"Little Brother Yu, what kind of clothes do you like?" Barely out of 'Yayang', Belka turned her head to ask as she led the way. Lily seemed uninterested in the topic, her eyes fixed ahead as she walked.

"Clothes? Nothing special. As long as they’re wearable and patch-free," Huanyu replied, left hand resting on his chest, right elbow propped against his left arm, fingers pinching his chin in thought.

"Really no favorites at all?" Belka turned away, her voice tinged with slight disappointment, muttering to herself as she pondered.

Uncertain of the situation, Huanyu felt it best to stay quiet. With Belka no longer initiating conversation and Lily having little to do with him, the trio lapsed into silence. Finally, guided by Belka and Lily, they reached the nearest clothing store from 'Yayang'.

The shop was nearly empty, likely due to the early hour. Only a middle-aged woman sat behind the counter. Spotting them enter, she beamed warmly. "Welcome, little Belka, little Lily, and that retro boy."

"Aunt Lierya! Long time no see—you still look so energetic," Belka greeted familiarly.

"Aunt Lierya," Lily murmured shyly.

*—So she only shows that expression to adults she knows?* Huanyu observed Lily’s shy demeanor.

"What nonsense are you thinking?" Lily snapped, catching Huanyu staring at her with a thoughtful look. Her cold expression returned instantly.

"Nothing, nothing at all," Huanyu smiled hastily, *or she might blast me with a fireball*.

Aunt Lierya stepped out from behind the counter, sidling up to Belka with a mischievous grin. "And this boy? Never seen him before. Could it be—"

"He’s Huanyu. A new student," Belka replied evenly, missing—or ignoring—the implication.

"So what clothes are you buying today?" Lierya asked formally, then leaned in eagerly. "Victory lingerie, perhaps?"

"No. Little Brother Yu arrived without luggage. He hasn’t received his uniform yet, and after sweating through yesterday, he needs fresh clothes." Belka explained calmly, utterly unfazed.

"*Sigh*. I should’ve saved that for little Lily," Lierya muttered, deflated. She then called brightly to Huanyu, who stood frozen by the door with Lily: "Don’t just stand there! Go pick something out."

Huanyu finally remembered—he wasn’t here to accompany others. He began browsing, hesitating over each item. Belka intervened, swiftly assembling several outfits. "Try them on one by one. If they don’t fit, I’ll find more."

Uninterested in picking clothes for Huanyu—and with no intention to buy any herself—Lily drifted to Lierya’s side. The two chatted quietly.

Huanyu retreated to the fitting room. Moments later, he emerged in a black T-shirt and jeans. His right hand slipped casually into his pocket; his left tugged his collar. Paired with his stunning features, the three girls were struck speechless.

Seeing their expressions, Huanyu asked flatly, "Doesn’t it suit me?"

All three shook their heads. Belka recovered first, gushing, "Little Brother Yu, you look so handsome like this—I almost fell for you!"

Lierya whispered to Lily at the counter, "Such a handsome boy. If little Belka snatches him first, you’ll have no chance, Lily."

"Hmph. Who’d like him?" Lily turned away, though her eyes flickered toward him again.

Every subsequent outfit fit perfectly and flattered him. Truthfully, Huanyu looked sharp in anything *except* that kung fu suit—which seemed designed solely to suppress his good looks.

*—No wonder he has no strong clothing preferences. He looks great in anything. And with no particular tastes, of course he’d hesitate while choosing.* Belka’s gaze softened as she watched him.

After selecting clothes, time still hung early. But Lily fled abruptly after Lierya whispered something. At checkout, Huanyu received a fifty percent discount.

Lierya leaned close. "They’ve never brought a boy shopping before. You’re the first. No idea why."

Huanyu, equally clueless, could only offer an apologetic smile before leaving with Belka.

Outside, streets buzzed with students reuniting before the new term. Huanyu begged Belka to return him to his dorm before trouble found him. She agreed. Back in his room, he studied a delivered toolbox until nightfall.

Belka didn’t return that day. Before leaving, Huanyu had asked her to wake him the next morning—they’d ride Swift. Reassured, he slept soundly.

The next day—New Student Assessment Day—dawned bright. Huanyu still slept.

Belka unlocked his door, strode in, and yanked the blanket off him while switching off the magi-tech fan. "Rise and shine, Little Brother Yu." She grabbed his collar—he wore the kung fu suit today; yesterday’s new clothes would restrict his speed during practicals.

Huanyu jolted awake. "Sister Belka, we’ll be late! Let’s go now!"

"Exactly what I thought." Belka dragged him toward the door. Huanyu snatched his toolbox and shut the door behind them.

Too rushed for the plaza summoning point, Belka called Swift directly into the sky. Leaping from the balcony, she hauled Huanyu and his toolbox onto Swift’s back. The creature shot toward 'Yayang'—a command given the day prior, ensuring zero delay.

Fifteen minutes later, they hovered near 'Yayang'. Time was critical. A slow descent would guarantee lateness; the assessment enforced strict punctuality—even one second mattered.

As Belka hesitated, Huanyu hurled his toolbox downward. Then he dove off Swift’s back, seventy meters up. Mid-air, he shifted his posture. Feet touched ground first, converting downward momentum into forward propulsion. *Whoosh—* only dust remained where he landed—the same spot near the practicals field where he’d lingered days earlier.

He pushed off like a released arrow. Watching him, Belka grew curious. Jumping from such height required specialized training and exceptional physique. Without it, even perfect theory meant becoming a smear of flesh. Yet he was an Inventor—why undergo such grueling drills?

*—Little Brother Yu… Sister’s growing more curious about you by the minute.*

Huanyu knew the assessment location and schedule from yesterday’s registration. He sprinted straight to the practicals field, kicking up dust that drew stares. His station sat near the center: a circle of mechanical parts surrounded by reference materials.

He skidded to a halt as the dust settled. A black object plummeted—he caught his toolbox. Its weight was no joke; easily over a hundred pounds. The moment he secured it, a whistle blew.

"Time’s up for arrivals!" announced the proctor. "Review your materials now. Assessment begins in five minutes."

As newcomers, most students instinctively stared at the field’s center—at the last, perfectly punctual arrival: the boy in the peculiar kung fu suit. Curiosity dominated the crowd, though some eyes held malice or mockery. Few had seen such attire outside history books.

Huanyu ignored them. Seated cross-legged, he focused intently on his materials. They detailed assembly diagrams for the parts before him, plus theoretical questions. Pens were provided.

Unlike Swordmasters, Mech pilots, or Dragon Clan warriors, Inventors weren’t tested on live inventions—too subjective. Nor on combat efficacy—most inventions served civilians. Instead, assessments pulled components from the other three professions. Grading focused on comprehension, speed, precision, and final functionality. Theory covered fundamentals and influential inventions—testing memory and diligence.

The whistle blew again. Five minutes were up. Students abandoned distractions and began working.

Others assembled machines. Huanyu started with theory. Passing theory was enough; practicals decided rankings. Perfect theory with zero practicals meant Level One. Perfect practicals with zero theory meant Level Six. For Level Seven—entry into 'Yayang'—required 60+ theory and 80+ practicals.

Most prioritized practicals, sacrificing theory points if needed.

Huanyu didn’t care about others’ strategies.

The five-hour exam would end at lunch.

Huanyu blazed through theory—fifty fill-in-the-blank questions across five pages finished in thirty minutes. Only then did he open his toolbox.

Just then, rain began falling. The assessment continued uninterrupted. Transparent walls and steel roofs rose from the ground, sheltering nearly every candidate.

*Nearly*.

Some were simply unlucky. Like Huanyu.

His assigned testing area lacked the protective barriers others enjoyed. As heavy rain poured down, teachers unfurled umbrellas. Worried about his theory papers getting soaked, Illusionary Feather tucked them into his toolbox. To avoid repeatedly opening it and risking water damage, he laid out all necessary tools beforehand.

Just as he prepared to begin, he called out to a passing teacher, "Sir, may I submit the theory section first?"

"No early submissions allowed," the teacher replied flatly.

*Even without special treatment, at least let me hand in early.* The refusal deepened Illusionary Feather’s disillusionment with the school. He yawned, glancing skyward. He’d known rain was coming—he’d finished the theory portion first precisely to avoid this mess, assuming everyone would endure the downpour.

Initially unaware of the rain shields, he now realized he’d get neither privileges nor simple concessions. Any lingering hopes for this institution vanished.

Around him, students worked single-mindedly under shelter, some shooting him smug glances. His gaze lifted to a nearby classroom window. There stood Rold Che克斯, nephew of Yayang Academy’s headmaster. A mocking smirk played on Rold’s lips. Illusionary Feather’s expression remained utterly blank—not even disgust warranted effort. His eyes were calm, emotionless pools.

He nearly abandoned the exam then. But Belka would be waiting outside. *If I tell her I quit out of anger… would she be heartbroken?* He swallowed his frustration. To spare her disappointment, he had to push through.

Illusionary Feather began assembling. His tools, forged from dragon-forged iron, were relics. Smelting a single catty required the breath of five mature Level One Crimson Flame Dragons—sustained for over two weeks. Such extravagance belonged to the Dragon Clan centuries ago; modern dragons wouldn’t waste resources this way. Few today even recognized the metal’s worth.

He started piecing together components. The rain lessened—no, only over *his* area. Looking up, he saw a pale blue sky blocked by a familiar silhouette: a dragon’s head.

*Swift. So Belka’s here.*

His spirit ignited. *Even if they despise me… she still believes.* Unsheltered but breathing crisp air, his movements turned fluid and precise. Nearby, a teacher watched, stunned by the boy’s seamless motions—as if he’d assembled this machine ten thousand times. Not a millisecond of hesitation.

Illusionary Feather’s exam piece was unique: a combat Mech. Its complexity dwarfed the Lv6-grade projects around him. Perfectly built and powered, this Mech could challenge a Level Eight Swordmaster.

He assembled the legs first, letting the frame stand. Arms were set aside while he stacked the torso atop the legs. Only after securing the body did he attach the arms, then the head. To avoid further trouble, he wiped mud from the Mech with his own shirt. Finally, he closed his eyes, refusing to look at this place he’d grown to loathe.

Such a daunting project took him barely three hours. Others had simpler tasks, dry conditions, and no mud-clogged screws—yet half were slower. He’d deliberately held back his speed, aiming only to pass unnoticed.

The supervising teacher burned with shame. This student’s talent eclipsed his own. His dedication—wiping the Mech with his shirt—revealed profound respect for his craft. *Could I stay so composed after such treatment?* The teacher cringed at his earlier harshness. *Why did I obey the headmaster’s nephew? This school belongs to no one man.*

Sensing the teacher’s turmoil, Illusionary Feather murmured, "Don’t dwell on it. It’s over. Just do better next time."

The teacher froze. How could someone half his age possess such wisdom? *I’m the fool here.*

Sunlight broke through as barriers retracted. Onlookers’ gazes shifted from curiosity to respect, from scorn to admiration—though envy lingered too.

The dragon’s shadow had vanished.

Earlier, Belka had watched from above as Illusionary Feather rushed in. When rain fell and his area remained exposed—especially after the teacher’s reprimand—she’d nearly charged down to slash the man apart. But restraint won. Instead, she’d silently ordered Swift to shield him.

Swift, usually annoyed by the boy’s casual rides on his back, now felt grudging respect watching those swift, sure hands.

*—Still, that skill won’t win you my master.*

After the rain stopped, Swift and Belka slipped away unseen. During the downpour, Swift had tried deflecting rain from Belka with wind, but she’d refused. So they’d waited, soaked, until the clouds cleared.

An hour after the rain ceased, submissions began. Illusionary Feather handed his papers to the same teacher. His slightly rain-dampened Mech stood tall beside him. Results would post that afternoon—he left without looking back.

He’d lost all faith in this place. Only bureaucratic hurdles—changing schools too late, foreign non-students barred from lingering—kept him from walking away forever.

Outside, Belka waited, damp strands clinging to her cheeks. Warmth flooded his chest. "Sister Belka!" he called, bounding over.

She smiled as he approached. Reaching up, she ruffled the hair of the boy now taller than her. "Let’s go. Shower at my dorm."

His own room had only a toilet—showers meant public baths.

Swift carried them to the Sword Saint Dormitory in the Swordsmanship Campus. These suites were palaces compared to his cramped quarters—spacious villas with four or five private rooms. Inside Belka’s suite, she led him to the bathroom. "Clean up. I’ll fetch you dry clothes—I forgot earlier."

She hurried out. Illusionary Feather turned on the shower. To his surprise, his kung fu suit shimmered faintly, shedding dirt and water instantly.

*—I didn’t need new clothes after all.*

Before he could react, a woman’s voice called from the hallway: "Sister? Are you in?" Footsteps approached. Closer. Closer. Until a hand gripped the bathroom door handle.