Miss Witch Doesn’t Want to Become a Songstress

Southern 1st District, Night Lightning Zone

In the darkened streets, a young man wearing a black short-sleeve shirt ran frantically. As he searched for narrow alleys to hide in, he nervously scanned his surroundings, wary of any pursuers.

“Haah, haah—” Supporting himself against a wall, his chest heaved as his sweat-soaked back stuck to his shirt.

“They didn’t follow me?” he muttered softly to himself before looking up at the narrow strip of sky visible from the alley.

Suspended vehicles adorned with neon lights and advertisements drifted slowly in the sky. They doubled as entertainment venues and prime advertising spaces. It was said that the yearly cost of advertising on one of those floating platforms reached tens of millions of Federation credits.

“Damn the capitalists and their money!”

He punched the wall in frustration before staggering forward again, trudging through a grimy alley littered with filth and garbage.

…

Edess Academy, Combat Training Room

In the academy’s training facility, a burly young man around eighteen was sweating profusely. Bare-chested and wearing loose-fitting pants, he continuously threw punches in the training room. His movements honed both his physique and his mastery of a recently advanced profession.

As time passed, his control over his new abilities became increasingly refined. The transcendent core within him stabilized and burned brighter. The boiling magical energy caused steam to rise from his body, emitting waves of white mist.

Finally, as his momentum and magical power reached their peak, he let out a resounding shout and threw a punch. The explosive sound of a sonic boom echoed throughout the training room.

The rubber-clad dummy shattered, revealing thick, broken steel rods inside. The surrounding rubber even melted in places, filling the air with a pungent, charred smell.

After finishing his training, the young man stepped out of the room. A slightly younger boy immediately approached him with a towel in hand, helping to wipe off his sweat while speaking with admiration.

“Brother Valk, you’re amazing! You’ve just advanced this morning, and you can already wield your pathway’s power so skillfully! I checked the training room records earlier—your punch just now was unmatched among Sequence 4! Even the much-hyped Goldfish Princess Evony doesn’t hold a candle to you!”

“Don’t exaggerate. I’m two years older than Evony and have wasted a lot of time,” Valk replied calmly, brushing off the compliment. His mind was already on consulting the academy’s nutritionist later that night to discuss what he needed to supplement in the coming weeks. Time was a luxury he couldn’t afford to waste; there were too many things awaiting his attention.

“Should we report this to Teacher Sima?” the boy asked after hearing Valk’s plan.

Sima was the Edess Academy instructor who had discovered Valk in the slums of Northern 9th District. Now responsible for Valk’s daily life, Sima was his go-to for reporting and coordination.

Although Valk’s impoverished background had delayed his education, he was exceptionally gifted. Within a short time, he had advanced to Sequence 4 Solar Warrior, a high-difficulty, transcendent pathway evaluated as perfect-grade.

Even in an elite-filled environment like Edess Academy, his talent earned him widespread respect, and his life here had begun to stabilize.

“Let’s inform the teacher—it’s his support that’s brought me this far,” Valk said, tossing the towel back to the younger boy before stepping into the nearby shower room to freshen up and change into clean clothes.

“Got it!” the boy responded cheerfully.

…

Nighttime

Later that evening, after a celebratory banquet, Valk stepped out of the brightly lit restaurant. The night breeze felt particularly refreshing. He reflected on the compliments and praise he had received from academy instructors and senior staff earlier, feeling a surreal sense of disbelief.

Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a newly acquired credit card and inserted it into his personal terminal’s slot. Moments later, the account balance appeared on the screen.

[Federation Credits: 3,000,000]

This was a reward for advancing to Sequence 4. Edess Academy had always been generous and supportive toward its prodigies.

“Three million Federation credits,” Valk mused silently. In Northern 9th District, he probably wouldn’t have been able to earn this much in a lifetime. The stark disparity between worlds—the wealth of Southern 1st District versus the impoverished slums—struck him deeply, leaving his worldview teetering between collapse and reconstruction.

As he dwelled on these thoughts, his personal terminal buzzed in his pocket, jolting him back to reality.

Pulling it out, he answered the call to hear a voice laced with urgency and the clamor of chaotic noise in the background.

“Hey, Valk, it’s me—Grid,” the voice said, accompanied by the sound of frantic running.

“What’s going on?” Valk’s tone remained calm.

“Come save me! I’m being chased in the Night Lightning Zone, near 8th Street, South Alley. Hurry!”

Valk was silent for a few seconds. The voice on the other end grew more desperate.

“You wouldn’t leave me to die, would you? We grew up together! If it weren’t for me, you’d have died in the slums back then!”

“I know,” Valk replied evenly. “That’s why I didn’t hang up.”

“I’ll come. Do your best to stay hidden.”

With that, he ended the call.

Valk immediately contacted another number. Moments later, he received confirmation that a high-speed hover car would arrive at his location within three minutes.

As he waited, Valk gazed up at the cool, clear night sky, lost in memories of his childhood.

Indeed, he had grown up as an orphan in the underground world of Northern 9th District, scavenging scraps of food from garbage piles like a rat to survive. It was during those harsh days that he had met Grid.

The two had initially fought over a single intact meal box, brawling fiercely. Grid claimed to have saved Valk’s life—a claim that wasn’t entirely false but not the whole truth either. In those days, as two small children facing predatory adults and the harsh realities of the slums, they had saved each other multiple times.

Today, since Grid had reached out, Valk wouldn’t refuse or deny their shared past.

Soon, a sleek, high-end hover car sped through the air and descended to hover in front of Valk.

The door opened, revealing an empty seat inside. Valk leapt effortlessly from the ground into the vehicle, landing with enough force to slightly lower its frame. After a brief sway, the car stabilized.

Closing the car door, Valk entered the approximate location, and the hovercar began its journey, gliding through the bustling streets of Southern 1st District. Along the way, he spotted numerous similar high-end hovercars and the ubiquitous advertisements and signboards.

Night Lightning Zone, Southern 13th Alley, 8th Street.

In the dim alley, a hemispherical autonomous unit lay overturned, with a torn opening on its side, its internal components sparking intermittently. Opposite it stood a young man in a black shirt gripping a short, purple ionized blade. His eyes scanned his surroundings as he crouched slightly, prepared for the attacks that followed.

Above the alley, three hovering quadcopter drones flashed their lights, cameras focusing on and locking onto the young man below.

[Target identified. Verifying…]

[Verification complete. Confirmed as Thief No. 1721. Initiating capture protocol.]

[Requesting backup. Capture net ready.]

[Launch!]

One drone launched a fine net with hooked locks toward the young man. Electric currents crackled across the net, sparking whenever it touched objects in the alley.

“Damn it!” the young man cursed as he dodged desperately. He swung his short blade, cutting through the ropes blocking his path, and continued running forward. However, he slipped on some garbage overturned on the ground and fell.

Taking advantage of his momentary vulnerability, a second drone descended closer, spraying another net and tether.

Despite his efforts to evade, the young man was ensnared by the fine net. Electric shocks surged through his body, causing him to tremble uncontrollably, his teeth chattering as he groaned in pain.

Gritting his teeth against the current, he slashed the net with his ionized blade and managed to crawl free. He stumbled only a few steps before collapsing from exhaustion and muscle pain. Seeking refuge, he hid behind an old, abandoned vehicle to avoid being recaptured by the drones overhead.

The drones bore a distinct emblem on their side: three inward-facing pointers encircled by a gear-like outline.

This emblem represented the “Three-Pointer Workshop,” a well-known company in Southern 1st District of the Verdant Veil. Though small in scale, the workshop’s Time Decelerators were exceptional, capable of slowing time flow by up to 20% within a designated radius, making them invaluable in specific fields.

Because of this unique product, the small workshop was highly profitable, drawing many attempts to steal its patents and technological secrets. If not for the 20% limit on its Time Decelerator, the workshop might have entered the ranks of the Federation’s mega-corporations.

In contrast, the “White Rabbit Watchmakers,” a giant corporation, truly held the singularity of temporal technology within the Federation. Their emblem featured a hat adorned with rabbit ears, flowers, and a pocket watch. The corporation’s flagship product, the Alice Pocket Watch, could freeze time in the surrounding space.

“Valk, if you don’t come soon, I might actually die here,” the young man muttered. He popped a few stimulant capsules into his mouth to suppress the pain and restore some strength. After catching his breath, he dashed out again, evading the hovering drones while leaping onto a nearby autonomous unit. Plunging his blade into its head, he ripped apart its internal components before continuing to flee.

Finally, he burst out of the narrow alley. Just as he prepared to make his escape, a series of blinding lights illuminated his path. A stern voice shouted from ahead.

“Stop! We’re members of the Raincoat Agency with legal firearm licenses. If you continue to flee, we will open fire under surveillance!”

Hearing this, the young man stopped running and raised a hand to shield his eyes. After a moment of adjustment, he saw six uniformed agents wearing bulletproof vests, tactical goggles, and earpieces. Each held an auto-aim pistol, its laser sights converging on him.

These agents were all Sequence 4 in rank. While their pathway ratings were only “Excellent” or “Outstanding,” their advanced equipment made them formidable adversaries for ordinary people.

Given the widespread prevalence of transcendent abilities and industrialization, individuals owning firearms or wielding force wasn’t uncommon. However, the Federation’s vast territories and complex environments made comprehensive policing impossible. As a result, local private security forces and agencies like the Raincoat Agency were authorized to exist.

Hired by major corporations, such agencies provided security, protected employees, and safeguarded trade secrets. While their original purpose was positive, their proximity to gray areas often led them to engage in corporate espionage or sabotage for profit.

With guns trained on him, the young man raised his hands, signaling that he posed no threat. It wasn’t an act of weakness but a calculated decision. Provoking the agents or resisting after their warning would grant them the “legal” right to shoot him without facing significant consequences.

“Hmph.” The agents, clearly disdainful of habitual offenders like him, remained alert.

Their captain motioned for two members to approach and disarm the young man, preparing to restrain him.

Though they lacked direct law enforcement powers, the agents could detain him and hand him over to the police, where corporate-appointed lawyers would prosecute him.

As the two agents moved closer, the young man frowned, subtly stepping back. He had no intention of surrendering. His current identity was falsified, not a legitimate Federation citizen. If exposed, he would lose all “human rights,” meaning his death in a prison cell would go unnoticed.

Without human rights, one was deemed nonexistent—no longer even considered a person. Such was the harsh reality of the Federation’s underbelly.

Seconds passed in tense silence. Though the young man outwardly maintained a defiant smirk, his legs and fingers trembled slightly, ready to act at any moment.

But the opportunity never came—someone interrupted.

A black hovercar descended. From it emerged a burly man who, upon seeing the young man under the glaring lights, stepped forward to block the agents.

“I think we can discuss this first,” he said, displaying a special card marked with the insignia of Edess Academy.

The scanner in the agents’ goggles verified the card’s credentials against the academy’s database. Their captain frowned but gestured for his team to pause.

Although Edess Academy was ranked only fourth in the star region, it was part of the top tier, and its gap with the first-ranked institution was minimal. While the agency wouldn’t hesitate to pressure ordinary students, the man’s black card signified a position of influence within the academy.

“You intend to shield him? Let me remind you, he’s a named target of the Three-Pointer Workshop and a dangerous element in a patent war. They won’t compromise easily.”

For many corporations, protecting their technological patents was akin to safeguarding their very survival. Any attempt to steal their secrets invited relentless retaliation, both legal and otherwise. Patent wars were brutal and a constant headache for Federation authorities.

“Even if we don’t wish to offend Edess Academy, if you can’t negotiate with the Three-Pointer Workshop within an hour, we will proceed with his capture.”

“I understand.” Valk exhaled deeply, glancing at the battered young man before reluctantly picking up his personal terminal.

“Hello, Professor Sima? Sorry to bother you so late, but I need your help…” His voice echoed into the night as everyone around him fell silent, listening to his conversation. After what felt like an eternity, he finally hung up.

The call lasted only 16 minutes, yet Valk felt it had aged him a decade. As he set down his terminal, he noticed sweat had soaked his back.

Rarely did he ask for favors, much less in a situation where he was so clearly in the wrong. This instance was an exception, leaving him ashamed and humbled.

But as long as his friend survived, it was worth it.

Not long after, the Raincoat Agency received a call. Their captain nodded, then approached Valk, patting him on the shoulder.

“You’re well-regarded. If I’d had your talent back then, things might’ve been different for me.”

With that, he and his team boarded their specialized hovercar and disappeared into the night, leaving the two young men beneath the starry sky.

The black-shirted youth was in a sorry state—torn, filthy, and covered in wounds. On the other hand, Valk, clad in high-end clothing, stood clean and composed, exuding strength and stability. Though only three meters apart, the gulf between them felt immeasurable.

Once, they had scavenged together in the same garbage heaps. Now, they stood in worlds apart.