[POV: Yakuza Man]

  “We won,” I said aloud, scarcely believing the words myself.

  The battlefield was silent at last. The eclipse had vanished, the oppressive gravity gone as though it had never existed. Only ruins remained, shattered stone and scorched earth bearing witness to what had transpired.

  “That was the most excitement I have ever had since coming to this world,” I added with a breathless laugh.

  I turned to look behind me.

  Meng Rong lay collapsed upon the fractured courtyard, her silver hair returned to its ordinary state, fox ears and tails gone as if they had never existed. She was utterly motionless.

  The dark flames that had wreathed my bat dissipated into nothingness. The air felt thinner and emptier.

  “This really sucks,” I muttered.

  The adrenaline drained from my body all at once. My legs gave out beneath me, and dizziness overwhelmed my senses. As I fell backward onto the rubble-strewn ground, a series of bright notifications chimed in rapid succession.

  Level Up.

  Level Up.

  Level Up.

  I managed a weak grin. Zhong Fu must have been worth a terrifying amount of experience.

  Then the world dimmed.

  —

  I found myself standing in a place I had not seen in years.

  It was a small kitchen, warm with afternoon light. The faint scent of simmering soup lingered in the air. A familiar figure stood at the stove, her back turned to me.

  “Mom?” I called out, my voice cracking in a way it had not since I was a child.

  She turned around with that same gentle smile I had memorized long ago.

  “You look taller,” she said lightly. “Or perhaps it is just the attitude.”

  I rushed toward her, words tumbling out of me in an excited rush. I told her everything, about waking in another world, about leveling up, about bat swings and gravity fields, about fox spirits and demon cults. I told her how I had fought, how I had nearly died, and how I had won.

  She listened patiently, eyes warm with amusement.

  “So you became a hero?” she teased.

  “I mean, technically, yes,” I replied eagerly. “I am kind of amazing now. You should have seen it. There was this eclipse and dragons and—”

  “And you are still showing off,” she said, laughing softly.

  “I am not showing off,” I protested. “I just… I wanted you to know I am doing well.”

  Her expression softened.

  “You have done well,” she said. “I am proud of you.”

  The words struck deeper than any blade.

  “I will bring you back,” I blurted out suddenly. “There must be a way in this world. Resurrection, artifacts, something. I will get strong enough and—”

  She stepped forward and flicked my forehead gently.

  “You do not need to carry that burden,” she said. “Live to the fullest. Hold nothing back. Do not chain your future to my past.”

  “But—”

  “You do not need to think about bringing me back to life,” she interrupted gently. “If you are happy, that is enough for me.”

  Her smile lingered.

  The light faded.

  —

  I woke up in a familiar room.

  It was Meng Rong’s room, the one where I had been staying. The wooden beams above me were unchanged, the faint scent of medicinal herbs lingering in the air.

  As expected, Meng Rong lay beside me.

  It was ridiculous how accustomed I had grown to her presence. The sight of her sleeping face felt strangely reassuring.

  “Of course I want to resurrect you, Mom. It is my wish…” I murmured groggily.

  I blinked.

  Why had I said that aloud?

  The memory of the dream hovered just beyond my grasp, like mist slipping through fingers. I could recall warmth, laughter, and pride, but the details dissolved the harder I tried to focus.

  “Huh?”

  Meng Rong’s eyes snapped open.

  “I am not your mother,” she said flatly.

  I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Forget about it,” I muttered quickly.

  I glanced to the side and noticed our clothes neatly folded near the bed. Beneath them rested our weapons, placed carefully within reach.

  Meng Rong pushed herself upright and then she froze. Her gaze dropped downward, and in the next instant she yanked the sheets up to cover herself.

  I followed her line of sight.

  Oh.

  I grabbed for the blanket at the same time she did, tugging it toward myself in self-preservation.

  We locked eyes.

  The sheet became contested territory.

  As we struggled over possession of the fabric, we inadvertently pulled closer together.

  “What just touched me?” Meng Rong asked suspiciously, her hand moving under the blanket.

  I froze.

  “H-Hey, be gentle,” I stammered. “It t-tickles…”

  What in all the realms was wrong with this woman? There was no way she was this dense.

  She frowned slightly. “What is the problem? Is it uncomfortable?”

  “D-Do not pull it, damn it!” I hissed under my breath.

  Somewhere in this residence, someone had clearly arranged this situation.

  And if I ever found out who, I swore I would make them pay for the embarrassment.

  …

  ..

  .

  [POV: Meng Wu]

  It had been over a week since the attack on Xincheng.

  My main residence was barely recognizable. Entire wings had collapsed, the underground tunnels caved in, and sinkholes pocked the courtyards like scars left by some monstrous beast. Even now, the sound of reconstruction echoed day and night, hammer against stone, shouted orders, and carts creaking under debris.

  Worse than the structural damage were the lives lost.

  Too many citizens had perished in the demonic assault. Each report that crossed my desk weighed heavier than the last. I could still recall the moment Zhong Fu unleashed that dreadful pressure. I had believed, with unsettling clarity, that I would die that day.

  If not for Yakuza Man and my elder sister, Xincheng would have fallen.

  After their battle, both had collapsed into a deep coma. I ordered my most trusted servants to attend to them personally. They were to be cleaned, fed medicinal broths, and monitored day and night. Because much of the residence had become uninhabitable, I placed them in Meng Rong’s quarters, which had miraculously survived the worst of the devastation.

  “L-Lord Meng, t-they are finally awake!” a servant announced, bowing so deeply her forehead nearly struck the floor.

  I looked up sharply. “Is there a problem?”

  The poor girl was red from neck to ears, trembling as though she had witnessed something unspeakable.

  A dreadful thought struck me.

  “No,” I said slowly. “Did something happen to my elder sister and that bastard—” I cleared my throat. “I mean, Yakuza Man?”

  My feelings toward the man were… complicated.

  He had, after all, saved my city.

  He had also, by all observable accounts, captured my elder sister’s affections. One could argue that such an alliance was advantageous. I was not blind to the political benefits. And yet, a most irrational part of me felt as though a precious treasure had been quietly stolen from my household.

  Of course, “stolen” might have been an exaggeration.

  I coughed into my sleeve and straightened. “You have done well. I will see to them myself.”

  Leaving the flustered servant behind, I stepped out of my office. The corridors were lined with scaffolding and half-repaired walls. Zhu Shufen and little Xue Hai were currently staying at the Red Ember Inn under heavy guard. With the Dream King’s arrival, they were as safe as one could reasonably expect.

  It irked me that the man had only arrived after the entire catastrophe had concluded.

  Out of petty spite, I decided I would not inform him that his disciple had awakened.

  I halted outside Meng Rong’s chamber.

  From within, I heard voices.

  “H-Hey, stop pulling,” came Yakuza Man’s strained protest.

  “It is somewhat unsightly,” Meng Rong replied thoughtfully, “but I must admit it has an interesting girth.”

  I froze.

  A most inappropriate image began forming in my mind.

  Surely not.

  They had only just awakened. Meng Rong, dense as she was in certain matters, could not possibly have advanced to such a stage already.

  Inside, Yakuza Man groaned, “I am serious, stop playing with it like that.”

  Meng Rong’s voice followed, calm and inquisitive. “If I were to handle it properly, do you think I could manage its full length? Oh, the shaft is rather sturdy… It is rather thick and heavier than I anticipated. Do you always carry something of this size on your person?”

  Yakuza Man made a strangled sound. “I told you, stop gripping it like that.”

  “I am merely testing the firmness,” she replied. “If I adjust my hold and use both hands, do you think I could control it properly?”

  “That is not something you need to ‘control’ right now!”

  “It is quite rigid,” she continued, seemingly oblivious. “And the reach, oh… if I swing it too forcefully, will it hurt someone?”

  “It will definitely hurt someone!” he snapped. “That is the entire point, but you do not need to keep stroking it to figure that out.”

  There was a pause.

  “Hmm,” Meng Rong hummed. “Do you think it needs a sheathe?”

  “Meng Rong!”

  I nearly choked on my own breath.

  “Ah, there is someone outside,” remarked Meng Rong. “My senses must’ve been dulled from the injuries I sustained. Brother, is that you?”

  I stiffened.

  “How long do you intend to stand there, Meng Wu?” she called out evenly.

  I composed myself, smoothed my robes, and pushed the door open with what I hoped was dignified calm. The sight before me shattered every scandalous assumption I had entertained. Both of them were fully clothed.

  Yakuza Man was standing by the bed, carefully folding the sheets with exaggerated seriousness.

  Meng Rong sat at the table, idly swinging Yakuza Man’s signature bat in her hand, examining its balance with scholarly interest.

  She glanced up at me. “He insisted that I should not swing it too roughly, yet he refuses to explain why.”

  Yakuza Man shot me a look that was half-defensive, half-accusing.

  I closed my eyes briefly.

  I had been a fool.

  “…It is good to see you both awake,” I said at last, choosing, for the sake of my own sanity, to ignore everything that had transpired in the last several minutes.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  …

  ..

  .

  [POV: Meng Rong]

  Meng Wu led the way through the fractured courtyards of the residence, his steps measured as we passed collapsed beams and scorched stone. Even after a week, the scent of dust and char lingered faintly in the air.

  “Your master arrived a week ago, Elder Sister,” Meng Wu said as we walked. “I had martial artists Tao Fang and Tao Yu accompany him. Though, with the Dream King alone, he would be more than enough to safeguard all of Xincheng.”

  Yakuza Man’s eyes lit up immediately. “Oh, the Dream King! I would love to meet him.”

  Meng Wu smiled faintly. “He is like a father to Meng Rong here, so I suppose you will need his approval.”

  I blinked. “Approval for what?”

  “Yeah,” Yakuza Man echoed. “Approval for what?”

  Meng Wu stared at the two of us in silence.

  There was something deeply uncomfortable about that look. For a fleeting moment, I sensed that my dear younger brother was resisting a powerful urge to strike someone. Possibly both of us.

  I cleared my throat. “How long were we unconscious? Master is well-versed in many arts. Though illusion is his specialty, he is far from limited to it.”

  Meng Wu considered. “The two of you have been unconcious in about a week, I believe. The Dream King claimed that the two of you had a… hmm…” He frowned slightly. “I cannot quite find the appropriate term. Perhaps you should ask him yourself.”

  A strange memory stirred within me. A dream. An unfamiliar world. A different Yakuza Man. A woman he called Mother. The emotions had felt real, so vivid that even now they clung faintly to my chest.

  I realized I had been staring at him.

  “What?” Yakuza Man asked, rubbing his cheek. “Is there something on my face?”

  Meng Wu replied in a perfectly flat tone, “Go get a room, idiots.”

  Yakuza Man frowned. “Huh? We are already sharing one. Wait… was it you who put us in the same room?”

  I narrowed my eyes at my brother. “I cannot let that pass. I understand calling Yakuza Man an idiot, but why must you lump me together with him and call me an idiot as well? As your elder sister, I am obligated to correct your manners.”

  Yakuza Man turned toward me. “Oh? So you are smart then? Yes, very smart—”

  I seized his ear and twisted.

  “We are not finished yet, you miserable scum of humanity,” I said coolly. “How dare you wound my oh-so-precious maiden heart by dying on me? What exactly are you? Some immortal species? If I kill you, will you resurrect again?”

  He yelped, bending at the waist as I applied pressure. “H-Hey! I am alive, right? Also, please do not kill me! I will die for real this time!”

  His dramatics did nothing to soften my grip.

  From the corner of my eye, I noticed Jia Bao and Jia Xiang standing awkwardly nearby.

  “Jia Bao! Jia Xiang!” Yakuza Man called desperately. “I am glad you are alive—”

  I cut him off with a sharper twist of his ear. “Why are you two still here? Has Lord Meng’s hospitality not sufficed? I recall you were placed in the infirmary. Should you not be assisting with reconstruction?”

  I pulled harder.

  Annoying. Why was he not fighting back? He could at least pretend to resist.

  Jia Bao bowed nervously. “My junior brother and I came to offer our gratitude. Our clan has sent warriors to escort us home. However, please know that the Jia Clan is not ungrateful. Our father will certainly remember the generosity shown to us.”

  Jia Xiang gave Yakuza Man a strained smile. “Y-You can endure it, Big Brother Yakuza…”

  The two made a hasty retreat.

  By now, Yakuza Man was practically kneeling.

  Meng Wu sighed. “Sister, could you take it easier on him?”

  “I do not know,” I replied evenly. “He may very well enjoy the pain.”

  “N-No, I do not!” Yakuza Man protested frantically. “I just do not want to lose my ear! You have an absurdly strong grip!”

  I leaned closer, lowering my voice so that only he could hear.

  “You frightened me,” I said quietly.

  He stiffened.

  For a brief moment, my fingers tightened, not in punishment, but in reassurance that he was solid and real beneath my hand.

  Then I released him with a scoff.

  “Next time you decide to die heroically,” I said coolly, “inform me in advance. I prefer to be mentally prepared before my charge attempts something so idiotic.”

  He rubbed his ear, muttering under his breath, but I caught the faint curve of his smile.

  Annoying.

  Utterly annoying.

  “For a not-so-smart gorilla, you sure have a gentle side,” muttered Yakuza Man emotionally, shortly realizing his blunder. “Ah, shit…”

  “You just have to run your mouth, don’t you?”

  …

  ..

  .

  [POV: Dream King]

  I, Lu Fen, the Dream King, had arrived.

  Or so I would have liked to proclaim with suitable grandeur. Unfortunately, by the time I reached Xincheng, the catastrophe had already concluded. The demonic assault had ended, the villain defeated, and the so-called heroes had collapsed into recovery.

  It was profoundly irritating.

  Thus I found myself at the Red Ember Inn, seated by an open window on the upper floor, gently combing my beard with deliberate care while awaiting the arrival of my disciple. I had felt her qi stir earlier that day. The moment it fluctuated into wakefulness, I sensed it across the city.

  Meng Wu had some nerve. The instant news of my disciple’s awakening reached him, he should have sent for me.

  These were not peaceful times. The Meteor Child was no ordinary existence. Her presence alone drew calamity like moths to flame.

  I sighed.

  Behind me, a sharp cry pierced the calm.

  “Ah! My beard! It is burning!” Tao Fang howled in horror.

  The old martial artist leapt backward, swatting frantically at his chin.

  “Oh no, Grandfather!” his granddaughter exclaimed in dismay. “It is a lost cause. We should shave it off immediately!”

  “Nooo!” Tao Fang wailed as though his lineage had been severed.

  I immediately enveloped my own beard in a thin layer of protective qi.

  One could never be too careful.

  Beside me sat the source of this chaos: Xue Hai, the Meteor Child herself. She held a small circular device in her hand, a peculiar object called a “magnifying glass.” It focused sunlight into a deadly beam capable of igniting facial hair with alarming efficiency.

  A terrible invention.

  She peered out the window with innocent curiosity. “Oh,” she said idly, “it is my guardian.”

  From the street below came the excited chatter of passersby.

  “Did you hear? It was the Yakuza Man who struck the final blow!”

  “And Lady Meng Rong froze the heavens themselves!”

  “They say the demon screamed for mercy!”

  “I saw them! They were flying through the sky!”

  I frowned and leaned forward slightly.

  A bizarre figure dressed predominantly in white sprinted through the street below, clutching a cauldron in both hands. He raised it just in time to block a frost lance that shattered against its surface in a burst of crystalline shards.

  Behind him charged my disciple, silver hair whipping violently in the wind.

  “Did you just call me a gorilla?” she roared at the top of her lungs, going so far as use her secret art to stimulate the Immortal Fox she contracted with. “You piece of trash! Come back here! Yakuza Man, I will not kill you! I will be gentle!”

  Ah.

  So that was Yakuza Man.

  I narrowed my eyes.

  There was indeed an impressive power residing within him. I could sense something vast and ancient flickering beneath his mortal shell.

  Yet the sight before me was deeply undignified.

  He smashed an incoming illusion of Meng Rong with the cauldron and barely deflected another frost spell.

  “I do not believe you!” he shouted while running for his life. “I knew it! This gorilla is really trying to kill me!”

  “I do not know what a gorilla is,” Meng Rong snapped furiously, “but I know it is an insult!”

  “If you do not know what it is, then why are you trying to kill me?” he demanded. “It could have been a compliment!”

  “But you said I was not smart!” she retorted. “I cannot tolerate that! I am the brightest disciple of the Dream King—”

  “Does the Dream King not have only one disciple?” he asked cautiously.

  She faltered for half a second.

  “You are doing this on purpose, are you not?” she accused. “Running your mouth? Teasing me?”

  He scoffed. “Do you truly believe I lack that much self-control after everything you have put me through? Of course it was not intentional. A gorilla was simply the first thing that came to mind at the time.”

  Silence fell for one dreadful heartbeat.

  “Can I try again?” he ventured hesitantly.

  “I am going to kill you,” she declared with chilling sincerity.

  I covered my face with one palm.

  This was not the dignified image of my disciple that I had cultivated.

  Xue Hai gently placed her small hand upon my shoulder and regarded me with surprising sympathy. “You were distracted,” she said calmly.

  “Distracted by what?” I muttered irritably.

  A faint burning scent reached my nose.

  I stiffened.

  “My precious beard is on fire!” I cried, immediately flooding it with qi as Tao Fang shrieked in traumatic solidarity beside me.

  …

  ..

  .

  [POV: Heavenly Demon]

  I had borne many names in my long existence, and I had witnessed epochs rise and collapse into dust. I had seen empires drown in their own ambition and gods kneel before inevitability. Yet, for all that grandeur and tragedy, nothing quite compared to a well-timed piece of drama.

  Behind the glassy prison of memory, I watched the poor lad sprint for his life while silver-haired fury chased him through the streets. If I had possessed a mortal body in that moment, I would have conjured popcorn in my hand and applauded the spectacle.

  “Run, boy,” I murmured to myself with shameless delight. “Run like your life depends on it.”

  The scene shimmered.

  I blinked.

  The noisy streets of Xincheng dissolved into radiant emptiness, and I found myself seated upon the vast expanse of the Throne of Creation.

  Golden constellations rotated slowly beneath translucent floors. Rivers of starlight flowed in impossible directions. At the center of it all sat a man in simple green robes, short dark hair stirring in a wind that did not exist.

  “Fuck you, Da Wei,” I said without ceremony. “You ruined prime time.”

  He glanced at me with mild amusement. “Sorry about that.”

  Da Wei and I shared the same origin. We had come from a place called the Source, a proverbial center of all reality. To mortals, it would have resembled Earth. To us, it had been home. It was the birthplace and final destination of all existence, whether one traveled the path of heaven or descended into hell.

  “The Age of Supremacy ended with our time,” he continued calmly. “It is only natural that you would find joy in observing what followed. The Age of Wishes, as fragile as it may be, is the fruit of our blood, sweat, and tears. Someone should enjoy it on our behalf.”

  I clenched my jaw. “It did not have to be my son.”

  The words tasted bitter.

  For a fleeting moment, Da Wei’s expression softened. Regret flickered in his eyes, but it was soon replaced by that familiar, unyielding resolve. It was the same look that had carried him through wars that fractured dimensions and decisions that cost more than entire civilizations.

  “Ru Qiu,” he said quietly. “No… Park Ru-gyu. You deserve this.”

  I scoffed lightly, though there was no true mockery behind it.

  “You are a hero as well,” he continued. “You deserve a happy ending. You will have to earn it, of course. But you are not alone this time.”

  Since the day I met that peculiar man, I had never truly been alone. Even when the cosmos swallowed me in silence, even when despair hollowed my chest, he had remained somewhere—watching, guiding, and meddling.

  Even now, enthroned beyond mortal comprehension, he continued to extend his influence in subtle ways.

  I laughed under my breath. “That is so like you.”

  Interfering with the mortal plane carried consequences. If he overstepped, he could lose the Throne of Creation itself. Such a fall would not merely dethrone him; it would plunge reality into another age of calamity.

  I remembered Earth.

  I remembered the hospital room.

  I remembered losing my wife and my son in the same cruel twist of fate.

  The despair that followed had warped me into something monstrous. The Heavenly Demon of a forgotten era had been born from that grief. I had burned through civilizations in search of meaning, tearing apart heavens that dared remain indifferent.

  At the end of time, I had made a single, desperate wish. I had offered everything I was in exchange for their resurrection, for a new life untouched by tragedy.

  The wish had been granted.

  But not in the way I desired.

  Once one left the Source, returning was an insurmountable challenge. Even for someone like me, hope of walking those familiar streets again had long since faded. And even if I could return, I would not be the same man who once lived there.

  Yet Da Wei had always delivered miracles that defied logic.

  Against my better judgment, hope stirred again.

  “What do I need to do?” I asked.

  He smiled.

  “Just be strong,” he said.

  Simple words.

  From anyone else, they would have sounded hollow.

  From him, they carried the weight of universes.

  …

  ..

  .

  [POV: Yakuza Man]

  Incheon, South Korea.

  The kettle shrieked sharply, snapping me out of my thoughts. Steam curled into the small kitchen as I poured hot water into a chipped mug and dropped in a tea bag. The scent was ordinary. Familiar. Grounded in a reality that felt impossibly distant.

  I exhaled slowly.

  On the table before me sat a crude drawing.

  A doodle.

  I had drawn it absentmindedly over and over throughout the years. A stick-figure man in a long coat, sunglasses crooked over two uneven dots for eyes, a bat slung over his shoulder like some delinquent hero. It was ridiculous.

  It was how I imagined my father.

  I had always been curious about him, yet I had never seen his face. All I had were fragments of stories half-told, and questions unanswered. So I had filled in the blanks myself. A strange yakuza in stick-figure form.

  The doodle moved.

  I stared.

  The stick figure stretched, cracked nonexistent knuckles, and leaned back in exaggerated swagger.

  “You want advice, son?” the doodle asked, its drawn mouth flapping. “Perhaps on how to tame the dames and get them?”

  For context, I was a gamer. A streamer. I specialized in a niche brawler called Yakuza Man Unlimited. My life revolved around combos, frame data, and trash talk in chat. And yet, in that moment, I felt as though my entire life had just flashed before my eyes in the strangest, most absurd montage imaginable.

  Regardless, I handled it with appropriate maturity.

  “Eat shit,” I said flatly, and punched the doodle.

  The paper crumpled under my fist as I proceeded to beat the ever-loving nonsense out of the stick figure. The table rattled, the tea sloshed, and the world… shifted.

  I woke up on my back, vision swimming.

  The sky above me was not Incheon’s gray skyline but the open expanse beyond Xincheng’s outer fields. My body ached pleasantly in that familiar post-sparring way.

  “You overdid it,” I muttered as I pushed myself upright.

  Meng Rong stood several paces away, sword resting casually against her shoulder. The ground around us was cratered and scarred.

  We had been sparring.

  If one could call being violently launched across half a field “sparring.”

  She frowned slightly. “Where are the dark flames you used before? Where did they go?”

  I rubbed the back of my head. “I do not know.”

  No matter how I reached inward, I could not summon that overwhelming presence at will. It had surfaced during Zhong Fu’s final transformation, lent me strength, eclipsed the sun itself.

  Now there was only silence.

  I closed my eyes briefly and called inward.

  “Hey, Yakuza Man,” I thought. “Can you lend me more of that power?”

  Nothing answered.

  Meng Rong tilted her head. “You refer to the evil spirit within you as ‘Yakuza Man,’ yet the two of you are distinct entities, are you not?”

  I huffed a faint laugh. “I suppose I never properly introduced myself. ‘Yakuza Man’ works well enough here. It fits this world better.” I scratched my cheek thoughtfully. “Still, I guess it is a bit… off. I have grown too used to the name.”

  She stared at me, judgingly.

  I shifted under her gaze. “W-What?”

  “This will not do,” she declared. “I must know your real name.”

  “My name?” I echoed.

  “Yes.” She straightened slightly, placing a hand over her chest with formal composure. “Let us begin properly. My name is Meng Rong, disciple of the Dream King, elder sister of the Lord of Xincheng, and otherwise known as Dreamglory.”

  Ah.

  We were doing this.

  I cleared my throat and mirrored her posture. “I am Yakuza Man, gamer and streamer, and no, the latter does not involve excessive urination.” I paused, then allowed my voice to soften slightly. “But for you… you may call me Park Min-jae.”

  The name felt strange on my tongue.

  Meng Rong repeated the name slowly, testing each syllable as though it were a spell.

  “Park. Min-jae. Park. Min-jae.”

  She nodded once. “I see.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You see what?”

  “You remember our Binding Vow,” she said calmly. “Names carry weight. Differences in naming conventions, origins, or identities may serve as leads. If I am to help you return home, I must know you fully.”

  The wind passed quietly over the broken earth between us.

  Return home.

  The words struck deeper than I expected.

  For a fleeting moment, the sound of a kettle rang faintly in my memory.

  I smiled crookedly. “Then I guess you have a lot to learn about me.”

  Meng Rong’s gaze did not waver.

  “Then we shall begin,” she said. “What’s your most embarassing memory?”

  “That is a bit much, is it not?” I asked, suddenly flustered. “You are not pulling my leg, are you?”

  Meng Rong shook her head without hesitation. “You promised to protect my most precious person, my brother. Yet you did more than that. You protected what was precious to him, and you nearly gave your life in the process. You have already done more than enough. Now it is my turn to help you. Please… allow me to.”

  Her voice was steady, but there was a quiet sincerity beneath it that unsettled me far more than her frost blades ever could.

  Honestly, I felt troubled.

  Part of me still longed for home, for Incheon, for my cramped apartment, and for the familiar hum of a computer and the glow of a streaming screen. Yet that life felt impossibly distant now, like a memory seen through fogged glass.

  I forced a smile. “Sure.”

  Her expression brightened faintly. “Good.”

  She paused.

  Then she asked, with alarming composure, “What is your preferred type in women?”

  “Huh?”

  She coughed lightly, turning her head away. “I was teasing you. I merely wondered whether aesthetic values differ in your homeland.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Am I imagining things, or are you head over heels for me?”

  “Impossible,” she replied instantly. “I am merely considering methods to ensure you remain within this domain even if you discover a path home. Dangling a suitable woman before you could be one such method. Your power is both valuable and interesting. It would be wasteful to lose it so one-sidedly. Have you forgotten that you are now the declared guardian of the Meteor Child? I cannot allow you to leave so easily.”

  “…I see.”

  I felt oddly… wounded.

  She looked away, and her voice dropped to a murmur. “It is not as though I could fall for you.”

  “Wait,” I said quickly. “What was that?”

  She shot me a sharp glare. “There is no possibility that I would fall for someone as uncouth as you. A shameless flirt with no manners or refinement.”

  “Slander,” I protested. “I am not—”

  “You touched my chest,” she cut in coldly. “You are fortunate I did not become pregnant from it.”

  I stared at her.

  “…That is not how that works.”

  She folded her arms, unimpressed.

  I sighed. There was no winning against her logic. This woman operated on principles that defied biology and reason alike.

  For a brief moment, I let my guard down.

  That was my mistake.

  She lunged.

  My mind blanked. Was she about to punch me again? Not the face. Please not the—

  Her lips brushed against mine.

  Soft. Brief. Warm.

  Time slowed.

  Her eyes were closer than I had ever seen them, dark strands of hair framing her face as they caught the light. For an instant, I saw something vulnerable flicker within her gaze.

  Then she pulled back abruptly and turned around, presenting me with her back as though the heavens themselves had offended her.

  “It seems my experiment was successful,” she said in a carefully teasing tone. “You reacted quite strongly. Perhaps you truly are a closeted degenerate.”

  I placed one hand on my hip, still processing what had just happened. Strangely enough, beneath the shock, I felt… happy.

  “You really like me, do you not?” I asked.

  “N-No,” she stammered, refusing to look at me. “Keep your distance.”

  She began walking away, far too quickly for someone attempting to appear composed. The redness creeping up her neck betrayed her completely.

  I watched her retreating figure and could not suppress a grin.

  “Man,” I muttered to myself, “she is ridiculously cute.”

  Home, huh?

  Maybe, this could be home, too.

  Fin.