The ten-thirty morning sun was a bit vicious, as if trying to melt the asphalt.
The west side of Arc City, outside an abandoned factory bearing a sign that read "Professional Auto Repair" — though you couldn't have found so much as a wrench inside.
Kiana crouched on the third-floor terrace of the half-finished building across the street, idly flipping a coin between her fingers out of sheer boredom.
The coin tumbled across her fingertips, ringing out with crisp little clinks.
She tugged the brim of her slightly worn baseball cap lower, her heterochromatic eyes half-lidded beneath it, fixed on the gang of thugs below — dyed hair in every shade of the rainbow — clustered together smoking and playing cards.
This was one of the Tiger Claw Gang's outer strongholds.
Compared to the well-equipped Schicksal Valkyries or Anti-Entropy mechs, these guys with their steel pipes and homemade Molotovs were practically the slimes from a beginner village.
"Oi, Whitey, quit spacing out over there — you're gonna polish that coin into an antique."
A girl's lazy voice, threaded with a touch of static, came through the earpiece.
Bronie.
The hacker who called herself Maze City Cyber Bunny — a friend Kiana had only known for a short while, and her temporary partner now.
"I wasn't spacing out," Kiana said, pursing her lips and pocketing the coin. "I was assessing the enemy. So this is the sheepdog tactic you were going on about? Clear out the small fry on the perimeter first, scare them into huddling together, then sweep them all up in one pot?"
"Bingo, correct answer — pity there's no prize."
On the other end of the line, Bronie blew a bubble, her voice carrying a kind of breezy confidence.
"These Tiger Claw losers are a pack of hyenas who bully the weak and cower before the strong."
"As long as you yank out their outposts one by one like nails, they'll piss themselves and scurry back to the main den. By then…"
"By then we can net them all in one go," Kiana finished for her.
"Tch — look at you, jumping in with the answer. Guess even dummies have evolutionary potential."
Bronie's snark landed right on cue.
Strangely enough — even though this was the first time they'd formally worked together, their tactical coordination flowed as smoothly as if they'd rehearsed it a thousand times.
Bronie could even predict Kiana's preferred movement routes, hacking the surveillance cameras in her blind spots ahead of time.
"Weird…" Bronie muttered over the comms channel. "You look like nothing more than a reckless white-haired brute who just charges in headfirst, so why is directing you so effortless? It's like… like I used to clean up after some idiot all the time."
Kiana froze for a moment.
She didn't bristle and snap back "YOU'RE the idiot" the way she usually would — instead, she couldn't help the corners of her mouth curling up.
In that instant, time and space seemed to slip out of alignment.
It was as if she'd been transported back to the dorms of St. Freya Academy, watching that small, perpetually expressionless girl — the one who would help her cram for exams late at night, the one who would use Project Bunny to block incoming attacks for her on the battlefield.
That familiar feeling — laced with a little exasperation, yet utterly dependable.
"What? Stunned into silence by the genius tactics of yours truly, the Cyber Bunny?" Bronie huffed, since she'd gone quiet.
"Yes, yes, Miss Cyber Bunny is the greatest," Kiana replied with a soft laugh, an unconscious fondness in her tone. "This way of talking… really takes me back."
"Huh? Takes you back? Did a door slam on your brain? We're discussing how to beat people up and you're over there having a Renaissance moment."
Bronie was clearly thrown by this sudden flash of warmth.
"Alright, alright, quit grossing me out. Since you understand the tactics, get to it. The sooner this is wrapped up, the better — I've got my own pile of trouble to deal with on my end."
Kiana sharply caught the thread of irritation in the other girl's voice.
"Trouble? What's going on over there? Need me to help?"
"You? Forget it. This isn't something you can help with." Bronie sighed, her tone heavy with helplessness. "It's just that old lady at home… I mean, my adoptive mother. She's hit menopause or something lately and just nags all day long — it's driving me nuts, I'm not a little kid anymore."
Adoptive mother?
Kiana's heart gave a hard lurch.
In this world, did Bronya… no, did Bronie also have an adoptive mother?
In her memory, Bronya's "adoptive mother" was Cocolia — the woman who would stop at nothing to achieve her ends, who had even implanted a bio-chip in Bronya's brain.
"That… this adoptive mother you mentioned…" Kiana asked, probing carefully, her voice a little tight, "she wouldn't happen to be… Cocolia, would she?"
"Huh?"
Bronie's voice came back through the earpiece thick with genuine confusion — not an ounce of pretense to it.
"Cocolia? Who's that? Sounds like some washed-up Russian actress, or some brand of cheap vodka nobody wants to buy."
Bronie paused, as if searching a database.
"The old lady at my place is a bartender at a bar — pretty cool sometimes, but when she starts nagging she's scarier than Tang Sanzang. Why — you know somebody called Cocolia?"
Kiana let out a long breath.
Her tense shoulders relaxed in an instant, as if a great weight had been lifted from her body.
Not Cocolia.
Thank goodness.
In this world, that girl with the gray spiral twin-tails had not been raised as a killing machine, had not had a control chip implanted, had no "mother" who would push her into the abyss.
"No… I don't know her." Kiana lifted her face to the cobalt sky overhead, her smile turning radiant. "Just asking. Sounds like… you've got a pretty nice family."
"Pfft, nice my foot, you haven't seen that old lady when she loses her temper…"
Bronie grumbled, but the edge had clearly softened in her voice.
"Whatever, why am I even telling you this?"
"Small talk ends here. The target's appeared — that bald guy with the gold chain is the local boss of this spot. Take him down and the rest of the small fry will scatter like roaches caught in the light."
"Got it."
Kiana stood up and rolled her wrists and ankles loose.
She flipped her cap around backwards, and her heterochromatic eyes sharpened in a flash.
"Anyway — once this nest is smashed, you can head back and rest. Bounty split fifty-fifty as agreed, OK?" Bronie confirmed one last time.
"OK."
Kiana nodded.
For Su Yu's graphics card, for this peaceful world, and also… to protect this hard-won "everyday life."
Void Drifter, moving out.
She kicked off from the floor, launching off the third-floor terrace like an arrow loosed from a bowstring, tracing a streak of white afterimage through the air as she dropped straight down toward the Tiger Claw Gang members still bullshitting around below.
"Surprise! Baddies!"
Arc City, the back alley of Raven's Bar on the commercial strip.
After cutting the line with Kiana, Bronie tugged at the hood of her windbreaker. The pink bubblegum in her mouth ballooned into a perfect sphere, then popped with a sharp "snap."
"Tch, that white-haired girl is always saying such embarrassing stuff. Who on earth did she pick that up from?"
Her mouth was as unforgiving as ever, but for some reason, the corner of her own lip twitched upward at the memory of Kiana's slightly goofy smile.
Maybe, probably.
It was probably just because, for the girl known as Cyber Bunny — out hunting "excitement" in life — this was the first friend she'd ever made.
Chewing her gum, Bronie pulled her thoughts back and turned her gaze toward the bar's back door.
As she'd said earlier.
She, too, had a piece of trouble waiting to be dealt with.
"Mission objective: infiltrate Raven's Bar, confirm the old lady's status, then extract."
Though this place was her "home," right now the defense level rivaled the heavily-guarded Tiger Claw Gang vault.
The reason was nothing other than — her adoptive mother, currently riding the stacked debuff of "Menopausal Rage BUFF," Miss Cioara.
"The old lady's probably busy out front prepping stock…"
Bronie spat out her flavorless gum.
She hadn't wanted to come back.
Really.
The outside world was so much more exciting — yeah, that white-haired weirdo named Kiana was a wild variable, but compared to spending all night polishing glassware in a bar, drag-racing with gangsters was clearly more on-brand for the Cyber Bunny.
But…
That short little dumpling named Theresa had sent word that Cioara had been looking lately as haggard as a ghost-woman drained of her vital essence.
"Tch, that old woman, haggard? She's lucky if she doesn't drain other people dry."
Her mouth grumbled, but her body, very honestly, drew closer to the back door.
The back door of Raven's Bar was right in front of her.
This unremarkable-looking security door was rigged with three alarms on different frequencies — but in front of the Cyber Bunny, those things were nothing more than toys for amusing kids.
Her fingertips danced across the holographic keyboard, and three seconds later, the lock gave a docile little click.
"Bingo."
Bronie smirked with smug satisfaction — push, slip in, close the door, all in one fluid motion.
Yet, the instant she turned and prepared to dart into the staff changing room, a chill that prickled across her scalp suddenly locked onto the nape of her neck.
It was the sensation of being marked by an apex predator.
"Oh my, if it isn't our little runaway rebel?"
A voice — cloyingly sweet, yet carrying a subtle, pressing weight — rang out from the darkness.
Bronie stiffly turned her head.
By the dim glow of the emergency lights in the corridor, she saw a petite figure dressed in a pink-and-white Lolita dress — a perfectly legal loli.
"Theresa…?!" Bronie's mouth twitched. "Aren't you supposed to be out front being the magical-girl mascot?"
"Because Cioara said tonight a disobedient little bunny would run smack into the tree stump."
Theresa.
The voice actress behind Arc City's recently-skyrocketing virtual idol, "Magical Girl Teriri."
And also the bar's ace waitress.
She smiled sweetly at Bronie, those blue eyes shimmering with the light of "you're done for."
Bronie inwardly groaned. Just as she was about to bolt, a small hand — soft-looking and tender on the outside, but possessed of monstrous strength — clamped down precisely on her collar.
"I'm not going back! Let go! You violent loli!"
Bronie kicked her legs in the air like a rabbit dangled by the scruff.
"Oh my my, Bronie-chan, after all this time, why are you still so shy?"
Theresa held Bronie — who was taller than her — up with one hand, a kindly smile plastered on her face.
"Cioara's been waiting for you for so long~"
"I'm not—"
Protest invalid.
Like she was hauling a sack of rice, Theresa hummed the magical girl theme song and, with light, springy steps, dragged Bronie straight into the bar's main floor.
The bar was dimly lit, jazz music curling through the air like smoke.
Behind the counter, a tall woman was polishing wine glasses.
Cioara.
She wore a sharply-tailored black bartender's vest, the buttons of her white shirt fastened all the way up to the top — abstinent yet sensual.
Below, a side-slit pencil skirt that hugged her hips. With each step she took, her long legs flashed into view and out again. Black stockings sheathed the taut lines of her muscles, and on her feet were a pair of ten-centimeter pointed-toe stilettos.
Hearing the commotion, Cioara turned around.
There were no ripples in those eyes — only a stillness that sent shivers down one's spine.
"Finally willing to come home?"
She set down the wine glass.
"I thought you'd died in some gutter somewhere. I was just getting ready to go collect your corpse."
"Let me go!"
Bronie finally wrenched free of Theresa's clutches, straightened her crooked collar, stiffened her neck, and shot right back:
"I'm doing perfectly fine! You don't need to worry about me! I just came back… to grab something! Then I'm leaving!"
"Leaving?"
Cioara let out a cold laugh and casually flicked a dishrag right onto Bronie's face.
"Short-staffed tonight. Change clothes. Get to work."
Her tone brooked no argument.
Bronie yanked the rag off and slammed it furiously onto the floor.
"I said I'm not doing it! I've had enough of this boring life! I'm going to—"
"Going where? To play that ridiculous Vigilante? Or to be cannon fodder for the Tiger Claw Gang?"
Cioara's voice climbed sharply. The long-suppressed rage finally cracked open a seam.
She pulled a crumpled newspaper from beneath the bar and slammed it down hard on the counter.
It was a report about a recent drag-racing crew that had been mysteriously taken down all at once.
"Who do you think you are? A superhero? Bronie, with those half-baked skills of yours, you're worth less than a fart in front of real outlaws! I didn't raise you all these years just so you could go off and get yourself killed!"
"Anything's better than being a waitress here for the rest of my life!"
Bronie shouted back, her eyes a little red around the rims.
"You don't get it at all, Cioara! When you were young, you were a mercenary — you lived that kind of thrilling life! Why do I have to play the good little girl in this world that's so peaceful it's gone moldy? I want to live like I'm actually alive!"
"You—!"
The atmosphere plummeted to freezing point in an instant.
Off to the side, Theresa squirmed in unbearable awkwardness — she wanted to mediate but couldn't get a word in.
These two — mother and daughter — had tempers cut from exactly the same cloth: both walking powder kegs.
Just as the standoff was at its sharpest, looking like the next second would erupt into a full-blown brawl —
"Ding-a-ling—"
The wind chime over the bar's front entrance gave a clear, melodious little ring.
That old-fashioned doorbell sound, carrying its lazy little jazz lilt, rang out into the silent standoff with particular incongruity.
Cioara drew in a deep breath.
Her professional poise as the proprietress kicked in — she unconsciously smoothed her tousled bangs, turned around, and slipped on an expression that, while cold, was at least passably courteous.
"Sorry, we're not open tonight…"
The words stuck in her throat.
Standing in the doorway was a man and a woman.
But that wasn't what mattered.
What mattered was the woman beside him.
That signature head of long wine-red hair — even under the dim lighting, it flowed with the luster of vintage wine.
Her stunning face, the one that frequently appeared on the largest screen in Times Square, was not concealed in any way right now — only…
Draped over her was a clearly oversized men's windbreaker that obviously belonged to that man.
This kind of high-contrast styling, far from concealing her radiance, instead lent this normally untouchable "Golden Diva" a hint of indulgent languor that made the imagination run wild.
Eden.
The superstar who had the entire world swooning.
"Sorry, Cioara." Eden lightly brushed a stray lock of hair from her ear, apology mixed with the faintest hint of a smile. "I know your place is members-only, but Su Yu and I really had nowhere else to go… That swarm of enthusiastic fans almost flipped our car."
She turned her head toward the man beside her, a natural sort of reliance flickering in her gaze.
"This is the safest place in all of Arc City. You wouldn't mind taking in two refugees, would you?"
Dead silence settled over the bar.
Three seconds later.
"E-E-E-E-Eden?!"
Theresa clapped both hands to her face, her eyes turning into two enormous stars, her whole body trembling, letting out a shriek somewhere between a kettle screaming and a fangirl meltdown.
"A live one! A live Miss Eden! Aaahh, I'm your hardcore fan! I want to snuggle with you— I mean, I want a photo with you!"
Cioara, on the other hand, froze for a moment, then helplessly raised a hand to her forehead.
She glanced once at Eden, then once at the man called Su Yu, her gaze lingering for two whole seconds on the men's coat draped around Eden's shoulders. Her eyes turned subtle.
"…Come in. Lock the door," Cioara sighed and turned, walking back behind the bar. "Since you're the one who brought the trouble in, I won't charge you a cover. But the drinks are on the tab as usual."
And Bronie?
She was sitting cross-legged on a tall stool at the bar, blowing a fresh bubble.
Those sharp gray eyes of hers swept back and forth between Su Yu and Eden like a scanner.
As a hacker, what she was best at was digging up information from details.
Eden, wearing his coat?
The two of them — late at night, no, in broad daylight — a lone man and a lone woman, fleeing fans, clothing in disarray…
"Whew—"
Bronie let out a long, loud whistle, cutting through Theresa's shrieking.
Propping her chin in one hand, she watched Su Yu with intense interest, a teasing, wicked smile curling at the corner of her mouth. All the gloom from being dragged into work was swept away in an instant.
"Oho, this is getting interesting."
In her head, Bronie slapped a label on this man called Su Yu: [High Risk · Riajuu · Suspected Kept Man].
"Looks like tonight… won't be as boring as cutting ice after all."
She fished a fresh piece of bubblegum from her pocket, peeled off the wrapper, her eyes glittering with the light of someone hell-bent on stirring up chaos.
"Hey, you over there, mister." Bronie suddenly spoke up, her voice crisp and laced with a touch of provocation. "Pretty high-class kept-man work you've got going on there, huh? You even bagged the Golden Diva? Mind teaching me how?"
Hearing this, Su Yu's foot slipped, and he very nearly performed a flat-ground faceplant on the spot.
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