Moonlight washed over New Eridu's Yuejing Residential Tower.
The place advertised itself with a slogan: "A zone where Hollow disasters will absolutely never occur." It was also the most expensive real estate in all of Eridu—one hundred million dennies per square meter.
Of course, it was only a slogan.
In reality, New Eridu had no technology capable of preventing Hollows from appearing in any given location.
But as long as no Hollow had appeared inside this residential district yet, the lie couldn't be punctured.
Still—whatever was wrong with the residents' brains, one thing was certain: their pockets were stacked like mountains with dennies.
A luxury bedroom.
A muffled rhythm—sharp, lingering impacts—echoed against opulent décor, each beat tangled with sticky, wet sounds in between.
On the bed, a full-bodied, well-kept woman buried her face into an expensive down pillow. Her hands clenched the sheets so hard her knuckles blanched, fine sweat rolling down her oiled, gleaming back.
She fought to swallow every sound, forcing all her breath and tremors deep into her throat—because the Yuejing Tower's "soundproofing" was, in practice, barely better than thin boards in the Outer Ring.
One careless noise, and she'd become tomorrow's gossip over tea.
Then—
The rhythm stopped.
Her body, still taut from the last motion, shuddered once, then slackened as if the bones had been pulled out. She lifted her face from the pillow, cheeks flushed, annoyance and confusion flashing in her eyes as she turned her head toward the man behind her.
"What's wrong?"
He didn't answer immediately.
A bead of cold sweat slid down his tight temple.
"I heard footsteps," he whispered, voice pressed low, tension barely contained.
The woman's irritation froze, replaced by panic.
The man was a Hollow raider.
A few months ago, she'd been dragged into a Hollow by accident—he was the one who hauled her back from the edge of despair.
Inside that Hollow, to survive, she'd clung to him shamelessly, her dignity ground into dust. When she returned to safety, she tried to bury the disgrace—tried to buy his silence with a flood of dennies, seal that history away along with the Hollow dust.
Judging by the current situation, her plan had failed.
As for the man—his greatest asset as a Hollow raider was his abnormally sharp hearing, the edge that let him move through danger.
And now he could hear urgent footsteps approaching from far to near, fast and steady.
It felt too familiar.
Months ago, the woman's husband had come home without warning.
That time, the raider had clung like a lizard to the icy outer window ledge, listening to the couple inside, hearing the impacts, heart hammering—
Was history repeating itself?
But then—
"Wait."
His brows snapped together. Confusion crossed his face.
"No… it's not from the hallway."
His eyes flicked toward the window, face tightening.
"It sounds like it's coming from outside."
Almost as he said it, the woman caught it too.
The footsteps were clear now—steady, closing in, louder and louder—
Whoosh.
A blurred black shadow flashed past the enormous floor-to-ceiling window—so fast it could've been a trick of the eye.
The footsteps didn't pause. They surged upward, receding into the higher levels of the building… and vanished.
The raider sucked in a long breath, his back instantly soaked through with sweat.
"An expert…" he muttered, awe and dread tangled together. "Running that fast on a vertical wall…"
Only then did the woman's heart drop back into her chest—only for irritation to rush in where fear had been.
She shot him an angry glare, her body shifting in displeasure.
"Stop jumping at shadows! You scared the life out of me. Now hurry up—don't waste time."
Her eyes, glossy with heat, cut like a blade.
"Or you can forget your allowance this month."
Her reddened heel gave him a light kick at the waist.
The man's face fell. He forced a grin that looked more like pain than humor, then bent back down with numb resignation.
Their power dynamic had already flipped.
At first, he held her disgrace by the throat—threatening to expose what happened in the Hollow, bleeding her dry for money and favors.
But comfort is the strongest corrosion on earth.
Once he tasted effortless luxury and the intoxicating ease of spending dennies without risk, his old life—knife-edge survival in Hollows—started to look unbearable.
And to keep the money flowing from his "patron," he had to ensure the relationship never reached her husband's ears.
So the woman's "weakness" became useless as leverage.
Instead, the raider's life was pinned to the monthly transfer.
In this twisted arrangement, the woman had become the absolute ruler.
His hardened body—once the capital that kept him alive in Hollows—had become nothing more than a tool to entertain a wealthy client.
He stared blankly at the extravagant chandelier on the ceiling.
A thought slipped out of the void.
This life… is worse than going into a Hollow.
Maybe I should just crawl back into one…
Meanwhile—
Hoshimi Miyabi's slender figure ran along the near-vertical exterior of Yuejing Tower as if it were flat ground.
Her boots tapped faintly—tak, tak—against a new kind of high-strength wall material that, unfortunately, wasn't very good at dampening sound.
The night wind tore at her clothes and black hair, but she was rock-steady, unmoved.
In barely a dozen breaths, she climbed over a hundred floors, from the base of the building to the rooftop.
When she landed lightly on the open edge of the rooftop, her breathing was perfectly even—as if she'd just taken a stroll.
No extra rise and fall of her chest. Her heartbeat remained steady.
The anonymous message demanded she go to Sixth Street—and to conceal her movements.
That meant caution.
So she first returned to the Hoshimi estate as usual, then slipped over the high wall like a ghost and vanished into the city's night.
Along the way, she asked inconspicuous street vendors and night cleaners for directions to "Sixth Street." The unfamiliar name cost her a bit of time.
But in the process of searching and moving, Miyabi became acutely aware—for the first time—of just how sharp her perception of "being watched" had become.
Hidden surveillance cameras outlined their viewing angles in her awareness as if drawn in lines.
Even a stranger's glance that merely passed over her felt almost tangible—instantly locatable.
It was a perspective she'd never truly needed before.
Because in the past, Miyabi herself had been the focal point.
Now, standing atop a high point in the city, she swept her gaze across the tangled sea of lights below.
Target acquired.
She moved.
No hesitation.
Her body shot off the rooftop edge like a black bolt tearing through the night sky.
Wind screamed past her ears. Neon bled into a blurred river beneath her.
Seconds later, she landed precisely on a faraway, shorter rooftop—still separated by a long distance.
The impact was swallowed cleanly by flawless technique, leaving only two shallow skid marks in the dust.
No pause.
Her toes drove off again.
Like a tireless panther, she began a silent sprint across the forest of rooftops.
One building to the next.
Moonlight as her only audience.
Wind as her only music.
In her eyes, steel and concrete were merely stepping stones.
Within minutes, she entered Sixth Street.
The streets were quieter at night. Miyabi deliberately blended into the heavy shadows cast by buildings and signs.
She became a true shadow—sliding along walls, crossing narrow seams of darkness, silent and alert.
Then her steps paused—almost imperceptibly.
Her gaze caught on the sign of a 24-hour convenience store.
Under the bright lights, a red-and-white advertisement stood out starkly:
Red Bean Buns.
Next time… bring Yanagi here to try the red bean buns.
The thought anchored itself.
Her cold mouth softened for a fraction of a second.
But her goal wasn't food.
Her eyes moved on, locking onto a small shop ahead—a warm lantern glow, steam drifting at the entrance, a noren curtain hanging like a quiet invitation.
Sixth Street's only ramen shop.
She lifted the orange noren printed with a fish-scale pattern.
Heat rushed over her face—rich bone broth, soy sauce, melted fat.
The space was narrow: only five or six stools around a steaming counter.
Miyabi went straight to the innermost seat, her eyes snapping to the man working behind the stove.
One look was enough.
Not him.
The ramen chef showed no abnormality. He wasn't the sender.
She unfolded the simple laminated menu in front of her, scanning line by line.
Then her gaze stopped at a small line at the bottom:
White Bowl Pumpkin Sweet Soup Ramen (Seasonal Limited)
Her eyelashes trembled—barely.
Her expression didn't change, still calm and flat, but her entire presence sharpened—like a blade about to be drawn.
She raised her head and looked at the chef, voice clear.
"Chef—can you replace the pumpkin in the white-bowl pumpkin sweet soup ramen… with honeydew melon?"
The chef's mechanical stirring arm froze.
He looked up, his face full of baffled disbelief.
He'd made ramen on this street for decades. He'd heard every strange request: salty, extra spicy, double chashu, no scallions—
But replacing pumpkin with honeydew melon?
"Ho… honeydew?"
He scratched his red head, eyebrows tied in knots, as if confirming he hadn't misheard.
"Pumpkin soup is sweet and starchy, but honeydew in a boil…"
He imagined the taste and felt his teeth ache.
"I… I'll try?"
His tone was painfully uncertain—unsure whether he was the problem, or the girl was.
Miyabi nodded, saying nothing more.
But if you watched closely, you'd notice her perfectly upright posture begin to sway ever so slightly side to side.
In those eyes that always seemed too calm, something like anticipation flickered.
She was genuinely interested in white-bowl honeydew sweet soup ramen.
Not long after Miyabi sat down, the noren curtain flipped up again with a loud swish.
A figure entered with the cool night air.
A blue-haired girl with short hair—its tips bouncing lightly—wearing oversized sunglasses that covered nearly half her face.
She walked straight to the empty seat beside Miyabi and sat, crisp and decisive.
She seemed familiar with the place. She didn't even glance at the menu—she called out to the chef at once.
"Chef Chop! The usual—black bowl chashu ramen! Extra scallions!"
"Got it! Coming right up!"
Chef Chop responded, finally able to stop thinking about the honeydew soup problem, and dropped noodles into boiling water with practiced ease.
The blue-haired girl didn't wait quietly like a normal customer.
She rested her elbows on the glossy wooden counter, leaning slightly toward Miyabi.
Then, with two fingers, she tugged her sunglasses down just a little.
Behind the lenses, a pair of bright, sly eyes appeared—staring straight at Miyabi.
Miyabi immediately felt the unhidden attention.
She turned her head slightly, meeting those eyes with calm, unbroken stillness.
Their gazes intersected.
In the blink of an eye, Miyabi finished her judgment:
This person knew her. And there was no hostility.
A passerby who recognized her?
Or the mysterious sender?
Under Miyabi's cold, steady stare, the blue-haired girl's lips curved into a smile—somewhere between mischief and friendliness.
She didn't speak.
She simply turned naturally and reached into her coat pocket.
After a brief search, she took out a black hard-case box about the size of a palm.
Her fingers were long and neat. Her movements were unhurried.
She pressed the box against the table and slid it smoothly in front of Miyabi.
The smile stayed in her eyes as she watched Miyabi's reaction.
Miyabi's gaze locked on the box.
Still no hostile intent. No aggression.
After a short pause, she extended her hand, fingers resting lightly on the lid.
A small press.
Click.
The box opened.
There was no padding inside—only a soft white glow, as if the light itself had a source.
And at the center of that glow—
Buzz.
A transparent blade-shadow—like flowing crystal, like solidified moonlight.
It wasn't still.
It was trembling at a terrifying frequency, vibrating so hard it seemed to howl.
Every microscopic tremor stirred the air inside the case, producing a low, spine-prickling hum—
Like countless strings drawn tight to the breaking point, wailing together.
A formless sharpness stabbed at the skin, raising tiny shivers.
The vibration was so violent that the air around it visibly warped—rippling like water.
"What…?"
For the first time, Hoshimi Miyabi's usually unshakable eyes contracted.
Hard.
If you want, I can continue with Chapter 89 from this point in the same style (keeping it non-explicit and focused on plot).
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
Uma Musume, But I Only Have Five Years Left to Live (Chapter 178)
Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 150)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League ( 126 )
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter110)
Yu-Gi-Oh! — Transmigrated into the White Dragon Girl (Chapter190)
"Is this chat group even serious?" (Chapter105)
I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter225)
Can Playing Games Save the World? 65
Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 77
From Junkman to Wasteland 66
Weekly Refresh of Overpowered 31
I'm Grinding Proficiency Like 46
From Kiana, Lord Ravager, Onwa 195
Honkai: Is This Still the Prev 42
Elf: My Starter Pokémon Is Inc 65
Warhammer: My Primarch Is Remi 170
From Demon Slayer to Grand Ass Volume2/5
The Way the Umamusume Look at 68
Uma Musume, but My Cheat Power 225
Naruto: Weaving the Future, Be 65
Zenless Zone Zero, but Kamen R 76
Multiverse Crossover: The Perf 66
My Cyberpsycho Girlfriend 65
Uma Musume: The Dark Trainer 210
Uma Musume: A Calamity Born fr 154
I, a Reincarnation-Loop Player Volume4/30
The Violent Girl Group Is Beat 115
Uma Musume: The Horse Girl Who 67
Uma Musume: From Beginner 130
Becoming a Horse Girl, I Will 85
Uma Musume: I Want All 105
I Can Copy Unique Skills 100
Summoning an Evil God, but the 70
Supernatural Multiverse 90
My Harem Is Indescribable 85
Jujutsu Kaisen: Heroic Spirit 90
"I'm just a Valkyrie passing through." 68
Uma Musume: Today Is Another Romantic Battlefield 100
Still playing traditional Honk 69
The Most Filial Son Under Heav 75
What Should I Do After Switchi - Volume2/3
Reincarnated as a Demon, Skill 60
Hell-Difficulty Dungeon? 55
Transmigrated as Sukuna 71
Checking In in Demon Slayer 75
The Reincarnating Trainer of Tracen Academy 80
I Refuse to Become a Heroic 66
My Best Friend Into a Slime? 58
A Saiyan Stands Above Marvel 65
What Do You Mean by Using a Lab Mod to Be the Hero? 63
Tanya Starts from Re:Zero 59
Why did they assign me to Uma 55
MYGO Beauties 56
DanMachi: Emiya the Giant Hero 45
The Gacha Merchant Who Started 49
Honkai's Otherworld? Wait—Who Are You People?! 36
Emiya Shirou, Determined to Slay Every Curse and Evil Spirit 35
The Uma Musume Who Became 30
I'm Definitely Not the King of 35
After Maxing Out Every Class 35
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