Chapter 3: Chapter Three: Success or Death

Time dripped away.

Wang Zun, climbing, could feel it.

His oxygen was nearly gone.

Yet he still had two or three meters to go before the cockpit.

That distance, in normal circumstances, was very short.

But now, it was impossibly far, endlessly long, like a chasm between heaven and earth.

The chasm didn’t just separate distance—it separated life and death.

If he didn’t cross it, death awaited Wang Zun.

Damn it!

Gazing at the distance ahead, Wang Zun could no longer hold back—he cursed inwardly.

At this speed, he would suffocate from oxygen deprivation before reaching the door.

Time could not be wasted.

Staying here one more second would drastically increase his chance of death.

Wang Zun had no time to think—his eyes blazed with madness.

Charge!

In this nearly vertical cockpit, he planted his feet on the seat backs and pushed with every ounce of strength he had left.

Soaring forward!!

In that moment, he was like a frenzied cheetah.

After days of starvation, on the brink of death, it had finally spotted prey—and the cheetah launched itself without hesitation, grasping for survival.

His body launched into the air, hurtling toward the cockpit door.

Two meters.

One meter.

…

At this moment, the threat of death, the terror of everyone, left no one paying attention to any movement—they all cried helplessly.

But two people noticed Wang Zun.

One was Mori Tian Takeshi, still climbing.

The other was Takee Sashiko, the flight attendant closest to the door.

Their gazes went blank, watching Wang Zun leap into the air, suspended within the cockpit—eyes filled with disbelief.

Too insane!

Has this high school student (Kamikawa-kun) lost his mind?

The cockpit’s length is enormous—from this end near the cockpit to the other end, it’s at least seven or eight meters, equivalent to falling from a three-and-a-half-story building.

Note this isn’t jumping from a building—it’s crashing down.

In this extreme oxygen-deprived state, falling from seven or eight meters would leave you unconscious even if you didn’t die.

And once unconscious in oxygen deprivation, you’d suffocate while unconscious.

It’s no different from carbon monoxide suicide.

Mori Tian Takeshi and Takee Sashiko were shaken, their minds reeling.

Could a high school student really make such a judgment?

Too reckless.

Total all-or-nothing.

Success or death!

Wang Zun didn’t know what Mori Tian Takeshi and Takee Sashiko were thinking—he focused entirely on the door.

Just reach it!!

Hurry!!

In those split-second moments of life and death, Wang Zun’s thought lasted less than a blink—he made his decision.

He believed he could use his last strength to leap and grab the door.

And the result?

It was correct!

He reached it!

With a thud, as he leaped, he stretched his left hand to its limit, nearly tearing his body apart—and his fingers closed around the cockpit door.

In that instant.

Wang Zun didn’t slacken—he grabbed with his right hand too, both hands clinging to the door, pulling himself into the cockpit.

He didn’t notice.

Takee Sashiko, gripping a seatbelt beside the door, stared at him with a vacant expression.

It seemed she hadn’t expected Wang Zun to succeed.

And even less expected that the one who did it was a teenager.

Thud!

He slammed the door shut to prevent accidentally falling out of the cockpit.

Wang Zun looked inside the cockpit.

The situation had indeed worsened exactly as he feared.

The captain was dead.

The first officer’s eyes were injured.

Without hesitation, Wang Zun fixed his gaze on a specific spot in the cockpit and pulled out two oxygen masks.

Throughout the entire process, he made no search.

His movements were practiced.

They clearly showed he knew exactly where the oxygen masks were stored.

This behavior… this action…

Didn’t resemble a high school student at all.

It was as if he were the captain himself.

Just now, what Wang Zun had thought was confirmed.

The system’s script points could be exchanged for all kinds of things—including knowledge!

He had spent 100 script points to directly gain the experience of flying an airplane.

At this moment, he was not just a high school student—he was a seasoned pilot with decades of experience.

He calmly put on the oxygen mask.

Having used all his strength to enter the cockpit, Wang Zun was already oxygen-deprived.

If he didn’t put on the mask now, he’d pass out from suffocation.

After securing his own mask, Wang Zun also placed one on First Officer Nakano.

The reason? Nakano looked just as bad—he was on the verge of suffocating.

“First Officer, can you still assist in operating the plane? If you can, respond.”

Wang Zun asked.

“Yes.”

The situation was critical, and with his injured eyes, Nakano didn’t even look to see who was speaking—he inhaled deeply from the mask and answered quickly.

Wang Zun nodded.

Just as he prepared to move Captain Hasegawa’s body.

The cockpit door opened behind him—Mori Tian Takeshi entered.

After relentless effort, Mori Tian Takeshi had just reached the cockpit door.

“Let me take over,” Mori Tian Takeshi said, watching Wang Zun move Hasegawa’s corpse toward the captain’s seat.

Anyone could see it.

Mori Tian Takeshi didn’t trust Wang Zun to fly the plane.

He looked from the first officer to Wang Zun.

Since the first officer was still conscious, if he directed the flight, the odds of survival would be higher than if Wang Zun flew.

Takee Sashiko, noticing Mori Tian Takeshi’s entrance, looked over, anxious.

What kind of time is this to argue over who flies?

And doesn’t it matter who flies? The one who gave me the mask clearly knew what he was doing—he seemed quite…

Huh?!

High school uniform?!

Following the uniform upward, Nakano finally noticed Wang Zun’s face.

In an instant, his expression changed drastically.

The one who gave him the oxygen mask was a teenager!

What kind of joke is this?!

Letting a teenager fly the plane? That’s playing with lives—no, he can’t be allowed to fly.

Deputy Captain Nakano immediately spoke: “Let the man behind come…”

THUD!

Like a thousand-pound iron block crashing to the ground, the sound was dull, striking straight into everyone’s hearts.

The plane sharply tilted to the left in a wide arc.

“Ahh!!”

With no warning, the plane’s sudden shift triggered screams of terror throughout the cabin.

Even in the cockpit, Wang Zun and the other two turned pale.

“This is bad!”

Wang Zun’s pupils contracted sharply.

Looking out the left cockpit window backward, he saw a layer of frost coating the left wing.

This was the result of reaching the maximum altitude—the aircraft’s body could no longer withstand the high-altitude cold front and had begun to ice over.

Right now, only the wings were frozen, but as time passed, the engines would freeze too; once they stopped running, everything would be over.

Without engine power, what could Wang Zun use to fly the plane?

Wang Zun didn’t hesitate—he plopped down into the captain’s seat, cutting off any words from Nakano or Mori Takeshi.

“Let me fly—I have two thousand hours of flight experience. Sit down and buckle up.”

Wang Zun barked, gripping the control stick with one hand to halt the plane’s ascent.

With the other, he pulled on his headset and activated the cabin intercom.

“Everyone in the cabin, sit down and tighten your seatbelts! I’m stabilizing the descent—don’t leave your seats!”

The clear broadcast echoed through the cabin.

Because Wang Zun had earlier shouted for everyone to wear oxygen masks, the passengers had an inexplicable sense of reassurance from his voice.

So when his voice came over the intercom, everyone instinctively obeyed.

But the fuselage shook violently, growing more intense by the second.

Many had no time to fasten their seatbelts.

The ice on the left wing caused the plane to lose balance, beginning to tilt and roll leftward.

A plane’s greatest fear is rolling.

Once rolling begins, under these high-altitude turbulent winds, the aircraft will spin like a top around its own axis; correcting it then becomes nearly impossible, let alone with ice-laden wings that grow brittle—such spinning would soon snap them off.

Hold it steady!!

Wang Zun gritted his teeth, gripping the control stick tightly, trying to restore the plane’s balance.

But the high-altitude winds were too strong—the control stick was like a runaway horse, impossible to rein in.

The plane’s roll continued.

Inside the cabin, everyone felt as if they were on a roller-coaster spinning at breakneck speed, slamming against the walls.

Some, disoriented by the constant rotation, felt their stomachs churn and vomited outright.

Others were knocked bloody, injured by impacts.

Cries, shrieks, and screams rang out, loud enough to pierce through the cockpit door.

The situation grew increasingly dire.

The chaos from the cabin reached Mori Takeshi and Nakano’s ears—their hearts pounded, panic seizing them.

What do we do!?

How do we fix this!?

Mori Takeshi might not grasp how dire things were, but Nakano knew.

He was the first officer, with over a decade of flight experience—he knew exactly how severe the roll had become. Even Captain Hasegawa, with far more seniority, couldn’t recover from this.

And as the plane rolled, the winds were still pushing it higher.

Now they faced two dire problems.

One: correcting the plane’s balance.

Two: stopping the ascent and descending to lower altitude.

Fail to solve either, and everyone dies.

But solving both while the plane was rolling? Too difficult.

Impossible.

Nakano nearly wept—the roll made his stomach churn, making him want to vomit and cry, his liver and gallbladder trembling.

He had given up. He closed his eyes and waited to die.

Mori Takeshi was the same—pale, gray with death, his eyes devoid of hope, filled only with despair.

He no longer cared who flew the plane.

This situation couldn’t be fixed by a high school student—or by him.

It was useless. All of it.

The only one who could save them was Captain Hasegawa returning from the dead—but even if he did, could he truly fix this?

The odds were minuscule.

As the plane rolled, it felt like Death flipping a card—the cabin and cockpit were thick with oppressive dread, the atmosphere saturated with death.

Suddenly.

CLICK!

A switch being toggled sounded.

Unlike the two men in despair, Wang Zun’s expression was solemn, his gaze sharp as lightning. One hand gripped the control stick; the other rapidly toggled the wing flap adjustment switches.

In just ten seconds.

His hands never paused.

Each time he adjusted the control stick, Wang Zun fine-tuned the wing flaps, his eyes constantly scanning the PFD and ND displays.

As the PFD’s data changed—the altitude bar, vertical speed indicator, attitude indicator—he adjusted the control stick with iron grip.

Simultaneously, his peripheral vision flicked to the ND display, making corresponding corrections.

Throughout, his reactions were lightning-fast.

The moment any display changed, or the air currents and clouds ahead shifted, Wang Zun reacted instantly.

His responses were pure reflex—no thought, no hesitation.

Like instinctive motion.

As if he knew, at this moment, with this data, exactly which action was correct.

Time ticked by.

One second, thirty seconds, one minute…

The plane’s roll slowed in inverse proportion—the fuselage stabilized, the spin gradually ceased.

Nakano, lost in despair, sensed the change.

Instantly, he turned to stare at Wang Zun.

The sight froze him—eyes wide, as if seeing a ghost.

Before him, a high school student—down to his clothes and age—was expertly flying the plane.

His eyes moved, his hands coordinated flawlessly.

The scene was visually stunning.

Watching Wang Zun’s eyes and hands—fast, precise, seamless, no wasted motion—

It was miraculous.

Feeling the roll fade, the plane returning to balance—

Nakano’s body jolted, mouth gaping open.

Impossible!!

He nearly shouted it—but clamped his lips shut.

Simple reason: he feared his voice would disrupt Wang Zun’s “performance.”

Soon after.

The plane finally stabilized, its ascent halted.

Nakano’s heart surged beyond words—his face and soul alike screamed astonishment.

He did it.

This high school student did it.

He accomplished what even a captain with over twenty years’ experience couldn’t—unbelievable.

Utterly inconceivable.

For a long moment, Nakano sat stunned, unable to recover.

Is this kid really a high school student…?

Mori Takeshi was equally dazed, having watched Wang Zun’s entire operation—his heart shaken, laced with dread.

If he had insisted on taking the controls instead of letting Wang Zun fly, the outcome would’ve been grim—certain death.

Unconsciously, Mori Takeshi stared at Wang Zun, his expression complex.

Have I grown old? Or has the world changed?

Are high school students today this powerful?

……

On the other side

Tokyo Air Traffic Control

All personnel continue to call NH137, but still receive no response

According to the coordinates on the screen, NH137 is not only climbing rapidly but also shaking violently, approaching its maximum altitude limit

Director Sada fielded silence, his face dark as if under a spending ban, terrifyingly grim

From the screen, it’s clear NH137 has suffered an incident

A major one

The way NH137’s coordinates are shaking on the screen—it’s like a drunken giant staggering, lurching left and right. This isn’t flying an airplane; it’s driving a bumper car

“What the hell is Captain Hasegawa doing! Are his twenty years of flight experience earned by eating shit?!”

Earlier, a subordinate had given Director Sada detailed data on NH137

Director Sada was stunned to learn the pilot of NH137 was a veteran with twenty years of flight experience

What on earth is going on?

A veteran pilot flying like a child playing around—treating it like a rocket?!

The more he thought, the heavier his heart sank

No good

At this rate, NH137 will break apart; no one on board will survive

We can’t wait any longer

Immediately, Director Sada waved his hand and gave an order

“Send a request to the Air Self-Defense Force for support—have them dispatch a reconnaissance aircraft to investigate NH…”

Before he finished speaking

“Director Sada! It’s stopped! Stopped! NH137 has stopped climbing!” Yamaka Yoichi cried out in surprise

“Let me see!” Director Sada froze, then hurried forward to stare at the screen

The screen displayed:

NH137 had changed—it was no longer ascending, but had turned around

Seeing this, Director Sada exhaled slightly in relief

Thank goodness, thank goodness—it finally stopped climbing

He had been terrified the plane would keep rising, since it had already reached its maximum altitude

It could disintegrate at any moment

At that point, all 231 people on board, including the crew, would have zero chance of survival

And he himself would be held accountable—forced to kneel and apologize at the upcoming press conference, then announce his resignation

Yet even though NH137 had stopped ascending, the crisis was far from over

“Quickly, use the computer to calculate how much fuel remains on NH137—whether it’s enough to return and land, and what kind of structural damage might have occurred after reaching maximum altitude”

“And keep trying to contact NH137!”

“Yes!”

Until NH137 landed safely, Director Sada dared not relax

……

Meanwhile

NH137 flight, cockpit

The plane was descending steadily, but Wang Zun did not relax; his eyes burned with focus, constantly monitoring every movement, while he softly spoke to First Officer Nakano

“First Officer, contact Tokyo Air Traffic Control”

“Confirm whether our aircraft information was successfully transmitted”

“Check all instruments, assess the aircraft’s specific damage”

To ensure absolute safety, Wang Zun needed full situational awareness to make the fastest possible decisions

His calm, composed handling and orderly commands left First Officer Nakano and Mori Takeshi stunned

Their mouths had been hanging open since earlier

Gulp…

First Officer Nakano and Mori Takeshi swallowed hard, staring blankly, their expressions filled with disbelief and bewilderment

Am I blind?

Is Kamikawa Mitsu really a high school student?

Impossible to imagine—someone so orderly in command, so skilled in flying, was just a high schooler

If someone had told Mori Takeshi just a short while ago that a high school student could fly like this

He would have sworn

He’d have slapped them without hesitation

What are you joking about?

Compared to Mori Takeshi’s thoughts, First Officer Nakano kept glancing back and forth

His eyes darted between Wang Zun’s high school uniform and his face

Even after seeing Wang Zun fly, First Officer Nakano remained deeply confused

Or rather, put it this way

Precisely because he’d seen Wang Zun fly, First Officer Nakano felt this self-doubt

What the hell is going on?

How can a high school student fly so skillfully? His piloting skills aren’t just not those of a beginner—they’re better than those of veterans, unmistakably the product of at least a decade of experience, overflowing with expertise

But this high school student is only seventeen or eighteen

Seventeen or eighteen? Ten years of flight experience?

What nonsense

If that were true, this kid must’ve been flying since birth

Yet from the reality before them

That’s the only possible explanation

Even if he didn’t start flying in the womb, he must’ve grown up in the cockpit—raised by osmosis, flying since childhood

“First Officer?”

Seeing Nakano motionless, Wang Zun turned his gaze—cold and sharp

The crisis is not yet over

Until the plane reaches the ground and the script is complete, Wang Zun could not loosen his taut nerves

“Uh… sorry, I’ll handle it right away”

Startled by Wang Zun’s gaze, First Officer Nakano snapped back to reality and immediately followed Wang Zun’s orders

He didn’t notice Mori Takeshi watching him, his expression utterly bizarre

This scene was too surreal

A first officer taking orders from a high school student to fly the plane

……