“Mmm…”
A pained groan came from the bed.
Starlight rubbed her temples, slowly opening her eyes.
She stared blankly at the yellowed ceiling for a moment before abruptly sitting up, looking down to check her clothes.
Her clothes were intact, even her shoes were still on.
She let out a sigh of relief and turned to look at Ian sitting in the chair.
“Did you sit here all night?” Starlight’s voice was still hoarse from the hangover.
“What else?
Leave you on the street for some homeless guy to pick up?” Ian turned around, his back to the sunlight as he looked at her.
Starlight ran a hand through her messy hair, a complicated smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“Most guys wouldn’t pass up such a good opportunity.
A drunk superhero, lying on a motel bed.
It’s the kind of scenario many men dream about.”
“Most countries call doing that without permission, you know…
that thing,” Ian retorted expressionlessly.
Starlight paused for a moment, then burst out laughing.
It was the first genuine laugh she’d had in the past two days.
The bone-deep weariness seemed to dissipate somewhat.
“You’re really something, Ian.” She got out of bed and stretched.
“Thank you.
Not just for last night, but for what you said earlier too.”
“You’re welcome.” Ian glanced at his phone.
“It’s seven in the morning.
Do you need to go back to Vought Tower?
Or do you want to try some authentic Brooklyn breakfast here?”
“No, I should head back.” Starlight’s expression turned serious again.
“Madelyn wants to talk to me about the new uniform today.
I can’t avoid it.”
“Made up your mind?”
“Made up my mind.” Starlight took a deep breath, her eyes sharpening.
“If this place is a cesspool, then I’ll be the one holding the shovel.
I won’t let them manipulate me so easily.”
Ian nodded inwardly.
This was how Starlight should be.
The two walked out of the motel and onto the street.
The morning air in New York was crisp and cool.
Coffee carts had already started operating on the street corners, emitting tempting aromas.
Ian hailed a taxi for her.
Starlight pulled open the car door, one foot already inside when she suddenly stopped.
She turned and looked at Ian.
“Take out your phone.”
Ian raised an eyebrow but took out his phone and handed it over.
Starlight quickly typed in a string of numbers and dialed.
Her own phone vibrated in her pocket.
“This is my private number.” Starlight handed the phone back to Ian.
“No one else knows it besides my family.
If…
if you ever run into trouble, or just want someone to have a drink with, you can call me.”
“Alright.” Ian took the phone, looking at the string of numbers on the screen.
“Goodbye, Ian.”
The taxi merged into the morning rush hour traffic and soon disappeared around the street corner.
Ian stood there for a moment before putting the phone in his pocket.
He raised his right hand, focusing his mind.
A soft pop sounded.
A spare lightbulb on the nearby lamppost instantly went out, while a blinding white light flashed across Ian’s palm, so fast it seemed like an illusion.
Ian smiled.
This felt really good.
Ian withdrew his right hand, tucking it into his coat pocket.
As he walked along the Brooklyn street toward the subway station, his mind was already planning the next steps.
Light Manipulation LV4, this card was too big.
Starlight was a new member of The Seven, and her ability profile was fully documented in Vought’s database.
If he casually performed a Light Burst in front of people, anyone with half a brain could connect him to Starlight.
Translucent’s Carbon Skin was easier to handle—at least it wasn’t visibly obvious on the surface.
It seemed he had to keep Starlight’s card hidden.
At least for now.
The subway car was packed with commuters.
Ian found a corner to stand in, pulled out his phone, and glanced at his class schedule.
2 p.m., Practical Demonstration Day.
Godolkin University held this event twice a semester.
In essence, it was a chance for Supe students to show off their skills in front of the school’s higher-ups, making it easier for the school to assess their “commercial potential.”
Last month, during the entrance test, his data showed Super Physique LV1 and Shockwave LV2.
Within the school, that placed him in the “somewhat talented but still needs nurturing” range.
But not today.
Performing too weakly would lead to marginalization.
It seemed he had to keep his physique performance at the upper end of LV2.
A reasonable progression, not enough to raise suspicion.
After running through the plan in his mind, Ian turned off the screen and closed his eyes.
Godolkin University’s practical training ground was indoors, about half the size of a football field.
By the time Ian changed and entered, over thirty people were already standing in the area.
Most were freshmen, with a few upperclassmen scattered among them.
The freshmen were stretching and chatting in small groups, while the upperclassmen leaned against the walls, their entire demeanor screaming “bored.”
On the second-floor observation balcony stood several figures.
Professor Brink, in a tailored navy blue suit, stood with his arms crossed.
Beside him was Principal Shetty, the two conversing in low voices.
A teaching assistant wearing headphones walked to the center of the area and raised a tablet.
“Today’s practical demonstration will use a random pairing system.
Opponents have been matched based on entrance evaluation data.
When you hear your name, proceed to the central area.
Each match lasts three minutes.
Victory is achieved by knocking your opponent out of bounds or rendering them unable to fight.
Lethal attacks are prohibited.”
The first few matches were unremarkable.
Two LV1 strength-types pushed and shoved in the center, while Shetty on the observation balcony shook his head repeatedly.
Ian stood in a corner, quietly noting each person’s ability characteristics.
Seventh match.
“Ian, freshman.
Versus—Jason Walsh, junior.”
The area fell silent for a few seconds.
Ian stepped toward the center, catching glimpses of schadenfreude on a few freshmen’s faces.
Jason Walsh was already standing opposite him.
Over six feet tall, with shoulders broad enough to block half a doorway, his muscles strained against his training uniform.
He was clearly at least Super Physique LV3.
Walsh glanced down at Ian.
“You sure you’re in the right place?
There’s a yoga class next door.”
A few chuckles echoed around them.
Ian didn’t respond.
He rolled his neck twice and lowered his center of gravity slightly.
The teaching assistant raised his hand.
“Begin.”
Walsh charged straight at him.
His LV3 explosive power brought him within inches of Ian in less than a second, his right fist whistling through the air, aimed directly at Ian’s temple.
Ian sidestepped.
The fist brushed past his ear.
Instead of retreating, Ian stepped forward, driving his right elbow into Walsh’s ribs.
Thud.
A dull sound.
Walsh’s body swayed but didn’t retreat.
With LV3 bone density and muscle mass, Ian’s deliberately controlled strike wasn’t enough to injure him.
Walsh seized the opportunity, grabbing Ian’s forearm and yanking him forward.
Ian’s feet scraped two white marks across the ground as he was dragged stumbling forward.
Walsh’s other fist was already swinging around, aimed straight at his chest.
If this punch landed solidly, at least two ribs would break.
Ian gritted his back teeth, summoning all his strength.
The fist struck his chest, and Ian’s body was forced back two steps.
Pain.
But he could withstand it.
Walsh’s fist paused for an instant.
Based on his experience, most Supes would be sent flying by that punch.
But the man before him had only retreated two steps and was still standing.
This moment of hesitation lasted less than half a second.
But it was enough.
Ian steadied his footing amid the backward momentum, lowered his center of gravity, and pressed the heel of his right palm against Walsh’s abdomen.
Shockwave.
Boom.
Walsh was thrown back a distance.
He didn’t fall, but the force of the Shockwave created an opening in his defensive stance, leaving his right side completely exposed.
Ian gave him no time to adjust.
He advanced two steps, feinting with his left fist to force Walsh to raise his guard on the left.
A second Shockwave from his right hand struck precisely against Walsh’s right rib.
Walsh’s body was sent flying sideways.
The nearly two-meter-tall figure flipped halfway in the air before crashing heavily at the edge of the training area, half his body landing outside the white line.
Out of bounds.
The training ground fell completely silent.
The assistant coach glanced at the data on his tablet and looked up to confirm the landing point.
“Ian, victory.”