"Coming tomorrow?"
"Uh..."
"You don't like-"
"I like it! I'll be there!"
"See you tomorrow at seven."
Zero left, bottle in hand.
Only then did Lancelot realize that whenever she began a sentence with you don't like, he had no escape. It was like a spell.
What is this? he wondered. Did I fall in love again?
Or am I just weak against pretty girls?
"Hey!"
Lancelot almost jumped out of his skin.
It was Morin.
"Boss! You're back! I'm dying!"
"Are you?" Morin raised an eyebrow. "You looked pretty happy with her. Didn't know you were so smooth."
"No, we were just running," Lancelot said, failing to hide his grin.
"She's good," Morin said, patting his shoulder. "Go for it. She clearly likes you."
"We only talked a little."
"A girl like that doesn't talk to just anyone," Morin replied. "If you need anything, ask. Your Boss is about to become a billionaire."
"I'm loaded."
"...Are you planning to rob the school?"
"No. I'm going to rob the world."
"Legally."
"Give me a month or two."
"...A Swiss bank?" Lancelot hesitated. "With Time Zero, that'd be easy."
"You think I need to break the law?" Morin laughed. "Stocks. Legal robbery."
"I thought your Talent was Time Zero?"
"Who told you that?" Morin winked.
"What?"
"Schneider said you're joining the Executive Department."
In the dorm, Hunter spoke while watching Morin.
"Yeah," Morin replied casually, opening his laptop. "School life's boring."
Code flooded the screen.
Or rather, Morin fed data while the AI handled the work. A super-advanced AI like Red Queen could outperform Norma in minutes, integrating psychology, sociology, and behavioral models without effort.
"Testing tomorrow?" Hunter glanced at the screen once-then looked away. Even for a genius, it was unreadable. Morin's hands were a blur. The keyboard rattled like a machine gun.
"Sure," Morin said, taking a sip of water while one hand never stopped moving. "I'm going to the library in the morning, though."
Hunter looked at the hand still typing. "Just physical fitness and fundamentals. You'll pass. Afternoon works."
"Afternoon it is."
Room 303.
"Senior, you really are the best paparazzi?"
"The best," Fingal said proudly, gripping his controller. "Ask anyone. Everyone knows Fingal."
"Can you get information on all the freshmen?"
"I can tell you who still wets the bed."
"I want the freshman files."
"Sure, I'll-" Fingal paused. "Wait. Why?"
"Just checking," Lancelot said calmly.
"Which girl?"
"No one."
Fingal smirked. "You're not in any club. You don't care about recruitment. If it were a guy, you wouldn't ask."
"It's a girl."
"Don't underestimate me," Fingal said smugly. "Tell me who she is. I'll get her file-and teach you how to get her."
"I'll take the file," Lancelot said. "Keep the advice."
"Hey! I used to be popular!"
"Ten years ago?"
"Do you want the file or not?"
"Yes."
"Who is it?"
"Zero."
"Oh. The Russian girl," Fingal said, understanding dawning. "So you're into white hair."
"It's not that," Lancelot said slowly. "She just... feels familiar."
"You know that feeling?"
"I know it!" Fingal nodded vigorously. "Love at first sight."
"Buy me dinner and I'll get you everything."
"You were about to say 'for free,' weren't you?"
"You misheard me."
"You absolutely were."
"Kid, love requires investment. Makes victory sweeter."
Lancelot agreed in the end. A meal was fine.
He just hated losing something that could've been free.
"Here you go," Fingal said. "Zero Razumovskaya Romanova. ID a1042251. Born April 22, 1992. Seventeen. Blood type AB. Height 155, weight-"
"Stop," Lancelot cut him off. "I can read."
Fingal whistled. "You picked a tough one. Romanova. That's Russian royalty."
"A princess."
Lancelot fell silent.
"Giving up?" Fingal grinned. "Think of it this way. Marry her and you're set for life. Unlimited pork hocks."
"I'm not trying to date her," Lancelot muttered. "I just want to know why she feels familiar."
He couldn't have met a princess.
But the feeling wouldn't fade.
He tossed and turned all night.
Zero returned to her dorm.
She showered, opened her laptop, and logged into a secure channel. A private room had its conveniences.
[Crisps]: Zero! Progress?
Arctic Poppy: Chatted. Ran together. Continuing tomorrow.
[Crisps]: Nice! Fast work! You've got him!
Arctic Poppy: Next instructions?
[Crisps]: Play it by ear. Goal is to win his heart.
[Crisps]: Make yourself more important than his "Boss."
[Crisps]: Or at least make him willing to die for you.
[Crisps]: Boss's order. No explanation.
[Crisps]: Noelle is no longer the target. Focus is on him now.
[Crisps]: Good luck. I'll send the next-phase plan in a few days.
Zero closed the laptop.
She lay straight on the bed, posture perfectly rigid, as if standing at attention.
She fell asleep instantly.
"The library again?"
Schneider found Morin at the entrance early the next morning.
"Professor," Morin smiled. "Just checking some additional data."
"In a hurry?"
"Not particularly."
"Come with me," Schneider said hoarsely. "Top floor. Control room. That's where the Executive Department commands operations."
"A field agent should understand command."
"Operation Kui Gate?" Morin followed. "Selwyn mentioned it."
"Yes. Field team's already moving," Schneider replied. "Objective is the White City-the palace of the King of Bronze and Fire."
The control room was enormous.
A massive central screen. Hundreds of workstations. Even at this hour, it was alive with motion.
This wasn't a routine mission.
They were entering a King's domain to steal his legacy.
"Check communications," Schneider ordered, taking the command seat.
Morin stood beside him, ignoring the looks.
On the satellite feed, the Three Gorges were swallowed by storm. Rain and clouds obscured everything.
But Morin didn't need to see.
He only needed a position.
His fingers tapped lightly against the railing.
Like a puppeteer.
Invisible strings extended from his hand, crossing half the globe, descending with precision-
Over Kui Gate.
"Captain," a voice reported. "Message from the Maritime Bureau. Storm worsening. Force ten winds. Two hundred millimeters of rainfall. Thunderstorms incoming."
Thunder rolled across the screen.
The anger of a god.