Chapter 25: Fractures Beneath the Lockdown
It started with a system message.
That morning, every student in Class E3 received the same notification on their terminal:
[Your Memory Armament access has been suspended]
[Training modules temporarily frozen]
[Please cooperate with the current containment protocol while system investigations are underway]
Nie Shi blinked at the message.
Without thinking, he reached for Void.
Nothing happened.
His hand remained empty.
Silent.
Still.
As if the entire world had muted itself.
Around him, students stared at their own blank summons, some waving their hands awkwardly, trying again and again like the system had merely glitched.
The classroom was dead quiet. Only the system panel on the wall glowed with cold blue light.
"So… we're not even allowed to train anymore?"
"You've got to be kidding me."
Someone swiped open a private channel to ask a friend in Class B5—"You got the same lockdown?"
"Nope," came the reply. "We just finished a new synchronization drill."
One by one, the same answer repeated across other classes.
Only Class E3 was locked down.
It was like they'd been surgically extracted from the system and placed under glass. A glitch too unstable to be left unsupervised.
Day one , they held it in. Students assumed it would lift by evening. Day two , rumors spread like hairline fractures through the group chat. Day three , something cracked.
"This is insane. Why are we all being punished just because one guy lost control?"
"They even canceled next week's simulation. It's not just delays anymore—we can't even access our Armaments!"
"Has the system lost it? Or is it just that someone's Armament has?"
The voices weren't loud, but they were sharp.
And the pressure in the room became almost physical.
Chairs scraped as people shifted restlessly. Some students looked at Nie Shi without speaking, then quickly looked away.
Others didn't bother hiding it anymore.
Someone whispered: "Why won't he explain anything?"
Meng Yao didn't join the argument.
Instead, he posted a calm message in the internal bulletin group: "Let's all try to stay rational. We're still following up on Instructor Zhong Lan's situation.
I'm sure the school is doing this out of caution. It won't last too long." Attached was a simplified system restriction map, with a red ring around [Class E3].
The message sounded neutral. Helpful.
But no one missed the implication. We are being punished. And someone caused it. He wasn't calming anyone. He was focusing the storm.  Whispers began. "Is he trying to turn everyone against Nie Shi?"
"But he's not wrong, is he?"
"That's what's scary." The teachers didn't speak up. No one came to mediate.
E3 was suspended—and forgotten.
That night, Meng Yao returned to his dorm.
The halls were quiet. Too quiet.
He turned off the hallway lights manually, then locked his door. The curtains closed automatically, sealing out the surveillance nodes on the rooftop.
He sat at his desk, pulled up a hidden terminal, and began typing.
Every conversation fragment, every complaint, every emotional spike in group chat—he compiled it all into a stream of data. Color-coded tags marked the tone, the targets, the emotional sentiment. He paused only to flag key words that trended around "Void," "Nie Shi," and "incident." Then he sent it. Destination: The Origin of Reflection — Observer Protocol Tier.
No summary. Just a few words in the report box:
[Fractures widening. Tension rising.]
[No need for further stimulus. Let it evolve.]
[Observe. Wait.]
He closed the screen and leaned back, expression unreadable.
"…Some people really weren't meant to be part of this system," he whispered.  Meanwhile , inside the system review center, a silent audit concluded behind sealed gray doors.
Zhong Lan stood outside, retrieving her instructor badge from the last of a dozen verification checks.
It flickered faintly in her hand.
She scanned the permissions line by line: Security override: Suspended. Armament oversight: Suspended. Access to encrypted student records: Suspended. And at the bottom:
[User assigned to Long-Term Monitoring List]
[Review Cycle: Ongoing]
She didn't flinch. Just tucked the badge quietly into her coat.
Behind her, a junior staff member muttered, "You're lucky they let you through."
She paused, turned slightly. Her voice was calm. "It wasn't luck."
"It's because I know exactly what they don't want seen." Then she walked out into the corridor like she'd never left.  On the rooftop , Lu Jingxing leaned against the railing, spinning a training disk between his fingers.
He stared at the skyline like it might give him answers the system wouldn't.
Then—footsteps.
He didn't turn.
Luo Jia approached from behind, hair flicked by the wind.
"You can't summon your Armament either?" she asked, voice light.
He didn't answer.
She stepped beside him. Close.
He looked at her then, gaze steady. Sharp.
"What are you really here for?"
She blinked. Didn't smile this time. "That's a very direct question."
"I'm that kind of person," he said. "I don't like guessing."
He took a step closer. His voice dropped. "And don't give me that transfer student act. You're way too calm for someone under lockdown." Luo Jia didn't step back.
Instead, she smiled—soft, warm.
"Then what do you want from me?"
"I'm not Nie Shi," Lu Jingxing said coldly. "I won't wait for you to reveal yourself." "If you're dangerous… I'll strike first." The wind paused. The disk in his hand stopped spinning.
Luo Jia's smile deepened, but there was something behind it now—interest.
"Then hurry up and decide," she said. "Are you going to strike—
or stay curious?"  To be continued.