Yekase led four victims who were also witnesses, steering the suspect like a tethered shadow into the station’s bright maw.

A cop she’d met once long ago received them, his face settling like dust after rain; after hearing her story, he called for the chief.

“This ‘Sculptor’ is the suspect in our long‑running abduction case!” His voice flared like a beacon. “You’ve helped a ton—thank you, Professor Luciferin!”

Only then did Yekase learn the lady boss led a small Sinister Organization called White Airship, alchemical “artists” by name, storm‑clouds by heart.

They lured teenage girls like moths to a cold lantern; they didn’t kill or ransom, but turned them into living “art” to feed their warped hunger.

Her right hand, the “Machinist,” loved to resin‑cast girls amber‑hard, then cram them into computer towers as figurines, a cruelty sealed like glass.

He was the first to fall. Notified to fix computers at Bondley University, he stepped through the gate like a wary fox; his goon stayed outside.

The air felt wrong, a chill before thunder, yet he shrugged it off; as he neared the doors, the cop assigned to him approached like a blade.

Cops on the plaza twisted him down with hawk‑swift hands; he yelled, “I’m just here to fix a computer!” and kicked, fists and feet flailing like hail.

They moved like a practiced net; he was dragged to the station, arms bound tight as rope; the waiting chief read White Airship’s wanted notice aloud.

Before the reading finished, the Machinist roared like a boar, burst free, and lunged five or six paces at the chief, a dark bullet across stone.

He’d served in Old France; one hit on the chief and ruin would burst like a flood. The chief met him with winter‑cold eyes, steady as iron.

At that knife‑edge moment, a nearby cop surged like a wave, tackled him flat, pinned him, and clicked the cuffs, steel closing like frost.

In the White Airship sweep, the Machinist fell first, and the watch over him tightened like a lock; the net drew in, knot by knot.

Now the boss would meet him behind bars; both might get tossed into the Forbidden‑Magic Prison, a place sealed like a mountain in ice.

Ignoring the boss lady’s stunned stare, Yekase scooped up Rice Rice, warmth in her arms like a hearth, and nodded. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll head home.”

“It’s almost dinner. Let me take you to a local spot known only to locals,” the cop offered, smile bright as streetlamps after dusk.

“Thanks, but my family’s waiting,” Yekase said, eyes drifting toward the faculty apartments like a leaf following wind; the chief read it and saw her out.

She did want a free meal, that sweet chance glittering like candy, but a sharper priority tugged at her like a bell—she had to go now.

She hurried back to the Ambition Divine Ship; Jiang Bailu had finished teaching and was playing with jellyfish with Mom, translucent bells bobbing like moons.

Yekase waved hello but didn’t slow, cutting through the living room like a breeze; Ling Yi was already entrenched on the sofa, a fortress of cushions.

She was surprised to find Lu Yao beside her, eyes like knives promising murder if she asked questions; Ling Yi knew and flicked on satellite TV.

Perfect timing—on the screen bloomed the weekly image they’d waited for, color rising like dawn over roofs.

New anime: The Beggar of Humanity by Zerozaki Nanashiki, episode three. The title pulsed like neon; their anticipation buzzed like summer cicadas.

It told of Qijiu, a “normal” schoolgirl swept into a killing incident at dusk; at the brink of death, a killing talent woke like lightning in bone.

She seized the knife, reversed the strike in a heartbeat like a spark, and began her flight—fighting her inner urge while hunting killers, a road like rain‑wet stone.

At the end of episode two, the villain sneered, “What hero? You’re one of us.” Qijiu answered with a blade and four heavy words, black devouring black.

“I’m no hero… I’m just black eats black.” The line fell like a guillotine; the ending song surged, and the show’s heat leapt like wildfire.

Forums crowned it a new‑era anti‑hero; Yekase didn’t buy that. Alone, bearing a cursed fate, yet doing heroic deeds by will—Showa Kamen Rider in a new suit.

“Doc, hurry, I’ll pour your cola.” Ling Yi slid aside in rhythm with the opening, fizz rising like starlight.

“What did last week’s preview say?” Yekase asked, settling between them like a flat stone, hand drifting to chips and beef jerky on the table.

They tore bags open; the sound popped like paper firecrackers. Lu Yao didn’t eat, cradling her Yuanyuan—maybe Gungun?—a round ball soft as dough.

“Qijiu got chased by the government’s killer‑hunter unit, Special Zero Division, cornered in Nara’s old alleyways,” Ling Yi said, voice quick as rain on tiles.

“Then a silhouette appeared in front of her—” The opening ended; the scene snapped into place like a door on hinges.

“Nanako…?!” “Qijiu, I didn’t expect it to be you…!” Their voices trembled like strings.

“Her bestie from episode one?!” Ling Yi gasped, surprise popping like corn.

Yekase wagged a finger, a teacher’s ruler cutting air. “Too green. Episode one showed it—Tuying Nanako’s surname is too rare, the design too polished.”

“She’s not a throwaway,” she said, words laid down like tiles.

“And the ‘nana’ in her name means ‘seven.’ It mirrors Qijiu,” Lu Yao added, insight glinting like water.

“Exactly…”

“Have you fallen into being a killer… no, I already saw it. You only lacked a trigger, a scent of blood, a door swung by wind.”

“You could’ve lived plain and happy,” Nanako said, grief hanging like mist.

“I didn’t choose this! Since that night, I fight the demon inside, so my blade won’t strike ordinary people—they were once me,” Qijiu cried, voice raw as scrape.

“Even so, I can’t let you walk out. Can you guarantee you’ll never lose control? For ordinary folks, come back to Zero Division with me.”

“I can’t! Trying to suppress it makes it harder to control,” she said, truth hard as stone.

Ling Yi suddenly hugged Yekase, arms clamping like vines; it could’ve been a sly touch, but with tension taut as wire, Yekase let it slide.

Their talk shattered like porcelain; blades swung with feelings left unsaid, steel crossing like lightning; they went at it, clang‑clang, bang‑bang, sparks in shadows.

Clang, clang… bang, bang… thud, thud… The fight beat like a drum.

“Someone’s knocking!” Ling Yi sprang up, feet tapping like sparrows, and ran to the door.

The Ambition Divine Ship felt future‑sleek everywhere, but the front door kept an old spring lock and red spring couplets, home warmth like lantern light for Mom.

Ling Yi opened it to a policewoman with a silk banner cradled like a baby; Jiang Bailu stood behind her, relief soft as rain.

“Thanks to Professor Luciferin’s brave risk, White Airship, free for months, finally fell,” she said, gratitude bright as coins. “I’m here from HQ to thank you.”

She then spotted Yekase sit‑slouched on the carpet, legs a mess, chips in hand, eyes glued to anime, cozy as a cat in sun.

“A banner? Ah, that’s embarrassing!” Yekase said around crumbs, words tumbling like marbles. “Europe does this too?”

“The chief said you’re Huaxia, so we should thank you the Huaxia way,” the cop replied, smile neat as folded paper.

“No need. I only did what a person with a conscience should,” Yekase said, face wearing shy awkwardness like a thin veil.

A banner hangs like a mute lamp; better they send a clever little gadget, she thought, grumbling inside like a kettle while she smiled on the surface.

They’d come fast—she’d barely got home, and the banner arrived hot as fresh bread; she couldn’t snub them, so she took a last glance at the screen and stepped up.

She shook it open. Crimson Demon King. The words blazed like lacquer, then snapped shut in her hands.

“Why does it say that?” her face tightened like cloth on a frame.

“The boss said you’d like it,” the cop answered, earnest as a pond.

It felt like the City of Ivalice—maybe all of Europe—held a carved stereotype of Yekase, a mask stuck like glue.

“And we hope you’ll work with us as the City of Ivalice public safety spokesperson,” the cop added, a new card laid like a fan.

“Uh?” The question fluttered like a startled bird. Why… well, no need to ask. It sounded like the chief slapped his thigh and decided on the spot.

“What specifically would I do?” Her voice stayed even, a blade sheathed.

“Just record a PSA video,” she said, then lowered her voice like dusk. “You know city security’s bad. With you fronting us, petty crooks will hesitate.”

“Isn’t that great?” Jiang Bailu chimed in, stoking the fire like a bellows.

“I don’t like showing my face,” Yekase hesitated, discomfort creeping like ants.

“You choose the look, moves, and slogan yourself.”

“Alright. When do we shoot?”

“This is the formal invitation.” She handed over a stamped letter, the seal red as a plum blossom.

Yekase took it smooth as a slip of silk and watched the cop step through the portal, a ripple swallowing her like water.

Back in the living room, the anime had reached halfway; the ancient city was gone, replaced by forest, Qijiu running with a bleeding right arm like a trail of red leaves.

“What happened?”

“Right before killing Nanako, Qijiu suppressed her killing intent, took a wound to the right arm, and fled into the nearby mountains,” Ling Yi said, voice steady as a path.

“Nanako stayed, looking like she understood something,” she added, grief a thin fog.

Good, a classic beat, not some wild swerve; Yekase exhaled, breath loosening like knotted string, checked the time, and left the rest for later.

She went upstairs to her room; Ivaris was holding Lijie, showing her the window view, scolding gently like spring rain.

“Good you remember the child,” she said, eyes bright as glass.

“I’m here,” Yekase answered, taking Lijie with careful arms, supporting her tiny neck like a cradle.

“Maybe it’s just me, but she seems to grow faster than normal,” Ivaris said, doubt floating like a feather.

“Two days and you can tell?”

“Look, her eyes are open.”

“How many days is normal?”

“I don’t know.” The admission fell like a pebble.

“But the pregnancy was half the normal time. Maybe growth is half too,” she mused, thought burning like a slow wick. “Shortening helpless infancy could be an evolution.”

“Makes sense,” Yekase said, a nod like a small leaf.

Lijie opened watery eyes, a pond under sun, then grinned; she waved tiny hands and grabbed Yekase’s finger, soft as a sprout.

Yekase froze, a statue in winter, heart ringing like a bell.

“Don’t move, I’ll take a photo!”

“Photo your mom—it’s feeding time!” The words shot like a pebble.

Yekase sat by the bed, kicked Ivaris lightly like a playful tap, unbuttoned the top few buttons, and brought Lijie to her, warmth flooding like milk.

Ivaris stared at the white curve, eyes going glassy as glaze; she licked her lips without thinking, a fox at the coop.

“Never, ever, giving you a drink again,” Yekase said, each word a stone.

“I know, I know,” Ivaris muttered, and took another harmless kick, the dance of habit like a drumbeat.

She’d always been brash—a strong big‑sister type—with one crack back at camp when she asked about love, a shield dropped like a cloak.

With Lijie, she’d gotten more brazen, overbearing like a storm, as if to claim the “father” role with deeds and words stamped like seals.

Yekase didn’t care about roles; someday she might tell Lijie, “Mom used to be a boy,” a truth odd as a sideways moon—or she might not.

The boy named Liu Jingyuan had vanished like morning mist; only Yekase remained, a name like a compass.

Inventor or bearer of fire, she could forge endless masks and burn them away across a Longlifer’s long years, sparks drifting like fireflies.

But right now she held one identity, once panic‑tight, now accepted, steady as a lamp in winter—she was a child’s mother.