Even If I'm Reborn as a Cute Dragon Girl, I Will Still Make a Harem-Chapter 80Book 6: : Powerless

“Daddy, aren’t you going to eat?”

The puzzled voice of his daughter pulled the old man back to reality.

The news report was still playing on his screen, with experts on the scene refuting the absurd claims from every possible angle.

But absurd or not, it was reality now.

Paper could never wrap fire forever; the truth would eventually be revealed.

“I’m sorry… I just don’t have an appetite right now.”

Even though his daughter had prepared his hearty breakfast with care, the old man felt no desire to eat.

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?” Bernie asked in concern.

“No… I just don’t feel like eating.”

“Don’t feel like eating…?”

Her gaze shifted to the device in his hand, and she understood what was going on right away. She pumped her fist adorably and tried to cheer her father up.

“Don’t worry about what people online are saying, Daddy. Just be yourself. No matter what, you’re still our best daddy!”

“Thank you.” Overwhelmed by his daughter’s sincerity, the old man couldn’t think of a proper response. He could only retreat awkwardly from the table.

Back in his basement, the familiar, relentless communication signal cut in, not even giving him the option to refuse.

“Locke! What the hell are you doing?!”

The Chief’s voice thundered through the comm.

“I’m not doing anything, Chief.”

“Not doing anything? Do you have any idea how busy I am because of you? I’ve been working two days and two nights straight! Do you think I can’t arrest you for spreading rumors right now?”

“Those rumors weren’t spread by me.”

“If not you, then who? You’re the one who came up with this nonsense!”

“That’s true. But the rumors have nothing to do with me. You can check my terminal logs through the Gaea Center. I’ll allow it.”

He paused before adding quietly, “And I’m sure you know it’s not me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have contacted me personally.”

“Damn it…” The chief cursed under his breath. “But this all started with you, didn’t it?”

“…I can’t deny that, Chief.”

“Then tell me how to end this nightmare!”

The voice on the other end finally lost its harsh edge, turning hoarse and weary, like an old bear too tired to roar.

“How do I get one good night’s sleep again?”

“You can’t. It’s already too late, Chief.”

The old man paused, then forced out the rest of his merciless words.

“From the moment the Pandora’s Box was opened, there was no way to close it again… History has shown us this time and time again. Fifteen thousand years ago, our ancestors lived in poverty. Then, a thousand years ago, someone saw a kettle lid lift from boiling water—and the Industrial Revolution was born. From that moment on, the pace of progress never stopped. Not once. What’s happening now… is another kind of revolution.”

“You’re saying that…”

“The tide of history will sweep everything away. Once there’s a breach in the dam, the flood can’t be stopped.”

“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!” the chief roared in frustration. “Then why did you start this in the first place? Take responsibility, you b̲a̲s̲t̲a̲r̲d̲!”

“I wanted to,” the old man whispered, closing his eyes as if in pain. “But how can an ant that gnawed a hole in the dam stop the flood that follows?”

Silence hung between them, broken only by the old man’s ragged breathing.

“Then watch, Locke. Sit there and watch. Watch the catastrophic flood you’ve unleashed. For someone like you… that’s the greatest punishment of all, isn’t it?” the chief said softly.

*Beep—*

The call ended, leaving the old man slumped in his lonely chair.

He didn’t dare turn to look at the sleeping girl beside him. Instead, he buried his face in his hands and wept, like a child who had lost everything.

Yet while he was consumed by self-blame, the world outside continued to burn. No matter how hard the authorities tried to stamp out the flames, stray sparks kept igniting new ones.

Then came the pivotal moment: a live-stream, a shocking live-stream of murder.

The footage and every related video were scrubbed from the entire network within five minutes.

But by then, more than a million people had already seen it: a patient suffering from Debilitating Syndrome, slowly rising from his hospital bed as if he had been reborn… after killing a man with his own hands.

Society erupted.

People dug up the old man’s “energy theory” from obscurity.

The once-ridiculed, “absurd” theory was now being pored over by scholars everywhere.

Every day, journalists crowded outside his home, hoping to interview him.

The old man refused to leave his home and rejected every interview request.

Someone then declared that the old man was a demon sent by the Lord of Hell to destroy the world. The only way to restore peace, they claimed, was to bind him to a cross and burn him alive.

Incredibly, such madness gained traction. Even Bernie and the others nearly became victims of this hysteria.

The old man ordered them not to leave the house, not even for school.

But the chaos continued to spiral.

Less than a month later, a fugitive convict who had already killed more than a hundred people smashed an armored police robot with a single punch, then crushed over ten drones with his bare hands before disappearing into the crowd.

That incident lit the fuse.

The alliance could no longer cover anything up.

The truth was laid bare for all to see.

The energy theory was real.

The total energy of the entire species was fixed.

The “immortals” of legend—those who could ascend to the heavens and tread the lands—truly existed, simply because there were fewer people back then, giving each person a larger share of energy.

The “one-man armies” of history were not exaggerations. Generals who crushed battlefields single-handedly might indeed have been able to fight ten thousand alone.

Killing with one’s own hands transferred energy.

The closer the kill, the greater the gain.

Sniping from a distance accomplished nothing; the energy dissipated and was redistributed equally among everyone.

Killing one person could heal Debilitating Syndrome.

Killing ten people granted perfect health and longevity.

Killing a hundred made one invulnerable, able to shatter armor with a single punch.

And what about killing a thousand? Ten thousand?

No one knew.

But people couldn’t help wondering.

Panic spread. Trust crumbled. Even loved ones began to eye one another with suspicion.

There was no trust between people.

Many carried weapons in their bags when they went out, just in case.

Because from that day on, anyone could have a reason and a motive to kill them, especially the families of Debilitating Syndrome patients… and the patients themselves.

In this storm, those suffering from the syndrome didn’t receive the sympathy the old man had once hoped for. Instead, they faced unprecedented discrimination and isolation.

And in this long, suffocating atmosphere, something inside some of them began to change.

*If they want to kill us…*

*If they want to use us as their fuel for power…*

*If the world is already this dangerous…*

*Shouldn’t I strike first?*