The voices outside grew louder, no longer whispers but open discussions filled with disbelief and curiosity. News of Zhao Kun's defeat had spread quickly, far faster than anyone expected. In a place where strength defined everything, such an event could not go unnoticed.
Footsteps gathered in the corridor.
At first, only a few.
Then more.
Some came out of curiosity, eager to witness whether the rumors were true. Others came with doubt, unwilling to believe that someone like Lin Chen could defeat Zhao Kun. And a few… came with intentions that were far less innocent.
Inside the room, Lin Chen stood quietly.
The broken door hung loosely, barely functioning as a barrier anymore. He made no effort to fix it. If anything, it was better this way.
Anyone who wanted to come in—
Could come.
The first to step inside was a tall youth with sharp features and a cautious expression. His eyes immediately swept across the room before landing on Zhao Kun, who was still pale and unsteady, clearly injured.
That alone was enough to confirm everything.
"…So it's true," the youth murmured.
More people followed behind him, filling the doorway and crowding the corridor. The atmosphere shifted as they all turned their attention toward Lin Chen.
This time, no one laughed.
No one mocked.
Because something had changed.
Lin Chen could feel it clearly—the difference in how they looked at him now. There was still doubt, but mixed within it was caution… and a faint trace of fear.
One of them finally spoke.
"You really beat Zhao Kun?"
His tone wasn't hostile, but it wasn't friendly either. It carried the kind of probing curiosity that often came before trouble.
Lin Chen didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at them calmly, as if weighing something.
Then he said, "If you're here to talk, leave."
A pause.
"And if you're not—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't need to.
The meaning was already clear.
The group exchanged glances. A few of them frowned, clearly displeased by his attitude.
Among them, one person stepped forward.
Unlike the others, his presence was more solid, more grounded. His gaze was sharp, and the way the others subtly made space for him made it obvious—he wasn't just anyone.
"Lin Chen," he said, his voice steady. "Looks like you've improved."
There was no praise in his tone.
Only assessment.
"My name is Liu Feng," he continued. "I want to see if the rumors are real."
There it was.
A challenge.
Lin Chen's expression didn't change.
"Then try."
No hesitation.
No unnecessary words.
Just a simple response.
The atmosphere tightened instantly.
Liu Feng's eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to see through him. Then, without further warning, he moved.
Faster than Zhao Kun.
More controlled.
His strike wasn't wild or fueled by anger—it was precise, direct, and efficient. A clear step above.
But Lin Chen didn't retreat.
The moment Liu Feng moved, Lin Chen's body responded instinctively. His perception, enhanced by his improved talent, caught every detail—the shift of weight, the angle of attack, the exact timing.
He stepped aside at the last moment, narrowly avoiding the strike.
At the same time, he countered.
Their arms collided mid-motion.
A dull impact echoed.
Liu Feng's expression changed slightly.
He felt it.
That strength—
It wasn't normal.
They separated briefly, both reassessing.
This time, the onlookers grew silent.
They could tell.
This wasn't like Zhao Kun anymore.
This was a real fight.
Liu Feng exhaled slowly, adjusting his stance. "Interesting," he said. "You're stronger than I expected."
Then he moved again.
Faster.
Sharper.
This time, he aimed for Lin Chen's upper body, forcing him into a tighter defensive space.
But Lin Chen didn't panic.
Instead, he stepped forward.
Closing the distance.
Breaking the rhythm.
Liu Feng's attack lost part of its advantage instantly.
Before he could recover, Lin Chen's fist was already moving.
Direct.
Clean.
A straight strike toward the chest.
Liu Feng blocked it—but the impact still forced him back half a step.
Just half a step.
But it was enough.
The crowd saw it clearly.
Liu Feng… was being pushed back.
For the first time, his expression turned serious.
He had underestimated Lin Chen.
Not just a little—
But completely.
"You're hiding something," Liu Feng said quietly.
Lin Chen didn't respond.
Because there was nothing to explain.
He moved again.
This time, he didn't wait.
His attacks came one after another—not wild, not reckless, but steady and relentless. Each movement was efficient, each strike aimed with purpose.
Liu Feng was forced into defense.
Step by step.
The pressure built.
And then—
A mistake.
Just a small one.
But in a fight like this, it was enough.
Lin Chen stepped in.
His elbow struck forward with precision, landing solidly against Liu Feng's guard and breaking it open.
In the next instant—
His fist followed.
A direct hit to the chest.
The force drove Liu Feng backward, his footing breaking as he staggered several steps before barely managing to stop himself.
Silence.
No one spoke.
Because the result was clear.
Lin Chen had the advantage.
Liu Feng steadied himself, his breathing slightly heavier now. He looked at Lin Chen again, but this time, there was no trace of underestimation left.
Only seriousness.
After a moment, he lowered his hands.
"I lost."
The words were simple.
But decisive.
A ripple went through the crowd.
No one expected this outcome.
Liu Feng glanced at Lin Chen one last time before turning to leave. "You're not the same anymore," he said. "Be careful. Others will come."
Then he walked away.
The others hesitated for a moment before slowly dispersing, their expressions complicated.
No one stepped forward again.
At least—not for now.
Soon, the corridor became quiet once more.
Lin Chen stood where he was, unmoving.
Then, slowly, he exhaled.
Inside, he could feel the change again.
Faint.
But real.
Every fight brought him closer.
Stronger.
Faster.
Closer to something greater.
His eyes darkened slightly.
"This is just the beginning."