Disaster-Level Player Is Too Good at Broadcasting

The fourth session began the way the previous three had and then became something else entirely.

Kang Min stood in the center of the workshop floor while Jiseok worked, the building mana moving through the familiar depth of the boundary layer, the framework's anchor points receiving the continuation of what the third session had left as an outline. The star was present from the beginning of the session in the way it had been present since the direct contact — not dormant, not passive, fully oriented toward the work and contributing its structure to the framework's interior.

The difference in the fourth session was the quality of that contribution.

Where previous sessions had felt like parallel effort, Jiseok building and the star supporting what was being built, the fourth session had the quality of synchronized work. The star's preservation instinct wasn't adding structure to what Jiseok was placing. It was meeting the framework's elements as they arrived, the way a well-matched material met a well-calibrated forging process — not two forces working on the same problem separately but the same process running from both sides simultaneously.

Kang Min held still and let it happen.

He could feel both of them working in the boundary layer, the specific quality of Jiseok's craft mana and the older, slower, structural quality of the star's preservation property, the two of them operating at the interface point between his dominant soul and the star's essence with a precision that the previous sessions had been building toward without arriving at.

The framework's interior work ran faster than it had ever run. Not rushed — precise, each element placed and received and integrated before the next was placed, the pace of people who understood each other's process well enough to work at capacity without getting ahead of each other.

Forty minutes in, the interior was done.

Twenty minutes after that, the perimeter.

Ten minutes after that, Jiseok lowered his hands.

The silence after was different from the silence after the previous sessions. Those had been the silence of work paused, a session ending with the project still open. This was the silence of completion.

Kang Min pressed two fingers against the fracture line on his neck.

The golden light was there. It was always going to be there — the fracture was sealed, not erased, scar tissue rather than open wound, and scar tissue held what it sealed rather than removing the evidence that something had been there. But the quality of the light had changed in the way Jiseok had said it would change when the boundary work was done. Not bleeding outward through the crack edges. Contained. Clean at the margins, a line rather than a spread.

He moved his fingers along the line.

Sealed.

The whole frame felt different. Not dramatically — the Tower didn't announce structural changes in the body the way it announced floor completions, no system notification, no stat window update. It was more like the difference between a building's foundation under strain and a foundation that had been reinforced, the same building, the same load, but the distribution working rather than failing. The frame holding what it held without the constant low-level awareness of something about to give.

He hadn't known he had been carrying that awareness until it wasn't there.

He looked at Jiseok.

Jiseok was watching him with the expression that processed findings without announcing them, giving the result of the session space to settle before speaking.

"The star," Kang Min said.

"Still present," Jiseok said. "The framework defines the relationship rather than changing the merger's fundamental structure. The star's essence remains where it has been. The preservation property continues to function. The difference is that the function now operates through a managed interface rather than through unchecked contact with the frame's load-bearing structure."

"And the fractures."

"Sealed from the boundary layer outward. The existing fracture lines in the body's surface structure will persist as scar tissue. They won't spread." He paused. "New fractures won't form from the same mechanism. The interface distributes the load that was previously concentrated at the merger point."

"The myth-grade restriction," Kang Min said.

"Lifted," Jiseok said. "The framework is designed to handle myth-grade fable density integration within normal accumulation parameters. Taking on high-tier fables at the pace you were running before the fractures appeared is within the framework's tolerance." He looked at Kang Min. "Within reason."

"You keep adding that qualification."

"Because you don't always operate within reason," Jiseok said, with the flat directness that was the closest he came to dry humor.

Kang Min looked at the completed pieces along the workshop walls. The decades of work in their cases. The single unfinished piece on the working surface, still in its early assembly, exactly where it had been since the first visit.

He looked at it for a moment.

"Are you going to finish that," he said.

Jiseok followed his gaze to the working surface. A pause before answering, longer than most of his pauses. "When the right material presents itself," he said.

It was not the full answer and both of them knew it. Kang Min let it stand.

He picked up the Stellar Breaker.

"The sessions are done," he said. He said it as a statement, not a question, confirmation rather than inquiry.

"The sessions are done," Jiseok confirmed.

Kang Min looked at him. Kim Jiseok in a constellation's cloak standing in a workshop full of weapons that had quietly changed what was possible for human climbers across multiple floors of the Tower. The man from the senior forge hall forty years ago and the man who had built the body Kang Min was standing in and the constellation who had spent decades thinking about a ceiling and building things that interacted with the forces that maintained it.

"Thank you," Kang Min said. He said it the way he said things that were completely meant and didn't require additional structure around them.

Jiseok held his gaze for a moment and said nothing, which was also completely meant.

Kang Min went to the transit point and stepped through.

The staging area on the other side was the ordinary light of the Tower's transit system, the stone floor and the gate markers and the other climbers moving through their own transitions to their own floors.

He walked through it and felt the frame that he was walking in, the distributed load, the sealed boundary, the star's preservation property operating through its managed interface. The same weight he had been carrying for years, the same merger, the same body built for someone else.

Different structure. Different load distribution.

He went toward the floors.