"Hey, Chink!"
A hulking figure blocked the graffiti-stained bathroom stall doorway. His sunburned neck was corded with bulging veins, and his thick fingers pulled the corners of his eyes upward, narrowing them into mocking slits.
"I heard your dead old man left you a pile of money."
"Struck it rich, huh? How about you lend your buddy a little?"
Looking at this walking stereotype, Zhu Long gave a silent sigh.
Once, he had been a member of a national geographic survey team. During a geological expedition, a massive petrified ginkgo fossil had struck his head.
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself reborn as a Chinese-American high school student of the same name, struggling to survive at Roosevelt Avenue High School No. 499 in Queens, New York—the most chaotic school in the city.
At the very same moment of awakening, he received shocking news: the father he had never met was murdered in a brutal stabbing the night before, his body left in the street with seven wounds.
The insurance company, at least, had shown some "compassion" and paid out fifty thousand dollars.
But clearly, word had spread.
The thug blocking his path was Brock, captain of the school football team and an associate of the local gang known as the White Eagles. Using his size and his gang connections, he ran wild in school, especially picking on Asian students.
Zhu Long, who had just come into money, had no family to protect him, and was seen as one of those "meek, easy targets," quickly became Brock's personal ATM.
Brock stepped closer, the reek of sweat and cheap cologne hitting like a foul wave.
"Kid, that's way too much money for you to spend alone. Be smart, lend me three or five grand," he growled, lowering his voice with a threat. "Otherwise, I wouldn't mind making you end up like your old man."
Behind him, two flunkies—one tall and skinny, the other short and stocky—blocked the bathroom exit. Their faces wore smug grins as they snickered.
"Fine…"
Zhu Long reached into his pocket and pulled out a bank card, holding it up before Brock. "All the money's here. Come closer, and I'll tell you the password."
Greed and disdain flashed in Brock's eyes as he leaned forward.
"Yellow coward," he muttered under his breath.
In his narrow world, all Asians were weak and timid, the kind who, when bullied, only whined "I'm weak, don't hurt me." Zhu Long was the last person he thought could resist.
He never noticed the sudden sharpness in Zhu Long's gaze.
"Man!"
Brock had no time to react before a crushing blow smashed into his nose!
A bolt of pain shot through his skull as Zhu Long's elbow slammed into the bridge of his nose with brutal precision.
A sharp crack echoed, followed by a gush of warm blood streaming down his face.
Before Brock could even recover, Zhu Long's foot drove hard into his chest, the side kick launching the 180-pound linebacker backward. He staggered several steps before crashing heavily onto the filthy bathroom floor.
Brock curled up, clutching his broken nose, whimpering like a wounded animal, his body trembling uncontrollably from the pain.
The two flunkies froze, their mocking smiles vanishing. They looked like petrified quails, staring wide-eyed at Zhu Long.
Zhu Long ignored them and strode toward the exit.
Just as one foot crossed the threshold, a beastlike roar erupted behind him.
"I'll kill you!"
Bloodied and disfigured, Brock dragged himself upright, one hand clutching his ruined nose while the other pulled a switchblade from his jacket.
Fueled by adrenaline, he charged like a maddened bull, knife aimed straight at Zhu Long's back.
"Trouble," Zhu Long muttered.
He had trained his body recently, no longer the frail weakling he once was. But fighting Brock barehanded with a knife? That was too much.
At that critical moment, a cold, synthetic voice echoed in his mind.
[+200 Willpower, from Brock Stone's murderous intent and rage]
[You have accumulated more than 2000 Willpower (2103/2000). Gaia's Dream will now open to you.]
[When you enter Gaia's Dream, time in reality will completely pause.]
[Enter now?]
Willpower!
Ever since his rebirth, Zhu Long had been absorbing this strange energy. Whenever others experienced intense emotions because of him—fear, hatred, greed, admiration, love—he harvested this invisible force, even if they didn't know he was the cause.
Until now, he had no idea what it was for.
Now he understood.
"Yes!"
Without hesitation, he answered in his heart.
The world froze around him.
Brock's twisted face, the blade hovering less than an inch from his back, even the flying droplets of spit and blood—all locked in place as if time itself had been sealed.
Then, a powerful pull yanked his consciousness into a dark vortex.
When the vision cleared, he found himself "standing" in a land unlike any he had ever seen.
The air reeked of rich earth and decay.
And his body… had become a half-meter-tall ginkgo sapling, its thin trunk and sparse leaves rooted in moist, fern-covered soil.
From his roots spread a strange connection, as though the land itself was part of his body.
[Gaia's Ginkgo Tree (Seedling Phase)]
[Growth: 0/1000 (Next Stage: Sapling)]
[The Gaia Ginkgo is your manifestation in Gaia's Dream. It is bound to your life.]
Great. He was literally a plant.
At least he still had "vision"—a kind of omnidirectional awareness.
Beneath his branches curled a small creature: a baby Tyrannosaurus, three meters long, its downy yellow feathers rising and falling with each breath. It slumbered peacefully, occasionally letting out a soft snore.
As Zhu Long focused on the dinosaur, new information appeared.
[Detected subordinate creature: Tyrannosaurus Hatchling. Rarity: Rare. Inborn Skill: Agility (enhances reflexes and coordination).]
[Consume 2000 Willpower to copy skill "Agility"?]
"Yes!"
[2000 Willpower consumed. Remaining: 103. Skill 'Agility' copied.]
[You may grant the skill to yourself or to others.]
[You may reclaim the skill at will, killing the recipient instantly. You may also monitor their actions.]
[Recipients cannot use skills against you.]
[Grant skill to whom?]
"To me!"
[Confirmed. Skill 'Agility' granted to host.]
[Due to dimensional descent, the skill 'Agility' has evolved into 'Tyrant's Shadow (Hatchling)' in the real world: Your speed, strength, and reflexes will dramatically increase, like the shadow of an ancient tyrant reborn.]
A warm current surged through him. Reality snapped back into motion.
"Whoosh!"
Brock's blade shot forward—
But Zhu Long was no longer the same.
"Too slow."
To his eyes, Brock moved in slow motion. With lightning speed, Zhu Long sidestepped half a step.
The blade sliced only his shirt, missing flesh. Brock's face twisted in shock.
Zhu Long didn't give him time to react.
His hand clamped onto Brock's wrist like iron and wrenched it.
"Crack!"
The bone snapped. Brock's scream echoed louder than before, his knife clattering to the floor.
Zhu Long's foot flashed out, slamming into Brock's gut.
"Bang!"
The linebacker flew backward like he'd been hit by a speeding truck, crashing through a wooden stall and collapsing by a filthy toilet.
Zhu Long picked up the knife and stepped over, eyes cold.
His foot pinned Brock's arm, ignoring his squeals. Then he raised the blade high.
"No—!" Brock shrieked, his entire body trembling.
Zhu Long's expression didn't change. The knife stabbed down.
"Splurt!"
The blade pierced Brock's palm, nailing it to the grimy floor.
"AAAAHHHH!"
His shrieks tore through the bathroom as blood, tears, and spit mixed on his ruined face.
[+300 Willpower, from Brock's humiliation, rage, and terror]
Zhu Long released his foot, leaving Brock writhing, then turned to the two frozen followers at the door.
[+200 Willpower, from Locke and Ben's fear]
"Take him to the hospital," Zhu Long said coldly.
"And keep your mouths shut."
Without another glance, he walked out, leaving chaos and broken bodies behind.
His heart pounded.
Just now, he had only used a fraction of "Tyrant's Shadow." If he unleashed its full power…
He might be stronger than Captain America.
From the far end of the hall, a familiar figure ran toward him.
Her long black hair bounced with each step, framing a face sharp with determination yet flushed with urgency. Her chest rose and fell as she ran, her tight athletic vest accentuating her curves.
It was Tifa Lockhart.
She stopped before him, breathing quickly, her soft lips parting as her deep brown-red eyes scanned him with naked concern.
"You… you're not hurt, are you?" Tifa asked, her brows knitting. "I heard Brock came after you again."