First Intergalactic Emperor: Starting With The Ancient Goddess-Chapter 377: Ongoing Preps

The world spent the entire night losing its mind over Xavier’s performance in Starfall. Every news station, gossip channel, gaming network, and social platform replayed his final three minutes like it was a historical event.

Some networks analyzed his movements frame by frame, trying to explain how he dodged a barrage meant for tanks. Others compared his duel with ObsidianShade to classic martial arts films, claiming the two had "redefined VR combat."

A few crazy theorists even insisted Xavier had hacked the game because "no normal player could move like that," but most fans laughed and buried those posts immediately.

Clips of him shooting down the jet hit two billion views in a few hours. The moment he stabbed the mech core became a meme. His line "war" was being edited into every video possible.

Guilds who had fought him made long apology posts calling him "a monster in human form." Even galactic news channels he’d never heard of covered the event. Everywhere he looked, people were praising him, analyzing him, worshipping him, or complaining that he made the game look impossible for normal players.

By the time he finally peeled off the VR gear and dragged himself into bed, he was exhausted in a way that didn’t come from physical fighting. He lay back with the blanket half on him, eyes barely open, trying to let the noise fade for a moment.

He didn’t hear the soft footsteps crossing his living room. But he did feel the blanket shift when Angel slid under it without a single announcement and pressed herself into his side like she now belonged there.

Xavier cracked an eye open. "You do realize this is breaking and entering again."

Angel rested her head on his chest with a small, satisfied exhale. "You left the door unlocked. That’s basically an invitation."

"Or maybe I forgot."

"Too late. I’m here now."

Needless to say, the night hasn’t ended for them.

The next morning, Xavier woke to the sound of kitchen noise. Lyra and Lilia were already awake and arguing about something pointless. Angel had disappeared from his bed at some point but was now fully dressed and drinking tea as if she had just arrived from outside. They gathered together and took the elevator to the 10th floor, heading to Seraphina’s restaurant for breakfast.

The moment they stepped inside, Xavier’s face filled every holo-screen. News anchors were replaying his battles, narrating each moment with unnecessary drama.

"—in a stunning display, Xavier eliminated over two thousand players in the final minute of the Starfall Arena event—"

"—experts say his reaction time and adaptive strategy are ’beyond professional standards,’ raising questions about—"

"—ObsidianShade’s appearance in Mode 3 remains unexplained as the dev team denies—"

Lyra watched the screens with sparkles in her eyes. "My king is famous everywhere."

Lilia hid behind her menu, embarrassed by the attention everyone in the restaurant gave Xavier. Even the cooks in the back sneaked glances toward their table.

Meanwhile, Seraphina seemed a bit on the edge for some reason.

Angel sipped her coffee. "You know, you basically broke the internet again."

Xavier ignored her and looked out the window instead.

A small notification pinged in the corner of his watch.

[24 HOURS UNTIL ENGAGEMENT CEREMONY]

He leaned back in his chair, letting the reminder settle in. The time had finally come. There were only twenty-four hours left before Reva’s engagement. Twenty-four hours before everything he had been planning would either fall apart or begin for real.

He tapped his fingers once against the table. "If things go the way I expect," he muttered quietly, "today might be the last night I ever sleep in that apartment... or on this planet."

Angel glanced at him but didn’t say anything. Lilia froze for a moment, then lowered her eyes.

Xavier spent a few hours at Viola’s place, moving through drills she had hammered into him for weeks. She kept pushing him across the mat, adjusting his stance or the angle of his elbow whenever he slipped into old habits. When he blocked her sweep without even looking, she narrowed her eyes at him as if he did something illegal.

"Don’t look at me like that," he said. "I already mastered all your tricks."

"Hm? You mastered what?" Viola tilted her head, grabbed his wrist, and used the new hold she had been saving. Xavier hit the floor hard, staring up at her while she folded her arms. "If you mastered everything, you wouldn’t be lying there."

"Alright," he muttered, getting up, "show me something new then."

She shifted into a tighter stance and walked him through two new transitions—one where he redirected a grab into a throw from almost no space, and another that chained a strike into a chokehold without breaking momentum. Xavier tested it, messed up once, fixed it the second time, and the third time it clicked.

He smirked. "Not bad."

Viola flicked his forehead. "Try saying that after sparring me."

They went again.

She spent the next hour drilling him with a stance he hadn’t seen before. It forced him to shift his weight in ways he wasn’t used to. Twice he slipped and nearly face-planted. By the time they stopped, he was drenched in sweat. Viola seemed more exhausted than Xavier, and that smug little curve on her lips made him want to throw her again.

Xavier grabbed his jacket. "Alright. I owe you a drink for this."

"You owe me more than a drink," she said. "Maybe ’your’ drink can compensate for that."

He laughed, waved her off, and headed out.

He changed clothes and headed to the academy afterward. The space training chamber was busier than usual. Seniors moved in and out of the simulation pods, and Xavier’s instructor waved him toward the advanced section without lecturing him

Xavier ran through high-altitude entries, stabilizer corrections, rotational failures—anything he could cram into the afternoon. He messed up plenty, but he adapted quick enough that even the third-years kept glancing over.

At lunch, Oliver dragged him to the cafeteria. They sat at their usual corner table, but Oliver kept poking at his food instead of eating it.

"You’re acting weird," Xavier said.

"No, I’m... processing," Oliver replied, eyes still down. "This might be our last lunch together, you know?"

Xavier didn’t answer right away. That one hit harder than he expected.

"Don’t make it dramatic," he said finally. "I’m not dying. I’m just leaving."

Oliver tried to laugh, but it came out thin. They spent the rest of lunch talking trash to each other like usual, but the weight of that moment didn’t really go away.

After his lessons, Xavier headed to the Midnight Club. Angel was buried under a cluster of floating screens in her private room. She flicked a window aside and told him the update before he even sat down—about forty percent of the ship parts had arrived. Installation crews had already started phase-one work: hull reconfiguration, grav-shift alignment, stability clamps, all that advanced engineering crap she enjoyed listing.

Xavier skimmed the reports and shut one of the screens. "Will it be ready by tomorrow?"

She gave him a flat look. "Don’t ask me that again. It’ll be ready."

He nodded, and she turned away, but then she paused and snapped her fingers.

"Oh. Your hover car’s done."

That got him moving. Angel shut off the screens and followed him out the door so they could pick it up.