From the stairwell, Yang Yu stopped halfway down. Below, Ye Cheng sat surrounded by a wall of books nearly as tall as she was, muttering equations under her breath, utterly oblivious to the world. After a brief pause, he motioned for Sorra to follow and led him quietly into the kitchen.
"Do you remember how I prepared the ingredients yesterday?"
Sorra nodded once.
"Then go ahead," Yang Yu said simply, folding his arms to watch.
Sorra opened the refrigeration unit, pulled out a handful of seasonal greens, and began to work. At first his movements were deliberate, almost hesitant. Then his hands grew faster, steadier—each slice falling into a rhythm so precise it bordered on musical. The vegetables came out evenly cut, perfectly uniform. Anyone watching would have thought he'd trained for years.
Yang Yu knew better. Sorra had never done such work in his life.
The Senlo race were created for beauty, not endurance; their bodies were delicate, their strength limited. If Ye Cheng were to spar with Sorra, Yang Yu suspected she might actually win.
Long ago, the Senlo had lived simply, surviving on fruit and tree sap. Then the New‑Humans found them—captured, bred, refined. Those raised as original slaves were shaped into living masterpieces. Everything in their training—pose, diet, aesthetics—was brutally strict.
Those who could afford a Senlo never wasted them on labor. When Yang Yu had first examined Sorra's hands, they were soft as polished jade, whiter and smoother than any noblewoman's. That someone like him had once killed a man still seemed impossible.
Yesterday, Sorra had mostly rested. Only at dinner time had Yang Yu allowed him to observe the cooking. At the end, he'd handed him the knife for practice—a mere two strokes—and those had been enough to catch Yang Yu's attention.
He watched silently until Sorra finished prepping all the ingredients. Taking over, Yang Yu demonstrated an intricate breakfast pastry, his movements swift and exact. When he finished, he washed his hands and asked, "Did you follow what I just did?"
Sorra nodded again.
"Ten pieces," Yang Yu instructed.
Minutes later, ten perfect replicas sat cooling on the counter—each identical to the original. Yang Yu studied the faint light around Sorra's collar thoughtfully.
By then morning had bloomed fully. The twins, well‑rested, toddled downstairs hand in hand after washing. Unfamiliar with their new surroundings and unsure where their father had gone, they exchanged looks and tiptoed to Ye Cheng's desk, tugging softly at her sleeve.
Half‑buried in her studies, Ye Cheng jolted at the gentle pull. When she looked down suddenly, little Sequoia stiffened in terror, expecting instinctively the blow that should follow. Her training told her not to flinch.
Realizing too late that she'd frightened them, Ye Cheng dropped her pen and scooped Sequoia into her arms. "Oh—I'm so sorry! You're awake! Are you hungry? Let's go find your dad!" One arm holding Sequoia, she reached for Gingko's hand with the other and led them toward the kitchen.
Inside, the two men each worked quietly—one cooking, one observing. When Sorra finished, Yang Yu placed the pastries in the warmer and signaled him to wash his hands. Turning around, he met Ye Cheng's wide‑eyed stare head‑on. "Master, hungry already?"
Ye Cheng nearly choked on her words—she had been watching the graceful figure of Sorra cooking far too intently, completely caught in the act. Flustered, she improvised, "I—I just brought the kids to… help!"
Yang Yu gestured cordially. "Please, then."
Trying to save face, Ye Cheng straightened and marched over to the stove. She scooped steaming porridge into bowls, stacked them on a tray, and carried everything to the dining table while the twins hesitated between her and their father until Yang Yu calmly lifted one under each arm and followed.
Breakfast was quiet but comfortable. When the dishes were loaded into the washer, Yang Yu turned back toward the stairs—just as Ye Cheng was about to dive back into her textbooks.
"Master, one moment," he said.
She halted.
"Do you know much about the Senlo people?"
The question caught her off guard. She'd glanced at a few brief summaries online during their travels, but the details blurred beneath exhaustion. Looking at Sorra—the perfect statue brought to life—and the two fragile, silent children, she understood why he asked and shook her head guiltily.
"No excuse," she muttered. She had accepted responsibility for them; learning who they were was the least she could do.
"How much do you know, then?"
"Well…" she thought aloud, "the Senlo were said to be beloved by nature itself. When the First Humans and the New‑Humans discovered them, they were captured for their beauty and… healing energy. Their presence can ease pain, speed recovery, help sleep…"
Yang Yu finished for her. "Hybrids of Senlo descent, because they channel elemental energy, can amplify those effects. Being around them benefits your health substantially."
"That's great," Ye Cheng said, "but what about their learning? Look at me—I'm practically back to grade school myself. I can't even teach basic letters."
"Gingko and Sequoia can start fresh," Yang Yu replied. "A standard early‑education robot is more than enough."
At once Ye Cheng opened her Subspace interface, browsed the catalog, and—true to her nouveau‑riche instincts—selected the most expensive model available, ordering express delivery.
When she finished, she asked, "And Sorra?"
Yang Yu didn't answer immediately. He stepped over to the nearest stack of textbooks, pulled one free, and turned it toward Sorra. "Can you read? Try the title."
Sorra glanced once. "Mecha Manufacturing Technology: Foundations."
Bingo. Yang Yu flipped open the book. "Read a paragraph."
Sorra started calmly, voice low but steady. "Influence, primary… cutting… equipment… composition…"
"Enough." Yang Yu closed the book and handed him a holographic panel. "Write what you just saw."
Sorra called up a blank screen and began to write with his fingertip.
Ye Cheng, peering over Yang Yu's shoulder, compared the result to the open page—and slowly, her jaw dropped.
He'd seen the passage once. Only once. Every word, number, punctuation mark—even a technical diagram of a mech's internal components—was reproduced perfectly, line for line.
Her voice trembled. "How… how is this possible?"
Yang Yu explained evenly, "I doubt anyone formally taught him. More likely he experienced fragments of instruction, memorized what he heard, and built the rest himself. No one ever let him speak much, so his verbal fluency stayed minimal while his comprehension expanded inward."
"How did you even notice?"
"I taught him housework yesterday," Yang Yu said matter‑of‑factly. "He replicated every single procedure flawlessly after one demonstration."
Ye Cheng inhaled sharply, trying to keep herself calm. "Is there anything else?"
"Master," he said quietly, "we should test his elemental level."
She stiffened. "Test? You mean his power?"
"Yes. A hybrid's ability usually shows through the collar, but original slaves' are masked—always gray. With a catalyst we can glimpse the truth."
"Tell me what to do."
"Please lend a mid‑grade Source Crystal."
Without hesitation, Ye Cheng withdrew a crimson crystal from her Ring and placed it in his palm. Yang Yu led Sorra to the far corner of the room and removed the crystal from its case, holding it near the gray collar at his throat.
At contact, the crystal flared—then went dark.
Yang Yu's pupils contracted. "Master, change it—his resonance has already exceeded Crimson‑grade Zenith level."
Ye Cheng produced another, smaller stone—deep brown—and tossed it over. Yang Yu repeated the test. This time the crystal glowed faintly…and did not fade. Slowly, the gray of Sorra's collar bled into the same deep, earthy brown.
They both stared. The brown of Dusk—the Ninth Tier in universal classification.
Untrained. Untaught. Yet born at Dusk‑class strength.
Yang Yu finally broke the silence. "Master—for now, forget everything that happened today." He boxed the crystal carefully and handed it back. "Until we have the strength to defend him, if anyone learns of this, he'll be taken. Forever."
Ye Cheng nodded, throat tight. Watching the light drain from the collar as it reverted to dull gray, her chest ached with helpless frustration.
If Sorra were a pure First Human, he'd be inducted into the Central Imperial Academy by royal decree, trained by the emperor's own guard.
If he were a pure New‑Human, with that mind and that memory, he'd already be celebrated as a prodigy across the Union.
But he wasn't.
He was a hybrid.
That single word was enough to turn miracles into sins. From birth, their blood sealed their fate—to serve, to hide, to vanish.
After a long stillness, Ye Cheng lunged forward and wrapped her arms around him. "There will be a way," she whispered fiercely. "Hybrids won't suffer forever. I'll change it—somehow."
Sorra gazed silently past her, toward the pale curtain swaying in the breeze. He said nothing.