“Ay-yai-yai-yai—”
Slap.
Smacking the alarm clock silent, the girl in pajamas half-squinted her sleep-clouded, faintly watery eyes and stared blankly for a while at the still-dark predawn scene outside the window.
Six o’clock.
By the time she found Mi Xiaoliu’s place it should be right around the agreed eight-thirty—with a bit of luck, maybe even earlier.
She checked the mirror—sure enough, a tuft was sticking up on her head, more noticeable with short hair, though for a boy her hair was already on the longer side.
She flexed her right arm a couple of times—more or less no problem now.
Modern medical technology was impressive; this kind of treatment left no lingering ailments, only its price was absolutely beyond what an ordinary family could afford.
As a member of the Special Esper Police, she did enjoy decent benefits when it came to medical care.
She washed up softly and quietly, only to find, unexpectedly, that someone was still blocking the front door.
“No class today—where are you off to this early?
Going to get in a fight with someone?
Forgotten how much your arm hurts?” Her mother stood barring the door, face cold.
“Getting up early isn’t a crime, is it.” Yiwen gave her mother a brilliant smile in return.
Just like the one she gave the classmates who were neither close to her nor strangers.
“Your little brother’s had a tiring week at a proper school—don’t disturb his rest.”
The phrase “proper school” grated harshly in an esper’s ears.
Compared to ordinary schools, esper academies really were too easy-going; there wasn’t much pressure to speak of, admission didn’t even hinge on test scores, and they were laxer than many trade schools.
By the same token, compared to graduates of normal schools, most espers had a hard time finding work, because a great many people were unwilling to work alongside espers.
Entrepreneurs, of course, were happy to have espers labor for them.
Take hauling bricks: a single Physical Enhancement esper could do the work of ten men, and a psychokinetic esper could outright save the cost of a machine worth ten million—maintenance not even factored in—yet you only had to fob them off with ten or twenty thousand a month and they’d be pleased as punch.
The more capable espers were, the more ordinary people looked down their noses at them.
We bust ourselves striving and still might not succeed, while your actual education might be no better than grade-school level—yet just because you awakened some superpower, the boss favors you.
Maybe as children they’d felt a flicker of admiration for them, but as adults facing real life, having accepted the fact that they themselves were ordinary, these so-called espers were, in their eyes, nothing more than rat-race workers at an electronics plant who’d grown an extra pair of hands under their armpits—and who might even suddenly go berserk and use those extra hands to wreak havoc.
After several large-scale strikes, many big companies had to think long and hard before hiring espers.
The labor force of this society was still overwhelmingly ordinary people; no company could recklessly go hiring a bunch of mutants who’d spent their whole time in school just learning how to control their abilities.
The police, of course, didn’t concern themselves with any of that.
After every night she spent on patrol, to spare her from having to get up early and grope her way through unfamiliar routes the next day, someone would even come to escort her—hopeless with directions as she was—home or to school.
So in the eyes of many parents, the so-called “proper school” compared to an esper academy was like comparing a top-tier university to a for-profit trade school.
“I have a date,” Yiwen replied with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, leaning hard on the word “date.”
“A date?
Going to reel in girls dressed in men’s clothes?
Let me see your bag.” Her mother didn’t believe a word of it and reached out to snatch the sports backpack off her back.
Yiwen didn’t dodge, just watched quietly as her mother seized the backpack and rummaged through it.
Compared to gaming and shopping, Yiwen was actually more interested in sports—but judging from how Mi Xiaoliu had watched at the sidelines of the sports field for ages and, even when invited, wouldn’t join in, he definitely didn’t like exercise.
On the first day’s fitness test he couldn’t even finish a single lap.
His stamina was so terrible it bordered on the absurd, hard not to suspect he was faking it on purpose.
And if he really was faking, then even taking him out to exercise, he’d surely be mindful of that and not let the mask slip.
So clean.
That was Yiwen’s first thought upon seeing Mi Xiaoliu’s room.
It looked nothing like a boy’s room.
She’d been in her own little brother’s room—things flung about every which way, and if he forgot to open the window for air you’d catch the “fragrance” of stinky socks, which somehow he himself couldn’t smell in the slightest.
As for the tissues that lingered in his trash can even in summer, Yiwen could only selectively ignore those—adolescence, after all…
But Mi Xiaoliu’s room was beyond describing as merely “clean.” Apart from the paper baozi wrappers in the trash can, there was nothing out of order to be seen—because besides the basic furniture, there was almost nothing here at all.
There was no kettle, no pot, no teacup to be found anywhere—the boy brushing his teeth in front of her even, after spitting out the toothpaste, cupped a little tap water in his hands to quench his thirst.
“You can’t drink tap water straight for long, or you’ll get kidney stones.” Yiwen admonished him as she set the cat food she’d brought as a gift down on the table.
Seeing the kitten dozing on the balcony left her much relieved.
The cat was still alive, sleeping soundly in its little nest—a nest fashioned from the very box it had once been kept in, some clothes padded inside, crude but serviceable.
Watching the boy approach, Yiwen for the first time saw the face behind Mi Xiaoliu’s glasses.
Very clean.
A boy just had to have a clean-looking face and it counted for a lot of points.
His eyes didn’t even show any sign of distortion from wearing glasses so long; without them on, they were slightly narrowed, so you couldn’t make out their exact shape.
Beyond that, Yiwen couldn’t offer any further verdict—a boy being clean and delicate-featured didn’t necessarily mean he was handsome.
“Kidney stones?” Yet another unfamiliar term.
Sasha quickly popped up.
“It’s a kind of illness.
In your case, Master, no need to worry—your self-healing works poorly on diseases, but you’ll naturally recover from almost any illness over time; it’s just that the process might be very unpleasant.”
“Mm.” Mi Xiaoliu reached out and groped across the table but didn’t grab the thing she was after.
“Your prescription’s pretty strong.” Yiwen handed the glasses back to her.
“Mm.”
Watching her put the glasses on, Yiwen patted the cat food on the table.
“This is for you.”
Mi Xiaoliu tore open the cat food packet and gave it a taste.
Not bad.
She took another bite.
Her actions, however, succeeded in shocking Yiwen.
“That’s not for you to eat—didn’t you see it says ‘cat food’ right on it?”
“I can’t eat it?”
It had been given to her, yet she wasn’t allowed to eat it.
“People generally don’t eat it…” At a loss, Yiwen poured the cat food into a small bowl in front of the kitten’s nest—and even the bowl was one people ate from.
She picked up a single kibble and waved it in front of the sleeping kitten’s nose; the kitten shot awake, dashed to the bowl, and began to eat.
Close call—one second later waking up and it would’ve starved to death.
“It’s bad for a pet’s health to always eat human food.” Yiwen crouched and smoothed the kitten’s fur, her morning irritation vanishing in an instant.
“Have you taken it to the vet for a checkup?”
“…” Mi Xiaoliu looked at Yiwen and said nothing.
Yiwen understood at once—Mi Xiaoliu couldn’t possibly have that kind of spare money.
“Then let’s take it to the vet for a checkup in a bit…
I’ll pay.” Yiwen hesitated two whole seconds before getting those last two words out.
Why was she spending this much money on a boy she’d known only a few days…?
But she really did love this cat; if not for the situation at home, she’d have taken it home to raise herself back then.
“Have you given it a name?” Yiwen asked.
“A name?” Mi Xiaoliu froze.
Wasn’t a name something you were born with?
“Master, a human’s name is usually given by their parents, and a pet’s name is given by its owner—just like my name was given by the Master,” Sasha explained.
“Me too?”
“No—your current name, Master, was made up by the landlord just to give you a three-character name for your school enrollment record.
By the way, the landlord is not a parent.”
Mi Xiaoliu crouched down, watching the kitten wolf down its food with its head buried in the bowl.
It was eating so happily.
She wanted to snatch some from it.
“Let’s call it Doggy.”
“That’s really not okay,” Yiwen said, at a loss.
Mi Xiaoliu went on staring blankly at the kitten.
Finally, fixing on the dark rings around its eyes, she decided: “Let’s call it Quanquan.”