Luoying City, No. 1 High School.
In the classroom of Grade 11, Class 7—
"The application forms have been handed out. If you want to join the Martial Arts Class, fill them out and return them to me," the teacher announced.
As his voice fell, chatter erupted across the room. Faces lit up; several students had already picked up their pens and begun to write.
On the podium, the homeroom teacher pushed his glasses up and watched the excited students with a complicated expression.
Every three years, this scene played out again and again—but the path of martial arts was never an easy one.
Finally he looked toward the students who were starting to write and said gravely, "The Martial Arts Class has no entrance barrier—anyone who applies can get in."
"But I must remind you: even after you get into the Martial Arts Class, only a vanishing few ever make it to New Continent."
"Even ignoring talent, the cost of the nutrient serum alone isn't cheap. Please think carefully before applying."
His low words were like a bucket of cold water; the classroom chatter dropped abruptly, and the excitement drained from many faces.
Most sighed in resignation and put their papers down.
Even the few who had been filling theirs clenched their pens in inner struggle, then, unwilling, stopped writing.
The teacher's words were harsh, but not wrong.
Zi Ying Planet was split into two continents, New Continent and Old Continent; they were on the Old Continent.
New Continent was the real center of the planet—only by getting into New Continent could one truly touch the vastness of the interstellar age.
An ocean separated New and Old Continents, but it wasn't impossible to cross.
Talent was the ticket to New Continent.
And the talent selection had already been underway for years.
Among the students present, from elementary through middle school, one or two classmates each year would be sent to New Continent.
Those who remained here were the large denominator left after that selection.
Getting into the third-year Martial Arts Class and then into a martial university on New Continent was, realistically, their last chance.
But "chance" was stretching it—it was more like an almost unattainable dream.
In Wuyi Province, where Luoying City sat, only a handful of students each year managed to get into a New Continent martial university.
As disappointment settled over the students, the classroom grew quieter; only a few faint rustling noises sounded sharp against the hush.
Everyone turned toward the three students who hadn't stopped writing.
"Jia Jiang, Zhao Hongzhou… wait? Li Qingshan is applying for the Martial Arts Class too?"
"Li Qingshan?!"
Gasps rose; most eyes fixed on a figure by the window.
Golden sunlight poured through, illuminating the young man bent over his paper. The side of his face caught the light and gleamed.
But his classmates weren't admiring the sight. Instead their expressions twisted with confusion.
"What does Li Qingshan have to qualify him for the Martial Arts Class?" someone muttered.
"Yeah—Jia Jiang's family runs a logistics company; he can mess around all he wants. Zhao Hongzhou's family is average but he's gotten bigger and stronger these last two years—he can give it a shot. But Li Qingshan…"
The boy talking trailed off and someone nearby chimed in, "What else is there to say? He came from the Public-Nurture Center. Saying it now isn't even discrimination."
"Public-nurture"—a product of declining birthrates in the interstellar era.
Children at the Public-Nurture Center came from the Federation embryo bank: no father, no mother.
Before age fifteen they received uniform education at the center.
At fifteen they faced a choice: stay with the center's arrangements until assigned a job and sign a minimum ten-year contract, or leave the center and fend for themselves.
Almost every class had two or three students from the Public-Nurture Center; it wasn't rare.
After that remark, others relaxed and continued, "Being from the Public-Nurture Center means tuition and boarding are covered, but nutrient serums for cultivation are not. Li Qingshan has no parents to support him—how could he possibly afford it?"
"Maybe not—word is he left the center and started working before even entering high school; he doesn't live in the dorms, either."
"Hah, how much can part-time work bring in? A month's wages probably aren't enough for one bottle of serum."
"Besides, if he had true talent, he'd have been sent to New Continent back at the center. Why would he still be here?"
"No talent and no family backing—what's the point?"
Many shook their heads and sighed, passing judgment.
When most people give up, dropping out of the Martial Arts Class becomes the "wise" choice.
And if Li Qingshan's situation was worse than everyone else's yet he still insisted, then that was the height of foolishness.
"Li Qingshan…" the teacher frowned but didn't say more.
His earlier cold-water warning had been to prevent families from squandering their savings on a long shot.
The third-year Martial Arts Class was effectively the Federation's pathway to New Continent. The chance was slim, but he couldn't outright forbid them.
"It'll just be a waste of time. He probably left the center just so he could apply," he thought, then shook his head and gave up trying to dissuade him.
No family support, no means to cover the costs—even if Li got into the Martial Arts Class, he wouldn't last long.
Boom!
A sonic boom cracked outside; Li Qingshan paused mid-motion.
"Huh? He's figured it out? He's going to give up?"
"He must be—after all our analysis, even if he's stubborn he should back down."
Many students smirked in self-satisfaction, happy they'd persuaded one stubborn classmate to be "reasonable."
Li Qingshan ignored the noisy whispers and looked out the window.
A ring of white vapor hung in the sky. A black humanoid mecha, its metal reflecting the sun, streaked away at speed.
The Sky Patrol—part of Wuyi Province's Inspection Bureau—patrolled the skies over each city daily.
"A mecha…"
Li rubbed the application in his hand, feeling strangely unsettled.
Two years since his transmigration, and his understanding of this world remained conflicted.
Interstellar age… the Red-Rain Star Sector… Zi Ying Star…
Starships… mecha… martial artists…
Astral beasts… cultists of dark gods… pollution…
All these were pale lines in textbooks.
Indeed, even in the interstellar era, schools on Chisong Star still used paper textbooks.
Two years here and he hadn't seen a single hover car.
The most futuristic item he owned was a wrist communicator that could project images.
Only the mecha that occasionally soared past the sky and the daily practice of martial arts reminded him this was the interstellar age.
Mecha! Martial artists!
They were the two tangible things from the textbook's pallid words.
Several students who had started filling their forms and then stopped came up to Li's side.
They looked at the application in his hand and smiled.
Good—everything was filled, but there was no signature yet.
Yeah—everyone else had abandoned the idea; why should Li persist?
"Li Qingshan, giving up is the right choice; there's nothing to regret," someone said, patting his shoulder with a serious tone. "We're all the same—we understand you."
"Brother Shan, don't listen to them. Let's go to the Martial Arts Class and give it our all," a loud voice called. Zhao Hongzhou had finished his application and walked over.
"Zhao Hongzhou, if you don't know, don't talk!" another snapped.
"Exactly. You've got family resources—you can fight for it. Li doesn't even have parents; what can he fight with?"
"What, are you going to pay for his serums?"
For a moment the class erupted, as if Zhao's remark had stoked public indignation.
"You guys…"
Zhao Hongzhou was tall but still immature; confronted with the charges, he didn't know how to respond.
"When did I realize you all cared so much?" Li Qingshan snorted, glancing around to find many staring at him.
More precisely, they were staring at the application in his hand.
They seemed to expect him to crumple the paper and vanish into the crowd.
It was almost comical.
He'd been busy with part-time work and was practically invisible in class, not especially close to anyone.
Only Zhao Hongzhou, who occasionally worked with him, was somewhat friendly.
He hadn't expected that a single sheet of paper would unexpectedly make him the class's "center of attention."
"You don't know jack!" Li Qingshan laughed softly and picked up his pen, signing his name.
A virtual overlay only he could see unfolded before him.
[Li Qingshan]
[Realm: Body Tempering 9/100]
…
…
Behind the overlay were faces—shock, frowns, regret…
Truly, the full spectrum of humanity.