It was two days after the library attack.
Lin Hao was in his warehouse. He was, for the first time in his new life, clean.
The rusted, iron-scented tap in the maintenance room had become his shower. He had scrubbed the last of the caked-on, black purification grime and dried dog blood from his body. He was wearing a new set of cheap, anonymous clothes he'd bought with his mortal money.
He was also, finally, not starving. A small, brand-new mini-fridge, also bought with cash, hummed in the corner, powered by a portable generator. It was stocked with water, eggs, milk, and several pounds of steak. His [Level 6: Marrow Cleansed] body was a furnace, and he was finally giving it the high-grade fuel it demanded.
His "heroic" act at the campus had, as he'd intended, been both explosive and contained. The local news was calling him the "Hero of City U," but the story was already being buried. The world was in chaos. A single, localized "Awakened" event was just a drop in an ocean of global anomalies.
Which was why he was now sitting on a new, cheap folding chair, his laptop open, watching the world formally end.
It was a coordinated, global press conference. Every major news outlet on Earth was carrying the same, sterile, high-definition feed. The screen was a split-feed, showing podiums in Washington, Beijing, London, and Moscow. At each podium stood a world leader: the US President, the Chinese Chairman, the British Prime Minister.
And beside each one of them, standing just slightly back, was an elderly, imposing figure.
They were all different, but all the same: old, ancient-looking men (and one woman in Berlin), their faces etched with a profound, timeless authority that made the "world leaders" beside them look like anxious, tired children.
In Beijing, Lin Hao recognized the face immediately. It was Elder Chen, the [Level 4: Grandmaster], who had crushed the cinder block. He was wearing his black, high-collared BSA uniform, his gaze as sharp and cold as a razor.
The President spoke first. His voice was grim, his words rehearsed.
"...is not a solar flare," he said, his voice echoing in the vast, empty warehouse. "It is not a terrorist act. What our world experienced three nights ago was a global, natural phenomenon. The ancient texts, which have been... preserved... call this new energy 'Reiki.' It has triggered a global 'Awakening,' unlocking the dormant 'Spiritual Roots' within all of humanity."
He was just confirming what the world already knew, what was being screamed on social media for 72 hours. But hearing it from him made it an unalterable, historical fact.
Then, the President did something Lin Hao had never seen. He looked... subservient. He gestured to the old man beside him.
"But this is a new era," the President said, "and it requires new, specialized leadership. The governments of the world have unanimously agreed to cede all authority on this matter to a global, unified agency. The 'Bureau of Supernatural Affairs' (BSA) will, from this moment, have global authority to manage, train, and neutralize all supernatural threats."
The real power grab. And it was happening in plain sight.
The feed switched, centering on Elder Chen. He was now the global spokesperson. He stepped up to the podium, the BSA's dragon-and-sword emblem gleaming on his collar.
"For millennia," Elder Chen said, his voice calm, powerful, and carrying absolute conviction, "my ancestors, the 'Guardian Families,' have protected this secret. We have trained. We have watched. We have waited for the 'Great Awakening.' That day is now upon us."
He was rebranding the "hidden families," Lin Hao thought. A brilliant PR move. They weren't hiding secrets; they were guarding them.
"The Bureau of Supernatural Affairs," Elder Chen continued, his gaze sweeping across the world, "will ensure a safe, orderly transition into this new, powerful, and dangerous era. Our purpose is not to govern, but to protect. To guide."
Lin Hao scoffed. It was always about "protecting."
"To that end," Elder Chen said, his voice hardening, "the BSA announces two major, immediate initiatives, effective globally."
This was it. The new "rules."
"First," he declared, "we are initiating a Global Talent Registry. Any citizens who have experienced an 'Awakening', no matter how small, are required to report to their local BSA office for a simple, mandatory screening. This is not optional. Unregistered, uncontrolled power is a threat to everyone."
Lin Hao's eyes narrowed. A registry. Of course. They were building a database. They were hunting for talent. They were trying to find people like him. He would never register. His new "Level 2: Adept" campus-hero identity was the perfect cover. They had their "brave hero." They would never look for the god.
"Second," Elder Chen announced, his voice lifting, "we cannot let this new generation walk blindly. The BSA, in partnership with the Guardian Families, will immediately begin the formation of Global Cultivation Academies."
He smiled, a thin, authoritative smile.
"We will take the best and the brightest, the 'Awakened' youth from the Registry. We will train them. We will give them the cultivation manuals, the resources, and the guidance from our own Grandmasters. We will forge them into the next generation of protectors."
Lin Hao almost laughed.
Academies.
They were going to teach children how to achieve [Level 1: Iron Skin] and [Level 2: Muscle Weaving]. They were going to celebrate the "geniuses" who could reach [Level 4: Grandmaster] in five years.
He, a [Level 6: Marrow Cleansing] cultivator, was already two realms beyond their "Grandmasters."
He looked at his own status. [Talent: Level 3: Inferior Root]? (Cost: 1,000 UP).
That was his real challenge.
"Good," Lin Hao whispered to the empty warehouse, his eyes cold and calculating. "Let them build their schools. Let them find their 'geniuses.' Let them be the public, noisy, shining face of the new world."
He closed his laptop.
"I'll be the shadow."