Noah glanced at Lola, who remained deep in focused meditation as she worked toward her own breakthrough to grandmaster rank. Her breathing was steady and controlled, suggesting she was making excellent progress toward her goal. Disturbing her training for a simple departure notification seemed counterproductive.
Leo remained peacefully asleep next to Lola.
Noah quietly activated the portal system and prepared to return to Earth for some well-deserved rest and private practice with his newly expanded capabilities.
Back in his resort, Noah grabbed his phone to check for anything that might have happened during his absence.
"My father called...Ethan has also sent me a few messages." Noah muttered as he read the notifications. The notifications weren’t visible from the outside, but were simply notifications. Both communications probably required his attention, though he hoped neither represented urgent problems that would complicate his already complex situation.
Noah decided to call his father first before checking on what Ethan had sent.
The phone rang twice before his father’s voice entered his ear. "Noah! I was hoping you’d call back soon. How’s the tournament going?"
Noah smiled at his father’s continued belief that he was participating in a normal martial arts competition. The simple explanation had worked perfectly to cover his extended absences without raising suspicions about his actual activities.
Had Noah told his father about a tournament that only a few could get picked, with mysterious donors and only the rich as spectators, he would be sceptical. He would think it was some kind of elaborate plan for mass human trafficking, and it would worry him for no reason.
"It’s ending tomorrow if everything goes well. I actually made it to the finals, so things have been going better than I expected."
"The finals? That’s incredible, son!" His father’s pride was evident in his voice. "I didn’t expect anything less from you. You’ve always been determined when you set your mind to something."
Before his father could ask more detailed questions about the tournament, Noah smoothly redirected the conversation toward more important matters. "How have you been doing, Dad? Everything going okay with your treatments? Do you need any money for anything?"
"I’m doing well, Noah. Really well, actually," his father assured him with genuine warmth. "The money you left me last time was enough, so I don’t need any money right now. You’ve already done so much for this old man. I should find a job to start working; I can’t sit at home like a housewife."
Noah refused to accept that answer, knowing his father’s tendency to downplay his needs to avoid burdening others. "Sorry, Dad. I’m sending you ten thousand dollars right now. You never know when unexpected expenses might come up."
"I don’t need it, Noah. It’s really fin—"
"No, it’s fine," Noah interrupted firmly, already pulling up his banking app to make the transfer. "You never know when emergencies come up. Keep it with you, Father. It’ll give me peace of mind knowing you have it available."
The stubborn affection in his voice made it clear that arguing would be pointless. Noah’s financial situation had transformed dramatically since acquiring the system, making ten thousand dollars feel like pocket change compared to the daily revenue his shop generated.
His father’s quiet chuckle suggested he recognised his son’s determination. "You’re as stubborn as your mother was. Fine, but only because I know you’ll worry if I don’t accept it."
"Exactly," Noah confirmed with satisfaction as he completed the transfer. "It’s already sent. Use it for whatever you need, no questions asked. Also, I know what you might be thinking. ’Let me save this money and give it to him when he is about to get married.’ Please don’t think that, I have enough money."
"You... Hah, you know your father too much. I don’t know if I should be upset or happy," his father exhaled lightly, the mixture of amusement and exasperation clear in his voice.
Noah’s ability to predict his father’s thoughts came from years of watching the older man sacrifice his own needs for him, always thinking ahead to future expenses or emergencies that might affect his son.
"Just promise me you’ll use it when you need it, not save it for some hypothetical future crisis," Noah added with gentle insistence. "I’m doing well financially, better than I ever expected. Take care of yourself first. Be happy, Dad. Life’s too short for anything else," Noah replied with genuine affection. "I’ll call you again after the tournament ends tomorrow. Try not to worry about anything, okay?"
"I’ll try, son. Good luck in the finals. I know you’ll do great."
After hanging up with his father, Noah felt content. His father had worked ever since he could remember; the least he could do was allow him to enjoy his retirement and have a good life. He had always thrived to give him a good life; now it was his turn to take care of him.
Noah then checked on the message Ethan had sent, expecting the usual casual update about streams or game plans.
A frown formed on his face as he read the first line of the message, immediately recognising that this communication carried a completely different tone from their usual exchanges.
Ethan: "Noah...we need help."
The simple statement sent a chill through Noah’s stomach. Ethan wasn’t someone who asked for help lightly. The fact that he had used "we" suggested the problem involved Aunt Mei’s entire family.
Before he even read the subsequent messages, Noah immediately called his cousin. Whatever was happening, he needed to understand the full situation before making any decisions about how to respond.
The phone rang once, twice, three times before Ethan’s familiar voice answered, though it carried an exhaustion and stress that Noah had never heard since the last time Ethan had broken up with his ex-girlfriend, Amy.
"Noah? Thank God you called back quickly."
"Ethan, tell me what happened," Noah demanded without preamble.
There was a pause before Ethan spoke; the silence spoke volumes. As if Ethan was gathering courage to admit something deeply embarrassing.