Yekase thought of a serious problem, heavy like a storm crouching over the plains.

She was now a Flash Energy fusion creature; the weight sat on that word—fusion—sharp as a needle.

It meant her body still held human organs, not a smear of Flash Energy kneaded like wet dough.

But keep going like this, and someday she’d be that smear, a bright jam splashed on glass.

A lump of Flash Energy could digest food yet leave no residue, a clean fire that makes no ash.

No poop—she’d be a “perfect beauty,” polished like porcelain under moonlight.

But if someone doesn’t poop, can they call themselves human, a fire with no smoke?

Even the Undead in that punishing game stare at turds, mourning days their bodies still obeyed nature.

Maybe pooping is proof you’re alive, a stamp like muddy footprints by a stream.

The thought loosened her knotted brow, ropes uncoiling after rain.

She didn’t care if she was human, or “alive,” or whether she could poop; she needed a definition, a nameplate to hang.

Otherwise even self-introductions would twist like tongues tied into reeds.

…Huh?

A snake slid past her foot, a thin river of scales in the grass.

Yekase hitched up her underwear and rose, heat pricking her skin like noon sun.

She murmured Celestial Speech and Oz Floating Disc, words spinning like silver coins.

She cut the snake’s route, then sealed every gap, hands closing like doors.

She pinched it at the fatal seven-inch mark, precise as a chopstick catching a fly.

Looks like those rice-paddy days catching water snakes hadn’t rusted, a bicycle memory that keeps rolling.

Didn’t expect a bonus course today… She smiled, carrying the snake back to camp like a ribbon.

On the way she tore off its head, a snap like breaking a twig.

She whipped it like a belt to fling the blood dry, crimson arcs scattering like petals.

She found a leftover thin iron rod, skewered it neat like threading fish on a spine.

She lit a fire in a quiet corner with a Flame Burst Spell, orange tongues licking like foxes.

She dragged over a stone, sat, and began to roast, slow as dusk settling.

While it sizzled, she fetched oil and pepper from her storage node, a pocket of night opening like a shell.

Yekase didn’t cook, but oil and spice were paint on rough canvas, saving most food from the trash.

In a moment, the meat turned golden, sending out aroma waves, warm as bread under a morning window.

Yo, good mood!

She looked up; a tall, solid male prospector spoke, his voice gravel in a bucket.

The arm-wrestling runner-up from that day—just standing there, his shadow covered her like a passing cloud.

Mm, showed up while I was taking a dump; want a bite? Her grin was a knife, playful and sharp.

…He hadn’t expected her mouth to be that unfiltered; his hands rubbed together, awkward heat like sand.

But the smell dragged him in like a rope; he squatted beside her, eyes bright as embers.

I’m Yekase.

We know; the boss told us. He reached for the half she tore off by hand, greedy as a street cat.

It hit his palms scalding hot; he almost dropped it, juggling between hands like tossing coals.

He blew and blew, small storms over a burning hill, until it cooled.

He bit in.

Mm… fragrant and tender, like spring rain on bamboo.

Forgot to say, this snake’s venomous. I’m immune, so I didn’t remove the glands.

—

His chewing stopped mid-beat, a drum silenced by a hand.

A wild-grown venomous snake—the poison must be strong, black ink spilling in the mind.

He snapped back, face draining pale like chalk.

Poison—poison… so I’m poisoned?!

Yeah. Sorry, forgot you’re a regular human, a leaf without armor.

His expression collapsed into a cry, rain streaking down his face in two lines.

He muttered about his old mother, then hurriedly swallowed the rest, fatalism like a cliff.

Save… save me! I won’t be greedy again! He knelt, tears and snot a river at Yekase’s boots.

Can’t save you. Go write a will. Lie straight, easy for them to carry your body, like stacking lumber.

He turned ash-blue, staggered toward camp to wait for death, a ship with a hole.

Yekase dropped the act and laughed, a pfft like a bubble popping.

She called to his back: I lied. These grass snakes aren’t poisonous!

He turned, saw her lift the remaining half like a banner, and finally smiled through leftover thunder.

He patted his chest, heart thudding like a drum, then went back to work, a wheel catching.

Yekase slowly finished the half, wiped her fingers clean like rain on slate, and headed back.

She strolled to Command to watch the survey progress, a cat wandering near a glass wall.

Any anomalies south besides mechanical dinosaurs? Her voice was a pebble tossed in a pond.

Report, Commander, none! The reply snapped like a salute, clean as steel.

Aurora was taking briefs from several squad leaders; seeing Yekase drift in, she nodded, a lantern tilt that said sit anywhere.

Mind Energy rounds are cut off. Those .77 caliber rounds came from Huaxia’s Eastern Three Provinces.

Now it’s murky over there; we can’t even get a line, let alone push a shipment, words fogged like winter glass.

Switch to regular ammo. Split them into groups to get used to recoil; also hunt some game, add to the pot, steam rising like a feast.

On it.

Another captain said, Northwest, 2,108 kilometers out, we found a grand rift, a jaw split in the earth.

A man-made structure seems exposed from the mountain, scale looks big; requesting heavy machinery support. Photos attached, stamps on a letter.

Approved. Go to logistics. Six excavators and two adult dragons should be enough, iron and fire in one team.

Copy.

Mm… looks professional every time, gears meshing without grit.

Yekase lounged in a camp recliner, judging these senior staff one by one, eyes like measuring tapes.

She used to report dev progress to Mira, always enduring those soul-level interrogations, knives laid on the table.

What’s this for?

Advantage over competing products?

Can we press the costs lower?

Watching Aurora be a boss so reasonable, decisive, efficient, and hands-on, envy stirred ugly colors in her, oil in water.

She decided today would be spent slacking; any task from Aurora would be nudged back, a feather refusing a gust.

Yekase, can you go check that rift—

Yekase snapped her head: I’m resting today. Not going! Her tone slammed like a door.

All right. You do need rest. The answer fell soft as snow, and shock lit her like a struck match.

Granted special leave, she grabbed a fistful of whistle candies from a dish, pocket chimes tinkling.

She left Command with a spring in her step, and went back to Dragon Fort, a swallow arrowing to its eave.

…

…

Twin Towers City.

Two weeks had passed since Fang Tang sparked the revolt, the fuse burning across Huaxia like dry grass.

Of the five remaining uprising forces, two were crushed by Shadow Curtain International, boots stamping the flames.

One slipped to the central secondary city cluster, a fish weaving through reeds.

Two went into the mountains of North China and the Southwest to wage guerrilla, smoke trails in the pines.

Twin Towers City got dragged into the war early; Jiang Bailu pulled a week of overtime, nights like cold floors.

She slept on the R&D floor every day; once she got a single day off, she dove into Sky Island, a bird chasing height.

Then she found three aboard the Ambition Divine Ship… also working overtime, lights burning like midnight suns.

Lu Yao in the living room ran two computers and a phone, an intel relay for the uprisings, cables like vines.

Liu RuoYuan copied data to send to Yekase in Siberia, snowfields folded into files.

XiaoLei cooked for them, steam curling like ghosts from a pot.

Did I come at a bad time? Her voice was a cautious footstep.

Jiang Bailu kept the awareness of a Sinister Organization member, a thread of guilt coiled like smoke.

She didn’t even dare get close to the screens, afraid of seeing something forbidden and getting silenced by Lu Yao, a blade waiting.

Oh, wait, Coffee Moon doesn’t fear bullets… The thought flickered like a lamp behind glass.

You came at the right time! Help us sort troop numbers and routes for the Southwest encirclement forces!

Liu RuoYuan pressed her into a chair and handed a map and a tablet, tools like oars in a flood.

Eh— The word wobbled like a kite.

Large orgs are badly hurt; ignore them. Track mid-size orgs’ fund flows and alliance info.

Copy all into this cloud doc—Fang Tang’s new platform on the Magical Girl satellite servers, thirteen-layer logical encryption, a lockbox of nested dolls.

Fang Tang? That little girl wasn’t— Her sentence frayed like twine.

She left it before she left. She’d already resolved to become a flash that vanishes, a meteor over a black sea.

Of course, I still haven’t forgiven her for using an impostor trick to force my brother to step in, a thorn under the nail.

Be clear, this person is a member of the Organization. Lu Yao’s eyes stayed on the screen, voice quiet as a knife.

I know. Yekase knows too. Liu RuoYuan didn’t stare at her, yet Jiang Bailu felt peeled, chalk under a fingernail.

It was the guilt of a bad student before the homeroom teacher, knees cold as tiles.

…I’ll do it. She bowed her head.

The tablet in front of her updated every second, messages pouring like a waterfall made of letters.

I don’t have the Doctor’s talent, nor your courage; I yielded to this messed-up world, fog thick as tar.

I chose a high-paying job stained with blood—even that pay was won for me by the Doctor resigning, a door slammed for my bread.

But even someone like me knows, if I treat all this oppression and exploitation as normal, and now still close eyes and ears…

That would be the foulest evil—she didn’t speak that last line, a stone left on the tongue.

She pulled the chair closer and sat, sifting the sea of messages, copying, sorting, uploading, a small mill in a storm.

Back when Yekase faced fighters who brawled from ring to street, missiles and lasers crisscrossing the city sky, she said:

I see you’re not uncaring about civilian casualties.

You just fail to perceive them, blindfold sewn from pride.

Fail to perceive a stray round could hit a civilian; fail to perceive they’re equal to you, mirrors in the same light.

To them, the world was made of Organization members, and lowborns whose job was sending money, coins in a trough.

Something felt wrong, a warped board underfoot.

Dragged by the Sinister Organization, even Jiang Bailu herself could barely see the lines now, ink bleeding on paper.

Too late and too fake to talk remorse and apology, words like wilted flowers.

There was still another path.

“For the rest of my days, I’ll live for this.” Her vow was a thread pulled taut.

…

Lu Yao’s fingers stopped, a bird pausing on a wire.

When did she tell you that? That sentence.

Jiang Bailu flinched: Eh? Which sentence? Just now? T-that was… mine.

Your own thought?

Uh… kind of embarrassing… yeah. Her cheeks warmed like sunrise.

Lu Yao drew a deep breath, then let it out slow, a tide easing from rocks.

She left Jiang Bailu standing there anxious, unsure what line she’d crossed, a cat by a door.

Then she resumed working, keys clacking like rain.

Liu RuoYuan seemed to understand, and chuckled, a bell in a quiet alley.

She pulled a bullet from her pocket and set it before Jiang Bailu, metal glint like a fish.

What’s this?

A standard-looking pistol round, a dark-blue “6” scrawled on its casing, ink like night.

This came from Yekase: the sixth round for her Gunblade—infused with Soul Power, a spark caged in brass.

…Why give it to me? I can’t use it. Her hands hovered like butterflies.

She said, as long as you’re still willing to stand with us, give this to you.

She also said don’t worry about it suddenly going off; nothing else explained, words folded like paper.

Jiang Bailu didn’t get it, but tucked the bullet into her breast pocket, a charm against storms.

She kept it like a talisman, weight small as a seed.