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In the ivory tower of the university representatives' section, the atmosphere crackled with barely contained greed. These weren't just observers—they were predators, and they'd just watched a lion cub tear apart seasoned hunters.
"Poor Shane," the Imperial University representative sighed, though his eyes gleamed with calculation. "If he hadn't run into Russell, he'd have carved through several more rounds easily."
"Just unlucky," the Northgate University representative agreed, scribbling notes with practiced nonchalance. His superiors had already whispered the golden words: Russell belongs to Director Blake Whitmore. Which meant Russell belonged to them. His job now was damage control—downplay the monster, make him seem beatable, or some shameless old bastard from another university might try to poach their prize.
But Shane's performance had been impressive enough to attract vultures. Several representatives were already mentally drafting recruitment pitches.
"That 'Straw Hat Boy' card," another representative mused, "it's actually immune to most lightning damage."
The comment dropped like a stone into still water. Everyone fell silent, processing the implications.
Lightning was everywhere in cardmaking mythology. Thunder gods, storm lords, electric demons—from the Daming Federation's Thunder God to the West's Zeus. It was one of the most popular and devastating archetypes in existence.
"He's only immune to most damage," the Aurora University representative finally spoke, grasping for straws. "Not all of it."
Still fucking outrageous, everyone thought simultaneously. Being immune to most lightning damage made Luffy a hard counter to an entire branch of the cardmaking tree. And this was just a Bronze-level card.
"But did anyone else notice?" The Keystone University representative leaned forward like a shark scenting blood. "At the last moment, his card was definitely immune to a fatal blow."
"Didn't look like complete death immunity," the Heron Island University representative countered, his analytical mind working overtime. "I noticed the card dissipated on its own after the match instead of being recalled. Temporary death resistance—a last-stand ability."
The Northgate representative shot him a dirty look. Tsk, this guy. Why is he observing so carefully? But the topic was already out there, spreading like wildfire.
"Is this really the effect of a Bronze-level card?" Aurora University's representative voiced what everyone was thinking.
The Northgate representative, who had access to Russell's classified file, knew Luffy was red-quality—legendary tier. But he played dumb with Academy Award-worthy performance. "His card is probably very high quality. Gold, at minimum."
The other representatives exchanged glances. Why did Northgate send someone with such shit eyesight? They were all masters in cardmaking. Telling them Luffy was only gold-quality was like telling oceanographers that the Pacific was just a large pond.
Fortunately, the next match was starting, cutting off the discussion and allowing the Northgate representative to breathe again.
Back in the New Metro First High section, Russell walked into more than a dozen pairs of eyes that looked at him like he'd just stepped off a UFO. The advanced class students were all Iron-level cardmakers themselves—just one rank below Bronze. When they watched masters fight, it felt like watching gods clash in the heavens, distant and untouchable.
But Bronze level was different. Bronze level was achievable. With six months of hard work, any of them could reach it. Which made Russell's overwhelming power feel both inspiring and terrifying.
"Russell," Victoria Song beamed with maternal pride, "you're now better than your teacher. Keep working hard in the future."
She was just a Bronze-level cardmaker herself—otherwise, she wouldn't be teaching high school. Russell's display had genuinely surpassed her own abilities. Watching a student she'd nurtured achieve such heights made her feel like she could conquer the world.
Russell felt a genuine stab of gratitude. Victoria Song was that rare breed—a teacher who actually gave a damn about her students. Even when he'd frequently asked for leave, she'd never complained, always signing his requests with a smile. It was a stark contrast to his college counselor from his past life, who'd refused him leave even when his father was having surgery.
"Ms. Song," he said, shaking his head, "without your teaching, I wouldn't be where I am today."
The words contained genuine feeling. While his other cards were essentially plagiarized from his past life's stories, Yoriichi's advancement was built on the foundational principles he'd learned at New Metro First High. Victoria Song just smiled and patted his shoulder, her pride practically radiating heat.
Settling into his seat, Russell began watching the next match, but his mind was elsewhere. The creature cards and prop cards dancing across the battlefield triggered a cascade of tactical analysis.
My creature cards are barely adequate for now. It's my item cards that are lacking.
Recalling the lightning that had erupted from the Corpse Driver, he couldn't suppress a shudder. Cardmaker duels prohibited direct attacks on opponents. But in the wild, an AOE attack like that would have vaporized him instantly.
The flaw in his protection was glaring. The Spirit Begging Society vest contained the [Mark 3] armor, but his normal student identity was essentially naked. After university, he'd be entering more dangerous secret realms, facing demons that wouldn't give a shit about duel etiquette.
Creatures or props? He had ideas for creatures—a symbiote similar to Venom, maybe. For props, he could consider [Rho Aias], or even transformation belts like the ones from Armor Hero. The good thing about these cards is they can fulfill bond requirements even after they become obsolete.
He actually preferred defensive cards. Asking him to engage in melee combat was asking too much. Shooting from the shadows was more his style.
But reality was a cruel mistress. He had just over 120,000 credits left in his account. Even a master chef couldn't cook without ingredients. That was only enough to make a Black Iron-level card.
"Let's just wait until the unified examination is over," he sighed, defeat weighing on his shoulders.
Nancy, sitting beside him, stared at his dejected expression with growing bewilderment. Why is he still unhappy after winning?
If she knew about his worries, she'd probably want to run him through with her sword. You bastard! Most students couldn't even make Bronze-level cards yet, and here he was, already strategizing how to expand his deck further. Even if normal students could make so many cards, they couldn't use them all simultaneously.
The distance between us is getting farther and farther, Russell...
Nancy knew that after the exam ended, he'd probably stay in Northgate, waiting for his early admission. No need to waste half a year finishing high school back in New Metro. But she'd made a promise to herself.
I will catch up with you.
It was a pity Russell didn't know what she was thinking. Otherwise, he would have just said, "Are you the heroine of some shonen manga?"
Because that's exactly what she was becoming—the rival who refuses to be left behind, the friend who transforms determination into strength, the girl who'd chase him across worlds if necessary.
But for now, she just sat there, watching him fret about problems that would make other students weep with envy, and wondered how someone so brilliant could be so utterly clueless about the hearts he was breaking just by existing.
The next match played out on the field below, but Russell's mind was already three steps ahead, calculating risks and rewards, building strategies for battles that hadn't even begun yet. Around him, his classmates watched with a mixture of admiration and despair, realizing they were witnessing the birth of a legend.
And in the VIP section above, university representatives continued their subtle war of words, each trying to position themselves for a piece of the boy who fought like he already knew how every battle would end.
Because that's what Russell had become—not just a student, not just a cardmaker, but a gravitational force that bent everyone else's ambitions around his own inexorable rise.
The question wasn't whether he'd reach the top.
The question was who would still be standing when he got there.
(End of Chapter)