Ch 83: My Multiverse Supermarket

Song Ganlan and the other players eventually realized that even after receiving “excellent” evaluations from every teacher and instructor, they were still only labeled as “Outstanding Students.”

After waiting a long time with no system notification for dungeon clearance, Song Ganlan finally asked the homeroom teacher of the Spring and Autumn Class, “Have we graduated?”

That was when the teacher revealed her true face. “Graduate? Who said becoming outstanding students meant you could graduate? You reported the school—you’ll never graduate!”

She then accused them of skipping class during school hours and began to hunt them down.

The players felt as though the sky had collapsed.

They had risked everything—offending every teacher and instructor in the academy—only to find that graduation was impossible.

Some began to resent An Yixiao, claiming she had never joined their plan because she wanted them to take the fall and bear the wrath of the school staff.

Song Ganlan snapped, “Enough! President An never said this plan was guaranteed to work. If you’ve got a foolproof one, show it.”

That shut them up—but trust had already shattered. Using “splitting up” as an excuse, they scattered to search for their own way to clear the dungeon.

Only a handful of Duan Jing’s loyal players stayed with Song Ganlan.

“Stick to the plan—head for the supermarket,” Song Ganlan said, pulling out the stun baton she’d bought there. Lightning cracked, sparks flew, and she fought her way forward.

But Mingde Academy was now surrounded by swarms of midges. It was like the end of the world—the visibility dropping by the second.

If it kept up, they’d lose their bearings and stumble straight into a trap.

Song Ganlan took the lead, but what blocked them wasn’t only the pollution—it was the monstrous teachers, the twisted instructors, and even former players who had become anomalies, trying to lure them back to class.

The people behind her fell one by one, and her body was covered with wounds.

At last, they spotted the supermarket.

As if unwilling to let them escape, the swarm of midges attacked with renewed ferocity just as they reached the protective barrier.

Blood streamed from Song Ganlan’s eyes. She gritted her teeth, clinging to consciousness as someone half-dragged, half-carried her into safety.

*

“Your eyes—are they injured?” Zhou Li asked, seeing blood tears running down Song Ganlan’s cheeks.

When Song Ganlan opened them, the bloated midges burst into the air, only to be crushed to dust by an invisible force.

“Come with me,” Zhou Li said, grabbing her arm.

She led her upstairs, laying her in the medical capsule and beginning the treatment sequence.

As the machine whirred and the medicine levels rapidly dropped, Zhou Li remarked, “Make sure you settle your medical bill before leaving the dungeon.”

Song Ganlan, who had been trembling from pain and on the verge of passing out, suddenly stilled. Even her hands stopped shaking.

With a faint laugh, she said, “If I can’t pay, does that mean I’ll have to stay and work off my debt like President An?”

Zhou Li replied, “This is a small supermarket. I don’t have that many job openings.”

“Then you can always create new ones.”

Zhou Li: …

A moment later, Song Ganlan stopped talking. The capsule had injected the anesthetic and begun the procedure.

Zhou Li left her in the capsule and went downstairs to check on the others—those with less severe wounds.

From their accounts, she pieced together more about the dungeon’s nature.

Apparently, neither the teachers nor instructors feared exposure.

The principal and director had both vanished, giving the illusion that the players were on the right track—but it was a trap.

One player, spotting Zhang Xiaozhi crouched in the stairwell, stormed over in rage. “It must be you! There’s no way an anomaly would actually help humans! You’re working with the school!”

“I’m not!” Zhang Xiaozhi protested. “Reporting the school only made them hate me. What good does that do me?”

“Helping humans doesn’t benefit you either! Why would you be so kind?”

Zhang Xiaozhi bristled. “Hey! You begged me for help first—and now you’re blaming me? Typical humans, always turning on others when things go wrong.”

They were seconds away from fighting, but everyone knew that starting a fight inside the supermarket would get them expelled from its protection, so they held back.

Zhou Li ignored the tension. She was thinking aloud: “Why aren’t the teachers and instructors afraid of media exposure?”

The players froze.

They realized they’d been so angry, they hadn’t thought about that.

“Maybe the principal’s got powerful connections,” someone suggested.

Zhou Li shook her head. “If that were true, he wouldn’t hide—he’d just make up a respectable excuse. Like when there’s undeniable evidence but someone still insists on camera that a rat head is actually a duck neck.”

“Rat head? Duck neck? What does that mean?” a player asked blankly.

“Just an example. Don’t worry about it,” Zhou Li said.

Then Zhang Xiaozhi spoke up. “What if the ones backing him are the parents?”

Everyone turned to stare.

Zhang Xiaozhi sneered. “None of us came here willingly. Our parents sent us. They know exactly what happens here, but they think this place can turn us into obedient puppets—filial children who’ll wash their feet and serve them. If public outrage ever threatens to shut the school down, they’ll defend it.”

Silence.

Because that explanation… fit too well.

What trapped these students wasn’t Mingde Academy—it was their parents.

Zhou Li muttered, “That’s just like those parents who defended that ‘Professor Yang.’”

She remembered the scandal of “Electroshock King Professor Yang,” whose anti-internet-addiction school was exposed for abuse. When reporters arrived, furious parents mobbed them, screaming that closing the school was the journalists’ fault.

And even after such institutions were banned, others—like Yuzhang Academy—rose in their place, torturing and imprisoning so-called “rebellious teens.”

Later, more schools like those surfaced in the news, each with dead students and grieving parents.

As long as there are parents who say, ‘I can’t control my kid, so I’ll hand them over to someone else,’ such schools will never disappear.

And as long as patriarchal “female virtue” ideology persists, institutions hiding behind “traditional culture” and “national studies” will keep reappearing.

“…But something still feels missing,” someone murmured.

“Missing what?”

“If this school isn’t officially accredited, and it denies running full-time primary and secondary programs, isn’t that technically illegal?”

Everyone fell silent.

“No wonder they’re not afraid of anything.”

“Then… there’s really nothing we can do?”

“Now you see why it’s called an S-class dungeon.”

Despair filled the room.

Zhou Li asked, “Where are An Yixiao and Duan Jing?”

The players shook their heads. “Who knows what President An’s thinking.”

Zhou Li gestured outside. “Given what’s happening out there, they must’ve triggered something big.”

That was her experience from the Dawn Village dungeon—massive environmental changes always meant someone had hit a key plot point.

They followed her gaze and instantly recoiled at the sight—distorted monsters filled the courtyard.

“Those are…”

Zhang Xiaozhi’s eyes widened. “My classmates! That’s Xiao Jun and the others!”

“You didn’t turn into one of them—why?” a player asked.

“I’m an anomaly,” Zhang Xiaozhi said.

“There are other anomalies out there too—mindless ones.”

Zhang Xiaozhi straightened her back. “I’m different. I’m an educated anomaly.”

Players: ?

They didn’t understand, so they simply assumed the supermarket’s isolation and purification field kept her stable.

Indeed—nothing felt safer than the supermarket.

Suddenly, there was a noise upstairs.

Just as panic spread, Zhou Li said calmly, “Song Ganlan’s treatment is finished. Someone go help her down.”

They blinked, realizing they’d forgotten about her.

Since Zhou Li hadn’t said where she was taking Song Ganlan earlier, they’d assumed she’d been sent out of the dungeon.

But no—she was upstairs the whole time.

So who had treated her?

Then came a weak voice: “No need. I can walk.”

Song Ganlan felt her way down the stairs, hand on the railing.

Her teammates rushed to her, eyes filling with concern. “Your eyes…”

Song Ganlan herself didn’t know what had happened.

She only knew that when she woke, her body was sore, her vision gone, and her wounds carefully bandaged.

Zhou Li glanced at the medical capsule’s report. “Your eyesight might recover, but you’ll need to follow the doctor’s instructions.”

“But I didn’t hear any instructions,” Song Ganlan said blankly.

Zhou Li replied, “I’m giving them to you now.”

That shut her up. She quietly listened to the rest.

When Zhou Li finished, one of the players couldn’t hold back. “Boss, who’s capable of fixing an eye that’s already destroyed?”

Even Blue Owl Guild’s famed healer Lü Chui couldn’t pull that off.

Zhou Li thought, That’s a next-generation medical capsule—if you’re still breathing, it can save you. Repairing an eyeball is nothing.

But out loud, she only said, “Trade secret.”

They didn’t press further.

As for Song Ganlan, she had felt something strange while inside the capsule, but since she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she kept her thoughts to herself.

☢️☢️☢️