The change came quickly.
Too quickly.
Three days earlier, the news had been little more than headlines and broadcasts. Discussions about Union of Power and Sanctify dominated television channels, social media feeds, and military briefings. The Seoul Great Gate had become the center of the world's attention.
Now, the consequences had arrived.
In force.
Superhumans from Europe and America poured into Asia like an incoming tide.
Airports became crowded with awakened individuals carrying guild insignias openly across their jackets and equipment. Private aircraft occupied runways that would normally have remained empty. Luxury hotels suddenly found themselves hosting S-ranked veterans, elite raid leaders, and powerful hunters from nations thousands of kilometers away.
Everywhere people looked, there were unfamiliar faces.
Foreign accents.
Foreign powers.
Foreign agendas.
The Malay Archipelago was no exception.
Hotels that had struggled for years suddenly found every room booked solid.
Homestays tripled their prices overnight and still could not meet demand.
Restaurants extended operating hours.
Taxi and rideshare drivers worked overtime.
Small business owners smiled as foreign currencies flowed freely through local economies.
For many civilians, it felt like an unexpected economic miracle.
For governments, it was a logistical headache.
For law enforcement...
It was a nightmare waiting to happen.
Because wherever large numbers of superhumans gathered, trouble inevitably followed.
Especially young superhumans.
Battle-hardened.
Proud.
Powerful.
And often far too accustomed to getting their own way.
The first incidents seemed minor.
Arguments inside bars.
Disputes between guild members.
Shouting matches that drew crowds before quickly dispersing.
Then came the street confrontations.
The accidental collisions.
The territorial posturing.
The subtle displays of power meant less as threats and more as declarations.
I am stronger than you.
Know your place.
Small skirmishes began occurring almost daily.
A shove here.
A broken window there.
A careless energy discharge that damaged property.
A sparring match that escalated into something less friendly.
Nothing catastrophic.
Nothing headline-worthy.
Yet enough to make ordinary people nervous.
The crime rate rose slightly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to be noticed.
Enough for news channels to begin discussing it.
Enough for parents to tell their children to come home earlier.
Enough for civilians to glance twice before walking past groups of armed superhumans.
And yet—
Nothing truly serious happened.
Nothing escalated.
Because everyone understood one simple fact.
This was Ultimatum's territory.
No matter how powerful the visitors were.
No matter which guild they belonged to.
No matter how important they believed themselves to be.
Every superhuman entering Malaysian territory quickly learned the same unspoken rule.
Do not cause trouble here.
Ultimatum did not issue warnings.
Ultimatum did not negotiate.
Ultimatum erased problems.
That reputation had been built carefully over years.
And unlike many reputations, it was completely deserved.
The knowledge hung over the country like an invisible ceiling.
A pressure no one could quite ignore.
It maintained order.
But it did not create comfort.
If anything, the atmosphere felt increasingly fragile.
Like glass stretched too thin.
Everyone knew something would eventually break.
That morning, however, Isey chose not to think about any of it.
The world had enough people worrying.
Today belonged to someone else.
His daughter.
He had promised her a day out.
For once, the apocalypse could wait.
The Kuala Lumpur Book Fair sprawled across the convention center in a vibrant explosion of color and noise.
Massive banners hung from the ceiling.
Publishers occupied entire sections of the hall.
Authors sat behind long tables signing books and posing for photographs.
The scent of paper, coffee, and fresh ink filled the air.
Children darted between stalls clutching comics and picture books.
Teenagers crowded fantasy sections.
Adults pretended they were browsing casually while clearly purchasing far more books than they intended.
The atmosphere felt warm.
Comfortable.
Normal.
A reminder that humanity still knew how to enjoy itself.
Isey walked through the crowd at a leisurely pace.
His wife walked beside him.
Between them marched their daughter with all the confidence of a tiny conqueror exploring newly discovered territory.
A small backpack bounced against her shoulders with every step.
"This one!"
She pointed dramatically toward a display overflowing with illustrated adventure novels.
Isey followed her finger.
Then sighed.
"Again?"
His daughter nodded enthusiastically.
"You already picked three books."
"But this one has dragons."
The response carried the absolute certainty of someone presenting an irrefutable argument.
Isey glanced at his wife.
She was already trying not to laugh.
"She's got a point," she said.
"Of course you would say that."
His wife reached over and ruffled their daughter's hair.
"We'll read them together tonight."
The little girl immediately beamed.
Victory achieved.
Crisis resolved.
For a brief moment, the world felt wonderfully simple.
Just a family enjoying a day together.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Then the atmosphere shifted.
Subtly.
But unmistakably.
Isey felt it before he heard anything.
A familiar sensation crawled across his skin.
Like static.
Like tension gathering before lightning struck.
His expression didn't change.
But his attention sharpened immediately.
Voices were rising near the far side of the hall.
At first, it sounded harmless.
The kind of argument that happened in crowded places.
Someone bumped into someone else.
Someone said the wrong thing.
Nothing unusual.
People nearby turned to look.
Curiosity spread through the crowd.
Then Isey noticed the source.
A group of American superhumans stood near a rare manuscript booth.
Their guild insignias were visible.
Their accents unmistakable.
Their confidence even more so.
One of them—a broad-shouldered man wearing a jacket decorated with a stylized eagle emblem—glared across the aisle.
"Hey."
His voice carried easily.
"Watch where you're standing."
Several heads turned.
"You bumped into me."
Opposite them stood four local superhumans.
Young.
Malaysian.
Probably C-ranked, perhaps low B-ranked at best.
Strong enough to be dangerous.
Weak enough to know exactly how dangerous their opponents might be.
One of the locals frowned.
"You pushed forward first."
His voice remained controlled.
"This is a public event."
The American scoffed.
"Public doesn't mean weaklings get priority."
The word landed badly.
Very badly.
Several civilians immediately stepped backward.
Even the nearby security guards hesitated.
Nobody wanted to step between awakened individuals once pride became involved.
The local team's leader clenched his fists.
"You should apologize."
His jaw tightened.
"You're not in your country."
A few Americans laughed.
One of them stepped forward.
"And you think that matters?"
Tiny sparks danced across his knuckles.
Not enough to hurt anyone.
Just enough to make a point.
A deliberate display.
"We're here for the Seoul Gate."
His smile carried unmistakable contempt.
"You're just scenery."
Gasps spread through the surrounding crowd.
The power leak was small.
Controlled.
Intentional.
An insult disguised as intimidation.
Isey immediately placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder.
"Stay close."
His voice remained calm.
Steady.
His wife didn't ask questions.
She simply moved their daughter behind her without hesitation.
The local team visibly bristled.
"You want to start something here?"
One of them stepped forward.
The American answered immediately.
"I want you to remember your place."
The hall fell silent.
For one dangerous second, everyone understood exactly where this was heading.
Then someone threw the first punch.
Chaos erupted.
A blur of enhanced strength crossed the space between them.
A crack echoed through the convention hall.
A display shelf exploded into splinters.
Hundreds of books burst into the air like startled birds.
People screamed.
Civilians scattered.
Two superhumans crashed through a booth, collapsing shelves and sending manuscripts tumbling across the floor.
Another American released a burst of energy that scorched the tiles beneath his feet.
Not enough to kill.
More than enough to terrify.
The local team fought back immediately.
Not recklessly.
Desperately.
Trying to contain the fight.
Trying to keep civilians safe.
Trying not to let things spiral further.
"Stop!"
Someone shouted.
Nobody listened.
The crowd continued retreating.
Security guards abandoned any illusion of intervention.
And through it all—
Isey remained still.
Watching.
Observing.
Calculating.
The familiar instinct stirred within him.
The desire to step forward.
To end it.
To restore order before anyone got seriously hurt.
His body was already prepared.
Already ready to move.
Yet he remained where he was.
Because this wasn't his responsibility anymore.
And because he already knew someone else would handle it.
The temperature dropped.
Not dramatically.
Not enough to create frost.
Just enough for everyone to notice.
A subtle chill passed through the hall.
Like reality itself had suddenly taken a slow, measured breath.
The fighting slowed.
Only slightly.
Just enough.
Then a woman's voice echoed through the chaos.
Calm.
Clear.
Absolute.
"That's enough."
Everyone froze.
The entrance of the hall stood open.
And there she was.
A single woman dressed in white.
No dramatic entrance.
No overwhelming display of power.
No visible threat.
Yet her presence alone silenced the room.
Elise.
The Ice Empress.
One of Ultimatum's strongest members.
The reaction was immediate.
The Americans went pale.
Not because she attacked.
Not because she threatened them.
Because they knew who she was.
Every serious superhuman knew.
Even many S-ranked fighters from America could not guarantee victory against the Ice Empress.
The individuals standing here?
A-ranked at best.
Perhaps lower.
The difference between them and Elise might as well have been an ocean.
The local Malaysian team visibly relaxed.
Relief flooded their faces.
Nobody needed an introduction.
Nobody needed confirmation.
Elise raised one hand.
The motion was simple.
Effortless.
Almost bored.
"Leave."
Her voice never rose.
"Now."
The Americans hesitated.
Pride battled survival.
For a moment, it looked like someone might argue.
Then reality won.
One of them swallowed visibly.
Another lowered his eyes.
Eventually, the broad-shouldered leader nodded.
Without another word, they backed away.
Their pride was wounded.
Their anger remained.
But fear proved stronger.
Within minutes, they were gone.
The confrontation ended as quickly as it had begun.
Cleanup crews arrived.
Medics checked minor injuries.
Damaged stalls were reorganized.
Scattered books were collected.
Slowly, cautiously, the book fair resumed.
The conversations returned.
The laughter followed.
Though quieter now.
More careful.
Isey looked down.
His daughter was staring at the scattered books with wide eyes.
The little girl tugged gently on his sleeve.
"Daddy?"
"Hm?"
She pointed toward the area where the fight had occurred.
"Are they bad guys?"
The question was innocent.
Simple.
Isey crouched down until he was at eye level with her.
Then he smiled.
A small, gentle smile.
"No."
His daughter blinked.
"No?"
He shook his head.
"They're just people who forgot where they were."
She considered that answer seriously.
Then nodded.
Apparently satisfied.
A few moments later, she glanced toward the entrance where Elise had stood.
Her eyes sparkled.
"The Ice Empress is great."
Isey chuckled.
"Is she?"
His daughter nodded enthusiastically.
"I want to be like her someday."
His wife laughed softly.
Isey smiled.
Something told him Elise would have absolutely no idea how to handle that information.
As they continued walking through the fair, he glanced once toward the entrance.
Elise was already gone.
No applause.
No recognition.
No lingering presence.
Just another problem solved.
Exactly the way Ultimatum preferred.
The world was crowded.
Dangerous.
Restless.
Every nation prepared for the coming storm.
Every guild sharpened its weapons.
Every powerful figure watched Seoul.
But moments like this reminded Isey why Ultimatum existed.
Not for glory.
Not for fame.
Not even for victory.
It existed for the ordinary people wandering through book fairs.
For families buying children's stories.
For parents making promises about bedtime reading.
For fragile moments of peace that deserved to survive.
And sometimes, preserving those moments only required a single sentence from the right person.
"That's enough."
In Ultimatum's territory, it usually was.