Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Once again retaking his title in the blink of an eye at the 19th hero tournament, zealous fans on numerous social media platforms have been demanding to know who this man is. As of now, no new information has been released by the Commission regarding Hero X and his-”

It has been more than a week and it seems that he's still the most contentious topic at the moment. Though part of his ongoing relevance is by design, as Mickey has worked tooth and nail to quietly settle the lawsuit between DOS and the companies caught in the crossfire during her fight with Bowa. The little that did surface had much of the blame pinned on Bowa's fear induced aggression, which still had Queen uneasy about her own carelessness even if she wasn't the one to initiate the conflict. 

She set down the remote with a heavy sigh and headed to the kitchen. Already late in the evening, the dim glow of the kitchen light caught the lip of a wine glass she set aside earlier this week. It wouldn't hurt to have a small drink, she's been handling her disqualification infinitely better than the wallow of self pity she dug herself into the last time she was defeated. Then again, Johnny and Cyan have been constantly invading her daily routine ever since she woke up at the hospital. For better or for worse, they've kept her mind distracted enough to slowly move on from such a disappointment. 

Taking a look at the wine rack, she decided against trying out the new variant Johnny gifted her, despite being the perfect use case for a “get well soon” present. She poured herself a glass of her usual favourite, savouring the toasty aroma that escaped the confines of the wine bottle. 

Settling herself against the living room window that dwarves even the tallest of heroes, her unfocused gaze swept through the busy streets below, its flow still congested even at this hour. 

Looking back, she wasn't surprised by Bowa's actions, but rather the extent of which she deteriorated. They had little in common other than the goal of becoming X. And for what it's worth, Bowa's consecutive reign was genuinely impressive. Whether her trajectory was influenced by Queen all those years ago can be argued, but she's not arrogant enough to ignore the effort Bowa put into getting to where she was. From a broader perspective, this setback is still fully recoverable despite her growing impatience each time her goal post has shifted. There would be no intrinsic value in seeking revenge when more lawful and efficient means exist. Bowa is no different as a former colleague and competitor, and as such, face justice no differently than any other individual. 

What has been plaguing her mind these past few days is this notion of fear, and how it seemingly transcends the trust system in terms of power. How was Bowa able to match her power after falling out of the top 10? Her trust value should be significantly lower than that of Queen's, and yet it seems she has somehow cultivated dangerous amounts of power within the span of 2 years completely independently from the public's perception. Something more nefarious is at play, and she knows as much as the news channels despite being one of the top heroes. For now, she swallowed her dread as she finished the last sip of her late night diversion. She has important matters to discuss with Mickey the following morning, and this was a good place to end off the night before she overthinks on a different topic.

There wasn't anything to admit. Although her father was a mere journalist for the longest time, she has never been ignorant enough to hide from her privileged upbringing. If she was afforded all these opportunities, it would be incredibly foolish, let alone selfish, to waste it on the mundane. What use could it possibly have if not to accomplish the impossible?  

Alongside her father was Mickey, who has watched and oftentimes guided her every step in childhood. That watchfulness carried into her adulthood during a time when tensions between male and female heroes threatened to divide the industry, as he offered her a position at his company. Had she been more naive, it seems like nothing more than an act of faith in her personal mission. 

Standing before his office door, she hesitated only briefly before pushing it open in a deliberate stride. Mickey sat at his desk, the glow of his laptop reflected in his glasses. His expression was unreadable, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

There was something about him that had always made her uneasy. Despite everything he’d done for her family, she’d long since decided it was wiser to keep their relationship strictly professional. A true familial title was something she reserved only for her father. 

“Ah, what a surprise,” Mickey said, his voice smooth as ever, the corners of his mouth curving into that polished, practiced smile. “It’s a pleasure seeing you up on your feet again. How are you feeling?”

She leaned her cane against the chair as she took a seat. “I’ve been recovering well,” she replied evenly. “More so after my discharge. I was growing rather impatient.”

He chuckled, leaning forward to rest his arms on the desk. “It is one of the few things you can’t control. So please, take your time and make a proper recovery. I can’t have your father blaming me if you reopen your wounds before the finals.”

“Two years is more than sufficient for the type of injuries I sustained,” she said, noticing how her tone clipped before returning him a conservative smile. “You both needn’t worry.”

“You might need to take that up with him, then,” Mickey murmured, rising from his chair. He brushed a speck of lint from the name plaque on his desk before circling around it to face her. “I assume you came here for business, so I won’t take up any more of your time.” He gestured for her to speak.

Even with her upbringing and the opportunities it afforded her, she knew painfully little about the world beyond her circle. Her pursuit of X had kept her detached from the ordinary lives of others. Conversations with her only friends had only made it clearer. She wasn’t exactly incapable of fitting into normal social settings, she simply didn’t see the point. It all seemed unnecessary, almost trivial, compared to what she is pursuing. But Bowa’s words lingered. How could she hope to reform a world she didn’t understand?

“Since I’m prohibited from taking any missions,” she began, rising from her seat, “I would like to assume the role of a civilian for the next six months while I recover physically.”

Mickey raised a brow, intrigued. She continued with her resolution. “I believe that experiencing the life of an average citizen could help me gain a better grasp of the future I wish to create when I become X.” Her eyes met his, unwavering.

“Well,” he said after a beat, lips curving into a faint smirk, “I wasn’t expecting a proposition like that from you. But now that I’ve heard it… it sounds rather on brand.”

He stepped closer, the gleam of amusement never leaving his eyes.

“Is that an approval?” she asked sharply. She preferred if more people were straightforward with their words, but Mickey was never one to speak plainly. He hummed softly, considering, before adjusting his glasses.

“I may have something in mind,” he said at last.

Her gaze sharpened. He had her attention.

“But,” he added, his smile widening into something sly, “you’ll need to stay low for a while. I hope you don’t mind playing a bit of dress-up.”

Her jaw tightened at his tone, irritation flickering behind her composed expression. Still, she said nothing. Whatever game he was playing, she would at least hear him out.

The lazy morning glow pierced through the slits between her velvet curtains, draping the room in a soft, golden haze. Light scattered across the polished floor, catching briefly on the strands of black hair as she brushed through them. Hair that felt too heavy, too foreign. Every tug through its silky length reminded her of the stark white that should’ve framed her face instead.

She set the brush down, reminded of her impending fate as the ticking of a clock from behind urges her onwards. Reaching for her suit jacket and slipping it on with ease, the fabric whispers against her shirt as she tugged at the lapels to smooth away invisible wrinkles. 

Almost ceremonially, she reached for a pair of glasses. The lenses caught the morning light as she placed them over her eyes, softening her gaze. She didn’t need them, of course. But as the faint glint of glass settled between her and the world, the disguise felt adequate. 

The taxi Mickey had arranged was already waiting by the curb when she stepped outside. As the car doors shut, the world beyond began to drift. Buildings stretching into streaks of color, pedestrians melting into the chaos of morning traffic.

Her gaze wandered to the window, where her reflection hovered faintly between the shifting scenery. The person staring back looked eerily mundane, her dark brown eyes unwavering as the city moved and changed. She sat still, left behind by the pace of everything around her. 

By the time the cab slowed to a stop, the skyline had given way to a towering structure of glass and steel. The FOMO headquarters. She recalled Mickey’s explanation from earlier, a serious edge cutting into his usual playful tone. He wanted her to “gain insight” into the algorithms that powered FOMO’s hero engagement systems, the ones no one outside the company fully understood. It sounded like the sort of task better suited for the IT department, not her.

But of course, Mickey gave her some more relevant reasons. He’d mentioned whispers, rumors of FOMO having some relations to Fear, the other half of the Trust coin capable of corrupting even the pinnacle of hero society. And she was being served this insightful opportunity on a questionably silver platter. There's undoubtedly a catch somewhere between the fine lines of what they both agreed on, but it's too much of a risk to leave a threat unknown.

She adjusted her glasses, eyes raising to meet the looming building as the taxi pulled away. Whatever his true motives were, she'll answer to it after she has her fill.

She stepped into the grand entrance of the building, immediately engulfed by the pulse of morning rush hour. A flurry of employees hurried through the marble lobby, badges flashing, voices weaving into a constant hum of urgency. Papers fluttered from the hands of an assistant chasing after their manager, their footsteps echoing sharply against the floor. The entire place moved like a relentless, synchronized machine churning toward whatever profit incentives suited them the best inside this sprawling social media conglomerate.

Liu Yuwei waited quietly by the elevators, her eyes flicking between the descending numbers above the doors and the blur of people passing by. When the elevator finally chimed, the crowd surged forward in a well-practiced dance of seamless disorder. She was swept along with them, pressed between briefcases and coffee cups, thankful to see that someone else had already selected her floor.

As the elevator ascended, the chatter dulled to a low murmur. Upon arriving at her floor, Yuwei slipped through a narrow gap between the remaining passengers, following close behind a girl with pastel-pink hair whose carefully styled waves had succumbed to the morning rush. The girl muttered something colourful under her breath, using her phone screen as a mirror to assess the damage before dragging herself into the office.

Yuwei followed. The workspace was already half occupied, keyboards clattering, monitors flickering to life, the faint scent of coffee and cologne hanging in the air. 

An older woman, likely her manager, waved her over, finishing up a quick exchange with another employee. Yuwei approached with her usual poise.

“Good morning,” she said with a polite nod. “You must be Mrs. Yue.”

“And you must be Ms. Wang,” the woman replied warmly, extending a hand. They shook firmly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to contributing to the team,” Yuwei said, her tone courteous and professional from years of rehearsing her social proficiency.

Mrs. Yue smiled, already waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, there’s no need for all of that,” she said with a tired laugh. “Let’s get you started before the rest of them get here and ruin my day.”

Yuwei followed her through the maze of desks, her heels clicking softly against the floor, the hum of the office already beginning to settle into rhythm.

The entire east wall of the office was made of glass, her floor meeting the rest of the city at eye level. Neon signs and billboards blinked just across the street, faces of grinning heroes beamed down from every surface, their slogans and product lines pulsing in rhythmic flashes. 

She exhaled softly. This was her new routine, a research assignment to pass the time while she recovered. Yet as she's met with a familiar face on a neighbouring billboard that no longer aligns with her own, just beyond the glass, she couldn’t shake the sense that she didn’t belong here. That she was trespassing in someone else’s world. And a part of her knew that this world will resist every ounce of structure she has built up for herself. 

Or perhaps she was just overthinking.

Chapter Text

A few days in, and Liu Yuwei had already found herself accustomed to her new responsibilities. If she was being generous, the painfully repetitive routine did make it easy to streamline the moment she built mental shortcuts for nearly every task she’d been given. But with how people used to think of her proficiency back in university, she had to actively tone it back to avoid suspicion. 

The others seemed content to move at their own pace, and she has long since learned to accept that the majority of people don't share her proactive attitude. Yet she couldn’t help but mentally rearrange the workflow, imagining an automated script here, a shared drive there, or a better use of the data logs they ignored. 

It was strange to feel caged not by her expectations, but by the limitations of an ordinary job. She wasn’t sure which drained her more.

The cafeteria reminded Yuwei less of an office canteen and more of a café that had accidentally found itself trapped inside a corporate building. Potted plants lined the broad windows, their leaves pressed faintly against the glass, filtering sunlight through the rustic grid panes. From where she sat, she could see the silhouettes of pedestrians scuttling the streets outside. The checkerboard tiles gleamed beneath the soft murmur of conversation, and the air was saturated with the aroma of roasted coffee beans from the island bar that anchored the center of the room. The baristas moved in unison, serving a myriad of teas and latte variations to employees who had briefly escaped their desks for a moment of repose. Between the bar and the windows stretched rows of tables, half bathed in light.

Yuwei had chosen one of the corner seats away from the chatter, where the sunlight reached her lunchbox and nothing else. She always brought her own meals out of habit, with the only exceptions outside of work-related dinners being anytime Cyan and Johnny dragged her out. In her mind, it saved time and spared any unnecessary thoughts about dietary health lest she worried her doctor.

She ate in silence, watching the ebb and flow of the crowd. Occasionally, a stray thought got her to wonder if this was really a wise use of her time. She has been diligent about her recovery exercises after work, keeping herself in decent shape for her eventual return to hero work. But sitting in an office all day while incidents continued to unfold in her absence still gnawed at her. There’d been no updates on what she was originally here for. Not from her day job, and not from Mickey. He promised he would provide additional information when more became available to him, but none has surfaced thus far. 

She took a slow breath to compose herself.

Then came the sharp sound of glass clattering against a table. She glanced over to see a young man staring helplessly at a spreading pool of orange juice. Approaching said table was a girl with pink hair, her tray of food trembling slightly in her hands. But as she surveyed the remaining surface area of dry real estate, she abandoned her original plan and turned to Yuwei's table.

“Excuse me,” the girl asked, voice polite but tired, “is this seat taken?”

Yuwei remembered seeing her around the office, returning her attention to the spear of various vegetables on her fork. “Not at all.”

“Thanks.” The girl smiled faintly and slid into the chair opposite. “Honestly I wouldn't be surprised if I got hit by a bus by the end of today with how things have panned out this week,” she grumbled.

Yuwei gave her a concerned look.

“I'm just being dramatic” she waves dismissively. She set her tray down and began cutting into her food with mild frustration. Scrolling through her FOMO fyp, she glanced up to see that Yuwei was subtly eyeing her phone. Dangling from its case was a small silver charm in the shape of an X.

“Jealous?” the girl asked suddenly with a friendly grin.

“Hardly,” Yuwei replied neutrally, her mind oddly distant.

“I had to buy it off some sketchy site,” the girl continued, holding the charm up for inspection. “Been manifesting an official X merch shop but it never came. I get he's mysterious and all but at least give us something to throw our money at,” she pouted, flicking a finger at the charm. “At least it looks decent enough.”

Yuwei nodded, unsure what to say.

“I’m Lu Hanyu by the way,” she added, offering a small grin. “But call me Lulu if you don’t mind me pestering you once in a while. It’s rare we get newbies who pick things up as fast as you.”

“Wang Yingwei,” she replied, returning the handshake Lulu offered.

“I'm bad with names so you'll have to bear with me,” Lulu raised her soda can as though to toast. “Welcome to the club, Ms. Yinwei. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

The taxi hummed softly that evening as Yuwei leaned her head against the cool glass of the window, watching the city fly past. The call came through just as they crossed into the residential district.

“Look who finally picked up,” Cyan teased through the receiver. “How’s the civilian life treating our royal majesty?”

“Show us your disguise! Wait, Cyan, can you turn this into a video call,” Johnny added in the background before being promptly ignored.

“It's fine,” Yuwei exhaled quietly. “In some ways, it reminds me of university.”

Cyan chuckled. “I thought this was supposed to be your break. Don’t tell me you’re already trying to start another revolution.”

“Not like that,” Yuwei replied with a muted smile, eyes still on the passing streetlights. 

“Just don’t forget to rest once in a while,” Johnny said. “We still need you for board game night. It’s been weeks and Cyan wouldn't even let me win once.”

“You're just mad I caught Big Johnny stealing my resource cards,” she said mockingly.

“And we still lost,” Johnny relented.

Yuwei allowed a small sigh that almost passed for amusement. “I’ll let you know when I’m free.”

The next morning, the office buzzed with its usual subdued chaos. Yuwei had barely settled at her desk when she noticed a commotion by the entrance.

Lulu, coffee cup in hand, had bumped into another employee. The drink splattered across the floor in a messy arc. Both froze, apologizing over each other’s words.

Yuwei approached without thinking. “Here,” she said, grabbing a stack of tissues from a nearby desk and crouching beside Lulu.

Lulu gave her a sheepish smile. “I swear I’m cursed this week.”

“You should be more careful,” said Yuwei, though her tone lacked judgment.

“I’m trying.” Lulu sighed and continued blotting at the spill. “Hey, can I ask a favor? There’s a vending machine down the hall, could you grab me a drink? I had to pull an all-nighter and I'm one misfortune away from giving up.” She pressed a few coins into Yuwei’s hand. “You’re a life saver”

She hesitated but took the change. “What kind?”

“Anything that'll keep me going for the next 10 hours,” she beamed, eyes swelling on the verge of tears despite her smile.

The directions Lulu gave were vague at best, but she eventually found the vending machine tucked between two pillars. Even in this secluded area, someone was already there. 

Hunched over the vending machine was a tall man in a standard business outfit, scanning the rows of beverages as though deciphering a code. In the reflection of the glass, their eyes met for a brief second. 

The can dropped with a metallic clunk, and he took it without a word. As he left, she realized he worked in her department. Strange how silence could build such invisible walls between people sitting only a few feet apart.

She inserted the coins, selected a drink, and waited for the familiar clatter. As the can rolled into her hand, she found herself wondering about the people who filled this building. How little she truly knew of them, despite the shared air and passing greetings. Each of them moved through their own quiet worlds, carrying lives she would never glimpse. She wondered what it might feel like to live that way. Entirely ordinary, unobserved, and whole within oneself.

She returned to the office, a can of soda in hand with a giant X printed on its packaging, glinting under the fluorescent light.

By the second week, Yuwei had already started to notice patterns.

The way the upper management floor lights flickered off in sections at precisely 18:45. The distant whir of a ride-on floor scrubber around 18:50 when the janitors made their rounds. And without fail, the man sitting right beside her packing up at exactly 18:59.

Most employees here had long accepted that the official sign off time was a mere suggestion, and FOMO was the kind of company that rewarded dedication in hours. Although she is personally more tolerant of working additional hours, she can sympathize with those that would rather trade in their overtime compensation for another ounce of sleep. Even then, leaving exactly on the dot felt almost performative. It conflicted with the part of her that valued completion, however small. 

As the office wound down, she gathered the day’s reports into a neatly stacked folder. To her satisfaction, everything was cross-checked, annotated, and color-tagged. Though she sometimes wondered if she was the only one who cared to do it.

She walked over to his desk, stopping just short of the light from his monitor. “Before you go,” she said, tone even. “Can you send me the compiled log from the backend update?”

He looked up, halfway through shutting down his laptop. “It’s not due until Thursday.”

“I know, I’m just finalizing today’s checklist.”

There was a pause. He seemed to weigh her words, the dim glow of the monitor reflecting in his glasses before he gave a small shrug.

“I’ll have it done tomorrow.”

On cue, a small alarm emanated from his wrist watch. And almost religiously, he shut his laptop, tucked it neatly away in his suitcase, and rewarded himself a big stretch as he stood up. He gave her a polite smile after he slid his chair back, heading for the elevators without another word.

Yuwei stood there for a moment, holding the folder loosely at her side. Around her, the office buzzed in its usual sterile cadence, the clatter of keyboards from those still trying to finish, the muffled laughter of a group by the elevator. 

She turned back to her desk, setting the folder down with more care than necessary. The harsh embers of the sunset spilled through the massive window, layering onto the spotlight cast from her desk lamp which illuminated the documents she needed to sort through this week. She tapped her fingers once against the folder, then sighed.

The next morning, Yuwei arrived earlier than usual. The office lights still flickered on in staggered waves, washing the room in a pale morning glow. Rows of unoccupied desks stretched across the floor, most screens still black. The room smelled vaguely of burnt coffee and recycled air.

She took her usual seat, adjusting the folders she’d left the night before. Out of curiosity, she glanced at the desk beside hers. Empty.

She booted up her computer and began combing through the system reports. The monotony had already settled in when she heard the soft click of footsteps behind her, measured and unhurried.

He walked in at 9:58 exactly, a can of soda in hand, and nodded once in her direction. By the time the rest of the office started filling up, he’d already settled in, typing with the kind of focused silence that belonged to someone who knew precisely how much effort something was worth.

Not even an hour later, a notification blinked on her screen.

Wu Xinrui

Please see attachment.

[File]

10:47AM

It was the backend log she’d asked for. She opened it, scanning through the data.

She felt a faint, almost imperceptible sense of relief. It wasn’t gratitude, but a quiet appreciation. Integrity and accountability were becoming something of a rarity, which sounds awfully dystopian considering her line of work. Promises made in the light of public praise rarely survived the bureaucracy and politics behind the entire system. Maybe that was another reason why she preferred to rely on herself. Expectations were safer that way. They were contained, controlled, and most importantly, met.

Later that day, she passed him by the office break room as she went to brew herself a new cup of tea. The low hum of the coffee machine filled the space between them.

“Mrs. Yue said the files looked good, she's asking if you can also send her the ones from last week,” she said casually.

He glanced up briefly before his eyes dropped back to the ripples forming in his coffee. “Sure.”

“Preferably before the end of the day,” she added, barely catching the tiny huff he gave in response.

“I'll handle it after my break,” he said politely, carrying his mug to the counter and reaching for a handful of sugar packets. “How's that for a compromise?"

He has been nothing if not courteous so far, but the faint edge of sarcasm beneath his words that had her worried if she accidentally offended him.

“I'll let her know,” she replied. 

Just as she considered clarifying, she witnessed an atrocity as he emptied the entire handful of sugar packets into his mug. A small mound formed on the surface before slowly dissolving into what can be legally considered a carcinogenic hazard. 

“...Thank you for your help,” she said cautiously.

He stirred lazily, unbothered. 

“No worries.” 

She has a faint sense that she’d just got herself into something she hadn’t meant to start.

The printer gave a low, mechanical groan before flashing a red error message across its small screen: 

CLEAR CARRIAGE JAM

-ERROR 0F11647-

Lulu crouched in front of it, tugging on the tray with one hand while holding a stack of papers in the other. “I swear they manufactured this in the same factory as the McDonalds ice cream machine," she muttered, already arms-deep in the machine’s insides. She was already well past her deadline, and Yuwei was the debt collector sent by their manager to make sure her report is finalized. Even if they were on admirable terms, Lulu knew that Yuwei wouldn’t hesitate to keep her working through lunch if she fell behind.

Yuwei stood beside her, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold. “Don’t force it,” she advised, voice calm but detached. “You’ll tear the sheet.”

“I’m not forcing it,” Lulu said, clearly forcing it. The tray made a pained click, stopping Lulu in her tracks. 

Before Yuwei had the chance to step in and help her pitiful state, someone had stopped beside the printer. Wu Xinrui.

He set down a mug of coffee on the nearby counter, wordlessly brushed past them, and pressed two buttons in quick succession. The machine gave a soft drone of compliance, and a perfectly intact sheet of paper slid out from the feed rollers.

Lulu blinked up at him. “What did you—”

He pointed at the control panel. “Hold reset and cancel at the same time. Clears the queue before it jams.”

Lulu gawked. “O-oh yeah thank you. You just saved me like twenty minutes of grief.”

He gave a small nod, retrieved his mug, and turned to leave without another word. 

Lulu exhaled dramatically beside her. “Guess I owe him a coffee or something.”

Yuwei looked down at the newly printed pages in Lulu’s hands. “You’d probably spill it on him.”

Lulu faced her with an angry pout.

For a brief moment, Yuwei watched him disappear down the hall, the faint smell of coffee lingering where he’d stood.

By midmorning, the office had settled into its duller atmosphere. The low hum of overheating computers, the soft chatter between desks, and the odd comments from a colleague with nothing better to do than hover around her personal space. 

Lulu leaned against Yuwei’s desk, spinning a pen between her fingers. “What do you think is the proper way to thank someone for saving you from a complete meltdown,” she began, “do you think it’s weird to buy someone coffee as a thank you, or is that pretty normal?”

Yuwei didn’t look up. “A simple ‘thank you’ should suffice.”

“I did thank him. Verbally. I’m talking about properly thanking him. You know, to show gratitude and stuff.”

“If you’re looking for permission to get him something, you don’t need mine.”

Lulu straightened up. “It’s not that simple. I don’t want it to seem like I’m interested-interested. He just… helped me. That’s all.”

“You're overcomplicating it.”

Before Lulu could respond, a familiar voice spoke up behind them. “She’s been overthinking it all morning.”

They turned to see a man standing there with a slight grin. He had short, slightly messy black curls and a comfortable blue FOMO uniform sweater hanging loosely off his shoulders.

“Zhao!” Lulu’s eyes brightened. “Here I thought you got locked up in the basement by your girlfriend for almost kissing Vick the last time we had a company outing.”

“He was the one who started it,” he shrugged, dropping a pack of tissues onto her desk. “Caught something nasty last week. Didn’t think my first day back would involve your existential coffee dilemma.”

“You’re just mad because I didn’t text you updates.”

“You did,” he said dryly. “About the printer.”

“That was important news.”

“You know we have a free coffee machine right.” 

A pause. 

And she looked at him with utter horror. 

Yuwei looked between them, faint amusement tugging at her expression.

“You must be the new administrative prodigy everyone keeps talking about,” Zhao asked, pointing a hand at said ‘everyone’. “I hope her presence hasn't convinced you to resign yet.”

"That's an exaggeration,” she replied calmly.

“She’s being modest,” Lulu cut in, half-teasing. “She got our department’s filing backlog cleared in one afternoon. I swear she's being underpaid.”

Zhao chuckled. “You better be careful in your next performance review, Lulu.”

She ignored him, glancing past Yuwei toward the hallway. Her eyes landed on a familiar figure. He was carrying a coffee mug, presumably walking toward the elevators.

“There he is.”

“Who?” Zhao asked, trying to look in the same direction.

“Printer man,” she said, already pushing off from the desk. “And I've decided I owe him a lunch, he’s not escaping this time.”

Yuwei sighed softly, pasting some data into the file she’d been working on before a hand landed firmly on her shoulder. “You’re coming too” Lulu declared, half-grinning. “Someone has to supervise.”

They found him in the break room, pouring the last bit of coffee from the machine. A thin folder was tucked neatly under his arms, sleeves rolled just enough to suggest mild irritation at the office’s warmth.

He glanced up at the sound of approaching footsteps. Three of them.

Lulu stepped forward with the air of someone who’d been rehearsing her opener. “Hey! Come here often?” 

He looked at her, expression unreadable. “It’s the break room.”

“Right,” she said, brushing that off. “So, about the other day when you saved me from that nightmare. I never properly thanked you.”

“You did,” he replied, snatching up a couple sugar packets from the counter.

“You know what I mean,” she pressed, smiling. “So, I was thinking lunch, on me. It was originally coffee but I forgot we…”, her eyes narrowing on the coffee mug he held, “yeah…”

“I already brought lunch.”

“That’s okay! You can save it for tomorrow.”

Yuwei and Zhao stood just behind the corner of the wall, watching the exchange with quiet amusement.

Xinrui set his mug down with a small clink. “I appreciate it, but—”

“C’mon,” Lulu cut in, “it’s not a date or anything. Just a lunch with office friends.”

His brow twitched.

“Well, soon-to-be office friends,” Lulu corrected cheerfully.

That earned a defeated sigh from him. The sound of someone too principled to be rude, yet too tired to keep parrying. He looked between her, Zhao, and finally Yuwei.

Lulu beamed triumphantly. “See you at the cafeteria, printer man!”

As they left the break room, Zhao caught up beside Yuwei, lowering his voice. “You think he’ll regret that?”

She didn't give him an answer. But if she had to guess, his regret probably started the moment he fixed the printer.

Chapter Text

Xinrui’s wristwatch buzzed just as he finished the last line of his report. He took the final sip of his coffee before turning it off, only to sense a shadow fall across his desk.

When he looked over his shoulder, Lulu was hovering behind him, squeezed between his chair and Yuwei’s, a grin far too bright for this hour. Her expression could only be described as predatory optimism.

He blinked once, mildly alarmed.

Yuwei, finishing her own tasks, caught the scene in her periphery. Experience told her she should tidy her files before Lulu turned her energy her way. Although she's never minded her presence, she grew into the habit of eating alone. Fortunately, ever since Zhao had joined them for lunch, she found it easier to tolerate the company. The two of them filled the silence with chatter, giving her the luxury of staying quiet.

Zhao appeared moments later, yawning as he strolled toward their desks. “Remind me why we work here again?” he muttered darkly, dropping a stack of folders onto Lulu’s desk.

“Please don't infect me with…,” Lulu pointed haphazardly in his direction, “... whatever you have going on.” 

“I'm not sick anymore,” he groaned. 

“I wasn't referring to that.” 

Then, as if remembering her purpose, she brightened again. “Anyway! Printer man, what do you want for lunch?”

He pushed back his chair, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Burgers are fine.”

“That's it?”, she asked incredulously. 

“Mhm,” he replied noncommittingly. 

“A simple man,” she muttered under her breath.

The four of them made their way toward the elevators, Lulu already trading gossip with Zhao about some random office rumors and an upcoming company event. Yuwei followed a few paces behind, Xinrui beside her. Neither made an attempt at small talk.

Halfway down the corridor, Lulu turned around, walking backward with her tray of conversation. “Hey, have you guys noticed the coffee’s been weird lately?”

Yuwei hummed, considering. “Tasted like a darker roast.”

“Exactly!” Lulu threw up a hand. “It’s bitter now. I hate it.”

“You barely even drink coffee, and the few that you drink can be considered heavily modified,” Zhao said, smirking.

“I'm simply giving it a chance to live up to its highest potential,” she said as she crossed her arms.

When the elevator doors opened, the group of four occupied the remaining space between those that came before them. Lulu leaned toward Xinrui. “You drink that sludge more than anyone. Back me up here.”

Xinrui’s expression remained indifferent. “They probably changed suppliers. I liked the old blend better.”

Lulu gasped in mock triumph. “Ha! See, Zhao? Vindication.”

Zhao rolled his eyes. 

By the time they reached the cafeteria, Lulu was in high spirits. She confirmed Xinrui’s burger order and disappeared with Zhao toward the counter, leaving Yuwei and Xinrui at the table.

Yuwei unpacked her neatly organized bento of chicken salad, baked salmon, vegetables, and rice. She was missing a few vitamins, but that could be easily fixed with additional supplements.

Across from her, Xinrui glanced at the lunch box, expression neutral but curious. Yuwei tilted it slightly toward him in silent offering.

He shook his head lightly. “Just reminiscing about what I packed earlier.”

“You could have refused,” she wagered as she carefully stacked pieces of her salad for a perfect bite.

“I did,” he said, eyes drifting toward the window where rain streaked down in uneven trails. Pedestrians hurried past with hunched shoulders and umbrellas, each step an act of quiet defiance against the downpour. “It’s not exactly easy to argue with a wall.”

“She would have forgotten eventually, as most people do,” she reasoned.

“And what exactly do you suggest I do in the meantime,” he contested with a tactful smile tugging at his lips.

She gave him a thoughtful hum in response. “If you were assertive enough, she would have let go.”

That got her a passing glance from Xinrui, the glint from his glasses wavering before revealing a pair of neutral eyes that almost looked as if they were studying her. And if her father has taught her anything, it's vigilance. 

“I'll keep that in mind.”

The moment ended as quickly as it started, both opting to resume whatever they were doing previously. She ate in silence, the noise of the cafeteria dimmed by the glass wall that separated them from the streets outside. It wasn’t unpleasant at all, surprisingly. 

When she looked up again, she finally took notice of his appearance after a week of envisioning him as nothing more than a blur. In the office, he was just another face at another desk, a flicker of movement at the edge of her vision. Up close, his features were… deceivingly ordinary. His dark hair rested neatly below his browline, the rounded glasses framed eyes of a similar shade. Average in theory, but with a kind of deliberate simplicity that can be almost seen as…

She looked away before her gaze lingered too long.

Lulu and Zhao returned in a flurry of trays and complaints about the lunch rush. Zhao grumbled about being forced to carry both their orders, and Lulu countered by setting the burger tray in front of Xinrui with excessive ceremony.

“Consider my debt paid,” she pridefully announced.

Lulu slid into the seat beside Yuwei, eyes on the lunchbox. “Wow, are you a health blogger on FOMO or something.”

“I can send you the recipes. Your lack of a proper diet is probably why you’re always tired in the morning,” Yuwei replied simply. 

Caught off guard mid way through opening a hot-sauce packet, Lulu made a sour face. “I don’t have time to make fancy meals like you.”

Zhao snorted. “You live ten minutes away.”

Without hesitation, Lulu squeezed the entire packet of hot sauce onto his fries.

Zhao let out a strangled noise of betrayal as Yuwei hid her amusement behind a sip of water. Xinrui, halfway through his burger, seemed entirely unfazed by the chaos beside him.

When the argument finally died down, Lulu leaned forward, eyes darting between the quiet pair. “So, Printer man, how long have you worked here?”

He paused mid-bite, then swallowed. “A couple years.”

Lulu’s hands slammed on the table, startling Zhao into another yelp. “A couple—WHAT?! How have I never—.” She stopped herself before she admitted to completely ignoring a person's existence. 

Xinrui’s lips quirked in a knowing smile. “I like keeping to myself.”

Her outrage faded into sheepish laughter. “Right, well, mission accomplished.”

Zhao wiped his hands with a napkin, giving Lulu a flat look. “You do realize he has a name outside of ‘Printer man’, right?”

Lulu didn’t even look up from her fries. “I know, but nicknames have a certain charm that real ones lack.”

“Charm,” Zhao repeated, unimpressed. “You learned my name.”

“Yours is one word, it's easy to remember.”

“It’s not one word,” Zhao shot back. “You just abbreviated it and never bothered to use the rest.”

Lulu pointed a fry at him in mock offense. “It gets the point across, does it not?”

Zhao turned to Xinrui for backup. “You see what I deal with every day?”

Xinrui, who had been quietly finishing his burger, merely lifted his gaze. Lulu leaned forward, undeterred. “You don’t actually mind right?”

He took a sip from his straw and shrugged. 

“See?” Lulu said triumphantly, gesturing at him as if she’d just won a court case.

Xinrui glanced down at his watch. “You two have about seven minutes left before the break’s over.”

That was enough to make them both fall silent. Zhao sighed and reached for his drink. Lulu, pouting but obedient to her corporate overlords, finally focused on her food.

Across from them, Yuwei quietly finished the last of her salmon, observing the interaction with quiet detachment. 

Moments like these reminded her of how insulated her world had become. Among heroes, particularly those at the top, social interactions were a delicate equation of image, hierarchy, and mutual utility. Relationships very rarely sincere. She would consider herself lucky in that department to have met Cyan and Johnny. In contrast, the simplicity here was almost startling. These people argued and joked without calculation. Their conflicts resolved themselves without consequence, their alliances required no contracts or masks to hide any unfavorable qualities.

It was... instructive. To see how ordinary people maintained connection without the machinery of status or expectation. She wouldn’t categorize them as friends; the word carried connotations she wasn’t willing to ascribe. She wasn’t fully used to sharing her midday silence with others, but this didn’t feel like much of an intrusion.

By the time they clocked out, the sky had already begun to fade into a heavy grey. The building’s lobby was filled with the end-of-day shuffle, conversations layered over the sound of the automatic doors opening and shutting.

Lulu walked ahead, phone in hand, her attention glued to the glowing screen. Zhao trailed beside her, keeping one hand on her shoulder to steer her clear of the crowd like a reluctant shepherd.

“Can you not play that thing while walking?” Zhao sighed, sidestepping a passing intern.

“It’s important,” Lulu muttered, eyes still fixed on her phone. “The Cyan collab ends tonight. I need that outfit before it’s gone.”

Zhao rolled his eyes. “You said that last time. Didn’t you blow fifty credits on a weapon skin you don’t even use?”

“This is different,” she insisted, tapping furiously. “It’s limited. Fate decides who’s worthy, Zhao.”

“Fate’s robbing your paycheck.”

She grinned without looking up. “Maybe. But I’m feeling lucky today.”

They pushed through the glass doors and stepped into the cool air. The world outside was slick and gleaming from an earlier rain, the pavement scattered with streetlight reflections like molten amber. Clouds hung low, swallowing the horizon, and the smell of wet asphalt lingered in the air.

Zhao flipped open his umbrella but paused, hand stretched out to test for rain. “Think it stopped.”

“Don't jinx it man, I still have to walk home,” Lulu complained, slipping her phone into her pocket as they stepped past the front gates.

They reached the intersection where their routes split. Zhao adjusted his bag strap. “Oh I think I see my bus coming.”

“Hurry up and go then,” Lulu replied, tugging her coat tighter around her. 

Her gaze flicked over her shoulder toward Yuwei, who had just exited the building with Xinrui in tow. “Don't think I haven't noticed your taxi,” she winked. 

Xinrui raised a lazy hand in farewell as Lulu called out, “Yingwei, are you sure you’re not secretly a rich FOMO influencer or something?”

Yuwei gave her a muted smile. “Goodnight, Lulu,” she said dismissively, continuing her walk toward the taxi lane.

“That's exactly what a PR trained person would say,” Lulu whispered conspiratorially before heading off.

Traffic crawled through the muddy streets, headlights bleeding into the puddles. Yuwei stepped carefully through the crosswalk with the rest of the pedestrians, her parasol hanging loosely at her side. She couldn’t quite shake the strange heaviness in the atmosphere, the kind that throbbed beneath the skin in irritation. Maybe her intuition was faltering. 

Her taxi waited by the curb, engine purring softly awaiting her arrival. The driver greeted her with a nod and pulled smoothly into the stream of cars.

As the taxi slowed at an intersection, a massive billboard promoting Cyan's newest album flickered into view. Yuwei’s gaze lingered with a small smile. Lulu’s previous chatter about the hero resurfaced in her thoughts. Perhaps she should visit Cyan and Johnny this weekend. She did promise them a game night, though the thought of socializing after a week of meetings and reports made her shoulders sink a little. It was tugging at the part of her that still wanted to stay connected despite how a simple act of reaching out asked everything of her focus and endurance. She craved the warmth that consumes her when its genuine, just perhaps never in excess. Sometimes she wondered if that line of thinking was simply another way of drawing the world at arm’s length.

She took out a packet of sanitary wipes, cleaning her hands with deliberate care before reaching for her contact lenses, tucking them neatly into their case. The city lights blurred for a brief moment. 

Then the night split open.

A thunderous boom shattered her moment of quiet reflection. The taxi jolted as the shockwave rattled the glass. Yuwei’s head snapped toward the sound, eyes narrowing at the plume of smoke rising just a few blocks to the right.

“Stop the car,” she ordered, already unbuckling.

The tires screeched against the slick curb. Before the car had fully stopped, Yuwei tore off her wig and cap, tossing them into the back seat. She shed her coat and sweater next, revealing a crisp button-up beneath. She reached across the divider, wordlessly exchanging her jacket for the driver’s. It fit poorly, but it would do.

The driver could only stare as she stepped out, parasol in hand, and launched herself toward the chaos.

The rooftops were slick with rain when Yuwei landed, her heels touching down in practiced silence. The air smelled of wet metal and gasoline, a dull ache of thunder still lingering in the clouds.

Below, a pair of flashes split through the gloom, violent bursts of light followed by the staccato of collapsing concrete. Yuwei vaulted from the ledge, her reflection casting a streak of gold across the dark glass.

She touched down on the opposite side of the street, eyes narrowing. In the corner of a building belching smoke and sparks stood two young women, their skin rippling like liquid mercury. The city’s dying light bent and broke against their bodies, refracted into colors that shouldn’t exist.

One of them had a head that shimmered like a mirror, its perfectly smooth surface reflecting the world in warped distortions. The other’s face flickered with countless shifting visages, every emotion bleeding into the next.

The Mirror and the Masque.

Once a single person, she was a social media influencer whose entire livelihood revolved around beauty, validation, and relevance. The pressure to maintain her outward appearance had fractured her as a person, especially after a controversial scandal the media latched onto for months. As such, one reflected only what others wanted to see, the other warped by the countless faces and expectations she’d worn to stay loved by the masses. They were desperate to shatter the illusions they could no longer live up to. Perhaps it was the only freedom they can envision.

They raised their hands, and silver liquid streamed outward, seeping into the cracked pavement. The ground swelled before erupting, chunks of concrete tearing loose and hurtling toward the scattering civilians.

A golden light burst forth, catching the debris midair. It hovered for a beat before gently lowering back to the ground in a soft, controlled cascade.

The civilians stared, wide-eyed.

Standing between them and the chaos, her silhouette framed against the burning haze, was Queen.

She clicked her parasol on the ground, golden sigils glowing faintly beneath its tip. Her eyes lifted toward the metallic figures ahead. 

The villains tilted their heads in eerie unison, light rippling across their mirrored skin.

“Queen,” they laughed maniacally.

“They sure like to wrap up their dictators in a pretty little golden bow.” The Mirror tilted her gleaming head, voice warping through metal. “Tell me, how does it feel rotting underneath all that shine?”

Queen’s tone didn’t waver. “Rot only takes root in the corrupted.”

The Masque laughed, her many faces twisting into grotesque delight. “Corruption? No, no that's a label for the more fortunate. We only show the world what it made us.”

The rain started again, turning the air heavy as the first drops hissed against the pavement.

And with that, Queen stepped forward, the ground beneath her boots shimmered with the residual glow of her levitation. 

The Mirror swung an arm, sending a ribbon of metallic liquid streaking toward her like a living whip. She raised the parasol, spinning it in a tight arc that sliced through the liquid, dissipating it before it could reach her. Sparks sizzled against the puddled streets where her parasol scarred the pavement.

Lunging from behind, the Masque formed a web of silver tendrils that erupted from the pavement beneath her. With a definitive click of her heels, she summoned a small sphere of golden light that twisted the rules within, freezing the tendrils midair as if time itself paused in that moment. A pulse of energy radiated outward, giving her just enough space to pivot and reposition.

Silver liquid surged again, exploding from their arms and tearing the street apart. Queen countered instantly, sending a volley of golden spears that intercepted the barrage. The collision erupted with a shockwave that split the air and shuddered the steel and glass of the city.

One spear struck the Mirror square in the abdomen, making them stagger back. But instead of simply welding themselves back together, they absorbed it, their mirrored surface rippling like liquid glass. In the next instant, they snapped forward, hurling the energy back at her in a jagged burst of silver light. Queen swung her parasol up, the clash erupting in a flash that carved through the rain. The force drove her back a few steps before her rear foot caught the ground, coiling that momentum into a clean pivot that launched her straight back into the fight.

“Such pride,” the Mirror hissed. “But I can see it. The cracks in your confidence. You need people to believe in you. You need them to look.”

Yuwei stepped forward, her voice firm. “How they view me matters little to my vision.”

Queen rolled to the side, sending a spray of water from the puddle as she dodged an attack. She raised her hands, channeling energy into summoning a massive spear of pure golden light. Striking the Masque, it shattered into a cloud of silver droplets, only to reform seconds later. It was increasingly concerning how they are becoming more fragmented and unpredictable.

Her body still ached beneath the facade of poise. Without her armor and weapon, this could pose a threat should she overextend her capabilities at the moment. And beneath all the resolve, a voice inside her trembled. That inner voice had always been her compass, the one constant she could rely on when everything else wavered. The emptiness she felt wasn’t physical; it was the faint, sickening awareness that she was no longer moving with the same certainty she once had before her injuries. The thought flickered at the edge of her confidence like a dying flame.

The Masque let out a cackling laugh before she sent a torrent of liquid cascading toward her feet, splitting into dozens of spiny projections aimed at immobilizing her. Queen shot her hand out in command, freezing the projectiles midair in a sparkling lattice. She leapt atop a nearby overturned truck, using it as a vantage point to scan for a weak point. 

The rain intensified, masking the hiss of energy and metal, as Queen steadied herself for the next move. Her lungs felt heavy, entirely filled with the cold, wet air that surrounds them.

The Mirror rippled, its surface bending and distorting as if struggling to contain some inner turbulence. A voice, warped and echoing, slithered out of the metallic visage.

“Do you feel it?” it hissed. “The way the world watches you… judges every move, every flaw. Don’t tell me you don’t envy what you can’t hide. What you don’t have to hide. I can set you free.”

Queen’s eyes narrowed slightly, but her posture remained steady, unshaken. 

The Mirror’s face twisted, shimmering violently as it raised an arm. A ball of swirling silver manifested in their hands, growing larger in size every second. “Can't you see your own hypocrisy?” it taunted. “All that gold can’t fill your cracks. I see the fear underneath, the doubt… the loneliness. You’re nothing but a reflection waiting to shatter.”

Golden spears weaved through the air, slicing through the silver orb before it could fully form. The Mirror recoiled, its surface rippling like boiling water. For a moment, it faltered. But then came absolute stillness, a tilt of their as if they were studying Queen. 

Before she could follow through with her previous attack, the Mirror slipped beyond her line of sight while the other pressed forward, keeping her attention locked. A subtle unease flickered through her, quickly buried beneath focus.

She pivoted sharply, redirecting her rules to encompass the Mirror. The Masque intercepted her attack, sending a spray of reflective liquid to distort her vision. Civilians screamed as debris rained down. Queen diverted her spears midair to block the collapsing masonry. But the distraction left her open.

The Masque’s strike hit first. A wave of liquid metal slammed her into the side of a building. Her body protested with every movement, reminders of old injuries flaring sharply. Pain tore through her ribs, and for a moment her breath came shallow. She was clinically aware that continuing much longer without resolution risked not only further personal damage but also uncontrolled collateral. Every second she lingered increased the likelihood of harm to bystanders, the city itself, the delicate balance she tried to maintain. Relying purely on her rules and spear manifestations left her susceptible to close ranged attacks, further amplified by her lack of a melee weapon outside of a parasol. She needed to be more decisive. 

She tightened her grip on the handle of her parasol, her eyes darted between the two. She analysized how the Mirror stayed distant, always shielded by the Masque. 

That reflection was their anchor. 

Queen planted her parasol into the ground with enough force that the pavement cracked beneath its tip. Golden rings formed and orbited around the parasol before they converged into a singular point where the prasol meets the ground. A soft radiance expanded outward, bathing the surrounding wreckage in a warm, steady glow freezing everything it touched. The Masque was caught mid-leap, suspended in the air, her expression twisted in panic.

Queen’s gaze fixed on the Mirror. Without hesitation, she let the parasol fall to the ground, its golden sigil fading. In its place, points of light coalesced around her, forming sharp, radiant spears that hovered with lethal precision. 

But just as she was about to release the attack, she heard screams.

Her head snapped toward the sound.

A steel beam was twisting under the heat of a nearby explosion, the support groaning before it snapped clean in two. A section of the building began to collapse toward the street.

And beneath it, a flash of pink hair.

Yuwei felt her breath hitch.

She broke off the attack instantly, abandoning the shot. She reached out both hands, straining to summon a rule. 

But she was too slow.

Lulu’s legs buckled, falling to her knees as the world above her was disintegrating into rubble and fire. Time seemed to stretch, each second thick with inevitability. There were no thoughts, no prayers, no last words. Just the sound of her pulse roaring in her ears. 

Then she saw a flicker of movement. A steady hand rose in defiance of the sky falling above them.

And snapped.

In an instant, the falling debris was enveloped in a soft radiant light. The jagged shards of concrete and steel seemed to dissolve, melting into the shapes of doves that fluttered with an almost liquid grace, scattering into the wind like whispered prayers. The air shimmered, peaceful amid the destruction.

Lulu’s eyes widened, her mind teetering on disbelief. For a fleeting moment, she imagined this was the edge of life itself.

A few of the doves veered toward him, white streaks trailing each delicate feather, spiraling together until they coalesced into a singular glowing pole before him. Shimmering flakes peeled away along its length, revealing a golden metallic sheen. A spear whose commanding essence was unmistakable.

It hovered in front of him him before falling effortlessly into his palms. With a practiced flick, he spun the spear around his wrist, letting its length catch the light before he anchored it straight into the ground. Its tip pierced the earth as though drawing the horizon into alignment. The air ringed with latent metal reverb, and Lulu could only watch, awe-struck, as the silent figure before her seemed to bend reality itself with nothing more than a gesture.

Lulu blinked against the smoke, her breath catching as the figure before her came into focus.

He stood tall, cloaked in white so pure it almost glowed against the chaos. The crimson lining his cuffs flared like quiet embers, a single stroke of color in a world gone gray.

His back was to her, head tilted slightly toward the sky as if admiring the aftermath of his own intervention. Tucking a hand into his pockets, he turned his head to assess the mess behind him.

For a moment, time seemed to hold its breath.

His eyes met hers with a playful, almost apologetic smile. The kind reserved for those who’ve already seen too much. Lulu felt her heart stutter. 

She wanted to speak, to thank him, to say anything at all. But her throat tightened, her thoughts dissolving into air. Before she could even gather a word, his gaze shifted past her, toward the horizon where the commotion resided.

From the corner of her eye, Queen caught the movement a streak of white slicing through smoke and debris. Her mind registered it instantly, letting go of a breath she's been holding onto for way too long. She didn’t have time to wonder why he was here or to extend her gratitudes as every ounce of her focus remained on the villain before her.

Still, she felt a familiar resonance the air, a pulse of energy stirring as if responding to her own command. Without breaking stride, she flung a hand back.

The spear that had been buried deep in the shattered asphalt began to tremble. Dust spiraled up around it, pebbles rising as if gravity itself bent in deference. Then, with a sharp crack of sound, it tore free. A streak of silver cut through the air at supersonic speeds.

Queen turned just in time to catch it, her hand closing around the pole mid-spin. Using the momentum, she twisted her body and hurled the weapon like a javelin.

The spear screamed through the battlefield, a line of gold light splitting the smoke. It struck the villain clean through the torso, missing its head by inches as the Mirror lurched back, shrieking.

But before it could knit itself together again, the weapon shuddered before it shot backward, pulled by an invisible force. It carved a brutal path on its return, cleaving the monster clean in half. A metallic shimmer exploded outward, glittering among the stars it laid under.

And just as the villain’s consciousness faltered, their shivering eyes met those inlaid with gold. Without hesitation, she reached out, letting her fingers curl around the pole just as it brushed past her. It whirled across her forearm and between her hands, its blade gleamed as she halted its motion.

Queen caught it effortlessly, body turning with the grace of instinct. With a fluid twist of their body, they sent it arcing forward, every rotation and flick of muscle channeling the full force of the weapon. Time seemed to stretch for the briefest instant as the spear traced a lethal curve, and the Mirror could only watch in frozen horror. The weapon blazed gold as it swung, cutting a clean horizon through the air.

For the briefest instant, the world held still. Then came the flash, a shattering surge of sparks that scattered across the battlefield among shards of glass.

The shimmering liquid that had once been part of the villain rained down onto the already slick streets. It dissipated seamlessly into the puddles as if it never existed, or perhaps like it always belonged there.

Queen hovered above the city, suspended in the air, her silhouette framed against a canvas of dark sky and distant scattered stars.

Her gaze flicked to the figure perched atop a nearby rooftop. Even from this distance, the ember glow of his glasses caught the dimming lights of the city, and for a heartbeat, Queen saw her own reflection mirrored there. He tilted his head slightly, revealing a pair of downturned eyes in an expression that seemed to resemble that of amusement, or perhaps pride. 

Her brows tightened. She was slowly learning to accept help from allies. But this still struck a nerve. 

The hero who had set the standard, whose presence highlighted every goal she had yet to reach, now stood above her, quietly observing. And she couldn’t help but feel the sting of frustration at her own shortcomings.

Her eyes drifted down to the spear in her hand, and a pang of suspicion flared. How did her weapon end up in his hands? She was confident that all her equipment were securely stored at the Hero Tower, the place he refused to step foot on according to Mickey

Despite the gnawing unease twisting in her chest, she offered him a measured nod of acknowledgment before she tore her attention away. Lulu is still alive thanks to him afterall, despite her current reservations towards him. 

Slowly, she descended, gliding toward the wet concrete below. The heels of her boots kissed the streets with soft taps, sending ripples across puddles. The city was empty, those who could leave had fled. A low hum drew her attention, and she locked eyes on a drone hovering nearby, its camera likely broadcasting every move of the battle to the world.

Queen exhaled, shoulders heavy with fatigue. She didn't want to dwell on the implications today, her management agents at DOS will handle most of it regardless. Maybe she'll finally take her doctor's advice and properly rest tonight. 

Chapter Text

Yuwei leaned toward the mirror, dabbing concealer over the faint bruises still lingering on her cheekbone. Her doctors had all but begged her to take a day off, but she managed to convince them otherwise. 

Her body always healed faster than most, a small benefit courtesy of the Trust system, given that she has significantly more dangerous occupational hazards compared to the average person. The only real concern was the dull ache that flared whenever she moved her arms too quickly, a reminder of the deeper wounds she’d once sustained in her fight with Bowa. Still, it was something Yuwei has long since acquainted with.

Her phone screen was the only steady light inside the taxi. Headlines scrolled past her thumb with articles filled with perfectly polished statements and images. It seems that the DOS PR department got a hold of the narrative. 

Recovering Hero Queen Defies Her Limits to Save City from Villain Once More

She supposed none of it was untrue. But she didn’t understand the need to glorify something so routine. She hadn’t done anything extraordinary, only what was required of her.

A few swipes later and the tone shifted. Tabloids. Opinions. Arguments. One article in particular lingered at the edge of her attention.

Rank 9 Hero Struggles to Defeat a Single Villain - The End of Queen?

Her jaw tightened, eyes flicking to the comment section below only to see a sea of outrage from her believers, defending her honor with feverish devotion. They blamed her injuries, the lack of equipment, the odds stacked against her.

Just as she held others to high standards, she demanded even more from herself because experience had taught her that the only constant she could ever rely on was her own discipline. And in that regard, she found herself agreeing with the criticism.

The title of being in the Top 10 was not merely ceremonial. Heroes at that level represented the intersection of culture, political leverage, and institutional power. Symbols manufactured to maintain public faith in a system that thrived on spectacle as much as it did on order.

In such a world, even strength was political. To falter wasn’t just a personal failure, it was a breach in the carefully constructed illusion that the people depended on. Heroes like her were not permitted to appear human, as the everyday imperfections of people were a threat to stability.

She has seen first hand how the systems of this world corrupt and destroy the lives of those around her. And she understood one thing with unshakable clarity; becoming X is the only viable way she can gather enough power to abolish the Trust system, and restore order upon the world. Only then could justice truly exist.

By the time she arrived at the office, the usual morning bustle had already settled in. She had barely taken three steps inside when a pair of arms flailed in her direction, followed by a voice that could rupture someone's eardrums.

“YINGWEI!”

Before she could react, Lulu had practically latched onto her shoulders, eyes glittering with an almost blinding excitement. Yuwei blinked. She hadn’t expected Lulu to even show up after the events that happened yesterday, she assumed the girl would’ve taken a much needed sick day. It was as if yesterday’s chaos had been nothing more than bad weather. Perhaps it wasn’t resilience but a selective form of conditioned apathy, the kind that urban life inevitably demanded. 

For just a moment, the noise of the office faded. Seeing Lulu as animated as ever was a quiet comfort she hadn’t realized she needed. The adrenaline from yesterday still lingered somewhere within her. But Lulu’s grin, unshaken and unscarred, steadied her more than she’d admit aloud.

“Did you see what happened yesterday? It was on the news!” Lulu blurted out, her volume drawing several curious glances from nearby desks.

Zhao appeared moments later, dragging himself toward them with the weary patience of someone used to Lulu’s outbursts. 

Yuwei entertained her for now. “I have.”

“There was a battle between the Mirror and Queen!” Lulu said, nearly vibrating in place. “And I was right in the middle of it all!”

Yuwei could only smile faintly, relief softening her expression. At least Lulu didn't seem negatively affected in both the physical and psychological sense. Yuwei understood the parameters of her responsibility, and that night had exposed the limits of her control. Though the situation had resolved without casualties, that number almost ticked into the single digits.

“And apparently she almost died,” Zhao muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose, concern seeping through his exasperation.

“Yeah…,” Lulu said with dramatic solemnity before her grin returned, bright as ever. “BUT right before I got squashed by a building—you're not gonna believe this, but HE appeared.”

Zhao groaned, recognizing that familiar gleam in her eye. He didn’t even bother replying, only glanced away as another figure entered the room.

Xinrui stepped through the doorway, his expression composed as ever. Zhao greeted him with a small nod. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Xinrui replied, already making his way to his desk.

Yuwei checked the time. 9:58 a.m.

The manager’s voice boomed across the office. “All right, everyone! Battle stations! I want this project done before the next meeting!”

Chairs scraped against the floor, and the morning rush resumed. Lulu leaned closer, whispering with a conspiratorial grin, “I’ll tell you the rest over lunch.”

Yuwei nodded softly. She slipped into her seat, arranging her files and notes into tidy stacks. Outside the window, the city still bore distant scars from yesterday’s battle. But the lives of those within it carried on, loud and stubborn as ever.

A little later, Yuwei was bent over her computer, fixing a stubborn line of code that refused to cooperate, when something cold pressed suddenly against her cheek.

She twitched in surprise, the chill biting through the faint warmth of her skin. Turning her head, she found Xinrui standing beside her desk, a can of soda tilted towards her face. He was holding it lightly by the top, arm extended in that unhurried way of his. One brow lifted through his calm expression as if curious of her startled reaction.

For a moment, she only blinked up at him. Realizing what he was offering, she reached out to take the can. The aluminum felt pleasantly cool against her fingers. “Thanks,” she murmured, voice a little softer than she meant it to be.

He gave a small nod and turned away, returning to his seat without another word.

Left in the quiet hum of the office, Yuwei held the can against her cheek again, letting the cold ease the dull throb beneath her skin. It felt… nice, almost grounding. But as the coolness settled, a sudden thought cut through her quiet stillness. 

She covered that bruise with makeup this morning. 

Her hand froze.

Lowering the can, she opened her phone’s camera, tilting her face toward the screen. No smudges. No discoloration. Nothing that should’ve given it away. Her brows furrowed faintly. Did the makeup rub off somehow? Or had he noticed anyway?

That shouldn’t be possible.

She set the can down gently, as if afraid to make the thought too loud, and stole a glance toward Xinrui’s desk. He was typing, posture relaxed, attention absorbed entirely in whatever was on his laptop. No indication that he’d noticed or that he cared.

Her thoughts still lingered, circling back on themselves.

Maybe he really hadn’t meant anything by it. 

Yuwei exhaled quietly, cracking open the can. A soft hiss escaped, followed by the soft curl of carbonation smoke that drifted into the light. She stared into the opening for a moment before taking a small sip. The fizz tickled her throat.

Maybe she was just reading too far into it.

Lulu spotted him immediately, Xinrui sitting alone at a small corner table, a tray with a neatly arranged burger combo, eyes scanning something on the magazine he is reading.

“Look at him,” she whispered to Queen, a grin tugging at her lips. “Sitting all alone. Like some kind of introvert or something.”

Queen followed her gaze after finishing up an email on her phone. “He seems content.”

“And we can’t have that,” Lulu said mischievously. “Right, Zhao?”

Holding his coffee, Zhao returned her remark with a smirk. “You’re going to bother him again?”

“It’s an obligation.”

“You're gonna start giving him the wrong idea.”

“I'm sorry but my standards have risen since X came along,” she puffed. 

“Ok that’s actually just unrealistic,” he said out of mild concern.

With that, Lulu strode toward Xinrui’s table. Yuwei and Zhao followed at a more measured pace, and he was leaning slightly into the absurdity of Lulu's workplace harassment.

“Hey printer man,” Lulu said brightly as she reached the table. “Mind if we join you?”

He glanced up briefly before slowly panning his head to look at all the empty tables in the cafeteria, his expression neutral as he returned his gaze on Lulu. “I'm guessing I don't have a say in this.”

Yuwei and Zhao arrived at the other side of the table. “We just thought it might be easier to sit together today,” Lulu said, plopping her tray down and giving him a grin.

Xinrui tilted his head, studying the three of them carefully before exhaling softly. Resigned, he adjusted his tray slightly to accommodate the newcomers. He made no attempt to engage in conversation beyond necessary acknowledgments, but he didn’t move to leave either.

The cafeteria wasn’t loud, but it carried the hum of conversation, the clinking of dishes, and the low buzz of city traffic just beyond the glass wall. Lulu chatted through most of the meal, filling in every lull with commentary about the food, the office coffee machines, and which department had the worst chairs. And of course, her one in a lifetime encounter with X.

“So then he literally came out of nowhere, like maybe I was too focused on the me-dying-part to see,” Lulu said, eyes shining as she gestured dramatically. “The entire city was coming down on top of me, but then WOOSH, the stuff above me turned into birds or something. And guess what. X was right in front of me. And he came to save me, specifically. And I don't even mean that as a flex, I looked around a bit after he left and I was the only person there.” She caught herself and took a deep breath, then sighed dreamily, “He's so unfairly cool.”

Across the table, Zhao chuckled softly. “I only saw the news clips,” he said, stirring his drink. “Though I don't think they said anything about X. But Queen though, she handled that villain like it was nothing.” His tone carried the quiet reverence of someone who had long admired her from afar. 

“That’s the thing! I can't believe they didn't catch it. I was hoping I could come home and rewatch him on the news, but it sounds like they only recorded the battle between Queen and the Mirror,” she pouted. 

The quieter pair of the group ate their meals peacefully across the table, the clatter of utensils punctuating their silence as they listened to Lulu’s rant. Yuwei didn’t particularly care for the opinions being thrown around.

Lulu, oblivious to the undercurrent, continued. “Oh, and get this. X did like some kind of magic trick with the birds and turned them into Queen’s spear! Maybe the power couple rumours were true…”

That made Yuwei’s hand still. Her gaze sharpened instantly, the light in her eyes cooling as her mind started turning over possibilities. “What do you mean by that?” she asked, voice calm but edged.

“Well some people online have been shipping—” 

“No, not that,” she clarified, “you're saying he created a spear?”

“Oh that, yeah,” Lulu said, leaning in. “It was like some power-up scene from a movie. The birds got mashed into a light, and then the spear just kinda appeared.”

Yuwei sat back slowly, eyes narrowing in thought. That explained it. The resonance she’d felt mid-battle hadn’t been from her original weapon. He hadn’t stolen her spear; he made one. And the accuracy of it was disturbingly precise. Just how deep did his power run?

Xinrui let out a quiet sigh, slumping against the chair. “Is this how you usually spend your lunch time.”

Lulu smirked. “What, are you regretting that time you agreed to have lunch with us?”

“I’m beginning to regret a few things.” He gave her a look, voice flat with sarcasm. “Although I don't think I recall being given a choice.”

“Well at least you're aware.” Lulu huffed.

Yuwei took a quiet sip of her tea before clearing her throat, also wanting to move on from this conversation. “By the way,” she said, glancing between them, “the manager wanted me to remind everyone there’s a company dinner next weekend. Something about celebrating how we’ve been exceeding our weekly metrics. She told me to handle attendance, so I’ve been asking around the office all morning.”

“Oooh, a company outing?” Lulu perked up immediately, leaning forward with both elbows on the table. “I think you're legally obligated to take any free food you are given in this economy.” She said and nudged Zhao’s arm. “You’re coming too.”

Zhao blinked. “Wait, what? I didn’t even—”

“Perfect, and make sure to bring your metro card this time,” Lulu said firmly, her grin widening.

He sighed in defeat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine, I’ll check with my girlfriend first, but… yeah, probably.” He gave Yuwei a small nod. “I’ll confirm tomorrow.”

Yuwei shifted her gaze toward Xinrui, who hadn’t looked up from the magazine he was flipping through. “What about you?”

“I’m good,” he said flatly, eyes still scanning the page.

Lulu let out a dramatic groan. “Oh, come on! There’ll be free drinks, since you like them so much.”

“I’ll leave the celebrating to you guys,” he said, finally lowering the magazine, “work events are not my thing.” 

“It’s not really a work event,” she countered, hands flailing for emphasis. “It’s just night out with your friends.”

“Coworkers,” he corrected smoothly.

Lulu squinted at him, unimpressed. “Well yeah, but we’ll be there.” She pointed toward Zhao, then Yuwei. “Right?”

Yuwei blinked, caught off guard. “I’m only responsible for the attendance list. I won’t be joining.”

Lulu froze mid-gesture, giving her a wounded look. “You're not? But this is the first time we'll get to have fun outside of work…”

Yuwei hesitated, unsure how to respond to the mock betrayal. “I just… don't really have the time for it,” she said finally. 

“But there’ll be free food and a karaoke bar!” Lulu exclaimed, as if that alone could solve all life’s problems. “What more could you possibly ask for?”

Yuwei’s lips twitched, halfway between amusement and exasperation. “Some rest, probably,” she murmured.

That earned a soft amused huff from Xinrui, who hid behind his magazine. Lulu immediately caught it and pointed accusingly. “Ha! He laughed! That means he’s thinking about it!”

“My answer remains the same,” he said lazily.

When the lunch crowd had thinned and the afternoon lull settled over the office, Yuwei made her way to the manager’s desk with the attendance sheet in hand. 

The manager looked up from her monitor, “ah, Ms. Wong. Is this the list?”

Yuwei nodded, passing the clipboard over. “Everyone’s confirmed except a few who are still checking their schedules.”

The manager gave the paper a quick scan, her expression shifting just slightly when she reached the end. “You’re not on here.”

“I’ll be handling logistics,” Yuwei replied evenly. “I figured it would make more sense if I—”

“Nonsense.” The manager waved her hand dismissively, cutting her off before she could finish. “You’ve been a huge part of why this team’s doing so well.”

Yuwei hesitated. “I appreciate that, but I prefer to use my time on other commitments.”

The manager’s eyes softened but her tone left no room for argument. “Ms. Wong, you’ve been running yourself ragged these past few weeks. Let the team treat you for once.”

Yuwei would openly debate her stance until the end of the day, but the older woman’s steady smile told her it was pointless. She sighed, her usual composure faltering for just a moment. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to experience what it's like attending something like this. “If you insist.”

“I do,” the manager said, already returning to her screen as the matter was settled.

The afternoon of the company dinner arrived sooner than Yuwei would’ve liked. She stood in front of her mirror for a long while before leaving, debating what to wear. In the end, she chose a cream blouse with a faint satin sheen, tucked neatly into high-waisted black trousers that flared slightly at the hem. A cropped slate-gray blazer completed the look, softening the clean lines with something that could keep her warm in the night breeze. Her hair was tied loosely at the nape of her neck, a few strands framing her face. She clipped on a pair of gold hoop earrings, which added just enough to suggest she hadn’t rushed out the door.

Her taxi dropped her off in a busy food district where old brick buildings pressed shoulder to shoulder, their walls carrying decades of wear. The surrounding area was thick with the smell of grilled meat and cigarette smoke. Neon signs buzzed absentmindedly above narrow doorways, each restaurant promising some version of the city’s best barbecue or stew. The one she was looking for sat halfway down the block, its signage flickering in protest as one of the words struggled to maintain its luminance. Handwritten menus and sun-faded photos of skewers were taped unevenly across the windows.

The warmth was immediate when she entered. A wave of chatter hit her first, followed by the scent of caramelized meat and charcoal. Round tables filled every inch of space, each one crowned by a silver grill and a dangling lamp that bathed everything in a mellow amber light.

When the door chimed behind her, Lulu’s head popped up immediately from across the room. Her grin widened when she spotted Yuwei, and she waved both hands high in the air, shouting something over the noise that Yuwei couldn’t quite make out.

Yuwei weaved through the narrow aisles until she reached their table. Lulu was already shuffling into Zhao’s space to make room for her, much to his irritation. He sighed, giving Lulu a weary side-eye before turning his attention to Yuwei.

“Glad you could make it,” Zhao said, offering a polite smile.

“Our manager made it hard to decline,” Yuwei replied lightly, setting her bag down before taking the seat Lulu cleared for her.

Yuwei offered a small nod as she sat down, exchanging greetings with a few of the other coworkers scattered around the table. The grill in the center was already busy, skewers sizzling under orange heat, oil popping as the fat dripped through the grate.

Without hesitation, Lulu picked up a couple of skewers she’d been tending to. “Here, try these,” Lulu said brightly, sliding a few skewers onto Yuwei’s plate before she could protest. “The chicken’s sweet soy, and the beef is the spicy one. I didn't find it very spicy though.”

“Thank you,” Yuwei said, giving her a small nod of appreciation.

Zhao passed her a laminated order sheet, already smudged with fingerprints and streaks of sauce. “You can mark down anything else you want. They’ll just add it to our tab.”

“And drinks too!” Lulu chimed in, pointing at the long list of beer brands scribbled along the margin. “We’ve already gone through, like, two pitchers and several bottles.”

Yuwei’s brow lifted as she scanned the page. There were far more check marks beside beer than food.

“I’ll just have one,” she decided, jotting it down with the provided pen.

Not that she particularly liked beer, her alliances lie with wine. But this wasn’t that kind of restaurant. And she wasn’t about to get drunk in front of coworkers, no matter how informal the evening was supposed to be.

She leaned back slightly, letting the noise and warmth of the place settle around her. The air was heavy with laughter, the clinking of chopsticks, and the drowned out sound of an old pop song playing through the speakers. For the first time that day, she felt her shoulders loosen.

Then came the sharp click of a camera shutter.

Yuwei blinked. She turned toward its source and found Lulu holding her phone up at an angle, chin tilted, and striking a quick pose.

On the phone’s screen, Yuwei caught a glimpse of herself mid-turn, looking vaguely confused alongside Zhao, who had the misfortune of being immortalized halfway through a bite of grilled chicken.

Before Yuwei could say anything, Lulu’s fingers were already flying across her screen, typing with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb.

“Wait—what are you doing?” Zhao demanded, voice muffled as he reached over and intercepted the phone. Lulu made a dramatic sound of protest, grabbing at his sleeve while he held the device out of reach.

Zhao’s expression shifted as he scanned the screen, his brows knitting. “You’re… missing out? Who even are you sending this to?”

Lulu lunged across the table, snatching the phone back with the reflexes of someone long used to defending her privacy. “Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy,” she shot back.

Before Zhao could retort, a notification pinged in Lulu's hands. Both of them looked down at her phone.

The screen flashed a single message:

Printer: How did you get this number.

Zhao blinked, incredulous. “How are you texting a printer?”

“What, no that’s the guy we’re always nagging at work,” Lulu said, equally baffled.

“You’ve demoted him to a printer?” Zhao said, deadpan.

Lulu’s eyes narrowed in mock offense. “Why don’t you worry more about that skewer you’re burning?” she shot back, turning her attention back to her phone.

Zhao froze for half a beat, then turned in alarm to the grill where one of the skewers had indeed started to smoke. 

There was something oddly familiar in the way the two bickered. Perhaps it reminded her of her friends. 

The thought softened her expression. Despite the noise and the ridiculousness of it all, the moment carried a strange sense of comfort. It's a small kind of disorder she didn’t mind making an exception for.

That was until everyone started getting seriously drunk.

She was still working through her single glass of beer, sipping it slow enough to pace herself. But the others had decided to take full advantage of the night’s “free drinks” policy. Lulu and Zhao were several rounds ahead, their words tumbling out in barely decipherable sentences. Their laughter mixed with the sound of off-key singing from the company’s more confident employees at the karaoke machine across the room.

It was almost impressive how coherently they still managed to communicate.

Zhao, red-faced and visibly swaying, leaned forward with an uncharacteristic frown. “My girlfriend’s always… hic… working overtime,” he muttered, dragging out the words. “I barely see her these days. Sometimes I wonder if she still loves me…”

Lulu laughed into her glass. “Her working overtime is probably the only reason she can afford your high-maintenance ass.”

Zhao gasped in mock offense. “I—excuse you—”

Yuwei smiled softly, watching the exchange. “Can you cook?” she asked, curious.

Zhao blinked, processing. “Uh… yeah. Sometimes. We usually just order in. We both get home late.”

“You can try cooking for her when you have the time,” Yuwei said, voice calm but kind. “She’d appreciate the effort.”

Zhao stared at her for a beat, clearly trying to hold on to the thought before it escaped him. “...She did say she wanted to try French food,” he slurred. “But… the grocery prices lately, man…”

Lulu laughed so hard she nearly tipped over her drink.

Yuwei hid her smile behind another sip of beer, deciding to let the conversation drift on its own chaotic current. Zhao was halfway through a story about grocery prices and the tragedy of imported butter, when a tall shadow stretched across their table.

They all turned at once. Standing beside their table was a tall figure with his hands in his pockets. The dim, amber lighting from the hanging lamps caught the glint of disapproval and judgement in his eyes.

“Printer man?!” Lulu exclaimed, eyes wide. “You actually came?”

His gaze flicked between them and the half-empty bottles. “I was told everyone was too drunk to get home and needed help.” His tone was dry, unimpressed. He turned his eyes toward Yuwei. “But I’m guessing that was an exaggeration.”

Yuwei met his look evenly, setting her glass down. “I had no part in this,” she said simply.

Lulu burst out laughing, slapping the table so hard the utensils rattled. “Oh my god, is that the only set of clothes you have?” she asked, referring to his usual office outfit.

Xinrui sighed, readjusting his glasses. “Since I’m not needed, I’ll be going—”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Lulu reached out, grabbing his sleeve before he could leave. “Join us since you’re already here! You can’t just appear dramatically like that and walk off.”

“Tempting offer, but I was actually enjoying the idea of being somewhere else,” he lightly protested, but it was useless. Within seconds, Lulu had shoved a chair out for him, gesturing for him to sit. Zhao gave him a sloppy grin of recognition, lifting his glass in greeting.

“You're on your own the next time you get into trouble,” Xinrui muttered defeatedly, settling into the seat across from them.

Around them, half their coworkers had already migrated to the karaoke corner, singing their hearts out to an acapella rendition of some romance song.

Zhao slid a bottle across the table toward Xinrui. “Wanna… finish it for me?”

Xinrui caught it by the neck and turned it in his hand, the glass glinting under the yellow light. “Why, is it bad?”

“Um, no… It's just that… I just don’t think I can handle any more,” Zhao muttered, pressing a palm to his forehead like the weight of his own choices had just caught up to him.

“You’re not even a quarter way through the bottle,” he remarked.

“I don’t know, man. I was feeling confident,” he said, grimacing as his head drooped lower.

Xinrui’s brows arched. “Confident in what, your bad decisions?”

“Yeah… something like that,” Zhao mumbled before surrendering completely, folding his arms on the table and planting his face down between them.

Lulu, equally defeated, had somehow migrated into Yuwei’s shoulder. She was nursing what remained of her beer like it was her last lifeline, her earlier energy dissolved into quiet hums. For a few long moments, the table was still. 

Then Xinrui’s voice cut through the lull. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

Yuwei glanced at him. “I wasn’t. But the manager insisted.” She nodded toward their manager across the room, who was belting a love ballad into the mic with a kind of tragic conviction.

Xinrui took a sip from the bottle Zhao abandoned with a crisp sigh. “Have you tried being more assertive?” he asked dryly.

Her eyes flicked toward him sharply. “She’s our manager.”

“That wasn’t your attitude the last time you tore apart her project timeline.”

“That’s my job,” Yuwei replied evenly. “I’m hired to keep things organized and realistic.”

“Realistic?” He scoffed lightly. “Like that time you asked me to hand over the data logs that expire at midnight?”

Was he genuinely offended by her comment that day? “I wasn’t aware of those restrictions,” she countered. “And you finished it the next day anyway.”

He leaned back, smirking faintly. “Only because you asked nicely.”

Yuwei blinked at him, realizing after a beat that it wasn't offense or irritation, but something infinitely worse.

Yuwei exhaled a quiet sigh, deciding it wasn’t worth feeding into the useless back-and-forth they seemed to have fallen into. “I hope you’re not hungry,” she said, her tone smooth but detached. “The kitchen closed twenty minutes ago.”

“I already had dinner,” Xinrui replied calmly, setting the bottle down. “But thank you for your consideration.”

“And please,” she added, her voice dipping into something sharper, “don’t order any more drinks. I’m not interested in dragging home three inebriated colleagues.”

That earned a low, genuine chuckle from him, quiet but warm enough to catch her off guard. Her head tilted slightly in his direction, but he was already shaking his head, smiling softly.

“I won’t,” he assured. “But I’d like to see you try.”

Whatever fleeting thought she’d had about his unexpected laugh disappeared in an instant. He was clearly trying to get a rise out of her now.

Without breaking eye contact, she placed her nails on the table’s edge and slowly pushed an unopened beer bottle across the surface toward him. The glass scraped faintly against the wood as it slid to a stop right in front of him.

“Be my guest,” she said evenly, her voice laced with quiet challenge.

Xinrui regarded her for a moment, calm as ever. His suddenly annoying composure didn’t shift, but there was a flicker in his eyes, something wry and entertained. If anything, he seemed amused by her threat, as though this little game of defiance was far more interesting than the party around them.

They were both about to speak when Lulu suddenly slammed her palms against the table, the sharp thwack making the bottles rattle. Before anyone could react, she pushed herself up and leaned over the table, grabbing a fistful of Xinrui’s collar.

He froze out of bewilderment.

“Lulu,” Yuwei began cautiously, her voice edged with concern. “What are you…”

“You…” Lulu growled, low and slurred, the kind of tone that didn’t belong in her usually cheerful register.

Xinrui lifted his hands in a half-hearted surrender, eyes flicking toward Yuwei for translation. “…Can I help you?” he asked nervously. 

No one knew what had triggered her. Lulu muttered something incoherent under her breath, face twisting in vague distress before she suddenly slapped a hand over her mouth. Letting go of Xinrui’s collar, she stumbled toward Yuwei, tapping her shoulder with urgent desperation.

Seconds later, she was outside, bent over the narrow alley beside the restaurant emptying her stomach onto the slick pavement. Yuwei crouched beside her, steadying her with one hand and wordlessly rubbing her back until the worst passed. When Lulu finally sagged, breathing heavily, Yuwei handed her a napkin from her bag.

Footsteps approached from behind. Turning around, she saw Xinrui coming toward them, Zhao’s arm slung around his shoulders to keep him upright. Zhao looked half-asleep, mumbling nonsense.

“I texted his girlfriend,” Xinrui said, his tone steady despite the ridiculousness of the situation. “She’ll be here in about twelve minutes.”

Yuwei nodded, wordless again, guiding Lulu toward the curb to sit. Lulu leaned into her, shivering faintly in the night air.

Then something soft and heavy brushed her shoulder. A black coat settled around Lulu’s frame. Yuwei blinked up, surprised by the gesture. 

She’d never seen him without his coat before, he seemed… different. 

He stood beside them with his hands in his pockets, eyes trained on the dimly lit street. When he finally glanced at her, Yuwei found herself asking, “Do you have a way home? The metro should be closed by now.”

He blinked once, as if he hadn’t expected the question. “I’ll manage,” he replied simply, gaze flicking back to the road.

It was as if they’d slipped back into their usual distance. Whatever strange moment had lingered between them back in the restaurant, that flicker of something unspoken beneath the banter, had quietly dissolved. Boundaries were back where they belonged.

Yuwei found herself almost disappointed.

A pair of headlights rounded the corner. As soon as the car stopped, a tall woman stepped out, heels clicking sharply against the wet ground. She fashioned a sleek black blazer, her hair pulled neatly into a twist. 

“Honestly,” she sighed, pinching Zhao’s cheek as she took him from Xinrui’s grasp. “You’re hopeless.”

Zhao mumbled a sincere apology, contrite and barely coherent. Xinrui wordlessly held the passenger door open as she guided him inside.

“Thank you for taking care of him,” she said politely before driving off into the blur of city lights.

Even after they disappeared, Xinrui stayed. The three of them stood under the orange wash of the streetlamp. Yuwei was still sitting with Lulu slumped against her shoulder, Xinrui standing a short distance away in silence. 

“You don’t have to stay,” Yuwei said finally. “It’s late.”

“I don’t,” he agreed mildly, “but my coat does.” He nodded toward Lulu. For a brief moment, there was that spark in his eyes again. “I’d like it back eventually.”

Yuwei let out a tired breath. “Alright.”

Their cab arrived soon after. Xinrui opened the door for them, waiting until Yuwei carefully ushered Lulu inside before retrieving his coat and closing the door behind her.

He gave a small wave and she returned it stiffly, unsure why her chest felt tight. The restaurant faded into the distance as the taxi pulled away, and the passing streetlights flickered through the windows in a steady cadence.

Yuwei leaned back against the seat, eyes half-lidded. For some reason, her mind kept circling back to their earlier exchange. She wasn’t sure why it stuck with her. Part of her wanted to chalk it up to exhaustion, to perhaps the tiny ounce of alcohol in her system, and ignore it entirely. 

She wasn’t used to being unsettled by someone like him, and it made her feel a little disappointed in herself. Yet, it continued to linger in her mind.