To step out of the Awakening Center was to step from a sterile, controlled laboratory into a chaotic circus of raw human emotion. The grand plaza was a warzone of joy and sorrow.
Triumphant shouts echoed as parents hoisted their newly-crowned children onto their shoulders. Elsewhere, families of the failed huddled together, their quiet, choked sobs a pathetic counterpoint. News drones buzzed overhead like metallic carrion flies, broadcasting the drama to the nation.
Qin Mo moved through the emotional maelstrom like a ghost. The whispers and stares followed him, a persistent wake of scorn. "There he is... the walking zero." "His parents must be so ashamed."
The comments were barbs meant to pierce and wound, but for Qin Mo, they were just meaningless vibrations in the air. His mind was not truly here. It was light-years away, processing the final data from a battle that had just concluded. 'The Saber Saint's soul has stabilized,' he cataloged with the precision of a scientist. 'The self-disintegration from the Blade God Ascension was near total, but the core 'concept' of the technique was successfully imprinted. A highly profitable exchange.'
He reached the maglev subway station, a silent figure blending into the river of commuters. The station walls were a testament to the new world, plastered with vibrant, moving advertisements. A world-famous hero, "Blaze Empress," endorsed a new line of fire-resistant combat suits. 'Analysis,' his mind supplied automatically. 'Material is a low-grade dragon scale composite. Offers minimal protection against true high-energy attacks. Effective primarily for marketing purposes.'
The train hissed into the station. Inside, the evening news was playing on a public screen. "—the containment of the Level-3 Abyss Rift in Sector 7 was successful," the anchorwoman reported, "though not without cost. Three heroes were critically injured by what have been identified as 'Abyssal Shriekers,' monsters whose sonic attacks can bypass most forms of spiritual defense."
Qin Mo watched, his expression unchanging. 'Abyssal Shriekers. Auditory assault bypassing spiritual shielding. A mid-tier nuisance creature. The fact that they caused critical injuries to so-called heroes speaks volumes about this planet's combat incompetence.' He filed the information away. A curious data point in a sea of mediocrity.
The train chimed his stop. He disembarked into a different world. The glittering towers were distant giants on the horizon. The streets were narrower, the buildings older. This neighborhood, with its worn-down ordinariness, was the perfect camouflage. Its sheer mundanity was a better shield than any stealth technology.
He climbed the twelve flights of stairs to Apartment 1204. Home. The door clicked open. "I'm home," he said, his voice a flat monotone.
A girl's voice, sharp as a shard of ice, shot back from the living room. "Well, well, look what the Abyss spat out. The pride of the Qin family, the legendary hero, has returned. I trust you didn't trip over your own feet on your way out? It must be difficult, carrying the weight of all those zeroes."
Ignoring the volley of sarcasm, Qin Mo slipped into his house slippers and entered the living room. His younger sister, Qin Yue, was sprawled dramatically across the sofa, pretending to be engrossed in a history textbook. He glanced at the coffee table. A tall glass of iced lemon tea sat waiting. A small plate held meticulously sliced pieces of apple.
'Analysis,' his mind processed instantly. 'Lemon tea. Brewed to my exact preference. Ice cubes are fresh, indicating it was prepared less than fifteen minutes ago, consistent with my travel time. Conclusion: an ambush of feigned indifference masking genuine concern.'
"Did Mom prepare this?" he asked. Qin Yue scoffed, not looking up from her book. "Obviously. You think I have time to play maid for a failure? Just drink it before it gets warm."
He knew she was lying. Their mother was still at work. He picked up the glass and took a long sip. Perfect. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me!" she retorted, her cheeks flushing a faint pink. She finally snapped her book shut, her frustration too great to contain. "So? The forums are a warzone. They're calling you the 'Patron Saint of Failure'. Is it true? A perfect zero?"
"The assessment was accurate," Qin Mo replied simply.
The sarcasm in Qin Yue's face suddenly shattered, replaced by a raw, furious anger. "But... HOW?!" she burst out, her voice cracking. A pen on the coffee table rattled as her C-Rank "Kinetic Burst" talent flared with her agitation. "It's not fair! You're the smartest person I know! You read those ridiculously thick books about things I can't even pronounce! You... you were supposed to be amazing!"
Her anger was not at him. It was at a world that had failed to see what she saw. A world that had dared to call her hero a fraud. Qin Mo looked at his sister's furious, tear-rimmed eyes. He had witnessed the betrayals of galactic emperors and the apathy of cosmic gods. But this—this simple, fierce, illogical loyalty—was a phenomenon far more complex. And far more precious.
Before he could find the words to respond, the front door clicked open. "We're home!" their mother's warm, gentle voice announced. Li Suyin and Qin Feng entered, their gazes immediately finding Qin Mo. The weariness on their faces deepened for a moment before being masked by determined smiles.
Li Suyin bustled into the kitchen. "Mo-mo! You must be exhausted. I bought your favorite fish!" 'Response Protocol: Distraction via Domestic Activity,' Qin Mo's mind noted.
Qin Feng walked over and placed a large, calloused hand on his shoulder, giving it a firm, solid squeeze. 'Response Protocol: Non-Verbal Physical Reassurance.'
He processed the inputs. His sister's fiery loyalty. His mother's unconditional love. His father's silent, unshakeable support. 'Analysis of familial unit: Inefficient in expressing direct emotional data, but highly effective in providing a stable foundational support structure. A valuable asset.' This was his sanctuary. His lair.
Dinner was a quiet, deliberately normal affair. The colossal failure of the day was the ghost at the table—felt by all, but named by none. Afterward, Qin Mo retreated to his room. "Going to study." He closed the door and turned the lock. The click of the lock was a definitive sound. It was the sound of one world ending and another beginning. The mask of the placid, failed teenager dissolved. His eyes, once listless, now gained a focus so intense it seemed to hold nebulae and dying stars.
He sat on his bed and brought the news report from the train back into focus. [Query: Abyssal Shriekers. Known weaknesses.]
His consciousness plunged into the vast, silent library of ninety thousand lifetimes. He sifted through eons of memories, a god searching his own archives. He found the relevant life: a 'Beast Scholar' avatar in a world of purple jungles. He dove into the memory. He saw the notes, the dissections, the acoustic tests.
And then, he found it. The answer.
'...the creature's vocal organ has a fatal resonance flaw. A counter-frequency, precisely at 27.3 kHz, will cause a cascading bio-feedback loop, resulting in catastrophic cellular rupture. The sound itself need not be powerful, only precise.'
He withdrew from the memory, the perfect, elegant solution now resting in his mind. A slow, cold smile—the first real expression he had shown all day—touched his lips. A fatal flaw. A simple solution. Knowledge that no one on Earth possessed.
'Interesting,' he thought, a new plan already forming. 'The so-called experts of this world are fumbling in the dark, bleeding lives over a problem a reclusive scholar solved a century ago in another reality.'
He looked at his computer screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. 'Perhaps it's time to light a small candle in their darkness. A very, very small one.'