When Chu Cheng saw Chen Meiyue standing at his door, his heart skipped a beat.
His first instinct was panic—was he exposed? Could it be that someone had discovered his remote control of a cross-dressing rich second-generation superhero in another world, flying around at midnight?
But after a brief moment of analysis, he shook the thought off. Too abstract, he reasoned. A game house that remotely controls transdimensional heroes? Even Gotham's most paranoid minds wouldn't leap to that conclusion without evidence. It just wasn't within the bounds of an ordinary person's mental circuitry.
More likely, she was here about the mysterious incident at school yesterday.
And yet… his guess, while not wrong, was not quite right either.
"Want to come in and sit?" Chu Cheng asked with feigned calm, swallowing the second half of the sentence: 'My place is pretty big.'
"Nope, this is official business." Chen Meiyue flashed a small grin. "I'll visit your 'little brother's house' some other day when I'm off duty. But not today."
"So... today is about?"
"Our unit just wrapped up an assignment nearby and passed through this district. Headquarters has something they want to discuss with you," she explained, her tone unusually casual. "They asked us to escort you back. You free?"
They're asking for me by name?
That sent an unmistakable ripple through Chu Cheng's mind. Headquarters didn't usually get involved over routine school incidents. What exactly had he gotten himself tangled in?
Still, Chu Cheng played it cool. "Got it. Give me a minute to change."
He headed back into his room, changed quickly, and re-emerged, following Meiyue down the stairs.
A black van idled at the curb, and leaning against it—just like a noir detective in a rain-soaked Gotham alley—stood the bald-headed Luo Yajun, cigarette in hand. When he saw Chu Cheng, he gave a wolfish grin.
"We meet again," he said, offering a cigarette.
"No thanks, I don't smoke," Chu Cheng declined.
"Suit yourself. Just saying—you and I might see a lot more of each other in the future."
Chu Cheng didn't miss the implication, but chose not to bite. "Still not smoking," he replied dryly.
No further explanation came from Luo or Chen. They simply exchanged knowing smiles and ushered him into the van.
Inside, the innocent-looking Tang Li sat with her ever-present tablet, stylus in hand. She glanced up and greeted Chu Cheng with a polite nod.
To be honest, Tang Li was beautiful in an effortless way. On any school campus, she'd easily qualify as school flower material. But beauty—like power—was often defined by comparison.
And against Chen Meiyue?
It wasn't even close.
Tang Li, while probably approaching peak A-level and brushing B-level strength, was leagues behind Meiyue, a certified E-level powerhouse. The kind of gap that couldn't be crossed just by effort or training. It was a difference in species, almost.
Heroes fall for mountains. Rarely for rivers. There was no shame in it—just reality. Realm trumps all.
As the van rolled out, Chu Cheng found a seat in the back. Yajun resumed humming a low tune from the passenger seat. Tang Li, still engrossed in her work, traced notes on her screen. Meiyue crossed her legs elegantly and flipped through a stack of documents with perfect poise.
Wait a minute…
Who's driving?
Chu Cheng blinked.
Only then did he notice the young man at the wheel: messy black hair, skin so pale he looked photosensitive, and sunken eyes with rings darker than a Gotham vigilante's cowl. The man looked like he hadn't slept in weeks—and maybe didn't plan to.
The driver, sensing his gaze, glanced back through the mirror.
"Junpei Beichuan," he said plainly.
Neon-style name?
Chu Cheng idly wondered—but then again, in this world, national boundaries were blurred. Names from any culture could appear without explanation.
Junpei promptly fell silent again, eyes returning to the road, hands steady. Still and composed.
"Let's bring you up to speed," Chen Meiyue said, tossing the papers aside and swiveling to face him.
"You must be curious about what happened at school yesterday."
Chu Cheng nodded. "It was… strange. People changed."
"They were infected," she said simply.
"Infected?" Chu Cheng frowned. "With a virus?"
"Not in the traditional sense," Meiyue replied, shaking her head. "This is... different. Since a certain moment—no one knows exactly when—the world has veered onto an uncontrollable track. Something ancient is waking up. An entity from before recorded time, leaking through the cracks of consciousness."
She leaned in, voice low.
"It infects through media—through emotion, through meaning. And its first target is always the mind."
Chu Cheng froze.
Like a memetic virus... or something worse.
She continued. "We have detection systems—mental infection index ratings. Anyone below 10% is within tolerance. More sensitive, more volatile, more emotional—but human. Still themselves."
"Between 10% and 50%, changes become visible. Detachment. Numbness. Emotional breakdown. Some lash out. Others lose sense of self. All are contagious."
She paused to let it sink in.
"50% to 99%, and the subject becomes a weapon. Enhanced strength. Near-inhuman endurance. No longer bound by natural limits. Some keep moving even after decapitation."
Chu Cheng's mind flashed back to the scene in the Klein Building. Aiqi—the man who casually decapitated himself like it was brushing his teeth. Was that what 99% looked like?
The logic clicked like gears in his head. A force older than logic. Madness masquerading as revelation. It reminded him of something from his gaming days.
When your SAN drops to zero, the nightmares become real.
He half-joked in his mind: What's next? An elder god named Ke who enjoys sweets?
"If it's below 50%, the subject is recoverable. But anything higher than that… it gets messy," Meiyue said. "Yesterday, your classmates maxed out at around 40%. Scary, yes—but reversible."
Chu Cheng thought hard, then asked, "What if someone hits 100%?"
Meiyue raised her brows.
"Good question. Most never reach that point. But yes, it exists. A threshold."
She held up a finger, expression deadly serious.
"100% infection is no longer within the human domain. It is the point of transformation—beyond salvation, beyond humanity."
She paused again. When she spoke, her tone was ice.
"It's what we call the threshold of 'post-human entities.'"
The words landed with weight. Like a whisper in the Batcave. Like a name written on a bullet.
The world wasn't what Chu Cheng thought it was.
And now, he was in it.