“I got a survival mission,” Ethan Parker said.

  Megan Hayes’s expression tightened. “When does it trigger?”

  “Seven days.”

  She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath. “That’s not terrible. If you have to, you can forfeit when the time comes and spend a month or two building a base. Most rookies train for three months before they even think about stepping into the Reverse World.”

  Ethan’s answer was immediate. “Take me to Unit 749.”

  He didn’t want to waste a single day. He needed to start training—now—so he’d be ready when those seven days ran out. Because the divinity he’d awakened only grew stronger one way: by killing.

  Grant Mercer practically lit up when Ethan said he’d join. “Good. I’ll get you to the Bureau myself.”

  “Don’t worry about cleanup here—special teams handle that. That’s the advantage of being official.”

  “And yeah, there are civilian groups that take in psionics too,” he added quickly, clearly afraid Ethan might change his mind, “but trust me—Unit 749 is the most professional, the most legit. No comparison.”

  Grant talked the whole way, like he was trying to keep Ethan locked in with momentum alone.

  They reached a subway station.

  “We’re taking the train?” Ethan asked, surprised.

  “Yep,” Megan said brightly, “but not the public platform. We’ve got a private one—Platform Zero. This way.”

  They passed through a secured door and stepped onto an empty platform with no civilians in sight.

  A train arrived within minutes.

  Ethan boarded and found the car only half full—maybe a dozen people, all carrying the same quiet, alert presence. Other 749 personnel, most likely, coming in from different districts.

  Two hours later, the train stopped.

  When Ethan stepped off, he realized they were outside the city. Ahead of them stretched a massive valley, steep-walled and remote.

  “Unit 749 is built into that valley,” Grant said, pride practically shining off him. “A huge underground base.”

  After a quick registration at the entrance, Ethan was officially inside.

  “All right,” Megan said with a wink. “We’ll drop you here. Save my number—if you need anything, your senior’s only a call away.”

  “Thanks,” Ethan said.

  Grant and Megan watched him go.

  “What do you think he’ll score on the rookie assessment?” Grant asked quietly.

  “I’d say his average lands above ninety.”

  Grant blinked. “Ninety-plus means he has to clear the highest difficulty bracket. Tons of people join every year—hardly anyone hits ninety. Those who do are freak-level talents. You really think he’s that good?”

  Megan shrugged, grinning. “Call it intuition. He might pass us up sooner than you think.”

  …

  A receptionist guided Ethan through intake.

  “Since it’s your first day, I’ll give you a quick tour.”

  They went deeper, and Ethan finally caught a glimpse of what Unit 749 really was.

  A glass corridor lined with containment cells—things inside that made his skin crawl even through reinforced panels.

  A massive, ultra-modern operations hall filled with cutting-edge equipment. Fully armed conventional soldiers. A dedicated training complex for psionics.

  And—absurdly—cafeterias, dorms, a basketball court, recreation rooms. Like a self-contained underground city.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  One word: impressive.

  “Ethan,” the receptionist said, stopping at a lab, “this is the terminal design room. You can choose a style you like.”

  Inside display cases sat every form factor imaginable: watch terminals, earrings, necklaces, rings—even collar-style units.

  Ethan pointed. “That one.”

  He chose a matte-black watch.

  “Great. Put it on. Our super AI—Aimee—will register you automatically.”

  The moment the clasp locked around his wrist, a virtual figure appeared in front of him: a silver-haired, barefoot girl with a doll-like face and an emotionless voice.

  “Welcome, Ethan Parker.”

  “To summon Aimee, speak my name—or tap your terminal three times.”

  “Scanning profile…”

  A card flashed open in blue light:

  Name: Ethan Parker

  Realm: Channeling (lv8)

  Clearance: None

  Contribution Points: 0

  Ethan’s eyes narrowed.

  So killing that Green Troll earlier had filled eight spiritual apertures in one go—eight levels, instantly.

  Killing monsters didn’t just raise Blood Strength. It leveled him fast.

  He needed to hunt. A lot.

  He smirked and tried it anyway. “Hey, Siri—wrong universe. Aimee.”

  Aimee floated calmly. The silver-haired “cute avatar” vibe almost worked—until she spoke.

  “Do not confuse Aimee with that low-end consumer assistant.”

  Ethan snorted. “All right. Let me test you, then.”

  “Proceed.”

  He leaned slightly closer. “Am I handsome?”

  “Based on Aimee’s objective analysis of large-scale human aesthetic data: yes. You are handsome.”

  The receptionist failed to hold it in and laughed.

  “Our AI can be pretty savage,” she said, still smiling. “Don’t take it personally… though, to be fair, you are good-looking.”

  Ethan dismissed the screen. “So what’s next?”

  “All new recruits undergo a potential assessment. It determines benefits and placement. Score range is 0 to 100. Sixty is the pass line.”

  “Below sixty, you fail—no probationary investigator status. You stay in-house until you pass a retest.”

  “Above sixty is a pass. Every ten points is a new tier. Eighty-plus are considered rising stars. Ninety-plus are true geniuses. The higher the score, the better the待遇—your pay, resources, and access.”

  Ethan nodded once. “Take me there.”

  Minutes later, a heavy metal door slid open.

  Beyond it lay a vast training arena—gray concrete underfoot, towering metal walls around the perimeter. In the center was the rookie assessment zone.

  Dozens of people were gathered around, cheering like it was a sporting event.

  The assessment zone was a square cage. Inside, a muscular man—shirtless, built like a tank—was being hunted by four bowling balls.

  Not normal bowling balls.

  These were cast metal, each weighing several tons.

  One direct hit could kill.

  “Come on, man!”

  “You’ve got this!”

  “Ten seconds—hold it!”

  The timer ended.

  A pale-blue screen overhead displayed the result:

  Derek Wolfe — 87

  The crowd erupted.

  “Eighty-seven! That’s insane!”

  “Wolfe is Wolfe…”

  “I couldn’t even hit sixty. I straight-up failed.”

  “Failing as a rookie is normal—those things are murder. Wolfe’s been training for months. That’s why he can score that high.”

  Ethan recognized Derek Wolfe.

  He’d been the captain of a neighboring university’s basketball team—an aggressive, charismatic star who used to dominate the court. When he suddenly dropped out, people talked about it for weeks.

  So this was where he’d gone.

  Ethan’s gaze shifted—and he spotted another familiar face in the upper seating.

  A petite girl sat alone, quiet as a shadow.

  Lily Moore.

  At the freshman talent showcase, she’d closed the night—cool, poised, fingers moving over the piano while the whole auditorium held its breath. Overnight she’d become the campus’s “piano goddess.”

  Even Ethan had to admit it: beauty was hard to ignore.

  Three months ago, she’d vanished from school too.

  So Unit 749 had taken her as well.

  “Next up—Ethan Cole!” someone shouted. “Let’s see if you can beat Wolfe and take this month’s #1! First place gets three full bottles of cultivation serum!”

  After Wolfe stepped out, a tall, thin man with glasses walked into the cage. It looked like the two of them were grinding the leaderboard, trading records, while everyone else watched.

  The receptionist explained quietly, “The assessment leaderboard resets monthly. First place gets rewards to encourage breakthroughs. Those two are among the better rookies—but they’ve been here a few months. You just arrived. Don’t rush.”

  Ethan’s only thought was: I have to rush.

  Seven days until the Reverse World. If there were resources on the line, he wasn’t leaving them on the table.

  “Aimee,” he said, “register me.”

  Text popped up:

  [Rookie Assessment registration successful. Added to queue.]

  His name appeared on the big screen.

  Ethan Parker — Personal Best: 0

  The moment it showed, chatter exploded around him.

  “What’s this? Another rookie?”

  “Who’s that? We’re watching Wolfe versus Cole!”

  “Yeah, they’re record farming—why’s someone cutting in?”

  Then they noticed Ethan’s unfamiliar face.

  Derek Wolfe walked straight over, annoyance written all over him.

  “New guy,” Derek said, voice clipped, “cancel your spot. Come back tomorrow. I’m pushing for #1 this month—I’m not done yet.”

  Ethan could tell why he was angry. Wolfe had clearly prepped hard for this—pumped up, running hot, probably on stimulants to squeeze out performance before it faded. Getting jumped in the queue would feel like sabotage.

  Ethan looked up. “And you are?”

  “You don’t know me?” Derek snapped. “Look at the leaderboard. I’m Wolfe.”

  Ethan’s expression didn’t change. “You’re Wolfe. Okay. So?”

  Wolfe’s face darkened. “If you don’t show respect, your time here is going to be rough.”

  Ethan smiled—slow, almost amused. “You’re thinking too small.”

  Then his smile sharpened.

  “I can make your life rough right now.”

  He raised his right hand.

  Sequence 003 — Blood Sovereign. Activate.

  In an instant—

  Blood surged from his fingertips and formed a massive crimson hand in midair. It shot forward and clamped around Derek Wolfe’s throat.

  A two-hundred-plus-pound athlete was lifted off the ground like he weighed nothing, boots dangling, eyes bulging.

  “You—ugh—!!”

  Ethan’s gaze turned cold, blade-cold.

  “I’m jumpy,” he said softly. “When someone threatens me, I don’t sleep until I’ve made sure they won’t do it again.”

  He tightened his grip just enough to make the message sink in.

  “Next time, think before you open your mouth.”