One glance took in seven to eight hundred people—uniformly young, dark‑skinned, and so gaunt they were skin and bone.
Clearly, they had all come from the Alliance's billions of star systems and millions of Waste Stars to take the entrance exam.
Lan Grace's appearance immediately drew many eyes.
Looking at the tan long‑sleeved, long‑trousered outfit on Lan Grace, it was obvious she also came from a Waste Star, yet her complexion was far "fairer" than every native examinee present from the Waste Stars.
Of course, "fairer" was only relative.
Compared with these native Waste Star youths so dark you might not see them at night without a light, Lan Grace's healthy bronze skin was far easier on the eyes!
Amid a crowd of pitch‑black faces from the various Waste Stars, Lan Grace's complexion all but made her the focus of the crowd—most eye‑catching of all.
Beyond complexion, Lan Grace's figure was slender—thin, yes, but not to the point of a deformed, skeletal frame.
By every measure, she outclassed the native candidates from Waste Stars, which made her stand out even more—and draw plenty of jealous looks.
Such an "outlier" also meant the other candidates from Waste Stars subtly isolated her.
If they had all come from Waste Stars, why did she look better than everyone else?
At that moment, the thought seemed to flash across almost every mind.
Lan Grace did not care about being isolated. Her goal was to pass the entrance exam and enter the Alliance Second Military Academy—not to compete with these native Waste Star youths.
Ignoring the crowd, she calmly took in this world so different from a Waste Star.
The air, though equally hot and dry, was not as polluted as on a Waste Star.
A breeze carried a clean scent—sun‑warmed and faintly sweet.
This, to Lan Grace, was a place fit for human life.
One ship after another passed overhead, dropping off more native candidates from Waste Stars.
Soon, their number exceeded five thousand.
Up to this point, aside from Lan Grace and the Waste Star natives, there was not a single candidate from any other planet—no, not even the lowest‑tier worlds.
It was naked regional discrimination.
Because they came from Waste Stars, the native candidates' status among the Alliance's billions of star systems and countless planets was the bottom of the barrel.
Because their status was low, they had to wait and wait for the candidates of higher status to arrive.
There was a pecking order everywhere. At that moment, birth was the most direct proof of rank.
Looking at the dark mass of people before her, Lan Grace felt a slow oppression settle over her chest.
It would not be long before most of these people were eliminated by the entrance exam.
Out of more than five thousand, the chance of any one remaining at the end was probably less than one in a thousand.
"You don't look like us—why?"
Suddenly, a dark‑skinned girl with straw‑yellow hair in a thin braid—thirteen or fourteen by the look of her—came over to ask curiously.
Years of malnutrition had left her long hair so sparse that there were hardly any strands left; braided together, it wasn't even as thick as Lan Grace's little finger.
Though she looked black and ugly, the girl's eyes were pure.
On a Waste Star, where everyone struggled desperately to survive, she seemed the only one whose heart had stayed untainted by her surroundings—simple and clear.
The girl's question stumped Lan Grace for a moment.
She had taken a native Waste Star slot to sit the exam here; her identity absolutely could not be exposed.
Seeing her hesitate, the girl seemed to realise she had been abrupt. "Sorry," she said, apologetic.
Then she smiled at Lan Grace, friendly and sincere. "I just think you're so pretty, so I wanted to ask how I could be as pretty as you?"
"Pretty" felt ill‑suited for Lan Grace just now.
The air pollution and cosmic radiation on the Waste Star had wrecked her—it was a fright to look at. Yet in others' eyes she was still pretty?
Thinking back to the Waste Star candidates who had looked at her oddly—was it because she was too "good‑looking" that they had isolated her?
Lan Grace sighed, at a loss for words.
To the girl who had sincerely praised her "looks," she simply said, "Thank you."
As for the girl's question, she truly did not know how to answer.
After a moment's thought, Lan Grace said, "Perhaps if you eat better in future, over time you'll look better too."
In her view, the reason native Waste Star folk were so dark and ugly—so frightening to look at—was shaped by environment.
Live long in pollution and never eat properly, and you end up stick‑thin, dark as night—like the walking dead.
If only they had enough food to nourish their bodies, even with pollution and radiation, they wouldn't be so hunched and terrifying.
Her words drew side‑glances from many Waste Star candidates.
"How could you ever eat well on a Waste Star?" someone said, sneering.
He looked Lan Grace up and down, and his gaze turned scornful.
"We can't be compared to someone like you—selfish, kept by your whole family. So what if you look good? If you can't pass and enter the Academy, you'll be sent back to the Waste Star—a lowly worm forever."
He nearly said it outright: someone like Lan Grace, all looks and no substance, would be sent back to a Waste Star. She was a lowly worm.
His words quickly struck a chord with other Waste Star natives.
Eyes full of contempt fell on Lan Grace, as if her very presence here was a mistake.
Lan Grace: What did I ever do to you?
Shameless as it sounded—was it a crime to be good‑looking?
She had thought there was no need to bother changing anything just because of a momentary snub.
But to be almost pointed at and cursed for no reason—she couldn't swallow that!
She had done nothing wrong. Why should others judge her—try to morally blackmail her?
Fixing her gaze on the native who had sneered, Lan Grace raised her voice a few tones. "Sorry, but I don't have any family on the Waste Star. Getting myself to where I am now is entirely my own ability."
Seeing disbelief on his face, Lan Grace went on, "Though it's hard to pass the Academy's entrance exam, I think I can."