The attribute panel was simple and concise.
Arthur's attention immediately landed on the rank.
A+, with "Nation-Level" appended to it.
As expected, it matched his own assessment—he now truly possessed the might to annihilate an entire country in a short span of time.
The classification standards of the Compendium of All Things surfaced in his mind:
From lowest to highest, the ranks were—
F, E, D, C, B, A, S, SS, SSS…
In terms of combat strength, they were known as:
Ordinary Level, Elite Level, Block Level, Town-Breaker Level;
City-Destroyer Level, Nation-Level, Continent-Level, Planetary-Surface Level;
Star-Breaker Level…
And within each major rank, subdivisions existed.
For example, at Nation-Level within Rank A:
A- denoted the lower tier.
A mid-tier.
A+ the upper tier.
His current rank was A+, meaning he was one of the strongest even among the Nation-Level.
Good. His power had taken yet another large stride closer to the Star-Breaker domain.
With a clearer grasp of his strength, Arthur couldn't help but smile in satisfaction. His mood soared.
He rose and walked over to the dressing mirror.
"…Even more handsome."
Looking at his reflection, Arthur wasn't too surprised.
Compared to before his metamorphosis, his features hadn't changed much—just that they now looked even more natural, more harmonious.
Completely flawless.
Beneath his clothes, his body was lined with lean, powerful muscles, subtle rather than bulky. His frame was tall and upright, like a bamboo stalk standing firm.
The real transformation wasn't in his looks, but in his aura.
Noble and sacred, mysterious and majestic.
Like a god descending upon the mortal world, unbearable to behold directly.
Simply standing there, he was like the warm sun of winter—irresistibly inviting, yet one feared getting too close and being consumed.
His eyes were crystalline. Looking closely, one could see countless multicolored specks shimmering within his blue irises, as deep as the starry night sky.
Arthur adjusted his state.
His presence folded inward, making him appear once more like his pre-metamorphosis self.
His control over his body had reached unprecedented heights. Suppressing his aura was a trivial matter.
Even the strength in his fingers, enough to shatter mountains, could be held in perfect check.
Effortless when heavy, deliberate when light.
No more worrying about accidentally demolishing his own home.
After calming his excitement, Arthur grabbed his clothes and headed to the bathroom for a bath.
Now, his body rivaled that of a god.
Stains could not cling to such perfection.
Even if filth touched him, circulating his inner Origin Force would cleanse him instantly, leaving him spotless.
Strictly speaking, he didn't need to bathe anymore.
But habit was habit.
Necessary or not, he had no intention of changing it.
After soaking, Arthur lay on his bed, turned off the lights, and went straight to sleep.
Whether he needed sleep was entirely up to him.
It was already 2:30 a.m.
The night flew by.
By 10 a.m., the sun blazed high.
Rays of light slipped through the blinds, spilling into the room.
Suddenly, his phone lit up.
The ringtone chimed pleasantly.
Without opening his eyes, Arthur reached under his pillow, pulled the phone out, and slid his finger across the screen by feel.
He brought it to his ear.
"...Hello."
The single word came lazily.
"Brat, don't tell me you're still asleep?"
A girl's voice rang out.
The moment he heard it, Arthur knew exactly who it was.
Still not opening his eyes, he muttered: "Congratulations, Xiaojing, you guessed right. Unfortunately, no prize."
Xiaojing—full name Hiratsuka Shizuka, from My Youth Romantic Comedy Is Wrong, As I Expected.
The two had met by chance a year and a half ago. After several encounters, they had gradually grown close.
Meanwhile, on the other end.
Inside a flashy red Aston Martin, the phone sat on a stand, calling on the speaker.
At his casual address, Hiratsuka Shizuka's face darkened.
"You little brat, who are you calling Xiaojing? Call me Shizuka-sensei."
"Alright, Xiaojing. No problem, Xiaojing."
"You… brat!"
A vein popped on her forehead, irritation written plain.
After a moment of silence, she asked:
"Did you handle it?"
"Handled."
"That's good."
Hearing Arthur's reply, Hiratsuka let out a long sigh of relief.
A few days ago, Arthur had suddenly requested leave, citing illness.
She had immediately called him.
She had even planned to visit him, but he refused, saying he didn't want to risk passing it on.
Of course, she wasn't afraid of any illness—so after school, she stormed over to his place, bringing food and medicine.
But he wasn't home.
At the time, Arthur had been wandering the city, seeking ways to deal with the malevolent spirit.
When he later learned she'd come looking, he felt both exasperated and a little touched, so he made up another excuse.
He told her he had some matters to take care of and would be away for several days.
Though she knew he was hiding something, Shizuka didn't press further.
She simply told him: if he needed help, he only had to call.
Now, hearing that he'd resolved the "matter," she finally felt relieved.
Eyes on the road, a smile played on her lips:
"In that case, come out. Someone's treating us."
"Treating us…"
Hearing this, Arthur finally opened his eyes.
He already guessed who the host would be.
"Right now?"
He glanced at the clock.
"Of course," she replied.
"Are you coming to pick me up?"
He asked, glancing at the window, where shafts of sunlight streamed in through the blinds.
"Nope."
She let out a short huff.
"Tch, stingy. Fine, just send me the location later. Hanging up."
Arthur clicked his tongue in mild disappointment, then hung up, got out of bed, and went to wash up.
Twenty minutes later.
He was dressed neatly.
Ding-dong…
The doorbell rang.
"Hm?"
Arthur raised a brow, walking to the video intercom.
Seeing the figure outside, his lips curved faintly.
He went downstairs and opened the door.
"Xiao—"
The woman outside—Hiratsuka Shizuka—was just about to speak.
But when her eyes fell on Arthur, her words froze in her throat.
She stared blankly at him.
Her gaze flickered with astonishment.
Seeing her dazed expression, Arthur chuckled and teased:
"What's with that look? Don't tell me you've been struck dumb by my handsomeness?"
Shizuka snapped back to herself at his words.
Her eyes locked onto his face, brows furrowed in suspicion.
"Brat, don't tell me the 'business' you were handling… Was it plastic surgery?"
She had noticed it—Arthur looked even better now.
Almost like a different person.
But upon closer inspection, it was still him.
If before she had rated his looks an eighty-eight out of a hundred, now she'd give him ninety-nine.
She kept that last point withheld—otherwise he'd get too smug.
He fit her aesthetic of perfection so precisely now, her heart skipped, beating faster.
Her cheeks warmed faintly.
A certain feeling, long seeded, quietly grew in the depths of her heart.
Unconsciously, her gaze toward Arthur had shifted ever so slightly.
Not that she realized it yet.
Arthur, catching her suspicion, shot her a glance. "What kind of joke is that? With this face, you think I'd ever need plastic surgery?"
"Then how did you get even more handsome?"
Shizuka frowned lightly, half-skeptical, half-curious.
…
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