Two things would happen. At the moment, kids feared Drew for what he did to Bein, but eventually, they would rationalize it.
'Bein started it. Bein struck first. Bein tried to humiliate him. Drew just showed he was stronger, faster, more ruthless. He put Bein in his place, below him.'
Why did Bein get beaten while Rei was left alone? They thought Drew still had a sliver of respect for Rei, hoping to mend their relationship in the future. Despite Rei starting trouble, Drew showed restraint.
But... that was all a lie. Respect for Rei? Drew had none of that.
As Drew ate in the cafeteria, his eyes bloodshot from cultivating all night, he felt their gazes, heard the murmurs. Everyone was watching him.
But it wouldn’t last. Like everything else, they’d go back to worshiping Shun, the boy wonder.
A few kids wanted to sit near Drew, but too many were already siding with Rei. They probably wished Drew couldn’t recognize their faces—but deep down, they thought he could.
Milia suddenly sat down beside him. Her plate clattered onto the table, and the space between them was barely seven inches.
Drew didn’t flinch. He wasn’t worried she’d be angry with him. The twins didn’t like each other.
“Nice fight,” she said casually.
“You were there?” Drew raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t see you.”
“I wasn’t, but I heard all about it. You kicked my brother pretty hard.”
“It was that or get beaten up.”
“Most people would choose to get beaten up."
Drew made a corny joke in his head where he would say, 'I'm not like most people.' He wanted to say it, thinking it sounded cool. But the part of his brain calling him a cornball for it stopped him.
Drew responded, "I don't like getting beaten up."
"And you wouldn't apologize, thinking I’m here to defend his honor?”
"Nope. Besides, I doubt you're here for that."
“Why?”
“Don't know. Just my guess.”
Drew knew exactly why. She was an outcast in her own family. Even her mother disliked her. The clan demanded loyalty and conformity, and Milia... craved isolation but hated it at the same time. Interacting with others always felt like they wanted something from her. She wasn’t her own person—she was just the Patriarch’s daughter.
Maybe she thought Drew saw her the same way. But he didn’t treat her like that—at least, not yet. So, talking to him wasn’t so bad.
“Really? You're just guessing?”
“I'm wrong?” Drew asked before taking a bite of the thin fish.
She stood up and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Please beat up my brother again.”
Drew laughed, almost choking on the fish in his mouth.
The others around them froze, their eyes shifting from Drew to Milia, trying to read her expression. They thought she’d threatened him, and he was just laughing it off.
But... she was smiling too.
Despite what Drew had done to her brother, Milia was this calm. The kids were stunned, and a few... even excited.
----------------------------------------
Drew was at the first realm, Level 5, still far from 6. He needed another 134 hours of training but didn’t have the luxury of time.
Rei couldn’t cultivate at all right now thanks to his hurt ribs. The humiliation would also haunt Rei’s thoughts, making it impossible to focus.
Bein would need a full month to recover. The medics could fix his nose, prevent scarring, but that was all. Pain was something they had to endure. How could you forge good soldiers without suffering?
Drew took a deep breath and started molding his Ferna, shaping it with intent and precision.
From a distance, the head principal watched him closely. He’d read the reports and now observed Drew in person.
“Not bad,” the principal murmured.
But in his eyes, Drew was still a fool. Didn’t he fear retaliation? Sure, he was superior for now, but things would change. Drew would soon learn why high-scale cores were so valuable. They were worth four times more valuable than a Medium Core for a reason.
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Then again, maybe the boy wasn’t so naive. He’d disabled Rei so he couldn't cultivate for a long while. Maybe his goal was to eliminate competition to gain more core points.
But if that were the case, why not target Milia or Shun?
No, Drew cared about his reputation—he wouldn’t strike first without reason. The real objective was to secure peace for himself, to keep others at bay so he could cultivate undisturbed. Right now, everyone feared him.
The principal sighed, staring at the report comparing the two boys. The final note caught his attention: Drew had started cultivating right after he beat them, showing his dominance and utter lack of fear.
Maybe the boy was smarter than he seemed.
The man began to smile. The principal was excited to see his future. Even if the twins and Shun eventually outshone him by leaps and bounds, Drew would grow to be an excellent strategist—if he chose to pursue that path.
Meanwhile, Drew had fallen asleep. Ferna might give you a boost of energy, but it wasn’t limitless.
When he woke up, it was morning.
That morning, he heard the news: Shun had gotten his monster first, reclaiming the top spot once again.
But it didn’t matter to Drew. He went to eat and was about to get back to working on the vessel he’d started, only to see it crumble away. He’d fallen asleep just 12 minutes into constructing it last night.
For a low-quality vessel, Drew needed at least 12 hours to build a solid foundation. Once that foundation was in place, the vessel wouldn’t collapse on itself. Then it would take 2 days and 12 hours to construct the rest of the vessel.
But Drew needed peak quality, which meant it would take five times longer. He didn’t have that kind of time, so vessel-building was something he had to keep putting off.
He returned to cleaning his Ferna instead. For three days, he did nothing but that. By then, everyone else had finished their assignments, and Drew hadn’t even started.
When Drew finally opened his eyes, he realized he was now at level 6. The early stages were easy for him. This was good enough to create a strong vessel, but at the moment, his mind was too drained.
He went to get breakfast, drank a lot of water, and promptly fell asleep on the counter. He needed to stop doing this or he’d risk causing real damage to his brain.
He was jolted awake by the sound of shouting outside. Drew got up and looked out the window, seeing a man with a red band around his head—a servant—talking to Jiman.
Jiman looked furious. “Who do you think you are, demanding such a thing?!”
The servant remained calm like he was dealing with a bothersome child. “I think you should remember who my masters are.”
Jiman’s fists clenched, but he swallowed his pride and nodded. “I’ll do as you requested.”
Drew watched the scene, wondering what it was about, but he didn’t care enough to find out. He just wanted to sleep, so he left the cafeteria, searching for a hidden spot to rest.
But as he was walking, Jiman ran up to him. “Wait!”
Drew turned, his expression annoyed. Clearly, whatever this was, it involved him.
Jiman stopped in front of him, forcing himself to stay calm. “You’re to bow before Bein, apologize for hitting him, and write a letter of apology to his family. Oh, and you owe me 200 white marbles because I had to pay for your forgiveness.”
“Why would I do any of that?” Drew asked, genuinely baffled.
“Why the hell do you think? For their forgiveness! Don’t you know who his family is?”
Bein’s father owned a big medicine shop, his grandfather was a wiseman and his brother was a promising warrior, almost ready to ascend to a Bronzeheart Core weaver in just five years. The family had a significant influence.
“I know who they are,” Drew replied, unfazed. “But this school allows fights, no matter how bloody they get. Killing and crippling are the only things prohibited. So why should I apologize for following our traditions? Isn’t this competitiveness something the clan encourages? How else are we supposed to one day reclaim our village?”
While each village in the region had the freedom to rule as they saw fit, they were technically colonies of the Daergyui Dynasty—a place of ‘High Mortals’ with inhuman technology, overwhelming numbers, and strategies that could crush weaker cultivation clans.
Jiman’s face tightened, frustration simmering beneath the surface. His thoughts were clear: This brat thought he knew how the world worked. So what if fights were encouraged? That didn’t mean you targeted people of importance.
Jiman tried to explain calmly, “While that may be true, it’s also highly encouraged to befriend those you defeat, especially if they’re clansmen. Blood should stay thick, not diluted.”
“Then tell them to die. They shouldn’t get involved in the business of children.”
“You little—” Jiman grabbed Drew’s shoulder, glaring. “Reputation is everything. One day, you might need their help!"
“I don’t care,” Drew said, pushing Jiman’s hand away. “Ask them for the 200 white marbles you already paid, because I’m not repaying you.”
“You… You…”
Jiman’s concern grew. Now that he’d claimed Drew, the boy’s actions reflected directly on him. If he couldn’t get his own ‘son’ to make amends to a potential business partner, it would make him look weak and foolish.
And if Drew could establish a good relationship with Bein, who might inherit his father’s business, that would be great for Jiman, too.
But Drew was too damn stubborn, refusing to think things through. Would he have to settle for just Shun?
Shun was valuable, sure, but it was foolish to not capitalize on every opportunity. Instead of gaining from Drew, he was losing.
An hour later, Jiman sat cross-legged on a carpet. Across from him were Bein’s parents—both non core weavers. Two female servants brought a plate of tea for the parents, pointedly excluding Jiman.
The two picked up their tea and sipped quietly.
Jiman sat there, saying nothing, anxiety gnawing at him.
Finally, Marla, Bein’s mother, spoke. “Where is your ‘son’? I thought he’d be here to apologize.”
Jiman swallowed nervously. “It’s a bit complicated. He thinks it was just a casual fight to test their strength.”
“I don’t care what he thinks!” Marla’s voice rose, eyes blazing. “My son’s nose was bashed in. My son!”
Jiman’s anxious smile wavered. “He sent the money as a gesture of apology—twice the amount requested, in fact.”
He pulled four bags of white marbles from his backpack. Marla gestured with her chin, and a servant girl took the money from him, handing it to her.
Marla weighed each bag in her hands. “400?”
“Y-yes.”
“Where did that rat get 400 white marbles?”
“Of course, he borrowed them from me.”
“I don’t believe it,” Marla said, throwing the bags behind her.
She stood, her voice cold. “Tell that boy he has 24 hours to apologize, or I’ll have someone bring me his eyes instead.”
Her husband smiled faintly. He didn’t need to speak—his wife handled everything perfectly. “You’re dismissed, Jiman. I’ll just say, I hope this doesn’t force me to tell my grandfather to reconsider your position as a martial arts instructor at the academy.”
If Jiman lost that position, he wouldn’t be allowed inside the school for more than a few minutes. Meaning his chances to bond with Shun would be cut down into almost nothing.
Jiman bowed deeply. “I’ll get him to bow and apologize before you and your son. I promise.”
But deep inside of Jiman, a dark seed of hatred and resentment toward Drew began to grow.