From Apocalypse To Entertainment Circle (BL) Chapter 136: The Broken Angel

The silence that settled over the square was not silence at all.

It was the sound of hearts pounding too loudly in ribcages, of shallow breaths being strangled in throats, of boots shifting against stone but never daring to step away.

When Siān stood there, face fractured with broken, bewildered—yes, even sorrowful—expressions, the entire gathering seed to lean toward him without realizing it. Their gazes, hundreds of them, were fixed as though bound by chains to the figure at the center.

Lan Qíshēng was not the only one who felt his heart sink, heavy as an anchor in dark waters.

Every soul present, from the lowliest guard to the highest-ranking official, wore an expression of wide-eyed astonishnt—faces drawn, eyes hollow, and voices trembling with an unnaable dread. It was not rely fear that clutched at their hearts; it was sothing far stranger, a palpable tension that crackled in the air, hinting at perilous uncertainties lurking just beyond their comprehension.

They were beholding beauty.

And not beauty in the way one might admire a flower in spring. This was the terrible, breathtaking beauty of fragility revealed in the wrong place, the wrong ti. Siān looked like an angel who had fallen—his wings stripped in a single rciless instant, feathers torn, bones broken, plumting from the eternal realm of gods into the fragile dust of humankind.

Yes, he looked broken.

Yet, within that profound brokenness lay an undeniable allure—an allure so visceral, so heart-wrenching, that it compelled them to hold their breath, as if each blink might cause them to miss a fleeting mont of his deep, shattering descent.

So felt an urge they could not na: the wish to keep him like this, to capture that delicate fracture forever, to see how his sorrow colored the light around him.

And yet, even now, Siān’s self-mastery reigned supre.

The collapse in his expression lasted only monts. As mories surged into his awareness, as the weight of the shocking news pressed against his chest, he did what few n could do—he closed his eyes and steadied his breathing.

The alarms wailed in the background. The air reeked of smoke and oil. Dust stirred faintly where boots had dragged against the stones. None of it touched him.

A middle-aged man—hair flecked with gray, lips carrying that gentle smile he wore like armor—watched Siān calmly. He neither rushed nor interrupted. His patience was unnatural, his composure practiced.

But if one looked closely enough, one would see it: in the depths of those soft black eyes lay a glimr of astonishnt—and sothing perilously close to reverence.

Yes. He found the man before him even more fascinating than Kira had described.

And certainly, Siān’s danger was no less than what she had warned. If the girl’s words had been true, then stepping on this young man’s tail ant doom—not for one, but for all. He would devour them bones and all, without hesitation, without rcy.

That delicate idol-like appearance, that gentleness that seed to belong to a famous star, was nothing but a veil. Behind it stood sothing steel-like, unflinching. After all, not just anyone could stand calmly in the center of a square full of weapons and enemies, close his eyes, and appear utterly unconcerned.

This was not arrogance born of ignorance.

It was confidence.

And confidence of this kind could only an one thing: certainty in his own overwhelming power.

The realization shook them, unsettled them in ways they had no words for.

The middle-aged man betrayed none of this turmoil. He held his thoughts close, waiting as the others did, his gaze steady upon Siān’s face.

Inside himself, Siān had already begun arranging his thoughts like chess pieces.

Yes—after facing He Junyun in this new world, why should anything else be impossible?

And so he rembered.

He rembered a girl who had tried tirelessly to make him laugh, who begged him to play the piano even when his hands were bruised and bloodied, who had died with a smile still shining on her lips. She had not feared. She had not regretted.

That smile haunted him now, glimring like glass fragnts buried in ash.

When he opened his eyes again, his gaze was razor-sharp, cutting through the man before him, searching for answers no words could conceal.

"I’ll go with you to see her."

The words fell softly, but the softness was that of a blade sliding free from its sheath.

"And I’ll be taking the boy with . By the way—"

His tone grew colder, cutting through the air until every breath in the square stilled.

"—if I don’t like her condition, or the way she’s living, you’ll regret ever telling she exists."

There was no negotiation in his voice. Only command.

To the others, it might have sounded like careless muttering after a long silence. But Lan Qíshēng, watching closely, knew better.

This was a calculation. This was the verdict.

Siān had already pieced everything together.

One:Everyone who had crossed into this world from theirs had carried their powers with them—just as he had, just as the silent killer had, just as He Junyun had.

Two: If Kira possessed her ability, she was too valuable to be left alone. Soone would have taken her, perhaps locked her in a laboratory.

And yet, this man treated him calmly, without aggression. That could an one of two things:

They did not intend to harm her.

Or they intended to use her as leverage against him.

In either case, he was not afraid.

If sothing went wrong, he would take those who mattered and vanish into the wind.

That was his silent threat.

And the middle-aged man understood it. The faint twitch at the corner of his lips proved it.

Finally, he answered, still with that smile not truly a smile:

"Agreed to your conditions. Don’t worry—she’s fine. She’s waiting for you."

Then, as if to drive the knife deeper, he added:

"Oh, and by the way—she’s been asking you to fulfill a promise you made. She said she wants the taste of strawberries. I didn’t understand, but she told , ’If he’s the leader, he’ll know what I an.’"

The instant Siān heard that, stillness shattered.

He burst out laughing.

Not a cold laugh. Not bitter. But true, unrestrained laughter, startling in its radiance.

Lan Qíshēng had no idea who "Kira" was, no grasp of what bound her to Siān. But when he saw that laughter, brighter than sunlight breaking through a storm, he understood instinctively: this girl was irreplaceable to him.

Just as He Junyun had been.

It terrified Lan Qíshēng to realize it, but he knew with painful clarity—in this mont, his own expression must be dreadful.

Siān laughed until his chest ached, until sothing inside him uncoiled. He muttered to himself, words half-teasing, half-fond:

"That girl’s still as greedy as ever. Didn’t I tell her she’d get fat if she kept eating like that? If not for the apocalypse, she’d weigh as much as a cow back then. Hahaha..."

At the ntion of "apocalypse," the middle-aged man’s face changed at last.

His mask cracked. The false gentleness slipped away, replaced by shadow—dark, nacing, heavy as storm clouds.

To the others, that look was terrifying.

To Siān? It ant nothing.

He did not care if the man smiled, scowled, or scread.

He tilted his head slightly, tone casual, even lighthearted:

"Let’s go. We’ll stop at a sweets shop on the way."

The words fell like pebbles into a lake, rippling outward.

A sweets shop.

In the middle of this sterile, choking square.

In the middle of alarms and soldiers and fear.

So thought he was mocking them.

Others wondered if he was insane.

But Siān simply spoke the truth.

Why should he care how impractical it was? If they brought him here in helicopters like mafia bosses in so cliché novel, then they could damn well land one near a pastry shop. That was their problem, not his.

Above them, the sky groaned. Distant thunder rolled—but no storm cloud marked the horizon.

---

Black Box:

It had begun as an ordinary day for the small pastry shop run by old Mr. Sun, together with his wife and son. Their bakery was not large, but modest in size—and yet their reputation had spread widely thanks to the exquisite quality of their sweets. Much of the credit, of course, belonged to the wife’s gifted hands.

As usual, a line of custors stretched outside the door, waiting patiently while Mr. Sun served them one by one.

Then it happened.

A thunderous, resonant boom rolled across the sky—low, violent, terrifying.

But no, it was not thunder.

It was the roar of helicopter blades.

The sudden arrival sent the crowd into chaos. Custors scread and scattered in panic, so convinced they were witnessing the start of a terrorist attack.

Inside, Mr. Sun had no ti to flee. He shoved his wife and son beneath one of the small tables in their shop, crouching protectively over them as the helicopter descended outside.

Their bakery, being situated on a wide and empty stretch of road, offered the perfect landing space. And so, with an ear-splitting gust of wind and dust, the black helicopter ca down directly in front of their storefront.

When the engines finally cut, silence fell.

It lasted only a mont—until the soft chi of the bakery’s doorbell rang. Soone had stepped inside.

"Excuse ," a calm voice called, almost casual. "Is anyone here? I’d like to buy a large strawberry cake."

...

Even after the strange custor left with his purchase, the Sun family remained frozen in disbelief.

Had an angel truly descended from a helicopter just to order a cake?

Am I losing my mind—or had the entire world gone mad?