The City of Verdant Dawn was busy.
That wasn't unusual. Verdant Dawn was always busy. But today, the air felt thicker, heavier, like the city itself was holding its breath.
Holographic billboards floated above the streets, cycling through advertisements at a pace that made one's eyes hurt if they stared too long. Cultivation pills promising "breakthrough in three days!" flashed beside luxury brands advertising robes woven from spirit silk. Celebrity faces smiled down from impossible angles, actors, duel champions, famous alchemists, even a few sect disciples whose only real achievement was being photogenic enough to sell products.
People flooded the streets.
More than usual.
Suitcases dragged along the pavement. A flying thing that looks like a scooters zipped overhead, narrowly avoiding pedestrians who shouted curses that were quickly drowned out by the hum of traffic. Street vendors did brisk business selling skewers, snacks, talismans, and fake academy entrance badges that fooled absolutely no one but were somehow still selling out.
The reason was obvious.
The Verdant Dawn Abbey entrance exam was one day away.
Hotels were fully booked, even when they had doubled their prices overnight. Even storage warehouses had been temporarily converted into sleeping quarters for desperate cultivators who arrived late and refused to miss their chance. The city guards had given up pretending to control the flow and instead focused on preventing outright riots.
In short, Verdant Dawn was thriving
In the city center, however, things were… different.
Quieter.
More orderly.
This district wasn't meant for everyone. The streets here were wider, cleaner, paved with rune-infused stone that never cracked no matter how many luxury vehicles passed over it. Security formations were hidden beneath decorative runes carved into lampposts. Even the air felt calmer, as if it had been trained not to misbehave.
A restaurant stood near the heart of this district with other establishment of class,
It didn't shout its presence.
No neon signs. No exaggerated architecture.
Just a refined building with smooth lines, dark glass, and an entrance that radiated understated confidence. The kind of place that didn't need to advertise because everyone who mattered already knew it existed.
A sleek black vehicle glided to a stop in front of the doors.
The engine purred softly before shutting down.
A verdant-uniformed female stepped out from the driver's side. Her movements were efficient, practiced. She walked around the car and opened the rear door.
A green-haired young man stepped out.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Impeccably dressed.
He looked… expensive.
The kind of expensive that couldn't be faked with money alone.
She handed him a bag, his it seems with a respectful bow. He accepted them without looking, already turning toward the entrance.
Behind him, the driver returned to the car and drove off toward the underground parking area.
Inside, the restaurant was a study in controlled elegance, Ancient wooden beams lined the ceiling, etched with old formation patterns that subtly reinforced soundproofing and temperature control. Floating light orbs hovered at calculated heights, emitting a soft glow that flattered skin tones and made everyone look at least ten percent more attractive.
Soft music played in the background, something instrumental, calming, and clearly chosen by someone who understood how to create atmosphere without drawing attention to it.
The place wasn't crowded.
But it was full.
Every table was occupied, yet conversations remained low. No shouting. No laughter loud enough to echo. This was a restaurant where people came to be seen without causing a scene.
Waitresses moved gracefully between tables. Each wore a refined uniform and carried themselves with quiet confidence. Anyone with decent perception could tell—they were all cultivators.
Early-stage Foundation Establishment, at minimum.
In another district, such cultivation would have earned them admiration, maybe even fear.
Here, it was simply… expected.
This place attracted a certain class of people.
Not just cultivators.
Alchemists in tailored robes discussed pill formulas over tea. Rune masters debated formation efficiency while absentmindedly carving symbols ideas. Weapon refiners argued about material purity with the seriousness of scholars defending dissertations.
And then there were the others.
Actors. Performers. Influencers from the entertainment sphere.
Not everyone chased cultivation.
Not everyone could.
Cultivation was the fastest road to power, but it was also cruelly selective. Most people never passed Foundation Establishment in their entire lives. Some didn't even come close.
So they adapted.
They learned trades. Built reputations. Found influence in other ways.
The world respected strength, but it also respected usefulness.
That was why a small family that birthed a genius was said to have "hit the jackpot." One talented child could elevate an entire bloodline. Resources followed talent. Protection followed power.
The geniuses were scouted early either by sects, academies, or large families.
The rest?
They survived.
The green-haired man stepped inside.
And the room noticed.
Conversations faltered for just a heartbeat.
Eyes turned.
Some openly, some discreetly, some with hunger and others with calculation.
A high-quality male was rare.
A high-quality male with an high energy core cultivation, lineage, and influence?
That was a walking disaster waiting to happen.
Women looked at him with different expressions.
Some with interest.
Some with desire.
Some with ambition.
Some with greed so poorly hidden it was almost impressive.
Men assessed him quickly with envy, measuring distance, background, and threat level before wisely deciding to mind their own business.
No one approached him.
Because everyone knew who he was.
Dean.
Young master of one of the five largest families in Verdant Dawn.
Even outsiders learned fast. And if someone didn't learn fast… well. There were rumors. Plenty of them. None with witnesses willing to speak.
Dean didn't react to the attention.
He never did.
He had long since stopped caring whether people wanted to own him, sleep with him, or benefit from his existence. To him, they were background noise unfortunate but unavoidable.
A waitress approached and bowed deeply.
"Young Master Dean," she said respectfully, eyes lowered. "Sir Kelvin is upstairs. The usual room."
Dean nodded once.
"Thank you."
He didn't linger. Didn't look around. He simply walked toward the stairs, his presence parting the crowd without effort.
The whispers started as soon as he left earshot.
"Did you see him?"
"He's even better-looking up close…"
"I heard his cultivation progressed again."
"Of course it did. That family's resources are terrifying."
"Even Sir Kelvin is here, i wonder if his betrothed is here…"
Upstairs, the noise faded.
The private room was spacious, soundproofed, and warded against eavesdropping. A man sat inside, already waiting.
Kelvin.
He leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, expression relaxed but sharp. He looked up as Dean entered and nodded faintly.
"You're late," Kelvin said.
Dean took the seat opposite him, settling into it with the ease of someone who had done this many times before. He glanced at Kelvin once, then at the untouched tea between them.
"You're early."
Kelvin didn't answer immediately. He studied Dean for a moment instead, his gaze calm but observant. After a beat, he exhaled softly and tilted his head.
"…Fair."
The word carried a faint hint of amusement.
Between them, the tea steamed gently, thin white curls rising and fading into the air. It smelled expensive, subtle, layered, the kind of tea that came with a history longer than most bloodlines. Dean looked at it, expression unreadable, then reached down and pressed a button on the side of the table.
The mechanism was nearly invisible, blending seamlessly into the polished wood.
"Wine," he said casually. "The usual."
He leaned back after that, shoulders relaxing just enough to suggest familiarity rather than comfort. His gaze returned to Kelvin.
"They merged the schools," Dean said, voice even. "So it'll be combined classes."
Kelvin's brow lifted slightly. Just slightly, but for someone who knew him, it was enough to signal interest.
"…Is that a problem?" he asked. "I think it's better that way."
Dean didn't answer right away.
He frowned faintly, his brows knitting together as if the thought displeased him not strongly, but enough to linger. "I don't think so," he said at last, though the way he said it made it clear he was still unconvinced.