The instability judgment for S-Grades couldn’t simply be summed up as “unable to control one’s Supernatural Ability.”
Take Xie Qi, for example. He didn’t rampage around all day, whipping up dangerous, uncontrollable gales. Compared to those with zero self-control, Xie Qi’s command of his power was often exquisitely precise, far superior to most low-rank ability users. Yet he was still deemed fit for the Secret Tower.
This was mainly because society applied different stability standards to S-Grades versus other ranks.
If an S-Grade and a D-Grade both exhibited the same degree of instability—say, leaking 20 units of ability value—the consequences could be worlds apart. Wen Tianlu might have already frostbitten several people by now, turning the room into an ice cellar, while a D-Grade might just make bystanders think, “That breeze felt pretty nice just now.”
Thus, if instability was like pouring water into a container, for a D-Grade, it took filling an entire swimming pool before people paid attention and deemed it a “hazard.” For an S-Grade, even filling a small cup on the table triggered immediate alarm.
Wen Jiang, an S-Grade Lifestyle System esper renowned for stability, was mostly an empty cup. S-Grade Combat Types, plagued by innate instability, were generally seen as already half-full.
Given the terror of S-Grades, society couldn’t wait for the cup to overflow before suggesting the Secret Tower. Once the water hit around sixty percent, ability users were recommended to enter—but the decision remained with the esper and their family. The higher it climbed, the more the “recommendation” tilted toward “notification” or “requirement.”
Xie Qi’s power was terrifying even among S-Grades, his ability inherently more volatile—like a cup brimming at eighty-five percent. For an ordinary family, that would’ve meant mandatory commitment to the Secret Tower. But the Xie Family stonewalled, dragging it into a prolonged tug-of-war.
Arguing misjudgments on the water level, or potential for reduction. Pulling in S-Grade human rights protections. Anything to buy time.
The Xie Family desperately wanted to drain that cup, but years of effort yielded little. After Xie Qi entered Qingchi, fluctuations worsened—”He seemed better lately,” followed by “Why’s he suddenly so unstable?”—as if his mental state was under severe strain.
As for Wen Tianlu, judging by the water in his cup alone, his case wasn’t as severe as Xie Qi’s.
But could a mere sixty or seventy percent—that level other parents begged for—really bring the reassurance of “We won’t let you go to the Secret Tower” from his parents?
One minor cold snap. One “recommendation” for the Secret Tower. The Wen Family naturally refused in the end. But they didn’t really care. No need for drawn-out fights. Emotionally, they’d already half-agreed.
…Whatever. Wen Tianlu stared into the darkness and thought.
The coin in his hand bit into his palm from the tight grip, the faint pain keeping him alert. Oddly, it brought a sliver of relief.
Just handing back a single coin—something anyone could do effortlessly. From darkness to light took seconds. Wen Tianlu stepped back into the unlit shadows.
…Faster than before.
Wen Jiang judged lazily.
He’d been standing before turning off the lights. By the time he spoke to Wen Tianlu midway, he’d already settled into an audience seat.
Wen Jiang propped his arm on the right armrest, back of his hand against his cheek. He mentally timed it: Wen Tianlu had taken longer to fetch the coin than to return it now.
Not bad at all, Wen Jiang thought, his gaze drifting idly to the seatback in front of him, its vague outline blurring in the dark.
Dramatic Stage* activated soundlessly, like an invisible beast stretching in the cramped theater. Ability values ticked precisely to a threshold. Then, with a snap—the theater’s last lit lamp extinguished without warning behind Wen Tianlu.
In the darkness his eyes had grown accustomed to, Wen Jiang distinctly felt Wen Tianlu’s footsteps falter. A faint, simmering anger spread silently from him. Obeying impulse, Wen Jiang let out a soft, amused huff.
The tiny sound pinpointed his location for Wen Tianlu. Footsteps shifted, drawing near. Seconds later, chill air closed in, the surrounding temperature plummeting again. Wen Jiang glanced sideways, spotting Wen Tianlu’s silhouette in the black.
They locked eyes for seconds. Wen Tianlu loomed over him, catching Wen Jiang’s gentle blink.
…Wen Jiang looks so fragile right now, Wen Tianlu thought amid a faint ear ring.
He nearly laughed at the instinctive thought. His state was off, but he wasn’t stupid. He felt Wen Jiang’s Supernatural Ability lingering here, a reminder that the guy wasn’t as delicate as he seemed.
But it was hopeless. Convincing a Combat Type esper deep down that a same-rank Lifestyle Type was stronger? One loss wouldn’t cut it. Wen Tianlu knew Wen Jiang couldn’t see him clearly either—the other’s world far less sharp than his own.
Rabbit, cat, bird… Wen Jiang was like any creature whose neck could snap easily, blissfully unaware of danger. If Wen Jiang reached out now, Wen Tianlu wasn’t sure he wouldn’t freeze two fingers off along with the coin.
That roused brutality still surged wildly in him, itching to break free. Yet Wen Jiang’s presence—another person here—contradictorily soothed him, stirring novelty, irritation, discomfort.
Wen Jiang eyed him a moment, then broke the silence: “You’re too tall.”
“…”
A sluggish brain wasn’t made for arguments. A beat or two later, Wen Tianlu asked, “What, you want me to kneel?”
His voice came out hoarse, contrasting Wen Jiang’s cool clarity. Wen Jiang shot back: “Scared your legs’ll give out?”
Tch. Wen Tianlu couldn’t help a laugh, unsure why. His first impulse: This guy’s insufferable.
Letting yourself weaken was purest folly—lowlifes would judge, trample, humiliate. That shameful past of voiceless, powerless dark was gone. Now Wen Family servants mentioned the young master’s “fear of dark” only in terror, mouths sealed.
His power hadn’t failed; it’d grown fiercer. He wasn’t fully cut off from the world—total loss of reason was weakness too.
Unlike this normal exchange with Wen Jiang, past inputs got funneled into attack signals.
Combat was a Combat Type’s instinct. The chasm between S-Grade and others was unbridgeable. Wen Tianlu caught cues keenly, instincts primed—like a predator knowing to sever throats. He could kill in the dark.
Too bad Wen Jiang was S-Grade too.
Hoarse voice, uneven breath, hurried steps, frequent blinks, trembling fingertips, slight stance shift—fear, dark, cold hid these from most. But fooling a fellow S-Grade? A performance-type S-Grade attuned to facades? Impossible.
In Wen Jiang’s eyes, his “fine” act was probably amateurish.
Hallucinations, visions, ringing ears, congestion, suffocation, nausea, rage—plus exhaustion fighting them—all manageable. Worst: Wen Jiang’s presence brought solace. Tiny, but enough to crack his full tension.
Like a weary man in perilous wilds, sleep impossible—until a soft bed appears, tempting collapse. Wen Tianlu wasn’t sure bending down wouldn’t lead to slumping entirely.
If he forces it—kicks my knee, or blusters low like my blustering father—I’d instinctively lash ice blades.
But, Wen Tianlu couldn’t help wondering: intentional or not? Wen Jiang always picked the move most advantageous to himself.
Every step hit that frustrating sweet spot—not enough to make you rebel outright, but enough to overthink, resist, doubt… only to circle back toward…
“Decided yet?” Wen Jiang didn’t even feign menace, skipping the repeat command with a lazy sigh. He stepped back instead, tone bored, subtly reminding: “Can’t do it? Lights on.”
It wasn’t Wen Jiang who failed to return the coin. Or craved escape from dark chains. Or secretly “expected,” wondered what next. Lights on cost Wen Jiang nothing.
Forcing Wen Tianlu’s bow… that vital to him?
Ending it now? Wen Tianlu had already walked the dark round trip successfully.
“…”
Brief silence. Then Wen Tianlu’s soft chuckle in the dark, laced with irritation. He bent slowly, leaning close, palm opening with the coin before Wen Jiang. In his usual gentle tone, by Wen Jiang’s ear: “This good enough?”
Taking it now, my whole hand might freeze solid, Wen Jiang thought flatly, reaching to pinch Wen Tianlu’s chin.
