“Cough—cough—COUGH!”

  Derek Wolfe doubled over, hacking violently. A red ring had already risen around his neck, and his face had gone a nasty shade of purple-blue.

  He couldn’t believe it—this new guy’s power was that overwhelming.

  The ring of onlookers were just as stunned.

  “Uh… what just happened?”

  “Why’s the new guy throwing hands with Wolfe?”

  “And Wolfe’s the one who ate it—what the hell…”

  Derek’s pride was in pieces. But worse than the humiliation was the fear crawling up his spine—what Ethan had done a second ago was genuinely terrifying.

  “Aimee!”

  He summoned the Bureau’s super-AI through his terminal.

  “Yes?” The silver-haired, doll-like avatar appeared instantly.

  “This guy assaulted another trainee in the training arena. I’m requesting arbitration—dock his conduct points!”

  Conduct points mattered. If you failed that metric, you didn’t get field clearance, and you got dragged into “re-education” and disciplinary review.

  Aimee’s expression didn’t change.

  “Arbitration complete. Verdict: self-inflicted humiliation.”

  Then she vanished.

  Derek’s face twisted like he’d swallowed something rotten.

  A voice boomed over the speakers.

  “Ethan Parker, report to the assessment cage. Begin evaluation.”

  Ethan didn’t spare Derek another glance. He stepped through the reinforced barrier and walked into the test zone like he owned the place.

  “Wolfe—Wolfe, are you okay?” A girl rushed over to help Derek up. She clung to him like he was her lifeline—desperate to stay close to the biggest name in the rookie bracket.

  “It’s fine,” she insisted loudly, half for him and half for everyone watching. “He’s just too mature to argue with some newbie. Wolfe’s got class. Let’s see what score this guy can even pull.”

  …

  Inside the cage, a male instructor approached holding a heavy set of gray protective gear.

  “Ethan Parker, right? This is impact-resistant armor. It’ll reduce injury risk during the trial. Put it on.”

  “Can I skip it?”

  The instructor chuckled. “You saw the last guys go in without it because they’ve run this test dozens of times. A first-timer doesn’t wear protection, and we’ll be rolling you straight to the med bay.”

  Ethan shook his head. “No thanks. I’m more mobile without it.”

  “So you’re the proud type,” the instructor said, amused. “Fine. The evaluation has five levels. Each level up adds another ball hunting you. Your job is simple: evade, block, and survive one minute under pressure.”

  “If you want to increase the level, call it out. If you can’t keep going, call stop. The system will also force-stop if it judges you can’t continue.”

  Ethan gave a short nod. “Start it.”

  The instructor lifted his radio. “Control room—begin.”

  He exited the cage.

  Outside, dozens of probationary investigators leaned forward, eyes locked on the arena.

  They wanted to see what this guy—who showed up and immediately challenged Wolfe—was actually made of.

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  Because talk was cheap.

  BOOM.

  A steel gate opened, and a massive “bowling ball” rolled out—nearly two meters tall, cast from metal, heavy enough to crush bones like glass.

  It came straight for Ethan.

  “Don’t let the speed fool you,” someone muttered in the crowd. “At least half of rookies can’t survive the first impact. They fail on the spot. Hope he lasts longer.”

  Ethan didn’t move.

  Ever since awakening, his physical stats had surged. And with Blood Sovereign… taking a hit like this shouldn’t be impossible.

  Blood seeped from the capillaries beneath the skin of his forearm and hardened into a crimson armor layer.

  He threw one punch.

  BANG!

  The metal ball launched backward and slammed into the barrier netting.

  Ethan’s voice was calm. “Increase the level.”

  “That’s the spirit!” someone in the control room barked, and the lever ratcheted upward.

  Level Two.

  A second ball thundered out.

  Two angles. A pincer.

  And faster than before—meaning far more kinetic force.

  “If he missteps and gets sandwiched, broken ribs are the best-case outcome,” someone said, grim.

  Ethan’s blood shaped into a heavy hammer. He swung once—sending one ball flying—then snapped back into a fist and blasted the other away.

  “Increase the level.”

  Level Three.

  The crowd started buzzing.

  “Wait—this is his first test, right? He’s pushing three on the first go?”

  “If I remember right, Wolfe only summoned two balls on his first run…”

  “Shh. Don’t say that out loud.”

  Now the attacks weren’t just from the ground. Balls ricocheted, launched, dropped from odd angles—patterns multiplying.

  Ethan stayed controlled, never panicking.

  “Increase the level.”

  Level Four.

  Mouths hung open across the stands.

  Level Four was something only a handful of rookies could handle—basically just Wolfe, that other leaderboard contender, and… the quiet, cold-eyed girl sitting alone in the upper seats.

  This new guy wasn’t human.

  “Are you kidding me… what kind of monster rookie is this?”

  Four balls hit in rapid sequence, a frantic, near-impossible tempo. One mistake and you got launched across the cage like a ragdoll.

  But Ethan’s control was improving mid-fight.

  At first he’d needed to cut himself to draw blood. Now he could push it through the skin at will, shaping it instantly: fist, hammer, armor—switching forms like muscle memory.

  Even so, four balls were still landing hits.

  “Again,” Ethan snapped. “Up.”

  The control room operator laughed—actually excited. “Fine. You asked for it. Full send.”

  He yanked the lever all the way to the top.

  Level Five.

  …

  Up in the Bureau’s observation room, several senior officials had tuned in.

  “This kid—he’s brand-new?”

  “Yeah. Report says he killed a high-tier demon right after awakening. Looks like the report wasn’t exaggerating.”

  “That ability—blood manipulation?”

  “Slaughter-line, and the Sequence has to be high.”

  “If he’s top-ten, that’s a God-Chosen. If so… we just found a treasure.”

  “See if he survives Level Five first.”

  Inside the cage, Level Five was a different species of nightmare.

  All five metal spheres hit maximum power. Some even hovered—moving with controlled, unnatural precision rather than simple rolling momentum.

  From above, it looked like Ethan was a tiny figure on a billiards table… and five giant balls were smashing him from every direction.

  The spectators could barely track it.

  “Jesus. I’d walk in and get turned into paste.”

  “I’ve never seen someone run Level Five in person!”

  Then—

  All five spheres attacked at once, converging from different angles.

  THUD!!!

  Ethan was crushed into the center.

  He managed to throw up blood-armor in time, but the impact still drove the air from him. Blood sprayed from his mouth.

  “He’s done!”

  “Level Five was too much—he pushed too hard. Damn.”

  Even the operator sighed. He was already reaching to shut the system down—no one wanted a prodigy dying on their watch.

  Then a deafening crack exploded from below.

  The operator jerked upright and stared.

  Inside the cage—

  A colossal blood spike had erupted.

  All five metal spheres were pierced clean through, skewered in a single brutal line like beads on a wire. Electricity sizzled and snapped—the mechanism was fried.

  Ethan walked out of the wreckage.

  The more blood he bled, the stronger Blood Sovereign became—and that final technique demanded a lot.

  In the observation room, the officials couldn’t hold it in.

  “Beautiful.”

  “That’s our boy.”

  “Forget it—tonight we drink.”

  Above the arena, the holographic scoreboard flashed:

  Ethan Parker — 100

  For a heartbeat, the room went silent—

  Then the entire training hall erupted.

  “One hundred?! That’s a perfect score—how is that even possible?!”

  “Even if you barely survive Level Five, you’re supposed to land around low nineties!”

  “He destroyed the spheres. That’s how you get absurd points!”

  The girl helping Derek Wolfe stared at Ethan like her brain had unplugged. The “top thigh” she’d been clinging to suddenly looked… not so impressive.

  As for Derek himself, his expression cycled through rage, humiliation, and helplessness before he finally turned and stormed out.

  After Ethan showed up, Derek’s “I’m grinding the leaderboard tonight” routine looked downright clownish.

  Ethan tapped his terminal. “Aimee. Rate my performance.”

  “Performance: acceptable,” Aimee replied, face blank as ever.

  The crowd lost it again.

  “I’ve never seen Aimee praise someone—she calls us rookies to our faces!”

  “Ethan! Let’s get acquainted—when you run missions, take me with you!”

  Then—

  A shard of ice shot toward Ethan.

  He caught it cleanly.

  An ambush? Really?

  He looked up.

  The throw had come from the girl sitting alone in the upper stands—the piano “goddess.”

  Luna Frost.

  She was already turning away, walking off without a word, leaving Ethan staring after her in confusion.

  Wait—

  There was something sealed inside the ice.