Happy Raksha Bandhan
Russell stepped out of the car at the hotel entrance, his mood as dark as the evening sky. He knew exactly what the driver's muttered complaint had implied. But the old man wasn't wrong—the Daming Federation was indeed a ship taking on water. The longer Russell spent in this world, the more he could sense the rot beneath the surface. Still, when the sky falls, it's the tall ones who get crushed first. For now, he had bigger fish to fry.
Just as he reached the entrance, he nearly collided with Liam Blake. His classmate looked like he'd been dunked in a river, sweat dripping from every pore.
"Russell, you're back!" Liam's face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.
Russell nodded, but then watched in horror as Liam leaned in and... sniffed him. Like a bloodhound.
"Russell..." Liam's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "you have a certain... aroma about you. Did you actually go to the Everspring Clinic?"
Russell opened his mouth to defend his virtue, but Liam wasn't finished. His eyes gleamed with the unholy curiosity of a teenage boy discovering forbidden knowledge.
"Can you tell me in detail what it looks like inside? I mean, for... educational purposes."
Russell stared at his classmate, his faith in humanity crumbling. You, Liam Blake, with your innocent puppy-dog eyes and choir-boy smile. I never suspected you were a closet degenerate!
"I didn't go!" Russell protested, his voice cracking slightly. "I got this smell from helping an old lady cross the street! A very... perfumed old lady!"
Liam's expression screamed 'Yeah, right, and I'm the Emperor of Mars.' Russell threw up his hands in defeat and escaped to his room before his reputation could sink any lower.
Time has a way of sprinting when you're dreading something. Before Russell knew it, the day of the Riverview Province Unified Examination had arrived like an unwelcome relative—loud, unavoidable, and demanding attention.
Since the exam was open to the entire province, even with only a handful of registered cardmakers from each high school, the gathering resembled a small army. Though they called it an "exam," it was really a tournament dressed up in academic clothes—like putting a tuxedo on a prize fighter.
In Russell's opinion, a proper test would involve throwing students into a secret realm to hunt monsters and letting natural selection sort things out. But accommodating this many students would require a realm the size of a small country, and larger realms had a nasty habit of being more dangerous. The Association wasn't about to let a bunch of Black Iron level students march to their doom just to make a point.
The competition structure was refreshingly straightforward: preliminaries, main competition, and knockout rounds. The prelims used a points system where over a hundred students were divided into groups, with only the winner of each group advancing. However, students like Russell—already registered as bronze-level cardmakers—got to skip the opening act and waltz straight into the main event.
In the main competition, group winners and seeded players would be reshuffled into new groups of four or five for round-robin tournaments. Win and get three points, tie for one, lose for zero. Simple math even a cardmaker could handle. After the dust settled, only 32 students would remain for the final single-elimination bloodbath.
But even the "losers" had reason to smile. Teachers and recruiters from every major university would be watching like hawks, ready to swoop down on promising talent. Perform well and you might get courted; rank high and you get to do the choosing. It was the difference between being picked for the team and being team captain.
Since Russell didn't need to participate in the preliminary meat grinder, he strolled directly to the special viewing seats reserved for seeded players. A few other students were already scattered around like chess pieces on a board. One familiar face caught his eye: Cole Kong.
"Lord Russell, long time no see," Cole said, rising to greet him first. Despite still harboring dreams of surpassing Russell, he held no personal grudge. Hard to stay mad at someone who'd saved your life at the Golden Talent Credit building.
"Long time no see," Russell replied, settling into the seat beside him with practiced ease.
Politics existed even here. He and Cole were both from New Metro, making them natural allies in this provincial arena. Their seating arrangement wasn't coincidental—it was strategic. The other talented students from rival cities watched this display with calculating eyes.
If Cole Kong is sitting here, he must be bronze-level like us, they reasoned. But he's showing Russell such deference. Either this kid has serious backing, or his strength is genuinely terrifying.
Students who could reach bronze level in three months weren't idiots. They knew Russell wasn't just window dressing. After all, you didn't get a reserved seat without the credentials to back it up.
The opening ceremony began with all the enthusiasm of a funeral march. As expected, it was mostly speeches from important people who loved the sound of their own voices. Since this was the inaugural Riverview Province unified examination, everyone wanted their moment in the spotlight.
The guest list read like a who's who of regional power: high-ranking officials from the Northgate government, Association leaders, university directors, major media outlets, and corporate group representatives. The lineup was so impressive it could have been a political convention.
This also meant that even without official rewards, achieving a good ranking would trigger a feeding frenzy of secret investment offers from various factions. Everyone wanted to bet on the winning horse.
Russell listened to one leader drone on about "the bright future of our young talents" and wondered if watching paint dry would be more entertaining. His mind wandered to more pressing concerns, like when the actual competition would begin.
"...this year, many exceptional young talents have emerged in our province."
As if summoned by the speaker's words, Russell and his fellow seeded players appeared on the stadium's massive screen. The other students tensed up like deer caught in headlights. After all, half the province's power structure was currently eyeing them like prize cattle.
Russell, however, remained calm as still water. He was a secret operative in the Spirit Begging Society—could anything be more nerve-wracking than that? He simply sat up straight, wearing an expression of polite interest that revealed absolutely nothing.
Meanwhile, university representatives huddled over their files like card players protecting their hands. They were rivals now, competing for the same limited pool of talent. Russell's information was naturally included in their dossiers. Many representatives did double-takes when they saw he'd been bronze-level a month and a half ago. Thick red circles appeared around his profile picture like targets.
The corporate representatives lacked such detailed intelligence, but they weren't fools. They immediately instructed their assistants to record every name on the screen. These were all potential goldmines. Bet on the right one, and their corporation's status would skyrocket. Besides, investing in teenage geniuses cost pocket change compared to the tribute they paid to the Association and court annually.
Finally, mercifully, the last long-winded speech ground to a halt. Russell released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Under the watchful eyes of hundreds of important people, he couldn't exactly meditate to pass the time, so he'd been forced to endure the entire political theater.
The students around him were practically vibrating with excitement. The speeches had been full of motivational platitudes and promises as substantial as morning mist, but his fellow students had swallowed every word like gospel truth.
To Russell, it was all just noise—pretty words designed to distract from ugly realities.
Thinking about the rewards the Association had given him, he knew that without his "part-time job" with the Spirit Begging Society, his development would have been far more difficult. And those rewards had come from the Association alone; the Daming court hadn't even acknowledged his existence.
Originally, Russell had assumed the Daming Federation was completely under the Association's thumb. But after witnessing today's ceremony, he realized the court still wielded considerable influence of its own. Two powers, one nation—and he'd been told nothing about this delicate balance.
Where there's power, there's corruption, he mused darkly. And where there's corruption, there are opportunities for those smart enough to exploit them.
The game was about to begin, and Russell intended to win.
(End of Chapter)