The Heart Clone inclined his head, as though the suggestion was entirely reasonable.
Yes—words were cheap.
True proof lay in power.
He spoke quietly.
"Let's prove it, then."
Without warning, he brought his hands together in a light, almost casual clap.
The sound was soft—barely louder than a whisper.
Mordan frowned, puzzled.
Umang blinked.
The other two subordinates exchanged confused glances.
Why clap? Where was the demonstration of strength?
Then reality shifted.
The office vanished.
Walls, desk, chairs, lights—everything dissolved in an instant.
No pain. No disorientation.
Just sudden, impossible change.
They were no longer inside.
They floated high in the open sky—thousands of meters above capital, clouds drifting lazily below, the curve of the earth visible on the horizon.
Night sky stretched endless above, stars sharp and bright.
Yet none of them fell.
They stood—or hovered—perfectly stationary on nothing but air, as stable as if planted on solid ground.
Wind whispered gently around them, cool but not cold.
Mordan's breath caught.
Umang staggered slightly, arms windmilling before he realized he wasn't dropping.
The other two gasped, eyes wide, staring down at the distant city lights far below.
No harness. No platform. No aircraft.
Just open sky.
The masked figure—Heart—stood calmly before them, white robes untouched by the wind high above the clouds.
His voice carried easily, warm and steady as ever.
"This is just a fraction. I am far stronger than this."
The words reached Mordan's ears.
Mordan's thoughts were still reeling from the impossible shift—office to open sky and back—when that voice struck him.
His subordinates, hearing, shared the same stunned silence.
All four men thought the same thing in near unison: Sir, you call this just a fraction?
After several long seconds, Mordan gathered himself to speak, but one of his subordinates—the boldest, or perhaps the most skeptical—beat him to it.
"Sir," the man said, forcing confidence into his voice, "this isn't personal strength. It's surely some kind of new technology—advanced illusion technique or virtual reality projection."
Mordan, Umang, and the remaining subordinate inwardly face-palmed.
They thought in unison: Brother, let's be real. This is clearly the kind of spatial manipulation from cultivation novels. Have you never read one? And even if it is technology, the person who can deploy it silently and instantly is already far beyond us. Why would he need to deceive us over something so trivial?
Mordan shot the man a sharp glance, then turned back to Heart with an apologetic tone.
"Sir Heart, please don't mind his words. I believe you. I believe the breathing technique and your powers are real—not technology."
He glanced meaningfully at the daring subordinate, urging him to apologize.
But the man, stubborn or still in denial, doubled down instead.
"Sir Heart," he said, lifting his chin, "this is technology, right? You don't have to hide it. We can still continue the deal. If you share this technology with us…"
The Heart Clone let out a light, genuine laugh—warm, almost amused, not mocking.
"You don't believe me?"
The subordinate nodded firmly, mouth opening to explain further.
Before a single word escaped, Heart's voice cut in gently.
"Please enjoy your ride."
The man blinked.
Ride? What ride?
The question vanished as reality shifted again—this time for him alone.
One instant he stood safely in the night sky.
The next, his body rocketed upward at terrifying speed.
Air howled past his ears.
Blood rushed.
Vision blurred.
He shot through the clouds, through the upper atmosphere, and in a heartbeat burst into the space—he saw Earth a beautiful blue marble far below, stars cold and endless around him.
Weightlessness lasted only a fraction of a second.
Then gravity reclaimed him.
He plummeted.
Faster.
Faster.
Wind screamed.
The ground rushed up at impossible velocity.
Terror flooded every cell.
He will die—no body left, not even bones.
Regret crashed over him in waves.
I shouldn't have provoked him.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
Tears streamed sideways from the speed.
He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for oblivion.
Impact never came.
Silence returned.
He could still breathe.
Slowly, fearfully, he opened his eyes.
He was back—standing exactly where he had been.
Mordan, Umang, and the third subordinate stared at him: awe on their faces toward Heart, and poorly hidden amusement at his expense.
The warm voice sounded again, gentle with some hidden amusement. but this voice chilled the man to his core.
"Do you still believe this is technology? Do you need any more proof?"
The subordinate spun around, legs shaking, voice trembling uncontrollably.
"Sir… I—I don't need any more demonstration. It's enough. Truly enough. Please forgive my mistake."
The Heart Clone doesn't said anything, he only let out a light, forgiving laugh—warm and without malice.
"Let's return."
He brought his hands together once more in a soft clap.
Then the office reappeared around them in a blink.
Same chairs. Same desk. Same book resting where it had been.
They were back exactly as before.