Chapter Twenty-one: The Intergalactic Tournaments.

Linxia glared at the system interface floating lazily in front of his face.

> [System Notification]

"Error: Function [Nightmare-Type – Architect] exceeds current creator level."

"What do you mean it exceeds my level?" Linxia snapped. "I'm already at Level 6."

> [System Notification]

"To unlock usage details for 'Architect,' please pay 10,000 Creator Points."

"...You're kidding me."

10,000 points? Just to find out what level he needed?

"I already paid 15,000 just to build the base of this character. You're telling me I can't add a single function without throwing in another 10k just for information?"

> [System Notification]

"Correct."

Linxia clenched his jaw. "This is extortion."

> [System Notification]

"This is industry standard."

"Industry my foot," Linxia muttered. "Aren't publishers supposed to encourage creativity? 'Unlock the full potential of your imagination!' Wasn't that the ad? Now it's—'Please insert points to continue your dream.' I swear, whoever coded this system needs to touch grass."

The system remained silent, which only made him angrier.

Linxia paced across the dimly lit room, waving his hand and closing the interface with a snap.

"Forget it. I'm not spending another point today. I'll make the Architect work later—one way or another."

His gaze drifted to the window. The virtual sky was in that perfect stage of golden-hour glow, painted in lazy strokes of orange and rose.

He clicked his tongue. "You know what? I'm bored."

Throwing on his jacket, Linxia tapped his wrist console and opened the door.

"Let's go see what the real world's up to."

And just like that, the system faded behind him, the blue light of creation giving way to the messy, unpredictable chaos of life outside.

He didn't know what he'd find.

But anything—anything—was better than dealing with another popup.

.....

The transport station was a breathing, humming monster of metal and motion. Neon signs flickered above platforms, each in a different dialect, and the air buzzed with the scent of synthetic ozone and fried noodles.

Linxia didn't know where he was going.

Didn't care, either.

He had exchanged some Creator Points for Galactic Credits before leaving—because why not? It wasn't like he had plans. Now he was loaded. In a galaxy where most artists barely scraped enough to pay for basic system access, Linxia could probably buy half a moon if he felt like it.

So when the automated attendant asked him where he was headed, he simply said:

"Wherever the last stop is."

Now, seated on the upper deck of a sleek, levitating transport—an angular, glass-paneled beast of a bus with gravitic stabilizers and starlight trails humming beneath its belly—Linxia let himself relax.

The seat reclined. The cushions adapted to his spine. A digital panel blinked quietly at his side, offering entertainment options from over a hundred systems. He ignored them all.

He was just starting to drift off when a small voice beside him piped up.

"I saw your boarding band," the boy said, his feet barely touching the ground as he sat two seats over. "You're going to Gilkesh too, right?"

Linxia glanced at his wrist. The boarding band pulsed a soft blue—destination: Gilkesh Station, Epsilon-Terra System.

"I guess?" he said, stretching. "Honestly, I just got on the bus."

The kid tilted his head. "So… you're not here for the tryouts?"

Linxia raised an eyebrow. "What tryouts?"

The boy blinked. Then gave him the same look people gave you when you said you'd never heard of pizza.

"You serious? Are you—have you been living under a crater? The Intergalactic Trials are starting, man!"

Linxia shrugged. "Enlighten me."

The boy leaned forward, suddenly animated, his hands flying in the air as he talked.

"Okay, so, every 900 light-years, there's this massive competition. The Intragalacti Tournaments. Biggest event in the known galaxies . It's not just some game show, either. We're talking real stakes—fame, fortune, front-page on the HyperNet, sponsorship deals that could fund an entire starship."

Linxia chuckled. "Sounds like a reality show for warriors."

"Not just warriors!" the boy said quickly. "Fighters, tacticians, creators, mentalists, engineers, reality-weavers, even cooks! It's like... if you're good at something—really good—you get a shot."

"And the tryouts?"

"Start at the planetary level. Each planet runs its own version of the tryouts—tests, duels, challenges, you name it. Then the top ten from each planet go on to the solar system trials. Then from the system level, the best are chosen to represent their quadrant in the galactic qualifiers. From there Ten are Chosen to Represent The Galaxy in the Tournaments"

"Sounds like a long process."

"It is. The whole thing lasts two galactic cycles. That's why everyone's hyped—this only happens once every few centuries in local time. And this year..." He leaned closer, whispering like it was a sacred secret. "...the final competition's being hosted in the Seventh Void Galaxy."

Linxia frowned. "What's so special about the Seventh Void?"

The boy's eyes widened. "That's where real monsters are born. Some say the last Champion—Zho'kai the Gravity Reaper—wasn't even human. He unmade his opponents. Just blinked, and they were gone."

Linxia raised an eyebrow. "Sounds exaggerated."

"Maybe. But everyone wants to be the next name sung across galaxies." The boy shrugged. "Even watching the tryouts is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Gilkesh is the first stop for the planetary trials in this quadrant. That's where I'm going."

Linxia leaned back, arms crossed, a slow grin spreading across his face.

A massive, multi-stage competition… exotic powers… beings from every corner of the universe showing off their best?

It wasn't his plan, but…

"Guess I'll stick around," Linxia said.

The bus hummed forward, stars streaking past in slow, elegant arcs. And as Gilkesh Station grew closer, so did something else.

Excitement.

---