Little Pink Starfish

It was right after the latest manga issue that Yuan Yuanyuan suddenly had a realization.

—In other people’s eyes, I really do look like a big boss.
Although many seemed to “look down on her,” it wasn’t the usual kind of disdain. It was more like a tactical dismissal of an opponent—looking down from a strategic standpoint.

So Yuan Yuanyuan decided that she would also start strategically dismissing them. Today, she deliberately went out carrying both her phone and a small notebook. Inside the notebook were the key notes she jotted down while reading the last issue of the manga—pointers on how to appear calm, detached, yet charismatic. The manga was cached on her phone for reference.

If she wanted to replicate that air of aloof coolness… how should she go about it? Her brain was buzzing with ideas as she walked down the street, fully immersed in thought. Truthfully, she did want to play the role of “Yuan.” And the more time passed, the stronger that desire grew.

She wanted to experience the satisfaction of smirking at people. After all, it’s always more satisfying when a good-looking character smirks compared to a plain or ugly one. It just feels more “righteously smug.”

Yuan Yuanyuan flipped open her notebook and read the first line: “Must flirt with death.”

She promptly shut the notebook.

—Useless advice, clearly.

…

She’d been thinking about it for days before realizing why things had felt so different back then—because during those days she was constantly flirting with death. Every minute, every second, she was testing just how far she could push before dying.
And honestly, in films and stories, she always thought characters who sacrificed themselves were cool. That one scene where a protagonist leaves their comrades behind to face certain death—that was her forever favorite.

Did I just unlock a new kink? she wondered.

Feeling vaguely off, she turned and suddenly noticed something strange in the mirror across the street.

Same face. Same eyes. But in the mirror, the lips were curled up in a smile—while she was sure she wasn’t smiling at all.

Oh ho… what now?

She clenched her fist. Mirrors were creepy. She already knew that. When injured, if she used shapeshifting and stood before a mirror, there was a high chance her real face would be reflected instead.

It had happened twice. Both times she’d been seriously hurt. Ever since then, she was extra cautious around mirrors.

She unclenched her fist and walked away, pretending nothing had happened.

A few steps later, her phone buzzed violently in her pocket. It was the masked organization contacting her.

[“Walk forward. Someone will be waiting for you ahead.”]

Yuan Yuanyuan put the phone away with a blank expression, walked forward past a billboard, and silently pulled her hat lower. She turned a corner and a mask appeared on her face.

Soon, she spotted someone familiar—just an acquaintance from the organization.

She wasn’t planning to chat. Just grab the note and leave like before. But then, the ground suddenly shook violently.

She nearly lost her balance but managed to steady herself. The man opposite her looked just as confused.

Yuan Yuanyuan didn’t know exactly what caused it, but her instincts screamed it wasn’t a simple earthquake. It felt like some kind of radar blaring in her head.

They exchanged a glance. The man flinched. Wait, did my look just scare him? she wondered. Odd. She didn’t think her expression was that intense.

Still, she immediately pulled him away from the area.

Three seconds later, every mirror behind them exploded. Glass shards rained down like daggers. The people who hadn’t left yet were cut up and bleeding everywhere.

“Shit, they found us!” the man hissed.

“Where’s the stuff?” Yuan didn’t even look at him. She reached over, took the note, and gripped it tightly in her hand.

“You leaving already, bro?” the man asked, “So cold? Not even a few words?”

Yuan Yuanyuan gave him a deadpan look. Talk? Here? While glass is raining from the sky? What is wrong with you?
She just wanted to go home.

She no longer cared about what she’d seen in that mirror. If that ghostly version wanted to follow her, it’d have to catch her first.

To the man, she seemed frighteningly composed.

After all, someone in black, completely unreadable, and with years of espionage experience… well, they gave off a reliable vibe.

She was ready to leave. But apparently that mirror-thing wasn’t ready to let her go so easily.

“What the hell was that thing?” she asked the guy.

“Some rogue from an anti-mask group,” he said.

Typical. Military cut, bad attitude, guaranteed bad luck. she thought.

The ground… the asphalt shimmered like glass.

She almost reached down to touch it but stopped herself. No way she was putting her hand on that.

A faint red mist of demonic energy filled the air. Thick with the smell of blood. Her temperature began to spike. She could feel the demon blood stirring inside her.

Wait… I forgot something… what was it again?

Then a sharp metallic taste filled her mouth. Blood. She forced it down.

One…

Two…

Three…

The man didn’t notice a thing. She showed no signs of pain on her face.

Yuan Yuanyuan lowered her head and sighed internally.

Damn it. I haven’t had blood for a whole week.

A tragic story, really.

The Blood Jade Technique had one basic requirement—human blood.

Unfortunately, with Fat Cat around, she had to sneak around to drink blood. When it’s readily available, you remember to drink it. Put it out of reach, you forget it exists.

Getting human blood was a pain. Sometimes she’d sneak into alleys or forests… Eventually, she just started skipping it. But now it was catching up to her—her chest felt like it was on fire.

The only way to ease the pain now was to stop using the Blood Jade Technique.

…Which made her want to slam her head against a wall.

Stop using it? Yeah right. That’s a death sentence.

Okay, calm down…

She reached for her notebook and reread the first line. Look, an opportunity to die dramatically is right in front of me. Perfect timing, right? …Though I feel like shit.

Next line: “Be more reliable.”

Yuan Yuanyuan remembered thinking, Damn, this Yuan guy really seems reliable in the manga.
Maybe it was her own biased view. But she liked how dependable he came across.

Even though that wasn’t helping much now.

She pulled out her dagger, slashed her own wrist, and took a deep gulp.

Demon blood mixed with human blood—intense and a little euphoric.

It felt like drinking fire.

The contact stood frozen. Her wrist was bleeding steadily as she wrapped it with torn fabric, all while licking the blood off her hand.

Her eyes were blood-red. Her expression: completely calm.

“D-doesn’t that hurt?” the man asked timidly.

Of course it did.

But compared to the burning in her chest, this was nothing. Like how women don’t feel the side cuts during childbirth. Same vibe.

But she wasn’t about to explain that.

Instead, she figured she’d throw in one last dramatic line before leaving.

“Run. Down the street—no glass. Don’t look back.”

Her voice was low and gentle. It was one of her ultimate weapons. A few years ago, during an escape, she used this exact tone on a kind innkeeper and got a double serving of noodles.

Today, she used it again.

She figured this little military-cut guy was soft-hearted. She didn’t want him caught in this mess. Also… he probably brought bad luck.

She raised her dagger, staring at the spider-web of cracks on the ground.

Alright. Let’s see what the hell you are.

The guy turned to run, shouting, “Hang in there, hot guy! I’ll go get help!”

Yuan didn’t respond.

Instead, she focused on the cracks spreading across the ground. They reached her feet.

For a second, she thought she saw a reflection of herself in the asphalt. Not a shadow—a reflection.

She raised her hand, dagger glinting, and a faint smile curled her lips.

A sharp, peach-blossom smile.

But paired with her eyes—it made your blood run cold.