Meanwhile, in the real world, Deckard prepared to return to the game.

  “Alright then.”

  He spoke aloud, trying to fill the silence of his empty apartment. It wasn’t that it was small or cramped. If anything, it was too open, too lifeless—just a sleek capsule, a trophy cabinet, a bare desk, and the faint hum of climate control. No distractions. No clutter. Designed for efficiency.

  And yet, compared to the expansive worlds of full-dive gaming, it felt sterile.

  Shaking the thought away, he checked the pod's status panel. All systems normal. The nutrient fluid meter was still high, its indicator pulsing a cool blue.

  Nexus Co. had stocked him up well—this capsule could sustain him for a month straight without a single logout. A seamless, uninterrupted dive into AstroTerra for those who wanted a hardcore diving experience.

  But he wasn’t that kind of player.

  Some pros practically lived logged in, relying entirely on artificial sustenance and induced REM cycles to maximize their in-game efficiency.

  It was tempting. The idea of grinding nonstop, pushing every possible advantage.

  But in the long run? He knew better. Even though humanity had developed synthetic nutrition and artificial sleep, the counterfeits weren’t perfect. And he wasn’t willing to let his mind become dull to squeeze out a little more playtime.

  He couldn’t afford to dull his sharpest tool. If he wanted to stay sharp, he had to treat it right.

  So, he logged out for meals. He logged out for naps. He did play through some nights, but he took the time to do some real sleeping every other day.

  They were all simple habits, but they would make all the difference in the long run.

  Sliding into the capsule, he settled into position. The moment his back hit the cushioned interior, a gentle hiss filled the pod as the system synced with his neural signature.

  The world around him faded to black.

  The familiar weightlessness of full immersion washed over him as AstroTerra pulled him back into its depths.

  He reappeared on the shore of Trash Islet, where the sun hung low, streaking gold across the waves. Brine filled his lungs, and the rhythmic crash of the tide welcomed him back.

  His [Dented Oxygen Tank] remained strapped to his back, its indicator flashing as it continued recharging—even while he’d been offline.

  “Let’s grab a few more starfish and clams,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders.

  Spotting an open patch of water, free from drifting debris, he took a steady breath and dove in.

  The world above blurred into a rippling haze, swallowed by the underwater junkyard stretching before him. Sunlight filtered through the depths in fractured beams, illuminating rusted metal and tangled seaweed.

  With measured kicks, he descended, eyes sweeping the seabed for his first target.

  There.

  A blue starfish clung to a chunk of coral-encrusted metal, its color too vivid to miss.

  Deckard smirked. He’d interacted with this one before—enough that capturing it now would be easy. Drawing an empty card, he took aim.

  Subdimensionalize!

  A pulse of blue light enveloped the starfish, and a familiar notification flickered into view.

  Capture successful.

  Blue Starfish

  Rarity: Common

  Type: Creature

  Affinity: Water

  Cost: 2

  Points: 0.

  Effects: Regeneration. +1 if on attacking lane.

  He exhaled through his nose, watching bubbles spiral upward. Given how hard it was to reach this spot, he’d expected the creatures here to be more valuable than those in the shallows.

  Wishful thinking.

  Progress was progress—even if it came one card at a time. He pocketed it and kept moving.

  His next target was a giant clam, half-buried in the sand. Unlike turtles or starfish, clams barely moved—slow, patient creatures, filtering water and snapping shut only when disturbed. He hovered in place, watching. No need to rush.

  For ten minutes, he observed, letting his Understanding tick up. Twice, a notification confirmed his progress.

  Almost there.

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  Then, a warning flashed.

  Oxygen level critical!

  His gaze flicked to the red indicator. Less than thirty seconds before his tank ran dry. He sighed.

  Might as well try.

  Raising an empty card, he aimed at the clam.

  Subdimensionalize!

  A soft glow enveloped the creature—

  Capture failed.

  It had been worth a shot. He kicked off the seabed and shot toward the surface.

  He broke through with seconds to spare, gulping in fresh air as the waves rolled beneath him. No giant clam this time, but at least he’d secured another starfish. Progress was progress.

  At this rate, he’d complete the set in no time. That is, if he decided to finish it.

  He pulled himself up, water streaming off his gear as he took a moment to think. He couldn’t keep pretending the jungle wasn’t waiting.

  I need to figure this out. Do I keep completing sets?

  If he stopped short—always leaving one card unclaimed—maybe he could avoid disturbing the danger lurking in the jungle.

  His gaze drifted toward the island, to the thin green line where the jungle loomed beyond the shore. What was waiting for him there? He imagined stepping into the undergrowth, only to be ambushed by some ruthless NPC, his entire collection ripped from his grasp.

  No. He couldn’t let fear take the reins.

  The more he thought about it, the clearer it became—holding back out of fear was a losing mindset.

  He had dueled against Ratu while playing a worse deck, yet he’d still won. He had no reason to believe the next challenge would be any different. If he kept refining his strategy, kept playing the way he knew best, he could handle whatever came next.

  He was evolving, learning mechanics that others skipped. Others rushed through the beginner region as fast as possible, trying to get to the cities and unlock their class there. He was doing everything in the opposite order.

  He was lingering. Mastering the basics. Learning the game and how to play his hidden class.

  Perhaps that was what really unsettled him.

  Savy's words still lingered, cutting deeper than he wanted to admit.

  “I don’t think you’ll do well in the game. It’s not just about cards.”

  Blunt. Dismissive. Typical Savy. But coming from a player he had respected? It carried weight. A weight that, whether he liked it or not, had been dragging him down.

  Was he doing well in the game? Or was his performance subpar? How fast had Savy gone through the beginner region?

  He forced a deep breath.

  Have a little more confidence in yourself, Deckard.

  He’d unlocked a hidden class. He was uncovering mechanics others had overlooked. He was thriving despite every obstacle thrown his way.

  He exhaled, shaking off the hesitation that clung to him.

  He could do this. Whatever waited in that jungle, he’d deal with it. And as for Savy? He’d beat him, too.

  Taking a deep breath, he nodded to himself.

  That’s it, then. It’s decided. The only way is forward.

  The moment he committed, something changed. His doubt faded, replaced by a steady certainty. He wasn’t just surviving in this game—he was playing to win.

  With his decision made, he shifted his focus to planning. If he was going to complete full sets, he needed to be smart about the order.

  Just because he had committed didn’t mean he’d charge into the jungle unprepared. No—he would collect every card, unlock every skill, and secure the best gear he could get his hands on. Only then would he step into enemy territory.

  As far as he knew, three sets remained: the junkyard, crabs, and turtles.

  He was already working on the first, and for the second, he was just one crab elite short. But the real problem was the third—the turtle set.

  The competition over the wild boss is just too fierce.

  Elites were one thing—dealing with other players fighting over them was already a headache. But a wild boss? That was on another level. He’d seen the fights at Shell Bay. Dozens of players, rafts packed along the shore, all of them gunning for the same target.

  If he wanted to capture the first wild boss on the island, he had to figure out how to do it before someone else beat him to it.

  And once he completed the turtle set, there’d be nothing left to grind along the beaches. No more delays. No more putting it off. That meant facing the inevitable—venturing into the jungle and whatever waited inside.

  It was poetic justice. If I can handle the wild boss, I can handle what’s next. A stepping stone. Proof that he was ready.

  He frowned, considering his next move.

  Perhaps I should use these breaks to improve my underwater combat skills.

  If he wanted to steal the wild boss out from under the competition, fighting in the water might be his best advantage.

  He reached behind him and unequipped his [Dented Oxygen Tank], leaving it in his inventory. Without it, he’d be relying on his digital lungs, which only gave him about a minute of underwater time. Nowhere near enough to make it down to the junkyard and capture cards—but just enough to run some experiments.

  With a deep breath, he dove in and grabbed his deck.

  Time to see how these babies fly underwater.

  Rolling his shoulder, he lined up his first throw and put his full strength into it.

  The card left his hand—

  And sank like a rock.

  Wait. What?

  He blinked as the card plummeted, vanishing into the depths without even a hint of forward motion. He hovered in place, staring at the spot where it had disappeared, half-expecting it to suddenly right itself and dart forward. But no. It just… sank.

  He couldn’t help but glance around. He’d chosen this particular spot for a reason—it was one of the islet’s more secluded shores, facing away from Beginner Island. But still, someone could be lurking, exploring the area. Thankfully, there were no spectators.

  Good. No one saw that disaster.

  But he wasn’t about to let himself be defeated by bad physics. Maybe I just need more power behind the throw. Activating his skill, he braced himself.

  Power Throw!

  Energy surged through him, his card flaring brilliantly as he released it. This time, instead of sinking like a rock, it fluttered uselessly and then sank. Deckard stared.

  Like a leaf. A glowing, ridiculous leaf.

  He broke through the surface with an exasperated exhale.

  Great. So much for ranged combat.

  If underwater fighting was going to be this useless, what was the point? If he needed to do any fighting while capturing the wild turtle boss, he’d be completely helpless.

  I need to rethink this whole approach. What can my cards even do in this situation?

  The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like combat wasn’t the answer at all.

  This isn’t a fight. Maybe it’s a heist.

  After a moment, he hauled himself back onto the shore, dripping wet, lost in thought. He absentmindedly flicked a couple of cards into the ocean, watching them sail through the air before losing momentum and dropping into the water.

  After a beat, he opened the menu and logged out.

  Once he was outside the capsule, he went over to the kitchen table, grabbed a cereal bar, and munched on it as he pulled up his web browser.

  He typed in Turtle Mother, and a flood of results filled the screen. Some were tutorials on raft-building, others were strategy guides for tackling the boss. Adjusting his spectacles, he picked one at random and started watching.