After finishing dinner and washing up, it was half past ten.
Jack was clearly in a flow state—the scratch of pen on paper never stopped.
Maya took one look at him and decided not to interrupt. She slipped back to her room.
Nine hand seals in quick succession. A second Maya appeared.
With a faint wash of pale golden light radiating outward, the clone slowly expanded—growing taller, older, the proportions shifting—still flat-chested, short-haired—until she matched a full-grown adult version of Maya. The hair didn't lengthen with the height increase; it stayed short, which on a taller frame simply looked shorter.
The adult clone moved with practiced efficiency, pulling the spider-suit and black box from the storage chest using Shadow-Drawing technique, then suiting up exactly as she had the night before.
While Maya's real body settled onto the bed and closed her eyes, the clone activated Shadow Stealth and leaped out of the apartment building in a few quick bounds.
Maya didn't have Matt's range of enhanced hearing. The only way to check on the troublemaker classmates was to send a clone out herself.
That was exactly what she was doing—verifying that none of the students who'd run the marathon that afternoon had slipped out to become gang cannon fodder. She could probably find out from Matt tomorrow morning, but by then it would be too late to act.
Maybe success really did leave similar fingerprints. Like her little sister Natalie, President Maya operated on one principle: if she committed to something, she followed through completely.
This morning, after receiving Matt's report, she had made her decision as president: their safety is mine to protect.
Once that decision was made, she intended to see it through—not because she liked or disliked those particular troublemakers, but because she had made a promise to herself. And she kept her promises.
Thirty-seven students. Thirty-seven addresses. All of them mapped in her memory. In seconds, she had plotted the optimal route.
In Shadow Stealth, President Maya moved like a ghost—footsteps soundless on the ground, form invisible in flight.
With her sensory field active, she didn't need to knock on any doors or slow down. She swept through the neighborhood at a dead sprint, scanning each location as she passed.
And the more she checked, the wider her smile grew beneath the mask. Not a single one of the troublemakers had left home. Every last one of them was either asleep or desperately eating to recover.
A few were apparently still cursing her out — "animal," "little bitch" — and she didn't particularly mind. Their names were already recorded in her notebook. Let them keep talking. If they still had the energy to curse her tomorrow after she added 30% to the run distance, she'd consider it her loss.
She was absolutely going to run it out of them.
She was just swinging around to check on the overage student William Beck when a string of curses drifted out of a nearby alley—and what caught her attention was the name "William Beck" spoken in that same breath.
"I swear to God—that old woman scratched my face and had the nerve to talk to me like that. I'm going to take her out tomorrow."
"Boss, William Beck is clearly wrecked from the run. His mother wouldn't even let us talk to him. He was the last one. What do we do now?"
"Right, Marion—we were supposed to hit the S crew tonight. Are we calling the boys together or not?"
Marion was silent for a long moment. Then he let out a deflated breath.
"Forget it. Call the S guys. Tell them I want to negotiate. They can have the powder trade on 39th Street." He paused. "We stick to marijuana. Marijuana is safe. Marijuana is safe."
"Got it, boss. Time and place?"
"The same time and place we set for the fight—midnight. The Butcher Bar."
"On it." The underling didn't push further and jogged off to make the call.
Watching all of this, President Maya now understood. This Marion was the one who had orchestrated the whole scheme.
A thin, invisible thread of shadow began extending toward Marion's neck—the Shadow Binding Neck Technique, ready to deploy. Then something clicked in Maya's mind, and she drew it back.
"Midnight. The Butcher Bar on 40th Street."
She filed it away and glided past Marion. She was about to leave William Beck's building when her passive sensory field swept over something that made her stop dead.
William was sobbing. Not sniffling—sobbing. And the middle-aged woman beside him, arms wrapped around his large head, was crying quietly along with him.
Curiosity sparked. President Maya held her position and let her senses reach in carefully.
"Mom, I'm sorry. I swear I'm done with the gang stuff—for real this time. I won't lie to you again."
"William... you're not little anymore. I don't need you to be anything special. I just want you to grow up safe and healthy. Your father..." The woman's voice cracked. "He died in a street shooting. One bullet to the head. I can't watch you end up the same way."
Beck's mother was devastated. She'd only found out tonight—when Marion showed up at the door—that her son had been planning to go up against the S gang over drug turf.
She had completely lost it. Rank or reputation be damned, she'd launched herself at Marion with her bare hands, scratching and biting.
The only reason Marion hadn't pulled the trigger on the spot was William's presence right beside her.
"Mom. Don't worry. I'm done with them." William's voice was low and rough. "Actually—I've got good news. The high school football team in Brooklyn wants to recruit me. The coach told me personally—the moment I pass my grade, I'm straight into tenth grade there. we won't have to worry about those people anymore."
His mother went completely still. The crying stopped.
"William—my baby—is that real? Are you serious?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "Thank God. Thank God. You must be starving—you burn so much energy playing football. Let me get you something to eat."
She moved to stand, but she'd been crouching too long on low blood sugar. The moment she shifted her weight, she started to topple. William's hand shot out and caught her arm before she hit the ground.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," she said, steadying herself, apparently unconcerned about her own condition. "But William—is it really true? The Brooklyn team, the special recruitment—you're not just saying that to make me feel better?"
William supported his mother's thin, frail arm. He raised his free hand and wiped the tears off his face with the back of his fist. The hope blazing in her eyes was so raw and bright that he found it hard to meet her gaze.
"It's real, Mom. I promise. It's real."
"Then it's fine. Everything's fine." She turned and walked toward the kitchen, already sorting through what she could cook for him.
William Beck watched his mother move around the kitchen—eager, almost giddy—preparing food for him at nearly midnight. His stomach had been growling for hours. But now, standing in the doorway, he had no appetite at all.
Because what filled him instead was something heavier: guilt. Regret. There was no room left for hunger.