Chapter 89 It’ll be meaningful
1039 Words
Adam stood in his room, turning the two books over in his hands.
They looked like books—but had no pages. No spine, no cover to lift. Just smooth, solid slabs that refused to open.
When he touched them, though, he could feel a faint thrum of energy pulsing beneath the surface.
Clearly, Levin wasn’t joking. These were specialty items—meant to be read in a specific way.
He’d need to ask someone.
His mind ran through possible contacts. Diana came to mind first… then “Icecream.”
But Diana had vanished after they got back—nowhere to be found. That left only his online friend.
Icecream always seemed oddly well-informed. Over the past weeks, she’d shared all kinds of insider intel, chatted with him about everything from superpower theory to campus politics. If anyone knew how to handle these books, it was her.
Decision made, Adam headed back to his room, books in hand.
---
Meanwhile, Diana wasn’t attending to BEA duties at all.
She’d flown nearly fifteen kilometers from Orienta University—far beyond the city limits, deep into the foothills. Just ahead lay the exclusive mountain villa district.
She took a deep breath. The air was crisp, almost sharp—clean enough to sting the nostrils in the best way.
Because before her stretched the largest known ice rink in the world.
A sprawling, dreamlike expanse of snow and ice, complete with sculpted glaciers, frozen fountains, and climate-controlled zones. It was said the facility could host tens of thousands at once.
In reality, it never did. Access was strictly limited to the ultra-wealthy. For years, it had been the go-to spot for high-society proposals, luxury weddings, and elite private events—a winter fairyland reserved for the privileged few.
Diana nodded to herself.
*Perfect. I’ll meet him here.*
*It’ll be… meaningful.*
She pulled her cap low, walked straight through the sparse crowd, and made her way up the mountainside to a secluded villa.
A light knock. A pause. Then she pushed the door open.
Inside, her nose wrinkled instantly.
A middle-aged man lounged on a plush sofa, flanked by two heavily made-up women, cigarette smoke curling lazily in the air.
“What are you doing barging in?” the manager snapped, annoyed at the interruption.
“I’m here to discuss a full-day private booking,” Diana said, stepping forward. “How much would it cost to reserve the entire facility for March 22nd?”
“You?” The manager sat up, eyeing her skeptically.
But Diana wore her usual practical training gear—no designer labels, no jewelry. Nothing screamed “wealthy heiress.” He slumped back, disappointed.
“Look, we don’t really do full buyouts. And if we did? The price would be astronomical.”
“You? Save your money.”
He turned back to his companions, already resuming his embrace.
Diana walked closer, removed her cap—and locked eyes with him.
Her irises glowed faintly blue, cold and piercing.
“Is this really the standard of service Kral expects from his staff?”
Hearing his boss’s name—and the icy authority in her voice—the manager froze.
He finally got a good look at her face.
Recognition hit like a bucket of ice water.
He’d seen her once, years ago, standing silently behind Kral during an inspection. His boss had warned him: *We don’t fear superhumans—but there are a few near Orienta you absolutely do not cross.*
And now he remembered.
His drunken haze evaporated. He shot to his feet.
“Y-you’re—! I’m so sorry! I was… I’d had too much to drink—”
He shoved the two women toward the stairs without a second glance, then turned back with a nervous, ingratiating smile.
Diana’s mood, once hopeful, had soured. “Just answer me,” she said flatly. “Is March 22nd booked for a wedding or event?”
“No! Not at all!”
“Then I’m taking it. Full closure. No public access.”
The manager scrambled to please her—offering tea, water, anything. Normally, he’d quote an outrageous price for a buyout. But not with *her*.
He immediately called Kral.
Within minutes, the deal was sealed: one million credits—“cost price,” as Kral put it.
On March 22nd, the rink would be closed to all but one guest.
As he escorted her out, the manager couldn’t help but ask, “May I ask… what’s the occasion? Should we prepare anything special?”
“No,” Diana said. “Nothing at all.”
---
On her way back, a message popped up on her phone.
From Adam.
She read it—and realized he’d missed the entire superpower skill training module while on mission.
Without hesitation, she logged into their usual chat and began explaining.
> Icecream: Those books aren’t meant to be read like normal ones.
> Superpower skills aren’t about written instructions—they’re about energy manipulation, instinct, and refined technique.
> Since superpowers only emerged a century ago, all skills are passed down through *imprinted intent*.
> Masters condense their understanding into energy matrices inside these books.
> To learn, you project your consciousness into the book and feel the knowledge.
> The more talented you are, the faster you absorb it.
> It’s how we ensure each generation surpasses the last.
Adam replied quickly:
> Wanderer: Thanks. School’s been a mess—my instructor’s never around, just vanishes for days. Honestly, most of the theory I’ve learned has come from you.
> Wanderer: Which makes me wonder… your own superhuman level must be pretty high, right?
> Wanderer: Also—if you work in some classified division, you don’t have to keep sharing intel with me. If you need to stay quiet, just say so. I get it.
A moment later, her response arrived:
> Icecream: Hey, don’t worry! It’s fine. I’ve been keeping tabs—you’ve got serious potential. You deserve to know these things.
> Icecream: Besides… the superhuman world is small. We’ll end up working together eventually.
> Icecream: So… how about we finally meet in person?
> Icecream: March 22nd. At the world’s largest ice rink. Will you come?
- Writer
