"Ah… this really is… the highest bliss…"
Inside the Black Doctor's clinic, the lighting was as dim as ever. Only the shadowless lamp beside the operating table cast a cold, circular pool of white over the room, catching every speck of dust drifting in the air.
The smell of disinfectant had dug in and refused to leave—clinging stubbornly to every corner.
The Black Doctor watched her apprentice—brow knotted, worry written all over his face—finish recounting that bizarre, deeply unsettling dream. In her chest, an emotion swelled that she could not neatly name: a blend of aching tenderness… and something twisted, almost ecstatic.
Before she realized it, she'd lifted a hand, slender fingers curling to cover most of her face—trying to suppress the surge of joy that was already forcing its way up her throat.
But in the end, she failed.
A broken, torn laughter—like a violent hand shredding music into jagged scraps—spilled out low in the empty clinic, echoing faintly in the silence.
It was abrupt.
And it was wrong.
"This… this is something worth laughing about?!" Qianye snapped.
A flush rose on his pale cheeks, equal parts anger and hurt. He'd rushed here first thing in the morning because—out of everyone he knew—the Black Doctor had seemed like the one person who might actually understand, who might offer something practical, or at least a little comfort.
Instead, he'd gotten this.
Like a kitten whose tail had been stepped on, he bared his teeth without meaning to, accusation plain in his voice.
"What?" The Black Doctor's laughter cut off instantly, as if a blade had severed it.
She lowered her hand and revealed eyes so deep they seemed to swallow light. The strange turbulence in them cooled and settled in a heartbeat, hardening into an almost clinical focus—cold, precise.
She stared at Qianye without blinking, voice dropping until it had the metallic weight of a scalpel.
"No. Of course it isn't funny."
Her gaze sharpened further.
"Whether it's your description of being entangled and humiliated in your dream by that woman called Sarah, or the fact that after that… 'contact,' you've awakened abilities inside your body you can't fully control—either of those alone is enough to keep a person awake all night. These are serious matters. Extremely serious."
Then—without warning—her tone pivoted.
That cold professionalism melted like thin ice in sunlight. Her eyes softened, and something warm and dangerously direct poured out of her, hot as thawwater bursting through a cracked dam.
"But when I think about this—after everything you've experienced, after all this strangeness and fear—when I think about who you chose to come to first…"
Her voice trembled, not from weakness but from joy so intense it shook her.
"That you didn't go to any of those women around you in New Eridu—women who look so dazzling and prominent from the outside…"
"You came to me."
"You chose me as the first person you wanted to tell. The first person you were willing to show this 'abnormality' to, without holding anything back."
She stepped closer, arms opening, and pulled him into her embrace with a force that was impossible to refuse—yet strangely gentle, careful, as if she were afraid she might break him.
Qianye stiffened at once. His body resisted in a small, instinctive struggle.
But it lasted only a moment.
Then it melted away like snow under a warm palm.
He relaxed—slowly—and, after a hesitant pause, lifted his hands and returned the embrace in a cautious, testing way.
The Black Doctor felt that familiar allowance, that familiar dependence, and something in her chest fluttered like a feather brushing the heart's softest place.
She pressed her lips together and turned her head slightly, slipping off the glasses that always caught the light. With quick, practiced fingers, she wiped at the corner of her eye—fast enough to pretend it hadn't happened.
…When was the last time they'd held each other like this, without distance?
She couldn't remember.
Maybe it had been back in those far-off days—so far they felt like another lifetime—before she'd defected from the Defense Force.
Back then, trust could be absolute. Acceptance could be complete. The days had been pure, bright, almost unbearably happy.
Just recalling that warmth made her feel—absurdly—that if she died in the next second, she wouldn't regret a thing.
And then the ripples of that tenderness struck something hard and cold beneath the surface.
Qianye had said he would never allow Sarah to replace his "teacher" in his heart.
So then—
In the concept of "teacher," the idea that had shaped his first framework for understanding the world…
Had it ever, even for an instant, contained her?
The Black Doctor let out a soundless, bitter laugh in her own mind.
Of course not.
Because when she chose to abandon the Defense Force and step onto a road that offered no way back, she had done it with ruthless finality. She had told him nothing. Not a word. She had given him no choice.
No matter what unspoken reasons, no matter what "necessity" she told herself afterward…
In the end, she was the one who left without goodbye.
She was the one who cut the thread.
Physical pain fades quickly once it stops hurting.
But the ache in the heart?
That stays.
It tangles itself into roots. Sometimes you can't even name where it comes from, let alone speak it aloud. Only when one day you can dissect it cleanly and say it clearly—maybe then it stops being called "pain."
Right now, she didn't have that ability.
The weight still sat on her chest, heavy and mute.
And then it hit her—cold, sudden, drowning.
She was holding him. She could feel his warmth, his breathing, the minute shifts of his body.
And yet in this exact moment of closeness, a freezing heaviness swept through her, as if a river of ancient ice had been dumped over her head and soaked into her bones.
Enough.
What am I doing?
The Black Doctor jolted awake to her own lapse.
How could she sink into useless sentimentality now—when Qianye had come here for help, when he needed her to be reliable, steady, professional?
This wasn't her style.
It wasn't what she wanted him to see.
She quickly steadied herself, then patted his back lightly—an understated signal for him to loosen his hold.
When Qianye lifted his head, faintly confused, the Black Doctor had already arranged her usual expression back into place: a touch of languid amusement, a hint of teasing mystery.
Only deep in her eyes, a complicated shadow still lingered—too stubborn to fully disappear.
She took his hand smoothly and opened his fingers across her palm.
Just as he'd described—
A thin thread of strange pink light coiled around his fingertips like a living little snake, writhing gently, pulsing with an eerie allure.
"Qianye," she said softly, as if speaking too loud might disturb the phenomenon, "try controlling it."
Only then did Qianye seem to realize he'd manifested the power again without meaning to—triggered by his emotions.
He focused at once, trying to do what he'd done the last few times: force it back inside.
But this time, the feedback felt different.
Where it had once been obedient, it now carried something subtle—an almost imperceptible defiance.
And reluctance.
He succeeded, eventually. The pink light withdrew.
But he could clearly feel it: the process demanded more focus than before, a firmer hand, a more forceful will to make the restless power comply.
The Black Doctor watched the way his brow tightened, the slight strain in his breathing—watched the tiny hesitation, the faint delay before the glow fully vanished.
Understanding flickered through her eyes.
So the power was getting… agitated.
Her thoughts moved fast, colliding, branching, discarding.
Was it because that bitch had "awakened" it through some coercive method, leaving behind residue—an influence, a backdoor?
No… unlikely.
By Qianye's account, in his dream Sarah had been erased by a higher, incomprehensible existence—wiped away with absolute force.
Then—
Was it because, the moment the power touched her, it managed to latch onto and ignite the complex, intense emotions buried in her mind—tasted something it liked—and now it craved more of that kind of "food," so it clung and refused to retreat?
Or…
Was it the clinic itself? The long-standing gloom and pressure in these walls?
Or her own spirit—hardly bright, hardly pure—stimulating the inherently chaotic nature of that power, feeding its activity?
A dozen hypotheses flashed like meteors across a dark sky—sparking, colliding, burning out.
But none of it showed on her face.
All of it remained sealed behind a calm, almost gentle expression.
She looked into Qianye's emerald eyes—confused now, and a little afraid—and curved her lips into the familiar, slightly indulgent smile.
"It seems," she said softly, "our little Qianye does indeed need… mm. A certain someone's help."
"…to tame this naughty little beast."
She paused deliberately, and she saw it—just a flicker—his resistance to that particular phrasing, that particular category of closeness.
She smiled as if she'd already expected it, then adjusted smoothly, carefully, her voice carrying a faint, restrained hope.
"Then… how about we use the very first name you ever called me?"
"The one you know best."
"Would that make you feel… more at ease?"
Qianye stared at her.
The expectation in her expression was not loud. Not forceful.
But it was there, unmistakable.
And in that brief silence, too many things rose together—
the way his power had acted up around her,
the old days when he'd followed her and learned under her,
the complicated longing he didn't want to admit,
and the guilt he couldn't fully bury.
His lashes lowered slightly, shadowing his eyes.
At last, he exhaled—almost like surrender, almost like a sigh—and spoke a word he hadn't said in far too long.
"…Doctor."
It was a key.
It struck the lock in her chest and turned it.
The Black Doctor's body stilled for the barest moment. A storm surged in her eyes, violent and quick—
then she forced it down.
All of it.
Only a warmer smile remained—gentle, and dangerously layered.
"Mm," she answered, voice low and strangely tender. "I'm here, Qianye."
"Don't worry."
"Leave it to your doctor."
Then she drew him into another embrace—lighter this time, purposeful, as though she were listening not to his heartbeat but to the space between heartbeats, feeling for the way the power reacted inside him.
And while she focused on him—
Somewhere in the shadows, unseen at first, a pale-haired figure with an eyepatch stared without blinking.
Not at her.
At Qianye in her arms.
That gaze was full of unconscious longing, ache, and tenderness—
only to be crushed down in the next instant, forced into something colder.
The figure turned without a word and retreated deeper into darkness—dragging another sister with her, who was also staring in a daze.
"Come on," she snapped in a sharp whisper. "Stop looking. We haven't finished training today."
"He… cute… want…" the other murmured weakly, eyes still fixed on where Qianye had been.
"What? No." The eyepatched one bristled. "Absolutely not. I haven't even—"
The air reeked of the Hollow—rust and rot, dust and stale metal.
Weak light seeped through cracks in broken pipes, sketching the twisted rebar and peeled plaster of an abandoned interior.
"This is…" Jane's voice echoed across the empty floor, quiet but wary. "The Ballet Tower?"
Her eyes cut through the space like searchlights, sweeping over stacked discarded construction materials, suspicious dried stains on the ground, and traces of violence that had been smashed into place and then hurriedly covered up.
Her mind worked at speed—matching what she saw against what she'd been told, calculating risks.
"Yes, Boss Jane!" A sycophantic underling hurried to her side, lowering his voice with a hint of bragging.
"This transfer point is hidden and complicated. Normally, unless the boss personally approves it, not even old-timers in the gang can use it. Only… that group can."
Jane's brow lifted—just slightly.
"Oh?" Her tone stayed even, but the hook was set. "So it's different now?"
She turned her gaze toward the elevator guard like she was idly curious.
"You said that group can use it directly?" she asked. "Who exactly is 'that group'?"
The underling's eyes flickered. He realized too late he'd said too much.
Jane didn't press.
She simply let her attention settle—calmly—on the elevator guard.
It wasn't a vicious stare, but there was a weight to it, a quiet pressure that made the guard's shoulders curl inward.
Only then did Jane speak again, voice measured, carrying just enough authority to make it clear this wasn't optional.
"Do you know what he means by 'that group'?"
"I've been with the Mountain Lion Gang long enough. I've seen plenty of faces. But I've never once heard that there was some other 'insider' group—people who can bypass rules whenever they like."
Behind her, a burly enforcer with a brutish face seized the moment to roar agreement.
"Yeah, damn right!" He grabbed the elevator guard by the collar and yanked him half off the ground. "I've been in the game longer than Boss Jane! Since when did we grow a second gang inside our gang? You better not be blowing smoke!"
The guard's face turned purple. His hands clawed uselessly at the enforcer's forearm. He could barely breathe.
"Put him down," Jane said flatly.
The order wasn't loud.
But it was absolute.
"He's about to stop breathing. How do you expect him to answer?"
The enforcer immediately released him. The guard hit the floor hard and coughed violently, clutching his throat.
After he managed a few ragged breaths, he forced out a grin—greasy, conspiratorial.
"Boss Jane… you don't come to this transfer point much, so you wouldn't know. But I've been stationed here long-term. I've seen it with my own eyes."
He paused, savoring the moment.
"Not long ago, you should've seen it—hell, it was something. A whole bunch of people came through. Their clothes were weird as hell. Didn't look like our guys, and didn't look like ordinary Hollow runners either… and the leader was a woman. Looked—"
Jane cut in, sharp and cold.
"What did she look like?"
"Don't give me 'pretty' and think that's enough. Describe her properly."
She needed an accurate profile, not gossip.
The guard blinked, then—seeing Jane's eyes lowered as if she were casually toying with a dagger—he misunderstood completely.
Ah. Women stuff. Even Boss Jane would get competitive.
He scratched his chin and tried to drag details out of memory.
"Uh… black hair. Long. Eyes were green—real deep green. Kind of… creepy, honestly. She had this jacket that looked like a uniform but not quite. Always had a smile on her face, but it felt… bad. Like she meant trouble."
"And she… had this vibe about… uh… thunder—"
"Enough," Jane interrupted again, before the description could devolve into useless nonsense.
Her voice carried a hint of impatience—carefully placed, to conceal what had just slammed through her mind.
Black hair. Green eyes. A constant smile that felt wrong.
If this idiot's description wasn't wildly off…
Then the implication was uncomfortably clear.
A third party really had intervened.
And not some minor player—this was a force capable of slipping into the Mountain Lion Gang's core transfer node quietly, capable of making Riza bend the rules and grant access.
Not small.
Not harmless.
And given the "weird outfits," the secrecy, the way they moved…
Jane's thoughts tightened into a single, grim possibility.
The Choir.
Her brows drew together, a thin shadow settling over her expression.
Her mind raced—mapping the new variables, recalculating the plan. This unexpected intrusion was a stone thrown into still water, shattering her careful, step-by-step design and flooding it with uncertainty.
But then—
Wasn't this exactly what undercover work always was?
Walking the shadows meant living with surprise, with danger from any direction, at any time. If she couldn't adapt, she had no right to dance on a blade's edge.
Jane released a slow breath, pushing the pressure down and out.
Her eyes sharpened again—steady, focused, predatory.
The core plan remained unchanged:
Become Riza's personal guard. Get into the innermost circle. That was the key to dismantling the gang.
But now, on top of that, she needed to hunt.
Patiently.
Quietly.
Like a true tracker.
She had to find the truth of this third party—its identity, its goals, and the hidden point where it connected to the Mountain Lion Gang.
This water was deeper than she'd imagined.
Murkier.
But she had no choice.
She could only dive further.
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
Uma Musume, But I Only Have Five Years Left to Live (Chapter 178)
Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 150)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League ( 126 )
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter110)
Yu-Gi-Oh! — Transmigrated into the White Dragon Girl (Chapter190)
"Is this chat group even serious?" (Chapter105)
I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter222)
Can Playing Games Save the World? 65
Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 77
From Junkman to Wasteland 66
Weekly Refresh of Overpowered 31
I'm Grinding Proficiency Like 46
From Kiana, Lord Ravager, Onwa 190
Honkai: Is This Still the Prev 42
Elf: My Starter Pokémon Is Inc 65
Warhammer: My Primarch Is Remi 170
From Demon Slayer to Grand Ass Volume2/5
The Way the Umamusume Look at 68
Uma Musume, but My Cheat Power 215
Naruto: Weaving the Future, Be 65
Zenless Zone Zero, but Kamen R 76
Multiverse Crossover: The Perf 66
My Cyberpsycho Girlfriend 65
Uma Musume: The Dark Trainer 200
Uma Musume: A Calamity Born fr 154
I, a Reincarnation-Loop Player Volume4/30
The Violent Girl Group Is Beat 115
Uma Musume: The Horse Girl Who 67
Uma Musume: From Beginner 130
Becoming a Horse Girl, I Will 85
Uma Musume: I Want All 105
I Can Copy Unique Skills 100
Summoning an Evil God, but the 70
Supernatural Multiverse 90
My Harem Is Indescribable 85
Jujutsu Kaisen: Heroic Spirit 90
"I'm just a Valkyrie passing through." 68
Uma Musume: Today Is Another Romantic Battlefield 81
Still playing traditional Honk 69
The Most Filial Son Under Heav 65
What Should I Do After Switchi - Volume2/3
Reincarnated as a Demon, Skill 60
Hell-Difficulty Dungeon? 55
Transmigrated as Sukuna 61
Checking In in Demon Slayer 65
The Reincarnating Trainer of Tracen Academy 80
I Refuse to Become a Heroic 66
My Best Friend Into a Slime? 58
A Saiyan Stands Above Marvel 65
What Do You Mean by Using a Lab Mod to Be the Hero? 63
Tanya Starts from Re:Zero 59
Why did they assign me to Uma 55
MYGO Beauties 56
DanMachi: Emiya the Giant Hero 45
The Gacha Merchant Who Started 49
Honkai's Otherworld? Wait—Who Are You People?! 36
Emiya Shirou, Determined to Slay Every Curse and Evil Spirit 15
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