Jeff adjusted the strap of the battered holster slung across his side, fingers brushing against the cold steel of the loaned pistol. The weapon still felt strange in his grip, like it didn't quite belong to him. He glanced toward Yangyang.
"Yangyang," Jeff began, his tone steady but casual, "do you know a place where I can get proper weapons?"
Yangyang perked up at the question, tilting her head slightly as her long bangs shifted across hee forehead. "Weapons? Yeah, sure. Uncle Wei's smithy. He runs a forge just a short walk from Panhua's Restaurant. Why? Are you planning something?"
Jeff gave a half-smile and patted the old pistol resting against his hip. "It's about time I stopped relying on this tyro piece Chixia lent me. It's served its purpose, but I'll need something sturdier—something I can pack a punch. Might even buy a set of clothes while I'm at it. I've still got a portion of the funds Miss Sanhua provided us. Feels like the right time to put them to good use."
Rover, who had been listening in silence, turned her head toward him. Her eyes softened, though her face still held that quiet neutrality she carried like armor. "Then let me come with you."
Jeff blinked. "You want to?"
"Yes." Her voice was calm, but there was a flicker of warmth in her eyes. "Better than waiting here for the experiments to finish. Besides…" She shifted slightly on her feet, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I want to see more of Jinzhou. Walk its streets, explore, and uh…You know I feel doing that with you might be fun"
Jeff studied her for a moment. The way she said it—it wasn't just about curiosity. It was a way of her trying to build a connection with me. That's cute asf. He gave her a small nod. "Alright then. Sounds like a plan."
Yangyang let out a low chuckle, shaking her head with that soft, easy smile she carried. "Looks like a decision's already been made." She crossed his arms, leaning back against the wooden railing nearby. "Fine by me. I'll stay behind and keep an eye on things here. Once the experiments wrap up, I'll call you both on your Terminals."
Jeff exhaled slowly, turning his gaze toward Rover again. "Guess it's just the two of us."
She met his eyes briefly, then looked away toward the sun-lit streets beyond the Academy courtyard. Her lips curved into the faintest suggestion of a smile.
She really is beautiful
The walk through Jinzhou was far from quiet. The streets bustled with merchants calling out their wares, children darting between stalls, and the smell of spiced food drifting through the air. Jeff and Rover walked side by side, weaving through the crowd while their voices slipped easily into small talk.
"Place is busier than I expected," Jeff muttered, glancing at a cluster of vendors arguing over fish prices. His pistol, tucked awkwardly into a holster at his side, clinked against his belt as he adjusted it.
Rover followed his gaze, her eyes lingering on the color of the lanterns swaying above the shopfronts. "It's… lively. A little overwhelming, but nice. Safer than most places we've been through." Her tone carried that steady calm of hers, though Jeff noticed her hands brushing the edge of her sleeve now and then, like she wasn't fully at ease.
"Safe for now," Jeff replied with a faint grin, though his shoulders stayed squared as if he was still half-on guard. "Still, I'll feel better once I've got something sturdier than this toy." He patted the pistol.
They shared a quiet laugh before turning down a narrower street. Before long, the clanging of metal on metal reached their ears—sharp, steady, almost rhythmic. A forge.
They stepped into a shaded alley where an old workshop stood, its wooden beams darkened by years of soot. Sparks briefly flared within, followed by the unmistakable grunt of effort. Inside, a broad-shouldered man with graying hair hammered at a blade on the anvil. His arms were thick with muscle, his shirt stained with ash and sweat.
The man glanced up, eyes narrowing slightly. "What do you youngsters want? This isn't a place for loitering around." His voice was gravelly, rough from years of shouting over fire and steel.
Jeff straightened, raising his hand in a polite half-salute. "Good day, sir. I'd like to request some weapons. We came here on a recommendation… from an Outrider named Yangyang."
For a second, the man froze mid-motion. Then a bark of laughter escaped him, deep and genuine. He set the hammer down with a clang and wiped his brow with the back of his forearm. "Little Yangyang? Why didn't you say so sooner? Hah! That girl's been running her legs off for us folk for years."
Rover's eyes softened, her lips curving slightly. She tilted her head, her short strands of hair catching the glow from the forge. "Looks like Yangyang has quite the reputation here."
Uncle Wei leaned against the workbench, folding his arms. "Reputation? You've no idea. That young lass… she works herself ragged protecting people like us from those Tacit Discord monsters. Always first to volunteer, never asks for much in return. The least we can do is lend a hand when she points someone our way." His expression grew more serious, gaze shifting between them. "So I'll ask again—what kind of weapon are you looking for?"
"I see…" Rover murmured, voice low but tinged with respect. She glanced at Jeff, as if silently urging him to answer.
Jeff let the words sink in, his thoughts briefly circling back to Yangyang—the way she always pushed herself.His chest tightened a little, and he nodded to himself.
Yeah. Yangyang's a good one.
But I had something particular in mind. I glanced at Rover. "Could you… give me a moment? Just a little space."
Her brows arched, suspicion written plain in her eyes. "A secret? From me?"
"Not for long," I assured her with a small smile. "Just trust me."
She sighed, reluctant, but finally stepped away, arms folded as she leaned against the doorframe pretending to admire them wares. "Fine. Don't take forever."
Turning back to Uncle Wei, I lowered my voice. "I want you to requisition three weapons for me: Static Mist, the pistol; an Emerald of Genesis sword; and the Cosmic Ripple Rectifier."
The rag slipped from his hand. Uncle Wei stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "Holy hell, lad… You're not asking small. Those aren't simple toys. The materials alone cost a fortune, not to mention the shell credits you'd bleed out for them."
I placed a pouch on the counter with a soft clink. "Here. Take this as a down payment."
He untied the pouch, peeked inside, then gave a long whistle. "Hah. You're serious." He scratched his beard, weighing it all out in his head. "But it'll take time. Days, maybe more, to get the right parts and forge them to proper quality. You'll need something in the meantime."
Reaching under his workbench, he laid out three weapons on a worn cloth:
Dauntless Overnight Sword — a broad blade, steel with a faint silver gleam. The hilt was wrapped in dark leather, the kind that molded to the grip with time. It looked sturdy, dependable, built for someone who meant to stand their ground.
Comet Flare Rectifier — a sleek weapon with etched patterns running along its barrel, faintly glowing as if it held captured starlight inside.
Undying Flame Pistol — smaller, yet pulsing with a steady ember at its core. Even resting, it seemed to hum faintly with restrained heat.
"They're not the same grade as the beauties you asked for," Uncle Wei admitted, brushing dust from the sword's flat, "but they'll do the trick until I finish the others."
I hesitated, fingers hovering over the hilt of the sword. "Are you sure? This is already too much."
The old man waved dismissively. "That down payment's enough to cover these. Consider it a loaner deal." His gaze sharpened, though his tone remained kind. "Just make sure you don't die before I hand you the real thing, eh?"
A quiet smile tugged at my lips. "I'll repay you in full once I have the money."
Uncle Wei chuckled, already turning back toward his half-finished blade. "Don't worry about it. I'll call you when it's done. Now, go on—don't keep the lady waiting."
I glanced toward the doorway. Rover's arms were still crossed, one foot tapping impatiently against the wooden floor. She shot me a look that said Finally.
As I walked back toward her, Uncle Wei's voice boomed from behind us: "And tell Yangyang I said hi!"
Now, you're probably wondering—why those weapons?
In the world of Wuthering Waves, every resonator is tied down to one class. Sword, pistol, gauntlets, rectifiers, broadswords—you name it. Their entire fighting style revolves around that one choice, as if the weapon defines the warrior rather than the other way around.
But me? I've never been one to thread inside the lines. I don't feel those same restrictions, and the thought hit me like a spark—why not break the rules? Why not wield a combination, each tool for its own purpose, switching as naturally as breathing? Sounds reckless in theory, insane even. But impossible? No. Not with enough discipline, practice, and the right kind of stubbornness.
I actually caught myself smirking at the idea. "Why the hell has no one tried this before?" I muttered under my breath, tapping my thumb against my thigh as if my body needed to let out the restless energy.
There's a method to the madness, though. Each of the three I requested—Static Mist, the pistol; Emerald of Genesis, the blade; Cosmic Ripple Rectifier—lines up with what I already know. The rectifier… well, that one's a gamble. I'll need practice, guidance, and a whole lot of patience. But I've never been afraid of hard lessons.
The blade, though? That one I'm confident in. My fingers almost twitched just thinking about the weight of steel, the give of a grip wrapped in sweat. Standard army bayonet drills drilled rhythm and reaction into me, but it was Eskrima, the Filipino art of blades, that made me dance with it. Hours of clacking sticks and flashing metal taught me how to turn close quarters into a game of who stabs first and survives it.
But guns… guns are home.
My lips curled into something between a grin and a grimace, remembering the dozens of battlefields that had hardened me. Urban sprawls lit with tracer fire, alleyways stinking of cordite, close-quarters chaos where breathing wrong could get you killed, suppression fire keeping heads down so your team could push forward. Pistols, rifles, shotguns, etc.—I knew their language like I knew my own heartbeat. Call it combat experience, call it battlefield luck, call it a Goddess of War fucking blessing on me. Firearms had always been the weapons of freedom, the tools that leveled the playing field, and they've never failed me yet.
So here's the plan: pistol as my mainstay, sword for the messy, up-close moments, rectifier for the wide sweeps, the suppression, the unexpected tricks that might just change the flow of a fight. Each weapon covering the other's blind spots, each one feeding into the next. A deadly combination, if I can master it.
Just thinking about it sent a rush of adrenaline down my arms, a hum that made my pulse quicken. I clenched my fist without realizing, nails biting into my palm, and I actually laughed under my breath.
"This might just work," I whispered.
Because I can't afford to rely on powers I barely understand—mystical abilities that feel more like a curse than a blessing. No, if I want to survive here, in this dangerous new world crawling with threats that don't play fair, I need to trust in the one thing I do know: my weapons, my training, and my will.
And if this little experiment of mine gives me even the smallest edge in the fights ahead? Then maybe—just maybe—I'll live long enough to figure out everything else.