In the evening, a light rain began to drizzle. Through the reflection of countless raindrops, it seemed as if invisible phantoms covered the mortal realm. Through the myriad transient raindrops, one could glimpse dozens of giant-like phantoms.

Giants from Hell·Dragon City held fishing rods. From another dimension, they cast their hooks toward the Current Circumstances. Thus, fishhooks as large as crane hooks traversed the vast distance between borders, descending Above the Current Circumstances to snag a lone, towering building on the city outskirts.

It was like reeling in a colossal fish. With a pull, accompanied by silent roars and bellows, the fishing giants dragged the entire building and its surrounding area into an independent Border, leaving only phantoms in its original place.

Then, with the team leader's nonchalant snap of her fingers, a terrifying radiance erupted from her fingertips. Flames materialized from thin air, coalescing into a vast Tornado that surged skyward. In an instant, this horrifying power ripped apart the building's facade, revealing countless traps within.

"The passage is open! Hurry, hurry, hurry!!!" the leader commanded.

Following her order, Sublimators from the Social Security Bureau raised their large shields and charged into the building amidst countless explosions. Booming sounds echoed continuously. No one knew how many sinister traps were triggered; the sounds of collapse rose ceaselessly. Ignoring all obstructing walls and traps, the assault team sprinted forward, straight for the core.

Every second counted. Before they entered the Border, the command center at the rear had already sent word: the live broadcast had started early. There was no more time to waste.

A Sublimator in Bright Armor, mounted on a massive horse, took the lead, smashing a path through everything in his way. To their surprise, however, they encountered only an endless number of traps. Though dangerous, there was no one to stop them. The rescuers' hearts sank. The people from Green Day must have already retreated; this place might be completely empty…

"Faster, faster!" the Sublimator in armor shouted angrily, yanking the reins. The translucent giant horse, a Border Relic, reared up. Its iron hooves thundered down, unleashing a Roaring Outburst. Shockwaves swept forward, tearing apart the encroaching labyrinth walls.

"I'll go, I'll go!"

Amidst the chaos, Yuan Zhao excitedly leaped to the front. He stepped on protrusions on the wall, moving forward along it as if defying gravity. His teammates couldn't stop him in time. Then, the blast wave from an explosion sent him flying. He hit the ground, covered in soot and coughing violently. He looked far from suave; his hair, dyed by some stylist, Teacher TONY, had turned into an afro, and his face was also blackened. He was an utter mess.

"What kind of mess are you making, kid?" The leader smacked him on the back of the head, telling him to behave and stay back. She waved her hand forward, and a Burning Wind melted the final gate into molten iron.

The terrifying heat spread, along with the pungent smell of blood. Yuan Zhao, who had eagerly run to the front again, was almost knocked over by the stench. He then saw the thick, coagulated blood covering almost every inch of the wall.

"It's over," he muttered. After a moment, he turned and asked, "Mo San, that sissy hasn't already kicked the bucket, has he?"

"If you're going to talk, try to make some sense," Mo San replied, rolling her eyes dismissively. She smacked him on the back of the head again. Igniting a flame at her fingertips, she was the first to step into the darkness, which reeked of blood.

As far as the eye could see, it was a scene straight from Hell, like walking into a slaughterhouse.

"Mother of God…" Yuan Zhao, peeking from behind the others, was stunned for a long moment before sharply drawing a cold breath.

He's a goner! Utterly finished! Mangled this badly... he must be completely dead...

Thinking that his first mission, which he had joined with such passion and ambition, was ending in failure, he felt a wave of helplessness and depression wash over him.

What went wrong? Shouldn't there have been a grand battle of three hundred rounds, followed by a dramatic shiver from him, and then that sissy bowing in submission? How could he die before the three hundred rounds even started? It couldn't be helped. Who asked that White-named face to be so weak? It wasn't Young Master Yuan's fault for arriving late. So pathetic, where did he get the courage to confess to Cousin?

He listlessly dragged his Long Spear, thinking he should at least retrieve the body of that obnoxious fellow. Even if it was a bit presumptuous, it showed he had some taste, right? Well, seeing as you and I, Young Master Yuan, are in the same boat, I'll begrudgingly cover your cremation package…

"Let me see, where is he?"

Using the light from Mo San's flame, he poked his head into the basement. Amidst the flowing blood and corpses, he heard faint, echoing groans of pain. Then, he glimpsed a pair of green eyes slowly looking up in the darkness.

"Holy shit, a ghost!!!" He leaped more than a meter into the air, instinctively aiming his gun to stab forward.

Mo San irritably kicked him aside. "A ghost, my ass! Can you stop freaking out? You're disgracing the entire Social Security Bureau!"

Yuan Zhao's face had turned white with fright. He shrank behind Mo San, his trembling finger pointing to the far end of the basement. "H-h-he… a ghost!"

STRIKE! With a rasp, the few blood-soaked matchsticks finally ignited in the darkness, casting a flicker of light on the horrific scene inside the basement. It was a complete shambles, as if ravaged by a hurricane. Thick blood slowly dripped down the walls, pooling and spreading on the floor where pale corpses lay stacked into a grotesque tower. Their blurred, fierce outlines were revealed in the fleeting light. Shockingly, amidst this ghastly crimson mess, clusters of pure white iris flowers and wild grass grew, beautiful as miracles sprouting from departed life. It was as though he had barg meninasnto the mountain den of an Evil Ghost.

Yuan Zhao was so shaken by the bone-chilling cold that he froze on the spot. But then, he saw the grim figure in the chair relax, as if sighing in relief, and suddenly slump down.

"Mother of God, that scared the hell out of me!" Huai Shi exclaimed, wiping cold sweat from his forehead with relief. "I thought Green Day had come back to kill us…"

"Comrades, I've missed you all so much!"

Before they could react, Huai Shi rushed towards them with an expression of pure deliverance, as if his saviors had finally arrived. He eagerly shook hands with each of them, almost moved to tears.

"You have no idea! This godforsaken place doesn't even have a door, no way out, nothing to eat, let alone a toilet. I couldn't even find a lighter for a smoke… Thank the Astronomical Society, thank the Social Security Bureau! You've all worked hard, comrades!"

Mo San, whose hand was being held by him, felt her perennially cold face twitch uncontrollably. She suddenly felt a sense of unreality.

What the hell is this! Were you the one kidnapped, or are you some lone hero who stormed Green Day's stronghold and wiped them all out? What's the rescue team even here for? Since when were Astronomical Society operatives this formidable?! Her first reaction was: that damn fatty who came begging for help was probably playing us!

"Please sit, Davarish!"

"Davarish, have a smoke!"

"Here, Davarish, have some Happy Water!"

By the time they reacted, an ice-cold bottle of Happy Water had been stuffed into each of their hands. Then they saw Huai Shi scuttle to a corner. He dragged over two men, still gasping for breath, and presented them to the team. He smiled, simple and bold like an honest farmer.

—Look, Davarish, these are gifts for you! Prisoners, alive!

"..."

So, seriously, what is our role here? You killed all the kidnappers, and we're just here to accept the fruits of victory?

Mo San's mouth twitched as she looked at that face, radiating a kind of goofy energy. She suddenly felt completely bewildered. What on earth is going on?

Amidst a bizarrely convivial, almost surreal atmosphere—the Social Security Bureau and Astronomical Society acting like one big family, rescuers and rescued like fish in water—Mo San noticed Yuan Zhao, dazed in a corner.

"Yuan Zhao?" She patted his shoulder, a little worried about the boy. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing." Yuan Zhao looked up as if waking from a dream, forcing a smile onto his listless face. "I… I just need to go outside and cool down."

Saying this, the boy weakly dragged his Long Spear and turned to leave. He looked like a walking corpse as he moved through the rubble. Finally, he sat on the steps outside the building. His pale expression startled his Older Cousin, who had rushed over.

"What happened?" Older Cousin looked at him in astonishment. "Are you okay, Yuan Zhao?"

"I-I'm fine…" Yuan Zhao forced a stiff smile, but his expression looked like he was about to burst into tears.

Don't cry, Yuan Zhao, don't cry. If you cry, something important will be lost forever.

But still… humiliating tears couldn't help but stream down his face.

No matter what, he couldn't dispel the scene etched into his mind.

In the darkness, the match being raised, the cigarette being lit. Those pitch-black eyes, illuminated by the flickering flame, and that devastatingly handsome face, still breathtaking even stained with blood. Dark hair fell from his tattered shirt, landing between the blood and the white flowers, seeming to dissolve into the gradually blurring colors of the darkness, becoming indistinguishable.

It was a solemnity and an austere coldness that not even the most brutal background or the most ghastly blood could conceal.

It was like seeing an exorcist in the light of Heaven flipping the bird at a Demon; like an assassin who wiped out an entire gang for a dog, then killed another whole gang; like a mysterious hacker in sunglasses and a black trench coat, walking through bullet time…

At that moment, fourteen-year-old Yuan Zhao had a profound realization—some contests are decided before they even begin.

And he… had already lost.

Defeated at the starting line.

Utterly powerless to fight back.

"Why!" Yuan Zhao cried out to the sky in grief and indignation, finally bursting into tears. "We're both Sublimators, so why is he so damn stylish!"

"..."

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