Chương 115: Departure

May 2029, New York It was May, and the Grand Formation Summit was just a week away. But first, Leo had a more pressing matter: the NFL Draft. The NFL Draft was the most prestigious media and advertising event of the year. Not because of the viewership. In fact, the viewership was the lowest of any NFL broadcast. But because of who watched. The audience was almost entirely other advertisers and PR professionals analyzing each other's work.

In a normal year, the draft meant watching forty and fifty year old formation masters shuffle across the stage while commentators pretended they were athletic prospects instead of Dao arts practitioners who hadn't run a mile since middle school. A Foundation Establishment cultivator needed at least 30, 000 Si to lifebond with NFL-caliber flying treasure swords, and the only people with divine sense that high were formation masters who had been training their entire lives.

To stay relevant after the transition from flashy powered spell arts to lightning-fast third-person perspective, the NFL brought in the best media professionals to give their league a facelift. For the draft, the commission split each pick between various PR and advertising agencies. Overnight, balding shut-ins transformed into all-American jocks. All it took was a wig, spray tan, and enough makeup to supply a Broadway production. So the draft became the Super Bowl for media and communications majors.

The pick order had stopped mattering years ago. It was basically impossible to predict how a formation master would translate his skills onto the field. What mattered was which agency created the best story, the viral moments, and who emerged with millions of Instagram followers. A successful "launch" could land an agency a massive contract with a multinational company. Every marketing department at every Fortune 500 company tuned in to scout for talent. Not Flying Aces talent. Advertising talent.

"Why am I being slathered in makeup?" Leo asked.

"Everyone knows what I look like. I've been on the cover of the New York Post twice. Who are we trying to impress?" The makeup artist ignored him and dabbed more powder across his forehead. The green room at Radio City Music Hall smelled like hairspray and nervous sweat. Television monitors lined the walls, each showing a different camera angle of the draft stage.

"I still don't see the point of this whole TV show." Leo tilted his chin up so the artist could work on his jawline.

"We all know I'm going to be the first overall pick. What are the Giants going to do? Draft old Gerard, who hasn't touched a sword since the seventies?" On one of the monitors, Commissioner Goodell stood at the podium, working through the preliminary announcements. The crowd noise filtered through the walls as a dull roar. Somewhere out there, his parents sat in the family section, probably still trying to convince themselves that their son skipping Harvard was a reasonable life choice.

Coach John Harbach, head coach of the New York Giants, sat across from Leo. Silver-haired and lean, with the kind of deep-set lines that came from four decades of sideline sun and postgame press conferences. Even seated and relaxed, his Gold Core spiritual pressure filled the room. In a few hours, he'd officially be Leo's coach.

"We're building something here, Leo. A narrative." Harbach paused for emphasis.

"When young cultivators across the country watch you walk across that stage, they don't just see a first-round pick. They see themselves in you." Leo stared at him. The makeup artist tilted his chin and dabbed something under his eyes. He endured it. Harbach leaned forward.

"You asked me about sponsorship opportunities early today. This broadcast reaches every marketing department in the Fortune 500. You want companies paying you to endorse their body refining medicines and flying swords? This is where that starts. You show them who you are tonight. Your marketability."

"Can I be honest with you?" Leo asked.

"That's all I want from my players."

"When you start talking about narratives and marketability, something inside me dies a little." Harbach laughed.

"Good. Hold onto that. The league's going to try to smooth you out. Teach you to give answers that don't ruffle feathers. Make you safe for television." He pointed at Leo.

"Fight that. The fans can smell authenticity. It's why they'll love you." Leo frowned.

"I wasn't trying to project authenticity. I was complaining."

"I know." Harbach's grin widened.

"That's why it works." Leo decided to change the subject before Harbach found a way to turn his breathing into a branding opportunity.

"There's something else I wanted to ask about. I've been renting government formation AI supercomputers for my analysis work. They've been helpful, but I'm running low on merits." He paused. The memory of Kevin and Vivian draining his account still stung.

"I know the Giants have TPU clusters for holographic combat training," Leo continued.

"I was wondering if I could use them in the offseason. When no one else needs them." After his conversation with Shen Tianyi a few weeks ago, Leo had researched formation analysis hardware more seriously. Someday, when he reached Gold Core and had the divine sense capacity for it, he wanted to try analyzing the Singular Formation with AI assistance. But that required computational resources beyond anything he currently had access to. Harbach nodded slowly.

"You want to run formation analysis on team hardware? Done. Use the TPUs for whatever you need." He waved a hand.

"But here's what you need to understand. Those machines handle mortal-level processing. Fine for low level formations, film study, that sort of thing. If you're serious about pushing into higher tiers, you need a whole different tier of GPUs." Leo's stomach tightened. He knew where this was going.

"You're going to want T3 formation capability soon. You'll have the divine sense for it after you hit Foundation Establishment." Harbach held up a finger.

"And I can tell you right now, even renting T3 analysis time costs real money. We're talking sponsorship money."

"What about T4?"

"T4? Nascent Soul grade NVIDIA clusters?" Harbach shook his head.

"Leo, you'd have to take the 'ship' out of sponsorship money. You'd need sponsor amounts of money. We're talking resources most Nascent Souls never touch in their entire careers." The Singular Formation suddenly seemed very far away. Harbach leaned back.

"It's good to aim high. That's what separates the great ones. Who knows? Maybe twenty years from now you'll be the one with the GPU clusters, and I'll be the one asking for a favor." He spread his hands.

"You've got time. You've got talent. Let's see what you do with both." The door to the green room swung open. A young woman with a headset and clipboard stepped inside.

"Mr. Chen? They're ready for you." She glanced at her notes.

"If you're not sure what to say at any point, the teleprompter will have suggested talking points." Leo's eye twitched. He had originally planned to coast through this. Cross the stage, shake some hands, collect his signing bonus, get back to formation training. The whole televised spectacle was just theater. Everyone already knew the outcome. But now he understood just how badly he needed money.

Not just for the AI clusters to upgrade Cranesong to T3, but for the computational resources required to even begin approaching something like the Singular Formation. His future apparently required becoming exactly the kind of media-friendly commodity that made him want to crawl out of his own skin. Leo stood and tugged at his suit jacket. The makeup assistant made one final pass with a brush across his cheekbone.

"Alright," Leo said.

"Let's do this." Harbach rose and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Go get 'em." Leo nodded and walked toward the door. The suit fit perfectly. The makeup hid every imperfection. He looked, he was sure, exactly like the person everyone wanted him to be. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Leo Chen felt his youth slip away.

Leo stepped through the backstage corridors of Radio City Music Hall. Camera flashes still spotted his vision. His hand ached from shaking what felt like a hundred hands, and his face hurt from smiling. The roar of the crowd still rang in his ears, and something about it caught him off guard. He'd spent the last year buried in formation derivations, and somewhere along the way he'd forgotten what a crowd sounded like. Forgotten the electricity of thousands of people shouting his name.

For a moment it pulled him back to the Flying Aces arena, to the version of himself that lived for the competition, and the feeling called out to him in a way he couldn't quite name. In addition, the media circus at the NFL draft offered a welcome respite from what waited for him in Skyhome. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. He had thought he was really clever when he decided to spend his nights in the Azure Profound Continent training against Nascent Soul domains.

Unfortunately for Leo, reality proved deeply embarrassing. He could still feel the exact moment it hit him. The first spar, thirty seconds in, his back slamming against the pavilion floor so hard his teeth rattled. The crane lord hadn't even looked like she was trying. Leo had lain there staring at the ceiling, and for one long, ugly second, he felt like a child who had wandered into a room full of adults.

At the time, he thought he had a good handle on Nascent Soul level combat and all he needed was a little more polishing. After all, he and his team had resolved the Nascent Soul level profundity of Luo Mingxia. They had killed two Nascent Souls in the Catacombs. And he had personally ambushed and captured Lord Hollowfang. But when you actually examined each situation, they all came with qualifiers. Luo Mingxia, as a profundity, had been weaker than a typical Nascent Soul.

Leo's role consisted of harassment and distraction while their flak cannons dealt most of the damage. For the two Mountain Domain Nascent Souls of the Catacombs, Leo had possessed the Heavenly Tribulation Lightning Claw. That weapon was like a cheat; it struck with the authority of heaven itself. Lord Newmont claimed the claw alone had an Elo of 1000, far higher than Leo's 7.

For Lord Hollowfang, the Greedy Wolf, the Nascent Soul had already suffered heavy injuries by the time Leo and his team ambushed him with poison-coated daggers. A wounded Nascent Soul, caught off guard, outnumbered, and poisoned. Hardly a fair fight. Without the Heavenly Tribulation Lightning Claw, sparring with crane Nascent Soul Lords meant seeking death. After all, he couldn't exactly bring poison to a spar.

As a Qi Refiner, even with Moonrider's peak Gold Core power, he could do very little against a Lord and their domain. The gap between realms existed for a reason. A Nascent Soul Lord's domain was more than just an extension of a cultivator's power. It rewrote reality itself within its boundaries. It was a space where the Lord's will became law. Certainly he could dodge. His omnidirectional awareness let him perceive attacks from every angle simultaneously.

His reflexes, honed through countless deaths and revivals, bordered on precognitive. But he could only dodge for so long before exhausting his spiritual qi. He had tried to convince Mike, Arthur, and Kevin to help him. Fight as a team once again. Recreate the victories against Luo Mingxia and Hollowfang. But instead of pulling out La Ferrari Eclipses, they just pulled out foldable chairs and popcorn.

"Kid, this is the funniest thing I've seen in months," Arthur had said, crunching loudly as the Crane Lord threw Leo across the training pavilion floor.

"You keep doing whatever you're doing." Mike had at least looked apologetic.

"Sorry, Leo. But you did ask for this." Kevin just laughed until he choked on a kernel. Leo had wanted to say something sharp, but the crane lord hit him again before he could think of anything. By the time he peeled himself off the floor, the moment had passed. His time in the Azure Profound Continent had become pure frustration and humiliation. Night after night, death after death. The worst part was that as soon as he showed any sign of progress against one Lord's domain, the crane lords would switch.

There was always some excuse.

'A critical juncture in my meditations' or 'the heavenly Qi is auspicious for seclusion today.' And Leo would have to learn a whole new domain from scratch. However, once the training program started, Leo found it was impossible to stop. Lord Flockfeather had arranged the training personally. Backing out now meant quitting. It meant telling the patriarch of Skyhome that a simple favor was too much for him.

Now Leo just counted down the days to the Grand Formation Summit and his advancement to Foundation Establishment. He would have liked to just give up and refuse to log in. Maybe tell Lord Flockfeather that something important came up. But that last bit of stubborn pride kept him logging in night after night. Maybe he should stop giving Shen Tianyi such a hard time about face.

International Formation Institute, May 2029 The week after the NFL draft, Leo stood in the courtyard of the International Formation Institute alongside his teammates and teachers. It had been five months since they'd first got together to begin practice here in January. Back then, they'd been individuals learning to tolerate each other. Now they were a team, ready for whatever the Summit demanded. Derivations, Cranesong, it didn't matter. They could do it all. A familiar hum drew everyone's attention skyward.

The group watched as a Tier Four Flying Boat descended from the east, its formation-etched hull gleaming in the sunlight. The vessel settled onto the courtyard in a cloud of dust. Leo remembered the last time he'd ridden one of these. Back when he'd gone to meet Zhao to discuss how to counter the mountain domain. Now this boat would carry them all to the Grey Cult for the Grand Formations Summit. This flying cultivation boat was a Hornet-class ship, manufactured by the McDonnell and Douglas families.

It's distinctive swept-wing profile had become the symbol of the Catacombs War in the eighties, appearing in countless documentaries and memorial photographs. This one looked like it had been decommissioned for civilian use. The weapon mounts were gone, stripped away and replaced by observation domes and panoramic viewports that wrapped around the fuselage. The Hornet's boarding ramp extended with a hydraulic hiss. Mateo Thandril descended first.

His grey eyes swept across the assembled team, searching, and lit up when they found Leo. He wore civilian clothes rather than the military uniforms of the ship's crew, a deliberate choice that Leo appreciated.

"Mateo!" Leo crossed the distance and clasped his hand.

"Good to see you."

"Leo." Mateo's handshake was firm, his smile genuine.

"Heard you had a good time in Berlin. Wish I was there." Leo laughed.

"If you'd joined us on that trip, we probably could have brought our Russian friend back with us. Between the two of us, a Nascent Soul Lord shouldn't be too much trouble."

"Maybe next time." Mateo's grin widened.

"So how's the formation training going?"

"Ask me again after the Summit. How's college? Still playing Flying Aces?" Mateo shook his head.

"Flying Aces was fun, but spiritual beast studies is what I actually care about. Besides, there weren't any interesting opponents this year." He glanced sideways at Thad.

"No offense, Thad." Thad waved off the comment.

"None taken. We would've won the whole thing if we'd gotten the g-force formations." He sighed dramatically.

"Vicky said no." Although Thad had eventually mastered third-person perspective flying, he never received the g-force bleeding formations that Leo had used in competition. Without them, Thad posed far less threat in aerial combat. Penn State had lost to Texas A&M in the quarterfinals.

"You're a great flyer," Mateo said.

"Your instincts are sharp. You just need better equipment." Thad's grin stretched wide.

"It was a fun season. Lots of good stories."

"So why'd you volunteer for this?" Leo asked.

"Meeting the rest of your family for the first time. That's got to be awkward." This year's Grand Formation Summit would be hosted by the Grey Cult, whose Void Refining Eternal happened to be Mateo's grandfather. Back in the late 90s, Mateo's father had run away from home to marry a medic on Earth. Their child, Mateo, was gifted with divine blood. The blood of his grandfather. Mateo shrugged.

"Can't avoid them forever. Might as well get it over with." His jaw tightened slightly.

"It was my idea, actually. Realizing my divine blood means there's going to be some kind of reckoning eventually. Better on my terms than his."

"Being able to actualize your Divine Domain at Foundation Establishment is a big deal," Leo said.

"Most divine children don't manage it until Gold Core. Aren't you worried your grandfather won't let you leave?" Mateo made a grimace. Ella stepped forward.

"The Void Refining Eternal has many children. And every one of those children has loud opinions about succession. Even if the Eternal wanted Mateo to stay, his voice would be difficult to hear above the objections of his own descendants."

"I spent thirteen years as a mortal on Earth." Mateo crossed his arms.

"I have an internship at the Smithsonian this summer. Do you know how many rounds of interviews I went through to get that? I'm not throwing it away for snake cult politics." Leo blinked. He had assumed a Void Refining cultivator would have more control over his family. That level of power should command absolute obedience. Thad let out a short laugh.

"Here's the thing about divine blood. Inheriting it is almost entirely random. So Void Refining Eternals are incentivized to have as many children as possible." He shrugged.

"But even if the Eternals exercise restraint, divine blood can skip generations. So their children, and their children's children, all share the same incentive. More descendants, better odds." Leo pictured some ancient Void Refining cultivator desperately trying to convince his descendants to stop having children. The image was absurd enough to make him laugh out loud.

"By the time the Eternals realize something's gone wrong," Thad continued, "they've got hundreds of grandchildren to feed. An ever-growing family competing for limited resources and favor." He grinned.

"Half the doctrines and religious rules of the cults exist specifically to control their own descendants. Rein in their impulses. Keep them from sullying the divine name." Ella's violet eyes flashed.

"Thadelion. That is heresy." Thad raised both hands in mock surrender.

"Relax, Ella. We're on Earth. I can say whatever I want."

"That is a useful reminder for all of you." Professor Vogt's voice cut through their conversation.

"Although your lives are guaranteed by the Great Ascension Immortals of the Catacombs, heaven is high and the emperor is far away. A passionate believer with a knife doesn't need permission from above." The group fell silent. They had all endured multiple days of 'What Is Heresy And How To Avoid It' training. The lessons had been thorough, exhaustive, and occasionally terrifying.

Professor Vogt ran through the final logistics: emergency procedures, communication protocols, and the diplomatic immunity provisions with their very real limits. She checked their equipment, verified their documentation, and reminded them that they represented not just America but Earth itself. Soon it was time for goodbyes. Morimoto shuffled forward, his tracking cuff gleaming dully on his wrist. His spectacles sat slightly crooked on his nose.

"Goodbye, children!" He looked at Leo.

"By the way, Leo. Did our mutual friend Nick ever respond about the unjust revocation of my release terms?" Here we go again. Leo sighed. Over the past few days, Morimoto had grown increasingly desperate. He had cornered Leo at meals, during training breaks, even once in the restroom. Each time he lobbied for Leo to use his supposed influence with the CIA Deputy Director to secure Morimoto's freedom. Leo had actually thought the situation was unfair at first. Morimoto had performed beautifully in Berlin.

Even Ella acknowledged what he accomplished. Then Leo messaged Nick and learned the truth. The federal government had only funded the manufacture of three pairs of contacts. Morimoto's spectacles, that he received from Helga, were an extra gift he'd given himself, paid for with embezzled International Formation Institute funds. Upon returning, Morimoto tried to cover up the theft by submitting expense request forms with explanations that fell apart under the slightest scrutiny. The truth emerged within days.

Morimoto had destroyed whatever goodwill he'd built and now faced new charges on top of his original sentence. Leo lied.

"I think Nick blocked me too. My messages aren't going through. Just like yours." Morimoto's eyes narrowed.

"You could try another approach. Tell Nick you're interested in joining the CIA. Get a meeting. Then mention my situation casually."

"I'm not joining the CIA."

"I'm not asking you to join." Morimoto leaned closer.

"I'm asking you to imply you might. You can always say no later." Leo waved him off and turned toward the Hornet's boarding ramp. Behind him, Morimoto called out one last time.

"You owe me a chance at least, Leo! After everything I taught you! Just let me explain myself to Nick!"