“Don’t!”

He clenched his palm, knuckles like white stones under winter water. Han Feng met Zhao Yuan’s eyes and said, “If even we cops can’t fix this, storms will keep rolling.”

“This uniform sits on my back like iron, and family rules root in my bones like old pines. I’m not dropping either, not that easy.”

“...”

“Tsk. I knew you wouldn’t fold,” Zhao scratched his nape like picking at a thorn. He ripped off his headband and flicked it aside like a black leaf. “Work talk bricks your skull. I should’ve torn that file the moment I found it, damn it.”

“Old Zhao...”

Han Feng lifted the thin stack of papers like a blade of paper-ice. He drew breath to speak, but voices burst outside like sparrows.

“Old Zhao! Where are you? Come eat fried noodles! Boss is closing early, there’s an extra!”

“Where’d he hide? Don’t tell me he skipped shift.”

“Skip your grandpa—your dad’s in here!”

Zhao Yuan barked toward the door like a firecracker. Footsteps clattered in, and Li Yan and Chen Jun lugged takeout boxes steaming like little chimneys.

“Great. We buy your late-night snacks and get yelled at. You swallow gunpowder or what?”

“We even planned to let you freeload. Now I’m charging a runner’s fee, ten yuan, cough it up! Brotherhood’s gone like smoke!”

“Old Li. Old Chen.”

Han Feng’s voice cut the room like a cool blade. Li Yan and Chen Jun froze mid-step like deer in headlights.

“Huh? Old Han? Aren’t you on early shift tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Came to pull some records. I’ll crash here tonight.” He shook the papers like falling leaves. “You three got guts. Slacking on duty—every time I drop by, I catch you. Year-end bonus not important?”

He eyed the lunch boxes, half-lidded, like a cat watching fish.

“...”

Silence fell like a wet blanket.

“Hey now, we’re brothers. Talking money chills the tea.” Li Yan elbowed Chen Jun like a playful gust. “Come on, give Old Han his fried rice.”

“Uh... wasn’t that for Old Zhao?” Chen Jun blinked like a slow ox.

“For what Old Zhao? That’s Old Han’s. You misheard, like fog in your ears.”

Han Feng: “...”

“Enough. Quit fooling around. Eat and rotate on duty.” Han Feng waved them on like brushing dust. “You three never let me rest easy.”

“What’s with you, Old Zhao? Sulking like a thundercloud. Get a call your wife ran off?” Li Yan passed him a box like handing over a warm brick. He sat, ate, and squinted. “Wait—you don’t have a wife. Why the ‘wife ran off’ face?”

“Get lost. If anyone’s wife runs, it’s yours,” Zhao grunted, tossing a few red hundreds like falling maple leaves. “You win. Take my cash and roll.”

He added the international friendly gesture like a little knife.

“Ah... so that’s it.” Li Yan stared at the red notes like embers. A beat, then he clicked his tongue. “Old Han jumped into that mess, huh.”

Zhao had bet with Li Yan and Chen Jun after guessing Nana Toki’s background like reading omen clouds. He hadn’t expected to lose, but the dice rolled like stones downhill.

“You think Old Han’s brain-sick? We said it was dangerous, and he still charges in. Guess that’s hard-headed to the grave,” Zhao muttered around his noodles like chewing dry bark, ignoring Han Feng rustling files nearby like wind through reeds.

“...”

“You’re the same damn way,” Li Yan side-eyed him like a knife’s flash. “If you didn’t want him in, why leave the file at the station like a breadcrumb trail? You’re just tsundere—want Old Han to find it, then you can jump in too.”

“I think so too,” Chen Jun added, steady as a stone.

Zhao Yuan: “...”

Crap. Was he that obvious, like footprints in fresh snow?

After digging up intel, Han Feng had the Hard-to-Name Trio ping Nana Toki like sending a lantern into fog. But she was busy with Nan Jin, carving players in-game like twin shadows. The trio couldn’t get close, not without getting cut like grass.

Since Freeloader Swordsman lost ground like a toppled banner, players swarmed Nana Toki’s last-known coordinates like a raking fire. Nana Toki knew time to hide was short like a candle in wind, so she went on the attack.

From midnight to dawn, Nana Toki and Nan Jin, one dagger each like twin fangs, held the line. They stopped that mob cold, half a step from the edge like waves stunned by a cliff.

[World] Freebie Swordsman Arrives: “Damn it, Shadow Clan descendant plus the Treasure Imp is swamp-gross. Trip EX already CCs, and they also shred defense and spike damage like hail!”

[World] Winds Sigh at Yi River: “If they don’t nerf, how do we play? Feels like storm season never ends!”

[World] Who Dares Kill Me: “Hell, the Treasure Imp has killed me six levels’ worth. One more death, my gear won’t even equip. Feels like rust eating through iron.”

[World] Next Time For Sure: “Only six deaths? I’ve died twelve times, like flies to a lamp!”

[World] Emperor of Memes: “Worst part? Some old otaku backstab us like knives in the dark. An npc over lifting the level cap? You ruin player experience like mold, and you think you deserve to play?”

[World] Woeful and Wan: “Backstab your mom. I’m in white gear, giving my wife buffs like incense smoke. Doesn’t concern you. Go kill the Shadow Clan descendant if you’ve got fire.”

[World] I’m Cute Please Give Me Money: “Facts. We aren’t touching your targets. We’re just buffing the Treasure Imp like pouring tea. Can’t kill them yourself, so you blame others like a cold wind?”

[World] Cutest in the World: “You’re just mad and ashamed, like a rooster in the rain!”

While the world chat crackled like frying oil, Nana Toki quietly read the Hard-to-Name Trio’s message like a letter under a lantern.

As expected, when she learned she used to be alive, her mood was steady as a lake. No ripples, only depth.

Yeah. She’d guessed it—human experimentation, that old blood-soaked script, like stains you can’t wash. What surprised her was this: she and that idiot Nan Jin knew each other in real life like threads twined long ago.

She studied him, eyes like moonlight skimming water. Nan Jin only blinked back, blank as morning fog.

Seems these scraps alone can’t bring Nan Jin’s memories back, like tapping a sealed jar.

“If they experimented on me, is resurrection possible?” Nana Toki dropped it like a stone into a still pond. The trio’s hearts jumped like startled fish.

“What do you mean?” The question came tight, like a drawn bowstring.

“Nothing special. Aoto Games reeks of secrets like a shut cellar. You’re cops—take a team and look. Maybe you’ll find my three-year-sleeping body in some dark corner like a forgotten doll.”

That wasn’t a hint. It was bare fire on dry grass.

“Aoto Games is a big company,” Name-Is-Hard answered, voice level as a ruler. “Without a proper warrant, even cops can’t search, like a gate barred.”

“But if there are public complaints or media heat, we might pry it open like a crowbar.”

“Can’t you act first, report later? Kick in the door and nail them after, like thunder then rain,” Nana Toki offered her usual bad idea like a wicked grin.

“...”

If there’s no human experiment now, our rice bowls shatter like clay, they thought, cold sweat like dew.

“Where’s your captain today? Why’s it you three telling me this?” Her text felt casual, like a leaf on wind, but her eyes were sharp.

“You mean Old Han? Early shift today. He’s probably at work now, like a clock.” Name-Is-Hard arched a brow like a gull’s wing. “Why ask?”

“No reason. Just feels odd, like sand in a shoe.”

She closed the chat like snuffing a candle.

World chat stayed a smoky brawl, voices rising like cicadas. The Hard-to-Name Trio debated a forced search on Aoto Games like gamblers over bones, when—

An emergency window popped up like a flare. Server maintenance again, sudden as summer rain.

“Yuzu, did you do something again?” Nan Jin watched enemies dissolve into white light like dandelion fluff. He tightened his grip on his black dagger like holding night, and turned to Nana Toki.

“Nothing much. Just making an opening,” she said, smile thin as a razor.

Under her own name, she’d sent the devs a “report.” Not so much a report as a firebomb, every line her take on Aoto’s human experiments like ink turned blood.

Zhao Qian, an Aoto executive, read it, and it blew up his last bit of luck like a mine in dry grass. He marched into the backend studio and killed the servers like slamming a gate in a storm.

He’d only known the broad strokes—Aoto once researched human experiments, a rumor like smoke. Details? He had none, only shadows.

But now, this npc acted like she knew more than he did, like a lantern revealing the room. That shouldn’t be possible.

Face dark and handsome like carved ice, Zhao Qian gripped a stack of files like a shield and strode into a staff office like a spear. “Get me a game pod. Fast,” he ordered, voice like iron.

He had to talk to the Treasure Imp, storm to storm.

If this goes public, Aoto Games won’t rise again, like a ship holed below the waterline.