Lyra nodded, unfazed. "I understand."
"Show us something tech-based, something futuristic," Thorne chimed in excitedly from the side.
Lyra paused for a second before scrolling through the display until she landed on a different image. "This," she began, "is Kelnor. It's a futuristic, tech-based world with a Type 3 civilization. The plane itself is of a high tier located in the Orange Zone. The relative time will be slowed for eight years at a rate of 3.5:1."
"What about the body?" I asked.
Lyra smiled, a strange glint appearing in her eyes. "The body belongs to a boy named Zen Ryker, a 15-year-old young master from a mid-sized clan. He has an eighth-grade aptitude, one of the highest in this world." The display showed an image of a boy around our age, bleeding out in a forest. Lyra zoomed in on a rusty ring on Zen's finger. "The ring contains the soul of a 700-year-old mecha pilot named Zorix Vex. The soul is dormant right now, but with a little help from our side, we can easily awaken it."
I leaned in, intrigued. "So, you're saying?"
Lyra nodded. "Zorix Vex is currently looking for a way to get a new body. If you can make a deal with him, you'll have one of the strongest mecha pilots in history as your guide and mentor."
I nodded calmly while Thorne was practically shaking beside me. "You have to take this one," he blurted out. "This is perfect! If you get an old monster like him as your guide... I can't even imagine."
I didn't respond. Thorne was right—great aptitude, a young master, and an ancient master as a mentor. Whoever got this world would be unstoppable for sure. But again…
"Is there anything else?" I asked again.
Lyra's gaze remained steady, though her smile faltered slightly.
"What do you mean this hasn't piqued your interest? This world is absolutely perfect," Thorne declared. But I remained silent; slowly, a look of understanding dawned on his face. He let out a defeated sigh. "Fine, just show him something else."
Lyra maintained her professional demeanor, scrolling through more options. "This one here..."
She showed us a couple more worlds, but none of them stood out much, so after confirming the status of Thorne's order, we got up and left the building. It was already evening by the time we stepped out.
I lazily stretched my arms. "You wanna grab something to eat?"
"You're kidding me, right?" Thorne interrupted, his eyebrows scrunched up. "That world back there—it was perfect. It had everything. Are you seriously going to let it pass?"
"Thorne, look... you know it's complicated."
"No, it's not!" he countered sharply. "It was different before, but I'm leaving in a month. I won't be here for you. Are you seriously going to stake your life on a gamble? You don't know anything about that junk World rotting in your basement. You don't even know who you'd be transmigrated into. Hell, you don't even know if it's expired or not. You haven't told me your reasons, but it can't be anything so great that you'd risk your life for it."
"Listen—" I tried to interject, but Thorne cut me off again.
"What if that world is just a post-apocalyptic wasteland with no life forms other than you? What would you do then? What if you're born as some sickly child who doesn't even survive the next week? You know the statistics, right? Most divers—more than 80% of them—die in their first year. Here, we're trying our best to minimize that chance, but you want to rush straight in without any preparations?"
The same conversation, again. We'd had this argument a thousand times. And every time, it ended the same way—with Thorne shouting, blabbering on and on, and me just standing there, looking like a drowned puppy.
I didn't say anything. I couldn't; he was absolutely right; there was nothing to argue.
Thorne shook his head in exasperation. "Whatever. I still have a month left. We're coming back here next week, and this time, we're going to get you a new world, no matter what." Saying that, he started walking.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"To the taxi stand. Where else? We're going home."