A clear and familiar mechanical voice descended.
[Congratulations. You have achieved the qualifications to advance to the next round.]
[In a short while, a timer for the next round will commence. Use this interval for preparation. From the points accumulated in this round, your total will be multiplied by ten. This value will be converted into Custom Points.]
Michael’s vision flickered as a new panel opened before him.
[Conversion Rate: x10]
[Custom Points: 1,120]
[Custom Points may be allocated to increase personal attributes, acquire skills, or purchase items. All choices made here will carry over into subsequent challenges. Choose wisely.]
The words dissolved into silence.
Michael’s return to the white space was jarring—like stepping out of a battlefield only to find himself reborn.
It was as though the system had stripped him down, reset his vessel, and re-formed it.
His mind wasn’t in the mix though. A fain llingering fog clung to his thoughts.
Michael then glanced down at himself.
Everything he had worn in the challenge remained. His armor waa torn in places, but his spear was still steady in his grip.
Around his neck hung the summoner’s pouch he hasn’t use it.
His belts rattled faintly with the weight of glass.
They were the Potions he had on him.
Michael’s hand moved instinctively to check them. There were three healing and three mana points.
That was all he had left.
The rest—gone. Shattered in the storm of fire that had ended the last challenge. He could still recall the sound of them bursting, glass breaking under heat and shockwaves, precious resources turning to nothing but useless ash.
Michael’s first words cut through the sterile white quiet.
"...Was that it? Is the next round the one they’ll broadcast to the public?"
The thought lingered on his tongue, sharp and uncertain. If the next trial was the public event, then it would mean one thing: the last challenge of the day.
But if it wasn’t... then there were still more rounds ahead.
Between the two, Michael found himself hoping for the first option.
His gaze slid toward the shimmering panel of [Custom Points: 1,120], but his mind drifted far beyond it.
What was happening outside right now?
While pondering on how the federation would go along with their plans, he also thought of how to customise his character for the next round.
Something Michael didn’t know was that a good part of the public was aware of this "public event."
Michael was a youth who only logged onto the Supers Association forum. He never bothered with idle chatter, entertainment sites, or the broader internet. But outside, awareness had already spread a bit.
News programs across the Federation had been pushing it hard, and not just in their normal late-night reports. Popular streamers, celebrities, and influencers had picked it up, citing it in their own feeds. Even schools had started murmuring about it. The younger generation already knew it was coming.
But the atmosphere wasn’t exactly one of explosive excitement. The Education Council’s announcement had been vague. They said they’d be "displaying the abilities of some of the students.
That was it. Enough to stir curiosity, yes, but not enough to create a festival-like hype.
The Federation itself was partly to blame for that lukewarm reception. Years of deliberate news suppression meant that to the average citizen, supernaturals weren’t cultural icons or demigods—they were "people stronger than average." People who can live longer.
Sure, there were whispers: some supernaturals could move faster than lightning, or strike hard enough to break through stone. But unless you had personal ties to a supernatural or had experienced something like the demon outbreak in Woodstone City, those tales were little more than background noise.
The Woodstone outbreak had been devastating for its victims, but even that incident was quietly buried. The official records on the internet were sparse, heavily scrubbed by Federation censors. Survivors remembered, victims’ families remembered—but the majority of citizens lived in blissful ignorance.
The most they new was that an "Unforeseen disaster that couldn’t be guarded against happened?"
But the current truth was this.
Outside, people already knew.
They were curious, yes, but not expectant. The Federation was about to change that, to push supernatural affairs into the spotlight.
Michael’s hand hovered over the glowing customization.
The system had given him options—equipment, potions, skills—but he dismissed them all.
Potions? He had three healing, three mana. Enough for emergencies. And besides, why waste points on consumables when he could take them off fallen opponents?
Skills? Tempting, yes—but he wasn’t arrogant enough to think he could become a "genius necromancer" overnight.
No, his path was simpler.
"Raw power is the greatest shortcut," Michael muttered.
The conversion rate was 10 Custom Points = 1 Attribute Point.
He had 1,120 CP to spend. That meant 112 points.
[Name]: Michael Norman
[Level]: 20 (Half of registered level 40)
[Attribute Points Remaining]: 112
Michael stared at the numbers on the panel.
He didn’t hesitate long. His fingers traced the panel, and the glow surged.
Updated Status[Name]: Michael Norman
[Level]: 20 (Half of registered level 40)
Michael exhaled as the new strength settled into his veins.
A translucent timer appeared above his vision, each number burning with steady finality.
The voice descended once more, cold and mechanical
[This is the final round of today’s examination.]
Michael’s brows drew together.
[As with the previous challenge, this is not an elimination round. All participants will retain their qualification for advancement regardless of the outcome.]
[This round will also be shown to the public. To show the brilliance of aurora, please perform your best!]