Kaelan took a moment to center himself. The verification was immediate—a tangible, growing reservoir of spirit energy pulsed within his **dantian**. The military bow felt lighter in his hand, a subtle but welcome increase in physical strength accompanying his ascent to **Qi Refining Stage Two**.
A satisfied nod. Then, his gaze flicked to the UI's persistent hourglass.
It was empty.
A new line of text materialized, dominating his vision.
**[Player Kaelan Rook has remained in the Secondary World for 24 hours.]**
**[Returning to Primary Reality.]**
**[All equipped items have been stored in your inventory. Available upon retrieval.]**
**[Initiating return.]**
A wave of vertigo, brief but profound.
When his senses cleared, his boots were sinking into the plush pile of an expensive fur rug. Before him stood a young woman of breathtaking beauty.
The scene snapped into focus: a lavish party hall, all crystal chandeliers and polished marble. The air hummed with the refined strains of a string quartet. Yet, clashing violently with the elegance, was a raucous, growing chant.
"Go for it! Just ask her!"
"Do it, man!"
"Come on, we're all waiting!"
A hand clapped his shoulder from behind. "Kaelan! Brother, I've got your back. Just say what's in your heart!"
Kaelan turned his head slowly.
**Damon.** His "best friend" from high school.
He turned back, his eyes sweeping the opulent room before finally, inevitably, landing on the girl in the white gown. She was a vision of understated grace, needing no jewelry to outshine every other person in the hall.
**Selene Su.** The undisputed goddess of Aethelgard Academy. The cherished gem of the **Su Family**—one of the **Nine Great Aristocratic Houses** that shaped the Commonwealth.
Kaelan closed his eyes. When he opened them, she was still there.
*It's real. I've really returned.*
To this exact moment. The one that had haunted him for a lifetime.
"Selene! Kaelan has something to say to you!"
"Yeah, he's been practicing his speech!"
"We're all witnesses, Kaelan! Spit it out!"
The crowd's fervor crested. Seeing Kaelan remain silent, Selene finally spoke, her voice cutting through the noise with cool clarity.
"Kaelan. What did you want to tell me?"
A respectful hush fell. Every eye was glued to them, waiting for the rumored, dramatic confession on this graduation prom night.
Kaelan pushed the tsunami of memory and fury deep down, behind a wall of ice. He offered a polite, practiced smile and took a measured step forward.
"Selene," he began, his tone serious and formal. "There is one request I sincerely hope you will consider."
"And that is?" Her crystal-clear eyes held a complex mix of anticipation and wariness.
"I would be honored," Kaelan stated, "if you would visit my barbecue stall tomorrow evening. I would like you to sample my handmade grilled skewers."
A dead silence, so complete it swallowed the distant music.
Selene blinked. "…Barbecue? Skewers? Is that… all?"
"Of course," Kaelan shrugged amiably. "As you know, I have only two notable skills. My mech piloting you've seen. My cooking, you have not. So, would you care to try it?"
Selene's beautiful eyes widened in genuine surprise. "But… Damon told me you wanted to—"
Kaelan gently cut her off. "I never told him anything of the sort."
A visible wave of relief washed over her features, followed by a small, genuine smile. "I see. So, this wasn't your idea after all."
At that moment, Damon pushed forward from the crowd, his face a mask of fabricated concern. "Kaelan! What are you talking about? You told me you were going to confess your feelings to Selene tonight!"
The murmur of the crowd began to rise again.
Kaelan turned fully to face him, his gaze flat and cold.
*Damon.* The architect of his original ruin. The "friend" who, on this very night, had slipped a potent aphrodisiac into his drink. The resulting, drug-fueled attempt to force himself on Selene had been a public spectacle. It had destroyed her trust, gotten him expelled in disgrace, and made him a pariah hunted by the Su family's wrath. He had spent years in the gutter, starving and despised, until the apocalypse offered a brutal form of salvation.
All thanks to the man now smiling nervously before him.
Kaelan would not walk that path again.
He looked past Damon, addressing the crowd with a stage whisper. "You misunderstood. My true love," he declared with mock solemnity, "is **Stella Vance**."
The tension shattered into uproarious laughter. Even Selene covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth.
Stella Vance was the global pop idol superstar, beloved across all nations and factions. Claiming to be in love with her was the universal, harmless excuse of every star-struck fan.
From the crowd, a male voice yelled, "Hey Kaelan! Want to join our official fan club?"
Damon's expression flickered through panic and rage. His plan was unraveling. This chance—to curry favor with a rival aristocratic family by orchestrating Selene's public humiliation via her "crude admirer"—was slipping through his fingers.
He couldn't fail. This was his only ticket upward.
Baring his teeth in a semblance of a friendly grin, he stepped close, whispering venomously into Kaelan's ear, "Your peaceful days are over, you pauper." Then, with a forceful slap on Kaelan's shoulder, he administered his backup plan—a needle, hidden in his palm, pricking through the fabric of Kaelan's suit.
A tiny sting.
Kaelan didn't flinch. He just stared, his eyes like chips of obsidian. "Why?" he asked, his voice calm.
"Why what?" Damon replied, feigning innocence, already relaxing. The dose on the needle was massive. In under a minute, Kaelan would lose all control.
"Why do this? I thought we were friends."
Damon couldn't meet his gaze. "Don't blame me," he mumbled, his voice low and desperate. "People like us… we have to seize our chances where we can find them." Then, with a sudden, forceful shove, he pushed Kaelan towards Selene.
The drug hit Kaelan's system like a wave of fire. His temperature spiked. His breath grew ragged. He staggered.
A cold, familiar sensation—the helplessness of that long-ago night—threatened to surface. He remembered, suddenly, a casual remark Selene had once made: *'Kaelan, your judgment of character and Damon's… they don't come from the same place.'*
*How right you were.*
The disappointment was a dull ache, but it was buried under centuries of hardened resolve. *Enough.*
With a thought, he directed the spirit energy in his dantian. It flowed like a cleansing river, surrounding the foreign toxins, neutralizing them with contemptuous ease. The feverish heat receded. His breathing steadied. His eyes, which had begun to glaze over, cleared and sharpened.
A cultivator, even a low-level one, was immune to the poisons of the mundane world.
He came to a halt, perfectly composed, a mere two paces from a now-wary Selene. He did not look at her. Instead, he raised his voice, clear and commanding.
"Aunt Lin. If you would?"
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, the air beside Selene *shimmered*. Two figures resolved into existence as if stepping from behind an invisible curtain.
A mature, sharp-eyed woman with an aura of lethal grace. A grey-haired old man who stood with the stillness of a mountain.
Selene's personal guardians. Ever-present, ever-unseen.
The woman's gaze was a dagger pointed at Kaelan. "What is the meaning of this?" Her voice was icy. She knew this boy. Had thought him promising. This public spectacle was a profound disappointment. And being forcibly revealed from her covert duty? That was a professional insult.
Kaelan met her glare without fear. The game had changed. The pieces were all on the board. And he was no longer the pawn.