Eastsea Academy's training field looked like a battlefield.
Not because of combat training.
Because twenty six-year-olds with spirit awakenings were trying to use their Martial Souls for the first time.
Which meant:
Sparks everywhere.
Dirt everywhere.
Screaming everywhere.
Regret everywhere.
It was beautiful, in a horrifying kind of way.
"Control yourselves!" the teacher yelled, ducking as the Iron Bucket boy tripped and rolled downhill at lethal speed.
"BUCKET CHARGE!!" he screamed triumphantly.
He rammed directly into the legs of a shrieking student.
Tang Wulin stood off to the side, staring at the tiny sprout in his hand.His Blue Silver Grass wiggled weakly, like a sad noodle after a breakup.
He encouraged it gently.
"Come on… grow a little. Just a little? Please?"
Nothing happened.
He poked it.
It sadly flopped over.
"…Traitor," he whispered.
Behind him, someone snickered.
The bully from before Sun Qiang strutted forward with his two friends, arms crossed arrogantly.
"Well, well. Look who's struggling," Sun Qiang drawled. "The Seaweed Mutt returns!"
Wulin inhaled very slowly.
"Please don't call me that."
"Why not? Fits perfectly! Trash soul, trash future, trash name!"
The boys laughed.
Wulin clenched his fists.
"Say it again," he muttered.
"Oh look, he's trying to be tough." Sun Qiang leaned in smugly. "You gonna hit me with your grass?"
Wulin's eye twitched.
"Yes," he said bravely.
Then immediately regretted it.
.
Instructor Lin watched the training field with a headache forming behind her eyes.
This class was worse than usual.
Not because they were weak — children were always weak at first —
but because the gap was already obvious.
Some spirits bit. Some slashed. Some exploded shoes.
And then there was Tang Wulin.
She watched the boy stand alone, staring at that little vine in his hand,
trying to will it into doing something useful.
Blue Silver Grass.
Her lips pressed together.
In the old days, even weak spirits had paths.
Now?
If you didn't have a combat-type soul,
or enough money for the right rings later…
She sighed.
"Unfair," she muttered.
The world didn't care.
But she did.
She made a mental note to keep an eye on him.
.
Sun Qiang sneered. "Show me, then. Come on. Hit me."
Wulin raised his Blue Silver Grass vine like a heroic warrior lifting a legendary weapon.
The grass trembled.
A single leaf fell off.
Sun Qiang laughed so hard he almost choked.
"Oh WOW. TERRIFYING. You're gonna kill me with allergies?!"
Wulin's face burned red.
"IT'S A WORK IN PROGRESS OKAY!?"
Sun Qiang cracked his knuckles. "Let me show you a REAL martial soul."
He activated his spirit — a small glowing wolf silhouette flickering behind him.
Martial Soul: Wolf Claw — Rank 4.
He stepped forward threateningly—
—
THWACK.
A wooden sword whacked Sun Qiang square in the forehead. He froze like someone had unplugged his brain.
Ye Xinglan stood behind him, sword on shoulder, expression resting at "disappointed mother."
"I leave you alone for three minutes," she said flatly. "Three."
Sun Qiang rubbed his forehead. "W-We were just—"
Xinglan raised the sword.
Sun Qiang shut up immediately.
"We're leaving!" he squeaked, scrambling away with his cronies.
Wulin sagged with relief.
"Thanks," he muttered. "I had everything under control, obviously."
"You tripped over your own foot before I arrived," she replied.
"That was tactical!"
"You were face-down in the dirt."
"…Gravity ambushed me."
Xinglan exhaled and tapped his forehead gently with her sword.
"Stop letting cowards walk over you. You're not weak."
Wulin blinked.
"…Really?"
"Really," she said. "Even if you're an idiot."
"That was unnecessary."
"But true."
He puffed out his cheeks. "I'll prove it. I'll become strong."
"Then start by standing up straight," she said, nudging his shoulder. "You slouch like a dying shrimp."
"I'm not a shrimp!"
"You're short."
"That's temporary!"
Xinglan's lips twitched slightly.
.
Sun Qiang ran until he was sure the sword girl wasn't chasing him.
His forehead still stung.
Stupid girl.
Stupid grass boy.
But it didn't matter.
He had a wolf spirit.
Rank four.
Everyone knew what that meant.
He slowed, breathing hard, and smirked.
Sooner or later,
Tang Wulin would learn his place.
.
.
The teacher clapped loudly.
"Alright everyone! Pair practice! Try using your martial souls in a controlled environment!"
Immediately:
Someone exploded their shoes.
Someone summoned 200 ribbons and got tangled like a mummy.
The bucket boy ran headfirst into a tree yelling "IRON FORTRESS!"
Chaos reigned.
Wulin turned to Xinglan.
"Want to practice with me?"
She shrugged. "Fine. Try to hit me."
"With my grass?"
"Yes."
Wulin raised his tiny sprout like a divine weapon.
He swung.
Yet the Blue Silver Grass didn't move as intended and failed to even reach her.
Xinglan stared.
"That felt sad..."
"A victory!" Wulin declared.
"No."
"Yes!"
"No."
"…Maybe?"
Xinglan nodded once."You're ridiculous."
Xinglan stepped back and pointed her wooden sword at him.
"Again."
Wulin lifted his Blue Silver Grass.
"Alright," he muttered. "Don't embarrass me."
The grass wiggled.
He swung.
Again it smacked Xinglan's shoulder with all the force of a damp noodle.
She stared at him.
"…Did you just hit me," she asked slowly, "or did the air betray me?"
"I hit you!" Wulin said proudly. "I felt it!"
"That was the wind."
"It made contact!"
"Barely."
Wulin frowned and swung again.
The vine flopped sideways and wrapped around his own wrist.
He yelped.
"I've been betrayed!"
Xinglan didn't move. She just watched him struggle for a second.
"…Do you need help?"
"No! I can win this fight!"
He yanked.
The grass let go.
Wulin stumbled forward and nearly headbutted her.
She caught him by the collar without even looking.
"You fall a lot," she said.
"Ugh... Gravity is very aggressive."
She set him upright and tapped his shoulder with the wooden sword.
"Feet apart. Stop hunching."
"I'm not hunching."
"You look like a dying shrimp."
"I am NOT a shrimp!"
"You're shaped like one."
"That's temporary!"
She poked his back.
"Straighten up."
Wulin tried.
He immediately leaned too far back and almost toppled again.
Ye Xinglan sighed and grabbed his sleeve.
"…Balance," she said. "How are you this unstable?"
"I'm emotionally fragile."
"That literally explains nothing."
She stepped back again.
"Focus. Don't look at me. Look at your spirit."
Wulin stared down at the grass.
"…Do I talk to it?"
Xinglan paused.
"…No."
"Oh."
He hesitated, then leaned closer anyway.
"…Please work."
Nothing happened.
The grass drooped.
Wulin's shoulders slumped.
Xinglan crouched beside him, staring at the tiny vine with a serious frown.
"It's small," she said.
"I think it's above average..."
"It's weak."
"…I know."
Huffing she backed away and lifted her sword again.
"Again."
They practiced until their arms were sore and the field emptied out.
Wulin didn't get stronger.
He didn't suddenly become impressive.
But he stopped slouching so much.
.
Wulin stared at his Blue Silver Grass.
It stared back.
Neither of them did anything.
"…I think it hates me," he said quietly.
Xinglan didn't answer right away.
She stood there, wooden sword resting against her shoulder, eyes narrowed—not at Wulin, but at the vine.
She poked it once with the tip of her sword.
It flopped.
She frowned.
She poked it again.
Still nothing.
"…Hmph."
Wulin glanced up. "Is that bad?"
"Yes."
"Very?"
"…Very."
She looked at Wulin.
Then at his arms.
Then at his legs.
Then at the grass again.
Her brow furrowed in deep, six-year-old concentration.
"…Your spirit's useless right now."
Wulin flinched. "Ouch."
"But," she continued, holding up a finger, "you aren't."
He blinked. "…I'm not?"
"You can move," she said. "You can run. You can fall. You get back up."
"That last one is debatable."
Xinglan ignored him.
She tapped her wooden sword against the ground once.
"Drop the grass."
Wulin hesitated. "Are you sure? It might get offended."
"Drop it."
He let go.
The vine vanished in a faint shimmer.
Xinglan stepped closer and raised her fists.
Wulin stared.
"…Why are your hands angry?"
"We're training differently," she said.
"Differently how?"
She poked him in the chest.
Hard.
"Ow!"
"React faster."
"That was sudden!"
"Enemies are sudden."
"I don't have enemies!"
"You had three just now."
"…Oh."
She stepped back and bent her knees slightly.
"Hands up," she ordered.
Wulin lifted his hands.
Wrong.
She slapped them down lightly and repositioned them.
"Higher."
"This feels like abuse..."
"Focus."
She suddenly flicked her fingers toward his forehead.
Wulin yelped and stumbled back.
"HEY!"
"You didn't block," she said. "Again."
"I didn't know we started!"
"We always start."
She stepped forward again.
This time, when she reached out, Wulin panicked—
—and swatted her hand away.
They both froze.
Wulin stared at his own hand.
"…I did it?"
Xinglan stared too.
"…You did."
A slow, sharp smile tugged at her lips.
"There," she said. "That's better."
Wulin straightened slightly.
"…So I don't need my spirit?"
"Not yet at least," she replied. "First, don't get hit."
"That sounds much easier."
"It's not."
She raised her fists again.
"Again."
Wulin swallowed.
"…Okay."
And for the first time that day—
He didn't run.