"Hit me in the face, quick!" The teacher's roar cracked like thunder, steel glove raised in front of his chest.
John bent his knees, fist shooting out. Wham! The dry smack echoed, the whole room shivering. He staggered back half a step, wrist buzzing, but his eyes only burned brighter.
"Not bad," the teacher grunted, sweat sliding down his forehead. "You didn't use your ability but still kept the power."
John chuckled, hair dripping wet. "I'm not done yet, watch this!"
He spun, firing four punches in a row, each one tearing the air. The red display flickered and jumped: 320… 340… 364!
The teacher's arm shook, forcing him back half a step. His mind flashed with one thought: Since when's a student stronger than the coach?
In martial arts, a combo demands breath and muscle moving as one. Miss half a beat, the force vanishes.
The fluorescent lights buzzed, catching the sweat trailing down John's chin.
"I've still got more!" John gritted his teeth, fists pounding again.
"This brat…" The teacher hissed under his breath, hands trembling but face still cold.
For the past two months, John had lived like a robot. Mornings for academics, afternoons sitting with his qi sea, evenings sparring with his teacher, nights slipping into meditation. His energy index had shot to 92—sky-high compared to his classmates.
Out in the hall, a few students stared pale at the monitor."Hey, you see John's numbers?""Yeah, ninety-two! I'm only at forty-seven…""Shit, guy must be drinking batteries instead of water."
John walked past, catching every word. He chewed the last of a cold sandwich and shrugged. "It's called hard work, ever heard of it?"
The others looked at each other like they'd just slurped instant noodles with no seasoning packet.
"Listen closely." The teacher pulled off his gloves, voice turning sharp. "This year's exam isn't like before. The government's pouring resources in, the whole country's racing to level up. One slip and you're out."
John drew in a breath, spine straight, eyes blazing. "I get it. But I won't lose."
The ceiling lights shivered, shining down on a sweat-soaked face still lit with a grin.
The teacher gave a small nod, then sighed. Such talent… too bad he wasn't born rich. Otherwise, the sky itself wouldn't be out of reach.
At the little house on the edge of town, night fell.
The desk lamp glared bright. Books stacked into a mountain, pages spread open. Silence… except for the scratch of a pen.
John froze in the doorway. "What the hell… are you doing?"
In front of him, Little Fire wasn't resting in its straw nest, wasn't crowing, but had set up a mini whiteboard. Marker in its beak, scribbling in big letters: Thermodynamics of Abilities – Chapter 3.
"Cluck!" The chicken tapped the pen on the board, dead serious like a professor. It drew a circle, shaded it yellow, then pointed. "Qi sea = yolk."
John blinked. "You're… using an egg to explain the qi sea?"
Little Fire added another layer outside. "Shell = protective barrier."
"What about the white?" John asked, curious.
It drew another ring at once. "White = buffer energy."
John planted his hands on his hips. "Oh god… you really turned into a professor."
When it comes to teaching, simple visuals stick best. And for a chicken, nothing's clearer than… an egg.
The desk lamp glowed on the board, the lopsided egg shining.
John held his head. "You explain better than the textbooks. But I don't buy it. Tell me this, how do you run fire through the qi sea?"
Little Fire narrowed its eyes, wings drawing a red arrow from the yolk radiating heat. It slammed the pen like saying, "Practice, student."
John gave a weak laugh. "Wait, you're making me the student now?"
The chicken flapped its wings, gaze haughty. Message clear: Yes, and I'm the professor.
The whole night, John tried to make instant noodles but kept getting dragged back into lectures.
"Traditional methods have six steps," Little Fire tapped the book. "My Golden Rooster Dao Manual v4.0 only takes three. Efficiency up forty percent."
"For real?" John eyed it suspiciously.
The chicken tucked its wings behind its back, beak raised high, look saying: You doubt the teacher?
"Fine, fine, I believe you." John sighed. "But please, let me eat my noodles first."
Little Fire's wings flapped hard, eyes glowing like flashlights. Meaning: No food, keep studying.
"Oh come on…" John clutched his stomach, collapsing into the chair.
Truth was, phoenix-kind were born with fire affinity. With just a bit of theory, their control could leap ahead.
The room smelled of old paper mixed with faint burnt air, sharp in his nose.
John checked the numbers. "You hit eighty-six points already?"
Little Fire lifted its head and crowed, loud and proud, showing off.
John gawked. "Don't tell me you'll hit beast rank two before me?"
The chicken turned its back, drawing a growth curve, even marking a "predicted breakthrough date."
John's eyes popped. "You… you're even making a growth plan?"
Little Fire flicked its wings like, "Piece of cake."
By midnight, John was still copying formulas, head a mess. Next to him, the chicken kept scribbling diagrams, pen clattering between its beak nonstop.
Outside the window, the full moon shone bright, casting down two shadows: one sweating young man, one scruffy, arrogant chicken.
John let out a small laugh. "I can't tell anymore who's taking the college exam—me or you."
Laughter tangled with crowing, pen taps, blending into a strange night's rhythm of cramming.
Inside John's chest, determination roared: Even if a chicken beats me, I won't accept losing!