The engines of the transport plane thrummed beneath our seats, a steady vibration that felt less like machinery and more like a muted heartbeat threaded through the cabin. Trace and I sat in the middle row while the lights dimmed from harsh white to a cool, calming blue. The air smelled faintly of metal and recycled wind — the system's attempt to simulate long-distance flight.
Outside the narrow window, Neo Manila had already vanished, swallowed by layers of VR-rendered clouds drifting like slow-moving currents. We were suspended somewhere between continents, somewhere between danger and the next unknown.
Trace nudged me with an elbow, eyeing my armored gauntlets and chest plate with disbelief. "Old man… are you seriously staying in full battle gear?" He tugged at the zipper of his casual jacket, like the mere sight of my equipment made him sweat. "We're inside the transport zone. Nobody can attack us here."
I didn't look at him. I tightened the strap on my gauntlet. "That's what the system wants you to believe."
He blinked. "What? Since when does the system—"
Before he could finish, I reached into my utility pouch and pulled out a small metallic earpiece — compact, polished, engraved with a tiny lotus emblem glowing faintly under the cabin lights. I pressed it into his palm.
Trace raised a brow. "What's this—"
"Put it on."
He hesitated for half a second before clipping it onto his ear. The moment it made contact, a soft pulse of blue light rippled across the device, humming with hidden circuitry.
A holographic pane materialized in front of both of us — thin, sleek, silent as moonlight.
[PRIVATE COMMUNICATION CHANNEL ESTABLISHED]
Trace flinched. His cybernetic eye dialed open a fraction, analyzing the interface. "Wait—what? A private channel?" He twisted toward me, whispering sharply. "Here? That's impossible unless we form a party."
His voice echoed softly under the murmur of engine noise.
"And party systems," he continued, lowering his voice even further, "are disabled during intercontinental transport. This shouldn't even be allowed."
"Meihua built this," I murmured, almost afraid the words would shatter if I spoke any louder. The tiny device felt heavier in my hand now, like it still carried her warmth. "Back when she was still… here."
Trace shifted closer, elbows resting on his knees as he studied the engravings with narrowed eyes. "So her class must've been an Engineer," he said. "A damn good one too, judging by this craftsmanship."
A bitter laugh slipped out before I could stop it. "She would've been top-tier… just like me. If she was still playing."
The cabin's hum filled the silence that he didn't dare break. Trace wasn't looking at me anymore — not in avoidance, but like he was giving me space to breathe. But space didn't help. The storm inside my chest kept tightening.
"Everyone forgot," I whispered. "But I didn't. I couldn't."
My hand clenched into a fist before I realized it, knuckles stretching pale beneath the dim-blue lights.
"I tried everything, Trace," I said, each memory cutting sharper than the last. "Contacting the devs. Filing reports. Traveling to Singapore in real life — barging into the HQ, demanding answers. And all I got was corporate silence. Sanitized apologies. 'Internal error.'" I spat the words out like poison. "That's all they could say about my fiancée disappearing."
Trace lowered his gaze, jaw tightening. "I know… I know. And listen—" he nudged my shoulder, voice steady despite the shudder of the aircraft, "we're on our way to Neo Singapore, old man. I'm with you. Until the end."
I blinked at him, stunned. From a stranger I met a few hours ago — inside a game of all places — I didn't expect loyalty like that. Not this kind.
For a second, the cabin felt too small for the weight pressing on my lungs.
I dragged in a breath, letting it burn through my chest before releasing it. "I got a signal recently," I said quietly. "A system notification. It said Meihua's deleted account was trying to reconnect with my avatar."
Trace's head snapped up, eyes wide.
"Her account," I continued, voice trembling despite myself. "The system tried to trace the source… and it pointed straight to Neo Singapore's Core Grid."
Trace's eyes snapped wide open. "Core Grid? Drum—that's developer territory! No regular player can walk in there. Only registered esports athletes under the official continental roster get access."
I went still. Completely still.
"…What?"
He blinked at me, confused. "You didn't know?"
"TRACE—" my voice cracked up an octave, "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THAT EARLIER?!"
"Whoa—HEY—chill, old man!" Trace lifted both hands, half shielding his face as the cabin lights flickered from turbulence. "Why are you suddenly exploding?!"
"Because," I growled, leaning toward him until he shrank into his seat, "we were already in danger the moment the global announcement crowned us the first Awakened Classes AND broadcasted my promotion to Legendary Vanguard!"
Trace stared, gears slowly turning in that neon-bright brain of his. "So…?"
"So? You're a Cipher, Trace—a hacker and information breaker. What do you think will happen?"
Trace's eyes widened again.
"Oh… oh shit."
I nodded grimly as the gravity settled on him.
"We're basically walking loot chests," he said.
"Every player in Neo Singapore will try to kill us the moment we land. And when we die—our dropped items are free for the taking." I said and then asked "Drop penalty used to be 10%, right? Season 12?"
"And currently equipped weapons drop unless they're Mythic grade," I added. "Plus player-exclusive data caches: blueprint fragments, weapon upgrades, stat modules—everything we worked for."
Trace slumped back, groaning. "Right… ten percent back then. But uh… they changed it recently."
My stomach tightened. "…Changed it? To what?"
He swallowed. "Thirty."
I nearly swallowed my tongue. "THIRTY?!"
Trace nodded miserably. "Yeah. Inflation. Economy rebalancing patch. You know how they are."
I rubbed my temples, pulse drumming in my ears. "Trace… once we enter Neo Singapore's main continent, PK players will swarm us."
He leaned forward, voice trembling. "We're entering their home continent. For local players, killing a foreigner in their Common Zone is treated like—"
"—farming mobs," I finished, jaw clenched. "No penalty."
Trace dragged both hands into his hair. "OLD MAN, WHAT DO WE DO?! I can't die now—I've got like four fresh blueprint caches on me! Four! I haven't even opened them yet!"
Tsk.
Looks like things escalated faster than I hoped.
I opened my inventory, the familiar holographic grid flickering across my vision. Rows of old relic items lined up — dusty, retired, most of them impossible to craft anymore. But tucked near the bottom, faintly pulsing like a heartbeat lost in time, was a single glow.
Not bright.
Not loud.
But unmistakable.
[ECHO CACHE]
A one-use rift generator.
I let out a slow breath. "Good thing I held on to this relic. With it… I can open a portal straight back to Neo Manila's Safe Zone."
The blue light from the holo-screen reflected on Trace's face as his jaw dropped. For a second, he looked like someone who'd been drowning and finally found air.
"Old man…" he whispered, voice shaking with hopeful disbelief, "I never doubted you."
I raised a brow.
"You should've doubted me," I said, slipping the Echo Cache back into my belt. "Because if this thing fails… we're both dead. No respawn privilege. No pity mechanics."
Trace's hopeful expression instantly collapsed.
We disembarked the moment the transport plane's ramp lowered. Neo Singapore's VR airport was massive — all glass, gold trims, neon-white pillars stretching toward a sky textured like polished chrome. Even the air felt sharper. Heavier. As if the whole city was sizing us up.
Trace walked half a step behind me, clutching his earpiece like a security blanket.
"...Old man?" he muttered.
"Yeah?"
"...I just remembered something really important." His voice rose an octave. "Please tell me your relic's cooldown time is… you know… reasonable?"
I lifted the Echo Cache and checked the display.
The indicator blinked red.
[Cooldown Remaining: 4 minutes]
I clicked my tongue. Loud enough for Trace to hear the impending doom.
"Trace."
"...Yeah?" he squeaked.
"Remember what we did in the hidden dungeon at NAIA?"
Trace froze. His soul visibly left his body. "Old man… please don't."
"Oh yes, Trace," I said, forcing a grin that was absolutely not reassuring, "we're doing it again. Except this time… it's against players."
Trace whimpered.
"And we just need to survive…" I held up the blinking Echo Cache.
"Four. Whole. Minutes."
His legs wobbled.
I cracked my knuckles.
"Showtime."