Chapter 11
Chapter 11
Beep-beep—beep-beep—
The bus lurched forward in uneven sways.
Because Jiang Li lived in a half-forgotten complex on the city's fringe, there wasn't even a street vendor nearby. A few stops on the bus were required before he could find anywhere that served breakfast.
Why not just order take-out?
The big discount coupons were gone, and anything on an app always cost a little more than eating in. Unless it was a national chain, the markup was practically guaranteed.
Kakayan sat in the very back, the engine roaring beside her like a sleeping dragon's snores.
After surviving a hair-dryer's shriek, she was nearly immune to mechanical thunder.
Five minutes passed; passengers climbed aboard at every halt.
Kakayan stared, stunned that the metal box could swallow so many bodies.
From the rear seat she watched the tide of commuters, chests pressed to backs, all gripping the same handrails, all wearing the same hollow, kidney-deficient expression.
She didn't understand modern society, but she'd seen plenty of noble guards. These humans in matching black-and-white uniforms clearly belonged to one faction.
Curious, she whispered, "Whose soldiers are they? Who do they fight for?"
"No one's. They're just earning breakfast," Jiang Li muttered, already dreading the explanation. A witch who'd never punched a timecard wouldn't grasp the concept.
"If they aren't soldiers, why do they look half-dead?"
To Kakayan, that ashen face belonged only to men marching to the gallows or a losing battle.
Jiang Li studied her violet eyes—eyes innocent of nine-to-five misery—and fell silent.
How could she voice something so bleak with such childlike curiosity?
He still remembered his own first day after graduation, convinced he was a fish finally reaching the sea, a bird soaring into open sky—free at last.
Three months of clocking in and his face had joined the same funeral parade.
Reality had slapped him awake: trading time for money was the entire deal.
So he quit, rode the rising tide of short-form video, and built an online brand.
Sponsorships had just started paying when—flash—he was yanked to another world.
And now here he was, back on a bus, feeding one extra mouth.
When Jiang Li stopped answering, Kakayan turned to the window.
The bus rolled past an artificial lake. Honey-coloured light spilled across the water, and every ripple caught fire.
Kakayan was unmoved; two centuries of mountains and oceans had left her hard to impress.
But if anyone told her this shimmering expanse was man-made, even a witch might drop her jaw.
How much water magic would that take?
On the shore, seven or eight old men in white robes stood in a line, wooden swords in hand, moving through slow-motion drills.
"Soldiers train even when they're that old?"
She leaned out for a closer look.
Human society was cruel indeed—no lie-ins for children, and grandpas still drilling with stiff joints.
"What are you talking about?"
Jiang Li followed her gaze: the retirees were doing tai chi.
"Soldiers...? Where did you get that idea?" He frowned. "They've got swords."
Kakayan mimed a slashing motion.
"In Aze, swords are common. Here, anyone carrying one is definitely not a soldier."
"Why not?"
"Who still uses swords?"
With a grin, Jiang Li shaped a finger gun.
"You."
She pointed straight at him.
The accusation froze Jiang Li.
Back home, a double-edged blade sharp enough to slice iron—the Hero's Sword—hung on his wall.
"You threatened me with it last night to make me take off my shoes," she reminded him.
"Shh—don't say that so loud."
He clapped a hand over her mouth. Too many ears on the bus; owning a regulated weapon was illegal.
Luckily, engine noise swallowed their words.
Kakayan's pulse spiked. Maybe it was the way he lunged, or the press of bodies in the cramped aisle, but she'd never been this close to a man.
Curse it—if her mana weren't so pitiful, she could have blasted the rude male across the county with a snap of her fingers.
If only she knew a quick way to recharge.
"Ugh—can't breathe!"
She shoved his hand away, cheeks flushed crimson.
Trapped against the window, she twisted her face to the glass.
The bus swung round a corner. Sudden inertia swept her like a rootless weed straight into Jiang Li's chest.
She didn't want to lean on him, but physics had other plans.
Ears against his shirt, she heard the steady drum of his heart.
Why didn't he budge?
A seat-belt, she realized—he'd buckled in.
The last row of a bus is nicknamed the "lovers' seat": secluded for intimacy and notorious for the sharpest lurch.
Kakayan scrabbled for balance; a warm hand settled on her shoulder, steadying her without effort.
The turn lasted five seconds.
To Kakayan it felt like five centuries. Heat from his palm bled through her jacket; her own heart pounded traitorously.
"It's so hot..."
When the bus straightened, she slid back to her own seat, fanning herself furiously.
"Two more stops. Bear with it."
Jiang Li reached up. A cool draft brushed Kakayan's hair as he aimed the overhead vent toward her flushed face.
"Wan'an Road, we have arrived. Passengers, please exit in an orderly fashion..."
The automated announcement chimed overhead.
"End of the line—let's go."
Jiang Li rose to his feet and beckoned to Kakayan; they were heading out to grab dinner.
She didn't seem especially eager.
"Oh... fine, let's go."
Kakayan answered with her face twisted in reluctance.