Anya explained it lightly, almost too casually for someone whose wounds were still leaking blood, slow and bright, soaking through her red shirt like a warning sign somebody forgot to turn off.
Flynn's eyebrow twitched. He looked like he wanted to shout something—two sharp words—but he forced them down, letting them scrape his throat before dying there. For a second, worry flickered in his eyes, gone as fast as it appeared.
Even Brandon seemed to lose his script for a moment, which was honestly like watching a monument forget how to stand.
"You—"
Luna and Marina were already clinging together like panicked kittens.
Anya gave a faint smile, glanced at the food, and walked forward. Her steps steady, posture straight as a drawn line. When she sat, even Brandon looked like he needed posture lessons.
Everyone stared. No one spoke. The silence puffed and stretched, like it wanted to pop.
A few bites in, Anya demolished an entire bowl of rice.
"Another."
Her voice snapped the atmosphere like a twig.
"Yes, Miss Anya." Lin froze for a second, then hurried over with the rice.
Everyone else: "…"
Brandon recovered first. "Why are you all standing there? Go treat her. Lin! Take Anya upstairs later."
Lin had just placed the rice down. "Miss Anya—"
A sharp thud. Chopsticks hitting the table.
"Food first." No room for negotiation.
Another bowl, gone instantly.
People tried to speak. Nobody succeeded.
She ate fast—the apocalypse never gave anyone the luxury of slow chewing. Meals were swallowed like time bombs.
The road looked like… hell, I dunno, like someone tried to pave a war. That was normal back then.
Finally full, Anya stood. "Enjoy." She went upstairs, ignoring everyone's what-is-she stares.
A moment later, Brandon turned cold eyes toward Luna. "Ningning. My study. After dinner."
Luna turned pale. "Y-yes…"
Halfway up the stairs, Anya's lips curved faintly.
She had torn her wound on purpose. A visual effect. Someone like Brandon wasn't going to believe her words alone. People trust what they see.
Her conflict with Luna?
Not urgent.
Hunters wait. Prey doesn't run far.
"Eat." Brandon finally picked up his chopsticks.
But when he reached for the dish, only scraps remained. Not even a single piece of meat.
Flynn's serious-boy mask cracked; a tiny smile appeared.
Conclusion: big appetite, loves meat.
Brandon sighed. "Lin, make another serving."
"Yes, sir."
Back in her room, a servant arrived with a medical kit.
"Miss Anya, should I call a doctor?" asked Sherry, young, early twenties, part of the Ye family staff.
"No."
Door closed. Wound treatment began. She'd made the tear dramatic enough to look real.
While tending to it, she looked around the room—pink everywhere, stuffed toys piled like drifting clouds of cotton candy.
On the bed sat something strange. She picked it up.
Peppa?
Really?
In this world's memory, the pink creature with the too-big nose was apparently a superstar in the Starfall Empire. People tattooed it. Merch sold out instantly. Trend slogans, too—
"Peppa on your skin, applause for the social kin."
Yeah… priorities.
A pig had become a cultural hurricane.
Anya blinked.
Apocalypse fashion was simpler: new tech, new weapons. As Eastern Commander, she always tested them first. No pigs involved.
She tossed Peppa aside.
Personally she preferred dark green—quiet, clean. But the pink didn't annoy her.
Bandage done, she showered, changed, and rested.
Tongquelou.
The biggest entertainment club in Kyoto.
If you had money, you could do almost anything.
Even things people pretended not to talk about.
Rich heirs of Kyoto practically lived here—walking ATMs with expensive haircuts. And power.
Ethan stepped inside. Immediate greetings.
Every staff member paused as he passed, lowering their heads. "Master."
The place was empty—fully booked.
Inside, it looked like a palace that decided dignity was optional. Velvet, gold, perfume thick enough to chew.
"This way, Master. Jason and the others are waiting upstairs."
Ethan nodded.
"Ethan, finally!"
Inside the hall, young men lounged with half-open shirts, each holding a girl, drinking like tomorrow didn't exist.
Hands wandered; soft cries followed.
The bodies were everywhere. I counted—actually no, I stopped counting; didn't matter.
Ethan smirked. "So Jason and Chase really went all-out."
"HAHAHAHA—"
Laughter filled the room.
"Man, my wallet is dying!" Jason clutched his chest dramatically. "If I knew, I wouldn't have made that bet! That was two months of salary!"
Ethan lifted an eyebrow. "Funny. I tipped Luke the other day. About the same amount."
"What the—! No comparison, no injury!" Jason groaned.
Then instantly changed tone, "Hey, your house still needsssss… a servant?"