CLANG-THUD.
Lin Hao slammed the heavy, steel-plated maintenance door of his warehouse, the sound a percussive, echoing explosion in the vast, concrete tomb.
He was back.
He didn't walk to his chair. He stalked, his body still thrumming, not with the effort of the "fight", that had been a one-second, zero-effort execution, but with a white-hot, vibrating, all-consuming rage.
His family. He had seen their faces.
He had seen his father, a Mortal Root man, standing by a flimsy door with a golf club, ready to die. He had heard his mother's , terrified, weeping. He had heard his sister, his talented, naive, [Level 3: Inferior Root] sister, screaming in pure, abject terror.
The "Man in the Gray Mask" was a tool. The "Hero of Campus" was a cage. But this... this fury... this was real.
He ripped the "Concealment Robe" off, his movements jerky and violent. He threw the garment, his priceless, Spirit Rank artifact, onto the dusty floor as if it were a dirty rag.
He snatched the "Perception-Filter Mask" from his face and slammed it onto a rusted, metal workbench.
He was "Lin Hao" again. And he was furious.
He was a [Level 7] cultivator, a god by the standards of this new world, and he had just been reminded that he was failing. The "pop" of the tiger's skull was a temporary fix. It was a symptom. The disease was that his family was still unprotected.
He paced the dark, empty floor, a caged, invisible, 10-ton predator. He was waiting.
He had one goal. One singular, all-consuming, non-negotiable priority.
[Target: Lin Meng | Upgrade Cost: 10,000 UP]
He had to wait. He had to wait for the clock. He had to wait for his real power to arrive.
He looked at his phone, lying on the floor.
11:59:51 PM
He stared at the numbers, his [Level 7]-enhanced heart thumping with a cold, desperate anticipation. This was his real fight.
11:59:58 11:59:59
00:00
The clock ticked over. Day 7.
His System interface, his one true god, lit up in his vision.
[Daily UP Generation: Active.] [Ascension Bonus: Applied (x2).] [You have received 12,800 UP.]
The message was a flood of pure, divine relief. It was the payout from his 70 UP investment, the one he had made a lifetime ago, before the tiger.
His previous, pathetically-inadequate balance of 9,330 UP was instantly, gloriously, overwhelmed.
The numbers on his status screen spun, a beautiful, digital cascade.
[Upgrade Points (UP): 22,130]
Lin Hao stopped pacing. He stood perfectly still in the center of his warehouse.
He stared at the number. Twenty-two thousand, one hundred, and thirty.
The rage, the fear, the white-hot frustration... it all evaporated.
It was replaced by a cold, absolute, final sense of victory.
He finally had it. He had enough.