"Didn't we agree to go on a date?"

Zeming sat at the dining table, his heart brimming with expectation, only to feel that his hope was as fragile as the soft-boiled egg on his plate. The slightest pressure and the gooey yolk would spill messily out.

"Yes, we did agree on that," said Eira with a slight nod, lifting her coffee cup to her lips for a delicate sip.

"Then why can't the two of us just go out together?"

"Because... it wouldn't feel real," she replied softly, her voice distant as her eyes cast elsewhere, clouded with a mysterious haze.

Vivian, oblivious to the fraught adult conversation, sat at her place happily slicing through her breakfast with a fork and knife.

"Not real?" Zeming echoed, unable to hide his perplexity.

"You... you know what I mean." Eira stammered, her usual confidence giving way to a shy awkwardness. "If we're calling it a date, then the first time should be... you know, it should be the guy who makes the plan. Then both people arrive separately at the arranged spot, right?"

Zeming blinked, momentarily stunned. For a brief second, this composed, battle-hardened woman seemed like a girl unsure of herself, dreaming of her first date, daydreaming about how things should be.

She was talking about those quintessential, storybook meetings: choosing a place—maybe beneath a statue or outside a quaint café. One person arrives ahead of the other, and the one who waited carefully rehearses a greeting in their head, as the seconds tick by and the anticipation stirs. If the boy arrives early, he’d worry about awkwardly explaining his eagerness. If the girl were late, she’d mull over how to dispel the tension—through an apology, perhaps, or with a tilt of her head and a charming, disarming smile.

It was such a youthful, idealized notion—and yet, Zeming couldn’t deny it held a certain charm.

"Does that whole setup sound like a hassle to you?" Eira asked tentatively, breaking him out of his reverie.

"I don’t think it’s an issue." Zeming leaned back and gave a soft laugh. "Actually, it sounds kind of... fun."

His answer brought a faint smile to Eira’s lips.

"So, have you decided where the meeting spot will be?" he asked, feeling a rush of anticipation start to build again. A first date—his first date—had to be something special. It just had to.

"I’ve already picked the place," Eira said, gently setting down her now-empty coffee cup. She reached out and patted Vivio on the head. "Once I drop Vivian off at school, I’ll let you know."

"You’re done eating?" She glanced at her daughter with a soft smile.

"Mmhmm! Mom’s cooking is the best!" Vivian chirped contentedly, dabbing her mouth clean with a napkin before hopping down off her chair, her tiny legs dangling just an inch too short to reach the floor. She grabbed Eira’s hand and skipped toward the door.

"Well, I suppose you’ve got the car to take Vivian to school." Zeming sighed, rising to see them off. "I’ll just be stuck here at home."

With only one car available, Zeming had long made peace with the fact that it wasn’t something he could use—he only had a motorcycle license, after all. Not because he couldn’t handle a car, but because ever since his body had been modified, he found himself unable to adjust to driving a four-wheeled vehicle. Motion sickness hit him like a ton of bricks every single time, leaving a metallic tang on his tongue and a fog in his mind. Somehow, motorbikes didn’t affect him the same way; it was as if his body had been re-calibrated solely for two wheels. No matter how inconvenient it was, he'd unwillingly accepted that he was now "the rider," bound to the saddle of a roaring motorcycle, risking life and limb at all hours.

"If only you could drive a car," Eira mused aloud absentmindedly.

"Not my fault, remember? You’re always saying Vivian would catch a cold riding a bike with me." Zeming said with a helpless shrug, earning a pout from a clearly disappointed Vivian. She’d have loved the excitement of riding a motorcycle, even if it was a short-lived novelty.

"Motorcycles are dangerous," Eira retorted casually without missing a beat.

"Alright, alright. Bye for now, Vivian. Be good for your teachers, okay?"

"Bye-bye, Daddy~~" Vivian turned and waved cheerfully, her small hand rocking back and forth.

"Catch you later, Zeming," Eira said before purposefully taking her daughter’s hand and leading her out the door. Her plain, no-frills outfit couldn’t hide the aura of effortless beauty she exuded. When she gave one last glance back over her shoulder, her expression possessed the quiet authority of a commanding officer. "I’ll text you around noon and let you know the plan," she added. "Do as you please until then."

"Yes, ma’am! Waiting on your orders, Commander!" Zeming returned her mock salute with a grin, but as the door clicked shut behind them, that grin slowly faded.

Now alone in the empty house, Zeming looked around, his upbeat demeanor replaced by sudden aimlessness. "So... what now?" he muttered under his breath.

A fleeting, impish thought crossed his mind—grabbing some of Eira’s delicate lace lingerie from the drying line on the balcony. He shook his head to himself. That wasn’t the sort of man he was.

Maybe he could pass the time with some video games? But sitting in front of the screen for hours seemed like a gigantic waste of his precious day off. No... he might as well do something more interesting, something with meaning.

"I’ve got it! I’ll dig out Eira’s childhood photo albums and figure out what embarrassing little secrets my lovely wife has been hiding from me all these years!" He smirked to himself as he darted through the house on bouncy steps, the spirit of mischief rekindling the light in his eyes.

But just as joy seemed to slip through the cracks to him, his hopeful moment was rudely interrupted by an utterly unwelcome sound: **Knock! Knock!**

Who the hell was rudely knocking at his door right when his day off had started to come together?

"Who is it?" he barked, yanking the door open with an annoyed huff.

"Got booze? Got a couch? Awesome, I’m home!"

There on the doorstep stood none other than Mr. Constantly-in-IDLE-Mode, Detective Chen. That perennial bachelor oozed the same laid-back carelessness as ever, looking far too comfortable with inviting himself over at will.

"Chen the Slacker, you don’t even knock like a civilized person anymore, huh?"

"Wow, Zeming the Cannonball," Chen drawled, completely unbothered. "Is that any way to greet your childhood buddy—or have you forgotten whose back you used to copy your math homework from?"

"Oh, I invited you over for tea and snacks, did I?" Zeming snorted. "Where’s your host gift if you’re such a polite little guest?"

"Duh, brought you something," Chen grinned and produced... two bottles of soda.

"..."

"Not good enough?" Chen raised an eyebrow in playful offense.

"Fine, get in," Zeming relented with a sigh of exasperation. "Eira’s been hounding me about the evils of soda—so, yeah, I might actually miss it."

At least his so-called friend wasn’t completely useless.

The duo planted themselves on the sofa, popping open the sodas and sharing a rare moment of idle conversation. Zeming took a long swig, savoring the fizzy prickling sensation on his tongue. It was the closest thing to a guilty pleasure he’d experienced in weeks.

"Ahhh, that hit the spot. So? Spill it—what brings you here?"

"Nothing much," Chen said, reclining luxuriously. "Just sneaking in a nap during downtime at work. Mind if I crash on your couch?"

Without even waiting for permission, he stretched out like a lazy cat. There was barely room for Zeming to voice his protests.

"Just so we're clear," Zeming said, flicking an empty soda cap at him. "I’m heading out later, so you’d better be gone when I’m back."

"Got an intimate date with the wife, eh? I’ve taught you well, young padawan," Chen teased without even opening his eyes.

"Shut it! You just show up to freeload, and now I gotta entertain you?"

"And yet, here I am." Chen yawned. Then, casually, he added, "Oh, by the way, thought you might be curious—while hauling in a perp from that bank case, we found something interesting on him."

"Heh," Zeming scoffed. "And you’re telling me this because?"

"Relax, it was during an authorized search. Turns out this guy wasn’t just an average felon—he was a nobody who suddenly ‘discovered’ an ability."

"From what?"

"Not sure. He was part of some underground experiment. That's the thing—there’s this global message they’ve been spreading in the shadows, looking for... something."

"That's very informative." Zeming yawned exaggeratedly, feigning disinterest. "Great, now get out."

But Chen wasn’t done. He cracked one eye open and, in a tone tinged with intrigue, said, "There’s more. In a dam upstream of a neighboring city, we found this abandoned truck. No cargo, no chemicals or money, nothing. Just one massive crate. Guess what was inside?"

Zeming’s patience was wearing thin. "Stop playing games, or I’m locking you out."

"A human-shaped coffin. It's empty now, but from the looks of it, it once held a kid. About eight or nine years old."