On Herta Space Station, in the Special Containment Module, there was a place no detector could locate.
That was where Silver Wolf was being held.
There were no windows. The four walls were cold gray, assembled from high-strength alloy panels. For Silver Wolf—who had already been stuck here for hours—the worst part wasn't the room itself.
It was the absolute sense of disconnection.
No signal. No games. No internet.
To a hacker, that was about the same as tossing an ordinary person into a vacuum.
Herta had targeted her with restrictions. Silver Wolf couldn't even Ether Edit her way out of this room. Kafka had been taken to a different chamber.
Silver Wolf sat on a metal chair whose only redeeming quality was that it met the minimum standard for hardness. Her hands were pinned behind her back by an invisible force field.
Even now, she still refused to accept it.
Seriously—what even was this?
A raw stat check? A mechanic kill?
No. It was just an information gap!
"Trash balancing."
Silver Wolf lowered her head and muttered under her breath. She blew at her bangs, trying to look less pathetic.
This was a wipe. A total flip.
As a Stellaron Hunter, she'd never assumed failure was impossible.
But in the "script," failure was usually either some setup Elio wrote for the future, or a heroic, earthshaking retreat.
Getting hauled back like a chicken, stripped of every tool, and thrown into solitary confinement?
That was… so uncool it physically hurt.
But I'm Silver Wolf.
She hyped herself up internally. So what if her accounts got melted? She could start over. For a top-tier player like her, rerolling a fresh account was just a few days' work. The skill was in her head—no one could take that.
Until footsteps stopped in front of her.
Silver Wolf looked up.
Herta stood less than two meters away.
"Well, well. If it isn't the legendary hacker."
"If you're going to kill me, do it. Stop with the sarcasm."
Silver Wolf tilted her chin up, trying to claw back some dignity. "If you're here to ask about Elio's script, I've got nothing to say. If you're planning to sell me to the IPC, you'd better call shipping now—no point dragging it out."
"The IPC?"
Herta laughed like she'd heard the dumbest joke of the week. "Handing you over to them would cost me three minutes of my life just filling out the transfer paperwork. But someone named Bai Qian gave me a very good suggestion…"
She tapped a finger in midair.
A light screen opened in front of Silver Wolf.
There was only one message on it—rewritten and displayed on purpose. Bai Qian's "suggestion" had been blown up in bold, and even thoughtfully decorated with a devil emoji.
[Register Silver Wolf on every online PvP game, then have her cheat, then spread it everywhere that she turns into a cheater whenever she can't beat someone.]
Herta had already handled the station-side aftermath, and she even knew about the "Stellaron turned into a girl" situation. But after she finished checking that Stellaron, she set it aside for the moment—and came here instead.
Herta claimed she had no interest in "how to deal with prisoners."
That was just the surface.
If some random person started doing somersaults, Herta wouldn't spare it a glance.
…but if Screwllum or Ruan Mei suddenly started doing somersaults?
Now that would be worth her time.
To Herta, seeing a Stellaron Hunter humiliated like this was absolutely worth wasting a few minutes.
"Hah?!"
Silver Wolf reacted like she'd just hit hard pity on the worst banner in history. She started thrashing, and the cool, indifferent act she'd been forcing a second ago melted like ice cream under a scorching sun.
"You've gotta be kidding me! I'm a hacker! I'm a technical player! I climbed with credits and skill! Who the hell cheats?! That's what trash players do!"
"Now it's what you do."
Herta's voice stayed flat. "Melting your accounts is too low-level. People like you just tell yourself you'll buy everything back with credits, or patch it with Ether Editing. You believe you can always flip the table."
She paused, looking down at Silver Wolf from above.
"So I won't ban your accounts. I'll register millions of accounts for you, covering every major game. I already know what the IDs will be—'Stellaron Hunter Silver Wolf,' 'Punklorde Legend,' the loudest, most obnoxious names possible."
Herta smiled.
"Guess what the official game accounts will do when they see that."
Silver Wolf froze. A bad feeling crawled up her spine. "W-What… what are you doing?"
"They'll promote it like crazy. Then my script will make your accounts start cheating."
Herta said it like she was talking about eating lunch.
"The dumbest, most brain-dead cheats. Aimbot. Wallhacks. Flying. No-clipping through terrain. My script will make your accounts spin in circles slaughtering people in ranked like a rabid dog—while spamming global chat: 'Silver Wolf was here,' 'You trash only exist to be farmed,' that kind of thing."
"You're insane?! That's what kids do!"
"Don't rush me. I'm not finished."
Herta ignored her protest and kept going, talking a little faster now—like even she could feel how deliciously cruel this was.
"Just cheating isn't interesting. So we'll set it up like this: the moment you meet a real top player—once their input hits a certain skill threshold—your cheats 'malfunction' for a split second."
"You get counterkilled."
"And then the script auto-types in chat accusing them of cheating. It'll throw a tantrum. Roll around screaming: 'I'm Silver Wolf, how could I lose?!' And then: 'Wait till I call Kafka to beat you up.'"
Something in Silver Wolf's mind exploded.
This was a hundred times worse than killing her.
In the gaming world, what got you looked down on most?
Not being bad.
It was being bad and pretending you weren't. Losing and turning on cheats. Cheating and still talking big. Getting clapped anyway and then blaming everyone else.
Her actual game skill really was average. And sure, sometimes she used Ether Editing for small "assists."
But—but that was supposed to be quiet.
Who in the universe openly advertises that they cheat, then tantrums when they still lose?
If this plan went through, the first thing people would think when they heard "Silver Wolf" wouldn't be "legendary hacker who can crack the IPC" or "Stellaron Hunter with an astronomical bounty."
It would be:
A brainless cyber clown.
A blatant cheater.
A sore loser.
That mental image—
Pinned posts across every forum:
["Let's talk about that cheater Silver Wolf—had aimbot and still got 1HP reversed. I'm dying."]
["This is a Stellaron Hunter? That's it? Pure hacks? Oh—and she still lost."]
["Avoid. ID: Stellaron Hunter Silver Wolf. Insta-kick on sight. Toxic as hell."]
"No—no! You can't! You can't do that!"
Silver Wolf thrashed hard enough that the force field crackled with electric noise. Her face went bright red.
This time she was genuinely panicking.
To her, this was scarier than facing a billion Herta puppets.
"You can't do this! This is—this is disgusting! This is—!"
"The ultimate humiliation."
Herta felt an inexplicable rush of satisfaction.
Maybe hanging around that chat group wasn't all bad…
She'd go lurk a bit more later.
"Gah—then just kill me!"
Silver Wolf stared at her, eyes actually turning red. For a girl who treated games like life itself, stripping her dignity was denying her very existence.
"Isn't that exactly what you wanted?"
Herta nodded in approval, as if grading an experiment.
Then she turned and started walking out, fingers tapping rapidly on her tablet—clearly already issuing orders to her staff.
"Bai Qian was right. Turning you into a joke is more useful than turning you into a corpse. Stay here and watch it happen. Watch your reputation rot in every game until you become a street rat everyone wants to stomp."
"I'm really looking forward to it—the day those 'Silver Wolf gets counterkilled' compilations spread across the universe. Let's see how you'll still call yourself the Legend of Punklorde then."
The confinement door slid shut behind her.
"HERTA!!! COME BACK!!! WE CAN NEGOTIATE!! I CAN PAY!! I CAN WORK!! DON'T DO THAT!!!"
"I recorded your screaming. I'm going to copy it tens of billions of times and use it as the universe's free alarm clock."
Silver Wolf's throat went dry.
Outside, Herta tapped a few controls. The smart door began closing, blocking her figure bit by bit. Silver Wolf caught one last glimpse—
Herta's lips pressed together.
She was holding back laughter.
Herta—an Emanator of Nous, a member of the Genius Society—was fighting not to laugh out loud.
How could her face possibly look calm, when even restrained laughter still bent her expression?
"Blame Elio," Herta said lightly. "He's the one who sent you to pick a fight with me."
Right before the door sealed completely, Silver Wolf's final shout rang out:
"That Bai Qian… I'll find him, and I'll humiliate him the exact same way!"
Herta suppressed her grin and walked to another door.
The security level here matched the previous room. She raised her hand, traced an unlocking path through the air—pssst—the door hissed with pressure release and slid open.
This room wasn't noisy like Silver Wolf's.
It was still. Dead still.
Kafka sat in the center.
Unlike Silver Wolf, she didn't struggle. She didn't vent to empty air.
She simply sat there, hands pinned behind her back by an invisible field, legs crossed, posture elegant—as if she were waiting for afternoon tea.
At the sound of the door, the woman lifted her head.
Those violet eyes held even a faint, amused smile.
Herta said nothing. She pulled over a chair and sat down in front of her.
The scrape of the chair legs against the floor was painfully loud in the empty room.
"The famous Ms. Herta," Kafka said, smile unchanged. "Is this how you treat guests on your station? I didn't expect coffee, but the hardness of this chair is… rather unforgiving."
Herta didn't respond. She walked up, stopped, and leaned in slightly, her violet gaze locked onto Kafka.
"Do you Stellaron Hunters have a special training course or something?"
Herta clicked her tongue, disgusted. "Why do you all talk the same way? The little one said the same thing—'not cool,' 'humiliation'—and now you're here with 'hospitality'? Save it. The fact I'm not using you as disposable materials today is already proof I'm in a good mood."
Kafka blinked, her eyes lingering on Herta for a brief moment.
"Seems we're quite valued."
Her voice stayed soft, gaze sliding over the exposed skin of Herta's shoulder.
"Herta… is this also part of the script?"
"The script?"
Herta laughed. She straightened, arms crossing, looking at Kafka like she couldn't believe the audacity.
"Don't flatter yourself. If Elio's script actually included you getting grabbed like a chicken and locked up here, then he's got a great sense of humor."
She wagged one finger in front of Kafka.
"Admit it, Kafka. You crashed. No foreshadowing. No backup plan. You tried to stir trouble, and someone stronger—me—pinned you to the floor and dragged you across it."
"Fine," Kafka said, shrugging as much as the restraint allowed. "Let's call it a crash."
"Then what's next? Genius Society's 83rd seat—how will you handle a nuisance like me? Kill me? That would be simplest. My bounty is quite high."
She smiled a little deeper.
"Or hand us over to the IPC? Though I imagine someone like you hates filling out all that paperwork."
"That line," Herta rolled her eyes, "Silver Wolf said it word-for-word."
"You two are really in sync. Relax. I'm not killing you. Killing people means dealing with bodies, and the station's cleaners are busy. They don't have time to collect your corpses."
Herta turned her back to Kafka, casually playing with her fingers.
"As for the IPC—ha. Giving you to those idiots gets me what, exactly? A few boring victory banquets? And I'd have to listen to their tearful gratitude? I can't even be bothered."
Kafka's smile faded a fraction.
Not killing. Not handing over.
To any faction, Stellaron Hunters were a hot potato: destroy them completely, or trade them for massive profit.
Keeping them here was just wasted rations and increased security risk.
Unless…
"If you won't kill us, and you won't give us to the IPC," Kafka said softly, "then you want us to do something else. Herta… are you planning to use us for experiments? Or do you have some… special arrangement?"
Herta turned back.
And she smiled—a smile that made the back of your spine go cold.
It was the exact same expression she'd worn in front of Silver Wolf.
"Smart."
Herta snapped her fingers.
"But don't imagine me as that evil. And don't imagine me as that perverted."
She stepped closer, bent down slightly, and lightly hooked a finger under Kafka's chin.
"The short one is in the next room having an existential crisis. As for you, Kafka… have you ever considered standing under the spotlight, singing and dancing for the entire universe—using your Spirit Whisper to charm people into buying albums?"
Herta leaned in, eyes gleaming.
"I bet if you debuted as an idol, your popularity could beat Robin."
She pulled out a tablet, swiped a few times, then tossed it onto Kafka's lap like she was throwing a stray cat a half-eaten fish.
"Look. Someone really wants to be your fan. The moment he heard you two got caught, he whipped this up and sent it to me."
The blue glow of the screen lit Kafka's face.
It was a carefully photoshopped poster.
Silver Wolf wore enormous pixel sunglasses and waved glow sticks. Behind her was a holographic cyberpunk stage.
And in the center—front and dominant—was Kafka in a lavish stage outfit, violin in hand.
Under the title was a bold tagline:
[Even a Stellaron wants to shine for you☆]
Kafka looked down. Her gaze swept from the logo in the top-left to the support slogan in the bottom-right. She even stared at the pink heart.
"This… is your plan?"
Kafka—who had never flinched even with gun barrels pointed at her—had the corner of her eye twitch.
This was more absurd than killing her.
Debuting as an idol?
That was beyond unstoppable.
This didn't feel like Herta's style.
Who gave her this idea? Which lunatic?
"It's not mine," Herta said dismissively. "I'd rather go back to researching other things."
"Oh, right. Before you leave, dance for me in here. Any dance is fine. I promise there won't be a third person in this world who knows besides you and me."
She tossed that out casually and walked toward the door.
"Ten minutes. You take Silver Wolf and leave. You both owe me a favor. When I need you, if I tell you to go east, you don't go west."
Kafka hadn't expected Herta to let them go so easily.
Still… the "dance" price…
Who exactly had suggested that?
Kafka didn't believe Herta would prank this hard on her own.
"That's… a rather unique humiliation. And you actually trust a Stellaron Hunter's favor?"
"Why wouldn't I?" Herta said over her shoulder. "Stellaron Hunters keep their word far better than the IPC."
She paused at the doorway, as if remembering something.
"Oh, and the brat next door is probably crying right now. If you've got good ears, you might even hear it."
After leaving, Herta let out a long breath, pulled out her phone, and typed quickly into the group chat.
[Pointy-Hat Lady]: Done. Refreshed. I should consider whether emotions have a positive effect on research.
[Pointy-Hat Lady]: Unexpected harvest. Not bad. I'll show you too.
[Pointy-Hat Lady uploaded file: SilverWolfScreaming.mp3]
[Pointy-Hat Lady uploaded file: KafkaDancing.mp3]
[PhantomThievesBoss]: I don't have beef with Silver Wolf, but if there's a show, how could I not watch? Hahaha—time to enjoy the screams!
[Rin Tohsaka]: Boss, sure, but why did you become this nasty too, Herta…
[Rin Tohsaka]: And stop playing it out loud!! I don't want to hear it!!
[Dragon Sis is Dragon]: By the way, doesn't this Silver Wolf look kind of like Bronya?
[PhantomThievesBoss]: Think of it as similar flowers. Same face, maybe even the same name—but completely different lives.
[Wants Campus Spring with Mei]: Oh, so kind of like me, huh? I still haven't met the real Kiana—my sister.
[PhantomThievesBoss]: …That's still very different.
"If there's a Bronya over there," Kiana said, elbowing Bai Qian, "does that mean there's another me too?"
Absentmindedly, she crinkled the bag of chips in her hand.
"Yep."
Bai Qian dragged his gaze off the chat screen, glanced at the idiot beside him, and casually stole a chip from her bag, popping it into his mouth.
"But she hasn't shown up yet. There's also another Mei, though. When the time comes, I can take you to see her."
"Another Mei?"
Kiana's eyes instantly filtered out the "hasn't shown up yet" part and locked onto the important half.
Her blue eyes lit up like someone flipped a switch.
"You mean… double Mei?!"
She clasped her hands together, face full of worship.
"Is this the legendary parallel-world benefit package? Does that Mei cook too? Will she call me 'Kiana' gently? Or maybe…"
She seemed to imagine something extremely dangerous. Two suspicious blushes bloomed on her cheeks, and she even let out a couple of stupid little hehe laughs.
"Or maybe… that Mei will be more… proactive?"
"Bai Qian, please! Let me see!"
Bai Qian thought for a moment, took out paper and pen, summoned Arsène, and within seconds, a vivid sketch of Yomi appeared on the page.
Kiana leaned in.
Their heads almost knocked together.
"Whoa… is that really Mei?"
Kiana sighed like a country bumpkin seeing a skyscraper for the first time.
She poked the paper with a finger covered in chip crumbs.
"That look is so fierce. And why is she holding a long sword? But yeah, she feels totally different from the Mei I know. Not gentle at all—she looks like she'd split someone in half with one slash."
Completely missing the point.
Bai Qian rolled his eyes. "Is the sword the point? The point is the vibe. And honestly, if there's another you over there, she's probably exactly the same as you."
He sized Kiana up.
Chip crumbs stuck at the corner of her mouth. Her collar sat crooked. And right now, because she'd leaned too close, she'd unconsciously dumped her entire weight onto his arm.
"Okay. Face is the same, but the brain probably isn't. Because you, my little paramecium, are uniquely stupid."
"Hey! Bai Qian! Are you calling me dumb again?!"
Kiana finally caught on.
She puffed her cheeks like an angry pufferfish, blue eyes round and fierce, trying to murder Bai Qian with her stare.
But to Bai Qian, it had zero intimidation value.
If anything, it made him want to laugh.
"I didn't say that. You're the one who matched the description."
Kiana sat back down, cheeks still puffed—then something occurred to her, and her expression softened with a hint of loneliness.
"So… when do I get to meet the real Kiana?"
"Probably soon," Bai Qian replied casually.
—
"So this is where Cocolia died?"
The wind was strong, carrying black ash—stuff that clung to fabric and refused to brush off.
Durandal stood there, boots grinding over broken concrete with a gritty crunch. She lifted her gaze.
Where ME Corp's headquarters should've been, there was now only a charred crater.
She removed her right glove, tucked it into her belt, then reached out with the bare hand—callused from years of gripping a weapon—and ran her fingers along the cut surface, smooth like a mirror.
Strange.
There was residual heat.
Even hot enough to sting.
"No Honkai energy residue."
Durandal pinched the black powder stuck to her fingertip.
"Not a Herrscher. At least… not the kind of Herrscher authority we're familiar with."
Rita stood a few steps behind her, holding a folded scythe. Her black-and-white maid skirt fluttered slightly in the ruin wind.
"Indeed, Durandal. Quite a thorough cleaning."
Durandal had arrived in Nagazora City.
-------
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