut off, silence dropping like a curtain.

Several blasts boomed at once, leveling every wall in sight.

Twin Towers fighters spilled into view, and the battle began like dawn breaking.

They met PeaceWarrior’s prepped grenades; then bullets poured from a dozen muzzles, iron rain.

“Generate Peripheral.”

PeaceWarrior swept her right hand level.

A full row of human-sized mechanical fists snapped into the air with silver-blue squares.

Their tails ignited and streaked toward enemy ranks like meteors.

“Hoh…” A breath of steam.

Omega Ray. A path entirely different from Professor F’s, forked lightning… interesting.

“Prep’s done on my side too—” Her voice was bright as brass.

The last rune slid into place; the triangle array behind Yekase rippled silver and burst gold, light blooming like chrysanthemum.

“Deep Ecological Bomb!”