"Psst, hey Potato Girl, I think I just uncovered something big," Sakuradamae said the moment she returned from her mission.
"Would you believe it? That Chen Motou girl—she's a clone."
"Oh," Suen Xi responded flatly.
"…'Oh'!? That's it?" Sakuradamae blinked. "When did you find out?"
Suen Xi didn't even look up. "Tch." She was furiously pounding away at her keyboard. She was handling the accounts—billions in and out every minute—and had no time for idle gossip, unlike Sakuradamae, who clearly had too much free time after wrapping up her part.
"Cloning? Big deal," Suen Xi muttered. "The rest of the Chen brats are all artificial insemination babies anyway. Based on their medical resource capacity, I didn't believe they had the guts for full cloning."
"Well they've got her in electroshock torture now, made her scream like hell. When they didn't get results, they wiped her memory and shipped her right back home. And still they call her the Chen heiress. Talk about irony."
Sakuradamae shook her head. She'd gone through worse herself during shinobi training—pain tolerance drills that made this look tame. But you couldn't expect a pampered little rich girl to handle that kind of suffering.
"I guess to the Chen clan, clones don't count as actual people."
"And thinking about it," Sakuradamae narrowed her eyes, "wasn't it our boss who deliberately led that girl into getting herself tortured? Hey, Potato Girl, could it be that this Chen Motou somehow offended the boss?"
"…And don't you dare say 'Big deal' again," she warned.
The ninja couldn't grasp Suen Xi's deadpan humor. It was like watching a Dev Talk classic, but not getting the punchline.
"…Why don't you ask him yourself next time?" Suen Xi finally tore her eyes from the screen. Her lips twitched. "See how that goes."
"You think I've got a death wish?" Sakuradamae huffed. "Come on, we're not his precious little darlings. Just disposable tools. Same as you."
"Same as me? Gosh, thank heavens, fate, and destiny for bringing us together…" Suen Xi crooned, then dropped the tone. "Anyway, about that 'Don Porco' guy you mentioned—the one tied to the death trooper trafficking? I already dug up some dirt."
"Already? I thought you were busy handling finance stuff?"
"Didn't even need to try. That guy's a dropout from Kassel Academy—a disgraced 'Secret Party Traitor' expelled back in 1999. My guys poked around Rio for a bit and found he's running the drug and human trade scene over there. He's now a major player in a few gangs."
"Whoa, he rose fast. The Secret Party just lets that slide? Doesn't the Execution Division do something?"
"Heh. What's the point? If he rose that quick, someone big's backing him. No one touches him while that protection's intact. Until that tree falls, the monkeys won't scatter. And nobody's taking down that tree any time soon."
They chatted casually, never bothering to investigate Don Porco's umbrella of protection any further. After all, they didn't work for the Secret Party. Whether the dragon-slaying dream came true or not, it had nothing to do with them.
Their orders were simple: help the boss's big client take down the Chen clan. That meant going east. Not west.
Meanwhile, the big clients were in a meeting.
Zhou Yuxuan stood silently in a corner of the great hall. From a distance, the sounds of a tense discussion echoed—it was Nuwa-sama and the visiting Bai family patriarch.
Zhou Yuxuan used to stand beside Nuwa-sama in these meetings. Now that spot belonged to Emiya.
And he had no complaints.
In this reformed household, merit ruled over seniority. Those who proved themselves moved up; those who didn't moved aside. Simple as that.
Truth be told, he hadn't been chosen for his capabilities back then. His main asset had been his rigid adherence to protocol. That aligned with the elder council's top selection criteria.
He still remembered the first time Nuwa-sama stepped into the hall as head of the clan, surrounded by elders he once saw as untouchable.
Back then, the process was ceremonial: a full hour of attendants sweeping the room, laying carpets, burning incense. Nuwa-sama and the elders would enter, carried on sedan chairs, accompanied by live traditional music.
Then came everyone else, filing in under the guidance of ceremonial ushers. Young Zhou Yuxuan, then just fifteen, had stood in formation among the ranks.
Nuwa-sama hadn't changed much outwardly—still a doll-like girl of porcelain beauty. But the aura she carried then was trained, rehearsed, scrutinized. Every gesture under the eyes of critical elders.
She sat in silence, rigid yet proper. Every decision was a glance to her side for elder approval. Only once she was familiar with affairs did they "let go," retiring back into the inner sanctum. But even then, she still needed their blessing on major moves.
Working with her afterward, Zhou Yuxuan realized how much pressure she was under.
The training. The surveillance. The facade she wore. She had to become a leader before she could even finish growing up.
Maybe deep inside, she was just a clever, sweet girl. But that shell had become fused with her—an iron mask formed through genius and necessity.
Zhou Yuxuan didn't understand how Emiya had broken through that wall. Maybe Nuwa-sama saw something in him right away.
He remembered when she asked to go out for the first time. Emiya arranged the outing. And Nuwa-sama… she was truly happy. Laughing. Relaxed. Mask off. Sunlight in her eyes.
Maybe, just maybe, that was the beginning.
(End of Chapter)
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