Watching the shattered remnants of the iron-wood tree, Nova let a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. To a commoner, these trees looked like ordinary timber, but the aura revival had infused every fiber with the density of reinforced steel. The fact that he had reduced the trunk to a pile of splintered shards with a casual strike—without even triggering the Barbarian Fist technique—was a staggering testament to his evolution. Had he used that technique to amplify his force fivefold, the tree wouldn't have just broken; it would have turned into dust.
He stood in the quiet clearing for a moment, letting his racing heart settle as the cooling wind carried the scent of pine and crushed wood. Then, with a practiced calm, he began his trek back toward the city, slaughtering a few more fire lions that dared cross his path.
Before the towering city gates came into view, Nova reached into his storage. He pulled out the mask, which felt unnervingly cool and soft, like damp silk against his fingertips. As he pressed it to his face, the material seemed to melt into his pores, becoming a second skin. With a focused thought, he drew his presence inward, suppressing the roaring tide of his aura until he appeared to be nothing more than a standard, unremarkable Rank 4 Awakener.
After a quick stop at the trade center to sell his monster materials—walking away with a heavy pouch containing 5 million coins—he made his way to school for the special class. After entering he gave a casual nod to Albert and sat down, the wooden chair creaking under his weight.
The afternoon began with the usual drone of lectures on wilderness survival, but the atmosphere shifted the moment the theoretical portion ended. Instructor Robin stood at the front of the room, his eyes sharp and unyielding.
"From today on," Robin announced, his voice echoing off the sterile walls, "you will compete in a single-elimination tournament to determine your ranks. Those who land between 20th and 30th place will be barred from going home. You will live, eat, and breathe training here at the school under my direct supervision."
The draws were conducted via a digital screen that hummed with electricity. Nova's first two opponents were Rank 3 "weak chickens" who stood no chance. He moved with just enough speed to be efficient, dispatching them in three moves each. He made sure to breathe a little harder than necessary, making the victories look like they required at least some focus.
It was the third draw that finally pitted him against a Rank 4 opponent. Time to act, Nova thought, a hidden glint in his eyes.
The fight began under the bright, buzzing hum of the arena's overhead lights. Nova purposefully allowed himself to be pushed back, his boots scuffing and squeaking against the polished floor. He feigned a struggle, letting the opponent's strikes come dangerously close to his chest. Slowly, he "found his second wind," increasing his power in small, calculated increments to tilt the scales.
They traded blows for several minutes, the air filled with the rhythmic thwack of impact and the sound of heavy breathing. Nova mimicked the opponent's fatigue, letting sweat sting his eyes and making his shoulders sag. When the opponent finally collapsed onto the mats, gasping for air, Nova stood over him with trembling limbs. He forced his muscles to twitch and shake, a display of high-level body control that would look like pure exhaustion to anyone but a true master.
Albert rushed over as the whistle blew, throwing Nova's arm over his shoulder to support him. They walked toward the shade of a tree in the courtyard, the air smelling of freshly cut grass.
"Bro," Albert whispered, handing him a cold water bottle that was slick with condensation. "You were really hiding your depth. I didn't know you had that kind of grit."
Nova offered a weary, pained smile, but internally, he was laughing. The mask had worked perfectly. He had positioned himself as a talented Rank 4—just above average, a little bit of a "genius" for an emerald tier, but ultimately nothing special. In the eyes of the Beast God Cult, anyone below Rank 7 was mere trash, beneath their notice. invisible in plain sight
With his personal objectives met, Nova found himself with nothing left to do but sink into the comfort of the shade. He leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, enjoying the cool breeze that carried the scent of dry dust from the arena. From his vantage point, he watched the matches unfold. As expected, the "Twin Stars" of the academy swept through their opponents with effortless grace, their movements a blur of speed and precision that left the crowd gasping.
The final match eventually began between the two top geniuses. To the untrained eyes of the other students, the girls were moving so fast they were practically invisible, leaving only the sound of clashing air and flickering shadows behind. Only Nova and Instructor Robin could truly track the exchange. From Nova's perspective, however, it was clear the two were holding back. It was a logical move; in a minor school competition, there was no reason to reveal their trump cards, especially with the Beast God Cult's eyes potentially watching from the darkness.
Once the tournament concluded, the atmosphere grew heavy. The unlucky students ranked 20th to 30th were led away; some marched with renewed fire in their eyes, determined to improve, while others slumped their shoulders in visible sadness at their forced confinement. As the crowd began to disperse and the attention of the instructors drifted, Nova did what he did best: he slipped away like a ghost.
After a long, hot bath that washed away the grime and fake sweat of the day, followed by a quiet meal, he locked himself in the sanctuary of his room. He had been suppressing his excitement for hours. Upon breaking through to the Warrior Realm, the system had pinged with a notification that a new function had been unlocked. He hadn't dared check it in public, where a stray glance at his facial expressions might give him away.
Settling onto his bed, Nova called up the translucent system window. Beside his profile, a new tab shimmered: Lottery.
He clicked it, and a vibrant, multicolored wheel filled his vision, glowing with a soft internal light. The colors represented rarity, scaling from the common White to Green, Blue, Orange, Purple, and finally the legendary Gold.
Nova's initial spark of joy faded almost instantly, his face darkening as he studied the wheel's proportions. The rarer the color, the smaller the slice of the wheel became. The golden section was so impossibly thin—barely a sliver of light—that he seriously doubted he would ever hit it. To make matters worse, nearly half the wheel was a massive, glaring expanse of white. It looked less like a reward system and more like a calculated trap designed to swallow his hard-earned points.
The cost was steep: a single spin required 1,000 points, while a "10-spin" bundle cost 10,000. He stared at the colorful wheel, weighing the 45,000 points he had amassed against the cruel mathematics of the white section.
.