CHAPTER 169: ENVY

The air inside the upper F-Class training dome shimmered with tension as the students gathered for their weekly test-fight session.

It was the kind of class designed to gauge both individual power control and creative combat improvisation.

Artificial terrain was generated on command—desert wastelands, rocky cliffs, freezing snowfields, or even dense jungles—depending on the instructors’ whims.

It was here, in this dynamic battleground, where students made names for themselves or were humiliated in front of their peers.

Elius arrived five minutes early. He stepped into the gleaming arena, his black boots clicking softly against the polished tiles, a subtle contrast to the heavy stomping of excited classmates.

His simple dark uniform seemed to catch the light in all the right ways—unbuttoned just enough at the collar to reveal the faintest glimpse of his collarbone, tousled hair falling just a little too perfectly around his eyes. It was effortless. Unforgivingly so.

The moment he walked in, the temperature seemed to shift. Girls who had been chatting casually on the sidelines froze mid-laugh.

Conversations broke off like snapped strings. Half a dozen turned their heads with uncanny synchronicity, mouths parting in unspoken awe.

It started with gasps. Then soft squeals.

"Oh my god, he’s here..."

"He looks even better today—how is that possible?"

"His skin—does he use dimensional lotion or something?"

The first to break formation was Clara, a fourth-generation superhuman with floating neon bubbles perpetually orbiting her. She half-jogged toward Elius, barely able to hold back the joy in her voice.

"Good morning, Elius! Did you sleep well?" Her cheeks flushed, and the bubbles popped gently in the air around her like champagne.

Elius blinked slowly. "...Yes."

The simplicity of the answer didn’t deter her enthusiasm. In fact, it seemed to fuel it.

Within moments, more girls followed. In droves.

"Elius! I baked muffins last night! They have anti-fatigue properties!"

"Elius, would you like a massage later? Not like that! I mean for muscle recovery!"

"I composed a theme song for you—it’s part rock, part opera!"

"You should trademark your face!"

"Do you have a skincare routine? You look like a celestial being."

"I... I had a dream last night," one girl said, trembling slightly. "You were a prince trapped in a crystal coffin and I—well—I saved you by slaying a hydra with a frying pan."

Elius stared at her. "Did I say thank you?"

"Yes," she breathed. "Twice."

The chaos escalated. Several girls began forming an unofficial queue just to stand within five feet of him. A few boys joined too—some out of genuine attraction, others out of curiosity, and a few just to bask in the absurd gravitational field of his existence.

And then came the subtle undertones. Glares from across the training dome. Not everyone was enchanted.

"Can’t believe it," muttered a boy near the weight platform, his fist clenching around a barbell. "He walks in like he owns the place and everyone goes star-eyed."

Another, lean and sneering, leaned against the mock boulder in the desert terrain section. "It’s pathetic," he said. "He’s just coasting on his looks. Bet he folds the moment he’s punched in the face."

A third, a bulky brute with granite skin, snorted. "People like that? They’re all talk. I bet he’s scared to even fight. He hasn’t even shown off in training once. What’s he hiding?"

The jealousy swirled like a brewing storm. And Elius—he noticed. He saw it all. He didn’t need to look directly to sense it. The bitter twist in their auras, the stiffening of their limbs, the forced chuckles when girls swarmed him. It didn’t bother him. It only confirmed what he already understood—charisma could be a blessing or a blade. And in a place like this, beauty was often a threat to those who had only muscle.

The instructor finally arrived—a burly woman with six arms and a voice like grinding steel. "Alright, rats," she barked. "You want to climb ranks? You gotta fight. Today’s test is simple—random 1v1. You win? You move up in standing. Lose? You shut up and train harder."

The students lined up on command. But before the instructor could tap her randomized match-selection tablet, the boy with the granite skin stepped forward.

"Ma’am," he said, loud enough for the room to hear, "I’d like to challenge someone directly."

She narrowed her six eyes. "What is this, amateur hour?"

"I want him." The granite boy pointed directly at Elius. "Let’s see if he’s actually worth the praise."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

All eyes turned.

Elius slowly looked up from the juice box he had been sipping.

The instructor scratched her chin. "Hmph. Not protocol, but... interesting." She turned to Elius. "You game, pretty boy?"

Elius didn’t answer right away. He tilted his head, expression unreadable. Then he stood. Smoothly. Like a tide rising without warning.

"I accept," he said, voice calm, too calm. "I’ve been meaning to test something."

The arena changed shape instantly. The dome transformed into a flat metallic plane, surrounded by jagged energy walls that sparked violently. The kind used in controlled duels to prevent escapes or interference.

The granite-skinned student—Bork, they called him—grinned. "I hope you’re ready to bleed."

Elius stepped onto the platform.

Bork took a fighter’s stance immediately. Arms raised. Feet grounded. Muscles flaring as he activated his unique defensive mutation. His skin turned darker, denser—his already thick hide turning to near-stone. His fingers grew longer, claws sharpening. The crowd murmured. He was one of the toughest students in F-Class upper. Not particularly clever, but very hard to damage.

Elius, meanwhile, just stood there.

His hands stayed at his sides.

The instructor raised a hand. "BEGIN!"

Bork charged like a missile, the floor cracking beneath his steps as he accelerated with earthshaking momentum. He lunged with a roar, bringing a clawed hand down in a hammering arc, aiming to split Elius’s skull.

Elius didn’t move.

He waited until the blow was inches from his head—and then he vanished.

To the onlookers, it looked like teleportation. A blur. A moment of nothingness and then—

Elius was behind Bork, hand resting casually on the back of his neck.

Bork whirled. Too late.

WHAM!

With a single open-palm push, Elius sent the granite-skinned boy flying forward like a cannonball, slamming him into the energy wall with a concussive explosion of sparks. Bork collapsed onto the platform, groaning.

The crowd gasped.

Elius didn’t gloat. He didn’t even smile. He simply turned and walked off the platform.

"Test complete," he muttered.

The instructor stared, then let out a low whistle. "...Well damn."

The girls exploded into cheers. Some screamed. A few fainted. Even the jealous students went silent.

Elius sat back down on the bench, picked up his juice box again, and resumed sipping. The straw made a quiet slurp.

He glanced at the instructor. "Who’s next?"

.