"Vivian, did you have fun at Mom’s today?"

The first thing Zeming did upon returning home was scoop up his adorable daughter and gently ruffle her hair.

"Fun! Did Daddy get my drawing?"

"Of course, my little sweetheart. Look—I’ve kept it safe right here."

Zeming pulled out a necklace from under his shirt. Nestled in the silver pendant was a tiny printed version of her artwork.

"This is…"

Her big, sparkling eyes blinked rapidly. Her pointed ears twitched as she peered at the image.

"Daddy asked a student who’s good at this to help make it. There’s one for you too, Vivian~"

"Daddy’s the best~!"

She threw her arms up, snatched the necklace, and cheered excitedly.

Eira, setting plates at the dining table, glanced over. Zeming waved back casually. Her expression remained icy—but today, it carried a sharper edge of resentment.

*Still upset about this morning…*

"Sorry, Eira. You know it was just a joke."

He set Vivian down to play before dinner and sidled up to Eira.

"A joke? A man strapped with bombs joking while cooking dinner for his daughter?"

"Well… if you say so. All I can do is apologize."

Zeming bowed his head sheepishly, fidgeting under her glare.

*Clang!*

The last plate hit the table with a sharp crash. Her anger hadn’t cooled one bit.

"You really do care about me," Zeming teased.

"Don’t touch me. Move your hand one inch closer, and I’ll kill you."

Zeming yanked his hand back from her waist. He wasn’t eager to be diced by her high-tech blades.

*Having a wife this gorgeous but untouchable—isn’t that the cruelest torture?*

Refusing to give up, he followed her into the kitchen, fragrant with simmering stew. Eira’s cooking always carried the warmth of childhood memories.

"What about your hair? Can I touch that?"

He stood behind her as she stirred a pot, the picture of domestic intimacy.

"I’ll strangle you with piano wire."

*Too scary.*

"Then… your shoulder?"

He reached out slowly, aiming for a buddy-like pat to smooth things over.

"Want to feel what a broken bone sounds like?"

Her icy threat made him shiver.

Just as Eira thought he’d retreated, she felt arms circling her neck from behind—her combat-trained instincts flaring instantly.

"Pervert!"

Blushing fiercely, she seized his left arm, arched her back, and executed a brutal throw. Zeming crashed onto the floor.

*No woman tolerates surprise attacks from behind.*

"I told you—I’ll kill you!"

She snatched a kitchen knife, pinning him down with her knees. The blade pressed against his throat as they locked eyes.

"You look really cute when you blush."

"You—!"

As she raised the knife, a silver pendant slipped from her collar.

*He put this on me earlier?*

Her fingers brushed the necklace. *So he wasn’t trying to hug me… just this?*

"Mind if I get up now? Please don’t throw me again… ow, my back!"

Zeming scrambled up, clutching his lower back, and limped toward the kitchen door.

Eira’s gaze flickered between him and the pendant. Guilt crept into her chest.

*He even prepared a place for me at the table…*

"Can I borrow that muscle spray from your gym?" Zeming called from the doorway, still wary.

"Fine."

"I’ll eat after I treat my back."

"Wait."

Eira stopped him.

"Need help moving something? I’ll medicate first."

"No. I’ll apply it for you. Let’s eat."

"You’ll help me?"

Zeming double-checked. Eira, still tidying up, nodded with a deep flush.

"Holy crap. What cosmic lottery did I win today?"

*If acing national exams makes ancestors proud, melting this ice queen is a supernova.*

"By the way… let’s go on a date tomorrow?"

"…………………"

Zeming blinked, wondering if it was April Fool’s Day.

"No joke. It’s time we got to know each other."

He pulled out his phone.

"Hey Dad, is Mom floating in the sky right now?"

【How’d you know we’re in a hot air balloon?! And no—I’m NOT giving you a baby brother!】 his dad yelped.

"Just saying… today’s explosions weren’t the only things making Mom fly."

…………………………

The derelict district wasn’t just a dumping ground—it was a den for thugs and criminals. Drugs, black-market organs, human trafficking… all thrived here.

And lately, something new had drawn crowds: waves of Supernatural Beings.

"Worthless trash!"

A man in the shadows punched a concrete wall.

The three-meter barrier crumbled like tofu, shards exploding outward.

"Calm down. This is just the beginning~"

A gender-neutral voice drifted from a steel scaffold above. A figure perched there, gazing down.

"That bastard promised to leave the target alive until he adapted to the body! Now we’ve lost another tool to find the Core!"

"One disposable pawn? Relax~ The Core’s still newborn. Harmless."

"But if others take it—!"

"No need to rush. Observe. Wait. Weaklings don’t deserve to join our—"

*Wait. What’s our organization called again?*

"You forgot our name?"

"Go on. Remind me."

"We’re called… what *are* we called?"