Rover stood before the City Hall's entrance—a striking fusion of elegance and modern design. Twin copper doors, muted and polished, gleamed with quiet pride.
On the sides, trees with cloud-like lavender foliage framed the building, their softness contrasting the deep greys and browns of the architecture. Beneath her feet, the polished floor shimmered faintly, reflecting clean lines and subtle authority.
With cautious steps, she entered the City Hall.
Inside, a contemplative stillness filled the air, demanding reverence. The wide, dark floor, etched with subtle geometric patterns, led the eye to a red coral-toned bonsai, its delicate branches arching over stylized rocks.
A softly glowing ring circled the tree, giving it an otherworldly presence.
Dark grey walls, inset with softly lit alcoves and panels, hinted at hidden technology or curated art. Recessed lights above cast warm beams, bathing the bonsai in a refined, solemn glow.
Near the display, a receptionist waited. "Please, follow me," she said politely, guiding Rover down a grand corridor.
The path ahead was a narrow strip, a blend of nature and design. Dark polished wood filled the path, its surface reflecting pale highlights and edged with faint glowing lines hinting at sophisticated tech.
Emerald bamboo stood tall on either side, filtering sunlight into patches of green and gold. Between the steps rose a towering wall of overlapping grey and white panels—sharp, geometric, and imposing.
After a short walk, they entered an ornate chamber bathed in soft ambient light. At the far end, a glowing screen or force field shimmered behind a raised platform holding a complex, almost sacred device.
Dark, scaled columns rose silently beside it, their bases cradling pools of cyan light that mirrored the room's dim glow.
A wide, dark aisle edged in gold stretched across the gleaming floor, leading to the centerpiece. Low tables and sleek chairs were scattered about—spaces for quiet reflection or serious discussion.
The room radiated technological sophistication, quiet authority, and calm purpose.
The hall stood empty, the silence heavy and eerie.
"Kindly have a seat," the receptionist said, gesturing to a chair. "Lady Sanhua will be with you shortly."
Rover obeyed, sitting quietly as her gaze swept the chamber. Unease settled—not fear, but the familiar feeling of something unseen lingering just out of reach.
Before long, the doors opened, and a woman entered with quiet grace—this ice lady was the Magistrate's bodyguard: Sanhua.
Lean and agile, she wore a sleek monochrome outfit: short silver-grey hair framing sharp, ruby-like eyes beneath a dark beret.
Her attire combined a sleeveless black top and layered skirt, complemented by tall boots and gloves. A katana hung at her hip. Rover rose to greet her as Sanhua's gaze settled steadily upon her.
The Tacet Mark embedded in Sanhua's right eye flickered faintly, casting a brief glow as she studied Rover. Something flashed—recognition? Surprise?—but it passed quickly, replaced by a calm, polite smile.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Sanhua said, her voice measured. "I apologize for the delay. My name is Sanhua, bodyguard to Madam Magistrate."
"Rover," she introduced herself simply.
As she had half-expected, Sanhua offered a polite nod before revealing, "I regret to inform you that Madam Magistrate is currently away."
She exhaled softly, apologetic. "Before her departure, however, she instructed me to deliver these tokens and a welcome gift on her behalf."
Without running any tests or seeking confirmation, she handed over the items—which included a sundial, a mangosteen, a piece of candy of some sort, and a leaf emitting odd frequencies.
'Just like that, huh?' The ease made Rover pause "Are you sure I'm the one you've been looking for?" she asked, watching her intently.
Sanhua's gaze didn't waver. "Your resonance is impressive—truly exceptional," she said calmly, a subtle certainty in her tone.
Rover understood then. Sanhua had used a technique earlier—likely the same that filtered the many visitors outside.
"I heard many people were... politely asked to leave," Rover remarked, voice neutral.
Sanhua sighed softly. "Regarding that..." She paused, lifting her hand.
The Tacet Mark flickered softly as she activated it again. "My eyes can see the frequencies of all living beings," she explained. "Or rather, those 'frequencies' are the only things I see."
Her gaze narrowed slightly. "You... share the same frequency as Madam Magistrate."
Rover paused. "The same frequency?" Her brow lifted.
Curious, she added, "What does my frequency look like?"
Sanhua smiled gently. "You appear undistorted and authentic—in your original form."
"Undistorted?" Rover repeated, pondering.
"Apologies," Sanhua said with a soft laugh. "Perhaps my words aren't perfect. What I mean is—you and Madam Magistrate appear undistorted to me." She searched for the right words. "In my eyes, you are exactly as you are."
Rover's gaze sharpened, intrigued. "And the others?"
Sanhua's smile dimmed. "They all look... different."
Her curiosity piqued, Rover quietly wondering, 'I wonder how his frequency looks.'
She looked at Sanhua, then hesitantly, she asked. "Excuse me, may I ask something off topic?"
"Go ahead," Sanhua nodded.
"There's someone else besides me who might be the special guest," Rover said.
Sanhua blinked. "Is it the man Midnight Ranger Yangyang found?"
"Yes," Rover confirmed.
Sanhua's gaze hardened. "I don't think he's the special guest."
"How can you be sure?" Rover asked, raising a brow.
"I've heard he had just awakened, and reports say he's very strange," Sanhua replied, having heard rumors. Still, she was certain he wasn't the guest.
"Can't argue with that." Rover accepted the answer but added, "Can you check his frequency when you get a chance?"
Sanhua nodded. "An easy task."
They then shifted focus back as Sanhua politely extended her hand. "May I see your terminal?"
Rover handed it over. Sanhua interfaced with it quickly, uploading documents, clearances, and encrypted files. Moments later, she returned it.
"I've updated your access credentials," she explained. "Your clearance now ranks just below the Magistrate herself."
Rover blinked, surprised by the sudden privilege.
Sanhua smiled at the reaction. "Accommodations have also been prepared for you here in City Hall. You're welcome to stay as long as necessary. We'll be ready to receive you anytime."
Rover nodded slowly, noting how much more complex this meeting had become than she expected. As she prepared to leave, she asked, "Can you prepare another room for that man [Kyorin]? I doubt he has a place to stay."
Sanhua agreed promptly. "Very well."
Rover gave a grateful nod, then with nothing more to say, she turned and retraced her steps through the marble-lined hallways. The still air echoed faintly with her footsteps.
Then, her ears twitched at a sound.
A faint clacking reached her ears. Subtle at first, then distinct. Curious, Rover slowed and followed it to a side passage.
Behind an unmarked door, the noise grew clearer: the crisp clacking of Weiqi stones falling on a board, punctuated by contemplative silence.
She raised her hand to knock, knuckles tapping lightly against polished wood.
No response.
'Perhaps they're simply absorbed in their game,' she thought. The rhythm continued—stone after stone, like echoes of distant thoughts.
An odd urge stirred—a quiet invitation to join the game.
Driven by curiosity, she tried the handle, gently pressing against the door. But it didn't budge. The heavy door remained firmly closed, unmoved by her efforts.
Rover paused, her hand resting briefly on the cool surface. The rhythmic clacking inside continued, as steady and detached as before—the private world of its unseen players undisturbed.
"I shouldn't keep those two waiting," Rover muttered, thinking of Yangyang and Chixia as she turned away. She also wanted to check on Kyorin.
Behind the door that refused to open, the game of Weiqi continued.
***
"Strange..."
Kyorin's voice echoed in the familiar void as his eyes settled on the Crimson Lotus—Yiliang.
Around it, brittle stems lay lifeless, decaying without bud or bloom. Yet the Yiliang stood tall, its thick stem and layered petals defying time, enduring where others had withered.
Its resilience was unmatched, rising above the decay. Watching it, Kyorin mused, 'What does a lotus mean?'
There was no answer—only silence, or rather, too many answers. Symbolically, it could mean many things, but one word often followed it: ascension.
He extended his hands toward the Yiliang, but like a lotus untouched by mud, it remained beyond his reach—and the mud here, was him.
Suddenly, a saying echoed in his mind: "Beautiful things are meant to be admired from afar, not possessed."
With that musing, Kyorin pulled his hands back and instead stepped in a little closer—only to watch. This time, it worked.
He didn't attempt to touch it. He simply examined it—the stem, the leaves, the petals—and finally, the core of the lotus, where a soft glimmer pulsed faintly.
"What is that—" Kyorin barely breathed as something suddenly shot up from the center. "Whoa—"
He leaned his head back, dodging the thing as his hands reacted on instinct and caught it. "A sword?"
He murmured, now holding a sleek black blade. Sliding it free of its scabbard, he found an ordinary sword—its metal glinting—with a lotus insignia engraved near the point where blade and hilt met.
He gave it a swing.
'Light,' he thought, and like a child discovering a new toy, he began testing it out—swinging it this way and that. But something felt off.
'This doesn't feel the same,' he grumbled, recalling the way he'd fought that strange Tacet Discord earlier.
His movements now felt scattered, lacking any real purpose or direction. It was like he was just flailing the sword around without intention.
Then, with more patience this time, Kyorin attempted to mirror those earlier motions, allowing instinct to take over as Fibonacci-like spirals carved through the empty air.
The sword's tip, like the stem of a lotus reaching for sunlight above murky waters, moved in tune with wherever Kyorin imagined the sun—his target—to be.
"This is fun," Kyorin mumbled, genuinely grinning with glee—but then a thought struck him. 'Wait… can I take it out?'
Just as the question crossed his mind, the void around him began to fracture—and with a mental snap, his consciousness yanked itself back to reality.
***
Blink—blink.
His eyelids fluttered open like confused butterflies. Above him loomed a ceiling so white it could blind a snowman, while a wave of medicinal funk charged up his nostrils and made him groan like a disgruntled walrus.
'I don't remember being here earlier,' he mused, attempting to sit up—only to freeze like a deer in headlights as he realized he was being fondled by something... or several somethings.
He snapped his eyes ahead.
A dozen surgeons stood there, dressed like they were ready for a medical flash mob, enthusiastically undressing him like a banana at a smoothie bar.
"HEY-HEY-HEY! WHAT IS THIS?!" Kyorin squawked, flailing like a fish out of water as the doctors tried to calm him down. "I don't swing that way! Unhand me!"
He flailed an arm—only to suddenly pause. His fingers curled tightly around something which sent slight shivers down his spine.
Momentarily, he halted, and brought the tiny object closer for a better look—his eyes gradually widening as he recognized it.
It was the sword from earlier—but not as it had been. It was sheathed in the same scabbard, yes… only now it had shrunk down to the size of a hairpin.
"Hey, what is that?" one of the surgeons asked, noticing the ornament.
"I-It's a hairpin," Kyorin answered quickly, albeit stammering in the process.
"Where did you get that?" another asked, squinting.
"It was hidden in my robe," Kyorin replied without missing a beat.
"Tch, yeah right," a third surgeon scoffed, clearly not buying it. "Besides, that looks like a tiny sword."
Trying to act casual, Kyorin reached up and stuck the miniature blade into his hair. "No really—see? Perfect for keeping my hair up."
"Still, it's made of metal," another muttered, then extended a hand. "Hand it over."
Kyorin hesitated, and the surgeon tried to reassure him. "You can have it back after we finish treating your injuries."
"But I am fine," Kyorin said matter-of-factly, feeling no pain from earlier, even his arms and leg felt alright.
"That's exactly the problem," the surgeon replied flatly.
"Based on what happened to you, you should've lost an arm—and maybe even a leg," the surgeon explained, clearly baffled by Kyorin's condition.
"Yet somehow, the moment we aligned the injuries, your body just started regenerating connective tissue on its own," another added, glancing down at the report before narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Kyorin.
At that gaze, Kyorin bolted upright and made a break for it. "Yeah—nope! I know exactly what kind of peoples you are!"
Panic shot through him, his face aghast. He could already imagine being turned into some kind of medical test subject.
As he dashed down the hallway, the surgeons gave chase behind him, shouting:
"Stop him!"
"Catch that guy!"
"If you cooperate, we'll give you candy!"
Yeah... That bribe wasn't going to work—what did they think he was, a kid?
Kyorin kept running, feet pounding against the marbled floor as he darted through hallways, turning corners with reckless speed.
His breath came in quick bursts, hair whipping past his eyes. He didn't slow, didn't dare even glance back.
He would've kept going—relentlessly, endlessly—if not for the sudden leg that swept out from around a turn which he barely had any time to react.
His body pitched off balance, but he reacted fast—twisting midair and flipping into a rough somersault. He managed to land on crouched feet, barely, before toppling backward onto the floor.
As he blinked up at the figure who'd intercepted him, he stammered, breathless, "R-Rover?"
Rover offered a relieved smile. "Phew, you're still kicking."
"There he is!"
The shout rang out as Kyorin spotted the approaching surgeons. Without a second thought, he grabbed Rover's wrist and bolted again—dragging her along. Rover ran with him but blinked in confusion. "Why are we running?"
"This place is full of mad scientists!" Kyorin managed to gasped, his breath ragged.
Rover's eyes narrowed slightly as she dug her heels into the ground, forcing Kyorin to stop with a sharp jolt. She flatly told him, "You're overreacting."
"No, I swear," Kyorin insisted, still panting. He tried to explain how the men had nearly stripped him and how they talked about his recovery like he was some kind of specimen.
"They definitely don't have good intentions," he added, bracing his hands on his knees to catch his breath. Then, between gasps, he asked, "So how did you get kidnapped?"
Rover facepalmed and sighed. "This is the Huaxu Academy. The place where Baizhi works."
"..."
Kyorin gripped her shoulders, eyes sharp with intensity as he asked, "How much?"
Rover blinked. "What?"
"How much did they bribe you?" he demanded, voice low but serious.
"What are you even—?" Rover stared at him, clearly thrown by the accusation. "Kyorin, calm down. You're probably just overreacting after waking up to… whatever bizarre mess that was."
"No, listen to me—" he began, but before he could finish, a firm tap landed on his shoulder.
He stiffened, turning to see the surgeons had finally caught up. They were winded, masks slightly askew, breath hissing through their teeth as one of them stepped forward and said, voice firm, "Now, young man, you listen to us."
Kyorin instinctively stepped behind Rover, his skin crawling as he hissed, "I'm a man. I'm not interested in mingling like that with other men…" His eyes remained fixed warily on the surgeons—he still wasn't convinced of their innocence.
Rover sighed, glancing at the medical team. "Let me handle this."
The surgeons exchanged looks, then gave her a nod. "Please, if you can."
Rover turned back to Kyorin and began explaining everything—what had happened, where they were, and why things had unfolded the way they did.
Ten minutes later, Kyorin finally seemed to settle down, though his expression dimmed slightly. "So… you're the special guest," he muttered, his tone laced with a faint note of disappointment.
Rover caught the change immediately. "Yes, but…" She paused, tilting her head. "You sound a little down about that. Why?"
"It's nothing, just…" Kyorin mumbled, his gaze drifting to the floor, a hint of embarrassment washing over his face.
'Would it sound like I'm hitting on her if I say something like, "I'm worried about you?" Yeah, probably.' He hesitated, words tangled in his mind, as though he were carefully considering how much to share.
Almost reluctantly, he finally muttered, "I just thought… your life might get hectic. And I would rather you take things slow—since you've also lost your memory."
Rover blinked—certainly, this was the first time anyone had told her to take things slow after her memory loss. A soft smile touched her lips before she replied, "Do not worry, I am doing this for myself too."
Then, without warning, she shoved Kyorin toward the surgeons. He barely had time to react before their hands seized him, holding him firmly. His eyes widened in disbelief, flashing Rover a betrayed look that clearly screamed: 'traitor.'
Rover closed her eyes briefly, a sweet smile playing on her lips. "You should also do something for yourself. Maybe start with a checkup—just to be safe."
"Thank you, Lady," one of the surgeons said, practically beaming as they hoisted Kyorin off the ground like he was a prized specimen.
Rover watched as Kyorin was dragged back to the operation room, then headed off for her own physical examination, just as Baizhi had instructed.
Since arriving at the academy, she'd been juggling a lot of odd jobs—honestly, just like Kyorin had said, things had gotten pretty hectic.
Still, she kept pushing forward. She knew this was a necessary step to help her piece together her forgotten past.
Once Kyorin was settled onto the operating table, the surgeons administered a strong dose of anesthetic designed for a Resonator—his muscles were too tense.
As the anesthesia began to take effect and he was prepared for surgery, the surgeons exchanged quick, amused glances.
One rasped behind the mask, "HOLY—A donkey's tool."
Another added in a low whistle, "Quite the speciment."
A third softly remarked, "Guess he wasn't lying when he said he's a man."
A quiet ripple of laughter passed among them—half envy, half something unreadable—before they resumed their work with clinical detachment.
To be continued...