Chapter Twelve: The Official Declaration of War

Tao Lu leaned against the corridor, her hand idly twirling her can of soda as she passed the time, boredom etched into her features. After her outburst, Gu Yue was finally calm enough to sleep, and Xia Jing quietly left the room.

"Do you like her?" Tao asked, amused.

"You saw it?" Xia Jing returned her gaze.

"The words you spoke were clear enough," Tao replied, turning her head as she admitted her presence. The sunlight caught the pale curve of her cheek, but her eyes—those predatory eyes—remained hidden.

In the quiet of her room, Li'an entered, uninvited, his presence unbothered by the silence he interrupted. Gu Yue, for her part, smiled politely at his approach, her gratitude shining through her exhaustion.

"You've started to develop your second ability, haven't you?" Li'an pressed, the subject sharp and unwelcome.

Gu Yue’s confusion was evident in her misted eyes. "I don't understand."

"Your brain's development has reached thirty-one percent," Li'an explained, his tone clinical. "They say most abilities manifest at thirty-five. You’re almost there."

She regarded her trembling hands, her memory clouded by the pain in her head.

Li’an’s lips curled into a smirk. "You’re not stable enough," he said. "You’ve killed her, you know. This is what happens when you lose control. The others, the deaths—such a high mortality rate. Some say it’s because you’re a curse, and your ranking is so high."

Gu Yue flinched, staring at her hands as if the blood of her peers stained them. The tears of her grief couldn’t be hidden—her pain was too raw for that.

Li’an, watching her distress, let her ashen face be an audience for his sneering contempt. He watched her as she sobbed, his silver hair catching the light, inhuman arrogance on display.

As he left, the sounds of the door echoed through the building—a warning, a reminder, a lesson.

In the hallway, Tao’s presence was a comfort to Xia Jing, who shivered as the tension spread through the building like a cold wind.

In the classroom, the sense of tension was palpable, the gathering of students filling the room with nervous anticipation. The teacher, their mentor, addressed the group, his expertise in mental abilities evident as he described the risks of overexerting oneself, the dangers of pushing too far in the pursuit of mastery.

In the corridor, Li’an’s office was filled with the voices of the young—students, their spirits raw. The rumors of battle, of the battles for power, were everywhere. The rumors of war, of the competitions, of the contests, were all around them.

Li’an’s words echoed, his challenge a warning to the young.

The others watched, and as the voices spread, the tension was evident. The challenge for the top ranks was not just a contest, but a battle—a battle for control, for dominance, for power.

And for Gu Yue, for the hunted, for the hunted, there was no hiding from the rumors, from the voices, from the battles that would come.

This, she realized, was the true nature of the contest—the contest for power, for survival, for victory. The contest for life and death. The contest that would never end.