"Ring—"
The afternoon dismissal bell rang on time, crisp and bright, carrying through the open blue sky above the field, echoing through the corridors between the school buildings and along the flower beds, reaching the ears of everyone lined up on the field for basic training.
"Form ranks."
Wu Changkong's voice was not loud—one could even say it was about the same volume as his usual speech.
Yet the instant those two words left his mouth, the members of Class Two, who had still been breathing lightly, seemed as though some switch had been flipped.
In less than a minute, they swiftly shed all their laziness and slackness, arranging themselves into formation at top speed.
The scattered figures quickly fell into place. Shoulders aligned, toes together, breathing steadied. They switched directly from their somewhat disorderly training state into a standard standing posture.
There were no unnecessary sounds during the entire process, only the soft sounds of footsteps and fabric brushing together.
Not long after Class Two had finished forming up, a somewhat disorderly series of footsteps began to sound from the field entrance. The noise drew closer and denser.
Immediately afterward, a large group of students streamed onto the field. Some entered in twos and threes, walking side by side in their uniforms.
Others tilted their heads as they walked, chatting with the people beside them.
Still others headed straight toward the competition platform after entering, squeezing toward the edges to find a place to stand.
"Hey, today's Class Five's final Class Promotion Match, right?"
"Yeah. That Tang Wulin is amazing. Last time, he instantly took out three people by himself. The match was over before I could even blink."
"If he's that strong, how did he end up in Class Five in the first place? With that level, wouldn't