Chapter 2: Chapter Two: The Scene Spins Out of Control

The cockpit was in terrible condition, and the cabin was no better.

“Ah!!”

“What’s happening?”

“Hey! Hey! How the hell are you flying this thing?!”

The plane continued its steep upward tilt, and passengers without seatbelts tumbled in all directions.

Boom!

The plane was still tilting, nearly vertical at ninety degrees.

As it tilted, the aircraft shook violently, becoming a hybrid of a roller coaster and bumper cars—fast and jolting.

Crash!

The violent shaking caused luggage in the overhead bins to collide, producing thunderous bangs.

“Ah!!”

Another jolt sent many bags tumbling out of their bins, crashing down toward passengers seated behind.

Some screamed from being struck; others were knocked unconscious by the weight of the falling luggage.

Some had their nasal bridges crushed, their faces disfigured, blood streaming down.

Crash!!

The plane shook again, now tilted almost perfectly vertical.

“Help!!”

“Save me!”

One passenger was flung from his seat, flying backward into the cabin’s abyss-like rear, bouncing off seatbacks and overhead bins mid-fall, screaming in agony, before slamming into the rear wall—alive or dead, no one knew.

Others, quicker to react, were thrown outward but seized the seatbacks like climbers scaling a cliff, gripping tightly to avoid being sucked into the rear cabin.

The plane’s steep ascent shifted the body’s center of gravity; even passengers with seatbelts were tautly pulled, feeling as if their bodies would lift off, terrified the belts would snap under the strain.

Everyone’s hearts rose, as if their very hearts were pulled upward by gravity, leaping to their throats.

Screams and cries grew louder, filling the entire cabin.

The plane ascended nearly vertically; everyone felt like they were hanging over a cliff.

The sensation was enough to shatter the soul.

It was chaos. Everything was chaos.

Shouts of terror and screams rose and fell in relentless waves.

A complete mess.

The situation teetered on the brink of total loss of control.

“Sir, please fasten your seatbelt and remain seated. This is unsafe.”

“Madam, please don’t panic. We are professionally trained. There’s no need to worry.”

The flight attendants struggled to calm the passengers, sweat soon beading on their foreheads.

Even as they reassured others, they kept glancing toward the cockpit door, desperate to know what was happening inside.

This was an unprecedented situation.

Logically, even during normal ascent, a plane should never tilt like this.

At that moment, Takee Sashiko, the chief flight attendant nearest the door, gripped her seatbelt and clung to nearby handrails, struggling forward to the cockpit door.

Knock knock knock.

“Captain Hasegawa, Deputy Captain Nakano, are you there?”

“Captain Hasegawa, Captain Nakano, are you there? Answer me!”

She knocked repeatedly, but the cockpit remained silent—no one opened the door.

In the end, Takee Sashiko’s forehead was drenched in sweat, her eyes filled with deep terror.

She knew—something had happened inside the cockpit!

After long hesitation, Takee Sashiko made a decision: she reached for the cockpit door handle.

At the moment Takee Sashiko made her decision,

Wang Zun, seated by the aisle, turned his head and, through a gap in the curtain before the door, clearly saw Takee Sashiko knocking on the cockpit door.

His eyes narrowed, a deep glint flashing deep within.

Three minutes had passed.

There was no doubt—the bird strike had occurred.

The plane’s extreme tilt was the clearest proof.

He scanned the cabin, observing the chaos.

Luggage and debris littered the floor; passengers were in utter disarray.

The scene resembled leftover scraps after a storm had swept through.

Total wreckage.

Yinyindi , Wang Zun felt his breathing grow difficult.

It was the plane ascending—the oxygen in the air was thinning.

Wang Zun did not hesitate—he unfastened his seatbelt.

Time was running out. If he didn’t act now, he and everyone on board would die here.

Click!

Two seatbelt release sounds rang out.

Wang Zun paused slightly, turning toward the sound.

One click came from himself; the other came from the passenger beside him.

It was a middle-aged man.

Wang Zun vaguely recalled—he was Mori Tian Takeshi, who had spoken with Wang Zun on the plane.

Wang Zun stared at Mori Tian Takeshi; Mori Tian Takeshi stared back.

Seeing Wang Zun’s cold, unshaken expression amid crisis, Mori Tian Takeshi was astonished.

He hadn’t expected a high school student like Wang Zun to remain so calm in such chaos.

Unexpected!

And Wang Zun, equally surprised, suddenly remembered—during the plane’s violent tilt and chaos, Mori Tian Takeshi had been different from the others: though frightened, he hadn’t panicked, possessing a remarkably strong will.

“You…” Mori Tian Takeshi began, as if to say something.

Crash!

A thunderous bang erupted—dozens of times louder than a champagne cork popping.

Sudden change—the cockpit door was flung open by Takee Sashiko.

“Ah!!”

“Ah!!!”

“Help me! Quick, save me!”

“Wife! Grab my hand!!”

The noisy, chaotic cabin erupted into a unified scream of terror.

As the cockpit door opened, the pressure difference between cabin and outside turned it into a vacuum cleaner with hundreds of times greater suction.

It sucked in everything inside the cabin.

Even the air itself!

An endless suction surged—oxygen, paper cups, phones, and even people and detached oxygen masks were pulled violently toward the door.

Women clutched their hair as it was ripped upward, screaming hoarsely.

Men were terrified, faces pale as paper.

Those without seatbelts were dragged bodily toward the door by the terrifying suction.

Those who had been gripping seatbacks to avoid falling backward were suddenly flipped mid-air, pulled straight toward the door.

Yet…

The terrifying suction wasn’t the worst part.

The worst was that the suction had drained all the air from the cabin.

The cabin instantly became oxygen-deprived.

Without exception, everyone’s faces flushed red, mouths gasping open and shut.

This was the symptom of suffocation!

The oxygen at high altitude was too thin—too thin to sustain normal human respiration.

Worse still, the intense high-altitude airflow caused the cabin temperature to plummet.

The cabin was now a giant ice cellar.

Freezing cold and oxygen-starved.

All these conditions were fatally dangerous to the human body.

“I—I don’t want to die!”

Someone struggled to speak; death and cold made his voice tremble uncontrollably.

At that moment, everyone—including the flight attendants—stood on the brink of a frozen hell, where Death himself roared, glowing crimson, snarling to claim the lives of all 232 aboard.

Insane.

The situation has completely fallen into chaos!

A fear named death spread rapidly!

Damn it!

Wang Zun gritted his teeth, cursed silently, snatched the oxygen mask before him, took a deep breath, then gripped the seatbelt with both hands and roared with all his strength.

“Put on your oxygen masks!! Put on your oxygen masks!!”

The scene now was chaotic.

Under the terror of death, everyone lost their composure, unaware of the oxygen masks right before them, only crying and screaming.

He had to guide everyone, forcibly pulling the chaos back under control.

Otherwise, the situation would spiral into irreversible loss of control.

He shouted again and again.

His voice was loud, bellowed with all his might, as if crushing the roaring air beneath it.

His words echoed throughout the tiny cabin.

Everyone heard his shouts.

Know this: under danger, people are frantic, yet still rational—when they hear even a slightly reasonable command, they instinctively obey.

Wang Zun’s words became a lifeline, a powerful stimulant injected into everyone’s bodies.

The first to react were the well-trained flight attendants and the man named Mori Tian Takeshi; they looked at Wang Zun, then joined him in shouting.

“Fasten your oxygen masks!”

“Put on your oxygen masks and breathe!”

One cry after another rose, and the panicked passengers followed suit, putting on their oxygen masks.

No one expected that the collapsing situation had been salvaged by a high school student.

Yet Wang Zun and everyone else understood.

The crisis was not over.

Scanning the passengers all wearing oxygen masks, Wang Zun’s gaze burned like a beacon in the dark, fixed straight on the cockpit.

He knew: to resolve the crisis completely, he had to reach the cockpit!

On the other side.

Tokyo Air Traffic Control.

Watching NH137’s altitude climb past the assigned 6300 on his screen, Yamana Yō was stunned, continuously calling the aircraft.

“NH137, you’ve exceeded 6300—immediately adjust your altitude.”

“NH137, acknowledge and respond.”

“NH137?”

…

Repeated calls yielded no response from the radio.

Seeing NH137 still ascending abnormally, Yamana Yō urgently reported to Director Sada.

By the time Director Sada arrived, NH137 had reached 7500 and continued climbing without stopping.

“All personnel, keep calling NH137.”

Director Sada’s face darkened as he issued rapid orders.

“Clear all other flights from NH137’s airspace to prevent mid-air collisions, and have them also attempt contact.”

“Connect with the Meteorological Bureau—share weather data for NH137’s current airspace.”

“Give me NH137’s flight data—crew, passenger list—I need it all, as soon as possible.”

“Yes!” All staff nodded.

Director Sada frowned, eyes locked on NH137’s moving dot on the screen.

“What the hell is the pilot of NH137 doing?”

…

Flight NH137 continued climbing into the upper atmosphere.

The higher it rose, the thinner the air became, the colder the temperature dropped.

Cold swept through the cabin; as bodies shivered, hearts froze too—like plunging into an ice tomb, bone-deep chill.

“I don’t want to die!!”

“Someone save us!”

“I want to go home!!”

Though everyone wore oxygen masks and was no longer at risk of suffocation, the death threat remained— the plane kept climbing, and at this rate, it would soon approach the maximum altitude commercial aircraft can reach.

At that point, the aircraft would rupture from extreme atmospheric pressure.

All passengers would be exposed to the high-altitude void.

The outcome was obvious.

No chance of survival!!

The earlier panicked screams in the cabin turned into helpless sobs, desperate cries.

Then, as altitude-induced tinnitus and ear pain set in, everyone grew more agitated, sinking deeper into despair.

Among them, the most desperate was Takee Sashiko, the lead flight attendant who had opened the door.

When the door opened, she clung to the frame, avoiding being sucked into the cockpit—and at that moment, she saw the cockpit’s condition.

Captain Hasegawa was dead. Deputy Captain Nakano had injured eyes.

Watching Nakano strain to open his eyes, reaching for the captain’s control stick—but too far, his hands couldn’t reach—he tried to stand, but his seatbelt held him; he tried to unfasten it, only to find his thigh wounded, immobilized by the force of the climb.

Takee Sashiko was desperate.

She wanted to help, but her legs trembled uncontrollably; combined with the pull of ascending gravity, she couldn’t move a step.

Meanwhile.

Using the suction force that lifted the curtain, Wang Zun, seated in the aisle, turned his head and finally saw the cockpit’s condition.

The captain looked dead…

Seeing this, Wang Zun couldn’t help cursing.

“Fuck, what I feared most just happened.”

This was the worst possible scenario.

The pilot—who could fly the plane—was down, likely dead.

As for the deputy pilot, his eyes were bloodshot—clearly blinded; relying on him to land the plane safely was impossible.

“I’m going for it!”

Wang Zun’s eyes flashed with resolve and ruthlessness—he made a decision no one else dared to make.

Unbuckle his seatbelt!

At that moment, he mentally addressed the system.

“System, can script points be exchanged for anything? Does that include…”

Before he finished speaking, a cry came from beside him.

“Kamikawa Mitsu, what are you doing?! Don’t unfasten your seatbelt!”

Mori Tian Takeshi turned pale.

This gloomy high school student kept doing the unexpected.

First, he calmed the chaos when even adults couldn’t hold themselves together; now he was unfastening his seatbelt.

It made no sense at all.

As Wang Zun unbuckled his seatbelt, he turned his head.

“I’m going to the cockpit.”

Seeing Mori Tian Takeshi about to speak, Wang Zun lowered his voice to only the two of them could hear, and spoke again.

“The captain looks dead—I saw blood.”

“What?!”

Mori Tian Takeshi’s face turned ashen, then darker still, utterly grim.

He finally understood why Kamikawa Mitsu would risk his life to unfasten his seatbelt.

The captain was dead.

Kamikawa Mitsu intended to take control of the plane.

Mori Tian Takeshi’s expression shifted—helplessness, despair, shock.

The captain’s death filled him with profound despair and powerlessness; Wang Zun’s actions stunned him.

He never imagined a high school student, under threat of death, would be calmer and more collected than any adult, seizing every chance to survive.

While Mori Tian Takeshi was stunned, Wang Zun did not stop.

After unbuckling his seatbelt, he took a deep breath from his oxygen mask.

Then, he arched his back, gripped the edge of the seat, using it as a foothold, and climbed upward with all speed toward the cockpit.

Notably, he told Mori Tian Takeshi the truth—not fearing panic—because two reasons.

First:

Mori Tian Takeshi’s seat was too far inside to see the cockpit.

Thus, he had no idea of Wang Zun’s actions or the severity of the situation.

So Wang Zun planned to tell Mori Takeshi the truth, because Mori Takeshi was kind-hearted; if he didn’t reveal it, Mori Takeshi would surely stop him—after all, he was just a high school student.

A high school student heading for the cockpit? Any normal person would assume trouble was coming.

Second point:

From the earlier chaos, Wang Zun deduced that although Mori Takeshi had been startled, he hadn’t screamed or panicked—indicating his mental resilience was exceptional, allowing him to maintain composure under extreme danger.

The high-altitude winds howled with a deafening roar, echoing in their ears.

The gale whipped Wang Zun’s hair wildly, yet it could not shake his inner resolve.

Faster!

Even faster!

Wang Zun climbed rapidly, urging himself inwardly without pause.

The plane was currently at a minimum altitude of 8,000 meters.

The oxygen was extremely thin!

And Wang Zun was merely a high school student; the original body had never trained much and was in poor physical condition—under these circumstances, he was essentially holding his breath as he moved.

He would likely succumb to oxygen deprivation within minutes.

Therefore, for him right now,

Time was life!

He had to reach the cockpit before oxygen deprivation set in.

Wang Zun pressed his body low, nearly crawling atop each seat, to lower his center of gravity and grip the seat backs more firmly, preventing himself from being flung toward the rear cabin.

On the other side,

After a brief moment of daze, Mori Takeshi snapped back, gritted his teeth, and unfastened his seatbelt.

He too would head for the cockpit.

In his view, Wang Zun had performed impressively—but ultimately, he was still just a high school student, surely incapable of flying a plane. Better for him to take control than let the boy try.

At least he was older and more experienced; he’d never flown a plane, but he’d seen others fly helicopters.

Wang Zun ignored Mori Takeshi, continuing his climb while quietly asking the system:

“System, how many script points does it cost to acquire knowledge of piloting an aircraft?”

……