Blackrock City, outskirts.

  Inside an abandoned, dust?filled house, Damon Diaz — a steward of the Filthsoil Organization — paced back and forth like a caged beast.

  His face twisted with anxiety as he dialed the same number again and again.

  From the call log, it was clear he had already tried dozens of times.

  Each attempt ended the same way:

  “The number you have dialed is temporarily unavailable…”

  The moment the automated voice began again, Damon slammed the hang?up button, gripping the phone so hard that cracks spread across the screen like spiderwebs.

  He stared at the shattered display, jaw clenched.

  He wanted to throw the phone against the wall —

  but instead, he dialed again.

  This time, after only two rings—

  Someone picked up.

  Damon froze, then spoke quickly:

  “Elder Vilewind! Finally! I’ve been trying to reach you all day.

  Did the mission go smoothly?”

  A firm, powerful voice replied:

  “Mission accomplished. Target eliminated.”

  Damon exhaled in relief.

  “Excellent. With you taking action—”

  He suddenly stopped.

  “Wait… you killed the woman?

  Headquarters said to keep her alive.”

  The voice snapped coldly:

  “I, Quentin Vilewind, do not answer to anyone.”

  “R?right, of course.

  Then… did you retrieve the formula?”

  The voice spoke solemnly:

  “Half a pound of polygonatum, half a pound of astragalus, half a pound of apples, half a pound of oranges.

  Two bowls of water boiled down to half a pot.

  Don’t drink it.

  Pour it out.”

  Damon blinked.

  “That’s… the formula?

  Elder, please don’t joke around.”

  Something felt wrong.

  He lowered his voice.

  “Elder Vilewind… did something happen?

  You’re not acting like yourself.”

  Suddenly, the voice burst into a bizarre rap:

  “I wasn’t like this before,

  but you made me strange—

  the first time I’ve ever felt this way—”

  Damon’s expression darkened instantly.

  “You’re not Elder Vilewind.

  Who the hell are you?!”

  The voice switched tone without warning:

  “I was born a delicate maiden,

  not a man of steel!”

  Damon tried to question further—

  But the voice on the other end suddenly screamed, raw and desperate:

  “Johnny!

  Johnny, don’t leave me — Johnny!”

  The call didn’t disconnect,

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  but no matter what Damon said,

  the only reply was that same heart?wrenching cry:

  “Johnny… Johnny…”

  Damon’s face twisted with fury.

  He clenched his fist—

  CRUNCH.

  The phone collapsed into a ball of mangled metal.

  “This is serious.

  I must report it immediately.”

  He grabbed a subordinate’s phone, dialed another number, and relayed everything.

  “The caller kept repeating the name ‘Johnny’.

  It may be a clue.

  We should investigate from that angle.”

  “Also, the hunters who escorted Wendy Lewis should be returning to Blackrock City soon.

  I’ll question them one by one.”

  Monka City.

  “This one looks good. What do you think?” Wendy asked.

  Evan nodded.

  “Quiet neighborhood, plenty of space, a yard, and most importantly — clean.”

  “Then we’ll take it.”

  They had spent the entire morning house?hunting and finally found a suitable place.

  They signed a six?month lease through an agent.

  Even though they might not stay a full month, the landlord insisted on half?year payment.

  A small waste of money — nothing more.

  Afterward, they brought Yvonne from the hotel to the new house.

  The place still needed essentials — bedding, toiletries, cookware —

  so Wendy dragged Evan out to shop.

  Passing the market, Wendy said:

  “Let’s buy some groceries.”

  “Sis, you can cook?”

  “I learned.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  Evan was genuinely excited.

  In Rovan, food was a daily struggle.

  He couldn’t handle the local cuisine.

  Rumor had it that a Breaker?tier evolver from another nation once tried Rovan street food —

  and ended up with diarrhea so severe he nearly passed out.

  Rovanese digestive systems were apparently built different.

  They bought vegetables and seasonings, then headed to the busiest street to buy daily necessities.

  The street was crowded, with several shops selling evolutionary items.

  Many hunters came here to trade extracts and materials.

  As Evan and Wendy passed by, they overheard a group of hunters talking loudly:

  “Jabani’s team hit the jackpot!

  They found two Tier?2 beast corpses!”

  “Not just them!

  My neighbor — the gambling addict — went into the mountains yesterday and came back today with bags full of loot!”

  “What’s going on lately?

  The Blackrock Mountains are full of beast corpses —

  and the evolution material is still intact!”

  “I’m going tomorrow!”

  Evan and Wendy exchanged a glance.

  Strange indeed.

  But it had nothing to do with them, so they didn’t dwell on it.

  After buying everything, they returned to the rental house.

  Wendy cooked.

  Evan unpacked and set up the rooms.

  By the time he finished, dinner was ready.

  Four dishes and one soup —

  colorful, fragrant, and beautifully plated.

  Evan took a bite of the braised fish.

  “Mmm! Delicious!”

  He gave Wendy a big thumbs?up.

  “Sis, how can you be good at both lecturing and cooking?”

  Wendy replied calmly:

  “Cooking is like doing experiments.

  The sequence, the measurements, the heat, the timing —

  everything has a standard.

  Each dish is like a formula.

  Just follow it.”

  Evan stared at her.

  Was cooking really that scientific?

  But he had to admit —

  every dish tasted exactly like it was supposed to.

  Perfectly balanced, precise, consistent.

  Maybe… a little too consistent.

  Still, Evan wasn’t picky.

  Good food was good food.

  After dinner, Wendy said:

  “Send me your basic information later.

  I’ll have Eastern Dawn’s registry department create your file.”

  Evan paused.

  He understood—

  This meant Wendy, and the nation behind her,

  had finished investigating him

  and decided to accept him.

  He nodded.

  “Alright.

  I don’t have much to report anyway.

  Name’s Evan.

  I’ll send you my birthdate later.”

  Wendy put down her chopsticks.

  “And your household registration…

  you can join mine.”

  Evan blinked.

  “Sure.

  We’re basically family already.

  But… we don’t share a surname.

  How will they list our relationship?”

  Wendy thought for a moment.

  “We’ll put you down as my father’s adopted son.

  That makes us siblings.”

  Evan smirked.

  “Honestly…

  writing us as husband and wife would make more sense.”

  A Saint?tier’s madness echoes across nations.

  A single name — Johnny — may unravel everything.

  And in Monka City, a new “family” quietly forms.

  If you were Wendy, how would you react to Evan’s last line?