Water gushed from the faucet into the sink, washing away grease but not the worries in her heart. From the living room beyond the wall, the TV blared, reporting news about a missile misfire on an island that nearly triggered reunification with the mainland.

Nangong Shiyu wore her school’s girls’ uniform, a white apron tied around her waist. She turned off the faucet, poured dish soap into the sink, and began washing the dinner dishes.

Recalling that afternoon’s battle always left Nangong Shiyu uneasy. Beyond the narrow victory, she questioned if her actions were right. She hadn’t thought much about accidentally harming innocents before. The enemy was too strong—far stronger than her. In that chaos, how could she spare energy for bystanders? Moving the fight away from the crowded convention center felt like enough. She’d done all she could. She’d tried not to hurt anyone. But—

“That kind of thing… from the start… you should have… noticed…”

The girl’s words echoed in Nangong Shiyu’s mind. She felt the sharp reproach. That little boy’s death seemed her fault too.

…

But that thinking was wrong, right? If you truly didn’t want innocents hurt, why fight at all? Why must there be battles? No fight meant no trouble!

The more she dwelled, the messier her thoughts grew. Suddenly, her hand slipped. The plate she held crashed to the floor, shattering.

“Shiyu, what’s wrong?” Xia Zixin called from the living room sofa, peeking into the kitchen.

“Nothing,” Nangong Shiyu murmured. “Just dropped a plate.”

She crouched, picking up shards with bare hands. After a few pieces, pain shot through her fingertip. She turned her palm over—blood welled. How foolish. She should’ve used a broom.

“Shiyu, what are you doing?” Xia Zixin rushed over, snatching the shards and tossing them away. “Use a broom for glass! You’ll cut yourself!”

“I already did.” Nangong Shiyu flipped her middle finger.

“You dare flip me off, little sister? Wait—your finger’s bleeding?”

“Yeah…”

Xia Zixin grabbed her hand and sucked the injured finger into her mouth.

“What are you doing?” Nangong Shiyu yanked it free, startled.

“Your hand’s hurt!”

“Don’t suck it. We’re not kids. Saliva isn’t antiseptic—and my hands are soapy.” She sighed, stood, and rinsed her hands under the faucet.

“Sit in the living room,” Xia Zixin urged, guiding her by the shoulders. “Do you have a first-aid kit? Or band-aids, alcohol, cotton swabs?”

“Under the TV cabinet.”

“Good. Sit tight on the sofa.”

Xia Zixin soon returned with supplies, tending to the cut.

“It’s just a scratch…”

“No. Be good, little Shiyu.”

Only after bandaging the finger did Xia Zixin relax.

“Be careful next time. Without me here, you’d ignore this wound, wouldn’t you?”

“…Yeah.”

She wanted to argue but stayed silent. Normally, she’d use a broom calmly. Today, she was uncharacteristically rattled.

“I’ll wash the dishes…”

Nangong Shiyu stood, but Xia Zixin pushed her back down.

“No. You’re hurt.” She untied Nangong Shiyu’s apron and tied it on herself. “Rest. After today’s fight, I’ll handle the dishes.”

Without waiting for reply, Xia Zixin vanished into the kitchen.

Nangong Shiyu slumped onto the sofa. The TV droned on about global tensions. Its hum made her drowsy. Exhausted, she stared at the ceiling, her strength melting into the cushions.

So comfortable. She didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to think. Thinking only brought trouble.

That innocent child’s death was just bad luck, right…? If she were stronger, she could’ve driven back the Fiend without harming anyone. Maybe… If she were strong enough, she wouldn’t have needed to threaten an innocent life. No guilt would weigh her down.

It was all her fault… right?