"…?!" Jabba instinctively turned his gaze toward the old man again — but this time, it wasn't a look of pity or sympathy like before. His expression shifted, and his body subtly tensed. It was as if, for a fleeting moment, he was staring at a reflection of his own possible future.

If he ever chose to inherit the master law… would that truly be what awaited him? A broken body, a fading life, and endless solitude masked beneath power beyond imagination?

"Do not let your master's words decide your destiny — he tends to exaggerate." Althera's voice cut through his thoughts as she stepped forward, her presence commanding yet elegant. "The man you see before you is none other than the Cosmic Elder, Zolan. With a single word, he can summon every Stellar Academy scattered across the sectors. With a single gesture, he can annihilate the Behemoths themselves. Because of him, the universe has enjoyed peace for tens of millions of years. It was he who banished the space beasts beyond the rim of existence, who shattered the Abyss of Doom. He is a hero of legends — the unshakable pillar that holds the fabric of creation together!"

"…" Jabba's mouth fell slightly open, the words circling in his mind like distant echoes. He turned toward Shaddad, confusion written across his face. "What exactly are the academies? Who are the Behemoths? What are space beasts? And what is the Abyss of Doom?"

Althera blinked in disbelief, then slowly turned her gaze toward Robin with an expression somewhere between anger and exasperation. "What have you even been teaching your disciple?!"

"Laws… and stuff." Robin gave a lazy shrug, eyes wandering off as if he found the sky suddenly fascinating.

The old man exhaled heavily, trying to steady his breath. "Young one," he began, forcing a faint, almost fragile smile that faltered halfway, "my inheritance does not merely consist of the sixth degree of the Law of Balance. I would not just make you a great power in the cosmos…" He paused, his tone deepening. "Though I have never cared much for wealth or resources, riches always came to me — like dust drawn to a storm. Each time I vanquished an enemy, treasures rained at my feet. My vaults overflow with relics and artifacts beyond comprehension. If you inherit me, the wealth of Interas and Morpheus would seem laughably insignificant before your eyes!"

"Wow…" Jabba's eyes widened in astonishment, shimmering with naive curiosity. He turned toward Shaddad and asked innocently, "Who's Interas, and who's Morpheus?"

"…" Shaddad didn't answer — he couldn't. Sweat ran down his temples in silence. His mind was still paralyzed at the memory of the Eye of Truth that had emerged on the old man's forehead moments earlier!

"Argh…" Elder Zolan suddenly clutched his chest, groaning softly as pain rippled through his ancient frame. How could he possibly reason with this rustic youth? How could he offer temptation to someone who had no grasp of what temptation meant? It was like trying to convince an ant that it would one day sit upon a throne of stars!

"I don't really know about all that," Jabba admitted, scratching the back of his head as he often did when lost in thought. "Power and status sound inspiring, sure… and the wealth you mentioned could really help the True Beginning Empire grow stronger." He paused for a long moment, then turned his gaze toward his mentor. "You told me to seek your counsel before choosing any law, Master. So… do you approve of Balance?"

"Absolutely not." Robin waved dismissively, his tone sharp but calm. "If you're simply curious, I'll lend you a scroll containing the first stage later. But don't walk that path."

"Then it's settled." Jabba nodded decisively, then turned back toward Althera and Zolan, then bowed slightly. "My apologies."

"….." The old man stood motionless, his mind blank for a heartbeat. then he turned toward Robin. "Do you even understand… what you've just done?!"

"I saved my disciple." Robin's voice was steady as he looked at the old man. "I know Balance is one of the most practical master laws in any battlefield. But in your quest to suppress every threat, you've to suppress yourself along with them. You've lived for tens of millions of years… yet those years were soaked in pain and loneliness. Why would you want to curse another soul with that fate?"

He took a step closer, his tone darkening with quiet conviction. "You claim to hold treasures greater than the richest Behemoths, yet you can't even restore your own life vein, nor add a single drop of vitality. The Seal of Balance binds you — what is taken by a master law can never be restored by ordinary means. You may have refined entire planets, sculpted stars with your will, but even those worlds cannot return one heartbeat to your dying heart, nor rebuild the limbs you've lost."

Then, with a quiet sigh, Robin added, "It makes me wonder, Elder… Did you truly live apart from the world because you despised fame and power? Or was it because you were drowning in agony, and isolation was the only way to hide it — to keep anyone from seeing your suffering or hearing your screams?"

His eyes softened, voice low but cutting. "Now, after burning your very body for countless emergencies and sacrifices, you'll leave this universe in the same state it was before your rise. Despite everything, you couldn't create lasting peace. Sacrifice, no matter how noble, isn't always the answer. Sometimes, the greatest act of love… is to keep living for those you wish to protect."

"You!!" Althera's voice thundered like a whip through the air as she swung her arm with force, her aura igniting around her like a blazing storm of starlight. "After everything the Cosmic Elder has done for us—for the universe itself—you dare speak such insolent words against him?!"

"Heh~" The old man raised his frail hand toward Althera, motioning for her to calm down, his expression somewhere between amusement and exhaustion. "No need to make this personal, young man," he said to Robin, his voice trembling yet oddly composed. "If you don't wish for him to become my successor, then so be it. I won't force him. I have learned from my past mistake… the hard way." His tone dimmed with every word. Then, with a slow surrender, he allowed the pull of gravity to take him. His body leaned backward until he landed softly on his back, staring blankly at the void above. "And now… just let me rest for a while."

The final words came out heavy, soaked with weariness and regret. There was sorrow in them—pure, unfiltered, ancient sorrow. The faint spark of hope that had briefly lifted the old man out of his silent, stagnant existence had vanished once again. He had fallen back into his emptiness… only now, it was even deeper, darker, more absolute.

But Robin didn't flinch. He neither pitied nor feared him. His expression remained still, sharp, unwavering. "Hey, old man," he said evenly, his golden eyes reflecting the dull starlight above them. "You haven't even heard what I have to say yet. How could I possibly leave now?"

"You have nothing that can benefit me, boy," the elder replied sharply, his voice cutting like brittle steel. "Do not let arrogance cloud your sense of reality. The only reason I tolerated your presence here was because I desired a brief conversation—something to distract me from the dreary company of those dull, pompous academies heads. Nothing more."

His tone grew colder with each word, and the air seemed to thicken with the weight of his disdain. "I know you are gifted, perhaps even a prodigy, but certainly not to the godlike level you imagine. And if you've come to waste my time with talks of alliances, councils, or those ridiculous interstellar conventions you love so much, then save your breath. I have neither the time nor the patience for such drivel."

He turned away, curling his only arm beneath his head like a pillow. "Go catch a few fish for me, IF YOU PLEASE, and then take your companions and leave me in peace. Let an old man sleep."

"…I know," Robin began quietly, his voice low yet steady. "I know my age, my words, and my existence mean little in your eyes. You've lived longer than most stars. You've faced true power and fought against real, ancient evils. You are a hero—no one can deny that." He paused, taking a single step closer, his tone softening. "And yes, to try giving you advice might indeed seem foolish."

Then his expression shifted, a faint smirk forming as golden light flickered behind his eyes. "But still… I am a genius to that extent. Don't forget—" he leaned forward slightly, his voice almost a whisper, "I'm the only one who's ever been given the chance twice."

"…?!" Althera blinked in confusion, her brows furrowing. Shaddad and Jabba exchanged bewildered looks; none of them understood the meaning behind those cryptic words.

But the Cosmic Elder Zolan remained silent—not because he was confused, but because he understood too well.

Even if this youth was exceptional, what of it? He was still young—too young. His light was fresh, unstable, not yet tempered by time or tragedy. Perhaps, if they were to meet again a million years from now, that same brilliance would be enough to move the heavens. Perhaps his golden eyes could then truly pierce the mysteries of the cosmos and find a solution. But now? At this moment? He was still nothing but a child, full of passion and empty of proof. His power was small. His wisdom, shallow. All he had was that sharp tongue of his.

Ooommm—

The air trembled.

In that instant, the light in Robin's eyes blazed to life once more, twin suns erupting in the dim void. The golden radiance pulsed outward, flowing through his veins and along his skin like rivers of liquid fire. Within seconds, the light shaped itself into intricate, ancient markings that spread across his entire body — golden runes of power that traced every inch of his form, even etching delicate lines across his face.

Althera and the others stepped back instinctively as the pressure around them changed. The space itself seemed to vibrate — reality bending, responding, acknowledging him.

Then Robin slowly lifted his right hand, his movements deliberate, calm, almost ceremonial. A faint hum filled the air, deep and resonant, as something began to take form above his palm — something both beautiful and terrifying.

It appeared at first to be a simple golden ring, hovering weightlessly in the air. But upon closer look, that illusion shattered. The ring was alive. It moved. It twisted. It was a serpent of radiant gold, coiling endlessly upon itself — a devouring Ouroboros that consumed its own tail again and again. Each time it took a bite, its size swelled slightly, feeding upon its own existence in an infinite cycle of hunger and creation.

Robin's voice broke the silence, calm yet echoing with a quiet, divine certainty.

"Get up, old man," he said. "I can fix you."

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