In the plain silver room, the howling of the autumn wind echoed. Julian Grant stepped down from the machine, pressing his temples to relax his nerves.

The curtains were lifted by the wind, and a still-green fallen leaf drifted in. Julian Grant only then realized he had forgotten to close the window, but at this moment, he didn’t care. He turned the computer on his desk, fingers flying as he logged into his Trident account.

After the livestream screen loaded, Julian Grant first went to his own perspective’s room and scrolled through the comments.

He wasn’t some celebrity player; his audience was much smaller than The Vault’s, and those who came to watch were basically all fans, so the comment section was overall quite harmonious. This time, his performance was outstanding by any standard—calm, steady, sharp-eyed… Yet that didn’t stop netizens from continuing to call him Quincy.

It was infuriating. People like The Vault—good at everything, but best at giving nicknames.

Julian Grant skimmed through the comments, confirming the audience’s feedback on this instance. After closing his own stream, he quietly snuck over to The Vault’s side to watch, wanting to know how she managed to escape in the end, and where she went.

He had thought that, after escaping a hundred relentless pursuers and even turning the tables on them, The Vault would be feeling quite triumphant. But when he dragged the livestream recording to the last few minutes and saw The Vault clutching her handbag tightly, walking alone on a deserted mountain path, he froze.

The Vault’s gaze was lowered, staring at the tips of her shoes, her thin figure almost dissolving into the misty rain. From her face, Julian Grant could clearly read her thoughts—she was probably wondering where she should go.

Like a rootless duckweed, drifting with no anchor. At most, following the wind and rain, flowing with the water, escaping to some unknown place.

He didn’t know why, but this person who seemed so elusive and distant, so cold and detached, suddenly felt as if she was letting him see right through her.

Julian Grant raised his hand and rubbed his face.

For The Vault and Harry Forrest, leaving wasn’t the end, but just the beginning.

Julian Grant was still lost in thought when the door suddenly opened and a monkey-like young man jumped in from outside, exclaiming, “Boss!”

Julian Grant immediately turned off the screen, slammed the laptop shut, and turned around to block the desk, saying coldly, “What do you want? Ever heard of knocking?”

“Well, you hadn’t come out in ages!” The young man fidgeted, pretending to be shy. “Why so nervous, boss? Are you watching that woman you’ll never catch up to?”

Julian Grant: “??” Employees these days are really bold. He couldn’t make sense of the situation.

Freedom had gone too far.

“Boss, boss!” The young man buzzed around him like a fly, grinning with white teeth. “I can tell you where she is, no charge, just let me get off work a little early today, okay?”

Julian Grant brushed past him straight to the door, snorting, “No need, I’m not looking for her.”

The young man pleaded eagerly, “Then let me do a solo highlight reel for her! My magic editing skills will give her VIP-level spotlight, make her look like a top pro, how about it?”

Julian Grant clicked his tongue in disdain, shoved the guy into a nearby office, and told him to get back to being a corporate drone.

Seeing his mind was made up, the young man wailed, locked the door from inside, and sulked, “Even if you ask me, I won’t tell you now!”

Julian Grant: “I said I don’t need it!”

Julian Grant thought to himself, where would The Vault go after finishing the instance? Of course, the lounge. Free premium services and food—how could she miss that?

But when he took the elevator up to the lounge, he didn’t find any sign of The Vault.

The lounge was crowded. This instance was a large-scale team event, with more players than ever before in Trident’s history, so Trident had opened the instance in shifts.

A large number of new players who had never experienced this game before were reluctant to leave even after finishing, passionately discussing strategies with fellow fans in the lounge and reflecting on their own performance.

The once spacious and private lounge had actually become a bit crowded.

Julian Grant searched carefully, but The Vault really wasn’t there.

Maybe she was really in a bad mood, to the point of skipping a meal.

Julian Grant felt a vague sense of worry.

Just as he was about to leave, a chef busy at the kitchen counter called out to him.

“That young lady,” the uncle gestured, indicating he was very reliable, “just packed up and left. Don’t worry, she took plenty—she’ll definitely be full.”

Julian Grant: “……”

Turns out, he really did know The Vault well.

…And it also proved his employees were all a bit abnormal.

·

The Vault sat on a wooden bench, biting into a savory pancake, eating with great focus.

She heard footsteps approaching and caught a glimpse of someone stopping not far from her.

“What a coincidence.” Julian Grant had both hands in his pockets. “I knew you’d be here.”

The Vault took another bite of her pancake, slowly pulled out a card from her pocket, and said, “Trident’s terminal locator, right? The magic of technology.”

Julian Grant showed no embarrassment at being exposed. He walked over, motioned for her to scoot over, and sat down beside her. “What made you come to the school? Is the scenery that nice here?”

They were facing a high school. In September, all schools had officially started. A group of teenagers were horsing around at the school gate, their noisy voices carrying all the way across the street.

The Vault pressed down her windblown hair and said, “It’s so-so. The lounge was too crowded. Eating here gives me more of an appetite.”

Julian Grant rubbed his nose, pondering how to start, then turned to look at her profile. “I haven’t congratulated you yet—on winning the game.”

The Vault smiled faintly at that, her voice as light as the wind: “A game that begins with death as its premise never really has a so-called victory.”

Julian Grant was silent for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right.”

The Vault said, “I’m always right.”

…Shameless.

The Vault lowered her hand, watching the people running back and forth across the street. Compared to their liveliness, she suddenly felt the urge to talk to the person beside her. She patted Julian Grant and said, “Do you know what it feels like to have your life cut off?”

Julian Grant: “What do you mean, cut off?”

“It’s like, from a certain day onward, the world suddenly changes, and you have to accept a different life, follow different rules. From then on, it’s as if you’re a walking corpse, living someone else’s life, with no sense of belonging.” The Vault paused, then continued, “Whenever you look back, you’re always stuck on the day everything changed. But except for yourself, no one remembers the time when you existed.”

Julian Grant pondered, unable to answer.

From this angle, he could see the reflection in The Vault’s pupils.

She looked frighteningly pale, with faint dark circles under her eyes—clearly not well-rested. The bones of her wrist were so thin they jutted out, and when she exerted force, the veins bulged.

Julian Grant’s thoughts drifted. He mused that geniuses like them rarely took care of themselves.

The Vault said, “I’ve always wondered, and never understood, where Harry Forrest wanted to go, where he could go. Today I kind of get it—it doesn’t matter where you escape to, as long as you can get away from this world.”

Julian Grant snapped back, blinking. He clasped his hands, thought for a moment, and said, “Do you know why Trident created the game 【Crime Analysis】?”

The Vault said, “Because people these days are too restless.”

Julian Grant was momentarily speechless, but kept his serious tone: “Because people only care about what’s more entertaining, so they’re easily distracted by exaggerated surface-level things, becoming more paranoid and harsh. It’s as if, in this world, only the biggest rights and wrongs, the greatest good and evil, matter. Some people, as a result, use entertainment to present what should be serious and nuanced topics in a one-sided way, just to attract attention.”

“Using public opinion to hijack the truth, using the power of the crowd to define good and evil. Venting so-called justice, blurring the boundaries of morality in the name of freedom…” Julian Grant shook his head. “That’s not right. Maybe only a few get hurt, but once tragedy happens, it can’t be undone. Since everyone thinks they’re so smart, we’ll use entertainment too, to reveal the truth. The planners hope that by making it real and relatable, people will understand that what matters more than the result is the reason behind it. More important than criticism is the remorse that prevents repeating the same mistakes. That’s the original intent of 【Crime Analysis】.”

The Vault nodded, taking it all in, and summed it up in one line: “So it’s because people these days are too restless.”

She wore a proud expression that said, “I gave the right answer, so what are you rambling on about, bro?”

Julian Grant: “……” There was just no talking to this person. What kind of deity is she?

The Vault raised her hand and continued eating her pancake.

Julian Grant caught the aroma of food from her hand, and his stomach suddenly growled with hunger. Only then did he realize that, in his search for her, he hadn’t even had lunch.