Lin Hao's hand was still in the air, hanging in the empty, awkward space where Chen Long's hand should have been. The crowd, sensing the tension, had quieted. The only sound was the clicking of smartphone cameras.
Slowly, "humbly," Lin Hao pulled his hand back, as if embarrassed by the snub, and shoved it deep into his hoodie pocket.
Chen Long saw the "cowardly" movement and his lip curled, his disdain deepening. He had already dismissed Lin Hao as a Level 2: Waste Root, a piece of trash. But Recruiter Han was still standing there, smiling, waiting. This "brute" was, for some insane reason, a local "hero." Chen Long had to play the part of the magnanimous prodigy, but he would do it on his terms.
He turned his body slightly, not to face Lin Hao, but to include him in his periphery.
"So," Chen Long said, his voice carrying clearly across the steps, "you're the one who killed the rabid dogs."
He looked Lin Hao up and down, his gaze a physical, insulting caress. "Good. A strong 'brute' is still useful. Even a hammer can be used to pound a nail."
It was a blatant, public insult, wrapped in a thin veneer of compliment.
Fatty Zhang, standing just behind Lin Hao, tensed, his face turning red. "This guy..." he muttered.
"However," Chen Long continued, his voice hardening, "power without control is a liability. A danger to everyone."
Recruiter Han's smile became strained. "Mr. Chen, this is a day of unity..."
"Indeed," Chen Long said, cutting him off. "Let us unify."
And then, he released it.
It wasn't a physical movement. It was a change in the air.
A heavy, invisible, crushing pressure exploded outward from Chen Long. It was the "aura" of a Level 4: Grandmaster, the spiritual pressure of a man who had forged his very bones.
The effect on the crowd was immediate and terrifying.
The students closest to the steps cried out, stumbling back as if hit by a physical, invisible wave. The phones in their hands wavered. The air grew cold, heavy, and hard to breathe. It was a pure, primal "get on your knees" command.
Recruiter Han, a Level 3 Expert, was hit full-on. He visibly paled, and a bead of real sweat broke out on his forehead. He was straining to remain standing and smiling, his respect for Chen Long's power visibly multiplying.
This was the "test."
Chen Long watched Lin Hao, a cold, arrogant smirk on his handsome face. He expected the "brute," the "Level 2 Adept," to sweat. To stumble. To choke, or even to fall to one knee. He was waiting for it, ready to enjoy the humiliation.
The pressure wave, this "mountainous" aura, hit Lin Hao.
And he felt...
...nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
If Chen Long's Level 4 aura was a hurricane, Lin Hao's Level 6 cultivation, anchored by his High-Grade Gongfa, was the planet the hurricane was on. The pressure was a light breeze. It was a gnat, trying to push over a mountain. It was so weak, so pathetic, he almost scoffed.
But he was on stage. The cameras were rolling. And the prodigy was staring at him, expecting him to break.
Lin Hao knew, with cold, analytical certainty, that standing here, unaffected, would be a far greater crime than any display of strength. It would be an admission.
He had to act.
His "Hero" persona, the "brute-force Adept," wouldn't just stand here. He would struggle.
So, Lin Hao gave them the performance of a lifetime.
First, the visual cue. He willed his body to react. He forced a single, perfect bead of "sweat" to pop out on his temple, just as Recruiter Han's had.
Second, the sound. He gritted his teeth, the sound a low, audible grind. He let out a "strained" grunt, as if he was suddenly trying to breathe through wet concrete.
Third, the "struggle." He "locked" his knees, his entire body "trembling," as if he was fighting against an immense, crushing weight. He was a perfect picture of a man at his absolute, straining limit.
Chen Long's smirk widened. Yes. This was it. The brute was breaking.
Finally, the "failure."
Lin Hao let his "overwhelmed" body give in. He let out a sharp, choked gasp and took one, single, loud, "strained" step back. His foot scraped on the concrete step, a sound of pure, unadulterated failure.
He was "panting," his head down, his baseball cap hiding his eyes. He had "failed" the test. He had been "humbled."
Chen Long was triumphant. He had proven his point. He was the "Inheritor." This was the "brute."
He withdrew his aura, the pressure vanishing as if a switch had been flicked.
He let out a small, condescending "tsk."
"See?" Chen Long said, turning to Recruiter Han, his voice full of smug satisfaction. "No control."
He was about to say more, but a new, furious voice cut through the air.
"Hey! What the hell was that?"
Fatty Zhang, his face a mask of pure, protective rage, stormed forward. He stepped past the "recovering" Lin Hao and planted himself in front of the stunned prodigy.
"He's our guest! You're the guest!" Fatty yelled, jabbing a finger, not at Chen Long, but at the scandalized Recruiter Han. "And you just let this guy attack him? That's not fair! That's a cheap shot!"