Yekase would be stationed in Ivalice for the long haul, no rush to sightsee; she split from the group, slipped to another hover platform, and headed to report at Bangli University.

The three left decided to buy a translator first, like packing an umbrella before you smell rain.

Yekase’s translator was a single-ear ear‑mike the Sovell Conference had handed out free, a limited‑edition with a neat print; somehow Mira had gotten one too, like a stray leaf caught in the same stream. Ling Yi and Jiang Bailu would soon settle in the City of Ivalice as well, so they needed their own.

Lucky break—the hover platform’s control panel offered Simplified Chinese, letters like ripples on steel; they typed “translator,” and the system auto‑routed them toward a home electronics store.

On the way they slid past a classroom block, container‑sized, both sides sheer glass like lake water; the teacher and twenty students lay fully visible, a diorama floating through the conduit beside them. Ling Yi leaned to the rail, her hearing sharpened by Mind Energy, catching the teacher’s voice like a falcon catching wind.

“What’s the latest magitek tank model used by the Pontifical Army? Fae, you answer.”

A girl stood like a sapling. “Reporting, sir—Gabriel.”

“Gabriel M1. Sit.”

The teacher, sporting a Mediterranean hairline like a bald bay and stroking his beard like sea grass, projected a 3D model above the lectern, then explained, voice crisp as hammered steel. “Rate of fire, sixty rounds a minute. Armor‑piercing, HE‑incendiary—delivered in a blink. A champion among modern magitek tanks; even the Bull‑class heavy tank from Labyrinth City can’t match it head‑on.”

“How about our mechs?” a boy asked, the question rising like smoke.

“Our Beast‑Frame Mark Dao isn’t built on armor. In tangled terrain we can outthink them; on open plains, we avoid direct battle. But you’ve all heard the rumor—the mysterious Crimson Magus is about to teach in our city‑state. Once Flash Energy matures, both tanks and mechs will see the deck reshuffled.”

The classroom block turned a corner, slipped down another conduit, and flew away like a migrating bird.

“He mentioned the Doctor,” Ling Yi said, impatience flicking like a tail. “Is Europe really that tense? Everyone’s cranking out tanks.”

“Scattered, Europeans are a mess; gathered, they act like strangers,” Jiang Bailu said, as if tasting old tea. “Since history began, division’s their constant. The EU’s a husk now thanks to the Sinister Organization. War any day feels normal.”

“Will she stir up a red wave here too?” Liu RuoYuan fretted, worry fluttering like moth wings. “Then we’d have to bail to North America, and if she kicks the hive there—last stop Africa.”

“She’s not that bleeding‑heart, is she?” Doubt hung like mist.

From how Yekase had mowed down combatants like cutting grass, she didn’t seem the type to leave Huaxia’s problems unsolved and run off to help strangers.

Liu RuoYuan still couldn’t settle. “If someone begs her, she’ll do it.”

“…Oh. That’s… true.”

An unease spread between them like thin ice.

Luckily, the uneasy air cracked quickly; the platform braked at their first stop—a general store, its sign swinging like a tired clock.

Maybe instant household inventory was too hard to track, so the smart navigation was walking them through every place that had ever sold a translator, like retracing footprints in dust.

Ling Yi hopped to the shop’s deck before the platform fully settled, pushing the door open with the eagerness of a sparrow.

The store was only a dozen square meters, laid out like a toy shop near a school, shelves glittering with mechanical curios Yekase would love, each trinket like a firefly in glass. Liu RuoYuan and Jiang Bailu saw the tight space—three inside would be cramped—so they waited on the platform, patience coiling like a spring.

The boss wore overalls so grimy their color had died, lounging in a handmade sling chair two meters above the shelves, gently swaying like a slow pendulum, a transparent tablet in his hand streaming news like rain.

“Hi,” Ling Yi asked, voice careful as stepping stones. “Do you sell translators?”

The boss glanced through the tablet, then pointed at the wall, where a headset hung like a lone fruit.

So easy? Ling Yi perked up, slipped the headset on, happiness rising like sunlight.

“That one’s for foreign travelers to borrow,” the boss’s voice came through, translated into Chinese by her ear‑mike, smooth as poured water.

“Oh…”

“For in‑stock translators… let me see. Left side, that cabinet with the devil sticker. Second shelf.”

She turned left. An iron cabinet scarred with rust stood there, a devil emoji sticker glaring like a tiny imp.

She opened it. Inside were five shelves. On the second shelf sat… a thing.

A red little ball, with a strap stretching from each side, buckles glinting at the ends like cold teeth.

“…Uh?”

“Latest neural translator,” the boss said, tone dry as sand. “Output side reads the wearer’s brainwaves when pressure’s detected, then translates to a set language. Input side picks up audio, translates, then passes it through bone conduction via your teeth. Downsides—can’t use it while eating, and your jaw gets sore if you wear it too long. Purchase comes with a covert feeding tube.”

Ling Yi’s face flushed up like a dawn cloud. She shook her head hard. “N‑no need for that! Do you have other kinds? Something… less ergonomic to the human body?”

“Then the shelf below,” he said, voice a flicking wire.

On the shelf below lay a roll of parchment, cream as old bone.

A scroll?

“The Greenfield School’s sealed secret,” the boss intoned, almost reverent. “Language magic, ‘Babel Tower.’ Once cast, what you speak and hear auto‑converts to humanity’s original common tongue. Anything with human blood hears it. Flip the trick and you can detect non‑humans disguised as people.”

“Language magic? Sounds convenient—”

“Once cast, it can’t be undone,” he said, words dropping like stones. “It won’t ruin daily life, but the Church will detect it, and you’ll be wanted across the realm. You know Greenfield’s their prime target.”

“Then it’s useless! I’m buying this to study here. How do I live if I’m wanted?”

“As long as you don’t leave the City of Ivalice, this steel fortress will keep you safe,” he said, comfort like cold iron.

It did sound safe—but Ling Yi wanted to see the rest of Europe. She wasn’t going to hole up like a house cat.

“Is it done yet—?” Jiang Bailu called from outside, impatience a drumbeat.

“Almost!” Ling Yi shouted back. “Do you have a simple ear‑mike? Like the one you lent me.”

“Tsk…” The sound snapped like a pebble.

He clicked his tongue! He actually clicked his tongue!

“…Fine, fine. Go down the right aisle, to the far white cabinet, bottom shelf. Should be the last one.”

Bottom shelf in the farthest cabinet—he really didn’t want anyone finding it.

Not only was it buried deep, the aisle bristled with thin iron rods hung with “shock‑price” tags like thorns, and fragile props sat at the very edge like eggs on a ledge. Good thing Ling Yi’s battle instincts were mature; she moved like a thief through a laser web, tiptoe and breath‑held, crossing the danger zone without brushing a single thing.

“…Tsk.”

Another tongue click! So annoying.

First day in Ivalice, first store visited, and the place carved a bad memory into her; she swore, silently as frost, never to shop alone here again. Next time, let the Doctor go toe‑to‑toe with these people.

She paid, bagged the ear‑mike, cradled it like a warm loaf, and tiptoed back through the hazard field to the door.

This time the boss didn’t click his tongue. For some reason, he looked almost disappointed, like a cat denied mischief.

Ling Yi hopped onto the hover platform, flashed the bag at her friends like a pennant, then pulled the ear‑mike out and put it on.

She hadn’t noticed it when she jumped up—the City of Ivalice had two reserve slots at every platform berth, mag‑locks that held the platform in place like iron jaws. To leave, you hit a red release button; the slot vented with a soft psssh, and the lock let go.

Pneumatic or magnetic? She couldn’t tell, and the question drifted like a leaf.

On the way to the second shop, they decided to test the ear‑mike. Jiang Bailu forced out a line of English, words wobbling like a drunk bicycle. The device didn’t recognize it, treated it as a ghoul shriek, and ignored it.

Ling Yi and Liu RuoYuan burst into laughter, a cascade of beads.

Jiang Bailu, stung, looked around, eyes flashing; suddenly her mouth fell open, and she pointed over Ling Yi’s head, alarm jutting like a spear. The two weren’t falling for a cheap “look, a UFO” trick; they kept laughing—

Thunk!

A basketball‑sized object smacked into the back of Ling Yi’s head, bounced, and dropped off the far rail like a startled bird.

“Holy—! That hurts!”

Caught unprepared, Ling Yi toppled, hand clamped to her nape, body twitching on the deck like a struck string. She gritted her teeth, sat up, and yelled through the brand‑new translator:

“Who threw that trash? Got any decency—”

A flock of riders on mechanical brooms exploded past like street racers, then snapped a turn at the limit, skimming the platform edge, chasing that thing down the open air like hawks.

“Ivalice police?” Liu RuoYuan leaned over the rail, gaze like a line. She could still see their backs.

“Looks like it,” Jiang said, eyes narrowing. “What are they chasing?”

The thing was small, a ball, yet it had slipped through a pursuit in the sky, cutting lanes like a fish. Maybe a nasty little robot?

“I’ll go check.”

Jiang Bailu said it—and jumped straight off the platform, clean as a blade.

“Hey?!”

Liu RuoYuan had just helped the aching Ling Yi up when she turned and saw Jiang jump without even triggering a flight technique, like a comet shedding rules.

“You two really are master and disciple, huh?!”

Wind swallowed her words. Jiang Bailu spread her limbs, dropping in a no‑parachute freefall, the air roaring in her ears like a river.

“—Coffee MooN!”

She called her half‑self—she did it in English, the name ringing like a brass bell.

Ling Yi’s ear‑mike blinked. It finally caught a line of Jiang Bailu’s broken English, built a voice library on the fly, simulated missing tones and cadences, then read “Coffee Moon” into Ling Yi’s ear in clean Chinese, like a jade bead.

“Shouting a superpower name you’ve practiced a thousand times—does that really prove your speaking’s fine?” Liu RuoYuan’s incredulous voice floated through the City of Ivalice’s oil‑scented air, thinning, and then it was gone.