"Come on, make your move. Class is about to start," Lucas said, shrugging his shoulders as if he had all the time in the world.


Liam's reaction was immediate. His hands balled into tight fists, his knuckles cracking with a loud pop-pop-pop that echoed in the hallway. With a low growl, he reared back and swung a heavy haymaker straight at Lucas's head.


Lucas watched the attack coming and couldn't help but smirk. It was almost sad. Liam's form was terrible—full of openings, telegraphing every move like a street thug in a bad movie.


Lucas didn't even bother to dodge. He stood his ground, waiting until the fist was inches from his cheek before snapping his hand up. Thwack. He caught Liam's fist in mid-air.


Liam's face went pale. He tugged his arm, but it wouldn't budge. It felt like his hand was trapped in a hydraulic press.


Before Liam could figure out what was happening, Lucas swept a leg low, taking out Liam's calves. Gravity took over, and Liam hit the floor with a heavy thud.


It sounded like a long process, but in reality, it happened in the blink of an eye. One second Liam was swinging; the next, he was eating pavement.


The students gathered around stared in stunned silence. Their eyes were practically popping out of their heads. Liam—the class bully—had been insta-killed?


Ping!


[From Milo's Super Shock: Credits +100]


[From...]


Lucas blinked at the notification floating in his vision. Super Shock? he thought. Since when is that a category? The System has upgrades?


He glanced over at Milo. His friend's eyes were wide saucers, and his jaw hung so low you could probably park a bus in it. Okay, "Super Shock" made sense.


Riiiiiing!


The school bell shrilled, cutting through the tension.


"Welp, that's the bell," Lucas said, flashing a grin.


"Luke! Over here! I saved you a seat!" Milo shouted, snapping out of his trance and waving frantically.


Two of Liam's lackeys scrambled to help their fallen leader up, shooting dirty looks at Milo as they retreated. "Suck-ups," Milo muttered.


"Phew, barely made it."


A familiar figure sprinted through the doorway just as everyone was settling down.


"Lucas?"


The boy froze as he headed for the back row, spotting Lucas sitting next to Milo.


[From Reece's Surprise: Credits +5]


Reece had heard the rumors flying around school for the past few days, but he hadn't actually expected Lucas to show up in the Elite Combat Class.


Lucas looked up and smiled. "Didn't expect to see you here, either."


Reece chuckled, shaking his head. "Class is starting. We'll catch up later." He hurried to his own desk.


"How did you know he's the Class President for the Elite Combat Class?" Milo whispered, leaning in.


"Oh, he was the President of my old class," Lucas explained. "He's the President here, too?"


"Yeah, we just voted a few days ago," Milo nodded.


Just then, a middle-aged man with stern features and thick glasses walked in. As soon as he crossed the threshold, Reece shot up from his chair, his voice booming with authority.


"Good morning, sir!"


The rest of the class scrambled to their feet. Lucas followed suit.


"That's Mr. Hunt," Milo whispered out of the side of his mouth. "He teaches Martial Warrior History."


"Sit," Mr. Hunt said, scanning the room with a critical eye. He gave a curt nod. His gaze swept over the rows of students before locking onto Lucas.


"Oh? Is this our new student?" Mr. Hunt adjusted his black-framed glasses, his expression unreadable. "Care to introduce yourself?"


Lucas stood up. He didn't look nervous—just calm.


"Hello Mr. Hunt, hello everyone. I'm Lucas. I transferred from Class Sixteen."


"I've heard you've been quite the center of attention lately," Mr. Hunt said dryly. "But having good hands and feet is only half the battle. You'd do well to pay attention to history, too. Don't get cocky."


"Sit down," he finished, waving a hand dismissively. It was a clear warning: You might be strong, kid, but you're not special here.


Lucas sat. And just like that, his life in the Elite Combat Class began.


The schedule was brutal. Mornings were for Martial Arts History. Lunch was followed by collective training—basic footwork and striking drills. Afternoons were split between standard academics and advanced forms. The students who were progressing quickly were already learning the Five-Step Fist.


Everything was tight, fast-paced, and efficient.


But honestly? After a few days, Lucas was kind of bored.


He'd already burned through his stash of supplements—the Origin Elixir, the Fortification Elixir, and the Spirit Enhancing Pills were all gone.


His stats were looking good, though. Spirit Power was up to fifteen. Origin Points were sitting at thirty-eight.


His entire body—muscles, skin, bones—had been fully Tempered. Well, almost. The only thing left was his head.


The skin and muscle around the skull are supposedly the hardest to Temper, Lucas thought, rubbing his chin. I'm stuck until I can get my hands on a Mid-Tier Tempering Elixir.


That night, Lucas snapped out of his trance, stood up, and muttered to himself. The Tempering session was over.


He'd just finished reinforcing his neck. The skin and muscle there felt different now—tougher, like cured leather. He rubbed his throat, thinking that if some average guy tried to chop him with a knife right now, they'd probably just break the skin. Maybe not even that.


Buzz.


His phone vibrated against the desk.


Lucas frowned. Who calls this late?


He grabbed the phone. Unknown number. But right next to the digits was a distinct logo: The Warrior's Guild.


Lucas's eyes lit up. Finally. He'd ordered that Mid-Tier Tempering Elixir from the Warrior Alliance Mall ages ago.


He picked up. "Hello? This is Lucas."


"Good evening, Mr. Lucas," a professional voice said. " your delivery from the Guild has arrived. Are you available to come downstairs and sign for it?"


"Yeah, hang on. I'll be right down."


Lucas glanced out the window and sighed. It was the middle of the night. Technically, he should be asleep, but luckily his parents were heavy sleepers. They wouldn't notice him sneaking out.


He crept downstairs on his tiptoes—ninja mode engaged—and carefully eased the front door open.


A man in a black uniform was waiting in the shadows. The Warrior's Guild logo was stitched onto his chest.


"Mr. Lucas?" the courier asked.


Lucas nodded.


Immediately, his instincts flared. This delivery guy wasn't just a driver. He had an aura—a heavy, dangerous pressure that Lucas had only ever felt coming from Wolfe.


This guy was a Tier 3 Warrior. Delivering mail.


"Sorry for the delay," the man said, handing over a package. "Since Lancaster doesn't have a local branch, the routing takes a while. Sign here, please."


Lucas scribbled his signature on the digital pad. "Good?"


"All good. Have a good night." The courier smiled, turned, and vanished into the darkness like he was never there.


"Mid-Tier Tempering Elixir," Lucas whispered, clutching the box. "Finally."