CHAPTER 536: THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES

Gasp!

The Duke of Kyros, legendary war hero, proud father, and self-declared selection committee head... gasped.

He had been standing tall, arms crossed, eyes sharp. Like the responsible father he swore to be.

His goal was clear.

He would evaluate this batch of candidates. Pick only the best. He would help his son find worthy pilots—those who would be able to make full use of his carefully crafted biomechas.

He was focused. Sharp. Professional.

Until something moved.

And up until he turned to the left, only to see something strange.

What was Luca doing?

"...Huh?"

His eyes narrowed.

Luca was moving. His apparently not-so-little boy, his precious son, was jogging inside the simulation chamber like it was a pleasant morning run.

And then he noticed something else.

Luca wasn’t just running.

He was smiling.

Smiling widely and practically glowing.

"???"

Does Luca enjoy tests this much?Should they have more tests in the future? Thought the father who would likely drive the entire duchy insane with such a thought.

But what was he looking at?

Duke Leander, now mildly suspicious, leaned left.

Didn’t see it.

He stepped to the side. Just a little.

Still nothing.

So he stepped again. And leaned. And craned his whole neck like an old uncle trying to peek at a neighbor’s curtains.

Then—

There.

Through the gap between the panel dividers.

Another figure came into view.

Long white hair. Tall figure. Perfect posture. It was someone his brain had tried to skip earlier, thinking that if his brain thought of him as his nose, he’d be able to concentrate on his task for today.

Xavier.

Gasp!

The wolf-boy was running too.

The Duke gasped so hard he almost choked.

They were running. At the same time. As if they were running together through a field of flowers with a matching breeze.

Duke Leander’s mind was filled with laughter and hats that probably flew away with the wind and his dreams.

But then he shook his head and realized just where they were!

Inside the chamber.

So they’re running on what looked like treadmills with all this spiritual suppression?!

The Duke’s knees wobbled.

He had never seen such madness.

He looked around.

No one else seemed alarmed, but really, it was mostly because many of those who remained were already hard-pressed trying to remember their own names.

But he was the only one spiraling.

What is this? When did this start? Why was I not informed?!

The Duke’s fists curled.

A storm raged in his chest.

He felt like he had missed the first half of a very important battle. One where he didn’t even get to compete!

Sweat pricked his brow. And if Duchess Amelia saw him, she’d realize he was having a massive internal struggle.

He had promised his wife he’d be more open-minded.

And he had been.

When that wolf-boy positioned himself next to Luca during registration, Leander did not explode.

That had to count for something.

But—friendly competition was healthy, right?

That’s how warriors improved!

Surely Lia wouldn’t be mad at him if he just—

Just a little rivalry—

Surely it would be okay to test like this?

He was conflicted.

But then—such sons wouldn’t mind having strong male figures, right? he thought as he tried to justify it to himself.

Just then, he noticed Luca increasing his pace to match Xavier’s, and he saw that blinding smile.

His baby was really enjoying this.

Snap.

He wanted in!

The Duke’s last thread of self-control broke.

He wanted to see that smile too.

Surely they wouldn’t mind making room for a third monster?

Back outside, someone gasped.

Then another elbowed their neighbor.

"Look! Look!"

"Huh? What is it?"

"It’s the Duke!"

"What?! Our Duke?!"

"Who else?!"

"He’s moving! Is he also going to run like them?!"

And just like that, the quiet concentration inside the waiting hall shattered.

Eyes snapped to the screen, and fingers fumbled for their terminals as they tried capturing this insanity.

Videos were being sent to every group chat in the Kyros network.

From the kitchen staff to the training squads, and especially to those who were stuck doing other chores and couldn’t come watch.

Heck, if this hadn’t even been a secret limited to them, someone would’ve sent this to their teenage cousins in school.

The message was clear: House Kyros clearly looked far from dead.

But maybe that depended on who was looking, because for the likes of Butler Gary, he was just sure that the Duke had once again snapped.

He probably couldn’t help but compete. And it was the very same reason why Duchess Amelia kept an eye on her husband during family day events back when their Young Lord was but a toddler.

Duke Leander was competitive. And had Luca grown up with them, the poor butler could just imagine how tense every event would’ve been.

So while the others weren’t sure why or how, those who understood how the Duke’s mind worked could tell.

This would probably take a while.

Meanwhile, in the back corner, Anya sipped her drink with trembling hands.

Everything still ached; after all, it was as if her entire body had kept rattling the entire time. But even then, her mind was now clear, and what she saw made her spine tingle.

She pointed to the timer.

"Thirty minutes," she said.

A few people turned to look.

"Oh wow. You’re right."

"Is that important?"

"Yes," Anya said. "Very."

Those who lasted close to thirty minutes or just a little over thirty minutes usually had A-rank spiritual abilities. And while more and more people were showing signs of being able to last longer after adapting her method, the pattern still seemed to be holding up.

However, it was always possible to have exceptions, since even Steward Han, with a B-rank spiritual ability, made it to the thirty-first minute before having to drop out.

Similarly, she only got to stay for forty-seven minutes because she figured out a way to be efficient with her spiritual energy early on. But even she was well aware that by then she’d already thought about leaving a will for her friends.

Especially when the pressure started ramping up even more.

The others don’t know it yet, because they haven’t tried, but those who went past the thirty-five-minute mark knew that the destabilizing attacks were incoming.

As expected, the moment the thirty-five-minute mark arrived, the chamber claimed more victims.

One by one, bodies dropped like flies.

Not permanently, of course. Just spiritually defeated.

While they couldn’t even hear the sounds of knees hitting the floor, they were pretty sure it sounded and felt like a threat.

Because one-third of the candidates fell.

Then more followed.

And even more.

Until only a few were left hanging on.

Barely.

Ollie, unfortunately, was one of them. Even Theo ended up dropping moments after the thirty-five-minute mark.

But even as he remained, he was positive his time had come.

Any second now, the light would fade from his eyes.

His soul would leave his body.

And he would be greeted by the smiling face of some ancient ancestor with a plate of cookies and a disappointed look.

His breath trembled.

His fingers twitched.

This was it.

He was going to meet their maker.

"I’ve lived a full life," Ollie thought, shaking in his half-sphere.

"I’ve touched strawberries. I’ve seen ice cream. I’ve known love."

From the moment his fragile heart accepted that this—this entire display—was pure, unfiltered insanity, Ollie had resigned himself to fate.

He decided to go out gently.

With peace in his heart.

And happy thoughts in his mind.

He thought of jam.

He thought of cookies.

He thought of cakes with those flakes.

Then, he thought of his boyfriend.

Wearing an apron.

Cooking lovingly in the kitchen.

Smiling. Flour on his cheek.

Ollie was sure now.

He was hallucinating.

This was the end.

He would die like a hero. Jam in his thoughts, love in his heart, and absolutely no regrets.

But then—

D-29 chirped.

"Lord Ollie, would you like to exit now? Three minutes remain until the forty-minute mark."

Ollie blinked.

"...Wait, what?"

"Three minutes left until you hit forty minutes!"

Ollie’s soul slammed back into his body.

"Forty?!"

"Yes, Lord! Congratulations!"

He almost rolled over from shock.

He hadn’t collapsed before thirty?!

He, Oliver Mylor, had lasted longer than thirty minutes?!

Was he secretly talented?

Was he spiritually gifted?

Was he blessed by the gods?

Well.

Probably not.

More likely, it was because he had eaten the second-highest number of spiritual relics among all the participants.

Second only to his good brother, Luca.

But still.

Three minutes.

Just three.

If he gave up now, all that flailing, all that clenching, all that dramatic goodbye had been for nothing.

He would’ve wasted seven minutes of spiritual suffering for absolutely no reason.

Not to mention wasting that fourth dish.

Unacceptable.

And so, in that moment of desperation, Ollie clung to life.

He gritted his teeth.

He stared into the void.

And he made a decision.

Death just had to be postponed.

He’d survive this. After all, he was strong enough to hallucinate with intent.