We step out of the sauna area feeling reborn.
Skin glowing.
Muscles loose.
Body healed.
Brain?
Absolutely fried.
Yuyu and I are both wearing the legendary cheap bathhouse merch—oversized white T-shirts with some random blue logo and knee-length shorts that scream "I paid for hot water, not fashion." Our real clothes are stuffed into tiny tote bags like sad little secrets.
We walk into the lobby.
And—
Boom.
People.
So. Many. People.
And right in the middle of it?
Two absolute crimes against public peace.
Zeyan is leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, tall and sharp like he walked out of a drama poster. His damp hair is still a bit messy from the sauna, glasses slightly fogged, expression calm but tired of existing.
Beside him—
Jiang.
Oh no.
