As the staff member’s face came into view, gasps of admiration rippled through the audience here and there.

…How can a human face look like that?

The staff was so ridiculously handsome that all sense of reality evaporated in an instant. Working as crew with a face like that was a total waste.

Of course, it was all just cognitive dissonance.

The context of the whole situation—from that disgusting vomiting scene on the display to right now—didn’t match up at all.

“Y-You…!”

The handsome staff gripped the host’s collar tight and wouldn’t let go.

The host was a fairly plump guy. The kind of build that would take three grown men putting in real effort to lift. Yet here he was, dangling like a child caught by two fingers on his collar.

“L-Let go!”

The host flailed wildly. The handsome staff just tilted his head slightly, showing no sign of releasing him.

“That’s not an answer to my question.”

“Kuh…”

The host kicked futilely at the air.

The broadcast was already live. It was far too late to deny anything…

That’s what most people would think.

The host knew the power of broadcasting. It was his job to know and wield the power of incitement. If he played this right now, the rest would sort itself out.

Inquiries from viewers demanding an explanation would flood in.

So what?

Just air a special lottery episode as an event, and the protests would die down quick. That was the plan.

The problem wasn’t the viewers. It was Siesta.

If this scandal blew up, Siesta would pin the blame on him. The bigger the fallout, the harsher the punishment.

That, at least…

The host’s mind raced at full speed.

The terrorist disguised as staff didn’t scare him. A limb or two blown off? Whatever.

It’s a prosthetic body anyway.

But those eyes piercing right through him. Something about the protein blob beyond them felt… different from his own.

Why was such a ridiculous thought crossing his mind? He’d dealt with countless panels and rotten-to-the-core people before.

Never seen eyes like that.

…Come to think of it, just a moment ago.

He said something like, “Why talk about me without me here?”…

Right then, security personnel poured in, cutting off his thoughts.

“Kyaaak!”

The audience seats erupted in chaos at their entrance. The trance induced by the staff, Lee Taebaek’s, face had broken.

The Security Team crept forward in a tight formation. The number of red dots dancing on Lee Taebaek’s body steadily increased.

He flicked his eyes to assess their gear.

Helmets plastered with infrared search lenses, stab-proof and bulletproof vests, stocks that were transparent tubes swirling with firefly-like energy.

Pulse guns.

Heavy weapons that didn’t match the timeline.

They only showed up in the main story, five years from now.

And they were top-shelf too. Way too high-end for a mere broadcast station’s security. Each one cost an arm and a leg—literally a perfect example of Siesta ties.

As the situation turned dire, the audience shoved past the security flanks and fled.

“What should we do, Director?”

A man who looked like the Security Team’s leader muttered. The host, still dangling from Lee Taebaek’s two fingers, yelled out.

“Can’t you see the cameras are on?! You gonna put on a massacre show for the whole City to watch? You got brains or not?!”

“…Understood.”

The muzzles that had twitched toward the door snapped back to Lee Taebaek.

A moment later.

The evacuation wave stopped. The showroom, still warm from human presence, filled with the heat of gunpowder instead.

The security chief planted a red dot on Lee Taebaek’s forehead and spoke.

“Let go of him, terrorist.”

“…”

“Drop him, or we fire.”

“…”

As the firing line closed in, Lee Taebaek didn’t budge. Like a totem pole, he stood firm, allowing the enemies to approach.

The host was dying inside.

Objectively, the situation looked better for him now. But anxiety clutched his solar plexus and wouldn’t let go. The staff’s words from the screen kept nagging at him.

“Siesta pulse guns on City Government goons.”

Lee Taebaek muttered. Only then did the security chief react.

“…! How do you know that?”

“No matter how hard you hide it, it’s all in the palm of my hand.”

Lee Taebaek slipped a hand into his inner pocket.

Sure enough, out came a handgun. Old-looking exterior, but meticulously maintained—the barrel gleamed.

“Now I’ve got the circumstantial evidence secured too. What do you think?”

Lee Taebaek nodded toward the blank display, gun in hand.

“Jasbi.”

At the call, the display lit up instantly.

The figure on screen responded immediately. The host jolted in shock.

Because the face matched the guy gripping his collar exactly. Twins?

“The Siesta factory raid’s going great too.”

But the voice was way too youthful. The speech pattern too.

What? As confusion flickered in the host’s eyes, the face on screen began to split apart. Into yellow and pink data fragments. Virtual overlay stripped.

The true form emerged.

The person wearing the same balaclava as the staff was a little girl.

Her neat features contrasted with mischievous, sharply upturned eyes. She spoke.

“The 9th Battalion guys are releasing one or two cultured humans each. It’ll take about 30 minutes. After that, Siesta’s army will swarm in.”

“N-No way! Just the stationed soldiers at the cultivation factory number in the hundreds—how could it take 30 minutes…!”

The host clamped his mouth shut after spilling that. Lee Taebaek glanced at him and nodded to Jasbi.

“Hear that? Hundreds, she says.”

“Oh. Fewer than expected? Then we can stretch it to 45 minutes!”

“F-Forty-five minutes? How?!”

The host blurted. The Security Team unwittingly loosened their formation, sharing the sentiment.

“Ahem!”

Jasbi puffed out her chest proudly toward the stunned group and explained.

“Who am I? The AI heralding the end of the human era—”

“No chit-chat.”

“…Siesta’s self-developed AI. So, their security protocols are my turf.”

Turf?

Everyone seemed shocked by the sophisticated vocab from the kid-like Jasbi.

“Hacked every door, of course. Dropped the firewalls too. Can’t get in. ‘This factory’s mine now.’”

Jasbi delivered the last line in an exaggerated robotic tone. Mocking the humans.

“So, Creator! Wrap this up in 10 minutes and join me! It’s a solid 20-minute trip from there. Oh, and that’s riding Red Hare. Don’t forget!”

“What do you take me for.”

Lee Taebaek massaged the back of his neck.

“Five minutes is plenty. Red Hare can do it in 15.”

“Look at you, Mr. Big Shot. Then don’t ask me for distance calcs next time. Sheesh.”

Jasbi turned away haughtily.

“Ah.”

Then returned to the screen, like she’d forgotten something.

“Oh, didn’t mention—hacked all your station’s internal and external cams? Grabbed the edits too. Not to brag as an AI, but you guys are seriously inhumane.”

“Wh-What…!”

“All this intel drops exclusive on my channel, ‘JasbiTV’! Hope for tons of viewers! Okay, really out now! Bye-bye!”

-Click.

“…”

“…”

Silence blanketed the showroom in an instant.

As the sweating host tried to turn to Lee Taebaek—

Click.

Cold metal pressed his cheek. Python’s muzzle.

“Y-You.”

The host’s brain kicked into overdrive, sensing this was his end. He cursed himself for not realizing sooner when he first saw the revolver.

The umbrella sword had thrown him off, but that—the outdated gun—was one of the new Ten Wings Supreme’s trademarks.

“Your brain’s not prosthetic too, right.”

He pulled the trigger. The shot rang out, followed by blood splattering the display vividly.

“Fire—!”

The security chief bellowed, and the team squeezed their triggers heavily. Energy clashed wildly in the chambers, forming beams that shot straight.

A cute pew-pew sound. But pulse gun power was no joke.

The energy bolts scorched yellow paths through the air and slammed into targets. No blind spots. Homing systems made dodging pointless.

“That’s why I tried to delete it.”

Lee Taebaek smiled bitterly.

“Cheaty as hell. But actually experiencing it? Not nerf-worthy.”

He tossed the host’s corpse aside and invoked [Bullet Time]. The world slowed. He snapped his fingers nonstop. Ice Magic.

Time froze. No longer a metaphor. Layering Ice Magic on Bullet Time let him solidify space-time itself. He was Ten Wings.

But wiping them all out in one go? Firepower fell a bit short. Ice Magic’s strength was its utility.

To amp raw power, he’d need a separate [Restriction].

Too bad to ditch the utility.

He wouldn’t use Ice Magic if that was the goal anyway. Firepower gaps? Fill with body.

In halted time.

Can’t dodge that.

Lee Taebaek flipped a desk for cover. Sluggish energy bolts gnawed at the broad shield.

One, two, three, four, five shots.

Now.

He planted a foot on the desk’s base touching the floor and kicked up. He’d buffed the desk with life force. Pulse gun homing tracked vital signs.

Blind bolts pulverized the desk to dust. Security faces shifted sloooowly.

Lee Taebaek launched forward like an arrow. Gradient afterimages trailed. His zigzagging form weaved through enemy gaps.

Ting.

A casing hit the floor. Taking position behind the Security Team, Lee Taebaek casually checked his Python. Time resumed.

Gunfire erupted everywhere. Ownerless bolts chewed the showroom’s corners.

Soon, it resembled hole-riddled cheese.

Lee Taebaek righted a relatively intact camera.

“Warning to the station.”

No audience left. Alone before the lens, he affixed his mask to his chin.

“From today, one by one, it’ll be like this. Don’t want that? Spill the megacorp secrets you know. To me.”

The mask sealed his lower face with precise motion. As he continued, heat lines pulsed like veins across it.

“Then I’ll kill you quick. Like those guys.”

Lee Taebaek spun the Python showily.