The old man sighed, clearly used to these arguments.
"Shrek Academy only accepts students who are under twelve years of age, with spirit power above level 20, and ideally with a strong configuration. Two yellow, two purple spirit rings—that's our standard. Unless your child meets these rare, exceptional standards, he cannot be admitted. We only accept monsters, not geniuses."
The man clenched his fists but took a deep breath, trying to stay composed.
"Then at least return our fee," he said coldly.
"Registration fees are non-refundable," the old man replied with a practiced smile. "Didn't you read the sign?"
"You're scamming us!" the father growled, stepping forward angrily. "You take people's money and then deny entry on a technicality? We were told the rules were flexible!"
In an instant, a faint pressure emanated from the old man—his aura pushing outward, subtly warning the man. "Be careful what you accuse," he said. "You paid. We assessed. The result stands."
The father's pride fought his better judgment, but in the end, he let out a bitter breath. He placed a hand on his son's shoulder and muttered, "Let's go back."
The boy looked back once more, his eyes burning with quiet frustration and disappointment, before the two turned and left the line.
Michael and the others had quietly observed the scene with the boy being rejected. Felicia crossed her arms and muttered, "I think it's a scam academy."
Renxue nodded, frowning slightly. "They act like they're above everyone."
Michael, standing beside them, gave a small nod. "Hm. Excuse me a moment."
He stepped forward, his gaze falling on the noble-looking father and the boy with green eyes and white hair. "What's your son's innate spirit power?" Michael asked calmly.
The father, still in a foul mood, glanced at him. But sensing Michael's presence—and aura—he instinctively straightened, his noble instincts overriding his irritation. "It's level 7," he replied.
Michael raised an eyebrow slightly. "Only level 7? And yet, your son has reached level 21 at the age of thirteen. That shows monstrous effort and discipline. Your son is a rare talent."
The father was taken aback by the compliment, but Michael's words carried no flattery—just honest observation.
"I can help," Michael added. "Take your son to the eastern end of the village. My people will be waiting there. Show them this," he said, holding out a silver token engraved with a lotus.
"Have your son demonstrate his strength to my subordinate. If he's as talented as I believe, he will be my follower."
The father accepted the token cautiously, still unsure who this young man was—but something in Michael's tone, or maybe his presence, made him instinctively trust him.
As they turned to leave, they followed the directions and soon arrived at the place Michael had mentioned.
"Hmm, there's no one here…" the father muttered, glancing around. He sighed, wondering if the noble-looking young man had just been teasing them.
But before he could say more, a woman suddenly appeared in front of them. Her icy blue eyes shimmered with power, and she wore the unmistakable robes of a Titled Douluo.
"T-Titled Douluo..." the father gasped in disbelief. Then quickly bowed, stammering, "Hello, Your Majesty. I... I wonder if you're associated with that noble young master from earlier?"
The Ice Dragon Douluo gave a slight nod. "Yes," she said coolly, then turned to the boy with green eyes. "Show me your martial spirit."
The boy stepped forward nervously, then summoned his spirit. A powerful white-green eagle materialized behind him, its wings spanning wide with faint traces of wind essence. Two yellow spirit rings appeared beneath him, pulsing with energy.
The Ice Dragon Douluo observed carefully. "Hmm... your spirit is pure. No sign of an evil master's aura."
She stepped closer. "Did you train with any specific meditation techniques?" she asked.
The boy nodded timidly. "Yes, ma'am. I use a breathing technique that helps me enter focus quickly and stay calm."
"Where did you learn it?" she asked, her gaze piercing.
The boy hesitated, then looked at his father. The man stepped forward and answered truthfully, knowing that lying before a Titled Douluo was unwise.
"It was developed by Xiao Tian himself," the father said. "He called it Serene Breathing. Thanks to it, my son was able to cultivate faster than expected."
He continued, pride touching his voice. "My son has also two self-created skills. The first is Wind Blade, an arcing slash technique that can match the power of a 1,000-year spirit ring. The second is Soaring Eagle, a mobility technique that lets him ride the currents of wind and increase his speed sharply."
The Ice Dragon Douluo narrowed her eyes, studying the two. Then a small smile curved her lips. So this is what the young master meant, she thought. She sensed no deceit in either the father or the boy.
Placing a hand gently on the boy's head, she said, "From this moment onward, you are under the young master's protection... and now one of his followers. Train well. Even if you lack innate talent, with his guidance and support, you could reach the level of a Titled Douluo. What would normally take decades might only take years."
She then turned to the father. "Return home. Say your goodbyes. From tomorrow onward, your son will join the young master's group."
The father bowed deeply, his voice thick with gratitude. "Thank you… Thank you, Your Majesty."
The Ice Dragon Douluo gave a final nod, then vanished gracefully, her presence fading like mist.
Only after she had completely disappeared did the father dare lift his head. With quiet joy, he turned and gently took his son's hand.
"Let's go home," he said softly. "We have much to prepare."
He glanced at his son with a proud yet serious expression. "Also… from tomorrow, you're truly going to soar, Xiao Tian."
The boy smiled and nodded, but hesitated for a moment. "But Father… what about the academy?"
"Huh? That place?" his father scoffed, his calm demeanor cracking with anger. "That place is not worthy of you."
His voice thundered with suppressed frustration. "They rejected you without even seeing your true worth! You don't need them anymore."
Startled by his father's sudden fury, the boy quickly shut his mouth and followed him in silence.
When they arrived home, the boy's mother and grandparents were already waiting. Their household, though modest, belonged to a minor baron family—respected locally, but unremarkable on the national scale. The boy had always been the most gifted among them, showing signs of greatness even from a young age.
Now, their talented son had been acknowledged by a Titled Douluo. From tomorrow onward, he would be under her protection, training within the circle of the one called "Young Master."
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