For the next three days, Yekase spent her mornings gathering materials, and each afternoon she claimed an hour to lecture—researchers swarmed like starving ghosts at a feast—and she finally gave a rough sweep from production methods and physical traits to real-world uses.

On day four the conference ended. The researchers still buzzed like bees in a glass jar, but Yekase’s throat was a dry riverbed; she simply couldn’t talk anymore.

She’d never paid attention in class, an ordinary undergrad from an ordinary school, now standing before master-level elites, a small boat riding heavy surf—of course the pressure was crushing.

She tried to bow out using that reason, but they comforted her instead: Flash Energy had no discipline yet; she was a trailblazer, at least PhD–advisor level. The words warmed her like a lamp behind paper. Thinking it through, she felt lighter.

The elder who set the tone and shielded Yekase on day one turned out—she later learned—to be Burns, president of a university in Ivalice, eyebrows steady as winter pines.

After the session he found her alone, said he planned to found the world’s first Flash Energy major once it went public, and asked if she’d be the opening professor—a banner lifted in fresh wind.

Yekase nearly fainted on the spot; stars popped behind her eyes.

“As long as your students don’t mind me teaching badly…”

She stammered and, moth-voiced, agreed.

She had once pictured overthrowing the Sinister Organization as a far-off season, and wondered what she could do before that—maybe be a teacher, pass the fire along. But Flash Energy’s production was harsh; popularizing it was a steep cliff. If it couldn’t arm the people, she let the idea gutter out.

But if she could win a lab at a university, and grow her own group—a seedbed of ideas?

A river of new blood might one day find a channel to carry Flash Energy to the sea of the public.

Even if, in the process, a world-famous Flash Energy would unavoidably be taken up as one of the Sinister Organization’s weapons—the shadow comes with the sun.

Uh, hold on.

Her thought halted like a bird mid-flight.

She traced the river of life back through eons. At symmetry breaking, when mass rose from the Higgs field, she saw the first curl of Flash Energy. With her will, she gave it shape.

Wasn’t that her—sitting in Azus (Old Dad)’s cockpit, drifting along the Causal Horizon like a skiff against a cosmic tide?

Yekase had said only a righteous heart could start Flash Energy machinery—a key cut from light.

And so it happened. The world nodded.

The criterion felt mystical; even she couldn’t start the Flashblade System. That very failure proved how strict the gate was—narrow as a needle’s eye. Members of the Sinister Organization would likely all be barred; the worry flipped to too few chosen.

In the end, Yekase told Mr. Burns she planned to return to Huaxia after the New Year and start preparing papers. He promised funding and space for the lab—the ground laid like fresh snow.

“You’ll leave your name in history, a well that never runs dry. Our shared will to harness Infinite Power for humanity will pass down, generation after generation. That’s everyone’s consensus, Ms. Yekase.”

He said it and left, words ringing like a bronze bell.

Yekase felt dizzy, a kite tugged by praise.

One final day of meetings remained, but she had nothing left to teach. Tomorrow she’d sleep till noon; tonight lay quiet as a lake.

She decided to hunt wild mages in the stratosphere—the sky a cold sea.

Wild mages were wary and closed-off; their sky-islands ran continuous stealth spells like mist, and some rich ones brushed on anti–Infinite Force Perception coatings. In a boundless sky, they were hard to spot—sparrows in fog.

Otherwise, why choose them to evade a wolf-pack like the Sinister Organization?

Space—say low Earth orbit—was safer and more secret, but it was a mountain beyond a mountain compared to mechanical floating islands.

Yekase climbed to the right altitude, scanned the blue, saw nothing, then slid out two hover-disks and lay down—one a bed, one a backrest, lily pads on the air.

She lit a Dancing Light to lamp the dusk and played on her phone, a firefly cupped in her palm.

No point drifting blind; better to sit and wait for the fish to bite.

She knew last night’s Heavenly Divide, a sword-beam thrust into the sky, had been seen by many. If any wild mage felt the tug of curiosity, they’d come on their own—the negotiation after would be simple, cards on the table.

…

Twin Towers City, Tianxin District.

“Youth Palace? Got it, I’m on my way!”

Ling Yi hung up, thought for a heartbeat, then dialed the number Lu Yao had left: “A-Ping, we’ve got a job!”

Since the Valhalla bar started running, hero activity in Twin Towers City had slid back onto its rails, gears clicking.

Fang Tang built a relay with comm tech. It worked like that boss Maya’s hero hotline, but it encrypted both numbers and routes—privacy locked tight, a black box humming. Ling Yi didn’t really get it; it just sounded cool.

Especially lately, when Shadow Curtain International rolled out their “Official Hero” gig—a top-tier scam. A few naive volunteers had already walked into the web and vanished. In that mess, the hotline was a rope across a flood.

Ling Yi didn’t overthink. She handled what stood in front of her and helped whoever stood there, eyes on the road.

She locked her door, vaulted out the window, raised the Flashblade Key, and shouted, “Flashblade Activation!”

“Starry Sky Striker ACE!”

“ZEROS!”

Intel said there was a gang brawl near the Twin Towers Youth Palace—another brawl, steel in the air—so Ling Yi planned to call Lu Yao and scare them with the Peace Walker.

Ling Yi dropped near the Youth Palace, boots kissing the curb.

The melee churned, three tides colliding:

One squad carried single swords and shields, bronze gleam like a field drill just ended.

One squad wore red helmets capped with ramming horns, barging like enraged bulls.

One squad brought assault rifles and body armor, a black river of muzzles—standard kit.

Looked like the third squad would win, odds stacked like stones. Swords and shields were one thing, but those bull-warriors—

Boom.

A red-helmet rammer speared through a gunman’s chest, the corpse hanging on the horn as a meat-shield for ten meters before being flung aside like a broken banner.

“Uh?!”

Her stomach dropped like a stone.

Ling Yi switched to Gale and shouldered her railgun, wind gathering at her fingertips.

“Blade Spell—”

She picked a sparse spot in the crowd, threading a needle.

“—Explosive Wind Bias!”

Green lightning ripped along the pavement, and nearby fighters scattered like startled birds. Ling Yi cranked her mic. “Stop fighting! Pick reps and take it to the dueling grounds!”

“Who even are you?!”

“I’m Flashblade Red! If you won’t stop, for the residents’ safety we’ll have to lay you all out—”

“Nobody cares!” A fighter raised his rifle and sprayed at Ling Yi, bullets pinging and clanging off her armor like hail on steel.

Mediation failed. Then—

“[Clear out!]”

Lu Yao’s voice snapped in her ear. Ling Yi dismissed the railgun and climbed, a swallow on a gust.

Lu Yao’s voice rolled over the street: “Protocol: Grand Cross Alpha!”

Two silver-white lances detonated beneath Ling Yi, drowning the crossroads in light. Rot cleared by fire.

That was a heavy mech’s crushing force against low-level combatants. Ling Yi floated to Lu Yao, who stood on Part3 and looked down over the fight. The light thinned to ash. A few tough ones still stood; everyone else lay strewn on the ground.

How many dead? No idea. Lu Yao couldn’t be bothered to count, her gaze cold as iron.

At least the brawl had ended. They traded a glance—quiet as winter—and turned to leave.

“Stop right there!”

Hmm?

Ling Yi turned toward the voice. A girl hung behind them, hair blazing blue, eyes a furnace.

“Uh? Your hair’s on fire…”

“You—what do you take human life for? This was a full-on massacre!”

She shouted, voice a fire alarm.

What?

“You should ask them,” Ling Yi said, pointing to the wrecked street below, the scene still smoking.

Lu Yao answered coldly, “Lives matter. Combatants don’t count.”

Her words fanned the girl’s flames. Fire swelled in both her palms. She bellowed, “I’m Flame Lady, first-class Official Hero of Twin Towers City—false heroes who scorn life, I’m putting you under arrest under the law!”

Then, under her breath, too small for anyone but herself, “Heh, always wanted to say that.”

The two exchanged a glance under that grand hat of accusation.

“So what would you have done back there?”

Ling Yi tried for dialogue. Lu Yao just racked a PKM, and without a word, raked bullets at Flame Lady—lead rain sweeping the air.

“Of course I’d—whoa! Sneak attack? Knew you were villains!”

Flame Lady wrapped herself in Mind Energy fire and jinked in the air, a flame-wisp dodging the stream.

“I know you, PeaceWarrior! You’ve killed more than you can count! Ever thought they had families—”

“Dew.”

Ling Yi quietly shifted forms, a ripple through water.

“And you, Flashblade Red! I believe in your justice. You’re just lost in nonstop fighting! Join our Official—”

“Hindrance Ripples.”

—!

Water-blue waves spread from Ling Yi, and Flame Lady didn’t dodge in time. Her Mind Energy sputtered out like a doused torch, and she tumbled, a star falling from the sky.

“Aaaaaa—ugh!”

A yellow mechanical claw snatched her midair.

Stripped of flame, the girl looked up. On Gauntlet’s glossy visor, a cutesy emoticon grin lit like a digital moon.

“You don’t get to judge her.”

Gauntlet lacked the thrust to truly fly, but it could pivot in the blue. Ling Yi gripped Flame Lady, turned once in the air,

and hurled her hard toward the twin towers that housed the Official Heroes HQ, a stone to its source.

“Go back to where you came from.”