Even looking back now, Ling Mo—or rather, his former self—was quite an interesting guy.

Most of the time, he stayed remarkably calm, analyzing nearly everything with near-rational clarity. Thanks to that, he’d dodged plenty of trouble—a point already mentioned.

But in certain situations, Ling Mo revealed a completely different side.

You could call it… his "passionate state."

Like during middle school fights… though it showed up far more often while gaming—say, after a ten-win ranked streak. That rush of "I’ve got this" would swell, and he’d gradually grow reckless.

The clearest sign? He’d shed his usual rationality, acting on pure instinct—not brain guiding body, but body steering brain.

Not impulsiveness, though. Quite the opposite: he’d grow eerily calm, dissecting every relevant detail with razor focus, immersed so deeply he’d subconsciously filter out distractions.

His body signaled the move; his brain calculated the optimal path. The key difference? He ignored broader consequences—only the immediate goal mattered.

Most gamers hit this zone sometimes. Ling Mo just took it further—applying it even in real combat.

Rare. Very rare.

For Xia Xinyan, Ling Mo entering this state by the second instance was good news. He was adapting faster than she had in her past life… Maybe even without her guidance, this Ling Mo could climb higher.

…Which left her slightly annoyed.

If *she’d* had a "Miss Xia" chasing *her* back then, she might’ve outshone him easily.

So why did *she* have to play Miss Xia?

She admitted it—jealousy flickered again.

Unaware of the resentment behind him, Ling Mo charged into the administrative hall with grim resolve—and nearly collided with several civilian officers.

Startled by two armed strangers bursting in, one froze. "Who are you?"

Ling Mo fired a shot into the ceiling. No words. "Where’s the armory? Lead us there if you want to live!"

"D-Do you know where you are?!" an older female officer stammered, horrified. "This is a crime!"

Ling Mo locked eyes with her, then swung his gun toward a younger officer. "Ten seconds. Answer, or his head blows."

"Don’t! I’ll talk!" she relented instantly. "I’ll take you—just spare him!"

With only unarmed staff present, resistance was futile.

"We only want weapons," Ling Mo said evenly. "Cooperate quietly. We leave once we have what we need. Be smart."

"I… I’ll lead you," she whispered, turning hesitantly.

Before exiting, Xia Xinyan gently stepped in front of her, smiling softly. "Don’t fear. We only seek self-defense tools. We won’t hurt you."

As she spoke, her gaze brushed the officer’s—a subtle mental charm.

The woman visibly relaxed. "O-Okay… I’ll cooperate."

Ling Mo missed the detail, but her kindness warmed him.

*An angel…*

He never wanted to play villain. But time was critical.

He just hoped Xia Xinyan wouldn’t misunderstand.

The armory held little: sparse ammo, a few riot batons. Xia Xinyan stuffed useful items into a backpack, loaded the handguns, and turned. "Let’s go. Nothing left worth taking."

Ling Mo nodded, then glanced at the flustered officer. "Outside’s dangerous. Take weapons to protect yourselves too."

He led Xia Xinyan out.

He knew they were NPCs in a game instance. Yet the realism made him treat them as real people.

Playing villain left a twinge of guilt—especially before Xia Xinyan.

That final remark eased it slightly. Repaired his image, too.

Luckily, Xia Xinyan smiled. "I was wondering how we’d find the armory… You’re far more capable than I am here."

Ling Mo paused, offering a slightly awkward smile. "Just efficiency. I never wanted to be the bad guy…"

"I know," she nodded gently. "I trust you. You didn’t hurt anyone, right?"

"Mm… Mm."

*Xia Xinyan… truly understanding.*

In today’s world, someone this kind was rare.

Meeting her felt like a gift he had no reason not to cherish.

Outside, chaos had worsened. People writhed in pain across the streets.

Right as they stepped out, a hefty figure charged desperately toward the station.

Ling Mo raised his gun on reflex—but froze as a panicked cry cut through: "Wait! Don’t shoot! Friendly!"

That oddly familiar line gave him pause.

Then they recognized the figure.

Fatty.

"Old Ling?! Damn, you’re even faster than me," Fatty panted, eyes locked on Ling Mo’s bag. "Straight talk—need a strong ally to tag along?"

Ling Mo hesitated, glancing back at Xia Xinyan.

Fatty was his classmate… but her opinion mattered more now.

If she refused, he’d walk away.

—Was this "choosing love over friendship"?

Thankfully, Xia Xinyan smiled. "Sure. We have extras. We can share."

"Can I get some too?!" A tense, urgent voice chimed in.

They turned. Murong Yue sat in Ling Mo’s car, pressed against the driver’s window, eyes wide with hope.

Pathetic. Pitiful. Helpless.

No one knew when she’d slipped in.

Xia Xinyan: "…"

*If we’d been ten seconds slower… the car would’ve vanished.*