The sky above was clear.
Wide.
Blue.
A sharp contrast to the previous day's gloom.
Ronóva stood within the grand palace garden.
Terraced lawns cascaded downward.
Sculpted hedges.
Wide stairways.
All flowing toward a central fountain—the heart of her own palace.
She bent forward, hands braced on her knees.
Breathing hard.
Her expression was pale.
Exhausted.
Sweat dripped from her chin.
Fell.
Merged with her shadow on the marble tiles.
"…Why—can't I keep up,"
Ronóva said between breaths,
"even when I have an Ultimate Skill?"
Haruto stood before her.
Straight.
Still.
Not a trace of exhaustion on him.
(She has impressive stamina…)
Haruto noted internally.
(I only reduced it to twenty percent with Infinite Manipulation.)
"An Ultimate Skill is self-sustaining metaphysical authority,"
Haruto said evenly, extending a hand toward her.
"Not muscle."
Ronóva hesitated—
then took his hand.
He pulled her upright with controlled ease.
"I know,"
she said, breathing steadily now.
"Being physically weak doesn't mean a physically strong opponent can defeat me—"
"—an Ultimate Skill user can erase them without ever throwing a punch."
"Correct,"
Haruto replied.
"No matter how physically strong somebody is, an Ultimate Skill can kill, overwrite, seal, or erase."
Ronóva released his hand.
"Then why are you testing my physical strength?"
she asked, eyes narrowing slightly.
Haruto turned his back to her.
"No special reason,"
he said calmly.
It was a lie.
He was measuring her.
Not just stamina.
Balance.
Reaction speed.
Structural resilience.
He needed to know.
Because Haruto didn't know what kind of enemies awaited them.
Each universe carried its own power system.
Its own rules.
Its own hierarchy.
And there were things even he lacked information on.
The most dangerous possibility—
A system that operated on a higher conceptual plane than his own universe.
When entering another universe,
you retained your original power system.
Whether it functioned freely—
or met resistance—
depended entirely on your tier
relative to that universe.
Haruto's gaze lifted toward the sky.
Clear.
Calm.
Ronóva titled her head slightly
"No special reason, huh…"
Ronóva said quietly.
She didn't look at him.
Her fingers tugged at the edge of her white skirt,
loosening it just enough for the breeze to slip beneath.
Fabric fluttered.
Cooling her skin.
"I don't believe that,"
she added, voice calm.
"But whatever it is… I trust you don't have bad intentions."
Haruto turned toward her slowly.
His gaze drifted—
briefly—
to her stomach.
A narrow waist.
Not fragile.
Not thin.
Balanced.
"Oh, right,"
Ronóva said lightly, lifting her head to meet his eyes.
"Darling, would you mind if I enroll Kuroko in your nation's school?"
Haruto's attention snapped back to her face.
"That's fine,"
he said.
"But why my nation?"
"Your empire has multiple academies ranked in the global top twenty."
"Yes,"
Ronóva replied without hesitation.
"But if she attends your school—"
"—she'll grow far more."
Haruto studied her for a second.
"Is that how you see it?"
he said.
"I won't deny it."
A pause.
"Speaking of schools,"
he added, glancing sideways,
"aren't you enrolled in one?"
Ronóva smiled faintly.
"I am."
"But it's been a while since I've attended properly."
"Huh."
Haruto tilted his head.
"Won't you get in trouble for that?"
"No,"
Ronóva said smoothly.
"I'm the student council president."
She waved it off.
"It's not like I'm skipping classes."
"I just happen to be busy ruling an empire—"
"—because someone decided to annihilate my entire military."
Haruto looked away.
A soft smile tugged at his lips.
"Yeeeah…"
he said.
"I doubt that'll be a long-term issue for you."
"Of course not,"
Ronóva replied, smiling gently.
"That problem is approaching its end."
(She governs six nations…)
Haruto thought.
(During the final war, I gathered over a billion souls.)
(All stored within my Pocket Realm.)
(According to Seraphina, that's enough to evolve every subordinate at once.)
"I should also thank you,"
Ronóva said, slowing her steps.
"For supplying my people."
She looked at him fully now.
"So—thank you."
Haruto halted.
Just for a moment.
His eyes widened slightly before he shook his head.
"No."
"There's no need."
"I was the original source of their suffering."
Ronóva stopped.
Turned.
Crossed her arms—
expression sharp,
almost pouty.
"You really can't accept gratitude like a normal person,"
she said, irritation leaking through.
"You act like you're unworthy of the kindness you give."
(That's how it sounds to her…)
Haruto realized.
(The truth is—)
(The easier kindness is given, the easier it is to destroy.)
He exhaled.
Looked down.
Then back at her.
"…Alright,"
he said with a small smile.
"I accept your thanks."
Ronóva blinked.
Then smiled.
Her arms dropped to her sides.
"That's better, darling."
"I respect your honesty."
"Even when the truth hurts others."
They began walking again,
side by side,
along the garden path.
"Back in my universe,"
Haruto said quietly,
"people hated that."
"Of course,"
Ronóva replied.
"Honesty has a negative side—even if the concept itself is good."
She glanced ahead.
"Everything that exists carries both."
"Positive."
"And negative."
"So whenever there's light,"
Haruto said, eyes forward,
"there's always a shadow."
Ronóva nodded.
Soft.
Certain.
Haruto lifted his gaze from her.
His expression smoothed.
"You're right,"
he said.
They continued walking—
down the staircase—
until their figures vanished
into the lower garden.
Somewhere else—
A glowing tunnel spiraled inward.
Light smeared.
Darkness stretched thin along its walls.
It resembled a wormhole.
But it wasn't.
This was a 〈Reality Scar〉—
a forced rupture.
A connection carved between two self-contained realities.
Artificial.
Known among higher civilizations as a 〈World Gate〉.
Or a 〈Dimensional Corridor〉.
Safer than raw tearing.
Infinitely rarer.
Within the scar,
a colossal sci-fi battleship advanced.
Heavily armored.
Cannons layered along its hull.
Missile bays recessed like scars.
Laser arrays humming with restrained violence.
Built for frontal assault.
Designed for prolonged space warfare.
A glowing blue energy core pulsed at its center—
industrial.
Unapologetic.
The Reality Scar ignored space.
Ignored time.
Ignored distance.
It did not connect locations.
It connected entire realities wouldst is entire universe's.
Inside the battleship—
A throne room.
Cold.
Vast.
Claimed.
A man lounged upon the throne with deliberate ease.
One leg crossed.
The other extended forward.
As if the space itself belonged to him.
A sword hung loosely in his grasp,
its tip scraping the floor in lazy defiance.
—Axiom—
Messy medium-length hair.
Jet black on one side.
Snow-white on the other.
Unkempt strands fell forward,
half-veiling his face.
Deep black eyes.
Empty.
Lifeless.
A simple black shirt beneath a dark cloak.
No ornament.
No excess.
Only certainty.
"What kind of universe,"
Axiom asked calmly,
"am I taking control of?"
Valecien stood beside him.
Pale gold eyes.
A smile that never rushed.
"Fufufu…"
Valecien chuckled softly.
"Just your luck, young Master."
He turned slightly toward Axiom.
"A 〈Hybrid Universe〉."
White robes flowed with practiced familiarity.
Trimmed in gold—
tradition, not luxury.
Ornaments rested against his chest,
swaying gently with each step.
Symbols worn without reverence.
Without resistance.
Axiom's eyes narrowed.
Hybrid.
Not ordinary.
On the opposite side of the throne stood another figure.
Long silver-white hair.
Partially braided near the crown.
Gold needle-like ornaments securing the strands.
Pale gold eyes.
A high-collared white mantle draped his frame.
Gold geometric inlays etched into thick, fluid fabric.
Authority, layered.
A glowing ring of golden construct orbited his body.
—Eidrya—
"Failure is not an option,"
Eidrya said flatly.
A sharp smile cut across his face.
"To lose would disgrace our fellow 〈Celestials〉."
Axiom's grip tightened on his sword.
"There is no possibility of failure,"
he said evenly.
"No matter what beings inhabit a Hybrid Universe."
No doubt.
No hesitation.
Only fact.
His gaze shifted forward.
A massive transparent viewport wrapped along the chamber walls.
Beyond it—
Countless ships followed.
Different sizes.
Different silhouettes.
An armada.
—
Back in Satoria—
Haruto stood inside Thargrim's Craftsmen Workshop.
Cleaner than before.
Sharper.
Order restored to chaos.
"You called for me, Old Man Thargrim,"
Haruto said, looking down.
"The sword must be finished if you summoned me."
Thargrim snorted.
"Hrrk—hrrk—"
"Aye. Finished."
The dwarf straightened his back, pride heavy in his chest.
"One of the greatest weapons I've forged in my entire lifespan."
"I'll treasure it,"
Haruto replied with a smile.
Then his expression shifted.
"…By the way."
"Where's Bruni?"
"It's been a while since I last saw her."
Thargrim paused.
"You don't know?"
"She's returned to our homeland."
(Right.)
Haruto thought.
(The villages Raiven seized were restored—thanks to Ronóva.)
"Was there a problem in my nation?"
Haruto asked.
"That caused her to leave?"
Thargrim shook his head immediately.
"No."
"Nothing like that."
He hesitated.
"…She's reached that age."
"The age where one settles down with a partner."
Haruto blinked.
"…I thought you and Bruni were a thing."
"Hrrk—hrrk—hrrk!"
Thargrim burst out laughing.
"No, no."
"Truth be told—she's not my type."
He stroked his beard proudly.
"I prefer them hairier."
"I see…"
Haruto said slowly.
(What.)
"Enough chatter,"
Thargrim said, turning toward the counter.
Weapons lined the walls behind it.
Perfectly crafted.
Each radiating intent.
He walked behind the counter and knelt,
reaching beneath.
Haruto stepped closer,
standing opposite him.
Waiting.
The air felt heavier.
Whatever Thargrim was about to reveal—
wasn't ordinary.
Alright. I'm continuing and editing—using everything, automatically, no holding back.
Ahh—huh… here it is, then.
Thargrim grunted as his thick fingers pulled free a long, slender shape from beneath the counter.
Wrapped tight.
Layer after layer.
Spider silk.
The strands were cut clean along the surface.
No fraying.
No wasted fiber.
Perfect restraint.
"The blade is too sharp," Thargrim said, voice low, proud. "It cuts anything physical. That's why it has no scabbard."
He laid the silk-wrapped sword onto the counter.
Soft.
Careful.
A thin gold aura bled from the edges immediately.
Not flaring.
Not aggressive.
Alive.
The weapon trembled once—
then slowly lifted from the counter, hovering in the air.
Haruto did not move.
"Divine Hands of the Emperor" activated silently.
No gesture.
No contact.
Only will.
The spider silk responded at once.
Threads loosened.
Unwound.
Peeled away in perfect obedience.
Revealing—
An ivory-white longsword.
Mirror-smooth.
Pristine.
The blade emitted a faint, cold luminescence, like moonlight trapped in steel.
Elegant symmetry ran its length, flawless and intentional.
At the guard—
Dark.
Ornate.
A glowing blue core pulsed softly at its center.
Wisps of pale energy traced along the blade's edges, drifting like breath in winter air.
Otherworldly.
Sacred.
"…Magnificent," Haruto said quietly.
His eyes narrowed—not in suspicion, but analysis.
Layer after layer.
Structure beyond appearance.
"You truly are one of a kind, Thargrim."
The dwarf's grin stretched wide.
Hands planted on his hips.
Chest puffed.
Pride radiated off him like heat.
(This sword…)
(It could surpass Mei's Void Blade.)
The spider silk fell to the floor.
Soundless.
Weightless.
Haruto raised his hand beneath the blade.
Half a centimeter.
No contact.
The sword descended slowly—
And vanished.
Not through his palm.
Into it.
Straight into Haruto's "Pocket Realm".
Gone in seconds.
Haruto closed his hand, fingers tightening, a satisfied smile forming.
"It would be dangerous," he said lightly, "to walk around with a sword like that."
"I agree," Thargrim nodded once. "One hundred percent."
Haruto turned.
"Well then, old man. I'll be going. There are places I need to be."
A pause.
"And one person who'll be angry if I'm late."
"Of course," Thargrim said, waving him off. "Don't let me keep you."
"Will do."
"Instant Teleportation" activated.
The workshop vanished.
A flat mountaintop.
Wind brushing stone.
Open sky.
"Finally—!" Aya puffed her cheeks, hands on her hips. "Teacher's here."
"You're always late," Shizuku said flatly. "Shouldn't distance mean nothing to you?"
"I tried," Haruto replied calmly. "Something important came up."
"That's what you always say," Ayame added, fingers laced behind her back.
"It's good to see you again, Teach!" Kaito waved enthusiastically.
"The same to you," Haruto said, smiling. "A full month already."
Kaito beamed.
"Enough with the pointless chatter!" Takumi snapped. "We should be fighting—that's why we're here!"
A fist slammed into his back.
Playful.
Precise.
"Relax, Takumi," Amara said with a grin. "There's time before class ends."
Takumi clicked his tongue, glaring sideways.
Annoyance written all over his face.
Haruto turned—
Then paused.
"…He's right," Haruto said softly.
His gaze shifted.
A presence at the edge of his vision.
Still.
Quiet.
Kuroko.
Light blue-gray blazer.
White blouse.
Pale blue ribbon bow.
Gray pleated skirt.
White knee-high socks.
Dark loafers.
Standing beside Renji in the boys' uniform.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
Cold.
Assessing.
(So this is the man big sis talked about.)
(Ronóva's little sister…)
Haruto wasn't surprised.
He met her gaze fully.
"A new classmate?" he asked calmly. "May you introduce yourself? This is our first meeting, correct?"
Kuroko stepped forward.
"I am Kuroko Auremund," she said, voice clipped and regal.
"The Second Empress of the Elarion Skyhold Empire."
Haruto smiled.
"It's an honor."
He inclined his head slightly.
"Allow me to return the courtesy."
"I am Haruto Satoru. First—and true—Emperor of the Satoria Federation."
A beat.
"As my student," he added evenly, "you may call me Teacher."
He stepped back.
"Let's understand each other," Haruto said, a smile spreading—sharp, excited.
"In a duel of power."
Excitement exploded across his students' faces.
Finally.
Except—
Kuroko did not smile.
Not even slightly.
"I'll crush that power you're so proud of." said Haruto quietly.
His eyes locked onto her .
"For eternity."