A week later, a paper titled “An Insightful Perspective on the Generation and Transformation of Flash Energy” slipped into the world’s third-ranked electronics journal like a pebble dropped into a still lake.

It was a starter pistol. Before outsiders even looked its way, a string of prepared papers sprouted like rain-born shoots and flooded every major journal with the same bright keyword.

That keyword was “Flash Energy.”

Its authors moved in dense clusters, their topics tight, their conclusions close, yet none of them cited each other. They were all top Infinite Power researchers who had attended the Sovell Conference, each gifted a vial of Flash Energy by Yekase afterward.

They kept their promise, waiting for Yekase to unveil the system first, leaving the laurels to her.

Thanks to their swift follow-up and natural reach, the journal blitz turned a little-known, niche branch of Infinite Power into a household term, then whipped academia into a storm surge.

Stable in nature, efficient in output, even able to let metal flow and reshape like soft clay. It had the edge of the super-class without the super-class’s airy flaws. The only gate was a tough qualification check. Yet that gate made a legion of frustrated shop-floor machinists see hope; people from the bottom, the very “workers,” were the likeliest to pass.

And yes, production currently needed a particle collider. But early research exists to break chains like that. Crack this one, and you’re basically locking in the future’s second chair.

In less than half a month, universities and independent labs began announcing Flash Energy labs in waves.

Everyone asked the same thing: who on earth was this “Luciferin” who published the first Flash Energy paper?

The name had never appeared in any journal. Her first step triggered an academic quake—silent, then thunder.

Ivalice State University launched promotions at once, and within days received a mountain of applications for enrollment and exchange. Its machinist city became Europe’s spotlight overnight.

A mysterious, era-defining genius choosing your school—those words alone could pull any self-styled machinist into this giant city of steel, hunting new knowledge.

—

And the woman praised as an era-making genius—Luciferin herself—what was she doing?

She lay in bed, scrolling her phone, blissfully frittering away a whole day like a cat basking in window light.

No advisor hovering over second and third drafts—pure relief, a warm sense of owning her life.

Liu RuoYuan poked her head in from the doorway. “Bro! Didn’t you say you’d go scout the City of Ivalice last night?”

“What scout? You make it sound like I plan to burn Ivalice to ash. I’m just getting familiar with the new environment.”

Yekase rolled over, unmoved.

“I wanted to come visit too.”

“Me too!”

Ling Yi popped her head out below Liu RuoYuan’s, two heads lined up by the doorframe.

“Me too!”

Jiang Bailu popped her head above Liu RuoYuan’s, three heads now side by side.

…

“That’s it?”

She waited and waited—no fourth head. Then she remembered: Lu Yao would never do something that embarrassing.

“All right. We’ll head out in the next two days.”

Beautiful slacker time is always cut short...

Hm?

Yekase and the doorframe trio stared at each other.

“…What are you three still standing there for?”

“To watch you change,” Liu RuoYuan said, eyes bright with mischief.

“Oh, to watch me change—how is that suddenly the default?!”

Yekase sprang off the bed, shooed them out, locked the door, then pulled from the wardrobe the witch dress Sandryon had given her on that rattling electric tricycle during their Siberian escape.

It was classical, Gothic, dark as a moonless night.

She’d be living in Europe for the next five years, under the identity of an Ancient Alchemy practitioner and Infinite Power scholar—Luciferin de Finchy. Sandryon had insisted on those trailing pieces. A bare “Luciferin” invites suspicion, she said; add her family name, and half your trouble slides off.

Yekase suspected she wanted a slice of prestige, but the reasoning was flawless.

She changed into the dress, set a large pointed hat atop her hair, hugged the Southern Sky Cross, and pushed the door open.

Jiang Bailu took one look, then cried out with exaggerated delight, “Wow, where did this adorable little witch come from?”

“Cut it out.”

Liu RuoYuan fought back a laugh. “Come here and let sis give you a hug!”

“You’re ‘sis’ again?”

Ling Yi raised a silent thumbs-up, but the rose on her cheeks betrayed her heart.

Yekase decided she couldn’t stay near these three right now. Otherwise, she might face actual danger to life and limb. She’d wait until they cooled down, then act. She slipped back upstairs to the second floor.

She decided to show Lu Yao her new look too.

“What nonsense are you putting on now?”

Lu Yao glanced and looked away, cool as a pond at dawn.

Finally, a somewhat normal reaction. It wasn’t flattering, but Yekase was moved. Hugging her staff, she slid behind Lu Yao and grinned.

“Ancient Alchemy counts as intangible cultural heritage. I’m a recognized contemporary inheritor by my master. Dressing with a touch of cosplay builds the brand image, right?”

“You’ll be operating in Europe. Shadow Curtain International won’t intervene?”

“In Europe, the Church counterbalances them. Control’s weak—independent city-states exist. Africa and Latin America are also loose, but packed with small groups and lagging hard. All told, even without teaching, Europe’s the best choice.”

She finished, paused, then blinked.

“…Are you… worried about me?”

“Great. You not only perform nonsense, you’ve got advanced delusions.”

Ah. Tsundere.

Yekase smothered a smile, walked to the window, and looked at the hemispheric sky-dome’s simulated streets. “Has Bailu asked you anything about becoming a vampire?”

“She asked.”

“She asked if you could turn her into a vampire, right?”

“Mm.”

“So you can?”

“I can, but I won’t use it on myself.” Lu Yao didn’t sugarcoat it. “I won’t give up my human identity. This power is only a tool.”

Yekase said nothing for a moment.

Vampires, for all else, have long natural spans—near-immortal, if not hunted mid-way. And when Jiang Bailu asked if Lu Yao’s vampiric power included turning others into orthodox vampires, her aim was clear.

She still held that night’s words like a thorn under silk.

Living a thousand years isn’t frightening; what terrifies is watching family and friends leave. For a Longlifer, staying beside ordinary people is its own cruel trial—age carving lines into faces while yours stays young.

Since that night, Jiang Bailu had been searching for a way through.

As Professor F said before he left: Yekase is confident and, yes, insanely strong, yet the people around her worry back at her—worry she’ll be alone, worry she’ll burn herself out.

Long ago, Yekase told Ling Yi: take people’s feelings seriously. Don’t be that harem protagonist who plays dumb and strings hearts along. But what about her?

“You mistook respect for love.”

She had sidestepped that question effortlessly that night.

But after so long together—respect or love—would someone who plays strategy and reads rooms fail to tell?

“…Bottom line, our work isn’t done, and me—like this—”

“You’re scared?”

“…”

Lu Yao turned his head. His eyes were still-water calm, yet a ripple of mockery spread across the surface, pinning Yekase in place.

“You, scared? Looks like I need to update your data profile.”

Yekase fell silent.

“Of course I get scared. At Emerald Pool I got forced to run by a close-combat officer. Half a year before that, a civilian pressed a pocket knife to my throat—”

“You know the truth.”

…It’s good Lu Yao’s learning to care for allies, yet why does it feel so uncomfortable? Yekase let out a small, sour smile.

“This is between the two of you. If you disagree, I’ll refuse for you.”

“I don’t have that kind of control desire.”

“Right. Only after someone becomes an ally.”

…

…

The next day, Yekase set the jump coordinates, then took Ling Yi, Liu RuoYuan, and Jiang Bailu to the City of Ivalice.

The independent city-state looked like a giant cube of compressed scrap, its rooftop an open helipad. As they stepped from the portal, two staffers walked over to ask their purpose and check belongings.

Yekase handed over the principal’s letter of introduction, tipped up the brim of her witch hat to show her face, then offered a mild smile.

“Luciferin. ‘Crimson Magus’ Luciferin.”

“Oh—it’s you!” the staffer blurted, delighted. “Welcome to Ivalice! These three are with you, right? No need to check. Just pass.”

“Huh, just pass?” the other staffer asked.

“Didn’t you hear the weekly? Mr. Burns said Ms. Luciferin will be coming to teach. If we see her letter, give her convenience. Let her do as she likes.”

“Oh, right! I remember!”

And just like that, the four walked in with laughable ease.

At the center of the rooftop was a grid of hexagonal platforms. They stepped onto one. It sensed their weight, its traced circuits lit a silver-blue, and it assembled a floating metal railing and a translucent screen.

It was Yekase’s first time here, yet she guided them like a local. “This is Ivalice’s most-used transit. You can get anywhere. Moving a whole block annoys people and draws complaints; taking a platform doesn’t.”

She tapped the screen a few times. The platform computed an optimal route, then carried them down from the roof, easing into the city’s belly.

The blocks looked seamless from outside, but inside they opened wide air and arteries. Conduits crisscrossed like the exposed guts of a dismantled Rubik’s Cube, stitching quarter to quarter.

Below, the depths ran dark and deep, with many sections sunk beneath ground. Hundreds of similar platforms shuttled through, busy as bees, ferrying people across the blocks.

“Feels like we stepped into a space station,” Ling Yi breathed, awe bright in her eyes.

Liu RuoYuan matched her shock. “Is that a tank? That shop’s selling tanks!”

Jiang Bailu edged away from the two country girls, sidling up to Yekase. “Luciferin is an alias. When did you pick ‘Crimson Magus’?”

“Rolled dice while submitting the paper. From a game I love.”

“Huh?”