Chapter 903: Cliché

"Hua's Adventure Record", the cover features a Flame design, the content is a hot‑blood shōnen‑style manga, the protagonist is the girl Hua, the setting is a cyber‑retro city, the Plot moves toward monster‑hunting, leveling up, and Rescue of the world.

She flipped through it quickly at the time, and she recalled that there was no villain with a personal grudge against Hua's father, nor any underworld twist like "the protagonist's father being murdered at home by an unknown killer."

That picture book maintains a sunny, uplifting, hot‑blooded manga tone from start to finish; although there are many villains, they are all the type that can be pulverized by righteous iron fists, so how did it become a classic mystery‑novel crime scene for her?

Haunted?

Then Heimu shook his head, flinging the unrealistic wild thoughts out of his mind.

This is Past World Paradise, and with Le Tu people causing trouble, anything can happen; even Kesi Mo can shift from boy to girl to a masked rider, so a mere locked‑room murder case doesn't even rank in terms of absurdity.

She crouched again, this time focusing her attention on the surrounding environmental details.

The furniture in the living room showed no obvious battle marks, and the teacup on the coffee table remained in its original spot.

A thin blanket lay neatly folded on the sofa, matching Hua's personality.

The picture frame on the TV cabinet in the corner was neither crooked nor fallen.

The only odd thing was the medicine bag under the coffee table—a white plastic bag bearing the name of a nearby clinic, its mouth open, containing several boxes of cold granules and a strip of fever‑reducing pills taken two at a time; the bag's edge bore a faint tear, as if someone had ripped it open in a hurry.

Heimu placed the medicine bag back, and just as he was about to stand, footsteps came from the doorway.

She froze completely.

The footsteps were light, the rhythm on the iron stair steps unhurried.

The footsteps paused in the second‑floor hallway, perhaps eyeing the ajar door, then quickened toward the entrance.

Heimu looked up, meeting the gaze of the person pushing the door open.

Hua stood in the doorway, still wearing the light‑blue and plain‑white collared school uniform; her gray‑blue low ponytail was slightly loose from walking, and a few stray strands clung to the slightly sweaty edge of her forehead.

Her right hand carried a convenience‑store plastic bag containing something like medicine, probably bought for her father after school.

Her left hand still held the door‑pushing posture.

Those ice‑blue eyes shifted from the convenience bag to the dark‑red liquid on the floor, then from the liquid to the father lying in a pool of blood, and finally from the father to Heimu crouching beside the corpse.

Her pupils first contracted sharply, then dilated; her lips twitched, and an unformed sound emerged from her throat, as if trying to say "Dad" but her vocal cords refused to cooperate.

Then her gaze instantly darkened.

Those usually calm, restrained ice‑blue eyes now seemed as if someone had twisted the brightness knob to zero, leaving only two dry, dim shards of ice.

Heimu saw that look, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

"That's just too deliberate."

A lone stranger, squatting beside the freshly dead body, was caught on the spot by the victim's family; the family's gaze shifted from shock to collapse to Rage to hatred, and the suspect didn't even have time to say "listen to my explanation," because any normal person seeing this scene wouldn't listen.

This is an overused trope from third‑rate mystery dramas, boring enough to make people yawn.

If Heimu gets tripped up by such a low‑level trope, how will she survive in the future!

So she raised her right hand and gently twisted her thumb and middle finger together.

"Snap."

A finger snap.

Crisp and clean.

As a result, with Heimu's fingertip as the center, an invisible ripple burst outward.

Everything rewound, like an old VCR with the fast‑rewind button pressed, the frames jumping backward one by one.

The scene reversed, time itself reversed.

Then the sound of a faucet.

The rushing water slammed into his ears, and a bright fluorescent tube hung overhead.

Heimu blinked and realized she was standing in front of the bathroom sink.

One hand propped against the icy marble countertop, the other hovered in mid‑air, still holding the finger‑snapping pose.

The mirror reflected her own face: dark‑purple eyes, ash‑white long hair, a teacher's uniform.

Beside her, at the sink, stood Hua.

Hua was splashing water onto her face; droplets slid down the curve of her chin, pattering onto the marble countertop.

She turned the tap, pulled two sheets from the paper towel box, and pressed the water marks on her face dry against the mirror.

Then she turned her head sideways, looking at Heimu beside her, a clear hint of confusion flashing in her ice‑blue eyes.

"Teacher?"

Hua's voice still carried a faint breathlessness after just calming her breathing, "What's wrong?"

Heimu blinked, withdrew her hand from the air, smoothly brushed the hair at her ears, the whole motion flowing like clouds, entirely unrelated to the astonishing time‑reversal snap she had just performed.

"Nothing."

Her voice remained steady, a timeless lazy curve at the corner of her mouth, but the corner of her eye flicked rapidly over the surroundings—the bathroom, indeed, the very one she had left after talking with Hua.

The timeline rewound to before she pushed the door open.

Rewind.

She silently noted the name of this function in her mind.

Quite magical.

It was her first time using this function; she hadn't even known that the Painted World had such a mechanism built in.

It's probably a setting of the picture book itself.

However, the loading speed was too slow; during the rewind the frames flickered enough to strain her eyes, so next time she'll have to close her eyes first.

"Teacher?"

Hua tilted her head slightly, still clutching the soaked paper towel, her face saying "Teacher, aren't you still half‑asleep?"

"Nothing."

Heimu lowered her hand from her ear, placed both hands behind her back, and adjusted her stance from the slight backward lean back to a straight, dignified teacher's posture.

She looked at Hua's still‑dripping face, at those clear yet confused ice‑blue eyes, then reached out and gently patted Hua's shoulder.

"I wanted to tell you earlier, after school don't rush home; first attend class properly and listen to the afternoon lesson. The teacher has something to handle here, I'll find you later."

Hua's confusion obviously deepened, but good upbringing kept her from asking further; she only nodded and obediently replied, "Alright, teacher."

"Hmm. Dry the water on your face and return to the classroom."

Heimu finished speaking, turned, pushed open the restroom door, and walked into the hallway without looking back.

The afternoon sun still slanted in through the window, laying golden squares across the floor tiles.

The black short‑heeled boots struck the tiles, producing a crisp rhythm.

When she reached the stairwell, she paused, leaned against the wall, pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, and let out a long sigh.