Data Analysis

Ethan met Wang Zi Chen's eager gaze, mischief flashing in his eyes. "You want to know?"

Wang nodded vigorously. "Uh-huh!"

"I saw you get backhanded into oblivion by the Apocalypse Bureau Director. No idea if you survived."

Wang Zi Chen: ???

At that moment, Lin Yiwan, overhearing from the next room, stepped in with wide eyes. "Mr. Ethan, did you just say Director Murong appeared?"

"Yeah. She came to rescue me and then got me killed." His expression darkened. In his vision, she had left him to die in that black, suffocating rain on Everest.

Lin Yiwan paled. "That can't be right. The Director would never—"

"Doesn't matter. I've got a plan." Ethan cut her off and abruptly changed the subject. "By the way, what's Director Murong's full name?"

Wang Zi Chen, with a dreamy look in his eyes, answered before Lin could. "Murong Xiner. How do you not know that? She's a legend—gorgeous, terrifyingly strong. If I could just marry someone like her—"

"She'd break every bone in your body before the wedding night," Ethan replied flatly. Then, stroking his chin thoughtfully, he added, "Now, me? I could probably handle her."

Wang rolled his eyes hard, making it look painful. Lin Yiwan, however, quietly committed every word to memory. Director Murong had made it clear: Log every word, every request, no matter how absurd.

(Unbeknownst to Ethan, his joke would eventually reach Murong Xiner's ears, with consequences.)

"Mr. Ethan, what's our next move?" Lin asked.

"Get John and Sparky here. We're leaving." No hesitation. No time to waste. His death replay had shown the critical location—the first zone to fall.

Approx. 12°S, 163°E. The Solomon Islands.

As Wang hurried off to summon the others, Ethan mentally reviewed their usual protocol. The team always split up before an Apocalypse, only regrouping once the game started.

The reason? A past disaster.

Before Sparky joined, Wang and John had teamed up before an Apocalypse. Big mistake. That event—"Phantom Hunt"—marked players with a death curse. Wang was the unlucky target and got killed first. Then, because John was nearby…

"Like dominoes," Wang had admitted sheepishly.

No amount of skill saves you from a teammate's bad luck. After that, John enforced a strict no pre-game sleepovers rule.

Ethan didn't care. His foresight made their caution irrelevant.

Thirty minutes later, John and Sparky arrived.

"Get in here! Ethan's got new visions!" Wang shouted.

John, ever practical, focused. "What's the situation?"

"Land is death," Ethan said grimly. "In my vision, we fled to Everest's summit and still died. Staying on land is a guaranteed wipe."

He'd just revealed what would take Elder Chang ten days to prophesy.

The team exchanged stunned glances.

Wang blurted, "But you said this Apocalypse is sea monsters! Why can't we stay on land?"

"Because they invade land," Ethan snapped. "Total continental collapse in ten days. With the Apocalypse lasting a month, the only option is the ocean."

John asked the key question. "Which part?"

"Two plans. First, Wang, get me large white paper and black and red pens."

Wang scrambled to their storage and returned with the supplies.

Ethan closed his eyes and reconstructed the map from his death replay. Then, his hand moved.

Black ink streaked across the page. Coastlines emerged. Continents took shape.

"Holy shit," Wang gaped as a perfect world map appeared under Ethan's pen.

(Childhood art lessons helped, but the real credit went to [Rubik's Prodigy], improving his spatial reasoning to nearly photographic recall.)

One map became two. Then three. Ten in total, each detailing the next day's global status—red markers swarming like infected wounds, showing the sea beasts' advance.

Three hours later, Ethan finally set down his pen. Outside, the drizzle had thickened into a steady downpour. Time was running out.

"Just enough left." He turned to John. "These maps predict the next ten days. Red marks show sea beast positions. Can you figure out their movement patterns?"

John studied the pages and nodded slowly. "Yes. But I'll need an hour."

"You've got one." Ethan knew exactly when Murong Xiner would arrive.

John didn't ask questions. He booted up his laptop, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he digitized Ethan's hand-drawn data.

Ethan paced, reviewing the maps he'd memorized through countless death replays. Meanwhile, the printer spat out sheet after sheet—routes traced in ominous purple, forecasting the monsters' paths.

Then, as rain hammered against the windows, Ethan froze.

A presence.

He didn't need to look outside to know.

"She's here."