Aboard the airship, Roland sat alone in a row.

Agnes, Sasha, and Tina huddled together.

Sasha was supposed to sit with Roland too—but apparently, being “just too cute” landed her squarely between two beautiful girls.

Yeah, right. What kind of excuse is *“too cute”* anyway?

“So… what’s your privately funded research institute actually like?” Roland steered the topic back. He’d wanted to ask earlier, but yesterday was too late. Now that the chance came, he wasn’t letting it slip.

Tina crossed her arms, pausing for a moment.

“If I had to put it simply—it’s a lab dedicated to studying various races.”

“Various races? Not just Elves?”

“Naturally. Though Elves make up over ninety percent of the projects. Ever since ancient times, when The Queen awakened, the Primordial Ancestor’s bloodline made Elves far fiercer than before—born surpassing every other race in existence.”

“So that’s why they launched large-scale invasions?”

“There are tangled interests behind it. Nothing we can fully unpack now. But if we grow stronger… maybe one day we’ll reach that level.”

A chill crept down Roland’s spine.

Honestly? He had zero interest in touching that layer.

…

The airship sailed roughly two hours—enough to leave Hemp City and glide smoothly into the Fourth Ring’s border zone.

Tina’s baronial vessel faced no obstruction; sky guards glanced once and waved them through.

“I placed the manor at the junction of the Fourth and Fifth Rings,” Tina said, gazing out the window at a white facility nestled below the city walls, “so I can visit this institute anytime.”

The compound spanned over ten thousand square meters—surface level only. The underground sections were likely far vaster.

“You funded all this… alone?” Roland asked, disbelief clear.

“You’re the young mistress of the Yixin Clan. Money shouldn’t be hard to get.”

“Don’t act like I’ve done nothing!” Tina huffed. “I run businesses in the Third and Fourth Rings. Surplus funds from those support this institute.” She shot Agnes a hopeful smile. “Right, Aggie?”

“Well… except the hundred million gold coins Lord gave you were completely spent within a year,” Agnes deadpanned—classic sabotage. Tina’s smile froze instantly.

“Th-that’s because I didn’t know business rules at first! Later, I got it all running smoothly!”

“Yes. But you still owe Lord four hundred million—and haven’t repaid a single coin.”

Tina puffed her cheeks. “It was *Dad’s* allowance! I can spend it however I want! Worst case, I’ll burn four hundred million for him when he passes!”

“See? See?” Agnes cleaned her ear with her pinky, smirking. “The ‘capable businesswoman’ image shatters in seconds. Honestly, rich girls these days trying to play ‘self-made’…”

“…”

Sasha, sandwiched between them, felt deeply awkward.

She’d thought Tina was flawlessly strategic—but honestly? She seemed no different from any spoiled rich second-gen.

“Then… why did you say yesterday you could reshape reality through imagination? Shouldn’t business failures be impossible for you?” Roland pressed.

Tina groaned, hands over her face. Agnes, however, smiled.

“Because Miss can’t even *imagine* becoming a ‘business tycoon’—it’s too vague, too unreal.”

“Uh…?” Roland blinked. Why not? Doesn’t everyone daydream?

Tina sighed. “Imagination must be grounded. I need data—detailed, credible data. The deeper I dig, the clearer it becomes: I can’t do it.”

“For example?”

“That Deity from yesterday,” Agnes cut in bluntly. “You saw her at the guild entrance. She was on the airship two days ago too.”

“Mm…”

“Imagine slicing her down with one sword strike.”

Roland froze at the sudden analogy.

“Well… in fantasy, sure.”

He mentally pictured it—the clean slash, the fall.

Agnes crossed her arms, smirking. “And do you believe that fantasy could *ever* become reality?”

“…”

Silence. He got it now.

“Impossible.”

“Exactly. If *you* feel it’s impossible, the fantasy fails.” Agnes tapped her temple. “Imagination isn’t a wild daydream. It *requires* plausibility to activate.”

“Strict conditions.”

“Even then,” Tina added with a helpless shrug, “success isn’t guaranteed. Like writing a perfect movie script… only to have it rejected. God really is a harsh director.”

Still…

The ability was terrifying.

To unknowingly step into someone else’s script.

Every choice predicted. Every move anticipated.

A cold shiver ran through him.

“So… is *this moment* still part of your script?” Roland countered.

Tina blinked. Exchanged a glance with Agnes. Then both burst into soft laughter.

“Of course not. It’s just daily life. Why script it? Uncertainty is what makes life beautiful. If everything followed my rules… where’s the joy?”

“No one enjoys watching a film they’ve rewritten and polished ten thousand times.”

“…”

Roland didn’t fully grasp it—but he was deeply shaken.

At least now he knew: her imagination wasn’t “invincible.”

…

…

The baronial airship settled onto the institute’s docking plaza. Elderly researchers hurried forward.

“Young Mistress! You’ve finally arrived!”

The lead man radiated scholarly grace; the others mirrored his demeanor. Roland couldn’t gauge their strength—not a single flaw in posture or motion.

Then, from the cockpit, an elderly man with short silver-gray hair emerged.

Straight-backed. Tailcoat straining slightly over coiled, explosive muscle.

Roland’s gaze snagged on their pilot—until Tina’s voice pulled him back.

“Roland, little Sasha—meet Dr. Harkson, vice director of the institute.”