Miss Witch Doesn’t Want to Become a Songstress

“We’re here.”

The hovercar halted in a secluded corner on the 70th underground floor.

As the two stepped out, Qiao Long took the lead, guiding them into a bustling bar. With a simple wave, the two burly tattooed guards at the entrance stepped aside.

Inside, amidst the dazzling lights, booming music, and chaotic revelry, the girl concealed herself under her hood and mask, her gaze sweeping across the scene, curiously observing the indulgent crowd immersed in song and dance.

Before long, Qiao Long led her past the dance floor through a side door, into a cool, quiet corridor.

Clang. The door shut behind them, and the cacophony outside was instantly muffled.

“Please follow me,” he said steadily, regaining his usual composure.

The dim corridor had no lights, save for faint indicator signs and LED strips at the base of the walls, casting a bluish-purple glow that bathed them both as they walked.

After covering some distance, Qiao Long stopped in front of a sealed steel door, swiped a card, and twisted the heavy lock to open it.

Inside was a downward stairway, its steel handrails echoing with every step.

Descending further, they reached an elevator that appeared to be a privately constructed one—crude and compact.

“This is a shortcut to the underground world. We don’t typically use this route, but we’re pressed for time,” Qiao Long explained briefly while waiting.

The girl gave a slight nod, uninterested in the details. She lightly stomped her foot, extending her perception outward along the ground.

Unlike others, the tighter and more confined the underground space, the stronger her abilities became. Her innate talent was tied to crystals, allowing her to draw and condense gemstones from the earth to seal or close off spaces at will. She could also easily navigate through such terrains.

Since her advancement, the power of her previously restrained abilities had increased significantly. Now, even facing Qiao Long, she felt confident. If anything went wrong, she could escape effortlessly, which was why she had agreed to come.

Strange, she mused, tilting her head. In shops or around classmates, she often felt uneasy, but when dealing with someone like Qiao Long, she felt neither pressure nor tension.

The two entered the elevator, descending continuously. After two minutes, the doors opened, and they stepped out.

The environment below was far less pleasant than the world above.

A stark white bulb lit the elevator exit, which was blocked by an iron gate. Faint voices could be heard in the distance.

Qiao Long approached and yanked open a door along the stairwell wall, silencing the previously noisy room.

“Grab your weapons and follow me!” Qiao Long barked, his frown deepening as he surveyed the smoky, chaotic interior.

“Yes, Brother Long,” a group of people immediately grabbed their gear from corners and tables and moved out.

“There’s trouble to the south. Stock up on ammo and call all nearby brothers. Get the vehicles ready,” he commanded swiftly. The group sprang into action.

The girl stepped forward, observing the bustling preparations.

“Is this one of your gang’s outposts?” she asked.

“Yes, and there are several more like it. Any conduit to the upper levels is crucial,” he explained, then directed a subordinate to find a suitable weapon.

After hearing Qiao Long’s explanation, the subordinate glanced curiously at the girl, her face obscured beneath her hat. He then retrieved a relatively new box from a storage room and handed it to Qiao Long.

Opening the box revealed a compact, matte black and purple handgun with a rectangular barrel and an attached square sight.

“Phantom C-620″—though over 20 years old, it remained highly praised for its performance. It had low recoil, a comfortable grip, straightforward operation, and a basic chip-assisted aiming system. Ideal for beginners, its only drawback was its limited firepower. However, it sufficed for small-scale conflicts in everyday life.

“This might come in handy for your safety on the way. It’s discreet and won’t expose your identity or abilities,” Qiao Long said as he handed her the assembled and adjusted gun.

A gun? Despite living in a spacefaring era, firearms still felt foreign and dangerous to most civilians. The Federation maintained strict gun control policies, a lesson learned from past turmoil.

The girl hesitated briefly, then retrieved a pair of black and purple silk gloves from her pocket (actually a spatial rift) and slipped them on before taking the gun.

The gloves weren’t hers; they had belonged to her sister. They were excellent gear and had remained with her since she acquired her spatial ability.

Delores Silk Gloves [Rare Condensed Pearl Grade]: Made from specially woven purple silk, these gloves were both supple and durable. They could resist common blade strikes, enhance precision in mana control, and weaken or suppress extraordinary weaponry. They carried the effects [Resilience Lv. 5], [Mana Suppression Lv. 4], [Mana Control Lv. 3].

Her sister had won them as a championship prize during the school’s Winter Festival years ago, and they had since been a treasured possession.

Besides this, their family still kept several enchanted dresses left behind by Themisia, though Hestia had yet to wear them due to her smaller frame.

My figure isn’t as developed as my sister’s yet, she thought wistfully.

Though her financial situation had always been tight, she had never sold these items, making her something of a hidden “rich girl,” even if she wasn’t conscious of it.

Placing the handgun in her pocket, she followed Qiao Long out of the stairwell and into the open.

The spacious cavern was dimly lit by scattered lamps. Below, people milled around tents and makeshift stalls, while others lounged idly. Trash littered the ground—empty meal boxes, drink bottles, discarded clothes—and the air carried a faint, sour stench. Children and adults moved through the scene. It wasn’t crowded, but it was far from empty.

Hestia scanned the surroundings, estimating roughly 3,000 people present.

“This way is cleaner,” Qiao Long said, leading the way. Hestia followed closely, her gaze catching the attention of many in the underground world.

They all recognized Qiao Long as a formidable enforcer for the local “Haoen” gang. However, the girl walking behind him was unfamiliar. Judging by her cautious steps, carefully avoiding debris, she was clearly not from this subterranean domain.

If it had been anyone else bringing an outsider to the underground world, they would have been swarmed by ill-intentioned onlookers. But Qiao Long’s presence deterred them. Fearful of his prowess, the bystanders kept silent, merely watching as the two passed by.

Still, a few bold troublemakers couldn’t resist provoking.

“Hey, Boss Qiao, what kind of goods did you bring back today? Looks like a fresh one. If you’re done playing, why not let the brothers have a turn?”

Hearing this, Qiao Long’s brow furrowed. He grabbed a gun from a nearby subordinate and pulled the trigger.

“No—”

Before the man could beg for mercy, bullets tore through him, accompanied by the sound of cycling gun chambers, flashes of light, and trailing smoke. Blood sprayed as his body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

“Clean this up. Don’t let it rot there,” Qiao Long ordered. The nearby lackeys quickly responded, rushing to handle the mess.

The group continued forward until they arrived at a garage. Three rugged underground off-road vehicles awaited them.

Though the vehicles were filthy, caked with mud, the interiors were reasonably clean—likely cleaned occasionally out of necessity.

Their entourage split into two vehicles at the front and back, while Qiao Long and Hestia boarded the one in the middle.

After they had driven some distance, Qiao Long explained his earlier actions.

“In situations like that, you must deal with them decisively, or else it sends the wrong message. The others will swarm you like wolves.”

“This isn’t a Federal governed safe zone, so I hope you’ll forgive me, Miss,” he added before falling silent again.

Hestia replayed the scene in her mind—the dying man’s terror, the shock rippling through the crowd, and Qiao Long’s resolute action. She considered what might have happened if Qiao Long had hesitated.

Had his response been less firm, the crowd might have seen an opportunity to stir up chaos. Even Qiao Long’s subordinates might have begun harboring dangerous thoughts. Such fragile alliances would have crumbled instantly.

Was this strategic foresight, or had Qiao Long simply become so accustomed to solving problems with violence after living underground for so long? Hestia wondered.

This place, she thought, was best avoided. But it was, at the very least, an eye-opening experience.

The vehicle sped along, but the harsh underground environment offered no smooth or spacious roads. In fact, the existence of roads here at all was something of a miracle.

Sitting by the window, Hestia observed the people roaming the underground world. With no internet, scant entertainment, and only crude food available, they spent their time fighting, sleeping, or gathering around outdated equipment to listen to music and dance. The highlight seemed to be the crowds watching pre-stored videos on projection screens—everything from old classic films to humorously spliced internet clips and even vulgar content with grotesque, mechanical dancing.

There were no schools, banks, hospitals, or public administration. Only gang members maintained a semblance of order. This forgotten, forsaken underground world was a place where life had regressed to an almost primal state.

The Federation needed people, yes, but only those who could generate value. These forsaken individuals, twisted by the harsh environment, were often morally corrupt and devoid of decency. Lacking education and opportunities, they struggled to integrate into society or rise beyond Sequence 3. Taking them in would require immense security resources and would face fierce opposition from local residents.

Thus, the government chose to ignore their existence entirely.

The vehicle jostled over rough terrain, passing through winding caves. The original stalactites and columns had been cleared away, leaving only a few structural remnants to prevent collapses.

“What do these people live on?” Hestia suddenly asked. After all, survival required food and basic supplies, and the underground world was unlikely to share its resources freely. The gangs certainly weren’t charities.

“There are some things too vile and unsightly for you to know, Miss,” Qiao Long replied with a shake of his head.

“Fair enough,” Hestia said, realizing she might not yet be strong enough to face such cruel truths.

How bleak, she thought. Though young, Hestia carried memories inherited from two generations of the “Color-Grade Songstresses,” memories of the Federation’s rise—its vitality and prosperity.

But now, even the brightest ideals and beliefs seemed to rot and decay over time.

Humanity—or life in general—never seemed to learn. The words and images of history felt too distant and insubstantial to inspire reverence. Perhaps only searing pain could force people to change and remember their lessons.

Hestia slowly closed her eyes, then reopened them, the azure light in her gaze flickering faintly.

For now, she wasn’t strong enough to change anything. Many thoughts and aspirations would have to remain buried in her heart until the time was right to bring them to fruition.