Park Guk-chang

“Bro... I don’t remember Lin Mo’s ability being this.”

Han Junhao raised a hand and pressed it against the transparent barrier in front of him. His palm met a surface that was ice-cold and absurdly hard.

He pushed hard. It didn’t budge an inch.

He knocked from a different angle—dull, solid thuds, like tapping on bulletproof glass.

Turning his head, the first thing he saw was Smiling Face, whose grin never wavered.

“To be honest, I hate your smile.”

“You say that every day, bro.”

“That’s because I hate seeing it every day.”

Han Junhao withdrew his hand, stating the fact flatly, then pointed a finger toward the dining table across the room. “But this kind of ability—only that young master from the Dongfang family could pull it off.”

The person pointed at was sitting in a booth, drinking tea.

Dongfang Shuye—the “Eastern Leaf”—wore an expression of complete indifference, as if it had nothing to do with him. He didn’t even bother lifting his eyelids.

In truth, it really didn’t involve him. It was clearly Lin Mo’s doing, but Dongfang Shuye felt no obligation to explain.

He lifted his teacup, blew on the steam, and lounged in perfect ease.

As long as it made those two glare helplessly, he was in a good mood.

After eating, everyone paired up and headed back to their rooms. Teacher Bai repeatedly urged them to stay together abroad, not to wander off alone, and announced he would check each room to make sure nobody had strayed.

People drifted in twos and threes toward the elevator.

Lin Mo sat in his seat, waiting for Wang Jie to finish eating. True to his Shandong roots, that burly man had cleaned his entire plate of grilled meat.

As he stuffed the last piece of pork belly into his mouth, Wang Jie let out a satisfied sigh.

“Alright, I’m done. Let’s head back.”

He wiped his mouth, shook his head, and added, “I feel like I did nothing all day, but I’m dead tired. Flying is pure torture.”

Lin Mo slowly dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “I thought you’d suggest going out for a walk.”

“Nope.” Wang Jie waved a hand. “Teacher Bai said now’s not the time. At least wait until the competition is over. We’ve got two extra days here afterward anyway—we can explore then.”

“Fine. We’ll see then.”

Lin Mo stood up, and Dongfang Shuye rose with him. The three of them walked toward the elevator.

Their path happened to pass right by Han Junhao and Smiling Face.

Wang Jie strode ahead, oblivious.

Dongfang Shuye walked with a blank expression, his pace brisk.

Lin Mo was at the back. As he passed the invisible barrier, his steps didn’t even pause.

That unseen wall firmly trapped the two ability users from Korea on the other side.

Han Junhao watched Lin Mo step into the elevator.

The doors slid shut.

“Bro.”

Smiling Face’s grin didn’t change—or rather, his features remained the same, but the meaning in his eyes shifted. “I get the feeling that even that young master from the Dongfang family won’t be easy to deal with. None of the people who came here this time are simple.”

“No kidding.”

Han Junhao turned and walked toward the stairwell. “Would the Yan Huang Awakening send anyone who’s simple?”

“Then what about our mission?”

“Keep an eye on Lin Mo. If necessary...” He pushed open the stairwell door, his voice echoing in the narrow space, “kill him at any cost.”

Smiling Face followed behind, speaking slowly. “Bro, you’re overthinking it. Headquarters won’t approve. We’re in Seoul—who takes the fall if a commotion breaks out? We absolutely cannot cause a major incident.”

He suddenly changed the subject. “So, bro, are you trying to do something before you die?”

The stairwell fell silent for two seconds.

Han Junhao didn’t turn around.

“I’m not one of those lunatics,” he said. “I just want to protect this country too.”

Footsteps faded into the distance.

Smiling Face stood still, the curve of his lips unwavering.

“Bro, every time you say that,” he muttered to himself, “you sound exactly like those lunatics.”

No one heard him.

Since Lin Mo had no intention of engaging with them, they wouldn’t engage—they would merely watch. If Lin Mo really tried anything, they could stop him. Probably.

Lin Mo’s room.

Dongfang Shuye immediately pulled out a handheld computer. The screen was filled with dense documents and photos. He operated it with practiced ease, quickly pulling up two files.

“Those two just now—the tall one is called Han Junhao, codename Self-Propelled Artillery. His ability is energy explosion, pure offense type. Korea rates him as S-class.”

Lin Mo sat on the edge of the bed, took the computer, and glanced at it.

The photo showed Han Junhao with a blank expression, a crew cut, broad shoulders, and a sturdy build—he had a military background.

“Ability rating S. In combat records, he’s carried out three over-limit explosions. The biggest one blew up half a street.” Dongfang Shuye leaned against the desk and added, “But the problem is exactly that—the more emotional he gets, the bigger the explosion.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. This guy has no finesse in a fight. Either he doesn’t explode, or he explodes too big, and the crazier he gets, the bigger the blast.”

Dongfang Shuye looked up at Lin Mo. “So I’ve been wondering—are they planning to have this guy take you down with him?”

Lin Mo paused, then laughed.

“Art is an explosion?”

Dongfang Shuye ignored him.

“The other one is called Smiling Face.”

Oriental Leaf flipped to the next page. “No real name, at least we haven’t found one on our end. The ability is emotion manipulation—can force specific emotions onto a target, or suppress their emotions. Also S-rank. That kind of power is insidious.”

Lin Mo found this somewhat interesting. He thought for a moment. “Any emotion works?”

“The file records include fear, rage, and despair. In theory, positive emotions are possible too, but what would he use positive emotions for?”

“Could also suppress Han Junhao’s abilities or amplify Han Junhao's emotions.”

Lin Mo quickly summarized the synergy between the two abilities.

“How did you get files on these people?” Lin Mo stared at the screen. He had tried hacking the upstairs computer earlier, but all S-rank and above data was physically isolated—he couldn’t find anything.

Oriental Leaf pulled the laptop back. “Yanhuang Awakening has an intelligence network too. Don’t underestimate us.”

That was true. After all, as long as abilities were used on missions, traces were left behind.

Given how Korea classified ability users, Oriental Leaf would indeed count as S-rank.

Xia Zhi, with his air cannon, was only B-rank. Liu Zheng was even lower.

But Yanhuang Awakening didn’t rank people solely by ability.

Oriental Leaf pulled the door open.

“Get some rest. Don’t run around.”

“None of your business.”

The door closed. That was all Oriental Leaf said—everyone knew you couldn’t boss Lin Mo around anyway.

Lin Mo got up, walked to the bathroom, closed the door, and looked at his face in the mirror.

Then his features began to change.

His cheekbones lifted slightly, his jawline softened, the distance between his eyes adjusted, and the curve of his nose shifted.

His hair changed from a short black crop to the most popular Korean men’s style—parted to the side, with a gentle wave that practically begged someone to call him oppa.

His height dropped by two centimeters.

His shoulders broadened by a notch.

In the mirror stood a completely unfamiliar young Korean man—not particularly handsome, but ordinary enough to blend into any street crowd without a second glance.

“Now, you are Piao Guochang.”