Back in the present real world…
…the principals of each academy had been waiting anxiously for a little under two hours.
Two hours.
And still—nothing.
They had not been able to breach the realm world gate.
The shimmering portal pulsed faintly in front of them, but its surface was locked tight, like a heartbeat behind glass.
⸻
Principal Renshu's cane tapped once against the marble platform. His eagle-sharp eyes narrowed, scanning the gate as though his glare alone could force it open.
Beside him, Commander Qian's jaw was set like iron. The two had tried again and again to contact their students.
Signal disks lit up. Soul frequencies were pushed through. Even emergency satellites had been aligned and fired at the portal.
Every attempt failed.
It wasn't silence on the other side. It was rejection. A cold, absolute barrier.
⸻
"No avail," Renshu muttered, voice low, leaning heavier on his cane. "Blocked."
Commander Qian exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers curling into fists. "They didn't even have the chance to place their signal disks before it locked. Whoever designed this realm…" His teeth clenched. "They planned for this."
One of the other principals shifted uneasily. He was younger, softer at the edges. Sweat dotted his brow.
"We can't just keep waiting. We have to tell the parents. They deserve to know."
A tense silence followed.
Even Renshu—whose gaze rarely wavered—closed his eyes for a moment.
Because he knew the man was right.
⸻
And so, they did.
Messengers were sent running. Half the staff left the plaza to notify each student's parents or guardians, while the rest remained, surrounding the gate with protective formations, desperate to figure out a breach method or predict when it would open next.
⸻
When the first wave of parents arrived, outrage erupted.
"You said they would be safe!" one mother shouted, tears streaking her face. "You said this was a Federation-sponsored trial!"
"No one mentioned unstable realms!" another father bellowed, voice cracking. "Unexplored? Unexplored? You sent them into an uncharted fragment?"
The crowd swelled with panic.
They all knew the risk of their children entering secret realms. Death was always possible in search of inheritance, treasures, or rare resources. They had accepted that bitter fact.
But unstable? Unexplored? Unknown fragments that could belong to any broken world—or several stitched together?
That was betrayal.
Anything could be inside.
Anything could happen.
⸻
Amid the chaos, two stood together in quiet desperation.
Fan Yangwei and Ka Sanni.
Fan Yumei's parents.
Their hands were locked tightly, fingers trembling but refusing to let go.
Ka Sanni's eyes shimmered, darting to the gate again and again, as if willing it to open. Fan Yangwei's lips were pressed into a firm line, his shoulders squared. But the faint furrow between his brows betrayed the storm beneath.
They shared looks that carried a thousand words of worry—yet also something steadier.
Belief.
Because if there was one truth they both clung to, it was this:
Their daughter had trained harder than most adults they had ever known.
Every day. Every night. Disciplined. Relentless. Not just her body, but her beasts—Lufei, Maxius, Mystic. All of them drilled, sharpened, strengthened.
And they had trained with her, sweating alongside their child.
So yes, fear clawed at them. They were parents. They weren't immune.
But confidence lived there, too.
Confidence in their daughter's intelligence, quick thinking, and survival smarts.
She was no fool. She had the discipline of a warrior and the mind of a strategist.
She would not fall so easily.
Still…
They prayed silently that she and her companions were safe.
⸻
Later that evening, Fan Yangwei found himself face-to-face with Commander Qian.
The two clasped forearms, the gesture firm but heavy with unspoken weight.
"Old friend," Fan Yangwei said quietly. "Tell me the truth. How bad is it?"
Commander Qian's eyes hardened. For a long moment, he said nothing, just studied Yangwei's face. Then his voice dropped.
"The time inside runs faster."
Fan Yangwei froze.
"…How much faster?"
"We don't know." Commander Qian's jaw tightened. "A few hours here could already be days there. Weeks. Possibly… longer."
Fan Yangwei's throat tightened. His grip on Qian's arm slipped.
Inside, his mind screamed. What if years pass? What if she grows up in there without us?
But he forced himself still.
Because panic would break him.
He exhaled slowly, eyes shutting.
No.
He couldn't think like that.
He knew his daughter.
He had raised a fighter.
A girl with more persistence and resilience than many grown men he had fought beside.
She had already seen bloodshed. She had already walked paths harsher than most.
She was his daughter.
She would come back.
Fan Yangwei opened his eyes, and for a moment his gaze flickered. Then, lowering his voice so no one else could hear, he said:
"Qian… if you allow it, I'll help. I've kept it quiet, but one of my professions is rune mastery. If there's even a chance to carve an opening, to pry into the gate's locking matrix—I'll expose myself, if it means my daughter has one more hand reaching for her."
Commander Qian studied him long and hard, measuring both the words and the weight behind them. Slowly, he gave a firm nod. "When the time comes, I'll call you."
Fan Yangwei's jaw clenched, but he accepted it. His heart was steady, though his hands trembled behind his back.
⸻
That night, Fan Yangwei took Ka Sanni to a quiet bed and breakfast at the edge of the city.
They ate dinner, though it barely counted as such. Fan Yangwei forced bites down, chewing without taste.
Ka Sanni barely touched her plate. She pushed food around with her fork, lips pale, eyes distant.
Not a word left her mouth.
The silence followed them back to their room.
Even as they changed into nightclothes.
Even as Fan Yangwei dimmed the lights.
Ka Sanni sat at the edge of the bed, staring at nothing.
Then, suddenly, her voice cracked the air.
"Let's call my father for help."
⸻
Fan Yangwei flinched. The words startled him so much his breath caught.
He turned, looking at her fully.
Her eyes were wet, framed with tears she had fought to hold back all evening. Her lips trembled as the dam finally broke.
"Yangwei…" Her voice shook. "We can't just wait. My father—he can do something. He has to."
Fan Yangwei's heart clenched.
For a moment, he only stared.
Then his gaze softened.
Slowly, he stepped closer and drew her into his arms.
Her forehead pressed against his chest, shoulders quivering.
He kissed the crown of her head. His voice lowered, gentler than it had been all day.
"Sweetie…" He stroked her hair, steadying his voice for her sake. "I'll give Father-in-law a ring, okay?"
Ka Sanni let out a shaky breath, gripping his shirt tightly.
"Promise?" she whispered.
Fan Yangwei's chest tightened further.
"I promise."
His arms closed around her, holding her as if he could shield her from everything—the gate, the realm, the fear of losing their daughter.
In the quiet of the inn room, while storms of outrage raged outside and the gate pulsed with its unreachable heartbeat…
…two parents clung to each other, waiting, hoping.
And praying their warrior daughter was still alive.
⸻
Much later, when Ka Sanni finally drifted into uneasy sleep, Fan Yangwei lay still beside her. He waited—patient, silent—until her breaths evened out. Only then did he carefully slip from the bed, tucking the blanket around her shoulders.
He stepped into the hallway, the inn's lamps dim and quiet. The night air was cool against his skin as he walked outside, each step heavier than the last.
When he was far enough, he pulled out his communicator crystal and called the one man who had not yet been summoned.
His father-in-law.
The line connected, but there was silence on the other end. Fan Yangwei waited, the weight pressing into his chest until he thought he might break. Finally, a deep, aged voice spoke.
"I'll be there soon."
The connection cut.
Fan Yangwei stood still beneath the stars, the words echoing in his ears.
For the first time that night, his clenched fists loosened.
Because now… something was moving.