Ring-ring—ring-ring.
The phone alarm chimed like tin bells in a quiet room, and Ling blinked, surprise rippling like a pebble dropped in a pond.
Ara—so it’s that hour already; time to find Rafi.
Still in the clothes from this morning’s meeting with Wang Xiaoming, she tossed a breezy “I’m heading out” at the doorway and slipped away like a shadow.
As for Wang Xiaoming, she had no idea where he’d flown since dawn; let him drift— a man that big won’t just vanish into the streets.
Heave-ho!
She planted her feet and rabbit-kicked, legs coiling like springs; the boost hurled her skyward, and she kicked again the instant she kissed the ground.
Without flight, this was her lone travel hack, a staccato climb through air like a sparrow pecking at the wind.
And for those asking why not just run along the road—please; name one true ace in anime who commutes by boring jogging.
After maybe twenty rabbit-kicks, she hit the rendezvous, the appointed spot, now ringed by a small tide of people.
Heave-ho!
She dropped from high altitude with a soft thump, not posing for effect; with this many bodies, one reckless landing could scatter bones like dice.
Yo.
“Ling, you’re here.” King Alex, the head of this impromptu crowd, greeted her, his presence steady as a drawn blade.
Why are you all crowding the gate? If the Demon King nudges the portal wrong—opens it a hair off—say, on someone’s body—prosthetics won’t save that life.
Her warning sounded grim and cold, like winter rain on stone, but it was plain truth.
If Rafi misreads the X or Y by even a breath, and a door blooms on a person’s belly, space turbulence will mince flesh like whetstone dust.
That’s not something you fix by bolting on limbs; what is this, Dororo?
Hyakkimaru snaps, “Name’s Hyakkimaru,” while Zelda waves from the sidelines.
“Alright, you heard Ling—everyone take a step back.” Spoken like a king, the words carried iron; the wavering crowd slid back like grass bent by wind.
To Ling, those steps meant little; if Rafi wanted harm, he could open a door on your neck while you brewed tea at home.
His voice held the ache of a father guarding his girl, a slow drumbeat of worry before the logic marched in. “Ling, think again; this is dangerous, and the Demon King is a stranger to you. Be wary.”
Why worry so much, she wondered, the thought fluttering like a moth against glass.
Eh, don’t worry about that; that guy absolutely won’t lay a finger on me.
King Alex nodded, a smile curling up like a thin leaf, yet it looked forced, tinged with loss, unease—and a flicker of surprise.
“You—”
Vmmm—
The portal’s hum cut her next word clean, a black chord threading the air, and King Alex caught the way her eyes paused like a shutter.
“What is it? Were you about to say something?”
Ling slid half a step back and shook her head, the motion small as a reed in rain.
It’s nothing—pretend I said nothing.
Talk too much and you leak threads; better not set up those fatal flags, she told herself, folding her thoughts like paper cranes.
Then I’m going. Don’t even think about slipping assassins through; the Demon King’s sense for life is precise.
For the Moser Empire’s sake, and for my safe return, don’t play tricks; I’ll bring back the soundest terms.
She turned with bright confidence and stepped away, sure they wouldn’t be dumb enough to sneak after her; her covert plan felt like a cat landing on its feet.
King Alex watched as the black vortex swallowed Ling’s silhouette, his gaze darkening like ink in water.
He waved to the people beside him, a quiet command dispersing them like birds; they saluted and filed off.
One elder stayed, the same man who had been a sandbag for the king’s anger earlier, his presence a knot in the empty square.
“Your Majesty, you noticed it, didn’t you?”
King Alex sighed again; the breath scraped his throat like dry reeds, stirring an itch, as if something wanted to be coughed out.
“Give me your view.”
“Yes. In my eyes, Miss Ling has serious issues; her words kept hinting we shouldn’t follow, and she knows the Demon King too well—like a familiar.”
“In temperament and ability, she seems to understand him to a degree, like someone reading a well-thumbed book.”
“Anything else?”
“Do you truly want me to say it?”
“…Say it; it’s fine.”
“We must hold maximum suspicion; for example—Princess Alicia might be a participant in this incident, perhaps even the mastermind.”
Silence pooled like ink between them.
“What’s your view, Your Majesty, or any remedy for such a scenario?”
King Alex lifted his face to the sky; clouds had drifted in and smothered the sun, denying him warmth, leaving cold to circle his veins.
I don’t know—not a thing.
