The victories in the Suotuo Great Spirit Fighting Arena piled up like gold soul coins in Flender's greedy coffers.
Night after night, the Shrek Seven Devils returned to the sands—sometimes as a full team, sometimes in pairs or one-on-one duels. Their masks became familiar to the crowds: the mysterious control-type Silver Mask (Tang San), the agile Rabbit Dancer (Xiao Wu), the ferocious Evil-Eyed Tiger (Dai Mubai), the silent Nether Cat (Zhu Zhuqing), the flaming Phoenix Fatty (Ma Hongjun), the ever-grinning Sausage Uncle (Oscar), and the radiant Seven-Colored Glass Princess (Ning Rongrong).
Their win streak stretched to fifteen consecutive team battles.
Spectators began to bet heavily on them. Analysts debated their origins. Scouts from larger academies and sects lingered in the stands, notebooks in hand.
Jin Mori watched every match from the VIP observation box reserved for teachers and guardians. He never cheered loudly, never interfered. But his presence was a quiet constant—jade eyes tracking every movement, every mistake, every triumph.
The students felt it. Knowing he was there gave them an extra edge, a desire not to disappoint.
Between matches, life at the academy deepened.
Dai Mubai and Zhu Zhuqing's interactions grew less hostile—shared glances during strategy sessions, accidental brushes in sparring that lingered half a second too long. Ma Hongjun's Evil Fire episodes became rare, his confidence blooming. Oscar's sausages were no longer the butt of every joke. Tang San and Xiao Wu's bond, already unbreakable, sharpened into flawless battlefield synergy.
And Ning Rongrong…
Her private lessons with Mori had become the anchor of her days.
Every evening, after dinner and group debriefs, she slipped away to the clearing. They trained—footwork, spirit circulation, situational awareness—but more and more, the sessions stretched into quiet conversation.
One night, after a particularly grueling team victory against a level-40 squad, Rongrong arrived later than usual.
Her training robes were still dusted with arena sand, a faint bruise blooming on her forearm where a stray attack had grazed the barrier and clipped her.
Mori noticed immediately.
"You pushed too far forward in the final exchange," he said as she approached, voice calm but laced with concern.
She rubbed the bruise absently. "I know. But Oscar was detoxing Hongjun, and Mubai needed the defense boost right then. I had to close the distance."
He stepped closer, gently taking her wrist to examine the injury. His touch was careful, spirit power flowing subtly to ease the swelling.
"You're not invincible yet," he murmured. "Bravery is good. Recklessness isn't."
Rongrong looked up at him, moonlight catching in her silver hair.
"I wanted to prove I could keep up," she admitted quietly. "That I'm not just the girl in the back anymore."
Mori's thumb brushed lightly over her pulse point before releasing her hand.
"You already have," he said. "To everyone. To me."
Her breath caught at the softness in his tone.
For weeks, the air between them had been thickening—small touches during training corrections, lingering glances across the dinner table, shared smiles over Oscar's terrible puns. But neither had crossed the invisible line.
Tonight, the line felt thinner.
Rongrong took a small step closer.
"Teacher Jin…" she began, then shook her head. "No. Just… Jin."
He waited, patient as ever.
"I don't know what this is," she continued, voice barely above a whisper. "But when I'm with you, I feel like I can be more than the clan heiress. More than the support system. Like I matter… for me."
Mori's expression softened in a way she had never seen—vulnerability breaking through the calm facade.
"You do matter, Rongrong," he said. "More than you know."
He reached out, slowly, giving her time to pull away. She didn't.
His fingers tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the touch feather-light.
In that moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them—ancient soul and young heart, teacher and student, two people finding solace in each other's presence.
Rongrong rose on her toes.
Their lips met—tentative, soft, a question and an answer all at once.
It lasted only seconds, but when they parted, both were breathing a little faster.
"I—" Rongrong started, cheeks flaming.
Mori rested his forehead gently against hers.
"I've lived a very long time," he whispered. "But this… this feels new."
She smiled, tears pricking her eyes—not from sadness, but from the overwhelming gentleness of it.
They did not kiss again that night. Instead, they sat side by side on the log, shoulders touching, talking until the moon began to set.
About dreams. About fears. About futures yet unwritten.
The next day brought change.
During morning training, a messenger arrived from Spirit Hall's local branch—polite, but insistent. An invitation for "the esteemed Titled Douluo associated with Shrek Academy" to attend a private audience with Bishop Platinum of Suotuo Spirit Temple.
Flender nearly fainted from excitement. Grandmaster's face darkened.
Mori read the sealed letter calmly.
"I'll go," he said simply.
Grandmaster protested. "Spirit Hall collects geniuses like treasures. They may try to recruit you—or worse, perceive you as a threat."
Mori's smile was serene. "I'm not so easily collected."
He went alone, refusing escort.
The Suotuo Spirit Temple was grand—white marble, golden accents, statues of seraphim towering overhead. Soul masters in ceremonial robes bowed as he entered.
Bishop Platinum—a level 68 Spirit Emperor with a scepter martial soul—greeted him in a lavish reception hall.
"Honored guest," the bishop began, voice smooth. "Spirit Hall has heard of your extraordinary talent. Three 100,000-year rings at such a young age… unprecedented. We would be honored if you considered joining us. Resources, status, whatever you desire."
Mori sat, posture relaxed.
"I appreciate the offer," he replied evenly. "But my place is with my students."
The bishop's smile tightened. "Shrek is… modest. Spirit Hall can offer far more. And protection—for you and those you care for."
A subtle threat, veiled in kindness.
Mori's jade eyes gleamed faintly.
"I protect my own," he said, voice quiet but carrying the weight of mountains. "And I have no need for what Spirit Hall offers."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
The bishop sensed it then—the abyss beneath the calm surface. He forced a laugh.
"Of course. The offer remains open."
Mori rose to leave.
As he reached the door, the bishop added, "Word of your students' rapid progress has reached higher ears. The Continental Advanced Spirit Master Academy Elite Tournament approaches. Many eyes will be watching Shrek."
Mori paused, then nodded once and departed.
Back at the academy, he shared nothing of the conversation's undercurrents—only that Spirit Hall had extended courtesy.
But the ripples were spreading.
That evening, during Rongrong's lesson, she noticed the subtle tension in his shoulders.
"What happened?" she asked directly.
He hesitated, then told her—omitting the threat, but not the interest.
Rongrong's expression hardened with rare anger.
"They think they can buy anyone," she said. "But you're not like that."
She took his hand boldly.
"And neither are we. Shrek will show them—at the tournament."
Mori squeezed her hand gently.
"Together," he agreed.
Later, as they walked back toward the dorms—closer than ever, fingers loosely entwined—a tremor ran through the earth.
Faint, but unmistakable.
Mori stopped, senses extending.
Deep in the Star Dou Forest, something ancient had risen.
The guardian beast of the core region—a titan whose name was whispered only in legends—had awakened fully.
Drawn by the unfamiliar divine ripple that had entered its domain months ago.
And now, it moved.
Toward the edge.
Toward human territory.
Mori's expression grew solemn.
Rongrong felt the shift.
"What is it?"
He looked down at her, resolve hardening.
"Something old wakes," he said quietly. "And soon, we may need to face it."
In the distance, thunder rumbled though the sky was clear.
The peaceful days were ending.
A greater trial approached—one that would test not just their strength, but the bonds they had forged.
And in the quiet space between teacher and student, between god's avatar and mortal girl, a love had taken root—fragile yet fierce.
Ready to weather the coming storm.