Talent Stuns All Present, Displaying Sharp Edge

The practical combat class arrived as scheduled, the training ground buzzing with fiery energy.

The students of Class C were rubbing their hands together, eager to show their strength in front of their teacher, Yoshino Shoda.

First up was Morino Iruki. He took his stance, his hand seals flying fast, and let out a low shout: "Shadow Clone Jutsu!" Poof poof poof—five Morino Irukis appeared on the field and charged toward the preset targets.

But just as everyone thought he'd complete the drill smoothly, a figure flashed by like a gale.

"Bam!" A dull thud rang out. The five clones vanished in an instant, and Morino Iruki himself was sent flying with a kick, crashing heavily outside the arena.

The one who struck was none other than Uchiha Mei. She dusted off her hands, her expression calm, as if she'd done something utterly trivial.

The whole field fell silent, then erupted in waves of exclamations.

"Such fast moves!"

"Mei's gotten even stronger!"

"This is practically chunin-level skill!"

Yoshino Shoda looked at Uchiha Mei. "Mei, your progress is astonishing! Not only has your combat ability soared, but your grades in all subjects have climbed from mid-tier to top-tier—truly impressive!" Uchiha Mei gave a slight nod, a faint, barely noticeable smile tugging at her lips.

In the next round of practical combat, Haotian stepped up too.

He gave it his all, but still came off clumsy and awkward—a world apart from his classmates.

He gritted his teeth, struggling to control his chakra flow as he tried to perform a simple Fire Release technique. Yet all he managed was a weak sputter of sparks that didn't even graze the target.

Quiet snickers rose from the crowd below. Haotian's face burned, and he wished he could crawl into a hole.

After the class ended, Yoshino Shoda walked over to Uchiha Mei, patted her shoulder, and said in a low voice, "Mei, your recent surge in strength is... a bit hard to believe..." Uchiha Mei smiled modestly and replied, "You flatter me, sensei. I just work a little harder than others." Yoshino Shoda gave her a long, searching look but said nothing more.

In the next match, Hayate Gekko took the field.

He was skilled with a blade, nimble in movement, and lightning-fast.

But his offensive power fell a bit short. Against opponents with strong defenses, he often struggled to break through.

Eventually, he faced off against Haotian. The two went back and forth, locked in a stalemate, neither able to gain a clear edge.

The students watching below grew drowsy—this match could only be described as "utterly dull."

As expected, Uchiha Mei claimed first place in the practical class once again.

She stood on the podium, basking in the cheers and praise, yet her face showed no hint of pride, as if it were all only natural.

Scenes like this had become commonplace at the Ninja Academy lately.

Uchiha Mei's strength had skyrocketed, nearly reaching chunin level—a rarity even in the school's history.

"Mei's amazing! She's this strong even before graduating!"

"Yeah, she's definitely gonna become an elite ninja like Kakashi-senpai someday!"

The students buzzed with talk, their words dripping with envy and admiration.

Only Haotian stood silently in the crowd, head down, saying nothing.

He clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging deep into his palms, feeling the piercing pain.

He knew the gap between himself and Uchiha Mei was like the bright moon in the sky versus a firefly on the ground—utterly incomparable.

The bell rang, and the students dispersed, leaving the training ground empty in no time.

Haotian still sat there, motionless, like a statue.

His gaze was vacant, his mind churning with thoughts, filled with confusion and helplessness.

"Am I... really this weak?" he muttered to himself, a tremor in his voice.

The setting sun's glow spilled over the deserted training ground, stretching Haotian's shadow long.

He slowly stood up, brushed the dust off his pants, and walked away in dejection.

The noise around him felt cut off, only the crunch of his steps on the gravel path reaching his ears clearly.

Back home, a cold, empty air greeted him.

Haotian lit an oil lamp, its dim yellow light illuminating the shabby room.

The war had taken his parents, leaving only some pension and money from selling off ancestral property.

He wasn't poor, but far from wealthy—especially since making those special silver-fiber bandages to absorb the internal nuclear radiation had already drained a big chunk of his savings.

He went to the kitchen, skillfully washing rice, chopping vegetables, and lighting the fire.

Wisps of cooking smoke rose, carrying the faint scent of rice, but they couldn't dispel the gloom in his heart.

As he stirred the vegetables in the pan, Haotian pondered the strangeness inside his body.

That power—wild and immense, like a slumbering beast—could break free at any moment and devour him whole.