The temperature in the lecture hall didn't just rise; it thinned. As Brent Carter's fury mounted, a low, whistling sound filled the room—the signature of his Level 5 WindWyvern bloodline. Faint, translucent ripples of pressurized air spiraled around his wrists like miniature hurricanes. In the hierarchy of Sector D, a Wind Wyvern was a predator of the skies, capable of slicing through reinforced steel with a flick of a gale-force finger.
The "Elite" students behind him smirked. To them, Brent wasn't just a leader; he was a hurricane in a human skin.
However, they had forgotten whose room they were standing in.
"Mr. Brent Carter," Professor Alistair Thorne's voice cut through the whistling wind like a blade of ice. He hadn't moved from his mahogany desk, yet the pressure in the room shifted instantly. "I believe your Elite Class 'Aero-Dynamics and Tactical Theory' lecture began ten minutes ago on the 80th floor."
Brent didn't turn around. His eyes remained locked on Roman, his pupils narrowing into vertical, reptilian slits. "Professor, this is a family matter. Roman needs to be reminded that a snake with fake hair is still just a snake."
"This is not a family manor; it is my classroom," Thorne said, finally standing up. As he moved, the faint scent of sandalwood evaporated, replaced by a cold, pressurized vacuum. He didn't manifest a flame or a spark, but the whistling wind around Brent's fingers suddenly died, snuffed out by an invisible weight. "You are disturbing the flow of my lecture. Leave. Now. Or I shall have Aegis revoke your combat-simulation privileges for the semester."
Brent stiffened. Revoking simulation privileges was a death sentence for an Elite's ranking. He shot one last, murderous look at Roman, leaning in to whisper, "Enjoy the basement while you can, Roman. When we meet in the combat pits, there won't be a Professor to hide behind."
With a flick of his white-and-gold cape, Brent and his goons sauntered out. The door hissed shut, and the heavy, stifling pressure vanished.
Alistair Thorne didn't miss a beat. He tapped his mahogany desk, and the central holographic projector flared to life, displaying a rotating, 3D map of the six continents of Terra.
"Now that the distraction has been removed," Thorne began, his grey eyes sweeping over the Normal Class students, "let us discuss the history you are not taught in the Elite tiers. You are told that bloodlines are a gift—a natural evolution of humanity. You are told the theories of intermingling with beasts or the consumption of high-rank cores."
He paused, the holographic map shifting to show the planet as it was thousands of years ago—a desolate, technologically advanced wasteland filled with towering ruins of steel and glass.
"But look at the data," Thorne continued. "The 'Awakening' at age sixteen is too precise. It is timed like a software update. The bloodline levels—1 through 10—are too structured. Does nature work in perfect decimal tiers? No. Furthermore, consider the Ability Users.
He gestured to a chart showing the power output of humans without bloodlines—those who used neural-implants, gravity-gloves, or psychic resonance.
"An Ability User with a high-tier Profoundrank exoskeleton can crush a Level 4 Bloodline user. If bloodlines were the 'natural evolution' of the soul, why would technology be able to mimic—and sometimes surpass—them so easily? The truth is, the system is engineered."
The class sat in stunned silence. This was borderline heresy.
"Roman," Thorne said suddenly, not looking back. "There is a theory regarding the Central Continent's Forbidden Zone. It claims that the bloodlines are not biological, but a residual colonial defense system left behind by a Type III civilization. If that is true, what is the flaw in our current cultivation method?"
Roman felt the eyes of the class on him. He knew Thorne was testing him, trying to see if the boy who survived the cliff had brought back more than just healed bones. He kept his voice low, steady, and devoid of arrogance—the perfect mask for a low-key protagonist.
"The flaw is the 'Vessel' bottleneck, Professor," Roman said.
Thorne stopped pacing. "Elaborate."
Roman looked at the holographic map, his mind accessing the Star Cultivation Manual and his previous life's engineering logic.
"If the bloodlines are a pre-set system, then the 'Levels' we are assigned are actually Energy Limiters. A Level 2 isn't 'weak' because they have less energy; they are 'weak' because their biological 'hardware'—their meridians and neural-links—are restricted from drawing more. We cultivate the Mortal Rank—Bone, Flesh, and Blood—to increase our tolerance. But because we follow the standard 'Drake' or 'Snake' manuals, we only strengthen the paths the system wants us to use."
Roman leaned back, his eyes steady behind his tinted lenses. "The flaw is that we are trying to grow within a cage. To reach the Star Form, a Normal student shouldn't be trying to 'increase' their energy. They should be trying to 'rewrite' the biological conductivity of their marrow."
The silence in the room was absolute. Even the flickering light-strips seemed to stop humming.
"Rewrite the conductivity," Thorne repeated softly. "A bold claim for a boy who can barely manifest a spark. And how would one do that without causing a total systemic meltdown?"
"By ignoring the Bloodline Tier and focusing on the Cosmic Frequency," Roman replied simply. "The stars don't have bloodlines, yet they produce the most energy in the universe. If we align our Bone Refining to the frequency of the stars rather than the frequency of our bloodline, the Level system becomes irrelevant. We aren't snakes or wyverns. We are vessels for the vacuum of space."
Thorne stared at Roman for a long moment. The silver-haired man looked as though he had finally found a diamond in a mountain of coal. "An interesting theory, Mr. Carter. Utterly impossible for most, of course. But interesting."
As the lecture continued, Roman returned to his notes, his face a mask of boredom. He could feel the shifted gaze of his classmates. They didn't see him as "trash" anymore; they saw him as a riddle they couldn't solve.
But Roman didn't want to be a riddle. He wanted to be a shadow. He had revealed just enough to pique Thorne's interest—ensuring he would have a powerful protector in the faculty—but not enough to reveal his actual progress in the Star CultivationManual.
As the bell chimed, signaling the end of the session, Thorne called out, "Mr. Carter, a moment."
Roman walked to the front as the other students filed out, whispering about his "Supernova" theory. Thorne was packing his ancient book into a leather satchel.
"That was a dangerous display of intelligence, Roman," Thorne said, his voice low. "In this school, being smart is often more dangerous than being strong. The Elites don't mind a strong dog, but they despise a smart one. They can't control what they can't understand."
"I was just answering a question, Professor," Roman said, his voice neutral.
"Was you?" Thorne looked up, his grey eyes piercing Roman's tinted lenses. "The Star Cultivation Manual you are using... it isn't the one your father gave you, is it? The frequency of your heartbeat is already beginning to sync with the planet's rotation. You're already midway through Bone Refining, aren't you?"
Roman didn't flinch. He knew that in a world of high-tech sensors and ancient masters, total secrecy was impossible. He just had to manage the degree of what was known.
"I'm just a Level 2, Professor. I'm just trying to survive the next 'accident' my cousin plans for me."
Thorne laughed—a short, genuine sound. "Survive then. But know this: I have seen many 'Stars' burn out because they tried to shine too bright, too fast. If you're going to be a supernova, make sure your 'vessel' is ready for the blast. Otherwise, you'll just be a very bright corpse."
Roman nodded and walked out, his mind already calculating. He had reached the end of the school day. He had a protector, he had a rival who was now blinded by rage, and most importantly, he had a plan.
He needed to finish his Bone Refining before the week was over. To do that, he couldn't stay in the Carter estate. He needed a place where the energy readings wouldn't be flagged by the Academy's surveillance drones. He needed the Underground Black Market of Sector D.
He adjusted his satchel, feeling the weight of the few Profound-rank energy cells he had scavenged. It was time to see if the "Normal" world had the resources he needed to build a Divine foundation.