Post-lunch classes continued smoothly.

Viara tried forcing herself to focus on the lectures, but she couldn’t. Bad memories continued to flood in randomly, and each time, she shook them off.

Her gaze drifted to Zen, who was reading a completely different topic in his book than the one being discussed in the lecture.

Watching him prompted her mind to recall the memory of when he had saved her, and she suddenly felt safe, her fears beginning to fade. But she knew she couldn’t rely on him forever to save her from danger. Not when she was also studying to become a warrior.

After four periods, classes finally came to an end. The final bell rang, sharp and relieving.

Chairs scraped back almost instantly as the classroom came alive—voices rising, bags slung over shoulders, plans forming for the evening. Within moments, the room began to empty.

Finn zipped his bag shut and glanced over at Zen.
“Dude, I’m so tired. Can’t wait to catch some sleep.”

Zen stood up slowly, lifting his own bag.
“I’ve got some things to take care of. Go on without me.”

Finn didn’t question it. “Alright. See you later.”
He gave a quick wave and disappeared into the flow of students leaving the room.

Cassie finished packing as well, but when she straightened up, Viara was still seated.

She wasn’t looking at her bag.

Her eyes were fixed on Zen, who was lazily stuffing books into his bag, completely unbothered by the thinning classroom.

Cassie noticed immediately.

She leaned in close and whispered, “I’ll give you some space.”
Then, softer, “Take your time.”

Viara nodded, grateful, and Cassie quietly left the room.

For a few seconds, Viara stayed seated, hands clenched lightly in her lap. Her heartbeat felt louder now that the classroom was nearly empty. She inhaled once—then stood and walked over.

“Zen?” she asked, her voice careful. “Do you… have a few minutes?”

Zen had just slung his bag over his shoulder. He turned to face her.
“What’s up?”

Viara hesitated. Heat crept up her cheeks.

“I just—” she started, then steadied herself. “I wanted to thank you. For that night. For saving me.”
She swallowed. “And for returning my scythe. I didn’t even realize I’d lost it.”

She looked down briefly, then back up.
“I don’t know how to repay you.”

Zen didn’t answer right away.

“You don’t have to,” he said eventually. His tone was calm, almost flat.
“I just wish I’d arrived sooner. So, you wouldn’t have had to go through that. I’m sorry.”

Viara shook her head quickly. “It’s okay. Really. What you did was already… more than enough.”

There was another pause.

She shifted her weight, clearly debating something.

Then, quietly, she said, “Thank you.”
Softer than before.
“And I… I’m sorry that I needed saving.”

Before she could lose her nerve, Viara took a small step forward. She leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss against his cheek.

It lasted a second.

Zen didn’t move—not out of shock, not out of warmth, but simply out of courtesy. When she pulled back, he remained exactly as he was.

An awkward silence stretched between them.

Then, he exhaled.
“Unnecessary,” all he said. No reaction.

Viara blinked.

Then she let out a breath she’d been holding, her blush deepening—but she smiled. A small laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

“You’re such a meanie,” she said, teasing rather than offended.

Zen didn’t respond.

Viara turned and grabbed her bag from her desk. She looked behind one more time and waved, smiling, then quickly left.
“Bye. See you tomorrow.”

And just like that, she was gone—footsteps light and hurried.

Zen stood there for a moment longer and then looked at the sky out the window.

He didn’t mistake her act for anything more than a friendly gesture. He wouldn’t be able to even if he wanted. After all, to a young veteran of war like him, emotions were but a weakness on the battlefield.

He finally turned and walked out of the class. He had far more important matters to worry about.

The corridors were now empty. A few students who lingered behind were finally walking through the school grounds towards the exit.

Instead of heading to the building exit, Zen went towards the administration division. From there, he took a right turn and slipped down a quieter hall—one most students never had a reason to use.

The corridors narrowed, and the lighting shifted from warm daylight panels to cool, controlled white. Two restricted checkpoints passed without incident. No alarms. No questions.

At the end of the corridor stood the elevator.
It didn’t look like anything meant for convenience. The doors were thick, reinforced, the seams barely visible—closer to a vault than a lift.

Zen stopped in front of the scanner and tapped his student ID against it.

A soft tone chimed.

The doors unlocked with a muted hydraulic hiss and slid apart just enough to let him in. Once inside, the space felt dense—shielded, insulated. The doors sealed behind him, locking with a deep mechanical thud.

The elevator descended.

Not fast. Not slow. Purposeful.

By the time it came to a halt, the pressure shift was barely noticeable. The doors opened onto a completely different world.

Bright, polished corridors stretched ahead, illuminated by clean, even lighting. The air was cooler, filtered. Staff moved with practiced efficiency—engineers, analysts, technicians—some carrying tablets, others deep in conversation as holographic readouts floated beside them.

Zen walked past laboratories lined with reinforced glass. Inside, research divisions worked in parallel: weapon diagnostics, elemental energy simulations, material synthesis, etc.

Holograms flickered, data scrolled, and machines hummed softly in the background.

He didn’t slow until he reached his destination.

A hydraulic door recognized his presence and slid open.

Inside, the room was quiet and focused.

A holographic display hovered in the center, rotating slowly. Suspended within it was a reconstructed bullet, pieced together from fragments, every groove and deformation mapped in precise detail.

Standing before it was a girl with short silver hair, dressed in a black-and-blue gear tracksuit.
Her arms were folded as she studied the projection, eyes sharp, posture relaxed in the way only someone completely at home in a lab could be.

Zen stepped up beside her.
“Planning to write a thesis on it?”

She glanced at him, her focus breaking, then immediately burst out laughing.

“Oh wow,” she said, amusement clear on her face. “You know, that’s not how you greet a friend you haven’t seen in a long time.”

Zen shrugged. “You looked busy.”

She shook her head, smiling despite herself. “Of course you’d say that.”

Her gaze returned to the hologram; resignation mixed with familiarity. “Still the same, huh?”

Zen didn’t respond—but he didn’t deny it either.

Saya turned back to the hovering hologram, fingers flicking through layers of data as the reconstructed bullet slowly rotated in the air.

“I’ve been analyzing the projectile,” she said.

“And?” he asked.

She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing in focus. “It’s made from a very expensive alloy. Not designed to punch through armor directly—but to bypass a gear’s electromagnetic shield first. Once it does, it transfers its kinetic energy into a very small point on the armor plate.”

She glanced at him. “Whoever pulled that trigger really wanted you dead.”

Zen sighed, unimpressed. “I get that a lot.”

Saya rolled her eyes, amused. “Of course you do.”

Before she could add more, the hydraulic door behind them slid open.

Commander Stelle stepped inside, her sharp gaze immediately settling on Saya.

“So,” she said evenly, “you’re finally here, Miss Krylova.”

Saya straightened instantly and snapped a clean salute.
“Sofia Aleksandrovna Krylova, at your service.”

Commander Stelle nodded once, satisfied. “It’s good to work with our Russian prodigy again. Report.”

“I’ve completed the preliminary analysis,” Saya replied. “I’ll forward a full breakdown of the bullet’s specifications shortly.”

She then gestured toward Zen. “I was about to begin work on his gear.”

Zen stepped forward and pressed his left hand against the wall-mounted scanner of a gear hanger. The system hummed softly as it authenticated him.

In response, his gear housing unit released a cloud of nanoparticles that flowed seamlessly into the gear hanger and reformed Alpha-02 piece by piece.

Saya leaned in closer, eyes sharp as she studied the damage on the gear’s armor.

“…Impressive,” she murmured after a moment. “At night, this gear would be almost impossible to track visually from a long distance.”

She looked back at Zen. “Which means the sniper likely used a thermal scope.”

“I suspected as much,” Zen replied. “Alpha-02 is combat-grade, not stealth.”

“Can you do anything about the thermal signature?” he asked.

“Reducing the thermal signature is possible,” Saya said. “But it’ll reduce the overall performance metrics significantly, and maintenance time—and cost—will roughly double.”

Zen nodded without hesitation. “That’s fine.”

Saya met his gaze, then nodded back. “I’ll get started. It’ll be ready by tomorrow.”

Commander Stelle raised an eyebrow. “That fast?”

Saya smiled faintly. “I’m Professor Frank’s protégée for a reason.”

“The sooner it’s done,” Zen added, “the sooner we can start counter-surveillance.”

“You’re planning to do that alone?” Saya asked.

“No,” Commander Stelle cut in smoothly. “I’ll provide resources. Logistics will cover most of the city’s blind spots.”

Zen glanced at her. “Sounds expensive.”

She smirked, unfazed. “Oh, please. It’s the least I can do. Someone aimed a gun at one of my operatives.”