Chapter 72: The Perfect Awakening Condition of Vector Control — 'Space' [6000-Word Epic Chapter]

Ten o’clock in the evening. Coastal District, Stellar Envoy Association – Deep Blue Branch – Office Tower.

Boom!

In mid-September, the weather in Deep Blue Metropolis was as fickle as the sea itself. A thunderclap split the sky above the ocean, and just like that, the once-sunny Coastal District—bathed in daylight only hours ago—was now shrouded in a sudden downpour. The rain grew heavier, relentless.

Tap-tap-tap—

Goen’s black leather boots stepped into a puddle, the sound echoing as he advanced under his umbrella toward the grand entrance of the Deep Blue Branch office building.

No longer the absurdly dressed figure he had been before Tian Dao and the others. Gone was the ridiculous husky headgear. His once-ordinary referee uniform had been traded for a sleek, obsidian-black Stellar Envoy suit, its fabric as dark and sharp as raven feathers.

Goen lifted his gaze to the sky, watching raindrops fall like needles from the heavens. He muttered under his breath, “We’re surrounded by sea on all sides, yet we still have to endure this messy, ever-changing weather system. What, is this some kind of ritual? A dramatic flourish for the drama?”

He shook his head in disbelief, then folded his umbrella and slid it into the rack beside the entrance.

After brushing the last drops from his shoulders, he stepped inside—into the glowing, bustling heart of the building.

Though it was past working hours, the hallways still hummed with activity. Hundreds of clerical staff were still at their desks, typing, filing, and coordinating. The moment they caught sight of Goen’s signature Stellar Envoy uniform and the badge pinned to his chest, they froze. Heads bowed. A silent, instinctive respect.

Goen, ever composed, gave a courteous nod to each of them—no arrogance, just quiet dignity.

The reaction was electric. Some looked stunned. Others flushed with excitement, breaths quickening. To these ordinary clerks, Goen—the Second-Rank Stellar Envoy—was a legend. A symbol of strength, mystery, and power. To be acknowledged by him, even in passing, felt like a fan meeting their idol.

Amidst the awed gazes, Goen moved through the crowd and approached an old-fashioned elevator in the center of the hall.

A flick of his finger across his badge. Instantly, two of the seven stars etched into the emblem glowed faintly white.

With a soft click, the octopus statue atop the elevator door opened its eyes. A beam of emerald light shot out, scanning Goen from head to toe.

【Ping! Identity verified.】

【Stellar Envoy Association – Deep Blue Branch welcomes the esteemed Second-Rank Stellar Envoy, Mr. Goen.】

The familiar, mechanical voice—so polished it made Goen want to gag—echoed through the hall.

The ancient elevator doors slid open.

Goen stepped in. The doors sealed shut behind him.

No need to press a button. The elevator began descending—smooth, silent, plunging into the abyss below.

Inside the mirrored cabin, Goen adjusted his collar and straightened his cuffs.

In the reflection, 25-year-old Goen stood tall—around 185 cm, his clean-cut black buzz cut framing sharp, defined features. His expression was serious, composed, the image of a disciplined, upright Stellar Envoy.

Utterly different from the flamboyant, almost clownish persona he’d shown to Tian Dao and the others.

This was the public face Goen wore—everywhere, always. The image he cultivated with precision.

But beneath it all? A lie.

His true self—the one he showed to Tian Dao—was chaotic, rebellious, utterly unbound by rules. A man who defied convention, who walked his own path.

And this duality wasn’t random. It stemmed from his Stellar Source: Referee, a Trait Class centered on fairness. The fact that he’d awakened to Second Rank proved he deeply believed in fairness.

But Goen’s definition of fairness? It was the opposite of what the Association taught.

To him, the so-called “fairness” of the current system—where rules are used to leash the strong, to force them to hide their power—wasn’t fairness at all. It was the ultimate injustice.

They called it balance. But it was really just suppression. A world where the sword is sheathed, the armor rusts, and the mighty become indistinguishable from the weak.

Goen scoffed at that.

Real fairness, he believed, wasn’t about holding back the strong. It was about letting them unleash their full potential—then using that power to lead the weak forward, to carve paths through chaos, to open new frontiers.

The weak, in his view, had no right to judge the strong. No right to set rules for those who stood ahead.

He knew his ideals were radical. Dangerous, even. In the eyes of the New Federation, he was a heretic.

But Goen wasn’t blind. He understood the cost of defiance. So while he raged internally against the system, he played the part—obedient, disciplined, fair.

Because in the eyes of the Stellar Envoy Association, he was still a weakling. A speck. He had no power. No voice. No right to challenge.

But he believed one day—he would change it.

One day, he would stand where the rules were made. And then, he would rewrite them.

That was the dream of the Referee. The fire in his soul.

The elevator slowed. The doors opened.

Goen stepped out, expression blank.

He stood now in the true heart of the Deep Blue Branch: Deep Blue · Chao Sheng Zhi Suo.

A young Stellar Envoy, waiting patiently, rushed forward.

“Goen Deputy Captain, the special envoy from the First Floating City – Star Track Corridor has arrived at the meeting room.”

“Besides you, the Branch Head and the other squad leaders are on their way. Please follow me.”

Goen nodded. “Lead the way.”

As they walked, Goen casually asked, “Did the envoy mention the purpose of this mission?”

The woman shook her head. “No. He only said we need to loan him a full combat platoon.”

“Oh?” Goen raised an eyebrow. “A full platoon? That’s… ambitious.”

The woman sighed. “We only have three combat platoons total. And he wants one of them—entirely.”

“If he can’t justify it, I doubt the Branch Head will agree. We’re not the headquarters. We don’t have extra manpower to spare.”

Goen nodded slowly. “True. This isn’t the Central Office. We’re stretched thin.”

“Here we are, Goen Deputy Captain. This is the meeting hall.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Deputy Captain.”

---

Meanwhile, in the quiet residential district of Coastal District, Tian Dao lay half-reclined on his bed, staring at his fingertips.

A peculiar Hei Cang hovered above them—small, delicate, almost harmless. Nothing like the massive, destructive energy spheres he usually summoned.

It was different. Special.

After watching it for a long moment, Tian Dao whispered, “Perfect Awakening. I thought I’d only learn the full details when The Stars · Faint Light aired in Season Two. But here it is—already in the prequel.”

Perfect Awakening. Before meeting Goen that day, Tian Dao had known almost nothing about it. He’d only heard the term once—briefly—during the final scene of Season One.

It was spoken by a Fourth-Rank Senior Stellar Envoy from the Central Office.

That moment had planted a seed. Because that envoy had referred to Doctor as a “Second Perfect Awakening, Third-Class Perfect Stellar Envoy.”

That meant there was a second tier of ranking—beyond the standard 1234 levels.

A system of sub-ranks: Lower, Middle, Upper, and finally—Perfect.

Though the envoy hadn’t explained the mechanics, the implication was clear: the Perfect rank wasn’t about strength. It was about completion.

Like in cultivation novels—Lower-grade Golden Core, Middle-grade, Upper-grade, and finally, Tian Dao-level Golden Core.

Tian Dao had known of Perfect Awakening’s existence for a long time. But he didn’t know how to achieve it.

Until today.

Goen’s obsession with a 100% win rate—his near-fanatical dedication to never losing—had sparked a theory in Tian Dao’s mind.

If Goen’s Perfect Awakening required maintaining a perfect record across hundreds of battles, then… what was his condition?

And more importantly—could the same principle apply to Stellar Core?

After all, the Stellar Core originated from the Stellar Beast. But fundamentally, it was still a Stellar Source. The only difference? Its power had fused completely into the beast’s blood and DNA—no longer pure, but integrated.

So if Perfect Awakening existed for Stellar Sources, why not for Stellar Cores?

Tian Dao’s mind raced.

Then—he couldn’t wait anymore.

With a sudden burst of energy, he leapt from the bed and crushed the tiny Hei Cang in his hand.

The shattered fragments burst into light, dissolving into the air.

He turned to the window, where rain poured down onto the empty courtyard.

“Thinking won’t help. I need to test it.”

He stepped out into the storm.

---

At the same time, Kalolin—previously engrossed in her tablet—heard the sound of Tian Dao’s footsteps below.

She set down her device and walked to the window.

There he was—standing alone in the rain, bathed in the dim glow of the streetlights.

Kalolin didn’t know what he was doing. But she trusted him. He never did anything without reason.

So she watched.

And watched.

And watched.

Until dawn broke.

The storm had passed. Clouds parted. A sliver of golden light crept across the horizon.

Tian Dao’s eyes snapped open.

He punched.

At that moment, the five miniature Hei Cang—each just one-fifth the size of normal—swirled around him, then converged on his right wrist.

In a flash, they dissolved—fusing into his hand.

Boom!

A surge of black light erupted from his fist.

The grass in front of him exploded—a five-meter-wide, fifteen-meter-long trench carved into the earth.

If that punch had struck a person—especially a Stellar Envoy—it would have been fatal.

But Tian Dao wasn’t unscathed.

His right hand—fingers swollen, palm and forearm now purple with bruising—was badly injured.

And that was unthinkable.

His Vector Control should have shielded him. It twisted all energy, redirected it away from his body. He rarely got hurt.

Yet here he was—injured, just from a single punch.

Why?

Because he hadn’t used his Vector Field at all.

He’d pulled all the energy into his arm—compressed it, stored it—and then released it all at once.

No buffer. No protection.

Just raw, concentrated force.

And that was the key.

Tian Dao’s eyes burned with exhilaration.

He’d found it.

The condition for his Perfect Awakening.

It was Space.

---

Vector—a geometric object with both magnitude and direction.

Tian Dao’s Vector Control could turn abstract vectors into tangible, manipulable realities.

Take a speeding truck on a road. To change its course, he’d normally have to push the whole vehicle—costing massive energy.

But what if he could target smaller components?

Change the front wheels. Twist the steering wheel.

Same result. Less energy.

To do that, two things were required:

1. Greater control range.

2. Smaller control units.

Currently, Tian Dao’s maximum Vector Control range was 9 millimeters, with a limit of 1 millimeter per unit.

His smallest unit? 1 cubic centimeter.

Most people’s awakening path focused on range—pushing the limit to the edge of the centimeter threshold. That’s when the Stellar Source awakens.

The closer the range to centimeters, the higher the awakening rank—up to Upper Tier.

But to reach Perfect? That wasn’t enough.

The minimum unit had to also reach millimeter-level precision.

Only then could the Vector Control transcend the Upper Tier—and achieve the legendary Perfect Awakening.

And now, Tian Dao understood why Goen’s obsession with 100% wins made sense.

Because a Referee isn’t just about fairness.

It’s about control.

A true referee doesn’t just enforce rules. They manage the rhythm of the game.

And to do that, they must slip between fairness and unfairness—just enough to shape the flow.

That delicate balance? That’s the threshold Goen was chasing.

The same threshold Tian Dao now knew he had to cross.

But before he could plan how to achieve it, a sharp slap landed on his back.

Tian Dao flinched.

Kalolin stood behind him, face dark, eyes blazing.

“Tian Dao,” she said, voice low and icy. “I understand your drive. I respect your effort.”

“But next time… please warn me before you do something like this.”

“Uh…” Tian Dao rubbed his good hand, grinning weakly. “I… I was just so excited. I thought you were asleep. I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t think,” she cut in. “You didn’t consider. You didn’t even try to wake me.”

He winced. She was right.

She grabbed his injured hand—hard.

“Ow! Lighter! Kalolin, stop!”

“Now you feel it?” she snapped. “You didn’t feel it when you were smashing your hand into the ground!”

“If I hadn’t come down here, you’d still be standing there, letting that injury get worse!”

“Fine. Come with me. I’ve got some Dream Candy from Jing Ruli. Eat one. Then I’ll bandage you properly.”

“Kalolin, please—stop squeezing! It’s hurting!”

“Good. You should hurt. That’s how you learn.”

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry! I know I messed up!”

“Shut up. I need to check your bones, your muscles, your blood vessels. Stay still!”

“Yes… yes, ma’am…”

---

In Kalolin’s room, Tian Dao sat on the edge of the bed, silently enduring her fierce inspection.

Doctor always said she was his tool.

But Tian Dao knew the truth.

He was the one who was trained. Scolded. Guided.

And he didn’t mind.

Because she was his anchor.

---

PS:

Vector Control Units: centimeter (cm), millimeter (mm), decimillimeter (dmm), centimillimeter (cmm), micrometer (μm), nanometer (nm)

Note: This is fiction. These are units of length—not Space units. I know that. But for narrative clarity, I’m using them this way. Don’t hate me, you pedants. This isn’t a physics paper. It’s a story.

One more chapter before midnight.

This one drained every last brain cell I had.

As a literature major, I’m amazed I survived.

But I finally cracked the logic for a plausible Perfect Awakening condition.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end