MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Within a vast, castle-like structure, Anthony materialized inside a grand room. A faint smile played on his lips, his thoughts adrift in the memory of the encounter, his encounter.

He began walking in the direction where his mother was, though his steps were slow, distracted. His mind, blessed with a razor-sharp photographic memory, had never felt more vivid or more alive.

Every detail replayed with extreme clarity: the rhythm of her steps, the elegant sway of her hair, and those striking purple eyes that perfectly mirrored her purple hair.

Anthony's smile deepened as he recalled the fleeting glance she had cast his way just before stepping out of the café.

The entire encounter replayed in his mind on an endless loop, like a broken recorder refusing to forget.

'I wonder what her name is,' he thought as he walked.

'I wonder what she's like.' The questions swirled in his mind, one after another, yet his steps remained steady, unhindered by thought.

Lost in his thoughts, he arrived at a door without realizing it. Rather than knock, he simply phased through, his consciousness too preoccupied to acknowledge the barrier before him.

Within the room, Crimson Mitchelle sat with one leg elegantly crossed over the other. The neutral expression she wore melted into a warm smile the moment her gaze settled on Anthony.

"And what has my son smiling like that?" she asked, her voice gentle yet teasing, breaking through Anthony's wandering thoughts.

"It's nothing," Anthony replied smoothly, taking a seat. "Though it seems I might be introducing my girlfriend to you earlier than expected."

Mitchelle's smile lingered, but she said nothing more. She had no intention of pressing him, she would wait until they were both ready. After all, time was a luxury she possessed in abundance.

"Are you ready to meet the League of Supremes?" Mitchelle asked, her tone calm but laced with significance.

Anthony exhaled softly, a trace of amusement on his face. "You all really need to reconsider that name. It doesn't exactly sound... cool or powerful."

Mitchelle chuckled, the sound light and graceful.

"Don't trouble yourself with such trivialities. Besides, it was the First Supreme Monarch who chose the name. If you're that concerned, feel free to suggest a change, when you meet him."

Anthony merely shook his head, choosing not to reply. He had no interest in debating the name of their group with someone called the First Supreme Monarch.

After all, with a title like First, the man could only be one thing in Anthony's eyes, ancient and unimaginably powerful.

He was certain that even the mighty Patriarchs of the race domains back on the Blue Planet would pale in comparison to figures like these.

There was no sense in provoking such a being over something as trivial as a name that had nothing to do with him.

"The people you're about to meet are beings of extraordinary power," Mitchelle said, her gaze settling firmly on her son, who appeared momentarily lost in thought. "Be respectful, choose your words carefully. Though I am your mother, I will also be present as a Supreme. But rest assured," her voice softened slightly, "I won't allow anyone to lay a finger on my son while I'm there."

As her words settled in the air, her entire presence shifted. The warmth of a mother faded, replaced by the commanding aura of a Supreme.

Rising gracefully from her seat, she extended her hand. A swirling portal bloomed into existence beside her, shimmering with energy.

"Let's go," she said, her tone now bearing the weight of authority.

Anthony nodded and rose from his seat. In that instant, his entire presence shifted, his skill, Emperor's Demeanor, surged forth at full strength. The air around him seemed to still, as if recognizing the change. Whatever aura he bore before shattered, giving way to a commanding presence that settled over him like a mantle.

His bearing was no longer that of a young man, but of a sovereign, calm, poised, and majestic.

Remarkably, he now exuded a regal authority that now surpassed that of his mother, a true ruler in her own right.

With each step he took toward the portal, his movements were smooth and deliberate, brimming with silent authority.

He was about to stand before a gathering of legends, he couldn't appear less.

Mitchelle's gaze shifted to her son, now standing beside her. She observed the transformation in his bearing with a quiet smile. His entire presence had changed the moment he rose, composed, commanding, undeniably regal.

This was no illusion. She knew better than anyone that such presence could not be faked or mimicked. It was either inherited by blood or forged through years of hardship and discipline.

But Anthony was different.

He had neither inherited it through lineage nor cultivated it over time. The source was simpler; Emperor's Demeanor was a sign-in reward he'd received years ago, even before gaining admission to Omni Peak Academy.

Without uttering a word, the Ninth Supreme Monarch stepped through the portal, her son following closely behind. In their wake, the torn fabric of space sealed itself with a sudden, seamless snap.

Anthony felt reality distort around him, space spiraling into chaos as though the very world rejected his presence in one place and forcibly imposed him in another.

As Anthony's senses gradually returned, he felt gravity crash into him, heavy, crushing, overwhelming.

Yet his expression remained unchanged. His piercing blue eyes, calm and unreadable, betrayed no strain. His aura did not flare in defiance. No, it was space itself that yielded, adjusting as gravity realigned beneath the weight of his command.

His Sense Dome surged outward, expanding with every passing second. He needed no explanation.

The sheer density of gravity in this place would have obliterated ordinary soldiers, even those at the Ecliptic rank. His survival was owed solely to the Beginning of All Things Physique.

But space here... it was different. Alien. Untouchable. Anthony could feel its resistance, its refusal to bend to his will, as though it belonged to another, someone with mastery far surpassing his own.

So he adapted. Quantum Manipulation had activated with a thought, bending the unbending, forcing the fabric of space to respond to his command.

Then his eyes, those glacial blue eyes that could put the very sky to shame, turned upward.

His Sense Dome had already alerted him to the danger above.

And he saw them.

Eight figures seated in silence, each resting upon thrones woven from the very fabric of space. Their auras did not erupt, did not suffocate or oppress, but their mere presence thickened the air with an unseen weight.

Anthony felt their gazes pierce into him, each a different color, each a judgment cast from heights beyond mortality. They looked upon him not as equals, but as gods gazing down at a lesser.

Above them, space shimmered with quiet majesty. Stars blinked softly in the void, a tapestry of silent power.

Still, Anthony did not speak.

He merely stood there, unmoving, unflinching, as his eyes met each of theirs in turn. His Emperor's Demeanor radiated with effortless supremacy, eclipsing anything they could ever hope to match.