Iliya finally managed to usher the Human Rights Protection Association personnel out of the villa. She wanted nothing more than to leave that place, so she checked into a hotel nearby instead.

The villa was a wreck, and the sight of a robot with a broken leg only added to her lingering unease.

Her ordeal, however, was far from over.

After spending one night at the hotel, before six in the morning, the door was battered open, and two precise lines of black-suited bodyguards marched in, chests puffed out.

Iliya, still groggy from sleep, saw the scene and her face instantly darkened with fury. "Who gave you permission to enter here?"

The bodyguards offered no reply, merely snapping into disciplined formation, leaving a clear path down the middle. A young man with slicked-back hair and an oily sheen sauntered forward, a smirk playing on his lips. "Cousin, long time no see."

Damn it all!

That was the only coherent thought rattling around Iliya’s mind.

This man was her cousin, Yi Fan.

If one were to name the person Iliya despised most within the entire Fiya lineage, it would undoubtedly be Yi Fan.

As for Yi Fan, he wasn't short, easily topping one meter eighty, but years of habitual bowing and scraping had left his spine permanently curved, stealing a few inches from his stature. He wasn't fat either, yet he was so draped in designer labels that one couldn't tell if he was wearing the clothes or the clothes were wearing him. He wasn't ugly, but his perpetually smarmy grin made him look utterly frivolous.

In short, the man was an utterly detestable second-generation heir.

Iliya had found him repulsive for a long time and had been waiting for an opportunity to put him in his place. The nerve of him crawling over her like this—he clearly didn't know how close he was to death!

Staring each other down, Iliya’s eyes were thick with disgust. Yi Fan’s eyes mirrored the revulsion for a split second, but he managed to maintain composure better than Iliya, as he was currently the one holding the upper hand. The angrier Iliya became, the happier he grew.

Iliya couldn’t be bothered to waste time on pleasantries and sneered, "Barging in here at the crack of dawn, Cousin, can you do us all a favor and make a graceful exit?"

Yi Fan remained unperturbed, chuckling good-naturedly. "Cousin, haven’t you realized? I was sent by Auntie’s husband to escort you back."

Iliya trembled with rage. "Get out!"

Yi Fan walked to the edge of her bed, lowered his head, and gazed at her semi-transparent sleepwear, murmuring teasingly, "If you're unwilling, I’ll have to insist."

Iliya immediately flung a pillow at his face. Yi Fan quickly raised his hands to block it, but it turned out to be a feint. The true attack was the next pillow.

He managed to deflect one but not the second. With a direct hit to his face, his super-brand polarized glasses flew off his nose.

Simultaneously, the carefully styled hair he had spent an hour perfecting that morning was utterly ruined.

After landing her blows, Iliya tossed the pillow aside with disdain. Seeing both lines of bodyguards staring at her in stunned silence, she snapped, "Attention! At ease! Turn around!"

As the young mistress of Fiya, no one dared defy her. They swiftly turned their backs, leaving only Yi Fan’s shriek echoing behind them: "Mother! My hair!"

Yet, despite her profound dislike for Yi Fan, Iliya knew she couldn't simply escape him.

Yi Fan was the eldest son of the current generation of the Fiya lineage. Unfortunately, Fiya had always been matriarchal, turning Yi Fan into a source of ridicule for everyone.

Iliya was the eldest daughter of the current Fiya generation. Unfortunately, she was illegitimate. As an illegitimate child, she couldn't inherit anything from the Fiya clan; she would have to seize it all through ruthless means!

They were evenly matched, two sides of the same, difficult coin.

An hour later, Yi Fan had successfully managed to work Iliya up into a state of bottled-up frustration, while Iliya, in turn, had successfully managed to turn Yi Fan’s perpetual grin into a face resembling a bitter melon.

They glared at each other with mutual loathing, and nearly came to blows again even as they boarded the Fiya shuttle craft.

This only proved the timeless adage: Even the wicked will meet their match.

As soon as the shuttle departed, someone contacted Peizhe's attending physician, issuing an order in a tone of absolute command: "Administer euthanasia to Peizhe."

Peizhe's attending physician served the Fiya lineage, not Iliya. Upon receiving the directive, he felt no hesitation, only a joyful upturn of his lips. "Rest assured, it will be completed within half an hour."

After ending the internal communication, he left his office, wrote out a prescription, and instructed a young nurse to prepare the medication. He then strolled slowly toward Peizhe’s room, hands tucked into his pockets.

Peizhe was definitely going to die; he had known that for some time.

What made him happy was that he would soon have another experimental subject and research material for XX5! He wouldn't just kill Peizhe; he would ensure every single piece of him was utilized to its most perfect and suitable extent!

At that moment, Peizhe was asleep.

He was unaware that his fate was no longer his own to control, though even if he knew, he likely would have been powerless. He had been restless all night and was now exhausted into slumber. The medical staff, worn out from dealing with him, had finally retreated, and the room was empty save for him.

Peizhe was tucked into bed like an ostrich, his head buried deep in the covers, with most of his body exposed. His hospital gown was slipping, revealing a strip of his buttocks cleavage, making him look like a helpless, dependent child.

The attending physician had seen every manner of patient; he was long past being shocked by a patient's condition. He gestured to the nurse, who entered carrying the injection. She moved to the bedside, set down the syringe, and skillfully prepared to administer the shot.

Just then, Peizhe seemed to sense something and opened his eyes. They were sharply defined—black and white—and though his body was ravaged by medication, the look in his eyes remained unchanged: obsidian dark, staring at people as if they contained the entire world, or perhaps nothing at all.

The young nurse had never seen such a look on a dying person; her hand trembled slightly.

The attending physician stepped forward, cupped his hand over Peizhe's eyes, and whispered softly, "It's not even dawn yet. Get some rest. Good night."

Peizhe obediently closed his eyes.

Seizing the moment, the nurse swiftly injected the solution from the syringe directly into Peizhe’s vein.

For an instant, Peizhe’s arm gave a faint twitch upon insertion, but it immediately returned to stillness.

Once finished, the nurse withdrew. The doctor called in two more orderlies to wheel Peizhe’s bed to the operating theater, where they would stage the news of a failed surgery resulting in the patient's death.

Hospitals, especially this one, never lacked for the dead, nor for the lingering spirits of the wronged.

The attending physician murmured to himself, "You can’t blame me. You can only blame yourself for trusting the wrong person. After all, you’ve lost everything, so isn't it better for me to use you as a medicinal vessel? Eh, Mr. Peizhe?" He grew increasingly delighted as he spoke, pulling on his gloves and hurrying toward the operating theater with anticipation.

What a fine day it was.

The Outbreak team, having claimed the championship, was basking in unprecedented glory.

Wherever they went, they were hounded by media, reporters, and countless congratulatory voices. In the surging crowd, it became impossible to distinguish friend from stranger.

The feeling was akin to striving in obscurity for ten years, only to have the whole world know your name overnight.

In that moment, Ziye suddenly realized that the celebrities on TV felt this way: having too many fans was a form of torment!

Especially when the fans didn't know them personally, yet still waved signs and shouted, "We love you!"

Ziye felt the urge to shrug, and indeed, she did exactly that.

Li Chunyu, seeing the gesture, couldn't help but smile.

The Outbreak team consisted of six members.

Excluding the X-Bent twins, who were recovering in the hospital due to injuries, Bobo and Lingyin were both adept at dealing with people and moved through such social events with natural ease and competence.

Ziye and Chun Niu, conversely, were the typical engineer types—one male, one female—only truly comfortable interacting with metal and robots. They were completely out of their element in social settings, unsure how to handle the accolades, and found the sustained attention exhausting after less than five minutes.

Li Chunyu felt it would look bad for the small Outbreak team to withdraw too quickly, so he persevered for a little longer. Ziye, however, couldn't manage it and dragged him out under the pretense of needing the restroom.

After leaving the washroom, they chose a slightly more secluded route.

To avoid being recognized, Ziye quickly stripped off her team uniform and clutched it in her hand.

The venue had numerous exits. Ziye selected the most remote and least crowded one. As they walked, she complained to Chun Niu, "This whole celebrity thing isn't for humans. The only thing I want to do after a competition is go home and sleep for a week straight."

This competition had spanned two years, moving from campus level to inter-university. They had survived countless sleepless nights, rising early and staying up late to tweak designs, plan modifications, and guard against sabotage from rivals... How many brain cells had died?

She had certainly been thrilled when they won, but once the adrenaline subsided, all the accumulated fatigue had launched a full-scale, indiscriminate attack. She simply couldn't fight it anymore.

Chun Niu said gently, "Just bear with it a little longer. Let's go see the twins first, eat with them, and then go back to sleep. We should have some downtime starting tomorrow. The award ceremony isn't until next week."

Ziye pouted in dissatisfaction, wanting desperately to just throw herself on the ground and roll around!

After a long pause, she said with a downturned mouth, "There are definitely reporters swarming the twins right now. Maybe we should avoid them for now."

Chun Niu didn't reply.

Ziye assumed he was silently refusing and turned to try and persuade him further, only to see Chun Niu staring blankly toward the exit.

Confused, Ziye nudged his arm. "Hey, snap out of it. What are you looking at?"

Li Chunyu didn't answer.

Ziye followed his gaze, surprised, and saw a figure standing out distinctly among the less dense crowd near the exit—he stood head and shoulders above everyone else:

His name was Tang Wen.

The area near the exit was backlighted, but Ziye recognized him in that instant.

In all the world, who else could make everyone else look like mere 'chickens' while he stood alone like a towering 'crane'? And who else would have a bizarrely cute little sprout perched on his head?

The surrounding noise was deafening—staff and spectators alike—but Ziye seemed unable to hear any of it. Her gaze was fixed solely on the person standing at the doorway.

He was just as she remembered, like pristine snow in early spring.

He had promised to come watch the finals, and he had kept his word.

As if hypnotized, Ziye began walking toward him, step by deliberate step.

He remained still, watching her approach with a faint smile.

"Ziye, you little idiot!" The sprout flew toward her, its tiny wings flapping. Ziye rushed forward instinctively and caught it just short of where Tang Wen stood. "You dreadful thing, abandoning me for so long!"

The words were barely out when she realized something was wrong. She looked up sharply and saw An Junlie standing on the other side of the exit, his expression utterly unreadable—neither pleased nor displeased.

-RS