The job change is a bizarre and calamity; the nation begs me to tone it down.

Yamamoto Furukawa did not speak, but his silence itself was an answer.

In everyone's perception, the source level is indeed the ceiling.

To touch the origin of the world and grasp a part of its operating rules—this is already the ultimate achievement that mortals can attain.

Even an old monster like Chen Zhenyuan spent hundreds of years barely managing to reach the threshold of this realm.

What lies above the Source level?

No one has thought about this question.

Because within the scope of our understanding on Earth, this question is meaningless.

Just like you wouldn't ask a tree "What's above the sky?"—because that's not something the tree needs to worry about.

But Miyamoto Kenichi's next words made Yamamoto Furukawa realize that this tree probably needed some attention.

"I can tell you with absolute certainty that the source level is not the apex level."

Kenichi Miyamoto held up one finger, his tone resolute, "Source level, is far from the true pinnacle. So far that even if you stood here with binoculars, you couldn't see the edge."

"In places we can't see—in those higher planes, in those wider worlds—the Source level is everywhere."

Yamamoto Furukawa felt as if someone had slammed on the brakes and then floored the accelerator.

Cognition underwent countless upheavals and reconstructions in just a few seconds.

Source-level resources are everywhere?

What the hell does that even mean?

On Earth, those at the Source level are extremely rare, standing at the very top of the pyramid, and can be counted on one hand and one foot.

The level that Chen Zhenyuan reached after hundreds of years of dedicated effort.

This would be considered commonplace outside?

"You can think of this plane of existence as a place."

Kenichi Miyamoto seems to be very good at using metaphors, although his metaphors are always so commonplace that they make people cringe.

"If the entire multiverse were a vast empire, it would have a capital, provincial capitals, large cities, small towns, county towns, and rural areas—"

Where are we?

Miyamoto Kenichi asked himself the question and answered it, a bitter smile playing on his lips.

"We lived in a natural village outside the countryside. Below the natural village was a production team that wasn't connected by a road. Next to the production team was a small, nameless hill."

Yamamoto Furukawa felt his blood pressure rise again.

"We fought to the death with other races on this small hill, fighting over who could occupy even a small more plot of land. In our view, this was a matter of national destiny and the survival of our race."

Miyamoto Kenichi's tone was completely flat, without the slightest ripple.

"But in the eyes of the truly powerful forces outside—"

He paused for a moment: "That's like two groups of ants fighting over a single grain of rice."

The room was so quiet that even breathing had ceased.

Yamamoto Furukawa could feel his heart pounding wildly against his ribs inside his chest.

That feeling wasn't fear, but something deeper.

It is insignificant.

It is insignificant on the level of existence.

This feeling of insignificance is more suffocating than any enemy or disaster.

"That……"

Yamamoto Furukawa's throat was as dry as sandpaper, and he managed to squeeze out a few words with great difficulty, "Why don't those beings from higher dimensions come and destroy us?"

This problem is actually quite easy to understand.

Given the existence of so many overwhelming forces outside, why have these "ants" on Earth managed to survive until now?

According to the logic of the survival of the fittest, they should have been trampled to death long ago.

When Miyamoto Kenichi heard this question, he laughed.

That smile carried a bitterness and helplessness unique to someone who had been through it all.

"Old Yamamoto, let me ask you a question in return."

When you're walking down the street, do you look down and pay attention to the ants under your feet?

Yamamoto Furukawa did not answer.

"You won't."

Kenichi Miyamoto answered to himself, "Because you don't even notice them. Even if you did, you wouldn't care. Whether an ant lives or dies has nothing to do with your life."

"You wouldn't intentionally step on it to death, but you wouldn't deliberately protect it either."

"It's there. Whether it's alive or dead, it's none of your business."

Miyamoto Kenichi looked into Yamamoto Furukawa's eyes.

"We are that ant."

"And those beings in higher dimensions are pedestrians walking on the road."

"The reason they didn't destroy us is not out of kindness, not out of consideration, and certainly not because of any cosmic covenant or dimensional rules."

"It's purely because—I'm too lazy."

"What good does killing a group of ants do for them? Nothing. It just wastes their time."

"So they chose to ignore it."

"It's that simple."

After those words were spoken, the air in the room seemed to solidify into glue.

Yamamoto Furukawa stood there, motionless.

His mind was in turmoil.

What surged was not anger or fear, but a sense of absurdity never before experienced.

He thought of everything he had done in his life.

Job changes, leveling up, breakthroughs, killing enemies, defending the country, scheming against various forces... In his view, each of these things is of great significance and is related to the future of the Blue Star.

But now Miyamoto Kenichi tells him—

Your actions, when viewed on the scale of the entire universe, wouldn't even cause a ripple.

The demigod realm you reach after a lifetime of effort is merely the starting point in the outside world.

The planet you protect and fight for is not even a speck of dust in the eyes of a true powerhouse.

This kind of cognitive collapse is far more cruel than losing a war.

Because even if you lose a war, at least you know who the enemy is.

But to find that you've never been on someone else's chessboard from the beginning—this feeling of being ignored is more despairing than being crushed.

Yamamoto Furukawa remained silent for a long time.

So long that even Miyamoto Kenichi almost thought the old man was actually meditating while standing.

Finally, a sentence was slowly squeezed out of Yamamoto Furukawa's parched throat.

The sound was so faint, like a mosquito buzzing.

"So, the opportunity you mentioned..."

Miyamoto Kenichi's eyes lit up.

He had waited so long for these words.

"right."

Miyamoto Kenichi stood up, and a certain power surging within his body beneath the floral shirt caused the space to tremble slightly.

"Since we are ants, we can't continue to live like ants."

"Either lie in the mud forever and wait to die."

"Want one—"

A smile curved Miyamoto Kenichi's lips, a smile that held ambition, madness, and a chilling certainty that sent shivers down Yamamoto Furukawa's spine.

"Learn to stand up."

"And the way to stand up is simple... it's to cooperate with them."

Yamamoto Furukawa frowned again.

Cooperation?

After all that fuss and going around in circles, the final solution is still to be a lackey?

"Miyamoto, do you think I'm getting senile?"

Yamamoto Furukawa sneered, "You just said it yourself, in their eyes we're not even as good as ants. Have you ever seen an elephant cooperate with an ant?"

Why would anyone cooperate with you? Because you look like a donkey?