Volume 1: So, About That Promised Third Honkai Impact?
The heavy rain that had pounded down all night quietly tapered off as dawn approached, leaving behind only a pervasive chill and scattered puddles.
Sunlight pierced through the thin mist, sprinkling onto the morning dew sliding off leaf tips, refracting into dappled, multicolored rays.
If an ancient knight-errant versed in Tang poetry were here, they might fill a cup with this crystalline dew condensed from the morning fog, down it in one gulp, and—long robes fluttering, sword at their waist—compose a legend of gratitude and vengeance.
But in this hurried modern society, the wage slaves and students had no such luxury. They were forced to drag themselves out of bed as soon as the east turned white, wash up, get dressed, and begin their monotonous cycle of work and study.
Makino was one such person.
A thirty-three-year-old "downtrodden bachelor," he rose early, washed his face without bothering to fold his quilt, donned the cheap suit that defined his status, and stepped out of his room half-dead.
The moment he stepped out, the world seemed to open up.
Many cheap apartments in the Far East were like the one he rented: three or four stories high, with an exposed corridor connecting a row of single rooms, and staircases at either end linking the floors.
In a "tube building" like this, saying the soundproofing was bad would be a compliment—there was practically no soundproofing at all. If someone on the second floor spoke a little too loudly, Makino could hear it crystal clear up here.
He knew this because he had just experienced it firsthand.
It was currently 6:30 AM. No matter how diligent Makino was, having worked overtime until midnight, he wouldn't have broken free from the demonic temptation of his warm bed this early on his own.
What woke him up was the shrieking of a shrew downstairs, accompanied by the violent clang-clang-clang of someone bashing on a door.
"Fuli! Open up! Open up! Open the damn door! Don't hide in there and stay silent, I know you're home!"
The clamor was fierce enough to make one's heart skip a beat, instantly dispelling most of his morning grogginess.
Makino knew exactly who was hammering on the door. That mean-spirited woman, looking to be in her thirties, was the sub-landlord of the entire second floor.
Over the past decade, driven by the rise of the famous multinational electronics manufacturer, Massive Electric (ME Corp for short), Nagazora City had unwittingly transformed from a mundane town into an international metropolis.
As the city boomed, industrial parks, business facilities, medical resources, and specialized colleges sprang up like bamboo shoots after rain.
To working-class drifters from humble backgrounds, this emerging city, brimming with opportunity, was no different from the New World during the Age of Discovery.
Everyone wanted to scramble their way up the social ladder before the class structure solidified. Every year, hordes of strangers harboring dreams arrived here, burning themselves out to become cheap fuel for Nagazora's explosive growth.
And with more people came a housing shortage.
With a housing shortage, subletting naturally became rampant.
There was no shortage of locals with a mind for business—like the landlady currently going BANG! BANG! on the door downstairs.
She was a "second landlord" who had negotiated with the building owner to lease the entire second floor, then rented out the individual rooms at a markup to pocket the difference.
She wasn't the only one; the third floor where Makino lived was in a similar situation.
Fortunately, the guy renting out the third floor was a middle-aged uncle with a decent personality. Having achieved financial freedom early, he had nothing better to do than occasionally bring over a few beers and some barbecue to share a drink with his tenants.
However, the little Shenzhou guy living downstairs in room BK202 was out of luck. That landlady—a classic "brother-worshipping demon"—was not someone easy to deal with.
Look! just in the time Makino spent thinking, she had already screamed away three or four other tenants who had come out to reason with her after being woken up!
Come to think of it, that kid with the red eyes... his name is Fuli, right?
Passing by the second floor, Makino offered an innocent smile to the landlady as she glared at him with tiger-like eyes. Pretending it was none of his business, he tucked his briefcase under his arm and walked toward the subway station two hundred meters away.
He knew exactly why this woman was banging on the door so early in the morning. He wasn't the only one; most people in the apartment building were well aware of the situation.
The landlady had a younger brother. To put it bluntly, he was a useless tub of lard who only knew how to leech off his ancestors' inheritance and never left the house.
The deadbeat was over thirty this year but still unmarried. He spent his days immersed in the 2D world, fantasizing about getting intimate with anime girls, and was a die-hard fan of various Vtubers and idols. He belonged to the most hopeless category of Heisei-era NEETs.
The landlady spoiled this brother of hers rotten. She gave him the best of everything, found ways to get him whatever he wanted, and after her husband died in an accident, she even transferred the family's only detached house into his name.
This had caused massive dissatisfaction with her husband's family, causing scenes severe enough to attract reporters from the local civil dispute channel to "mediate" (read: fan the flames).
And this time, the landlady's brother had set his sights on a female high school student who had come here to study abroad.
That bubbly, impossibly beautiful Nordic high school girl was currently renting room BK201—right next door to Fuli.
Makino didn't even need his brain to figure it out; his toes told him that this mean woman wanted to kick Fuli out so her brother could move into his room.
As the saying goes, "the pavilion closest to the water enjoys the moonlight first." In the eyes of the older generation, the barrier between a man and a woman is as thin as a veil. Living side-by-side day and night would surely create opportunities—especially when viewed through her delusional "my brother is amazing" filter.
However, Makino felt that this time... it was a long shot!
The minor reason was that her "anorexic" brother was 1.62 meters tall and weighed 130 kilograms. His facial features were squeezed together by fat so tightly that no human could find him attractive.
The major reason, however, was that the kid Fuli was also chasing that JK exchange student.
Regarding this, Makino understood Fuli's thoughts...
Silver hair, blue eyes, fair skin, a beautiful face, and long legs—she was absolutely a super bishoujo who had walked straight out of a painting. Rumor had it she was the eldest daughter of some major Nordic family. Who wouldn't be smitten by that?
Even Makino was smitten!
But he knew his place.
And he felt Fuli should know his place too.
Sure, even if you, Fuli, took the same boat as that little girl, Kiana Kaslana, all the way from Shenzhou to Nagazora City... and sure, you're in the same school, the same class, and even rent the room next door... but that's no excuse to keep pestering her after she already rejected your confession, is it?
Okay, Makino admitted it—he was just jealous. He was terrified that some melodramatic, soap-opera miracle would actually happen where "sincerity moves the heavens," allowing that brat from Shenzhou who still smelled of mother's milk to win the Nordic beauty's heart.
If he couldn't have her, it was best if no one else did either.
And if someone did have to get her, it better not be someone he knew personally.
Besides, the girl clearly had zero interest in Fuli.
Let's set aside his mob-character looks, which were only marginally better than Makino's thanks to his youth. Just the way he rambled on all day was cringe-worthy: "Kiana, do you really not remember me? We met in the town of Kolosten in Europe back in 2007, when we were eight!"
Spare me! It's 2014! Who still uses pick-up lines like that?
And to claim she promised to be his bride when they grew up? And then clinging to that delusion all the way from Shenzhou to the Far East? Mamma mia! The cringe gave Makino goosebumps just thinking about it!
And if you asked him, even if—even if—they really had met in Europe as kids, she clearly didn't want anything to do with him now. That's why she was pretending not to know him after they reunited.
It couldn't possibly be some melodramatic trope like the girl having amnesia, right? LMAO. Reality isn't a primetime soap opera!
Makino hugged his shoulders and shuddered. With a mocking smirk, he stepped onto the train heading toward his office.
...
Back on the second floor of the apartment building, the landlady—a delicate flower of twenty-nine years (plus one hundred and twenty-eight months)—withdrew her gloomy glare from the average corporate drone. She resumed banging on the door with a cacophony of noise.
"Open up! Open up! Open this door right now! Don't think I don't know! I checked the surveillance cameras before I came up! You went into your room last night and haven't left since!"
Her persistence rivaled that of the Calabash Brothers trying to save their grandpa from the Snake Spirit.
The landlady had already made up her mind: if she ended up breaking the door down, she would just deduct the cost from the security deposit Fuli had paid when he moved in.
Stinking outsiders coming to Nagazora to beg for scraps. So what if he's from Shenzhou? The Far East is the territory of our Great Yamato people. If we really go to court, he'll just have to swallow the loss in silence.
Of course, even if Fuli did open the door, she planned to scowl and tell him the rent had gone up. She would demand six months' rent upfront, and if he couldn't pay, he could pack his bags and get the hell out!
The thought of her brother's eyes lighting up when he saw that white-haired Nordic girl while asking for pocket money a couple of days ago gave the landlady a fresh burst of energy.
Even with the differences in aesthetic standards between East Asians and Europeans, she had to admit that Kiana girl's face was breathtakingly beautiful.
Her waist and hips were a bit too slender—not exactly "child-bearing hips"—but with C-sections being common in hospitals nowadays, it wouldn't hinder baby-making.
Plus, having "eaten salt for forty years" (having plenty of life experience), the landlady could tell at a glance that the girl wasn't naturally skinny, but rather malnourished.
If she were the one raising her, she'd make sure that girl ended up as pale and chubby as her own brother!
While the landlady's mind wandered with these messy thoughts, her hand never stopped pounding on the door.
Time ticked by amidst the racket. The mist filling the world didn't disperse; instead, it grew thicker.
A white veil shrouded the houses and roads for dozens of meters around, giving the woman—who was still persistently bashing the door—a sense of isolation, as if she were being rejected by the entire world.
The scene, reminiscent of the movie The Mist, made her shudder unexpectedly. Her pounding on the door involuntarily weakened by a fraction.
Click.
Just then, the door to room BK202 opened from the inside.
The sudden creak in the silent world gave the solitary landlady a flicker of relief, immediately followed by a surge of anger—half feigned, half real.
She tightened her face, looked up to glare, and skillfully launched into her shrewish tirade: "Fuli! Did you die in your sleep or are your ears stuffed with wax? Didn't you hear me out here slaving away, knocking on your door for ages..."
Her shrill, acerbic voice grew fainter until it faded into a deathly silence.
Until another voice spoke.
"My new ASMR headphones work a little too well. I got lost listening to Miyuki Nakajima's new album."
The black-haired youth's skin was pale, as if he hadn't seen the sun in ages, yet it appeared dazzlingly radiant under the morning light that stubbornly pierced through the mist.
He wore a clean scarf suitable for the March weather. His eyebrows, curved like willow leaves sprouting in early spring, gave him a delicate, somewhat androgynous beauty. His eyes were as calm and flawless as a mirrored lake or a blank sheet of paper. Overall, he exuded a harmonious aesthetic, resembling one of the Six Immortals of Poetry from the Heian period.
"Can I help you?" Fuli raised an eyebrow.
"..."
Scrutinizing this younger tenant—whose appearance hadn't changed, yet who felt like a completely different person—the landlady suddenly recalled something.
It was an anecdote mentioned by her male best friend (who insisted that temperament was more important than looks or makeup) during afternoon tea one day:
In the 1980s, in the Loulan region of western Shenzhou, two ancient human bodies from 3,800 years ago were unearthed.
The one with the better aura was later named the "Beauty of Loulan" by researchers, while the other was perfunctorily labeled "Mummy No. 2."
And now, the Beauty of Loulan had appeared before her.
Transformed from the originally unremarkable Mummy No. 2.
—As if reborn.