Fang Ze walked through the crowded school corridor, the chatter of classmates bouncing off lockers. Everyone was absorbed in phones, gossip, or tests—but he felt the tiny disturbances. A subtle fluctuation in aura when someone brushed past, the silent tremor of hidden tension, the faint shimmer of strength someone failed to notice.
He was careful not to draw attention. To most, he was simply an above-average student—good grades, polite, friendly, but unremarkable. Yet beneath that ordinary exterior, his body remembered skills, reflexes, and strategies from a previous life. A glance could assess someone's capabilities, a step could avoid an accident before it happened. He practiced restraint; early exposure could bring unnecessary trouble.
During lunch, a commotion erupted near the gates—a petty fight between two classmates. Fang Ze observed quietly. As one student lunged, his reflexes kicked in. With a single, precise step, he intercepted, shifting the balance just enough to prevent injury. To the crowd, it looked like an accident. The students involved were confused, their pride slightly bruised—but no one suspected that Fang Ze had orchestrated it in a heartbeat.
He smiled faintly, returning to his table. The city, the school, even this simple life—everything had undercurrents waiting to be noticed. And he had the advantage of sight no one else possessed.