"Zeming, Zeming?"
"............."
"Zeming, what's wrong with you? Zeming!?"
"Huh! Huh?"
Startled awake, Zeming finally roused himself—not from bed, but from the dining table. His head swayed, eyes fluttering open. His grip on the chopsticks felt weak, as if he’d entered a state of decline. He’d woken to his wife’s calls, but his eyelids were heavy, utterly unable to fight the drowsiness.
"Sorry, I couldn’t sleep last night."
"Yeah, none of us could," she replied.
The couple faced each other across the table, both sitting with dark circles under their eyes. Only Vivian remained energetic, happily munching away. Their mental states had hit rock bottom; after a sleepless night of exhaustion, they could barely function. Eira had been too tense all night with her sister nearby, forgetting to observe anything. Now, she was simply overwhelmed by terror, neglecting to sense the aura around her. She’d spent the night convinced her sister was there, unable to sleep. Zeming, meanwhile, had been haunted by Eira’s sister’s stories all night—unable to rest, only to wake at breakfast time. He really was useless. His spirit felt utterly drained; all he craved was sleep.
"I’m full~~~ Mom~ Let’s go~~" Vivian chirped energetically.
Glancing at the clock, it was time for school. Work, work, and more work—what was he supposed to do? Elusa wasn’t around this morning; she must have left. But the luggage by the door suggested she planned to stay elsewhere. They pulled back their chairs, slowly rising with drowsy movements. Driving in this state would be risky.
Just as they were about to leave, the unexpected happened. Eira’s phone blared—not with music or anything serene, but a sharp, urgent tone. At the first ring, her fatigue vanished. She spun around, dashed inside, and emerged moments later carrying a large suitcase. This meant a critical mission had been assigned.
"How about I take Vivian to school today?" Zeming offered, snatching the motorcycle keys and stuffing them into his pocket.
"But you’re exhausted too. It’s dangerous to drive like this, especially on a motorcycle."
"Don’t worry. Missions should be handled fast. I’ll take Vivian—I’m fine." The second perk of being a Cyborg: a little stimulation could revive his mental state.
"Really?"
"Of course. Trust me." Vehicles weren’t the issue. What kind of mission warranted such a loud alarm?
"Then I’m off. Be careful on your way." Eira rushed out, her expression calm and composed.
"Mom, be careful~~"
"Come back early for dinner."
Father and daughter watched from inside as Eira left. It seemed he’d be taking Vivian to school now. But first, one more thing. Zeming walked to the kitchen, placed a cup, and began mixing ingredients: chili peppers, bitter melon, coptis powder, a splash of cola, Agastache water from the medicine cabinet, and the holy grail—menthol oil. To balance it, he added salt, sugar, and a dash of MSG.
"Dad’s amazing—he can handle such disgusting stuff," Vivian remarked.
He downed the whole cup in one gulp. The chaotic mix—indescribable, like something called lizard juice—hit him hard. But instantly, his spirit surged with energy. He stood up, burping, as his stomach churned violently. "Let’s go, time for school." A Cyborg’s stomach could resist poisons, but hellish dishes and dark delicacies were beyond control.
"School~~"
"Yeah, Dad’s taking you."
---
The mall was sealed off. This once-bustling space now held a crowd herded like livestock, enveloped in fear. Panic etched every face, an unspoken threat hanging heavy. The astonishing part? Only one man threatened them all.
"Listen up, everyone. Time’s up, and no one’s shown up~~~" The man leaned on the second-floor railing, one hand supporting his forward tilt. He smiled, then tossed a small crimson paper airplane downward.
It flew almost defying logic, gliding like a slashing blade. The first strike pierced a man’s neck. His head fell silently, rolling as blood spilled. Instantly, the crowd panicked, screaming like wild boars about to be slaughtered. The drifting paper airplanes fell one after another—first, second, third victim—all sliced by that razor edge, bodies reduced to messy chunks.
"Today’s target? All of them." Watching the brutal killings, the man grew more excited. He threw more paper airplanes into the air. They were sharper than swords, their unnatural flight paths turning them into monsters, soaring to pierce every single person without exception.
"The world is so interesting. Where are the Heroes? I’m about to wipe everyone out." He turned away impatiently, leaning on the railing as he silently observed the scene. "After wiping everyone out, who needs Heroes? Gravediggers are the most reliable, after all."
