The BSA's "Global Talent Registry" was not a polite request. It was a societal mandate.
Lin Hao's phone, and the phones of every "Awakened" student, had been blowing up with automated, increasingly threatening text messages: [FINAL NOTICE: Your mandatory BSA screening is 24 hours overdue. Failure to register is a Level-4 Federal Offense.]
The harassment, combined with the non-stop hounding from student reporters and aspiring "Awakened" wannabes, had become... inefficient.
"You have to do this, man," Fatty Zhang said, his voice tense. They were standing in a line that snaked out the door of the university's gymnasium, which had been converted into a temporary BSA processing center. "Su Yun has been running interference for you all week, but even she can't hold off Recruiter Han forever. If you don't register, they'll think you're a rogue 'Awakened.' That's way worse."
Lin Hao, his baseball cap pulled low, just grunted. He felt ridiculously exposed.
The gymnasium was a bureaucratic circus. It smelled of sweat, cheap cleaning supplies, and the coppery tang of fear. It was a DMV for superpowers. Dozens of students and local citizens were lined up, waiting to be tagged and bagged.
Lin Hao's [Level 6] senses were on fire. The room was a sea of chaotic, flaring, uncontrolled energy. He could feel the Level 1s, their "Qi" sputtering like weak, damp firecrackers. He could feel the handful of Level 2s, like the BSA guards, who felt like buzzing, over-charged neon signs.
And then there was him. A [Level 6] cultivator with a [Mid-Grade Spirit Tier Gongfa]. In this room, he wasn't just a sun; he was a silent, hidden, black hole. The sheer density of his power, held in check by his new 'Azure River Divine Chant', made him completely invisible.
"Next!" a tired-looking agent called.
Lin Hao shuffled forward. The agent, a man with a clipboard and weary eyes, looked at his ID.
"Name: Lin Hao." The agent's eyes shot up, his bored expression instantly replaced with one of professional interest. "Oh, right. The 'Hero of Campus.' We've been expecting you, Mr. Lin. Heard you were... processing. We've got you fast-tracked for the 'Hero Class' aptitude test."
He led Lin Hao past the boring "talent-screening" tables (where people were just holding up glowing hands) to the main event, roped off in the center of the gym.
It was the "Qi-Strength Punching Machine."
It was a massive, eight-foot-tall, black metallic pillar. It wasn't a "bag"; it was a solid, reactive, metallic pad with a large digital display above it.
"Here's the deal, son," the agent said, his voice dropping into a friendly, professional tone. "We're measuring raw, kinetic, Qi-enhanced output. The scale is pretty simple. Your average, untrained Level 1 'Awakened' is hitting around... 150. Level 2 'Adepts' are in the 200-300 range."
He gestured to the screen, which had a "HIGH SCORE" at the top. The number was 850.
"That's the prodigy, Chen Long," the agent said, his voice full of awe. "He set that record yesterday. Of course, he's a Level 4: Grandmaster with a family Gongfa. We're not expecting that."
He clapped Lin Hao on the shoulder, the one that had been "mauled." "But you? You took out a whole pack. You're a 'brute-force' type, a natural Adept. Just hit it as hard as you can. Show us what you've got."
Lin Hao looked at the machine. 850.
He, a Level 6, could probably hit 8,500. He could shatter the machine, the floor it was bolted to, and the building's foundation.
But he was a planner. He was a performer. His "Hero" identity was that of a high-strung, brand-new [Level 2: Adept].
He needed to hit his mark. The user's prompt was 245. That was perfect. High enough to be impressive. Low enough to be "just" an Adept.
He stepped up. He took off his hoodie, revealing a simple gray T-shirt. He had to sell this.
He focused. He actively suppressed his Azure River Divine Chant. He shut down his [Level 6] internal Qi. He ignored his [Level 5] Qi-sense.
He reached, instead, for the raw, crude, external power he had first awakened. The [Level 2: Muscle Weaving] and [Level 3: Tendon Connection].
And then, he held 99% of that back.
"Okay," he muttered, playing the part of the nervous, super-strong kid. "Here goes."
He let out a loud, theatrical grunt. "HRRNGH!"
He put on a show. His face "strained." His muscles "bunched." He threw a wide, clumsy, inefficient punch, a "brute's" punch, that started from his shoulder, not his core.
THWACK!
The sound was solid. Impressive, even. It was a "good" punch. It was not a cultivator's strike.
The machine beeped. The red, digital numbers flickered, climbing past 150... past 200...
And settled.
[SCORE: 245]
A second line of text flashed beneath it.
[RANK: LEVEL 2: ADEPT (HIGH)]
The agent's jaw dropped. He let out a low, impressed whistle.
"Wow, kid," the agent said, slapping the score into his tablet. "Just... wow. 245. That's solid. That's higher than both the 'A-Team' guards you saved, combined. And you're untrained?"
Lin Hao just rubbed the back of his neck, "embarrassed."
The agent grinned, stamping Lin Hao's file with a large, red, APPROVED stamp. "You're not just 'Hero Class' talent, son. You're the poster boy talent. A high-Adept with no family backing? Oh yeah."
He handed Lin Hao his new, laminated BSA ID card.
"Recruiter Han is gonna love you."