Morrison woke up a week later.

Before that, even those knowledgeable in medicine were certain he wouldn’t survive. They couldn’t understand why he had done such a reckless thing. His bones were shattered, his body seemed lifeless, and in that condition, survival seemed impossible.

Yet Morrison woke up.

It was nothing short of a miracle.

The dwarf Melva, who had been taking care of him, told Morrison that while he was unconscious, he had called out Zhao’er’s name several times. Hearing him make sounds gave Melva a feeling that Morrison was on the verge of waking up, as making sounds is often an early sign of recovery.

The incident with the black dragon had caused devastating losses for the dwarves. Perhaps the black dragon hadn’t intentionally tried to destroy their buildings, but its massive size alone was enough to topple numerous structures with just a turn of its body.

At the time, there were many other races present, and the story of the black dragon quickly spread far and wide, as though it had grown wings. Speculations about the dragon’s intentions, the origins of the little pink dragon, and its lineage were discussed endlessly.

Someone even claimed to have seen its human form.

Zhao’er’s human form was exceptionally striking, exuding an ethereal and untainted aura. Coupled with his unforgettable face, anyone who had seen him, even in passing, would surely remember him vividly.

More and more people began sharing tales of their “chance encounters” with Zhao’er. Some were exaggerated for attention, while others were genuine. Among those caught up in the swirling rumors was Morrison.

In the first few days, the discussions were a frenzy of speculation. But when did the real disaster begin? It’s hard to recall—was it the evening of the sixth day? Or the early hours of the seventh?

What’s certain is that the first patient with full-body necrosis appeared in the public eye in the early hours of the seventh day and died by the following evening.

The disease spread with terrifying speed. Unlike most illnesses, which have an incubation period, this one seemed to act instantly. No one knew its source, and before anyone could react, more and more people began to collapse.

In just three days, the death toll had soared to 50,000 across various regions.

There was no discernible pattern. Nothing. Panic spread like wildfire, and people were too afraid to leave their homes. As time passed, however, some began to identify a trend.

The infection seemed to radiate outward from the most heavily affected city, gradually spreading in all directions. The radius of the outbreak nearly encompassed all human lands. At the epicenter was Aurum, once humanity’s most prosperous trade capital.

Aurum’s official name wasn’t actually this; it was merely a nickname. Aurum, meaning “gold,” was a name often used to describe the city, derived from tales of its streets being paved with gold.

Now, however, this golden city had become a city of death.

The political factions that had once fought bitterly over their interests temporarily set aside their disputes and formed an alliance in the face of this sudden catastrophe.

They sent countless soldiers to investigate the situation. Around 10,000 well-trained elites were deployed. Since the principles of the virus’s transmission were still unknown, every soldier was equipped with full protective gear.

Their skin was almost entirely covered, and they were layered in reinforced magic shields. Humanity had prepared meticulously.

Yet, only one soldier returned.

His skin was so severely necrotic that he could barely utter a coherent sentence. With great difficulty, he delivered one critical piece of information:

He said there was an enormous hole in the ground, as if the earth had collapsed. Inside, it was pitch-black, impossible to see anything clearly. But it was certain—the virus and toxins were emanating from there.

Morrison woke up on the seventh day.

By then, the death toll had already surpassed six figures.

“You’re awake…”

“…”

Melva was the first to speak, explaining to Morrison what had transpired while he was unconscious. People, gripped by fear, were like headless flies, believing even the most absurd rumors as long as they offered an explanation for the chaos.

The most widely spread theory was that the appearance of the black dragon was a forewarning. An old prophecy, long forgotten, predicting that dragons would bring about humanity’s downfall, was suddenly resurrected.

Although the color of the dragon didn’t match the prophecy exactly, dragons were inherently symbols of evil in their culture. Many people readily embraced this interpretation.

Having been seen with Zhao’er before, Morrison was branded a traitor.

Melva told him that his current situation was dire.

Throughout the conversation, Morrison showed no reaction. His expression was eerily blank, his gaze fixed on his own hands, as if lost in some internal struggle. There was something unsettling about his silence.

Melva didn’t notice Morrison’s expression and continued talking to herself.

“I knew it. From the start, I could sense the Abyss on him…”

Who “he” referred to, Melva didn’t say explicitly.

But at that moment, it didn’t need to be said.

“I wanted to ask you from the very beginning…”

“How exactly did you end up getting involved with dragons?”

Morrison, too, was reflecting on this question.

Yes, how had he and Zhao’er come to this point?

In the beginning, Morrison had only thought Zhao’er was adorable. At that time, he hadn’t imagined forming any kind of bond with the little pink dragon. When he learned of Zhao’er’s dream to travel the world, Morrison, who had already journeyed through half of it, smiled. Traveling together didn’t seem like a bad idea.

Things had been fine up until that point. So when had it all started to go awry? Perhaps it was when Morrison accidentally found out about his future relationship with Zhao’er.

His persistent, jealous companion, Brule, had once described Morrison’s intimate relationship with Zhao’er in a previous life. Brule painted a vivid picture of their closeness—how Zhao’er acted affectionately and clung to Morrison with childlike dependence.

Though Morrison outwardly dismissed Brule’s words,

inwardly, he remembered every detail.

Late at night, when no one else was around, Morrison couldn’t stop his mind from replaying those scenes. Sometimes, he even dreamed of them. From that moment on, he could no longer look at Zhao’er the way he used to.

His gaze lingered on Zhao’er’s face more often than he’d like to admit. Whenever they were close, Morrison found himself taking deep breaths, trying to calm his wildly beating heart so it wouldn’t be too obvious.

He’d studied the elegant curves of Zhao’er’s delicate features and the pure, unguarded depths of his smoke-pink eyes. Whether in human form or dragon form, it always seemed like Zhao’er knew exactly how to captivate him.

Morrison kept these feelings hidden deeply, ensuring Zhao’er didn’t notice.

What was he going to do? He wasn’t as noble as Zhao’er thought him to be. He had chastised Brule for violating the code of the Holy Knight, but had he upheld every tenet himself?

On the surface, he presented himself as dependable and composed, someone Zhao’er could trust and rely on. But behind that facade, he harbored thoughts he couldn’t reveal. Was this deception?

Erer was different from him.

He was full of passion and hope for the world.

He would reach out without hesitation to help the injured…

In this land, souls as pure as his were exceedingly rare.

It was a time far from peaceful—a chaotic era entangled with intricate conflicts. Even children could not always be trusted. People were wary of one another, rival factions schemed and plotted, and the common folk lived in dire straits. Power often bred malice and oppression.

The nobles, of course, paid no mind to the suffering of the impoverished masses.

Morrison recalled a time when he and Xiao Zhao’er passed through an abandoned city that had been ravaged by an invasion. Hidden among the ruins, they discovered a frail, emaciated child. Instinctively, Morrison moved to shield Zhao’er, convinced it was some kind of trap…

But Zhao’er shook his head and said it wasn’t.

He said he could sense the truth in a person’s eyes.

While Zhao’er tended to the child’s infected and festering wounds, Morrison stood guard by his side, constantly on alert, ready to shield Zhao’er should anything go wrong.

The child kept praising Zhao’er for being so beautiful, which left him visibly flustered and embarrassed. In the end, nothing happened. The child turned out to be just that—a child.

It was Zhao’er who, eager to avoid further gratitude, hastily grabbed some jerky from their supplies and left it behind before running off at full speed.

Zhao’er ran and ran until he was doubled over, hands on his knees, panting so hard he couldn’t even speak. Morrison gently helped him regulate his breathing, advising him not to gasp so deeply, as it could strain his lungs.

“Hahaha… I told you that kid wasn’t pretending!”

Zhao’er said triumphantly.

“Mm.”

Even if the child wasn’t pretending, Morrison asked himself—had it been him alone, would he have helped that child? The answer was no. Real or not, he wouldn’t have helped.

He had seen too much of this sort of thing and had grown numb to it.

But Zha’er wasn’t like that. He was still brimming with warmth and life.

That day, after resting for a while, Zhao’er began complaining about sore feet and, as if it were the most natural thing, placed them on Morrison’s lap. “It hurts so much…”

“Let me see…”

And indeed, it must have hurt. His pale, delicate skin was marked with patches of red from the friction. His skin was so soft it seemed unbefitting of a dragon—more like the delicate skin of the princess from a fairytale.

Morrison, already used to this, began gently massaging the red marks on Zhao’er’s feet.

Those memories weren’t far removed from the present, yet to Morrison, as he reflected on them now, they seemed cloaked in a hazy, dreamlike filter.

Back then… he had heard Zhao’er’s voice…

Right, he and Zhao’er shared a soul contract. Whenever he thought of Zhao’er, the mark closest to his heart on his left chest would emit a faint warmth.

Zhao’er’s voice carried clear concern.

— Are you okay, Morrison?

Melva noticed that the knight, who had been silent this entire time, suddenly had red-rimmed eyes and exhaled a long, shaky breath.

“I need to go…”

“You’re crazy! I just told you, it’s the most dangerous place right now…” Melva’s words were abruptly cut short when she met Morrison’s gaze. He was serious.

There was only one explanation for such a determined look in his eyes.

It meant—that pink dragon was there.

---

And Zhao’er… he was indeed there.

During his time in the Abyss, Zhao’er hadn’t just been idly wandering around. He had subtly inquired about various topics and pieced together key information from conversations.

Back then, he hadn’t understood much of what they said.

He vaguely remembered overhearing someone mockingly remark, “Last time was over three thousand years ago… humans never learn, do they?”

At the time, Zhao’er didn’t grasp the significance of their words and had dismissed it as a mere story. But now, faced with this so-called “Eye,” he finally understood.

What was once the bustling heart of a city now stood as a monument of despair—a massive memorial had vanished, replaced by an enormous crater emanating a putrid stench.

All the toxic gases were seeping out from this pit. Though much of it was unrecognizable, Zhao’er could still barely identify some of the debris—it was mostly the result of human actions.

This wasn’t something that had happened overnight. It was the accumulation of thousands of years.

Even standing there, Zhao’er could feel the discomfort.

Thanks to his extraordinary sensitivity, Zhao’er sensed faint tremors beneath the ground, as if something was on the verge of bursting out. He stood there for several minutes, attuning himself, until he finally understood what lay beneath.

If left unchecked, the consequences would undoubtedly be catastrophic. If his system were still with him, he might have asked 258 how to handle this. But 258 was gone.

Shortly after Zhao’er had been taken to the Abyss, the lack of any mission progress led to an automatic failure judgment. The system detached itself. According to what he had previously learned, mission failure usually entailed punishment, but for some reason, he wasn’t punished this time.

Before leaving, 258 had mentioned leaving him a small gift, but even now, Zhao’er hadn’t discovered what it was.

Without 258, Zhao’er deliberated for a moment and then made a swift decision. It wasn’t something he needed to ponder anymore—he had already gone over this question countless times.

The world was on the brink of destruction, and only he could save it.

Wasn’t this exactly the scenario he had often dreamed about? Everything was aligned, like a stage set perfectly, waiting for him, the lead actor, to step into the spotlight.

Before 258 had left, it had told him that after his life ended, there was a chance he might return to his original world. But there was also a chance he might simply die. It was a matter of probability, though Zhao’er considered himself rather lucky.

Two possible outcomes: either he died, or he went back. If he was fortunate enough to return, that would be wonderful. Zhao’er missed his parents dearly—his mom, his dad, and even the fluffy Samoyed from his neighborhood that always pounced on him.

But if he couldn’t return…

Before leaving, he planned to take one last walk through this otherworld.

The once-bustling square was now eerily empty. When Zhao’er had last been here, the central plaza was packed with people. He had even fed pigeons here. Now, the pigeons were gone, and the once-clear fountain was murky and filthy.

He remembered a little flower girl who used to sell flowers here. Zhao’er had paid her enough to buy her entire stock but only asked for one flower. The girl carefully selected the prettiest one for him, a vibrant golden lyda bloom still glistening with dew.

Blushing and stammering in her local dialect, she timidly complimented Zhao’er, saying he was very handsome and a good person.

At the time, Zhao’er didn’t know what came over him. He crouched down and, in a conspiratorial tone, whispered to the girl that he wasn’t a good person—he was an evil dragon.

The girl blinked, as if reassessing him. After a few seconds, she whispered back just as softly, “Then you must be a good dragon.”

Zhao’er still remembered her name: Eleanor.
In translation, it was rendered as “Eleanor,” a name with a beautiful meaning and relatively common in that region. In fact, if Zhao’er had spent some time walking the streets, he would have come across plenty of girls named Eleanor.

But… he only knew one Eleanor, the flower seller.

---

The “good dragon” Zhao’er met that little girl again.

But after just a few months, Eleanor was unrecognizable.

Her eyes were sunken, and despite being wrapped in layers of coarse fabric, the signs of festering wounds beneath were unmistakable. Gone was her previous vitality—she looked like a walking corpse, hollow and lifeless.

In truth, she was barely clinging to life, exuding the scent of decay, her breath fragile as if it might stop at any moment.

Perhaps knowing her time was nearly up, she sat silently, waiting for death.

When she saw Zhao’er, however, a faint spark of life returned.

She struggled to curl her lips into a smile, her voice hoarse and strained.

“To see you at the very end of my life… how fortunate I am.”

The girl likely believed she had already died and was dreaming. She talked to Zhao’er for quite some time, rambling about trivial and mundane things. Zhao’er didn’t interrupt her, patiently listening to every word she said.

Once he was sure she had finished, he crouched down again, just as he had during their first meeting. He gently patted her head, his voice incredibly soft.

“It’s okay. This won’t be the last day of your life. You’ll live a long, long time. Besides, isn’t next month the [festival name]? It’ll be so lively then. So you have to get ready and prepare even more flowers, okay?”

“Don’t cry. You look much prettier when you smile.”

As he spoke, Zhao’er’s hand slowly moved downward, his fingertips gently brushing against the girl’s cheek. A soft, radiant glow flowed from his fingers, and in an instant, the decayed skin on her face healed completely, smooth and pristine once more.

It was like witnessing a dazzling magic trick.

Seeing the girl frozen in shock, Zhao’er smiled.

“Do you remember me? I bought a flower from you before.”

He assumed she wouldn’t.

She sold flowers every day in the bustling square, meeting countless people from all walks of life. Besides, it had been so long since they last met.

But just as Zhao’er finished speaking, the girl unexpectedly shook her head.

---

Of course, Eleanor remembered him.

Even though she worked in a crowded square filled with constant streams of people, even though it had been months since they last met, and even though they had exchanged no more than three sentences, she still remembered Zhao’er.

She didn’t know his name but remembered his appearance. He looked much the same as before. Last time, his long hair had been tied up with a branch that still had flower buds, adorned with small white blossoms, clearly well-kept.

This time, his hair hung straight and loose.

Oh, and… the tall man who had been with him last time was gone.

Eleanor noticed that after healing her wounds, the beautiful “older brother” looked visibly paler. It was clear this wasn’t as effortless as he made it seem.

Her suspicion wasn’t wrong.

Ever since Zhao’er awakened his healing abilities, he had treated countless severe injuries and illnesses, from severed limbs to terminal diseases. Yet, none had ever made him feel strained—until now.

Perhaps it was due to the pollution in the air. Even just purifying the girl’s face, hands, and other areas of her skin left him feeling slightly unwell, as if he too were becoming infected.

But Zhao’er had already anticipated this.

He knew the pollution here would affect him as well. The only reason he seemed fine was that his dragon scales were far tougher than human skin, slowing the contamination process.

He glanced back at the once-vibrant but now lifeless city. The air was thick with a foul stench.

“I’ll take you out of here.”

Before Eleanor could process how he intended to take her away,

Zhao’er shifted into his dragon form, instantly filling the entire street with his massive frame. With a gentle sweep of his tail, he forcefully cleared a path, his speed unmatched.

The destruction he caused wasn’t without reason. Clearing the way was one purpose, but there was another: the buildings here, situated in the heart of the polluted zone, would need to be demolished eventually. Even after purification, traces of contamination would linger in the structures, subtly affecting anyone who lived there in the future.

Demolition was inevitable.

And it absolutely wasn’t because he thought it was fun.

After sending the little girl to safety,

Zhao’er turned back toward the dead city.

As he leapt into that deep pit, he thought he heard Morrison’s voice. How could that be possible? He hadn’t told Morrison what he was doing or where he was going. How could Morrison possibly know he was here?

Besides, Morrison was gravely injured and should have been recovering properly. The dwarven territory was far from here.

But Zhao’er had miscalculated.

For the first time, Zhao’er invoked the command embedded in their contract to stop Morrison.

“Stay still.”

Even so, Zhao’er sensed faint buzzing sounds in the air—his kin’s response. It was impressively quick. He had chosen his moment carefully, waiting until Morrison was asleep. From what he knew of Morrison, even a short nap could last ten days or more.

Before jumping, Zhao’er asked the automated little machine beside him:

“Are you sure this will kill me?”

“Don’t leave me half-dead—that would be awful.”

“I still look pretty handsome like this, don’t I?”

---

Zhao’er’s assumption that “Morrison had no idea about his whereabouts” was entirely his own delusion. In reality, his words were riddled with flaws. His tone and emotions betrayed him at every turn.

When Morrison first woke up, he immediately heard Zhao’er’s voice. Knowing Zhao’er as well as he did, he quickly picked up on the strangeness in his behavior. It wasn’t hard to guess what Zhao’er intended to do—his excitement was evident in his tone.

“I’m a hero saving the world, after all.”

“No choice—the world needs me.”

After saying these nonsensical things, Zhao’er’s tone shifted to something more somber, as if he’d thought of something troubling.

“I’m really glad I got to meet you.”

“I’ve always relied on you… Oh, let me tell you about a place. I buried some gold there. When you’re feeling better, go and get it, okay? Promise me you will!”

“Don’t feel sad. You’re already amazing as you are.”

“Urian—oh, that’s the black dragon from before—do you know how old he is? Over six thousand years old! And you? You’re still so young. So don’t get discouraged, alright? By the way, I’ve already avenged you! No need to thank me.”

Morrison’s instincts were always sharp. The dreadful sense of losing something precious made his hands tremble uncontrollably.

When Melva asked him what was wrong, he couldn’t utter a single word.

At that moment, Morrison violated the code of the Paladins. Hearing about the deaths of so many innocents didn’t stir his heart at all. His mind was consumed with thoughts of Zhao’er and whether he was alright.

Despite his fragile condition, Morrison somehow mustered the strength to forcibly cast spatial jump magic.

Each jump amplified his pain exponentially. His nose tickled, and when he wiped it with the back of his hand, it came away bright red with blood. But he couldn’t stop.

He felt that if he delayed even for a second, something he absolutely couldn’t bear would happen.

He arrived, but he was too late.

The contract within him rooted him in place, rendering him unable to move. The mark over his left chest began to burn, so intensely it felt like a cruel punishment inflicted on the spot.

The soft pink scales on Zhao’er’s body turned a deep crimson. Morrison knew. When Zhao’er drank too much, his scales would flush faintly, but it was a gentle, translucent hue—nothing like this vivid, overwhelming red.

This crimson wasn’t a blush; it was his blood. Droplets of it dripped from each scale, falling like rain. It looked agonizing. Zhao’er had always been terrified of pain—he would complain for ages even if his heel was just rubbed raw.

The blood began to pool, and wherever it spread, tender green shoots of life emerged, symbolizing the purification of the polluted city.

By then, Zhao’er had already lost consciousness. But had he been awake, he would have seen Morrison, without a hint of hesitation, steadfastly following him into the abyss.

---

Eleanor was the only human to walk out of that dead city alive.

That day remained the most unforgettable moment of her life. It had been a day she believed would be her last, yet she reunited with a customer who had once bought flowers from her long ago.

With a light touch of his cool fingertip,

He healed the decay on her body, restoring her vitality.

He told her it wouldn’t be her last day. He said she would live for a very, very long time. After sending her to safety, Eleanor watched in what felt like a dream as the beautiful figure of her savior turned back to the city.

She called out, wanting to know his name.

But when he spoke in his dragon form, she couldn’t understand him. How unfortunate, she thought—if only she had been able to comprehend his words.

Not long after, Eleanor encountered a pale-faced knight—the same one she had seen beside him earlier. Was he here to find him? He didn’t look well at all.

Eleanor watched with her own eyes as that pale knight entered Orum. Naively, she believed he would bring the beautiful savior back out. The knight even promised as much.

But in the end, the pink dragon never emerged.

And neither did the knight.

---

Eleanor lived to be over ninety years old, just as Zhao’er had said she would. She lived a long life indeed.

The first half of her life had been hard, filled with hardship and displacement. But the second half was full of happiness. She met a loving husband, raised a pair of wonderful children, enjoyed the company of a grandchild, and even doted on a great-granddaughter.

Her great-granddaughter, fascinated by tales and legends, was captivated by Eleanor’s story as the sole survivor of that city. She pestered her endlessly with questions.

“Is that statue in the central plaza the one you’re talking about?”

Eleanor had seen that statue. It depicted Zhao’er in his dragon form.

Truthfully, it didn’t hold a fraction of the beauty he had in life.

The statue’s very existence had been contentious at first. Not everyone could accept a monument to a non-human. Yet Orum, once renowned as a land of gold, had never regained its former glory.

After such a calamity, how could people live there without reservations? Still, perhaps in a few hundred years, as history fades from memory, Orum might once again thrive as a bustling trade city.

Eleanor no longer needed to sell flowers for a living, but she still habitually visited the central plaza. Where a monument once stood commemorating a great hero, there was now a lifelike statue of a small dragon.

She often saw the familiar knight standing beneath it. Rumor had it that Morrison had miraculously survived, but Eleanor believed otherwise.

Though others might not believe Morrison’s claims, Eleanor trusted him completely. The knight insisted he could still sense Zhao’er’s presence, that he was still alive somewhere. She didn’t fully understand what he meant by “life force,” but she was willing to believe that Zhao’er was still out there.

---

“What awful weather today…”

Now an elderly woman, Eleanor glanced at the knight who hadn’t aged a day, standing as still and silent as the statue behind him.

She struck up a conversation, as she often did. The knight never responded, remaining as unmoving as a sculpture.

Eleanor didn’t mind. She continued to chatter about mundane things, wiping the dust off the dragon statue as she spoke.

She wasn’t the only one who visited the plaza. There were tourists drawn by curiosity, quiet onlookers watching from a distance, and even, on rare nights, the faint silhouette of a black dragon’s tail on the horizon.

Eventually, Eleanor finally learned the name of the one who had saved her.

On a small plaque beneath the statue in the center of the plaza, one word was inscribed:

Zhao’er.

Centuries ago, a renowned prophet foretold that a massive crimson dragon would destroy humanity a hundred years later. However, this prophecy was incomplete. Due to the passage of time and improper preservation techniques, the surviving text had become blurred, and the latter half of the prophecy was based purely on speculation.

Interestingly, in the dialect of this world, the words for destruction and salvation are represented by the same characters. This oddity stood out, as these two words are typically opposites. Yet, here they were, identical in written form despite their contrasting meanings.

Thus, the prophecy might have also meant:

“A massive dragon will save humanity in a hundred years.”

Two hundred years is nothing more than a nap for a dragon, but for humans, it is enough time for them to forget much.

Orum has come alive once more, bustling with activity as researchers flock to this legendary city, eager to uncover its hidden stories.

Speculations about Zhao’er have become abundant, each one as captivating as the last. Every small clue is magnified a thousandfold, imbued with countless interpretations and meanings…

Who would have guessed that Zhao’er’s actions along the way were simply for fun, without any grand or deliberate intentions? His decision to sacrifice himself to save the city was driven by nothing more than the belief that it was a “cool” thing to do.

It wasn’t at all what scholars speculated — that he possessed foresight, noble ideals, or was part of some elaborate conspiracy. Anyone trying to analyze Zhao’er’s motives from historical records would be gravely mistaken.

He didn’t have grand ideas; he just acted on a whim. After all, doesn’t every young person dream of being a hero who saves the world?

---

But that was all something from a distant time.

When Zhao’er regained consciousness, a ringing in his ears lingered for about thirty seconds. Through his headphones, familiar background music played.

The game had been won.

In his headset, his teammates, who he often played with, were chatting away. They were analyzing the previous match, praising the opposing team’s support while criticizing their mid-laner. They buzzed on for a while before realizing that Zhao’er hadn’t said a word.

Normally the most talkative one, Zhao’er was unusually quiet.

“What’s going on? You played great in the last match!” one of his teammates said over voice chat. “Did your parents scold you again or something?”

Using a knowing tone, the teammate tried to console him. “Hey, just ignore them. Adults are like that. My parents are the same way…”

If it had been before, Zhao’er would’ve joined in and commiserated, but this time, he didn’t. He glanced around his room.

On the walls hung posters of tokusatsu shows and his favorite anime characters, along with Ultraman. Several plush toys were on his bed, the ones he liked to hug when sleeping.

On his desk were untouched, pristine workbooks and a bowl of corn and pork rib soup that had long since congealed. His mom had brought it in and reminded him repeatedly to eat, but once he got absorbed in his game, how could he remember?

The clock on his computer showed it was already 1 a.m. Zhao’er removed his headphones and opened his door. He noticed a faint glow coming from his parents’ bedroom; their lights were still on.

The sound of his door opening caught their attention.

Within seconds, his mom, wearing her pajamas, came out of her room. Her voice, as spirited as always, called out: “There’s food in the pot in the kitchen. If you’re hungry, go help yourself!” She muttered as she walked away, “All you do is play games. Do you even know what time it is?”

Listening to her familiar nagging, Zhao’er felt his eyes grow warm.

Seeing him frozen in place, his mom was about to say something else when she noticed his teary eyes — a first for him.

“Don’t you dare, Zhao’er! Don’t you pull this crying trick on me!” she exclaimed, though slightly flustered. “Your allowance this month is already over. You can forget about me giving you any more, no matter how much you cry!”

His life was so full of happiness,

Yet he had never realized it before.

Reflecting on the conversation he had with Morrison before, Zhao’er realized how, in his younger days, he had been heavily influenced by movies and anime. Protagonists who saved or destroyed the world at the drop of a hat captivated him, and he naturally picked up some of their heroic lines.

At first, he just thought it was cool and stylish.

Even when he first arrived in that other world, he still found the idea of heroism and grandeur thrilling.

But that was before he had witnessed the pain and struggles of humanity. Before he saw the scheming and backstabbing between people. Before he encountered a gaunt, starving child staring hungrily at the black bread in his hands—a bread Zhao’er himself had previously scoffed at for lacking flavor.

When he was fourteen or fifteen, he could afford to be picky about his food.

Meanwhile, in that other world, children his age lived in constant danger, their lives hanging by a thread. Yet Zhao’er also saw the beauty of that world’s mountains and rivers, where some lived in peace and harmony while others suffered lives of upheaval and despair.

The “world” no longer felt like a distant, abstract concept.

“Zhao’er! Are you eating or just standing there like a fool?”

His mom, though always grumbling about letting him serve himself, had already gone into the kitchen to reheat his meal. Amid the clattering of pots and pans, Zhao’er was soon served a steaming plate of food in the middle of the night.

This wasn’t unusual. He often got hungry late at night.

And when he did, he used to nudge Morrison awake…

But… it wasn’t the same. The food in the other world was vastly different, as were the cooking tools. Often, Zhao’er would describe the flavors he craved, and Morrison would do his best to recreate them.

He remembered one time Morrison tried over ten variations of a sauce before finally getting it just right. It was through these trials that Morrison gradually figured out Zhao’er’s taste preferences.

“Zhao’er!”

Zhao’er instinctively shoveled a few bites of rice into his mouth.

“Mom, just go to bed already. I’ll wash the dishes later.”

“Oh, now you’re saying you’ll wash dishes yourself, huh?”

Her tone made it clear she didn’t believe him.

By the time Zhao’er finished washing his dishes and returned to his room, it was nearly 2 a.m. He wasn’t particularly sleepy. He found himself wondering what things were like after he’d died in that other world.

Just as this thought crossed his mind, Zhao’er felt a sudden weight on his earlobe. It was a golden feather. The sensation was strangely familiar—it reminded him of the energy that the system had once described.

In front of him, a glowing screen appeared. The surreal scene made him think he might be dreaming. He rubbed his eyes, but it was real.

Having experienced enough strange events before, Zhao’er wasn’t scared. He cautiously reached out to touch it.

---

At that moment, Zhao’er finally understood the “little gift” 258 had mentioned before. After experimenting with it all night, he figured out what it was.

It resembled a dimensional door, though it had limitations and a cooldown period. The flow of time between the two worlds seemed different, too. While he hadn’t yet tested the exact ratio, he could confirm that time moved faster in the other world. By how much, he still didn’t know.

As long as there was enough time, Zhao’er was sure he could keep testing and figure it out. Anyway, within the cooldown period, he could return to the other world.

He was so sure it was that world because, when he first arrived there, he immediately saw a huge white sculpture of himself in his dragon form.

The streets had completely changed. Not only were the buildings different, but the entire style seemed to have drastically shifted. If it weren’t for his own sculpture being there, Zhao’er would’ve thought he had ended up in an entirely unfamiliar world!

The sculpture was awkward… but somehow, he found himself wanting to look at it more.

Zhao’er subtly adjusted his clothes and tried to get a little closer to take a better look. As he walked down, he spotted a figure. Who was that?

He had just finished playing the hero, closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was back in reality. Thinking that at least he had saved himself, he returned and, quite seriously, shared the experience with his teammates. They all burst into laughter.

Annoyed, Zhao’er took out the golden feather again…

Perhaps he should find Urian and fight him again.

Oh, Urian was that… black dragon.

And what had been up with Morrison lately? He was acting strange.

So, Zhao’er spent his days studying at the university campus and his nights serving as a guardian in another world. Even though he didn’t fully understand it, he knew the source of his power—it was the belief the people in that world had in him, which gathered into energy…

—What an imagination…

—So, what happened next?

—It’s a pretty vivid imagination. I’m kind of curious to see what happens next…

Messages from his teammates in the game chat kept coming one after another.

None of them took it seriously…

Zhao’er wasn’t upset though. He chuckled and continued to joke around with them. With all the gathered energy, he could even use a little magic in this world.

The weather had been unbearable for the past couple of days. Although the air conditioner was on, he still had to go outside. His mom had said that the rain would come that evening and make it better.

Sure enough, that night it rained heavily and didn’t stop until the morning. The hot and humid weather instantly turned cool, even though the forecast had predicted clear skies for the entire week.

“…Weather forecasts are never accurate!”

Zhao’er added some food to his mom’s plate at the table.

His mom hadn’t really looked at him closely in a while. He seemed a little different but also the same, still talking in that casual way.

“You’re going to university soon… back in high school, you said it would interfere with your studies, but now…” Zhao’er’s mom had brought up emotional topics before, but he always showed no interest, letting it go in one ear and out the other. This time, she just casually mentioned something about him finding a girlfriend.

Zhao’er, who had been eating, suddenly choked on a grain of rice, his face turning bright red.

“…Hahaha I, I…”

Women’s intuition was sharp, and Zhao’er’s mom was the first to notice his unusual reaction. “Have you got a girlfriend?”

“No, no, really no.”

Zhao’er encouraged himself in his mind.

He really didn’t have a girlfriend…

The summer vacation passed quickly. On the day Zhao’er went to school to register, he didn’t let his parents send him. After all, he wasn’t a little kid who needed their company to go to school—he had already saved the world in another world!

But this “hero” ended up getting lost for various reasons.

The university was much bigger than he had imagined, with east, south, and west gates, each one seeming miles apart. He had no idea where anything was.

Because he had stayed at home for two months during the summer vacation, when his friends saw him again, they exclaimed that he had suddenly become much fairer. Zhao’er didn’t really notice it himself.

Anyway, he was the type of person who let things go in one ear and out the other, not paying attention to much. In fact, there were some things he should’ve listened to more carefully…

Although a kind passerby had given him directions earlier, Zhao’er had forgotten them the moment he turned away. He wandered around the vast new student area like a headless chicken, unable to figure out where he was supposed to go.

Under the scorching sun, Zhao’er looked like a fool.

Suddenly, a shadow appeared above him, and a low voice spoke.

“Hey, are you a new student?”

Zhao’er was playing on his phone, in the middle of a crucial game. The enemy tower was almost destroyed—he couldn’t afford to mess this up. Hearing the voice, he assumed it was an upperclassman responsible for welcoming the new students.

Without looking up, he muttered a quick “thanks” and instinctively followed the person.

In his mind, he was thinking how reliable this upperclassman seemed.

But as they walked further into a more secluded area, Zhao’er became suspicious.

He quickly put his phone down.

Looking up, he saw a familiar face. It was none other than Morrison.

“—！！！！Didn’t I tell you not to come here and find me for no reason?! You’re way too tall, you stand out too much!!”

Morrison laughed aloud. “You’re too easy to trick, Xiao Zhao’er.”

Morrison held an umbrella above Zhao’er to shield him from the sun.

His knightly appearance stood out, especially with his height—he was extremely noticeable. But since Zhao’er had been absorbed in his phone, he hadn’t noticed.

Morrison was holding a bottle of water that he had prepared for Zhao’er in advance.

“Let’s go. I’ll take you to…”

“You know, Who I am…”

“Yeah.”

Morrison knew everything about Zhao’er.

The mark on the left side of Morrison’s chest started to heat up. The closer he got to Zhao’er, the more intense the burning sensation became. It felt like the heat was becoming his second heart.

Having spent a hundred years in a haze, Morrison sometimes didn’t even know if he could still be considered human, but when he felt that person’s presence near him, his long-dormant heart started to beat again.

There are many types of contracts between humans and dragons. If the contract is branded on the soul, as long as the soul of the person who made the contract is not dead, the two will always be able to sense each other…

No matter where they are…

As long as the soul does not perish, they will always be able to find each other.

[End of Arc 2]