In the dim room, only the rapid-fire clatter of keys echoed like rain on tin.
Screen glow washed over a wild, unkempt face, a cold moon on tangled night. Eyes hid behind black hair, locked to the display, unblinking.
No. No. No.
...Magical Girl Icarus.
She’d appeared like a wraith from the wreckage of the One-Year War. Her transformation tech traced back to the Magical Core Satellite the human coalition launched. Her wand was the legacy of the Magical Girl Ivaris. And that Alchemy keyboard? Never heard of such a thing.
—Wait.
There’s one more seam to pry.
That red, likely Infinite Power she uses.
After she turned recent patent filings upside down, PeaceWarrior finally caught a thread:
“Flash Energy.”
A new energy drawn from colliding particles, like lightning bottled mid-storm. Material in structure, yet it behaved like intent; a blade of matter, swung by will. You needed both schools to touch it, so researchers were rare as cranes in snow.
And the sharpest mind in Flash Energy at home...
“Ika...”
Unrecognized Consortium X. Dr Ika.
Hair-veiled eyes snapped wide, like shutters blown by wind.
Codename matched. Power matched.
But Dr Ika was dead. About half a year ago.
She knew because she’d been one of the heroes who surrounded that Reaper Type-2. She’d fried the robot with a high-voltage grid, sparks hissing like serpents, killing Dr Ika in the cockpit and washing her father’s blood with thunder...
He’s still alive? And a woman now? He even reformed and became a hero—teaming up with the PeaceWarrior who almost killed him to push back Twin Towers?
How is that possible?
The charred corpse in that cockpit was burned into memory, a black brand that wouldn’t cool. The hatch never cracked until the machine lay silent. If Dr Ika cheated death, how did he pull it off? What was the point of staging all this?
It didn’t add up.
With a single Flash Energy paper, he could’ve walked into a provincial-level Sinister Organization or higher and rocketed up the ladder like a firework. Instead, at the peak of momentum he built a robot to trample farmland, a steel ox crushing seedlings. He saw several heroes join up, didn’t run, and got himself killed...
Fine. Even ignoring the farce of “fake your death, find your conscience, become a hero,” the guy’s behavior was strange as fog at noon.
Still, if there’s even a sliver of a chance—PeaceWarrior’s gaze iced over, sharp as a winter blade.
Don’t rush... Too much contact raises hackles. Stick with the plan. Map the roots and rings of Twin Towers City’s new-generation heroes.
Today’s target... the hero codenamed MAYA.
She claimed the power of a Magical Girl. In battle she switched into a lavish Western ballgown, and her attack magic glittered like fireflies. She debuted not long ago, yet she had piles of repelled incidents and rescues, footprints stamped across Twin Towers City like dew prints on stone.
She was also the first to found a Sinister Organization under an independent hero’s name, and to partner with film and TV firms to drop a personal photobook and digital album.
Justice and cute in tandem, MAYA quickly amassed fans by the truckload and made bank—she said every coin would fund hero work.
PeaceWarrior couldn’t stand that type, but she played fair. If they didn’t do evil, she wouldn’t make a move.
She checked her throwables.
Machines infused with Omega Ray had one great edge: stability. They cleaned themselves, needed little care, like stones standing in a stream. Grenades weren’t that lucky.
One incendiary. One smoke. One flash. Two frags.
Check complete. Move out.
PeaceWarrior put on a pair of plain lenses and headed downstairs, breath steady as frost.
She had logged every hero’s activity record in the city, grain by grain. Abilities and tiers. Dispatch times and cadence. All stored on her safehouse rig, all mirrored to her smartwatch.
She raised her wrist, the face lit like dawn on water.
[Magical Girl Icarus]
[Anti-army class, high threat level]
[Wields unknown Infinite Power and potent Alchemy tools of unknown origin]
[Leans left. Continued observation advised.]
[Primary zone: Tianxin District]
She’d just typed that in last night. Did she forget to close the page? Her finger flicked the panel, pulling what she wanted now:
[Magical Girl MAYA]
[Anti-personnel class. No successful contact. Threat level unknown.]
[Uses magic]
[Behavior loud, eccentric. Moderately suspicious.]
[Primary zone: citywide]
That “citywide” was the red flag, a stain on snow.
Heroes usually kept secret bases. Travel time to different districts always told on them, like rings in wood. PeaceWarrior used that lag to triangulate primary zones. But MAYA was different. Her office sat on a main strip in Drum Tower District, a sign that said “MAYA Office” standing tall on the roof, lit at night like a lantern.
Then just ride to Drum Tower and take a look...
PeaceWarrior stopped dead, breath catching like a twig snap.
Two familiar silhouettes burst out side by side from an alley up ahead.
Flashblade Red and Dragon God Shark.
Working together?
No—if they were transformed and moving in daylight, something was up, clouds gathering fast.
She stayed wary and critical of other heroes, but she wasn’t the kind to nitpick heroes and ignore real incidents. Flashblade Red and the Beast King Squadron had been spotless in her watch—textbook heroes, straight tens.
If they had a situation, she didn’t mind lending a hand.
Follow and see.
The two said something to each other. Flashblade Red stepped behind Dragon God Shark, wrapped her arms around her, kicked the back thrusters, and lifted like a red spark.
...Well.
PeaceWarrior halted. Frustration pricked like sleet.
She couldn’t fly.
She had a modded bike—useless against flying targets in a city maze. Which meant...
“Partial deploy, Unit Three.”
“Peace Walker—Part 3!”
A smaller silver curtain than last night flared open behind her, a rippling veil, and a mechanical voice spoke from the light.
Out slid a machine shaped like a glider.
PeaceWarrior planted the wing, vaulted on, and crouched where a cockpit should be. There wasn’t a seat, just three C-shaped grips fanned in a curve.
The tail engine gurgled, then roared like a caged hound.
“Switch to auto-flight. Lock target: Flashblade Red.”
The little craft rolled less than five meters, then yanked skyward and arrowed after Flashblade Red.
The pair up front didn’t clock the tail. They changed heading now and then, but kept angling one way, a needle pulled by a hidden magnet. About ten minutes later...
They finally set down on a rooftop.
PeaceWarrior remembered this building. It and seven or eight around it used to belong to Emerald Pool. Cashflow snapped, and they all stalled out as concrete skeletons, ribs against the sky. The project manager ran out of road and jumped from this very roof—the takeoff point was steps from where the two touched down. Later, other buildings were bought and reborn. Only this one stayed here, rotting in the wind.
Why here?
PeaceWarrior hovered nearby, watched them smash the rooftop door lock like splitting old ice, and slip into the stairwell. Then she dropped to the roof without a sound.
“In this building?” Flashblade Red asked.
“Yeah, the top few flats. Vitals look... okay?”
“Okay is enough. Looks like we’re in time.”
It sounded like a rescue, like a rope thrown into flood.
PeaceWarrior waited on the roof.
No sound reached her. Her brow knit, storm-cloud tight.
A rescue should’ve been a breach and a firefight by now. Facing enemy grunts with hostages and unknown trump cards—were they planning to talk?
She tailed them floor by floor, footsteps soft as dust.
On the second level, she spotted their backs in a room. Weapons were still up. They seemed to be facing someone—
Her gaze slid to the far side, a camera panning.
Another familiar figure.
...MAYA.
The girl codenamed MAYA.
She wore a pink-and-white lolita dress so cute it felt overclocked, ribbons and bows from crown to hem like petals in spring. The puffed skirt hugged down to the thigh roots, and with white stockings printed with bunnies, it framed that teasing strip of bare skin.
In her hands was... something like a staff. Though it looked more like a PreCure plastic noise-maker, toy-bright in a war room.
Farther behind her, several men and women in mismatched gear lay strewn like fallen pins, and—
“Fang Tang!” Dragon God Shark gasped, a name thrown like a stone into still water.
Idiot, why yell? She hadn’t noticed you two yet. Now you’re blown.
PeaceWarrior cursed inwardly, heat spiking, hand already sliding under her jacket to the pistol grip.
If MAYA bared fangs here and used the people on the floor as hostages, she would fire from the dark at once, snap the girl’s mobility—
“Ah—Flashblade Red-senpai and Dragon God Shark-senpai! I’ve liked you for so long. I can’t believe I get to see you in person!”
MAYA turned, saw the pair in the doorway, and bloomed with a bright, delighted smile, eyes literally sparkling like stars on water.
“Uh—huh?”
The two went blank, stunned birds.
Flashblade Red raised her right hand like a student answering, timid as a breeze. “W-w-wait, what’s going on here?”
“These combatants kidnapped a bunch of passersby. I knocked them all down! Don’t worry, nobody’s hurt!”
“O-oh. Got it...” Flashblade Red cupped her right ear, whispering a few words to someone on the other end of her comm, voice low as rain.
“...When you arrived, it was just combatants and victims here? No other heroes or anything?”
“Hm? Nope!” MAYA answered, baffled, head tilted like a curious sparrow.
...
The signature red-black blade showed a lightning ripple across its surface. It leveled at MAYA, a storm line drawn.
...Huh?
PeaceWarrior also thought MAYA reeked of red flags. But you couldn’t just start swinging. Not before a clean investigation and a decisive piece of proof—
“Kagari!”
“Code-01! KAGARI!”
“...Figures.” MAYA’s face dimmed, like a lamp turned down.
“So you’re just like the others after all.”
