From the Garden, I headed straight home.

  I had, of course, volunteered to act as bait for Mendoza, but I didn’t want to make it too obvious. Truthfully, it was like pying with fire, you py too long, and you get burned. So no cafes today.

  The protective AI responded to my presence immediately. I watched the lenses shift beneath the transparent shell of the sphere. The window lit up with a warm evening glow, though I still felt like it was daytime inside, so I switched the view to the sea.

  The craving for action that had fred up in the Garden hadn’t vanished, but it had dimmed significantly, becoming something I could control.

  I picked up my tablet and dived into the library, looking for dual-component techniques: Fire-Fist.

  I’d already done this search at Bck Lotus, so this wasn’t my first go.

  The total came to 1,417 techniques. I enabled sorting by quality, orange and red only, excluding ultimates, and filtered for second and third-stager techniques.

  That brought the list down to a manageable 23.

  Strangely enough, Lotus had more techniques. About half of the ones here were the same i've seen home; the rest were unfamiliar. I started with those.

  Fist techniques were straightforward. The standard silver fist projection flying in a straight line and exploding on impact. The tone of the projection could vary slightly depending on the technique and the cultivator. But once Fire was added, the colour shifted much more dramatically. There were blue, white, yellow, red fists. They were still semi-transparent, but no longer just tinted, they bore full colour.

  The explosion of such a projection came with a burst of fme. Not always strong or fshy. It was either spectacle or effectiveness. If the fme clung to a surface or burned through it instantly, the damage was far greater than if the fire simply fred upward into the air.

  I watched one video after another, logging such details.

  I couldn’t assess the internal qi flow or channel mechanics, not until I purchased the technique, but the external form was visible on the footage. Most of the techniques were too theatrical, full of unnecessary movements, poses that looked impressive but cost precious time.

  I needed something else. I wanted the shortest possible dey between technique initiation and projection release. Any technique that took more than a few seconds went straight to the trash. That kind of build-up was only justifiable for ultimates. I was after rapid activation, minimal external motion, no performance.

  And finally, I found one.

  Blue Fme Hook. Quite literally another version of my own Hook.

  On screen — a cadet in light armour, barely any wind-up. One step. A half-turn of the torso. The technique released along an arc, a familiar motion, the exact one I used in my own Hook. But this version's projection wasn’t silver, it was translucent blue, glowing from within like gas fire, like the jet fme.

  The projection curved through the air and struck the mannequin target from the side. It detonated in a fsh, leaving a scorched dent on the surface.

  It looked effective, but I had to remind myself that this was a promo, designed to appeal to buyers. I still had questions about the materials the mannequin was made of.

  Still, this was a good pce to pause and focus.

  I repyed the footage. Then again. After that, I went into the comments section and jotted down names. I searched those names by ranking, highlighted the top performers, then dug into the tournament archives and searched by their names. I found recordings of their matches and brought them up on a false window screen.

  This would let me evaluate the technique’s performance against defensive formations while freeing up my hands to make food. Because all of that search work, while brief on paper, had eaten up the better part of the evening, and I needed to restore some lost calories.

  Honestly, the comparison wasn’t very helpful. Most cadets didn’t rely on a single technique, so figuring out exactly how Blue Fme Hook fared against formations was impossible. They all used lots of Fire.

  In general, I could see fire cut through formations faster and more effectively than any other Qi, even more than Point Qi. Still, it was entirely possible those cadets had foundations that enhanced Fire, so I was left with a pile of new questions and not many answers.

  While the cadets 'beyond the window' flung deadly qi at each other, I unpacked a vacuum-sealed sad and pan-finished a batch of frozen cutlets. It all went down with gin and cherry juice...

  Gin recommended by Soro.

  I gnced over at the central node of the security system and saw the lenses shift beneath its transparent surface. One focused on the door.

  "Jake Sullivan?" said an unfamiliar voice from the door chime. "May we speak?"

  "I’d like to know who I’m dealing with first."

  "Cadet Lucian Mares. Here’s my card."

  A message pinged in my inbox — Mares’s profile.

  First stage?

  What could he want with me? Was he trying to make a strategic connection? I could understand that from second-periods. But first-year? What was I supposed to gain from this?

  Something about it smelled wrong. Mares could easily be a demon in disguise.

  I looked again at the security node, then remembered the beacon.

  Better safe than sorry.

  I opened the device menu in the interface and tapped the holographic ‘attention’ button.

  "So, what do you want, Mares?"

  "I have information regarding the death of your friend, Tami Soro."

  Bloody hell, this was suspicious as fuck.

  If I opened that door, would someone try to kill me?

  What the hell was I supposed to do?

  Well, at the very least — activate Thousand Sparks, you idiot!

  "Hah, so you really do know about us!" Mares ughed.

  "Us?"

  "The demons. My real name is Xthragol Zun-Karreth Draskl."

  I froze.

  This was absurd. Surreal. Maybe there was something in the sad… or the cutlets?

  No! The bracelet would’ve reacted, and my foundation should protect me from that sort of thing. Which meant… there really was a demon standing outside my door. And he’d just admitted it.

  But a demon wouldn’t expose himself like that for nothing. After a confession like that, only a suicide mission made sense—

  Which wouldn't be a problem for him. And if he did go out, he'd take me with him.

  Novak was a fool to send me here as some kind of demon expert, because right now, I had no idea what to say. I had no idea how I was supposed to react.

  Too te to react anyway. He’d already read everything he needed from my silence.

  I inhaled. Slowly. Deeply.

  "I realise this might sound... complicated." The demon’s voice was still cheerful. "I just need a few minutes. No threats. No pressure. Quite the opposite! I come with an offer of peace."

  Peace? After the demons killed Soro?

  "I understand," he went on, as if reading my thoughts, "that after Soro’s death, it sounds a little presumptuous. But that’s exactly why I came to you, not Mendoza."

  Not because you’re pnning to kill me instead?

  What was he expecting? I literally couldn’t let him in. That would be the pinnacle of idiocy. Surely he didn’t think I would actually open the door...

  Then again, maybe he wasn’t expecting me to. Maybe he was waiting for someone I’d call. Mendoza? One of the senior students?

  What could he possibly have to offer against them? Demons were capped at Third Tier. Even if he had a damn nuclear warhead —

  Unless he had a damn nuclear warhead.

  "Can you scan him?" I asked the security AI.

  "The door obstructs the scanners," device responded.

  I had no idea what this demon wanted. But I found it hard to believe he actually intended to get inside. If that was the goal, he could have stayed hidden. Made up a better story. Chosen a more sympathetic body, a pretty girl, maybe.

  It almost felt like the bastard had done everything possible to make sure I didn’t let him in.

  My interface lit up with an incoming call from Mendoza. I accepted.

  “Did I hear that right? A demon?!” she asked, clearly stunned.

  “Yeah…” I replied.

  “Stall him. Keep him talking. Backup’s on the way!”

  “Come on, Sullivan, open the door. I don’t bite,” the demon continued, mocking me through the intercom.

  I finally made my decision. If the demon wanted to surprise me, I’d return the favour.

  “Don’t you dare!” Mendoza snapped.

  “Easy there. Just watch and learn,” I told her. “It’s open, Extragol. Come on in,” I said him.

  “What are you doing?!” Mendoza shouted in my ear.

  “Xthragol,” the demon corrected gently.

  It took a whole three seconds for the door to open. Just long enough for me to realise I’d caught him off guard too.

  In that same stretch of time, Mendoza managed to deliver an angry lecture at full volume.

  I decided not to reply.

  Mares-Xthragol was tall. Taller than me, though narrower in the shoulders. His face was long, almost featureless. But something about it felt... wrong. Off. Foreign.

  Maybe it was just my paranoia. Demons were masters of blending in. You couldn’t pick them out of a crowd on sight alone.

  I set out a second gss, spshed in some gin, topped it with juice, and slid it across the table to my ‘guest.’

  That made him visibly more cautious.

  He turned the gss in his hands, sniffed it, and then returned it.

  The bastard was afraid.

  “I’m not ready for that level of openness just yet,” he said with a smile, the kind people wear when they think they’ve just figured you out, and handed the gss back.

  “It’s just gin and juice. You saw me pour it.”

  He didn’t buy it. Waved it off.

  “Let’s not…” He gnced around, his gaze pausing on the central node of the security AI, then shifting to the table and chairs. He pulled out an unused chair and sat. “Besides, alcohol’s not recommended at First Stage.”

  I sat across from him, sipping my own drink.

  “Does it matter? That body’s going to be retired after our little chat anyway,” I muttered.

  We both focused on each other’s faces, trying to read one another. The silence stretching tight between us.

  And then, surprisingly, it was Mendoza who spoke first.

  "I've got scans of his body from your AI," Mendoza said in my ear. "There's a miniature explosive device embedded at the base of his skull. Not strong enough to harm you, but it'll definitely take him out."

  "Then why the whole performance?" I asked aloud.

  "I'm a peace envoy," the demon replied.

  I arched an eyebrow and let out a short ugh.

  "And I'm President of Earth."

  "No, seriously. Do you know what we’re doing here?" the demon asked.

  "Enlighten me."

  "Our mission is to mark the most valuable targets for future strikes and plunder, when the main cn forces arrive. We’re interested in resources. That’s all."

  "And mass murder," I added.

  "Harvest formations," he nodded. "That’s part of resource collection too, they extract qi from living organisms and store it in synthetic crystals."

  "And this is your idea of peace?"

  "Five hundred years is a long time," he said. "I forgot my mother’s face by the second century. I don’t even remember my own. The ones who arrive here in forty years will be strangers to me."

  "Stranger of your, demon kind." I corrected him.

  "Don’t nitpick. Do you honestly believe we’re literal demons from the depths of hell?" he asked, wearing a sceptical little smile.

  "You do a lot to uphold the brand," I shot back. "I believe you’re backstabbing bastards who can’t be trusted."

  "And yet, here we are. Sitting at the same table, having a conversation! That’s progress. We can build a working dialogue!" the demon insisted.

  MaksymPachesiuk