The third day after Narrator's sealing, the Administration's Appraisal Division sent their report.
"The target inside the seal container shows 0% sync rate." The appraiser's voice over the encrypted channel carried clear confusion, "Not zeroed-out—'never had any.' This Narrator... has no adaptoid characteristics."
The chief stared at the report for ten seconds, then smashed the tablet.
"Fake." He ground out, "We caught a body double."
Gu Yan's tactical model ran in the supercomputer for seventy-two hours. After the 118th simulation, the screen flashed red: [System error rate 99.8%, recommend re-evaluating initial parameters]
"It's not an error." Gu Yan adjusted his glasses, voice unusually strained, "We were reverse-modeled. From the Level-C3 classroom, to the abandoned warehouse, to the theater labyrinth—every step was in their calculations."
Zhou Fang disassembled the captured Parker pen into parts. Under the microscope, the metal grain on the nib wasn't rule-suppression crystal—it was ordinary 18K gold.
"Three bucks in cost." He smiled bitterly, "We got conned out of three apartments by a fake pen."
Tang Lan's oscillating blade still bore that pencil scratch. She sliced her own palm with the tip, blood hissing against the blade like corrosion. Not a reaction metal should have.
"The blade's contaminated too." She said, "The instant we touched that Narrator double, our gear was written with the definition 'fake.'"
The most silent was Shen Xingyao.
She stood at the briefing room window, looking toward the old district, silvery-white pupils contracted to needlepoints. Her spatial sovereignty sensed something abnormal—the theater ruins three kilometers away, spatial structure was "healing," like a wound closing, erasing Protocol Trojan's traces.
"Not healing." She said softly, "It's 'deletion.' Someone deleted that battle from reality."
---
My first day back with B-07 was perfectly ordinary.
06:00, ten-kilo weighted vest, Tang Lan's combat training, slammed into sandbags seven times. 07:30, Zhou Fang's precision interference class, carving The Teacher's Second Instruction on a grain of rice. 09:00, Gu Yan's modeling simulation. The stick figure in the Jin's Chaos zone gained a question mark.
"What does the question mark mean?" I asked.
"It means you're a known unknown variable." He didn't look up, "I can calculate your behavior patterns, but not your existence boundaries. 40% sync rate adaptoids—only two in Administration history: one went mad, one became the Original Faction founder."
"What about me?"
"You?" He finally looked up, "You're still writing math homework. That's a miracle in itself."
10:30, Shen Xingyao's marking training. She didn't say much, just threw me six darts: "Today's goal: perceive marks while tracing them back to source."
I closed my eyes. Six light points emerged. But this time, I saw a seventh—hidden deep in Shen Xingyao's pupils. Not one she placed on me, but one she left on herself.
"You're being marked too?" I asked.
She didn't answer, just snapped her fingers. Six darts shot at me simultaneously. I sidestepped, but the seventh shot from her eyes, grazing my cheek, leaving a silver streak on the wall.
"Perception's good." She said, "But reaction's still slow. Next time, the Original Faction won't use darts—they'll kill you with your homework."
At lunch, cafeteria. Zhou Fang humming, the tune still "The Coolest Ethnic Wind," but this time on-key. Tang Lan's tray held eight portions of protein blocks, she ate fast like replenishing some depletion. Gu Yan's tablet data streams normalized, Jin's Chaos prediction accuracy climbed back to 89%.
No one mentioned that battle.
No one mentioned Narrator.
No one mentioned my farcical "firing" and "return."
Until 14:00, when the chief convened an emergency meeting.
"We found him." He cut straight to it, "The Original Faction member who can create 99% ability doubles, codename 'Image Master.' No record in Administration archives, but in the Rift Zone base code, there's his signature."
Holographic projection displayed a line of golden text, identical to the theater's handwriting:
[This body double is not that body, but a mirror-image body, real yet not real]
"This sentence was carved on the core of the Level-A7 Rift Zone 'Mirror City' three years ago." Gu Yan said, "At the time we thought it was the Rift Zone's self-description. Now we see it was Image Master's self-introduction."
"His ability isn't making doubles." White Gloves added, "It's 'mirror replication'—copying the target's existence definition, including abilities, memories, personality, even sync rate fluctuation patterns. The Narrator we caught was his mirror work."
"Then where's his real body?" Tang Lan asked.
"Don't know." The chief said, "Maybe deep in some Rift Zone, maybe right beside us. Image Master's most terrifying aspect—he replicates not the flesh, but 'existence.' We can't even confirm whether everyone sitting here is real."
The briefing room temperature dropped three degrees.
"So," Shen Xingyao spoke, "This tie, we lost."
"No." The chief looked at me, "It's a tie. Because Lin Jin wrote three lines during that battle."
The projection switched to the theater's surveillance footage, angle skewed, filmed from my pencil tip—White Gloves' micro-camera.
In the video, the three lines I wrote on the exam paper weren't attack commands:
[Shen Xingyao's space cannot be defined]
[Tang Lan's shield cannot be negated]
[Zhou Fang's interference cannot be silenced]
"These three lines left real traces in the mirror space." The chief said, "Image Master can replicate 99% of abilities, but can't replicate 'cannot be' negative rules. Because negation itself counteracts his ability."
"So the Narrator double collapsed automatically after battle." Gu Yan suddenly understood, "It wasn't defeated by us. Image Master voluntarily dissolved it. Because he discovered that continued replication would cause his existence to be reverse-contaminated by our 'cannot be' rules."
"So now?" I asked, "Will he return?"
"Yes." The chief said, "But next time, he'll target you. Because only your pencil can write what he cannot replicate."
---
After the meeting, Shen Xingyao kept me alone.
"Three lines—why write us?" She asked, "You could have written [Narrator must lose] and ended it directly."
"Wouldn't work." I said, "His rule priority surpasses mine. I could only write you, because your existence itself transcends rules."
She stared at me for a long time, so long I thought she'd rap my head with a folder.
But she didn't.
She only took out a folded paper from her pocket and handed it to me.
I opened it—Changzheng High's 62nd monthly exam report. My English score column, written in red: 142 points, first in school.
"The chief took it for you." She said, "Remote bot, synced to your brainwaves. Now you're the school's top student."
"Why?"
"Because Image Master is still monitoring you." She lowered her voice, "The good student persona is safest."
"What about B-07?"
"B-07 continues missions as usual." She said, "You continue school as usual. Only when we locate Image Master will we spring the trap."
She turned to leave, stopped at the door, not turning back:
"Specialized Derivative Training Set 8—due tomorrow. One mistake, training doubled."
"You're no longer my guardian." I said, "No authority to assign homework."
"I'm the captain." She finally turned back, silvery pupils flashing a barely-detectable emotion, "The captain's homework, you must write."
She left.
I stood there, clutching the report card, suddenly understanding something.
Shen Xingyao hadn't changed.
She was still the "Mobile Execution Ground," still the spatial combat ceiling, still B-07's absolute core. Her attitude toward me wasn't gentleness, let alone dependence—acknowledgment.
Acknowledgment that this high school senior was no longer a burden needing protection, but a comrade who could write "cannot be" rules.
Her gentleness didn't need soft tones to express.
Her assigning homework was the greatest gentleness—because it was acknowledgment: "You're back, you're still B-07."
---
That night, I returned to the stationery shop's second floor.
White Gloves waited, a new training plan on the table: Image Master Counter-Training.
"Image Master's ability, 99% replication." He said, "That 1% flaw is your opportunity."
"What's that 1%?"
"Humanity." He pointed at his own heart, "Image can replicate abilities, memories, even personality. But it can't replicate 'why.' Do you keep a diary?"
"Yes."
"Good." He said, "From today, your diary must be handwritten, with this pencil."
He handed me a new HB pencil, barrel carved with small text:
[Unreadable by Image]
"Image Master can replicate your existence, but can't read your diary." White Gloves said, "That's the 1% flaw."
"What do I write in my diary?"
"Write what you ate today, what homework you wrote, how many times Shen Xingyao rapped your head, how many times Zhou Fang's humming was off-key, how much Gu Yan's model accuracy dropped, how many protein blocks Tang Lan ate in one meal." He said, "Write these boring things."
"Why?"
"Because boredom is the hardest real thing to replicate."
I took the pencil, wrote the first line in my diary:
[Returned to squad today, Shen Xingyao didn't rap my head, not used to it]
The letters were silvery-white, but quickly faded to normal graphite black.
"Good." White Gloves said, "This color, Image Master can't see."
---
Next day, B-07 resumed routine.
06:00, Tang Lan's combat training. I got slammed into sandbags again. She didn't hold back, heavier than three months ago—testing my progress.
07:30, Zhou Fang's interference class. He disassembled and reassembled that captured Parker pen, saying, "The fake is more complex than the real. Image Master is a talent."
09:00, Gu Yan's simulations. The Jin's Chaos zone gained a Image Master stick figure, two小人 facing each other, a question mark between them.
"He's calculating you." Gu Yan said, "You're calculating him. You two are each other's wrong-question collections."
10:30, Shen Xingyao's marking training. She dropped twenty marks today, three more than usual. The last one, she didn't throw at me, but gently placed in my palm.
"Keep it." She said, "Emergency moment—crush it, I'll come."
"Against regulations?" I asked. A fired-then-returned adaptoid theoretically couldn't access squad resources.
"Against." She didn't deny, "But I wrote the regulations."
She left, didn't look back.
I clutched that mark, feeling like I held a burning coal.
---
Day 100, the challenge responded.
Image Master didn't make another double. He appeared directly in the Administration's public channel, leaving a line of golden text:
[Lin Jin, I read your diary]
[Good handwriting, very boring content]
The entire Administration erupted.
White Gloves shattered an ashtray: "Impossible, how could he read a diary marked [Unreadable by Image]?"
I calmed down, opened my diary. Yesterday's line—[Returned to squad today, Shen Xingyao didn't rap my head, not used to it]—had golden commentary beside it:
[She didn't rap you because she's afraid if she raps too hard, you'll hurt]
[Boring isn't the diary, it's you]
I showed the diary to Shen Xingyao.
She scanned it, silvery-white pupils contracting to needlepoints, then she smiled—not a cold smile, the battle-ready smile of "it's finally here."
"Notify the chief." She said, "Image Master's main body—located."
"Where?"
She raised her hand, the same silver mark appearing in her palm. "The moment he read the diary, I back-traced his coordinates."
"Where?"
Shen Xingyao looked out the window, toward the old district.
"He's hiding somewhere we've all been, but none discovered." She said, "Changzheng High School, Class 12-3's classroom."
"What's he doing there?"
"Waiting to finish writing your story." She said, "Now, it's our turn to write his ending."
She said no more, just snapped her fingers.
B-07 mobilized, armed to the teeth.
I stood among them, pencil hidden in my cuff, the 40% sync rate bracelet already swapped for the black S-07 ID tag.
"Mission objective." Shen Xingyao said, "Level-A3 Rift Zone 'Mirror Classroom.' Cleanup target: Image Master main body. Estimated duration: Unknown. Survival rate: Uncalculated."
She paused, adding:
"Lin Jin, bring Specialized Derivative Training Set 9. Might need to do homework during the mission."
I smiled, stuffing the workbook into my tactical pack.
"Copy that." I said, "Won't get it wrong this time."
The helicopter lifted off, charging toward the sunset.
Image Master waited in the classroom, wearing Teacher Zhang's clothes, Teacher Zhang's face, writing the final line on the blackboard:
[Days until Gaokao: 0]
[Because, the exam has already begun]