With the immediate danger held at bay, Qiong finally allowed herself to breathe.
She leaned back into the conductor's chair and closed her eyes once more, turning inward—not in escape, but in assessment. It felt like standing in the aftermath of a storm, surveying what had been broken, what had survived, and what had somehow emerged stronger.
Her mind responded instantly.
Not with voices. Not with floating windows.
But with clarity.
The Core Heart stirred, organizing memory and sensation into something she could understand—categorizing, prioritizing, discarding the irrelevant. A mental ledger formed naturally, clean and precise, reflecting only what mattered.
E-Tier Trait: Triple Heart - Allows two additional Skills, Talents, or Traits to be bound.
S-Tier Talent: Core Heart - The ability to upgrade anything up to S-Tier.
B-Tier Skill: Protective Light - Shields up to twenty-five beings from enemy detection.
F-Tier Item: Hooded Trench Coat -Provides 5% increased protection to the wearer.
F-Tier Item: High-Speed CR450AF Train -5% improvement to traction, control, resistance, and speed.
That was everything.
No clutter. No noise. Just the pieces that defined her current existence.
Qiong opened her eyes slowly. Outside the train, the low, distant groans of the undead drifted through the night like a grotesque lullaby—unsettling, but familiar now. Her gaze fell to the coat she wore.
It felt… different.
The fabric was smooth beneath her fingers, the frayed edges and patchwork seams gone. The coat still looked worn—still his—but the damage had been erased, as though time itself had been gently rewound.
A small, genuine smile curved her lips.
"It's still you," she whispered.
Her brother had always been like this—standing between her and the world, shielding her from things she wasn't ready to face. Somehow, impossibly, that protection lingered. Not just sentimentally, but physically. The coat carried a subtle weight now, an almost imperceptible sense of reassurance that settled against her shoulders.
She let out a soft giggle before she could stop herself.
The sound felt strange in the quiet train car, too light for a world like this—but welcome. A private warmth, a reminder that she was still human.
Her attention drifted around the conductor's area. It was a medium-sized space, functional and worn, steeped in the ghosts of countless journeys. Dust coated every surface. The faint scent of stale cigarettes and oil clung stubbornly to the air, as if refusing to fade along with the civilization that had birthed it.
A faded railway map lay spread across a narrow desk, its once-vivid lines now ghostly traces leading to cities that may no longer exist. Stations, routes, destinations—all relics of a world that still believed in schedules and safe arrivals.
Then something else caught her eye.
A steel water bottle sat on a shelf near the wall, half-hidden beneath dust and neglect. It was old, dented, and clearly forgotten.
Qiong reached for it.
The metal was cool against her palm, stark in contrast to the warmth of her coat. When she twisted the lid, it creaked in protest. Empty.
She stared at it for a moment longer than necessary.
This wasn't about thirst.
This was about proof.
Her first upgrade had been cautious. Necessary. But now… now she needed to understand the rules of her ability. Its limits. Its patterns.
The bottle would be her second test.
A tremor of excitement flickered through her chest, tempered by apprehension. What if the earlier success had been a fluke? What if the Core Heart demanded conditions she didn't yet understand?
Failure, right now, could be deadly.
She swallowed and leaned back into the chair, closing her eyes once more. The conductor's seat creaked softly beneath her weight as she steadied her breathing.
Focus.
She reached inward, toward that radiant core at the center of her being. The Core Heart responded immediately, its presence vast yet intimate—like touching the surface of a distant star while knowing it belonged to her alone.
Her thoughts narrowed.
She directed that power not outward, but inward.
Toward Triple Heart.
The effort was intense. Pressure built behind her eyes as doubt tried to creep in—what if this was a mistake? What if upgrading herself further made her vulnerable?
She silenced it.
Using Core Heart to upgrade E-Tier Trait: Triple Heart…
The sensation was different this time. Less violent. More… cooperative.
Calculating upgrade…
Her muscles tensed reflexively.
Upgrade complete.
E-Tier Trait: Triple Heart → D-Tier Trait: Quad Heart
A second sensation followed immediately, unexpected but unmistakable.
New D-Tier Trait Awakened: Stamina Regeneration -Stamina regenerates 10% faster.
Warmth flooded her limbs.
It wasn't dramatic—no surge of strength, no sudden rush—but it was real. A gentle, steady revitalization seeped through her muscles, easing the constant ache she hadn't even realized she'd grown used to.
Qiong exhaled sharply, relief flooding her chest.
This changes everything.
Before, every action had been a calculation. Every movement, every skill use chipped away at a finite reserve she could feel draining minute by minute. Now, that drain slowed—pushed back by a subtle but relentless recovery.
She flexed her fingers, marveling at how quickly the heaviness faded.
She could move longer.
Think clearer.
Survive better.
Hope sparked—small but defiant.
Without waiting for doubt to resurface, she turned her attention outward again.
The bottle.
She lifted it slightly, visualizing it with sharp precision—the dents, the scratches, the cold emptiness within.
Using Core Heart to upgrade Worn-Out Steel Water Bottle…
Calculating upgrade…
Upgrade complete.
F-Tier Item: Steel Water Bottle - 1% chance to refill when emptied.
The feedback was gentler this time. A faint wave of fatigue rolled through her, already being smoothed away by her new stamina regeneration.
Qiong opened her eyes and stared at the bottle.
"One percent," she murmured.
Barely anything. Almost laughable.
And yet…
Her mind raced.
Did it only apply to water? Or any liquid? Could it work with soup? Medicine? Fuel? What about solids? Sand? Grain?
The implications spiraled outward, dizzying in their scope.
If the bottle refilled with contents, not just liquid—
Food.
Sustenance.
A renewable resource, however unreliable.
Her stomach twisted violently at the thought, a sharp reminder of how hungry she was. Nausea rose as her body remembered the half-eaten trail mix she'd lost beneath the rubble of the shelter.
She pressed a hand to her abdomen and breathed through it.
Testing this mattered.
But first, she needed supplies.
She rose from the chair, exhaustion already fading thanks to her regeneration, and began searching the conductor's area methodically.
Drawer by drawer.
Shelf by shelf.
She uncovered a tattered first-aid kit—bandages yellowed with age, antiseptic hardened into wax, painkillers whose effectiveness was questionable at best. Still, she gathered everything.
In another compartment, she found a small metal tin filled with instant coffee granules. The scent was faint, almost imaginary, but it was enough to make her chest ache with nostalgia.
Warmth. Normalcy.
She tucked it away carefully.
Near the base of the conductor's chair, she found a battered camping stove. No fuel canister—but even so, her pulse quickened. Heat meant cooking. Purification. Survival.
As she lifted it, her fingers brushed against something else.
A notebook.
Leather-bound. Worn.
She opened it slowly.
It was a journal—the conductor's. Pages filled with neat handwriting chronicled routes, passengers, idle thoughts. Mundane things. Human things.
Then she found the entry.
A cache of supplies.
Hidden in the engine room.
Qiong closed the notebook, heart pounding.
The engine room meant undead. Risk. Danger.
But also opportunity.
She slid the journal back into the drawer, checked the grip on her pocket knife, and took a steadying breath.
She wasn't just reacting anymore.
She was choosing.
And that made all the difference.