Back at camp, Yumei tucked the huge egg near the fire, drying it gently with a spare towel while Fan Hanji roasted chestnuts.
"Though I still say we should eat this thing," he muttered, sulking beside the fire as he watched the egg dry under Yumei's towel. "Nice mystical Qi omelet. Live to three ninety-five. Shiny hair. No stress."
Hanji watched her tuck the egg closer to the fire, then sighed—more gently this time.
"You really are your father's kid."
"I'm my own kid," she said, not looking up.
He grinned, then tossed another chestnut into the pan.
Her old Federation phone flickered quietly. Its sensors, set on passive scan, picked up a heartbeat pattern—soft, rhythmic, and definitely not hers.
Yumei glanced at the readout… then ignored it.
She opened her messages app. She chatted with her father a bit, catching him up on events.
⸻
🌸 Tiny Tornado Soldier 🫡:
hi dad. i just survived 3 near-deaths, 2 emotional breakdowns, and 1 overcooked noodle bowl.
how's your day going 😇
——————
🧢 PapaBot3000:
That sounds like a normal Tuesday night in college with your uncle.
Did the noodles make it? 🍜
——————
🌸 Tiny Tornado Soldier 🫡:
the noodles did not make it
they fought bravely
we hold them in our hearts 😔
——————-
🧢 PapaBot3000:
Tell them I said thank you for their service.
Also, drink water. Or I'm sending GrandmaBot™️ after you.
——————
🌸 Tiny Tornado Soldier 🫡:
I'M DRINKING IT OKAY
half tea
half guilt
all hydration 💦
—————-
🧢 PapaBot3000:
Proud of you, hydration goblin.
Now go do your core thingy. Cleanse your inner goblin.
—————
🌸 Tiny Tornado Soldier 🫡:
working on it 🧘♀️✨
core now 75% cleaned of impurities
but i'm still 100% chaos 😌
——————
🧢 PapaBot3000:
That's my girl 💪
——————
They said their goodnights and ended the chat.
Fan Yumei then browsed the Netsphere for a while before completing her core-cleansing techniques.
"Her core hummed with radiance—78% free of the impurities that had clung to it since its discharge from the core system. She'd never missed a single meditation or cleansing session."
Drowsiness began to settle in.
Later, as the rain softened and the flames curled higher, she drifted off beside the fire's warmth, the egg nestled close.
Tomorrow, they'd reach town.
And maybe—just maybe—something inside her would begin to hatch, too.
⸻
Fan Yumei was in the middle of a very important dream—one filled with hot, shirtless military men with chiseled muscles, intense eyes, and dramatic slow-motion jogging—when it all came crashing down.
The moment her uncle tried to move "stealthily," the dream fractured like glass under a marching band. She heard him shuffling, clinking around, whispering nonsense to himself—like an elephant trying to tiptoe across a kitchen of glassware.
She cracked one eye open. There he was. Uncle Hanji, hunched beside the tent, holding twigs, a lit match, and aiming them right under her giant egg.
"UNCLE HANJI! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"
He jolted like he'd been shot with a stun bolt. "Nothing! Just, uh, giving it a little… warmth? A gentle toasting?"
"Toasting?! It's not a dumpling—it's a mythical beast egg!"
She leapt out of her tent and launched at him, wild-haired and furious, fists flying like justice. Hanji flailed backward, twigs flying, match extinguished.
"No roasted omelets today!" she growled, landing a series of light but satisfying smacks.
"Yuyu! Mercy!" he wheezed, trying to crawl away. "I was helping! The cold could hurt the embryo!"
"Fine! I'm calling and telling Father!"
That froze him. He sat up, sheepish. Then, with a sigh and an all-too-familiar grin, he muttered, "You really don't know your father's black history, do you?"
She blinked. "What black history?"
"Oh," Hanji said, stretching like he was warming up for a tale. "Just a little thing about him almost burning down our camp during his final exam in a secret realm. We were fresh out of the Profession Academy, going through our six-month entry trial. He tried to roast an egg. Just like me."
She stared, stunned. "No. No way. My father? Gentle, wise, always composed?"
Hanji laughed. "Composed now. Back then? He was a gremlin with fire spells."
Yumei's entire perception of her father cracked at the edges. She had always seen him as a dignified man—battle-worn, missing limbs, still standing tall after the beast raid. She couldn't imagine him as anything but noble.
"…What even is a realm meet?" she asked, voice curious.
Hanji's eyes gleamed. "After you awaken and finish two years at your Profession Academy, you get tossed into a secret realm for a final evaluation. Based on your performance there, you get chosen by different big-time Colleges, and that's where your real path begins."
"But I haven't even awakened yet," she muttered.
"Exactly!" he said, clapping her back. "Which means no roasting the egg until after we save the world."
She tackled him again.
⸻
For the rest of the trip walking to the city, Fan Yumei walked like a vigilant hen, glaring daggers any time her uncle so much as glanced at the mythical beast egg with hungry eyes.
He sulked in silence, occasionally nibbling on dry jerky and whispering sweet nonsense to the egg like it was a lost dinner lover.
By the time they reached DenMark City's tall walls, the sun was hanging high and their bones ached. The walls loomed like a fortress from another age—massive slabs of stone seamlessly fused with shimmering alloy, ancient carvings laced with flickering light scripts.
Security drones floated lazily overhead, scanning all who approached, while massive glyphs pulsed faintly at each gate, humming with protective runes.
But they'd made it—with the egg intact and only minor bruises, both emotional and physical.
The trail had worn her out, and she was tired of taking breaks to carry the heavy mythical beast egg. So, with the 1,000 Federation coins her father had sent to her online bank account after registering her—one day before her departure, along with all the passcodes and security credentials (which she hadn't needed to touch until now)—she finally dipped into the funds and bought a hover cart for 47 coins. It was clunky but reliable, humming with a faint energy field that made traveling with the egg so much easier.
With quite a few coins left over, they wandered into a small breakfast shop tucked into a quiet curve on the east side of DenMark City, in Safe Zone 3. The city itself was an odd but charming blend of old and new—a vintage soul wrapped in futuristic bones. Hover pods whirred over cobblestone streets, neon signs blinked above stone archways, and faded brick towers were patched with chrome and glass, flowing together like time itself was trying to keep up.
The shopkeeper raised a brow at their disheveled appearance, but coins spoke louder than grime.
"One rice porridge, three buns, and absolutely no roasted anything," Fan Yumei said, clutching the hover cart like a dragon guarding her hoard.
⸻
After breakfast, they wandered the bustling market. Yumei admired odd trinkets, vibrant silks, and peculiar herbs, while Hanji kept trying to trade their money for skewers and mystery stews.
But the egg was a spectacle. It took up most of their rickety cart and gleamed faintly in the sunlight, drawing curious glances from passersby.
"Is that an egg?" one vendor whispered.
"A relic?"
"A prop?"
Then came the real trouble.
A richly dressed woman with hair piled like a pastry tower and an entourage of pale-faced servants boys strode toward them. Her eyes sparkled the moment they landed on the egg already lifting her Ai oni comm to pay upfront.
"I like it," she announced. "How much?"
Fan Hanji's face lit up like a lantern.
"Well, since you asked so kindly, we can start at—"
THWACK.
Fan Yumei kicked him in the shin without looking. "My uncle is mentally challenged. The egg's not for sale."
The lady didn't blink. "A thousand Federation coins."
"Not for sale."
"Ten thousand."
"Nope."
"Fifty thousand and two 2-star C-Class beasts."
"Still no."
The lady narrowed her eyes and raised her hand. Her servants began murmuring. A crowd gathered, people shoving to see what the fuss was about.
"ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND FEDERATION COINS!" the lady boomed.
Gasps.
Fan Hanji's soul tried to leave his body. "Yuyu… we could buy a palace!"
Yumei hissed, "It's not for sale!"
The lady moved closer. "You're being selfish. I want that egg."
Yumei's eyes darted around. Too many people. No easy way out. Her pulse spiked.
So she did what any rational young girl with a suspicious egg and an impulsive uncle would do.
She pointed behind the lady and screamed, "BEAST RAID!!"
The market froze.
Even the wind paused.
Everyone turned and stared—just in time to see a lone beggar scratching his butt.
The beggar looked up, saw a hundred eyes on him, shrieked, and bolted down the street.
Chaos.
People screamed, scattered, trampled over baskets and chickens. In the swirl of panic, Fan Yumei grabbed the hover cart handle and ran, dragging her uncle, their breakfast buns, and the egg.
⸻
Two alleys and one fish barrel detour later, they emerged onto the quieter path of Gu Road, panting and triumphant.
"I can't believe that worked!" Hanji wheezed.
"I can't believe you tried to sell my egg, cheap uncle" Yumei muttered, pushing him.
At the end of Gu Road stood a wide villa—walls forged from rich blue and black alloy, a rare luxury even in cities. This was the home of Master Sun Wanghe.
They knocked once.
Then again.
Finally, the gatekeeper bot opened the gate , revealing an old man with a plump build, short, neatly combed hair, and a long, unkempt beard that swayed like a wise willow. His face was youthful in the way that made Yumei instinctively suspicious—either he moisturized with unicorn milk, or he was much older than he looked.
"Welcome," he said in a voice like warm thunder. "Come in.