"You have a grudge against him."
"I…" Huo Yuhao opened his mouth, but hesitation flickered in his eyes. Words failed him, and he simply lowered his head—answering only with silence.
Chen Junting placed a hand on his shoulder.
"If you don't want to talk about it, I won't press you. But don't let anger dull your mind, and don't let hatred blind your eyes—it'll rob you of judgment. When you're still weak, master your emotions. Only then can you grow strong enough to take your revenge with your own hands."
"Remember—right now, the Nine Treasures Glazed Tile Sect is your home. And our sect fears no retaliation from the White Tiger Duke Manor."
With that, he turned and walked into the cafeteria.
The wariness in Huo Yuhao's eyes vanished the moment Chen Junting spoke those last words. A faint, enigmatic smile tugged at his lips—leaving Wang Dong beside him utterly baffled.
But he could feel it: Huo Yuhao's aura had changed.
At the very least, the sharp edge of his malice had softened.
"Yuhao… are you okay?" Wang Dong asked cautiously.
"I'm fine. Better than fine," Huo Yuhao exhaled deeply, then grabbed Wang Dong's arm and dashed after Chen Junting—intent on sharing breakfast before heading to the competition grounds together.
At the arena, Chen Junting's group reunited with Ning Tian and the others. Less than a quarter-hour later, Dai Huabin arrived, flanked by Zhu Lu and Cui Yajie—the four semifinalist teams now face-to-face.
The moment their eyes met, Dai Huabin locked onto Chen Junting, ignoring everyone else as if they were air.
"So you're Chen Junting," he said, voice dripping with false curiosity but laced with open provocation. "I wonder if you're as strong as they say."
Chen Junting's eyes lifted slightly—but only for a moment.
Dai Huabin expected a retort…
Instead, Chen Junting simply turned his attention to Ning Tian beside him, as though Dai Huabin were utterly beneath notice.
The realization stung. Dai Huabin's face flushed with humiliation, his provocative gaze hardening into outright hostility.
But just then—
"Tch—"
A derisive snort cut through the air.
"Big deal, just a Soul Grandmaster. What's there to brag about?"
The mocking tone made Dai Huabin whirl around. His eyes instantly fixed on Wang Dong, who made no effort to hide his scorn. Dai Huabin's glare turned vicious—until it landed on Huo Yuhao beside him.
Then, contempt replaced fury.
Sensing their closeness, Dai Huabin shifted his barb.
"Oh, it's that team that doesn't even have three Soul Grandmasters. How did a nobody with only a ten-year soul ring even make it this far?"
Zhu Lu, ever in sync, chimed in with a delicate laugh, hand covering her mouth. "Must've been pure luck—two strong teammates carrying him to victory."
They turned away dismissively.
"You—!" Wang Dong bristled, ready to lash out—but Huo Yuhao caught his arm.
"Let it go, Wang Dong."
Wang Dong opened his mouth to protest—but saw the calm mask over Huo Yuhao's face, beneath which hatred still smoldered. Yet even that ember was already melting away like snow in spring.
Clearly, Chen Junting's words had taken root.
Just then, an elderly man in white robes ascended the spectator stand, taking the place usually held by Du Weilun, Dean of the Outer Court's Martial Soul Department.
He'd appeared briefly during yesterday's quarterfinals but had drawn little attention due to his unassuming presence. Now, however, Du Weilun's respectful posture made it clear: this elder was no ordinary figure.
"Greetings, young talents," the man said warmly, his voice carrying none of the imposing aura one might expect from the head of the continent's premier academy. "I am Yan Shaozhe, the 261st Dean of Shrek Academy."
"I presume some of you saw me yesterday. Frankly, your performances have impressed me greatly. You may well be the most gifted freshman class in nearly a thousand years. But I know none of you have shown your true strength yet. Today, I hope you'll give me something truly surprising."
"Now then—let's begin the draw."
Yan Shaozhe's words instantly kindled fire in several hearts. Dai Huabin's team, in particular, exchanged fervent glances—as if victory were already theirs.
Chen Junting observed this and gave a silent nod of approval.
No wonder he's Shrek's Dean. With just a few simple words, he's fanned their inner flames without them even noticing.
"Freshman Class Five—Team Dai Huabin, step forward for the draw," Du Weilun announced, holding up the draw box at Yan Shaozhe's signal.
Dai Huabin strode up immediately, bowed respectfully to Yan Shaozhe and Du Weilun, then drew a slip.
Du Weilun glanced at it and declared, "Team Dai Huabin—Number One!"
He handed the slip back and turned to the next team. "Freshman Class Nine—Team Chen Junting, step forward."
Chen Junting walked calmly past Dai Huabin. As their eyes met, Dai Huabin raised his Number One slip with a smirk, mouthing silently:
"I'll be waiting for you."
Chen Junting ignored him completely. He bowed politely to Yan Shaozhe and Du Weilun—then, as he reached for a slip, a soft voice reached only his ears.
"Boy, you've gotten quite the advantage this round," Yan Shaozhe murmured, half in amusement, half in congratulation. Then, more seriously: "When you return, give my regards to your Sect Master and Elder Ye."
Chen Junting gave a subtle, knowing nod—then drew his slip.
Du Weilun checked it, blinked in surprise, then announced with rising anticipation:
"Team Chen Junting—Number One!"
The crowd murmured. The two championship favorites would clash in the semifinals—far earlier than expected.
Back at his team's position, Chen Junting once again disregarded Dai Huabin's burning glare.
Wu Feng sidled up, curiosity brimming. "Hey, Sword-face—what did Headmaster Yan just say to you?"
Chen Junting turned his head slightly, a playful glint in his eyes.
"You really want to know?"
Wu Feng instinctively shook her head.
"Then don't ask," he said firmly, his tone shifting to quiet authority. "Focus on the match."
"Don't worry—we've got this," Wu Feng declared confidently. In her mind, Huo Yuhao's trio stood no chance.
"Is that so?" Chen Junting replied noncommittally.
He had no intention of revealing Huo Yuhao and Wang Dong's fusion skill to Ning Tian's team. After all, this was just an assessment—just a match.
Telling them would be unfair.
Unlike Dai Huabin's team, whose famed Netherworld White Tiger fusion skill was an open secret, Huo Yuhao's trump card remained hidden.
Once Ning Tian and Huo Yuhao had drawn their lots and returned to their squads, Chen Junting glanced between them and chuckled softly. "Looks like it's an intra-sect showdown after all."
But none of them seemed to mind. Ning Tian's eyes flicked toward Dai Huabin's team, then back to Chen Junting. "Brother Junting?" Her gaze held a silent question.
"It's fine," he reassured her with a calm look—his eyes as still as a deep lake. He turned to Huo Yuhao, whose worry was barely concealed, and gave his shoulder a firm pat. Then, with effortless arrogance, he said:
"Heh—Yuhao, are you worried about me? Don't be. Once we're on the field, I'll beat them so badly they won't recover in time to use their fusion skill. That'll clear the path for you straight into the top three."
His quiet confidence left no room for doubt.
Soon, the four teams entered their assigned arenas.
In Arena One, Team Chen Junting and Team Dai Huabin took their positions.
A referee descended slowly from the stands, his powerful aura radiating unmistakable strength—more than enough to handle any chaos that might erupt during the match.
Inside the arena, Dai Huabin fixed Chen Junting with a cold, venomous stare. Yet his coiled, ready stance betrayed the truth: despite his earlier taunts, he took Chen Junting's strength deadly seriously.
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