BOOM——

The wall before him collapsed with a deafening roar. Staring at the layers of white paint and coating peeling off the rubble, Zeming silently wept inside. He’d poured his sweat into building this. All those precious memories… It had been exhausting, yes, but this wall had been his silent scream to the world!

But that was just a fleeting thought. Right now, genuine worry clawed at his chest.

"AHHHH!!!"

Bottles and porcelain pieces came flying one after another from Eira’s hands. Zeming dodged with agile reflexes. Shards of ceramic and glass ricocheted off the walls, peppering his body—but his cyborg skin held up.

"Ow… Eira, what’s gotten into you?"

"LEAVE ME ALONE——!"

Her bodysuit hung half-slipped off one shoulder. The sight was undeniably alluring, but Zeming had no time to admire her figure. Her body looked frail, deteriorating. Weakness had drained her limbs until they seemed paralyzed. She shuffled unsteadily, breaths coming in ragged gasps. Even from a distance, Zeming’s heart clenched with anxiety.

She swayed, blindly searching for something to steady herself. But her legs buckled. With a thud, she collapsed again, unable to move. Plates and bowls lay shattered around her. Her movements weren’t just feeble—they carried a dangerous, hostile edge.

"Eira, what’s actually—"

Zeming rushed forward to help her up. He’d barely knelt when a forceful slap sent him reeling. His forearm blocked the blow, but the impact jarred his shoulder nearly out of its socket. Even as a cyborg, he almost screamed. His arm felt torn clean off.

Before he could react, Eira lifted her sweat-drenched face. Agony twisted every muscle. For a split second, Zeming flinched away instinctively.

Then—disaster struck.

Ghostly white spikes erupted from the perfectly intact floor, spearing toward him like vengeful spirits.

"AHHH?! Are you kidding me?!"

Zeming’s turbines whirred to life. Adrenaline surged as he backflipped away. The sonic *crack* of his movement made his own jaw drop.

Had he just broken the sound barrier?

"...Sorry."

Fear choked Eira’s voice. She stared at him now, panic and regret flooding her eyes.

*She didn’t see that,* Zeming realized with relief. *Thank goodness.*

"You look terrible. Let’s get you to a hospital."

"No! No, don’t worry about me!!!"

She rejected his help again. Fair enough—after all, that spike attack had been her power. Getting too close during her outbursts was suicidal.

...Eira.

Without another word, she bolted back into her room, slamming the door shut.

"What’s *wrong* with you?" Zeming muttered. He glanced at his palm—and froze. A deep, unexpected gash split his skin.

*So I really am hurt. Damn.*

He’d sensed something was off since coming home. He’d dropped Vivian off at his mom’s early. She was probably fine… Her safety mattered most. But seriously—what the hell was happening?

---

**Shopping Mall**

"What the hell happened here?"

"Don’t look at me. Wasn’t my doing."

Lazy Yang sat slumped against a pillar, covered in dust, exhaustion etching his face.

"What’s going on?"

"Mission accomplished, Hero. Our ‘spotless’ savior really outdid himself this time." Lazy Yang yawned, already drifting off. His part was done.

"*Spotless*?"

The officers exchanged confused glances as they stepped forward. They passed blood-soaked patches on the floor, then mangled corpses. Finally, they froze at the scene beyond.

The ground looked like a meteor strike zone. Craters pockmarked the earth. Gashes—each half a meter deep—crisscrossed the concrete like strokes from a mad painter’s brush, screaming panic and rage. No beast or giant could explain this. Only one thing fit: a monster had walked here.

"Truly worthy of his high ranking," one officer murmured. "Different from the ordinary."

Amidst the ruins lay a broken body. Limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Official time of death: 7:00 PM. Cause: total paralysis, fifty shattered bones, severed nerves and vessels—sliced clean.

---

Meanwhile, trapped in her own private hell, Eira raged.

But someone waited. Someone stubborn. Someone named Zeming.

Curled against the wall, Eira shuddered as pain seared through mind and flesh. *Just stay in the corner. Cry silently. That’s all you can do,* she told herself.

"You okay?"

His voice drifted through the door again.

Zeming hadn’t left. Not once.

"I feel awful… But I won’t go to the hospital." She sounded like a sick child throwing a tantrum.

"I know. Don’t know why, but… I’ll stay right here."

*Ugh. He’s still that annoyingly cheerful idiot.* Eira closed her eyes, picturing his dumb grin. Strangely, the pain eased—a trace of relief.

"Hey…" she whispered weakly from the ruined corner.

"Losing spirit? That’s not like you." Zeming’s chuckle cut through the gloom.

"Sick women don’t need excuses."

"Ah. Right. ‘Drink warm water’ advice time? How about I carry you to bed for a nap?"

*Jerk. Still joking at a time like this!*

"Don’t joke… I hurt you earlier. I’m sorry." Her voice hitched between gasps.

"Morning drills with you weren’t for nothing. My reflexes are lightning-fast now. Relax—I won’t die before you do." Zeming flexed his palm. The gash had already sealed.

"Your… supernatural power. Using it so much today… are you okay?" he pressed.

"...Fine. Just… don’t come in."

"Got it. Hey—ever thought about getting a pet?"

"No. They shed."

"Ah."

...

Awkward silence stretched. Yet somehow, word by word, sentence by sentence, the tension bled away. Until finally, Eira’s breathing deepened into sleep.

Zeming waited until deep night. When he finally opened the door, the room was a warzone.

Eira huddled in the corner like a terrified stray—stronger than anyone, yet needing protection more than anyone.

He lifted her gently. Her pale face made his chest ache.

*RRRIP—*

Ghostly spikes materialized from nowhere, impaling his foot.

*Doesn’t hurt… probably. Or at least, he wouldn’t show it.*

"Sleep," he murmured, carrying her to bed. "I’ll clean up."

He tucked her in, then turned to face the wreckage. Time to work.