The A-Rank Arena was universally acknowledged as Qingchi’s finest training ground.
It boasted the largest footprint and the most cutting-edge tech equipment, but entry slots were pitifully scarce—reserved solely for the combat system’s top students.
Of course, S-Grades didn’t need to sweat the details. They could skip combat training classes, ignore daily scores, and blow off sparring matches. As long as they proved their worth during finals, it was all good—a basic nod to human decency. Even Wen Jiang didn’t have to bother with it.
Below S-Grade came A-Rank, with an unofficial “A+” tier in between, also dubbed Super A-Grade. Their talents and strength clearly outstripped regular A-Rank Esper Ability users, earning them the belief they could advance to S-Grade later on. They enjoyed certain privileges too.
Beyond Abilities, another constant divider of Qingchi students’ “class” was family background. The school’s Super A-Grades and S-Grades were mostly from the same circles, and in this place, that influence sometimes overshadowed raw power.
Qian Lang was a prime example. His rare Dual Abilities meant both were lower-ranked, but that didn’t stop him from hanging with the super-elite espers. If he wanted into a restricted spot, a quick word with a friend sufficed—the “plus one” loophole was practically made for guys like him.
Wen Jiang, on the other hand? In his first week, he hadn’t exchanged a single word with the other S-Grades in his year.
Not to mention background—combat students were thick-skinned and tough to begin with. Fights drew blood all the time. Jiang Hehu whining after a few knocks to the head? Once he popped his Ability, he’d still take on ten at once. With Bloodbath active, a fracture today meant bouncing back tomorrow. Wen Jiang cracking ribs? That meant a hospital stay.
So to Xie Qi, the situation was crystal clear at a glance.
“Let him go,” Xie Qi said as he strode in for a closer look. Seeing Wen Jiang unscathed cooled his temper a bit, but his face stayed stone-cold. Looming over Jiang Hehu, who was still pinned to the table, he warned, “Have you no shame? If you wanna fight, swap in with me.”
Jiang Hehu: ……
Wen Jiang: ……
“Did you hear me?” Wen Jiang looked down at Jiang Hehu and chimed in cooperatively. “Let go.”
Have you no shame?! Jiang Hehu’s eyes bulged. With Wen Jiang easing his grip, he finally wrenched free and whirled on Xie Qi. “Xie Qi, are you blind?! He was the one pinning me!”
What kind of logic was that? Wen Jiang stated calmly, “This is self-defense.”
Xie Qi snorted, eyeing Jiang Hehu with utter certainty and disdain. “You forced him into self-defense.”
Jiang Hehu nearly choked. “You two are crazy!”
Wen Tianlu, seeing his buddies clustered up, hopped down from the stands to join the fun. He’d barely arrived when he caught the exchange and burst out laughing. Gao Mingcheng, who’d been shrinking into the corner since Xie Qi showed up, shot him a terrified glance before ducking his head again.
Wen Tianlu hadn’t even reacted yet when Xie Qi turned his way. The scrutiny felt almost tangible, making Gao Mingcheng’s skin crawl. But Xie Qi quickly looked away, glancing casually at Wen Jiang. “So you came with him?”
The tone carried a faint… not quite condescension, more like “I win.” Gao Mingcheng felt oddly unsettled, but hey, Xie Qi was speaking—it was natural to be the loser here. He resolved to keep playing mute.
“Mm.” Spotting Gao Mingcheng’s discomfort, Wen Jiang stepped beside him, blocking the stares from his card buddies. “Go rest up.”
No one contradicted from behind. Jiang Hehu curled his lip and suddenly kicked the table hard.
Wen Jiang ignored him, pulled out his workbook, tore off the page scrawled with “Smile :)” and handed it over. Gao Mingcheng blinked slowly at the familiar handwriting, rubbed his fingertips on his pant leg, and took the paper.
Wen Jiang held it a bit high, forcing Gao Mingcheng to raise his arm. Like a trainee correcting his posture, his spine straightened naturally. His view shifted from the floor to the training room’s vast expanse. His breathing evened out, the tension in his cheeks easing too.
“Thanks.” Before leaving, Gao Mingcheng glanced back at Wen Jiang, remembering the Drama Club recruitment poster. He murmured, “I’ll definitely be able to help you out someday.”
◇
“Am I getting poached?” Wen Tianlu studied the scene for a beat, then spoke up with keen interest once the guy was gone. “He looks like he wants to do odd jobs at the Drama Club.”
“His Ability’s useful,” Wen Jiang said, snapping his workbook shut and packing his things. “The stage lights and sound effects could use it.”
“Oh.” Jiang Hehu cut in coolly from the side. “So that’s why you turned on me?”
“Turning on you needs a reason?” Xie Qi mocked first, striding up in two steps to grab Wen Jiang’s hand with fluid ease. “Can we head back now?”
“…” Wen Jiang wasn’t fooled. His gaze drifted to their joined hands.
The other two’s eyes locked on those clasped hands too.
“…Can’t hold hands, huh?” Xie Qi caught on quick, looking away with feigned nonchalance. “Fine, figured as much.”
Then let go.
Wen Jiang met Xie Qi’s stubbornness wordlessly. As a reasonable friend, he tactfully skipped it and asked, “You still competing?”
Xie Qi’s name had flashed on the screen earlier. He usually forfeited practice matches, so in the A-Rank Arena, drawing him was the “worst draw” with a high chance of turning “luckiest.”
Now that Xie Qi was here, intentions unclear, his opponent huddled in the candidate zone, pale as dirt—locked in a mental tug-of-war: forfeit now or stall, betting Xie Qi was just passing through.
Forfeits had to be submitted early. If Xie Qi entered, no backsies.
“Nah.” Xie Qi said flatly, wrestling himself for a couple seconds before adding, “Just here to pick you up.”
…Fine, Qian Lang 2.0 Plus Edition.
Without Xie Qi, things wouldn’t have wrapped so quick. They weren’t on bad terms anyway—just the hand-holding made moving awkward. Set some ground rules, a time limit, and it was no hassle. Negotiating with Xie Qi? Wen Jiang’s specialty.
He responded earnestly to the enthusiasm, then sensed something and turned to Jiang Hehu and Wen Tianlu.
…They look down on me.
The Drama Stage sharpened his awareness of gazes and spotlights far beyond normal. He usually suppressed it to avoid info overload, but fresh off activation—like a candle wick still warm after snuffing—it let him catch the vibe in their stares.
“It’s come to this?” Jiang Hehu’s eyes dripped disdain. He’d long griped about Qian Lang and Xie Qi babying Wen Jiang. That crowd never changed—why overthink? His cousin had been hitting Lin Xun’s parties since two years back.
Treating him like a toddler? Qian Lang and Xie Qi had no shame. And Wen Jiang just went along. The hand-holding cemented it. Jiang Hehu flexed his formerly gripped arm, shrinking instinctively under Wen Jiang’s dark gaze before glaring back hard.
Wen Jiang agreed hand-holding was unnecessary, so he ignored it—glanced once and looked away.
Wen Tianlu’s gaze held faint mockery, quickly masked. Without the Ability, no one would’ve noticed. Meeting Wen Jiang’s eyes, he grinned teasingly. “What? I want hand-holding too?”
“No need,” Wen Jiang said coolly, turning to remind Xie Qi like before. “Don’t hold too long.”
People’s boundaries eroded with every compromise. Xie Qi still bristled, but less than last time. Better than nothing? He gripped tighter: “Got it.”
He minded Wen Tianlu’s jab a tad. Before dragging Wen Jiang off, he glanced back at his friend, brow furrowing, but said nothing.
“Just kidding,” Wen Tianlu shrugged, switching gears. “You two honor us with your presence at the party, yeah?”
◇
“Then I’m out too.”
Wen Tianlu had only come for the spectacle—see how Jiang Hehu handled his club member with “restraint.” Checking the bracket, his turn was ages off, so he forfeited too.
He eyed the still-sulky Jiang Hehu and chuckled. “That’s enough. So you didn’t have fun this round—you were getting bored anyway.”
“Is that the issue?” With his match done, Jiang Hehu had no reason to stick around. His bodyguards had vanished—either left or blended into the crowd. He and Wen Tianlu skirted the stands’ edge toward the exit. Onlookers fell silent as they passed, listening to Jiang Hehu gripe. “Wen Jiang’s causing me trouble again.”
“You could’ve handled it.”
“He sent me threat texts the other day.”
Since when did they text so much? And weird-ass warnings—”pipe dream,” who was that for? “Wait and see,” “don’t regret”—what? Just ’cause he messed with Wen Jiang’s classmate?
Unwittingly, Jiang Hehu was fully convinced it was Wen Jiang. Qian Lang would’ve cried foul and sighed in relief.
His real intent? Angsty vibes like “Is getting back together a pipe dream?” “Can’t help hoping you’ll wait, but don’t let anyone regret their choices.” Sour, conflicted, sad. But those keywords? Perfect for misreading as threats. Even Huo Xia Tong would’ve seen red.
“He messaged you too, huh.” Wen Tianlu said lightly. Speak of the devil—he’d gotten texts too. But Jiang Hehu called them “threats,” so not confessions.
…This guy’s half-involved, and he didn’t get threatened—just me?
Jiang Hehu seethed, mouth opening—then lightning-fast, he snatched a bystander’s collar. Like yanking a noodle, he hauled the guy off the stands. The man’s body arced through the air before slamming down hard, cracking the floor.
No scream escaped before Jiang Hehu’s foot pinned his back, forcing blood from his mouth. A rapid-fire suppressor syringe rolled aside.
“Told you it’s trouble.” Jiang Hehu ground down harder, voice darkening. “Thought suppressors would let you win? You think you can touch me?”
Wen Tianlu couldn’t help laughing. His funny bone was easy to tickle, especially now.
No S-Grade Ability, yet cocky enough to outpace a Super A-Grade’s reflexes? The syringe’s fluid leaked out, hissing faint white smoke at Wen Tianlu’s feet before freezing solid and fizzling. He grinned. “See? Problem solved.”
