Inside, Michael stood alone at the highest balcony of the Spirit Temple, arms resting loosely on the carved stone railing.

Below him, the vast avenues of Spirit City stretched out like a living tapestry—adorned with banners, lanterns, and the echoes of celebration. The Continental Spirit Master Tournament Finals had begun. Teams had arrived. Crowds swelled. The city was alive with anticipation.

But his gaze wasn't on the festivities.

It was on the teams.

One after another, he watched them arrive.

Their uniforms.

Their confident steps.

Their ignorant pride.

He saw the group from the Barak Kingdom—nervous but determined. Then came the Sky Water Academy, graceful and aloof. The Thunderclap Academy followed, exuding an aggressive spirit power signature. Teams from the Star Luo Empire, Heaven Dou Empire, and even fringe kingdoms paraded in turn.

Then came a team that gave him pause—if only for a fleeting heartbeat.

Clad in simple green-trimmed uniforms.

Shrek Academy.

Not exactly the same as the animated series he once knew, but close. Familiar faces emerged, one by one:

Tang San, calm and focused, his aura centered and unwavering. A young man with deep, thoughtful eyes and twin hammers strapped to his back—yet the faint trace of Blue Silver Grass curled around his wrist like ivy.

Dai Mubai, golden eyes sharp, walked like a lion among sheep. Muscles coiled beneath his robes, ready to strike.

Oscar, the food-type spirit master, had matured—his features refined, yet the old smirk remained.

Ma Hongjun, bulkier than he remembered, fiery and fierce—undeniably the Phoenix.

Ning Rongrong, elegant and proud, cast a noble glance toward the stands.

Zhu Zhuqing—silent, deadly, beautiful. Her steps matched the rhythm of the shadows themselves.

And then, Xiao Wu.

Sweet-faced. Energetic. Innocent to most… but Michael knew better.

"It seems they got the Heavenly Herbs from Dugu Bo's garden," Michael mused, eyes narrowing as they settled on Tang San's group—especially Xiao Wu.

Her beast aura, once faintly perceptible to his heightened senses, had vanished completely.

Not suppressed.

Perfectly masked.

As if it had never existed.

Only one thing could achieve such a feat—and Michael knew it intimately.

Immortal-grade herbs. True heavenly treasures drawn from the Ice and Fire Yin Yang Well.

"Smart move," he muttered, observing how Tang San lingered near her—subtle, yet unmistakably protective.

That garden, hidden deep within Dugu Bo's territory, had once been a minor footnote in history. In this world, though, it had already been raided. Just like in the original.

Michael had never needed that garden.

He had created far superior spiritual domains within Spirit Hall itself—alchemical sanctuaries nurtured with precision, vast knowledge, and his personal aura system. With Spirit Hall's unmatched resources backing him, his advancements in alchemy had long since eclipsed the so-called Ice and Fire Yin Yang Well.

Let Tang San and his team have their prize.

Let them believe they'd gained something invaluable.

Let them think it made them untouchable.

Because when the moment came, he would crush them all—without effort.

Like swatting a fly that dared reach toward the sun.

From his vantage point, Michael's gaze swept across the wide parade grounds as more teams arrived, banners fluttering proudly behind them.

Some represented lesser kingdoms—flamboyant, loud, and lacking true strength.

Others bore the insignias of ancient noble sects—like the Elephant Armored School, Thunderclap Sect, and Blazing Academy—each parading their carefully trained prodigies.

None of them impressed him.

Star Luo Empire's team marched with quiet discipline. Their captain, Davis, carried a proud demeanor and a long-standing rivalry with Dai Mubai—one Michael recalled clearly from the original tale. But even that pride… would be meaningless soon enough.

Among all the teams, only one stood out as truly different.

The one from the Heaven Dou Empire.

This time, it wasn't led by Yu Tianxin—but by the First Prince himself. In the original timeline, Renxue had quietly eliminated him early on. But with Michael's presence in this world, that fate had never come to pass.

And so… the prodigy remained.

At only fifteen years old, he had already reached Level 45—a terrifying pace that marked him as a once-in-a-generation talent. His composed presence and unshakable command made one thing clear: this team wasn't to be dismissed.

After watching all the teams arrive, Michael finally turned back toward his quarters.

He exhaled slowly, dropped his outer robe, and slid beneath the sheets without a word. On either side of him lay two breathtaking women—Felicia and Renxue—partially veiled beneath shimmering silk.

The night before had been one of quiet passion—deep, intimate, and wordless.

Now, both women rested peacefully, expressions soft and content as they slept beside him.

Michael had intended to rest too. But the buzz of the city—and subtle whispers of movement from among the newly arrived teams—had stirred him back into wakefulness.

With a casual snap of his fingers, a gentle blue cube of light shimmered into existence—enveloping the bed in a protective barrier that sealed away all disturbance.

He slid back beneath the covers, letting the warmth envelop him. Both Felicia and Renxue stirred slightly, instinctively leaning closer as he wrapped his arms around them once more.

They nestled against him, eyes still closed.

A faint smile played across his lips.

And just like that, the Holy Son of Spirit Hall drifted back into sleep—surrounded by serenity, strength… and the rare comfort only these two had ever offered him.

The Next Morning — Spirit City Coliseum

Sunlight rose slowly over Spirit City, golden rays spilling across the high towers of Spirit Hall. Bells tolled through the air, announcing the long-awaited event: the final stage of the Continental Elite Spirit Tournament.

Within the colossal Spirit Coliseum—an arena carved from pale jade and capable of seating tens of thousands—the energy was electric. Nobles, officials, spirit masters, and commoners alike had gathered from across the continent to witness history.

Flags snapped in the wind.

Drums sounded.

Teams stood in formation.

And high above it all, in the royal viewing platform, Bibi Dong, the Supreme Pontiff, took her seat.

To her right, stood Michael — calm, unreadable, dressed in Spirit Hall's black-and-gold ceremonial robes, his aura fully suppressed yet still suffocatingly oppressive to those who dared to sense it.

Behind him stood Renxue, radiant and composed as ever, and Felicia, veiled in a cloak of deep crimson, her eyes scanning the field lazily but sharply.

*******

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