Mature Fantasy Power Invasion

Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Spencer was still cursing under her breath as the security guards hauled her away. Yan Huan didn't bother watching; the moment she left, the average IQ of the surrounding air seemed to jump ten points. While he and Sakuramiya Hitomi headed back to the gym to collect their things, his mind kept circling the Modifier.

Just like the memory edits hypnosis produced, the episode in the equipment room now looked perfectly ordinary—unless you had resistance, you'd never notice anything off. Apparently the Vice-President's memories had been smoothed the same way.

The setting sun angled itself as if it felt sorry for girls; it tucked Sakuramiya into the long shadow cast by the teaching building while Yan stood full in the light, his face painted gold.

They walked side by side. Sakuramiya tucked a loose strand of black hair behind her ear and asked casually, "Did that girl say anything to you, President?"

Yan's train of thought snapped. He glanced at her. "Why do you ask?"

"She took photos of us out of nowhere and looked like the type who'd never really delete them."

"I scared her; she deleted them. Never seen her around before, though. Total blank." Yan smiled, deciding not to drag Sakuramiya into the Modifier mess, and lied.

Huh...

Blackmailed by a blonde a minute ago, now lying straight-faced to Sakuramiya.

The déjà vu was getting ridiculous.

"Probably a transfer student," Sakuramiya answered, outwardly calm, her mind racing. If the girl was harmless, how had she shattered the Boundary? A bug in the skill? And why had it snuffed the sparks she was sure had almost flown between her and the President?

I need to examine this power properly. No more slip-ups. At least the memory edit worked—he didn't notice anything after half an hour locked in the room.

They reached the gym lockers. Yan slung his backpack and uniform over one shoulder; Sakuramiya carried her clothes in a simple cloth bag.

"The locker room's already closed," she said. "Want to change in the office, President?"

Yan checked the time on his phone. "No need. I'll head home early and catch the South-District shuttle."

"All right, President."

Sakuramiya tilted her head, puzzled. On most Mondays Yan stayed behind for mahjong club, then caught a late bus. She knew his habits inside out, but this time she kept quiet.

Fine by me—he won't be stuck with those shameless women who insist on hand-shuffling even though the club owns two machines, claiming "only official members can use them."

Can't even shuffle properly—looks more like they're washing their hands!

After one visit Sakuramiya had decided the club should be disbanded for corrupting minors.

"I'll head back to the office, then. See you tomorrow, President."

"See you tomorrow, Sakuramiya."

As soon as she left, Yan sprinted for the school gate, timing himself on his phone. Today he had to stop by Sis Tong's pub. It wasn't his scheduled shift, but losing four hundred yuan for skipping the weekend still stung. He planned to make up both days by working Monday and Tuesday back-to-back. Seven consecutive nights—such was the resolve of a world-saving time traveler.

He caught the South-District shuttle just in time. Air-conditioning hummed, and the after-school chatter was louder though the bus was half-empty. Yuanyue dismissed students after the last elective; some stayed for clubs, most were whisked away by parents to cram school or pricey enrichment classes. Hashimoto was absent—he belonged to the cram-school battalion.

Linmen followed a Newman-style system: university admission was by application. A unified exam existed, yet it carried nowhere near the crushing weight of the old gaokao. Extracurricular excellence, relevant coursework, and glowing recommendations were what mattered. On paper it escaped the sea of exam drills; in practice the competition simply shifted, dragging parents into the fray—spectacular cross-fire of gods and demons.

The South-District line saw the heaviest afternoon ridership for a simple reason: most families here couldn't afford those expensive classes, so the kids just went home. When they did scrape together the money, it was by cinching several belt holes tighter. Yan's lot was worse—after repelling Modifiers all day, the transmigrator still had to clock in for rent money.

He suddenly recalled a meme from his past life: the Joker and Harley Quinn grocery shopping after a long day of fighting Batman. Not everyone could be Bruce Wayne.

Auntie Ye, oh Auntie Ye... if Ye Shiyu hadn't barged into my room at midnight, I'd still be happily mooching off you.

Yan shook his head, popped in his Bluetooth earbuds, and queued up some music. On the empty seat beside him, a round black cat sat with regal poise—Meow-chan. It had appeared, as usual, ready for a debrief on the Modifier incident, but Yan scooped the plump cat up without preamble.

"Meow~"

He looked into Meow-chan's wide eyes and declared, "Let me pet you for a sec."

"Meow?"

A few streets away from Yan's rented flat, the South District's storefronts were just opening. In front of a tasteful European-style pub hung a wooden sign: Tong Yao. A striking woman with red hair tied back was carrying tables and chairs outside. A black denim jacket over a white shirt tucked into slim jeans gave her an easy, careless grace.

After setting down a couple of tables she leaned against one, resting. A flip-top lighter danced across the fingers of her left hand. She tilted her head; crimson bangs slid across one eye. The eye that showed carried a listless glint—life was okay, death would also do. She rubbed the metal hoop in her earlobe, about to call the kid who usually helped, then remembered he didn't work Mondays. The rest of the staff wouldn't arrive for another hour.

"Mm."

Well, better this way.

She lowered her head, a slim cigarette between her lips.

Click.

The lighter sparked, a blue flame blooming.

Just as the tobacco was about to catch, a hand shot out and plucked the cigarette from her mouth. The woman's battle-worn eyes flared; one eyebrow arched in surprise. She turned to see a handsome boy in a tracksuit twirling the cigarette between his fingers.

"Sis Tong, didn't you swear off these? Said you quit, then sneak one the minute I'm gone?"

The woman in front of him was Yan Huan's boss, Tong Ying-ying—whom he always called Sis Tong. A grown-up who'd stopped being fun.

"Tch. You actually believed an adult?" Tong Ying-ying replied, unruffled. She snapped the lighter shut and studied the boy she hadn't seen all weekend.

Crossing her long legs, she asked, "Why rush here after class? And what's with the cosplay-athlete outfit?"

"I came straight from school—didn't have time to change."

"What's the hurry?"

"Missed you, Sis Tong."

"Ha. You missed the four hundred they docked you for the weekend, more like."

Yan Huan blinked, then smiled. "I really came to see you—truer than pearls. Believe me, Tong sis."

Tong Yingying didn't bother exposing his act. She rose and walked deeper into the dimly lit bar. "Locker room first—change clothes, then set up the tables and chairs."

That was his cue to clock in.

Yan Huan glanced at the cigarette she'd just had between her lips, realized what it meant, and followed her inside.

"Come on, Tong sis, it's not even five."

She shuffled behind the bar without much energy, moving on autopilot to grab glasses and ice. Without looking, she ran pale fingers along the bottles lined up on the back shelf, as though listening for the one that wanted to be chosen. The hand stopped at an already-open bottle of fruit-candy whisky—Allan 10-year.

"I'm in a lousy mood. Just got up; figured a drink would wake me."

She poured as she spoke—rare for her to explain anything to Yan Huan.

"Wake you up? Fat chance."

He tossed the lipstick-stained cigarette into the trash and leaned over the counter. "So what's bugging you? Tell me."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because it'll cheer me up."

"Salary docked—two hundred."

Tong Yingying didn't even look at him. The cold verdict nearly cracked his smile.

"I'm sorry, Tong sis."

"Dumb monkey—don't you know this month's pay hasn't even been issued yet? Trying to climb over me?"

They were only joking; they always bickered. After nearly a year here Yan Huan knew her well. Aside from a few bad habits she had no airs, and she paid generously.

"Still, Tong sis, from experience: the fastest way to feel worse is to keep it inside."

"From my experience," she said, swirling the glass so the ice spheres danced like crystal balls, "telling someone your sorrows just hands them a knife for later."

She took a sip, exhaled, and waved him off.

"Go change. You skipped three shifts last weekend and left the boss running around. This week I'm wringing you dry."

"Tong sis, even monkeys have rights."

Yan Huan surrendered pitifully. In his head he gave her the finger and used the nickname he'd coined back when they first met—Nan Qu Yu Qian—South District' answer to the comedian who smokes, drinks, and sports a perm.

Though she'd since quit smoking and perms, she'd never give up the bottle. Yan Huan suspected she opened the bar just to have an excuse to drink on the job.

Seeing the boss already sampling the wares, Yan Huan headed to the back to change: white shirt, black slacks, brown waistcoat.

While he was dressing, voices drifted in from the bar.

"Afternoon, Tong sis!"

"Tong sis, you're starting early today!"

"Bad mood. A drink'll fix it."

Yan Huan stepped out to find a guy and girl leaning on the counter, chatting with Tong Yingying as she twirled her glass. Both were students from the community college across the district: Tian Li and Guan Rong, a couple who also worked here. Guan had a beautiful singing voice and was the resident vocalist; Tian mixed cocktails customers loved, though Tong rarely drank his concoctions—she preferred her own recipes.

"Xiao Huan, it's Monday—aren't you off?"

"No rest today, Guan sis. Making up shifts."

"Well, look at you—handsomer every weekend. Tsk tsk tsk."

"Really?" Must be the Charm Fragments kicking in.

By now Tong Yingying had downed the whisky and reached for the bottle again. Tian Li watched his base liquor disappear, too timid to protest—she was the boss.

After small talk, it was time to work. Yan Huan briskly set out stools; Tian and Guan changed and began tidying the bar. Tong Yingying took bottle and glass to a corner table and played the hands-off proprietor.

Each time Yan Huan passed through the back room he saw her drinking more than usual, one thumb flying over her phone. At first he worried—starting this early was abnormal—but as night fell the street-front trade picked up. Two orders of caramel pudding later, he was too busy to worry. In the kitchen he whisked egg until it smoked. Exhausting, yes, but not without perks; at least the pudding he'd once made for Sakuramiya Hitomi and Ye Shiyu had turned out exceptional.

South District nights were never quiet. Neon bled into car horns and restaurant steam, turning the streets loud and chaotic. Venture into the alleys alone and you'd likely trigger a hidden event. Fortunately, Linmen had strict gun laws; you wouldn't suddenly feel something hard pressed to your back while your wallet and phone vanished, followed by the charming question: "Do you like Uncle's big pistol?"

Guan Rong strummed her guitar and sang, weaving a mellow atmosphere. Meanwhile Tong Yingying had slipped from her corner. In the corridor leading to the restroom she staggered, pale, one hand on the wall. She'd overdone it.

Inside the single-occupancy restroom, face flushed from alcohol or the phone's glow, she doubled over the toilet. Her stomach lurched; she gagged. The phone slipped from her grasp, screen lighting up the chat history.

Li Xiumei (Mom):

"."

"I don't care—I already arranged it. Get back here and meet him. He's a fine catch; coming to see you is a favor, and you're still picky every day."

"Not coming. You go if you want to."

"Almost thirty and still irresponsible. Look at you! If you don't marry soon I'll bash my head against the wall. Get home now!"

"He's way older—what blind date? Stuff it. You want to date him, you go."

"Age gap isn't a problem; older men have better prospects, they're considerate."

"I need his prospects? Am I broke? I'd rather find someone ten years younger—call me sis, strong and useful. Why would I need his consideration? Get lost! I said no!"

"How dare you talk to your mother like that?"

"Sorry, not sorry."

"."

The screen auto-locked; darkness swallowed the rest of the messages. Tong Yingying clutched her mouth, dry heaving. Hundreds more texts lay below, from her mother and well-meaning relatives she wanted to block forever.

Gurgle.

As she retched, a serpentine tattoo writhed beneath her clothes, as though responding to her mood. It slithered along her arm and slid out between her fingers, dropping to the floor— a tiny, snow-white cobra.

It flicked its forked tongue, sizing up the woman before it with what looked like satisfaction.

[Of all the candidates I've considered, you're the only one who can bear my power.]

[Woman, do you want to become the protagonist of this world? Do you want to satisfy your filthy desires? Do you want to possess everything you've ever craved?]

The phantom voice whispered in her ear, making Tong Yingying freeze.

[Become my host. Let me share with you the power to manipulate sensations - all sensations.]

[Pleasure, pain, anything you can imagine. Everything.]

[As long as you use me, I'll grant all your wishes.]

[Don't be afraid, don't doubt. I'll help you.]

Tong Yingying looked up at the semi-transparent creature standing upright beside her - something serpentine yet not quite a snake. The voice in her head was coming from this thing?

The phantom white serpent flicked its tongue again, crackling with what looked like constant electrical currents running through its body.

Tong Yingying opened her mouth, then muttered, "I must be drunk. Seeing things again, haha. If I'm drunk, then even snakes - the thing I'm most afraid of..."

The white serpent watched Tong Yingying's fists slowly clench, and suddenly felt a terrible premonition.

[Shit!]

It tried to turn and flee, but Tong Yingying, already on the edge of rage, sprang up and slammed her foot down with a furious face.

"Die, all of you!"

Boom!

With that devastating kick, the phantom white serpent vanished like the hallucination it claimed to be, leaving no trace behind.

(End of Chapter)