The headlines broke before sunrise.

  By the time the city began to wake, Zhao Lusi was already standing in front of her mirror, fastening the cuff of her sleeve with slow, deliberate movements. Her phone lay face-up on the desk, lighting up again and again.

  “Rising Idol Linked to Underground Transactions.”

  “Anonymous Source Suggests Criminal Connections.”

  “Is Zhao Lusi Hiding Something?”

  Her expression did not shift.

  Outside the estate gates, reporters gathered like vultures sensing blood.

  Inside the dining room, silence stretched tight.

  Her father folded the newspaper once. “Explain.”

  She sat down gracefully. “There is nothing to explain.”

  Her mother’s voice was restrained. “Your name is everywhere.”

  “Because someone put it there.”

  Her eldest brother watched her carefully. The second brother did not speak, but his gaze lingered longer than before — studying, not accusing.

  The adopted sister looked shaken. Too shaken.

  “I was so worried when I saw the news,” she said softly. “What if someone is targeting our family?”

  Zhao turned her head slightly.

  Their eyes met.

  The adopted sister blinked first.

  By noon, the internet was in chaos.

  Documents circulated online — screenshots of transactions, connections to shell companies, blurred financial trails. They looked convincing to the public eye.

  They were poorly forged.

  In her room, Zhao closed the curtains.

  The old hoodie rested on her shoulders, sleeves slightly worn. She sat before three monitors, posture relaxed, eyes cold.

  Her fingers moved.

  Tracing IP origins.

  Cross-referencing timestamps.

  Decrypting routing paths.

  Within eight minutes, she found the source.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  A middleman broker operating through a minor criminal channel.

  Within ten, she found who had contacted him.

  Her adopted sister.

  Zhao leaned back slightly.

  “You’re careless,” she murmured.

  That evening, news broke again.

  “Underground Financial Ring Discovered.”

  “Multiple Arrests in Overnight Operation.”

  Among the arrested names — the broker.

  No mention of Zhao.

  No surviving evidence.

  The entire digital trail erased so cleanly it looked as though it had never existed.

  In the dining room, her father’s phone kept buzzing with calls.

  Her mother exhaled in visible relief.

  The adopted sister stared at her plate.

  Zhao ate calmly.

  Not a single word about it.

  Miles away, inside a secured underground facility, a technician froze.

  “Director… we’ve detected interference in three external criminal networks.”

  The director stepped forward. “Source?”

  “Unknown. But the energy signature is consistent.”

  The screen shifted to footage from a recent concert.

  Zhao under bright lights. Perfect smile. Fluid movement.

  The director’s voice lowered.

  “Subject Zero survived.”

  A pause.

  “And she’s operating independently.”

  Another screen flickered on.

  Subject One stood in a dark observation room, watching the footage silently.

  Her expression was unreadable.

  “She is not unstable,” Subject One said calmly. “She is strategic.”

  The director folded his hands behind his back. “Observe only. Do not engage.”

  Subject One did not respond.

  That night, the concert venue was packed.

  Zhao stood center stage under blinding lights. Her voice was steady. Her movements flawless. The audience screamed her name.

  She bowed with elegance.

  Between choreography transitions, her expression went blank for half a second.

  Empty.

  Efficient.

  Across the street, on the rooftop of a nearby building, Subject One stood motionless.

  Wind pulled at her dark clothing. Her gaze tracked Zhao’s muscle precision, heart rate pattern, respiratory control.

  “No performance anxiety. No emotional fluctuation,” she whispered. “She is suppressing capacity.”

  Below, Zhao turned during a spin.

  For a fraction of a second—

  Their eyes aligned.

  No surprise.

  No fear.

  Recognition.

  Subject One felt a subtle disruption in her internal rhythm.

  Curiosity.

  Rain began to fall as the concert ended.

  Zhao exited through a private side entrance. Security guards walked ahead, unaware.

  She stopped near the alley’s mouth.

  Did not turn.

  Did not look up.

  But she spoke quietly.

  “You’re standing in open sightlines.”

  On the rooftop, Subject One’s eyes narrowed.

  Zhao slowly lifted her gaze.

  Rain blurred the distance between them, but neither blinked.

  Two creations.

  Two outcomes.

  Zhao’s lips curved slightly.

  Not warm.

  Not hostile.

  Confident.

  Then she turned first and walked away.

  Subject One remained still, watching her disappear into the dark.

  For the first time since activation, she felt something unfamiliar.

  Not doubt.

  Not fear.

  Competition.

  Back in the family estate, the adopted sister sat alone in her room.

  Her phone vibrated.

  Unknown number.

  She opened the message.

  A photograph of the forged documents she had leaked.

  Burned at the edges.

  Under it, one sentence:

  You chose the wrong protection.

  Her hands began to shake.

  There was no proof linking her.

  No evidence.

  No exposure.

  Yet she knew.

  Zhao knew.

  And Zhao had removed the threat without touching her.

  Down the hall, Zhao sat calmly on her bed, hood resting over her shoulders.

  She stared at the ceiling.

  Humans are predictable, she thought.

  They exploit power.

  They fear what they cannot control.

  And they always underestimate what they think they own.

  Her phone lit up once more.

  An encrypted notification.

  Three external facilities disrupted.

  Phase one complete.

  Zhao closed her eyes briefly.

  The lab believed they had created perfection twice.

  They were wrong.

  They had created rivalry.

  And she would not lose.