The silver light swirled, then shattered like broken glass.
When it faded, John, Nyx, and Yumina were no longer standing on endless clouds. Instead, the vast hall of the Star Academy stretched around them.
Marble-like floors gleamed beneath their feet, smooth and pristine. Towering pillars lined the sides, carved from materials Yumina could not even name. Above their heads floated glowing orbs of light, illuminating the hall brighter than day.
The very air felt charged—neither purely magical nor entirely mechanical, but something between the two, humming faintly with hidden power.
Yumina gasped, her voice no louder than a whisper.
"Where… where are we?"
John's gaze swept calmly across the hall, as if it were the most ordinary place.
"This," he said, "is the Star Academy. Our Mars base."
Nyx stood silently at his side, her amethyst eyes sharp and unyielding. She said nothing—she never wasted words on anyone but John. To her, the world beyond him was insignificant, nothing but shadows. Yet even in her silence, her very presence carried arrogance, as though declaring that everything here was beneath them.
"M-Mars?" Yumina turned to John, confusion flashing in her eyes. "That's… that's the name of this world?"
"Yes," John replied evenly. "Mars. One of the Barran planets in our solar system."
Her lips parted as if to ask more, but her attention darted everywhere—the vast emptiness of the hall, the strange glow of the floating orbs above, the immense stillness that whispered of untold power.
"It's so… different," she murmured. "Are all the people here wizards like you?"
John shook his head faintly.
"No. Not all. Some train to become wizards, yes, but most do not. Still… it won't take long before many choose to walk the same path. After all, this has only just begun, and not many have arrived from my home planet yet."
Yumina blinked, struggling to fit the pieces together.
"Then… if this isn't your home, why here? Why build something like this?"
John looked toward the far end of the hall, where a grand staircase rose toward the higher levels.
"Because Mars is not meant to be a home. It's a foundation. A base from which Star Academy will reach outward—into the stars, into other worlds, into realms no ordinary being could imagine. And most importantly, we will stay out of worldly matters as much as possible."
The words struck Yumina deeply. A base… a place where journeys began.
Her curiosity burned brighter.
"You said 'other worlds.' Are there… more?"
"Yes," John said simply. "There are other planets out there, just like Earth and Mars. Humans and alien species live on them. One day, all kinds of people will come here to become wizards. And when that day comes, everyone in the universe will know the name of Star Academy."
"Star Academy…" Yumina repeated softly, as though engraving the name into her heart. Her pulse quickened.
John studied her quietly. The awe in her eyes, the endless questions spilling from her lips—she was changing. Yumina was starting to look outward, to crave what lay beyond. And that was exactly what John wanted.
"John," she said suddenly, her eyes shining. "Can I see it? Earth? I… I want to see everything you've seen."
Nyx's eyes flicked toward her, sharp as a blade. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she stayed silent. She never wasted words on Yumina—or anyone else. To her, only John's will mattered. If he agreed, then so be it. If not, then no one's desire, not even Yumina's, meant anything.
John, however, nodded faintly.
"You will," he said. "One step at a time."
He extended his hand. Yumina hesitated only for a heartbeat before placing her fingers in his. The warmth steadied her racing heart.
The hall of Star Academy lay silent around them, lit by its hovering lights and vast, echoing emptiness. To Yumina, it was overwhelming—yet thrilling.
This was no longer just John's story. For the first time, she felt as though she was stepping onto the path of her own adventure.
And as they moved forward, John's calm eyes never wavered. Nyx followed in silence, her pride clashing with her unspoken feelings, her gaze fixed only on him—because in her world, John was everything, and everyone else… was nothing.
---
Just as they stepped out of the Academy building, they found Natasha waiting for them outside.
Seeing her, John came to a halt. The serious look on her face made him frown.
What could trouble her? he wondered.
"Thank God you came at the right time," Natasha said, walking toward him hurriedly, a tablet in her hand.
"You look tense. What's wrong?" John asked, a trace of concern in his tone.
"Thor seems to be in trouble," she said, unlocking the tablet with her fingerprint.
John's brows furrowed. "And where are the others? I told them to stick together for this mission and support each other." He sighed inwardly. Don't tell me Thor ran off on his own again.
But Natasha's next words made him knit his brows tighter.
"After an internal discussion, they decided to split up to cover more ground," she admitted helplessly.
"So that's what happened…" John muttered, nodding slightly.
"Where is he now?" he asked, already planning the next move.
"Asia."
"Asia…" John's tone sharpened. "Didn't I specifically tell them not to go to China without informing me first?"
"Actually, Thor didn't go to China," Natasha corrected with a shrug. "He went to India. He wanted to finish the mission ahead of the others."
"India? Are you sure?" John's expression hardened with disbelief. As far as I remember, there was no one particularly strong in India—or at least, none ever mentioned in the comics from my past life. Even if there were, how could they possibly take down Thor? He's far stronger here than in his original timeline. It doesn't make sense at all.
This time, Natasha didn't reply. Instead, she projected a holographic image from the tablet—revealing two monks.
Both were old men, their hair and long beards as white as mountain snow. Yet despite their shared age, they carried themselves in very different ways.
The first monk looked almost regal in his austerity. His saffron robe was neatly wrapped, his beard trimmed with care, and his forehead marked with a clean line of vibhuti ash. Around his neck hung a string of rudraksha beads, each one polished smooth by years of prayer. His eyes, sharp and steady, carried the weight of discipline, like a man who had mastered not only his body but his spirit.
The second monk, by contrast, bore the ruggedness of one untouched by worldly concerns. His robe was loose and weather-worn, his beard wild and unkempt, flowing freely with the wind. The lines on his face were deeper, etched by time and hardship. Yet his presence was no less intimidating—in fact, the raw power in his aura seemed even more untamed, like the fury of a storm barely restrained.
Both men radiated a strange stillness, but it was not the stillness of frailty. It was the silence of mountains, the quiet of rivers, the calm before a thunderclap. These were not ordinary monks. They were something more—something that did not belong to the world of ordinary men.