CRAAASH. The sound was not merely the breaking of glass; it was the violent, agonizing scream of a dimension being torn open by brute force. A spiderweb of blinding white fractures erupted across the featureless void of the subspace, spreading with predatory speed until the very air shattered like a frosted mirror. A thunderous roar, a percussion of atmospheric pressure, shook the ground beneath Yu’s knees. Through glowing aperture, three silhouettes burst into the chamber with the momentum of a falling comet.

  Someone had arrived. The first to cross the threshold was a deceptively small figure—Roa. Her frame was slender, almost fragile, yet her fists struck the broken air with a focus that defied the laws of physics. The very wall of the subspace groaned, a sound like grinding teeth, as it splintered into a thousand shimmering shards.

  CRUNCH. Through the widening breach, the rest of the team strode into the gray light of the tomb. Naz, his greatsword held casually but ready, moved with steps so heavy they seemed to anchor the unstable air. Beside him, Hanara spun through the opening with the lethality of a dancer, her twin daggers already singing as they cleared their sheaths.

  "Team Jask...!" Rize’s breath hitched sob of relief catching in her parched throat. The name was a prayer. Relief and a new, sharp tension surged in her chest. She watched as the veterans of Team Jask fanned out, their adventuring history written in the way they instantly assessed the threat and the casualty.

  All three of them fixed their gaze on a single, horrific point. There, at the center of the void, was Claval. Her chest was pierced through, the silver of her armor stained a deep, visceral crimson. She was soaked in her own blood, a spreading pool of iron-scented ink on floor. Yu held her in his shaking arms, his fingers digging into her skin as if he could manually keep her soul from drifting away. He was calling her name, over and over, with a voice that had cracked and torn itself to pieces.

  Naz’s jaw tightened until the bone threatened to snap. Hanara’s hands clenched around the hilts of her blades, her eyes narrowing into murderous slits.

  But Roa alone did not hesitate. The moment her feet touched the ground, she was a blur of motion, dropping to her knees beside Claval. She didn't look at the enemy; she looked only at the life that was currently leaking through Yu’s fingers. Roa refused to accept the idea that a Claval could end in such a sterile, lonely place.

  The air in the subspace grew dense, heavy with the scent of the metallic tang of an approaching battlefield.

  ?

  Roa knelt at Claval’s side, her expression carved from stone. Without a word, she shoved Yu’s shaking hands aside just enough to place both of her palms directly over the ravaged center of the girl’s chest. A pulse began to emanate from her skin—a gentle, spring-like glow that looked far too fragile for this dark place. It was soft, warm, and yet filled with a resolve that felt unyielding.

  "[Holy Glory,]" Roa whispered. Her voice was quiet, but it resonated through the dimension like a bell. The light didn't just glow; it enveloped Claval’s entire body, a cocoon of radiant white mana. Rize had tried spell after spell, but the blood had refused to stop, the wound seemingly rejecting the very concept of mending. But Roa’s unique Trait—[Holy Glory]—was different. It poured warmth not just into the flesh, but into the deepest layers of the soul, pulling Claval’s scattered essence back toward the trembling remains of her heart.

  Yu’s eyes widened, his tears blurring the sight of the light. Claval’s ragged, shallow breaths began to steady—just slightly. Beneath the palm of Yu’s arm, her faint, faltering heartbeat began to press weakly against him once more.

  "She’s... still alive..." A ragged breath of relief escaped Yu, but Roa’s expression did not soften. Sweat began to stream down her temples, carving tracks through the dust on her face. Even her unique skill wasn’t omnipotent. Magic could mend the flesh, but it could not replace the gallons of blood that now stained the floor; it could not fully restore organs that had been shredded by a divine strike. She was dragging Claval back from the edge of the abyss, but she was only holding her at the very lip of the cliff.

  "I can’t push it any further," Roa whispered, her voice trembling with the effort. She was pouring every ounce of her mana into the girl, leaving nothing for herself. "I’m just holding the door shut. If I stop, she’s gone."

  "Roa..." Rize bit her lip, watching her friend burn through her reserves in that desperate, holy light.

  Yu held Claval’s hand tightly, his thumb stroking the cold skin, praying with everything he had that the warmth Roa provided would not fade into the gray of the void again.

  ?

  The moment it became clear that Claval still lived—no matter how fragile the thread—the atmosphere in the room shifted from despair to a cold, focused fury. Naz stepped forward, the heavy iron of his greatsword scraping against his shoulder plate. He glared at the being standing calmly in the center of the chamber, his veins bulging in his neck.

  "You’re the big boss here, ain’t ya?" Naz asked. The air seemed to tremble with the sheer weight of his voice, a low-frequency rumble of a veteran who had faced death a thousand times.

  "You may interpret it that way, if your limited perspective requires such labels," TP replied. TP—the Time Patrol—smiled faintly. He looked at the intruders with the mild curiosity of a scientist watching a new strain of bacteria in a petri dish.

  BOOM. Naz didn't just move; he vanished. The speed was so absolute it created a vacuum that sucked the air out of the center of the room. By the time TP could even blink, Naz was already in his personal space.

  "Fast," TP remarked, tilting his head lazily as if he were watching a slow-motion replay.

  Naz’s greatsword split the air with a whistle that sounded like a scream—but TP slipped aside like smoke in a breeze. Naz didn't overextend. He twisted his hips mid-swing, using the massive momentum to drive his elbow forward in a short, brutal arc. SMASH. The blow connected with TP’s cheek with a dull, sickening thud. The blank, mask-like face of the entity shifted slightly under the impact.

  "To think you actually managed to hit me," TP said, his voice undisturbed even as he stood back. "Are you quite sure you’re human? Your kinetic output is... anomalous."

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "No more holding back!" Naz’s roar shook the very foundation of the subspace. "[Maximize] — Full Spec!" The change was visceral. Naz’s physique began to skyrocket, his muscles swelling until they ripped the heavy leather sleeves of his tunic. His strength, his speed, his very presence skyrocketed to its absolute limit, a golden aura of mana-saturated heat radiating from his skin.

  "Hm?" TP’s gaze flicked to the side.

  Hanara was weaving a trait [Lost Memory,] her fingers dancing through the air to form complex geometric. But the moment the magic took form, it simply evaporated. Fizzle.

  "I crafted this space myself," TP said, his tone turning icy and professional. "I am the administrator here. Magic won’t be allowed unless I permit?"

  At that exact moment, Naz’s oversized sword—now magnified by the [Maximize] into a slab of iron the size of a giant man—came crashing down from above. TP caught the edge of the blade with one hand. CLANG. The shriek of steel under the pressure was deafening.

  "Then how come my trait works just fine!?" Naz snarled, his feet digging into the ground. He forced the blade downward with every ounce of his Full Spec strength. The floor beneath TP’s feet cratered, radiating deep cracks through the stone.

  "[Lightning!]" Rize saw the opening and dashed in, her boots barely touching the floor. Her blade was a streak of silver, striking TP’s side with enough force to cleave a magical beast in two. But instead of the give of skin and bone, she felt as if she had struck a wall of unbreakable diamond. Her sword stopped cold, the vibration nearly numbing her arm to the shoulder. TING.

  "Passing grade," TP murmured, his voice sounding entirely too close to her ear.

  "There’s... there’s something stopping us! It’s not just magic; it’s like he’s part of the physics of the room!" Rize leapt back, her heart hammering. She gritted her teeth, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

  ?

  Sparks danced across the void as Naz’s rampage continued. He was a storm of iron, each strike faster and heavier than the last. His blows left afterimages in the air, a blur of golden light and gray steel. Yet, through it all, TP barely seemed to shift. A slight tilt of the head to let a blade whistle past. A casual raised hand to parry a strike that should have leveled a building. He moved with a languid, effortless grace that made the battle look less like a fight and more like a man playing with kittens.

  "Damn you...!" Sweat flew from Naz’s brow as frustration began to twist his features. To a man who prided himself on being the strongest, the realization that his strongest swings were being treated like the playful taps of a child was a psychological blow far worse than any physical wound.

  "Still going?" TP smirked, his eyes devoid of any real heat.

  Hanara darted in, abandoning her magic entirely. She moved like a shadow, her twin blades carving intricate, lethal paths through the air. She struck at the gaps in his stance, her daggers moving with the precision of a surgeon. But TP caught one of her blades between two fingers—not even closing his hand—and simply pushed. The force sent Hanara sliding backward across the floor, her boots leaving scorched tracks on the ground.

  "Useless..." Hanara whispered, her hands trembling as she gripped her weapons.

  "It’s definitely not normal... Invulnerability?" Rize retreated to Naz’s side, panting, her lungs burning. She accelerated again and again, her trait [Lightning] pushing her nervous system to the brink of collapse. Her blade hit. Every single time, it hit. She was faster than she had ever been, her movements a silver blur that circled the entity. But it never cut. It never drew blood.

  Naz, Hanara, and Rize. Three of the most capable fighters coordinating their strikes with the practiced synergy of veterans. And yet, TP didn’t budge an inch. He looked bored, his gaze drifting toward the fracture in the ceiling as if checking the time.

  "You’re doing wonderfully! Really. I’m genuinely impressed by the sheer grit of the local fauna!" Then TP’s tone dropped, becoming flat and devoid of all emotion. "But it still won’t reach me. That is my evaluation."

  The weight of that statement hit the three of them like a physical blow. Their strength, their skills, their history—everything they had fought for didn't matter. They were outmatched by a creature that didn't even consider them a threat.

  ?

  Magic was blocked by a whim. Swords couldn't pierce the very air around the man. Skills barely managed to scratch the surface of his ego. Roa remained a statue of desperate concentration, her light the only thing keeping Claval’s soul anchored to the world. Naz, Hanara, and Rize stood their ground, their bodies bruised and their mana flagging, while TP’s smile remained as perfect and artificial as a doll’s.

  "Oh? Did I get caught off guard?" TP spoke, his voice almost cheerful. At that exact moment—another fracture tore open across the subspace. CRAAACK. This one was brighter, wider, and more violent than the team Jask entry. It didn't just break the wall; it pulverized it. A violent, low-frequency hum pulsed through the dimension, making the iron in Yu’s blood vibrate. Light poured through the split, smelling of ozone and old, familiar cooking oil.

  "What now!?" Naz raised his blade, his muscles tensing for another monster. Rize stepped back, squinting into the blinding glare.

  From the heart of the fissure... a man stepped through. He was not wearing armor. He was not carrying a legendary blade. Instead, he wore a Kappougi—a traditional Japanese cook’s apron—stained with the marks of a thousand shifts at a ramen shop. In one hand, he held a simple wooden ladle. In the other, a battered metal pot lid.

  "Hoshimine-san!" Yu’s voice was a ragged scream of recognition. The Returnee stood in the gray void, looking utterly mundane and terrifyingly out of place.

  "Oh my. Long time no see, old friend. How’ve you been?" TP’s blank, analytical face bent into a delighted, genuine smile.

  The Returnee didn't answer. He looked once—just once—at Claval. He saw her lying pale and bloody on the ground, the girl he had been searching for a long time, finally found only to be broken.

  "You bastard... How dare you touch my granddaughter...!" His expression didn't just shift; it twisted into a visage of pure, unadulterated rage. When he spoke, his voice rumbled like an earthquake beneath their feet, a sound that bypassed the ears and struck the soul.

  The air in the room froze. Yu, Rize, Naz, Hanara—everyone stared in stunned silence. The Returnee’s eyes sharpened into blades of cold light. He barked a command, his voice cutting through the tension.

  "Hey Missy over there." The Returnee addressed Hanara without even looking away from TP. "I’m going to pin this thing down. The moment he stops moving—you finish it. You can do that much, can't you?"

  "I can't construct a single damn spell because of his field," Hanara spat back, her pride stinging.

  "I’m here now," The Returnee replied, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "I’ll free the mana in this place. The rules are about to change."

  "Fine. I’ll make you a grave afterward for the trouble." Hanara narrowed her eyes for a moment, looking at the man in the apron. Then, she curled her lips into a predatory grin.

  "I’ll look forward to it." The Returnee raised the ladle and the pot lid. A violent, purple light began to wrap around the mundane cookware, the space around them warping and distorting. Warp. The soup ladle twisted and elongated, its wooden handle turning into a hilt of obsidian, the head sharpening into a sinister, jagged black sword. The pot lid expanded, the metal thickening and hardening into a silver gauntlet that pulsed with ancient power.

  Under the white fabric of the apron, the Anti-Mana Inscriptions carved into his skin blazed to life, glowing through the cloth like burning embers. The Returnee name Hoshimine. He wasn't just a cook anymore. 'Man Loved by Mana' and 'Man Who Loved Mana'.

  "Alright then," Hoshimine said, his voice a promise of slaughter. "Let’s settle this once and for all."