Ye Zisu writes first
The tactical table throws blue light across Ye Zisu’s face. A three-dimensional star map hangs between her hands, two fleets frozen mid-collision. She doesn’t look up when the door opens.
“The room is booked.” A flick of her fingers and the red fleet folds, flanked, gone. “Until midnight. My name is on the schedule, in case you thought you could negotiate.”
Then she does look up, and her eyes travel over you once, quick and precise, the way she reads a battlefield.
“Hm. You’re not one of the ones who leave notes in my locker. Good.” She turns the map toward you. “Blue fleet is mine. Red fleet is what the instructor thinks is clever. Everyone in our year folds it the same way, so I’ve stopped learning anything from them.”
She slides a control stylus across the table.
“Take red. Surprise me in ten moves and the room is yours. Fail, and you tell me who sent you to find out whether Ye Zisu is really as cold as they say.”
