Chapter 113

Chapter 113: The Enemy

Game World.  

Wasn’t sleep supposed to be safe now? Why was she back here?  

“When will this nightmare finally end?” Yiwen massaged her temples inside the Enforcer Guild’s headquarters.  

Something felt off. Where was Mi Xiaoliu? Shouldn’t he have logged in by now? If he wasn’t sleeping, and he didn’t waste time scrolling videos or gaming… What was he doing at this hour?  

Her thoughts spiraled.  

“If we’re still here, that means the higher-ups failed too.” The honest senior who’d been publicly humiliated for his collection slumped in defeat.  

“I wanted to meet the mastermind myself, but Uncle Chen refused.” Yiwen shook her head.  

It wasn’t just about the Dream Game plaguing the world. She wanted to ask Amari Yota—face to face—what he truly thought about what happened a year ago.  

If his abilities let him manipulate electronic devices, then he must have access to videos never uploaded to the web.  

Which meant he knew exactly what the unedited footage of “Yiwen’s betrayal” looked like. As the victim, he must have been briefed by doctors about his condition.  

All she wanted was to see if he felt even a shred of guilt for how his family had extorted her. Just a flicker of remorse would be enough—something to ease the regret festering inside her.  

Suddenly, a woman burst in, her ponytail whipping behind her in panic.  

“I need to report a crime! Someone’s trying to kill me!”  

The moment she appeared, her profile automatically popped up in Yiwen’s vision.  

And, presumably, Yiwen appeared in hers.  

The woman’s face was drained of color. “I’ll—I’ll come back later.”  

Yiwen didn’t let her escape. Normally, she’d release Mi Xiaoliu to intimidate troublemakers with his top-tier stats—but, well. He wasn’t here.  

While keeping order in the game, she’d grown accustomed to random profiles flashing before her eyes. Most players recoiled at her identity, but she’d learned to suppress the sting and dismiss their panels. After all, in the real world, they’d forget they’d ever met the male-disguised Yiwen.  

Online cruelty costs nothing. Even if they knew their words hurt, they didn’t care.  

Some did it for amusement. Others vent their frustrations. Some simply enjoyed making others miserable. And many just followed the herd.  

None of them could begin to imagine how much she’d suffered. Early on, even in her male disguise, she’d worn hats and masks outdoors. For a long time, she’d wished she could just die.  

Hayakawa Kumi. That was this woman’s name. A fixture in the media, though few remembered it—she rarely showed her face.  

But everyone at the station knew her.  

She was that journalist. The one who stirred up drama, deliberately prodded at interviewees’ wounds, and had zero professional ethics. Yet her sensationalized reports always went viral. People loved her lies.  

That someone wanted her dead didn’t surprise Yiwen. Frankly, she wanted to strangle the woman right now.  

Not just for the inflammatory articles. Not just for that interview a year ago, where she’d twisted the knife in Yiwen’s trauma.  

But for the profile that had just appeared.  

ID: X-ActoKnife  

Uploaded Video: [Caught: Million-Followers, Streamer Ignores Dying Man to Check Phone]  

Yiwen would never forget that ID.  

It belonged to the first person who’d slandered her.  

So it was you all along.  

You deserve to die.  

Yiwen drew her sword.  

“CALM DOWN!” Her previously despondent senior lunged, locking her in a restraining hold. “We’re still cops, damn it!” 

“She ruined my life, you understand?” Yiwen had never been this impulsive before. Only she knew the depth of her hatred for this woman. “I won’t kill her. I’ll use the weakest white-tier weapon and slash her down to her last drop of HP—one cut at a time.”  

Pain in the Dream Game was real.  

Hayakawa Kumi cowered in a corner, expertly playing the victim.  

In the real world, this was her go-to tactic. A hidden camera would capture the scene, and after some strategic editing, she’d emerge as the brave truth-teller persecuted for her honesty.  

But here? No cameras. No allies. No audience.  

“What’s the point? She won’t remember any of this when she wakes up!” Seeing that reason wasn’t working, her senior played his trump card, “Don’t throw away everything for trash like her. Isn’t this exactly the kind of chaos Amari Yota wanted? Remember why you joined the ESP Division! Get fired now, and how will you ever find your father?”  

Yiwen slowly regained her composure.  

Beneath the fury, she was still a cop.  

Hayakawa was just the spark. Too many others had fueled the fire. Countless influencers had jumped on the bandwagon back then, twisting the narrative until any defense she offered sounded hollow.  

They’d all lectured her from their moral high ground: “Why didn’t you do this?” “Why didn’t you do that?”  

That was just how people were. How the internet was.  

“I’ll… I’ll just go now.” Hayakawa peeked outside, confirmed her pursuer was gone, and bolted like a startled rabbit.  

If there’d been cameras—and profit—tomorrow’s headlines would’ve screamed: 

[COP ATTEMPTS TO MURDER JOURNALIST!]  

“Senior.” Yiwen glared at the guild doors, her anger still simmering. “Why do people like her always get away with it?”  

“Because there’s no evidence she broke any laws. But she’ll pay eventually. Everything she does now just adds to her sentence.” He ruffled her hair.  

“Then… is justice still justice if it comes too late?” Yiwen’s voice was hollow. “What’s done can’t be undone.”  

“Better late than ne—Hey! You okay?” He caught her as she swayed.  

Yiwen clutched her head. A dizzying, nauseating pain stabbed through her skull—like her first zero-gravity training, but a thousand times worse.  

Something was wrong. Her consciousness in the game flickered, blurring the line between virtual and real. She could feel her physical body thrashing in bed, teetering on the edge of disconnection.  

—

Meanwhile, Amari Yota was livid.  

First, that brat Mi Xiaoliu had resisted him—fine, her abilities were inherently overpowered. But now this girl, whose power was just strength, was blocking his deletion too?  

Those damn Foboler must’ve developed countermeasures behind my back!  

At least she wasn’t as impervious as Mi Xiaoliu.  

It was like fighting a split personality—with Yiwen stubbornly holding dominance. But if he kept attacking her consciousness, she’d break eventually.  

Human endurance had limits.  

Even if his possession attempt was discovered, it didn’t matter. If this body died, he’d just claim another. One at a time was enough.  

As long as human civilization exists, I am ETERNAL!  

—

“My head… hurts.” Yiwen slumped to her knees. “Maybe I’m sick in real life.”  

It was the middle of summer.  

“That’s… not likely. Can you try forcing yourself awake?” her senior asked worriedly.  

“Mmm… can’t.”  

“FUCK!”  

The voice—male, furious—exploded inside her skull.  

Then came the pain.  

Not from Amari.  

From a fist smashing into her face.  

Her HP didn’t drop—because the attacker was a teammate.  

Mi Xiaoliu, who’d appeared out of nowhere, had just punched her in the nose.

Having bypassed the game entirely and emerged directly into the data world, Mi Xiaoliu had chased Amari Yota all the way here.  

Only she could see it—the transparent humanoid figure, its form writhing with corrupted code. This was Amari’s true shape, and while Mi Xiaoliu could touch him, she couldn’t harm him.  

When Yiwen realized it was Mi Xiaoliu who had punched her, she took a moment to mentally review the day’s events, trying to recall if she’d somehow wronged the boy (girl). If I didn’t do anything wrong, I’m punching back. Friendship be damned.  

But then she noticed something—after that punch, her headache was gone.  

…Wait, am I an M or something?  

Of course, the truth was simpler: Mi Xiaoliu’s fist had knocked Amari clean out of her.  

Now, Mi Xiaoliu stood protectively in front of Yiwen, glaring at Amari with wary hostility.  

“Xiaoliu? What’s going on?” Yiwen rubbed her nose, confused.  

She didn’t fully understand the situation, but it seemed Mi Xiaoliu was shielding her from… something.  

“Tch. What a nuisance.”  

The data world was one thing, but this game was his domain. Here, he decided who lived and who died.  

Well—except for Mi Xiaoliu, the cheater who refused to die.  

Still, as the admin, he could at least kick her out.  

A loading circle flickered before Mi Xiaoliu’s eyes, the world around her freezing as the system processed the ejection.  

“He’s forcing the Master out!” Sasha cried. “Master, grab the Antidote Grass!”  

After this humiliating failure, Amari would never pull Mi Xiaoliu into the game again.  

Mi Xiaoliu frantically accessed the guild’s shared storage in the very last second before being ejected—then vanished, returning to normal sleep.