"Good morning."

Beneath the blinding sunlight, Zeming still couldn’t muster the will to shake off his drowsiness. He was trapped in its relentless grip.

*But work…*

Reality was cruel. Time to push through.

He forced himself upright, blinking away sleep. Only then did he notice the restraints were gone—his limbs free, luxuriating in comfort.

No reply from beside him? Had she woken even earlier again?

"Honestly, what’s wrong with taking one or two days off?"

Raking a hand through his hair, he stared at the empty, neatly made bed. The sheets were folded crisp as origami—a sight that made Zeming feel utterly inadequate.

He blinked slowly on the mattress, took a deep breath, and finally rose. His movements were sluggish, like an old man’s.

As an android, his bones and muscles wouldn’t age. But as the saying went: even a car parked in a garage needs its clutch pressed now and then. He really needed to move.

"Mmmph…"

Yet under his own blankets lay one delightful surprise.

A small lump shifted beneath the covers, followed by a soft, adorable sound that tugged Zeming’s lips into a smile.

"Oh? So *this* is why you unlocked my chains?"

He lifted the blanket to find a tiny figure curled up in a white nightgown, sleeping soundly on her side.

"Morning, Vivian."

Her peaceful, innocent face was almost enviable. Unable to resist, he gently brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead.

"Mmm~"

Vivian pouted in her sleep, swatting his large hand away with her tiny palm.

"Yep. Hair and head—still no-go zones."

From the day he’d found her, she’d been half-conscious, covered in wounds that made his chest tighten. After basic first aid, the hospital revealed even more injuries—a heartbreaking sight.

Thankfully, she’d met him. Within days, her true radiance returned: silky hair, skin smooth and pale as porcelain.

Round cheeks, long lashes… watching her sleep always soothed his heart. He’d tease her like this every morning.

"Mmmnn~"

His finger traced her cheek—soft, silken, better than the finest almond jelly.

Squished like this, Vivian scrunched her nose, eyes still shut, hands flailing like a kitten’s.

Zeming slid his hand to her nose tip instead.

One second. Two. Three…

Her face flushed crimson before she finally erupted—jerking upright and sinking perfect, sharp little canines into his hand.

"...Ow."

*Serves me right.* He nudged her head gently.

No reaction. Deep sleep—ideal for a child.

But damn, it *hurt*.

Half-machine or not, nerves and metal didn’t mix.

"Daddy’s so silly~"

Mumbling in her dream, she giggled.

Her words freed his hand. He pulled it back, slick with drool. Yep—punctured by those surprisingly sharp teeth.

"Daddy’s silly~ But a daddy like this… matches Mommy best~"

"*Matches* her? Little Vivian, your daddy’s one of the smartest people alive."

He rubbed his waist. If he hadn’t been clever, he’d be a global superstar—mobbed for hours every time he stepped outside.

*That* life would give anyone a heart attack. Better to enjoy the present.

Before leaving, he tucked Vivian back into a cozy position, wrapping her in warmth.

Truth was, he wasn’t dumb. But whether he "matched" that icy woman? He had no clue.

..................

Next morning

This duplex apartment came with quirks—a stacked villa sharing walls with neighbors.

Upstairs held the living room, bedrooms, kitchen, and bath. Downstairs, per Eira’s decree, was a gym.

"Knock knock. Mind if I come in?"

*Thud. Thud. Thud.*

Tiny fists, snow-pale and flushed pink—many would doubt their strength. Underestimate them, and you’d regret it.

Her body flowed like water: agile jumps, supple limbs, long legs—all weapons. True power lay in softness with steel beneath.

*THWACK—*

A straight punch flattened the heavy sandbag. Power channeled from foot to waist, waist to fist—a perfect line. Sand burst from the torn bag’s back.

Her delicate frame radiated raw strength. The technique was masterful, humbling even seasoned fighters. Zeming stood stunned.

Sand poured onto the floor.

"Such fire at dawn… shame you don’t bring that energy to bed."

He approached half-jokingly, offering a towel and water bottle.

"Say that again, and *you’ll* be my next bag."

She shot him an icy glare, her azure eyes freezing solid.

"N-no! I’ll happily stay your servant—towel boy, water boy, whatever you need."

He beamed, handing over the items. *Model gentleman.*

"Thanks."

At least she was polite. Zeming himself rarely bothered with manners.

Her sports bra and stretchy shorts clung to porcelain skin. The black athletic set highlighted every curve—enough to ignite any hormonal teen. Eira’s figure was pure, relentless temptation.

*Thank god I studied Zen…*

"Saturday. Plans?"

"Official report duty. But I’m bringing Vivian."

"Won’t that be awkward?"

Eira’s life was chaos lately. *With great power comes great responsibility*—no empty phrase. Top-tier Heroes drowned in work.

Dark circles shadowed her beautiful eyes despite her skincare routine.

"It’s fine. You’ve got students today, right?"

"Ugh. Those little monsters *do* make me ache for you."

His own teaching job was no picnic. Rookie teachers broke under kids like his.

"If no emergencies pop up, I’ll stay with her. But if trouble hits… remember Shirley from the prep room next door?"

"That hulking, blush-wearing, hair-waxed, lipstick-loving brute?"

"*Beautiful* Shirley. Be respectful."

Could she really stay so calm?

*Beautiful Shirley.* Triple world champion in wrestling, sumo, *and* bodybuilding. A gay man devoted to homemaking dreams.

"Only thing I admire? Her five-star childcare certification. She’d make a better mom than me."

"Isn’t that a contradiction?"

"No. I bow to her motherly skills. In child-rearing *and* loving men, I’m a novice."

Eira glanced away, speechless.

"To a smooth workday?"

She raised her water bottle like a toast.

"I’ve got nothing to drink… but you could take a sip, then feed it to me mouth-to-mouth?"

"…"

"Or… you drink first, I drink after? Please don’t stare so intensely. I can’t take it."

Zeming learned what CQC meant the hard way: one wrist grab, an overhand throw, then a kick to the ribs.

Military combat arts were no joke—they delivered pain *and* perfect positioning. Flat on his back, he got an intimate view of her bare foot pressing his chest. *Hooray.*

"...I’ll go eat breakfast."

Without a word, Eira stormed off, fury radiating.

Numbness pinned him to the floor. He checked his watch—*way* past time.

"Damn. Those brats must be rioting by now."

......

......

"Alright class, let’s continue. First—roll call."

Zeming stood at the podium in his uniform, flipping through the roster.

*Yeah. Teaching’s rough.*

"Call out if you’re here. Don’t fake it for absentees—I won’t cover for you."

He sighed, resigned.

"Yunhu Li? Yunhu Li."

"Here."

"Elifis? Elifis."

"...Present."

"Yunlong Li? Yunlong Li?"

"..."

"If you’re alive, squeak. *Squeak~*"

"Sir, I’m *Yunhu* Li—not my great-great-grandfather Yunlong. There are only two students. We’re both here."

Right. Only two.

"Fine. Today’s topic: lithium battery bomb mechanics."

"Sir… aren’t you the math teacher?"

"Does it matter? It’s just you two anyway."

A disastrous class. Two students. Total.