The knock on the door shattered the silence of the dining room—a heavy, rhythmic sound. Yan Shuo and his mother exchanged a brief glance before the sound of heavy footsteps approached.
When the door opened, a middle-aged man appeared in the dim light. Yan Shuo's father stood there, his breathing slightly labored. His bald head reflected the faint glow of the bulb, and the thick-framed glasses he wore sat slightly askew from sweat. His slightly overweight body was wrapped in a mechanic's uniform stained with oil.
"I'm home," he said briefly, his voice deep and hoarse with exhaustion.
"Dad? You're back," Yan Shuo replied with a small nod, while his mother immediately rose from her chair, relief clearly written on her face.
The woman stepped forward, helping her husband remove his stiff work jacket.
"Why are you home so late? I almost called you for the tenth time," she asked, her anxious tone softened by affection.
His father let out a long sigh, allowing himself to be guided toward the dining table.
"There was an overwhelming amount of work today. I don't know where they came from, but so many luxury cars arrived at the workshop in terrible condition. Their bodies were crushed, like they'd been hit by something massive, yet strangely there were no skid marks on the asphalt. It was a complete mess," he said, setting his work bag down on a kitchen chair with a dull thud.
He sat heavily beside his wife, his shoulders sagging as he looked at the dishes laid out on the table. He picked up his plate, scooped a generous portion of rice, then his gaze paused on the pile of stir-fried meat still releasing a savory aroma.
He froze for a moment, staring at his wife with a furrowed brow.
"That's a lot of meat. Where did you get the money for all this? Are we having guests?" he asked in surprise.
Yan Shuo's mother chuckled softly, her laughter ringing like a small bell in the quiet house. She glanced toward her only son.
"No guests. Your son bought all this."
His father turned to Yan Shuo, eyes widening behind his lenses.
"Really? Did you get paid today, Shuo?"
Yan Shuo nodded casually, continuing to eat.
"Yes, Dad. And I got lucky today—the boss gave me a small bonus for finishing extra work ahead of schedule."
A wide smile spread across his father's weary face.
"You've always worked hard, son. I'm proud of you," he said sincerely before digging into the food with enthusiasm.
For a while, only the clinking of spoons and forks against their old porcelain plates could be heard.
The silence lasted until his mother set down her glass and returned to the topic she had held back.
"Shuo… about what you mentioned earlier. Why do you suddenly want to study at Noxward?"
His father choked slightly and hurried to swallow his food.
"School? You want to go back to school? But Shuo… you know I can't afford something like Noxward. That school is only for the elite and Stellar users—"
Yan Shuo immediately raised his hand, waving it quickly in refusal.
"No, no, no. Dad, you don't need to worry about that. I'm not asking for a single coin from you. I'll cover the cost myself. I already have some savings, and I'll work even harder."
His mother spoke up, worry in her voice.
"But Noxward is the most expensive institution in the country, Shuo. Just the entrance fee could equal two years of your father's salary. If you really want this, at least let us help however we can."
Yan Shuo shook his head firmly, a thin but confident smile forming on his face.
"No need, Mom. I can handle it myself. I have a plan."
She looked at her husband, then back at Shuo. Seeing the determination in her son's eyes, she finally sighed—resigned, yet proud.
"Alright. If that's truly what you want."
His father nodded as well, though confusion still lingered on his face.
After dinner, Yan Shuo excused himself and went to his room. He closed the door tightly, locked it, and let his body drop onto the bed, which felt unusually soft that night.
He glanced at the time on his phone: 9:16 p.m. Time seemed to move painfully slowly. He placed his right palm on his forehead, staring at the dim ceiling.
Slowly, he raised his hand before his face, stared at his palm, then clenched it tightly.
"Stellar…" he murmured. The name felt like a mantra, carrying its own weight.
"Is there a special way to obtain Stellar?"
Curiosity reignited within him. He rose from the bed and sat before his still-lit computer. His fingers danced across the keyboard as he searched through hidden websites.
Many articles claimed Stellar power could be obtained through rituals or illegal drugs, but Yan Shuo quickly closed those windows.
"Scams. All of it's trash," he muttered.
Then he found an archived video uploaded two years ago. Its duration was six minutes and twenty-five seconds.
The footage was taken from above, likely from a news helicopter covering a major incident. At the center of the screen stood a young man with long black hair tied behind his head, fluttering violently in the strong wind.
He wore a pristine white jacket with a high collar wrapped tightly around his neck. A row of small yet striking golden metal buttons ran symmetrically from chest to abdomen, contrasting sharply with the white fabric and his cream-colored trousers amid the gray ruins of the city. In his hand, he held nothing but a long katana.
Yan Shuo watched intently, barely blinking.
"Trying to look cool," he scoffed.
"Just a katana in a modern battlefield? He's obviously seeking attention."
He scrolled through the comment section beneath the video. Many mentioned that the incident took place in the Unity Nation.
One of the top comments stated that it was the largest-scale terrorist attack carried out by a group of Stellar users in the country's history.
Most shocking of all—the man in the white jacket had descended alone to neutralize a threat ranked among the most dangerous terrorists in the world.
Yan Shuo replayed the video, skipping to the middle.
There, the young man was completely surrounded. Dozens of enemies with glowing Stellar auras encircled him, ready to unleash lethal attacks.
Yan Shuo smiled faintly, convinced this was the end of the man's arrogance.
Yet the man remained calm, not even changing his stance.
When one enemy Stellar user lunged forward at blinding speed, the man moved. His hand drew the blade in a single smooth motion—a simple, curved slash.
In the blink of an eye, the scene turned horrifying.
Not only was the first attacker decapitated, but every Stellar user surrounding him met the same fate simultaneously.
And most impossibly, the slash left behind cracks in space itself, as if reality had been torn apart.
The man then walked casually into the rift before it vanished without a trace.
Yan Shuo gasped and immediately paused the video at the exact moment of the slash.
Nothing. No light. No excessive visual effects.
He replayed it at 0.25 speed, but still, the sword movement was not captured by the camera's sensors.
"Damn it… that slash was faster than the recording speed," Yan Shuo whispered, his voice trembling.
He began counting the bodies collapsing on the screen.
One, two, ten… twenty-seven.
Twenty-seven elite Stellar users—killed in a single second by one slash.
A chill ran from the back of his neck down his spine.
A human that strong actually exists?
Yet something felt off. The video had no sound at all—complete silence.
He briefly wondered if it was an extremely high-quality film edit, but considering the comments and the credibility of the archive source, it was likely reality—censored from the public.
Yan Shuo leaned back in his gaming chair, tilting his head upward.
He drifted into thought, imagining the power he had just witnessed.
Power that could tear space apart. Power that could decide life and death in a blink.
"It would be pretty amazing if I had Stellar," he murmured into the darkness of his room.
Fatigue finally caught up to him. He turned off the monitor and rose with heavy steps. He didn't want to think anymore tonight. The room lights went out, and his body collapsed onto the bed. Darkness swallowed his vision, pulling his consciousness under before another question could form.
"Shuo… Shuo…"
The voice came from afar, gentle yet persistent. Yan Shuo blinked slowly, his eyes heavy. Darkness turned into a blur of light.
"It's seven o'clock. Wake up, you'll be late," his mother's voice was clear this time.
Yan Shuo let out a long sigh and sat up. His head throbbed slightly as he turned on the room light, squinting against the brightness. He stood, opened the door, and shuffled toward the kitchen.
He sat on the wooden chair, shoulders slumped, eyelids still heavy. His mother approached with a food box. Inside were neatly packed stir-fried meat and fresh vegetables.
"This is for you," she said, placing it on a plate and pushing it toward him.
Yan Shuo nodded and began eating immediately. Despite his lingering drowsiness, his stomach was empty. He ate quietly, chewing in silence.
After finishing, he stood and grabbed a towel. "Has Dad gone to work yet?" he asked as he headed toward the bathroom.
"Not yet. He's still sleeping. I'll wake him later," his mother replied.
Yan Shuo didn't respond. He entered the bathroom and closed the door. Water ran; time passed slowly. Minutes later, he emerged, hair still slightly damp, clothes now neat.
He looked at his mother again. "Is Dad awake?"
"Not yet," she said. "Please wake him."
Yan Shuo nodded and walked to his parents' bedroom. He opened the door, turned on the light, and approached the bed.
"Dad… it's past seven-thirty. You might be late if you keep sleeping."
His father murmured softly, half-asleep. "Yeah… I'll get up in a bit."
Yan Shuo smiled faintly, turned off the light, and left without waiting for another response.
He headed to the front door, grabbed his shoes, and put them on. His hand was already on the doorknob when his mother called out.
"Wait!"
She jogged over, carrying a paper box filled with rice and meat, her breath slightly uneven.
"Take this with you."
Yan Shuo accepted it, smiling warmly. He waved his hand. "I'm off."
"Be careful. Take good care of yourself. Come home safely," his mother said.
Yan Shuo ran out of the house. His mother stood at the doorway, watching her son's back disappear into the distance, then smiled softly.