The halls of Vanguard Academy were designed to inspire awe, but to those at the bottom of the hierarchy, they were nothing more than gilded cages. On Tuesdays, the schedule offered a rare free period—a time meant for self-study that usually devolved into a hunting season for the elite tiers.
I was strolling down the corridor of the third wing, the silver chains on my royal white uniform clinking with a rhythmic, metallic snap. The hallway was lined with open-concept study spaces, and as I passed one, I stopped.
In the center of the room, a seventeen-year-old boy was on his knees. His uniform was tattered, his Tier-two badge dull and scratched. He was frantically scrubbing the leather boots of a student lounging in a high-backed chair. The bully was a Tier-six, a gold rank who radiated the casual arrogance of someone who had never been told no.
Tsk. I clicked my tongue, the sound sharp in the sudden silence of the room. "This brings back old memories."
The memories of my past life in Shang City flashed before my eyes—the way the powerful ground the weak into the dirt just because they could. Back then, I didn't have the strength to stop it. Now? Now I was the glitch in their perfect system.
I stepped into the class space. Every head turned. The atmosphere shifted from oppressive to electric. Some students looked shocked, their mouths hanging open as they recognized the teir-one trash who had embarrassed Marcus Cinandra. Others were left in awe, their eyes tracing the sharp, handsome lines of my face.
"Hey, isn't that guy hot?" a Tier-six girl whispered to her friend, her cheeks flushing.
"I heard his name is Oliver," another whispered back. "The one who knocked down Marcus Cinandra while being at a tier of nothing. Whoever he's dating sure is lucky."
I ignored the murmurs and walked straight toward the boy on the floor. I didn't look at the bully, I looked at the victim.
"Hey," I said, my voice flat but carrying a weight that cut through the room. "The kid on his knees should get back up and find a better job to do. This one is useless."
The Tier-two boy froze. He looked up at me, his eyes wide with terror, then glanced back at the boy in the chair. He was caught between a new threat and a familiar nightmare. The bully's name was Zhang Li. He was known as the Shadow of Marcus,the second-strongest in the Tier-six bracket. He had spiky black hair, the sides of his head shaved into clean, sharp fades. Silver earrings glinted in both ears, and the collar of his uniform was unbuttoned, flaring out to frame a face that wore a permanent expression of boredom.
Seeing my confidence, the bullied kid scrambled to his feet, choosing to take a chance on the stranger.
"You bastard! You dare leave—!" Zhang Li started to roar, half-rising from his chair.
"So what?!" I cut him short, stepping into his personal space.
I leaned against a nearby desk, putting one of my polished boots up on the wood—right next to Zhang Li's hand. "I heard your name was Zhang Li. They say you're only second to Marcus and you've been getting quite popular lately. You know... I hate guys who are popular. I especially hate guys who think all the attention in the room belongs to them."
Zhang Li stared at my foot on his desk, then up at me. He began to laugh—a dark, mocking sound that made the other students shrink back. "HMM... HAHA... HAHAHA! Hey kiddo, don't get cocky just because you knocked down Marcus. He was foolish enough to drop his guard for a piece of trash like you. I won't make that mistake."
I didn't even look at him. I turned my head to the side and gave a long, dramatic yawn.
"You were saying...?" I asked, sticking a pinky finger into my ear and wiggling it to clear an imaginary itch.
"You dare mock me?!"
Zhang Li exploded. He moved in a blurry motion, his speed propelling him to my right side in an instant. To the others, he was a streak of red and black. To me, he was moving through molasses. My True Sight and the Nebula Core synchronized, slowing the world down until I could see the sweat flying off his brow.
Before he could even cock his fist back, my hand moved. It was a blur—a lash of white silk. My palm slammed into his upper jaw with the force of a hydraulic press.
Zhang Li was sent spinning backward through the air. He did two full rotations before crashing into the pavement floor, his desk splintering beneath him.
I lowered my hand and looked at him. "I said... you were saying?"
"You cocky bastard!" Zhang Li roared, scrambling up. Blood trickled from his lip, and the bored expression was gone, replaced by a mask of pure rage.
He lunged again, but this time he was cautious. He led with a sharp elbow strike aimed at my temple. I parried it effortlessly with my right hand, keeping my left hand tucked coolly in my pocket. He followed up with a flurry of strikes—roundhouse kicks, jabs, and spinning back-fists.
I dodged them all. I wasn't even moving my feet, I was simply swaying my upper body, letting his fists whistle past my ears by millimeters. He was getting annoyed, his movements becoming sloppy and frustrated.
"You annoying brat! Stay in place so I can hit you!" he screamed.
"Not a chance," I replied.
Without a warning, I pivoted. My body moved with the snap of a whip. A back-spinning hook kick caught him squarely on the side of the neck. The impact sounded like a bat hitting a wet rug. Zhang Li was sent flying, crashing through the classroom entrance and out into the main hallway.
I walked toward him slowly. He was lying sprawled on the floor, his eyes rolled back, showing only the white sclera. He was out cold.
"Oops," I muttered, looking down at his unconscious form. "He passed out. And I really wanted him to clean my shoes when I was done with him. Oh well."
I walked past him, stepping over his body as if he were nothing more than a discarded candy wrapper. The Tier-six students in the room stood in a trance. Their Almighty Zhang Li had been dismantled by an E-Rank without that E-Rank even taking his hand out of his pocket.
From that day on, I became a ghost in the hallways of Vanguard. I didn't go looking for fights, I went looking for bullies.
Whether they were skilled, strong, huge, or possessed legendary endurance, it didn't matter. I hunted them down. I broke their pride first, then their bones, and finally, their spirits.
A week later, I was sitting on the North Field. I wasn't sitting on a chair. I was sitting on the back of a Tier-four bully who was currently acting as my human sofa. My feet were resting on the shoulders of another Tier-five bully who was on all fours, trembling.
"Hey, go get me a drink," I said to a boy named Kal—a former bully I had thoroughly "re-educated" a few days prior.
"Yes, Sir Oliver! I'll go get the drink immediately!" Kal scrambled away, terrified of being a second late.
"And as you're going," I called out after him, "tell my shoe polisher that he's late. If he doesn't want to get knocked out like the last time, he should get his ass down here. My boots aren't going to shine themselves."
"Yes, Sir!"
I leaned back, looking at the clouds. I wasn't doing this because I enjoyed being a tyrant. I was doing this to show the Academy that their Tiers meant nothing. If a One-Star could turn their elites into furniture, then the entire system was a lie.
...
Zhang Li had never felt this level of humiliation in his life. For days, he had hidden in the shadows, his jaw bruised and his reputation shattered. He bit his thumb so hard it bled.
"I can't believe it," he hissed to himself in a secluded corner of the gym. "Humiliated... bullied... by an E-Rank nobody!"
Just then, Kal approached him. The boy who was once Zhang Li's subordinate now looked at him with a mix of pity and fear.
"The new guy... Oliver... he has summoned you," Kal whispered, his voice shaking. He didn't want the others to hear him delivering a summons for their fallen king.
Kal didn't wait for a response; he turned and hurried away, as if being near Zhang Li would bring the bully hunter's wrath down on him.
"Tsk... that bastard," Zhang Li muttered.
He had no choice. He had seen what happened to those who ignored Oliver's summons. They didn't just get beaten; they disappeared from the social fabric of the school. He stood up, adjusted his unbuttoned collar, and walked toward the North Field.
As he rounded the corner, he saw the sight that had become a local legend, Oliver Veyron, sitting regally on a throne of defeated elites, looking out over the Academy as if he already owned it.
Oliver turned his head, those striking hazel eyes locking onto Zhang Li. A dark, stylish grin spread across his face.
"You're late, Zhang Li," I said, the silver chains on my uniform glinting. "Grab a brush. My left boot is looking a little dull."