Late at night.
On Sixth Street in New Eridu, the daytime clamor had long since drained away, leaving only neon signs casting hazy halos through the damp, chilly air. Their colors fractured across puddles on the pavement, shimmering like broken reflections.
The Koi Noodle Shop held out a small island of warmth in the cold street—its dim yellow light and the rising steam from rich bone broth, laced with sharp spice, fogging the windows into a soft blur. Inside, only a handful of late diners remained; the clink of bowls and chopsticks sounded unusually crisp in the quiet.
Koleda set down an empty bowl nearly as wide as her face. Beads of oil still clung to the ceramic, catching the lamplight.
Without the slightest pretense, she leaned back in her chair, rubbed her slightly rounded belly with a small hand, and let out a satisfied little sigh—like a cat settling into a warm spot. The heat chased away the loneliness she'd felt up high earlier, tinting her cheeks with a healthy flush.
She turned her head, her gaze landing on Qianye, who sat beside her quietly wiping the corner of his mouth. His silver hair glowed softly under the lights; lowered lashes cast faint shadows beneath his eyes, and his expression was calm—almost serene.
A thought jumped out of her mouth without warning, carried by post-meal laziness and a dependence she didn't quite want to admit.
"It's late. I'm sleeping at your place. You got a problem with that?"
Before he could answer, she nodded decisively—as if the matter had already been settled—then announced it with spoiled certainty.
"You'll agree. Someone already made me unhappy today," she scrunched her small nose, "so I'm not letting a second person show up."
The tone was willful, free of her usual president's burden… and faintly, unmistakably, the tone of someone looking for a safe harbor.
"Oh?"
Behind the counter, Master Chop—busy rinsing bowls with practiced ease, aided by a mechanical arm—lifted his head. His flushed face immediately split into a mischievous grin, and his rough laughter rang loud in the late-night quiet.
"Little Qian! Looks like you and this girl are real close—she's talking about sleeping at your place! Hah! That's youth for you!"
He narrowed his eyes, teasingly appraising them, his gaze circling once around their similar heights.
"And hey, you two are about the same height—pretty well matched!"
He even stroked his chin as though evaluating merchandise.
But before his laughter could fade, it was as if someone flipped a switch in his memory. He fell into thought; even the splash of water from his mechanical arm paused.
"Hiss…" He sucked in a breath, brow knitting, fingers tapping the counter unconsciously. "But now that I think about it…"
He began counting on his fingers, voice booming as he "took inventory" like he was proudly displaying a treasured collection.
"Last time you split a bowl with someone, that tall, gorgeous lady—the one with that kinda wicked smile and those eyes that hook people—she seemed to get along with you pretty well too!"
He deliberately emphasized wicked and hook.
And as he warmed up, he completely ignored the way Qianye's expression stiffened—ignored Koleda's eyes narrowing into dangerous slits, ignored the faint grinding sound in her throat like a small beast sharpening teeth.
"And the time before that! Those three girls in maid outfits, fussing over you, eyes all sparkly—now that I think about it, they treated you real nice! Tea, water, attentive as can be!"
He even mimed an exaggerated maid bow, ridiculous and theatrical.
"Oh! And before that! Those two girls who looked like they were from the Outer Ring—bold, fiery, with that wild kind of charm—also not a bad option! Tsk, tsk, tsk…"
He sighed deeply, wearing the anguished look of a man who'd taken it upon himself to worry about someone else's love life.
"What a dilemma! Little Qian, you're way too popular!"
"Master Chop! What are you even saying…?"
Qianye's cheeks turned red in an instant, the color climbing all the way up to his ears. He hurriedly cut off the increasingly unhinged "memoir," his voice rising several notches with obvious panic.
"They're just my friends! Really—just normal friends! Please stop saying weird things!"
And despite himself, he shot a glance at Koleda—whose pressure was dropping lower by the second, like a storm front rolling in.
Faced with Qianye's urgent, flimsy denial, Master Chop's grin vanished like a stage mask being swapped out mid-act.
In its place appeared a rare seriousness—almost solemn.
He set down the rag, planted a callused hand hard on the counter, and leaned forward. His eyes—sharp as a hawk's—locked onto Qianye's clear, confused emerald gaze, as if he could pierce straight through him.
"Little Qian," his voice lowered, heavy with the weight of experience, clear in the late-night quiet, "you treat people as friends… but do you really think they only want to treat you as a friend?"
He pressed the word only, shook his head, and spoke with an elder's certainty and a hint of genuine worry.
"You're too young. Too naive. The waters of relationships like that—" he gestured as if indicating a bottomless depth, "—they're deep. They're muddy. And you—" his tone sharpened, each syllable like a hammer striking stubborn wood, "—can't hold on to them."
He sighed again, his gaze sweeping Qianye's still-youthful, yet already handsome features.
"And honestly, Little Qian… you've been living on Sixth Street with Wise and Belle for quite a while now. Back then you were such a tiny thing—" he measured a height below the counter, nostalgic in his eyes, "—and in the blink of an eye…"
He paused, then looked down at Qianye's still-slim frame and gave an exasperated little laugh.
"Even if you're still… well… 'delicate' like this, age doesn't lie. Little Qian."
His face grew even more serious, as if he were about to announce something that would shake the world. Qianye—still dazed by the sudden turn—straightened unconsciously, eyes full of confusion, but listening with reflexive seriousness.
Then Master Chop threw out the question like a thunderclap in the night noodle shop:
"You're old enough to start a family now, aren't you?"
Qianye froze solid.
His emerald eyes went perfectly round, filled with pure shock and blank confusion. His mouth opened slightly—like a fish out of water—working a few times, but not a single word came out, as if his brain had been hit so hard it crashed.
Master Chop saw the opening and immediately pushed while the iron was hot, launching into a heartfelt "life plan."
"Look—people say, 'When a man grows up, he marries; when a woman grows up, she marries.' You're at the age now, and you've got so many—"
He paused deliberately, then borrowed Qianye's own phrasing with playful mockery.
"—'friends,' as you put it."
He spread his hands with the look of someone saying, Why waste ready resources? His voice dropped a little, carrying the conspiratorial excitement of an old rascal—and the smug wisdom of someone who'd been around.
"You could settle down early, get some real rest, enjoy a little love and sweetness in life! Stop working yourself to the bone treating patients all day!"
Then his grin turned dreamy—almost foolishly so—as he lowered his voice even further, like sharing a secret.
"And then… make a cuter, little-angel version of Little Qian—one that inherits your craft. Isn't that perfect?"
"Master Chop!" Qianye finally clawed his way out of the shock, half-laughing and half-crying as he protested, powerless. "So that's what this is—you're trying to get me to take a break… and babysit!"
He sighed hard, then added with exaggerated complaint:
"And if Big Chop over at Lumina Square heard you say that, he'd be heartbroken!"
"What? That brat? Who cares about him!" Master Chop barked back instantly.
"Ugh," Qianye muttered under his breath, "Classic Master Chop—says one thing, means another…"
As he spoke, he quickly grabbed Koleda—whose eyes had gone razor-sharp and who looked like she might snap her disposable chopsticks in half—and practically dragged her out of the shop. His movements screamed evacuate the scene.
Even as he fled, he couldn't resist turning back to shout a final complaint, trying to regain some dignity:
"I will rest! I'm not some iron robot! But you—yeah, even with a mechanical arm, you're out here working this late every day in smoke and heat. You need rest more than I do! Close up early!"
"Hey! You little punk!" Master Chop yelled after him. "Got some nerve, lecturing me now!"
Master Chop watched Qianye haul the fuming Koleda around the corner and disappear into the late-night street. All he could do was shake his head with a helpless smile, returning to wiping a counter that never seemed to truly get clean.
"Doesn't understand an old man's heart…"
The noodle shop fell quiet again.
And then—ding-ling.
The wind chime by the door rang, clear and short.
A figure slid into the shop like a ghost merging with night, soundlessly taking a seat on the stool at the far end of the counter.
Even sitting, she carried the crisp, honed sharpness of someone forged through relentless training. A white high ponytail was tied with meticulous precision; the dark lenses of her goggles reflected a cold, inorganic sheen in the dim light.
It was Soldier 11.
She placed her bag gently by her feet, the motion precise—as if measured with a ruler.
"Yo! Kid! Haven't seen you in a while!" Master Chop greeted her warmly. His mechanical arm resumed its work automatically—ladling broth, dropping noodles.
"Same as always, right? Extra-spicy ramen! Today's broth is really got flavor!"
But this time, he didn't hear the familiar, clipped "Mm."
Soldier 11 remained silent. She adjusted her goggles slightly, her gaze seeming to pierce through the greasy counter and the enthusiastic owner, locking onto the doorway where Qianye had vanished—like she was tracking a lingering trace in the air.
Her fingers tapped twice on the cold metal edge of the counter, steady as a second hand.
After a moment, she spoke—clear, calm, perfectly level, yet packed with purpose and information hunger. It broke the quiet the way a stone breaks still water.
"Master Chop. Was what you just said… true?"
"Hm?" Master Chop blinked, pausing the mechanical arm, puzzled. "What part's true?"
Soldier 11 adjusted her posture. Her back straightened even more, like she was standing at attention for inspection.
She took a slow breath. Thanks to training that bordered on brutal, her control of breath and voice was flawless. Then she delivered a long statement—logical, precise, and explosively dense—like a battlefield briefing, face unchanged, tempo steady, diction crisp:
"I mean the situation surrounding the individual named Qianye. Specifically: a notable number of female individuals are orbiting him and demonstrate potential intent beyond platonic relations. These individuals approach socially under the label 'friends,' but behavioral-pattern analysis indicates a high probability of attempts to establish deeper binding relationships. Is this accurate?"
Every word landed with weight—like spent casings clinking onto a counter.
Master Chop was momentarily stunned by the sudden tactical-report vibe, but then he burst into laughter, waving a hand with booming certainty.
"That's not wrong! I've been on this street for decades—my eyes still work! Little Qian's got the kind of constitution that draws trouble and attention! And the funniest part? He doesn't seem to notice at all! Hah!"
"I see." Soldier 11 nodded. Her goggles hid whatever surged behind her eyes—like a flood of data streams: confusion, vigilance, analysis… and a flicker of curiosity that didn't belong to any standard mission parameters.
Her voice remained steady, as if she'd merely confirmed coordinates on a map.
"Information received. Apologies for the interruption. Same as always—one bowl of extra-spicy ramen."
A steaming bowl arrived quickly, the broth a deep red, the surface slick with chili oil and blanketed in pepper flakes—a "hell-grade" spicy ramen.
The scent hit the air instantly, fierce enough to bite the nose.
Soldier 11 picked up her chopsticks. The motion was standard, clean, military-efficient.
But the food—usually something she could focus on, something that refueled her—seemed to lose its pull. She silently lifted a bite of noodles soaked in red oil.
Behind the goggles, in the cold glow of her orange eyes, questions erupted like dense gunfire, colliding and recombining at high speed:
Does Trigger know this assessment? If she knows, why the information blockade? Is her continued monitoring of Qianye related?
Is there a higher-grade secret embedded in Qianye himself? If his constitution is "special," does it pose a potential threat—or an additional pressure burden—to Trigger?
The tactical simulations churned. Interference was eliminated. A core directive condensed, sharpened, and finally locked into place like a final command entered into a terminal:
"Trigger is carrying mental-stress load beyond standard thresholds. As the Obol Squad's primary assault asset and her direct comrade, I cannot permit her to operate alone."
"Mm. Decided," she murmured—so quietly it was nearly swallowed by the rising steam, yet firm as steel.
She set down her chopsticks, picked up the deep-red chili sauce bottle, and pressed the pump with her thumb.
A heavy stream of sauce poured out—thick as blood—like magma injected into a volcano, flooding the already crimson broth. The spice exploded upward in a suffocating wave.
The glossy red ran over the noodles and dripped back down, mirroring the conviction now burning inside her—hot, newly lit, and unshakable.
"Trigger," she declared, calm as ever, as if confirming an operation order, "as your comrade, I will help you figure him out."
Then she lifted the noodles that looked like they were on fire. Her voice stayed flat, but beneath it was the kind of stubborn, meddlesome promise only a teammate could make.
"If Trigger learns about this later… she'll probably be very moved."
In the duty office at the Obsidian Barracks, only the low hum of equipment remained, and the distant Hollow-monitor screens flickered with cold light.
The air smelled of metal, machine oil, and disinfectant.
Ophis was bent over a desk, compiling reports. The scratch of her pen was interrupted by a suppressed sneeze.
"Achoo!"
She looked up, orange-green eyes carrying concern as she glanced toward the shadowed corner.
Trigger sat quietly by the window, gaze habitually angled toward the endless dark outside. Slender fingers unconsciously stroked the smooth metal casing of the harmonica resting on her lap.
"Trigger, that's been several sneezes," Ophis said, setting down her pen. In the quiet, her voice sounded especially clear—worry slipping through despite herself. "Are you catching a cold? It's been getting colder lately."
Trigger tilted her head slightly. The moonlight traced a pale line along her jaw.
She shook her head. The silver high ponytail shifted over her cloak with a faint gleam. Her voice was steady, but there was the smallest hesitation—like a hitch in a machine's rhythm.
"I don't think so. My body… shouldn't be that fragile."
She paused, her fine brows drawing together almost imperceptibly, as if trying to catch invisible threads in the air.
"It's just… for a moment earlier, it felt like something unseen pressed down heavily from above. Very brief. But… very clear."
She lifted a hand, fingertips touching her temple in faint confusion.
"Then that's it!" Ophis immediately stood and strode over, decisive to the point of refusing debate. "You must be chilled! And heavy stress can do that too. Go lie down in the rest room—now. I'll get you something hot."
She placed a hand on Trigger's narrow shoulder, urging her forward.
Trigger was silent for a few seconds, as if she wanted to argue. In the end, she only gave the smallest nod and let Ophis half-support her to her feet.
"…Alright," she murmured, light as a sigh, fatigue faintly threading her words. "Thank you, Ophis."
As they moved down the corridor toward the rest area, Trigger's head dipped slightly.
The shadows swallowed most of her face. Only the tight line of her lips—and the hand unconsciously gripping the harmonica—betrayed the turbulence inside.
Seriously… this lingering anxiety… where is it coming from?
In the small second-floor room of the Heal Clinic, the air was filled with Qianye's familiar scent—clean, calming herbal notes mixed with the warm softness of sun-dried bedding.
A warm desk lamp was the only light, casting a gentle, blurred glow across the walls.
Koleda had changed into clean pajamas Qianye had prepared. She sat inside the soft bedding with knees hugged to her chest—like a small animal that had finally found a warm nest.
But her eyes were sharp, sweeping the room like a searchlight: the tidy bookshelf; the worktable lined with herbal specimens; Eous standing in the corner on quiet standby.
Finally, her gaze returned to Qianye, seated on a chair by the bed, his silver hair catching the lamp's warmth.
"This room…" Koleda suddenly spoke. Her tone tried to sound casual, but her fingers tightened unconsciously in the blanket. "No other woman has slept here before, right? Qianye?"
She lifted her chin, eyes pinning him in place.
Qianye had been sorting supplies in a medicine kit. He paused, looked up, and met her probing stare with a helpless sigh.
"Koleda… don't think like that, alright?"
He gestured toward Eous.
"Eous has cleaned this place inside and out. Not even a single extra hair would be left behind."
In the corner, Eous's round ears twitched slightly, as if understanding the compliment, and it made a tiny, pleased sound.
Koleda gave a small snort, her shoulders loosening a fraction—though her mouth refused to yield.
"Hmph. Fine. I'm not interested in digging into it."
Her arms tightened around her knees, curling herself smaller. In the warm lamplight, her face—plain and unguarded—looked softer than it ever did during the day. Long lashes cast fan-shaped shadows under her eyes.
She fell silent for a moment.
When she spoke again, her voice was lighter—careful, hesitant, carrying the faintest need for support.
"But, Qianye…"
"Yeah?" Qianye set down the gauze, leaning forward slightly. His gaze was gentle and patient, waiting for her to continue.
Koleda took a breath, as if making a decision. She raised her eyes and stopped avoiding his—staring directly into those warm emerald irises, where her small reflection was clearly visible.
Her voice was quiet, but serious in a way that felt weighted—like opening a sealed box.
"I have a story… I want to tell you. A story from a very, very long time ago."
She paused, her voice drifting into a faraway echo.
"Would you… be willing to listen?"
Qianye's expression grew more focused. He nodded lightly, his voice like a stream flowing through still night, carrying a soothing steadiness.
"Of course. Listening to a patient's heart—and understanding their past—is part of a doctor's duty."
He adjusted his posture, settling into the most attentive stance.
"Go ahead, Koleda. I'm here."
Koleda's fingertips traced the soft bedding absentmindedly. Her lashes lowered, hiding the complicated swell of emotion in her eyes, as if she were sorting through distant, heavy fragments.
Under the warm lamp, in the quiet room, her voice rose slowly—dusty with time:
"Mm… the story happened… before the Fall of the Old City…"
The last syllable faded into the herb-scented air, drawing a heavy curtain across the start of memory. Outside the window, the night seemed to deepen.
In the corner, Eous made a very soft sound, like it was answering the beginning of the story.
Join here to read ahead.
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Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 115)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League (Chapter 126)
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter105)
Yu-Gi-Oh! — Transmigrated into the White Dragon Girl (Chapter100)
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I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter134)
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Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 70
From Junkman to Wasteland 66
Weekly Refresh of Overpowered 31
I'm Grinding Proficiency Like 46
From Kiana, Lord Ravager, Onwa 87
Honkai: Is This Still the Prev 42
Elf: My Starter Pokémon Is Inc 65
Warhammer: My Primarch Is Remi 79
From Demon Slayer to Grand Ass 64
The Way the Umamusume Look at 68
Uma Musume, but My Cheat Power 73
Naruto: Weaving the Future, Be 45
Zenless Zone Zero, but Kamen R 49
Multiverse Crossover: The Perf 45
My Cyberpsycho Girlfriend 45
Uma Musume: The Dark Trainer 31
Uma Musume: A Calamity Born fr 27
I, a Reincarnation-Loop Player 26
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