"He’s going to be the one doing the grading?" one of the Fortis members muttered under his breath.
Several others exchanged uneasy glances. It wasn’t just him, they all seemed to be thinking the same thing.
Last time, when they had been confronted by Na, they’d at least understood why he looked intimidating. His sheer size, his build, and the way he moved screamed guard or fighter.
But this new arrival? This orange-haired young man didn’t look like either. He was lean, almost wiry. And he was young. Far younger than most of the Fortis team, who were largely in their thirties. Even Darno, one of the youngest among them, was around twenty-seven.
Wolf looked like he could barely be out of school. And he was supposed to be judging them?
"Oh... wait," one of the guards said as if he’d had a sudden epiphany. "We’re not actually fighting him, right? He’s just... doing the grading?"
"No," Max replied instantly, cutting the idea down before it could spread. "He will be the person you are directly fighting, and the one doing the assessing."
He let that sink in, then added, "You should already know that I wouldn’t bring in just anybody. Don’t be foolish enough to think I’d have you fight someone weak."
A ripple of muttering rolled through the ranks.
It wasn’t that they truly believed Max would bring in a pushover, but pride was a powerful thing. These people had spent years honing their bodies, training until their bones ached, living on protein and discipline.
To think that someone this young, someone they’d never even heard of, might be stronger than them... it was difficult to swallow.
Sure, they could admit defeat to Olympic champions or world-class athletes. But this kid? It was insulting.
One of the guards raised a hand hesitantly. "But there’s over a hundred of us here. Won’t he get tired eventually? Won’t that affect our grades?"
"Don’t worry about that," Wolf said coolly. His calm tone carried clearly across the hall. "I’ll take that into account as I go."
There was something in the way he spoke, measured, unshaken, that made several of the Fortis guards straighten their backs instinctively. It was subtle, but Max noticed it immediately. That was exactly why he had chosen Wolf.
Wolf’s presence demanded focus without him even trying.
"Besides," Max added, "Wolf won’t be the only one grading you. We’ll bring out another assessor later, and you’ll rotate through them."
Satisfied, he looked at Nesa and gave her a small nod.
She tapped on her tablet, then lifted her voice across the training hall. "Agent Eleven, step forward."
A man detached himself from the ranks and walked to the sparring mat. He cracked his knuckles, rolled his shoulders, and sank into a guarded stance.
Wolf, in contrast, stood loose and relaxed, hands hanging by his sides, feet planted lightly as if he were simply waiting for a bus.
A sharp beep sounded to signal the start.
Agent Eleven lunged forward, throwing a hard jab toward Wolf’s head,
, and was flat on his back before most of the audience even realized Wolf had moved.
Wolf’s leg had snapped up in a whip-like arc, his heel smashing against the man’s temple with a dull thock. The speed had been unreal, the timing immaculate, and the power behind it undeniable.
Gasps echoed. The entire room fell silent.
"D-Rank," Wolf said flatly. "You’re dismissed from the Billion Bloodline Group."
Two medics hurried from the sidelines. Max had quietly ensured the medical staff were present, and now everyone understood why. They checked the man’s vitals and carefully carried him off.
Several of the watching guards were pale.
They hadn’t even seen the kick.
Wolf turned his head slightly, speaking loud enough for all of them to hear. "If they’re all like this," he said, "then I might be able to take out all hundred of you after all."
The taunt landed like a spark in dry tinder.
Murmurs rippled through the ranks. Some jaws clenched. Others straightened. If anyone had underestimated him before, none of them were making that mistake now.
"Agent Twelve!" Nesa called.
The next fighter jogged out, bouncing on his heels. The beep sounded, and Wolf was simply gone.
In the blink of an eye he had ducked low, sweeping a kick behind the man’s legs. His opponent’s feet shot out from under him and he slammed onto the mat, staring up at the ceiling as Wolf stopped his fist an inch from his face.
"E-Rank," Wolf declared, stepping back.
Another came forward immediately. This one threw a flurry of fast punches, trying to overwhelm him. Wolf tilted his head left, right, weaving with surgical precision.
Then his hand shot out, seizing the man’s wrist mid-punch. He yanked him forward, drove the heel of his palm into his chin, then pivoted and delivered a savage kick to the groin.
The guard collapsed to his knees with a strangled grunt, and Wolf finished with a push-kick to his chest that sent him skidding backward across the mat.
"Congratulations," Wolf said. "C-Rank."
The crowd muttered. The first person to pass.
And still, not a single mark had touched Wolf.
The matches rolled on. One by one, the Fortis personnel stepped up, and one by one, they fell. Out of the first ten, only two achieved a passing grade.
The rest limped away with expressions of disbelief, clutching bruised ribs or rubbing their jaws.
From his spot off to the side, Darno’s scowl deepened.
Seriously... how does this so-called Bloodline Group find people like this?
Wolf hadn’t even broken a sweat.
"Wolf!" Max finally called out. "Take a break for now. I’ll need you for the tougher ones."
Wolf looked like he could have gone for another fifty fights without blinking, but he obeyed without argument, rolling his shoulders as he strolled back to stand near Max.
Max stepped forward again, surveying the room. The atmosphere was shifting, the early arrogance had evaporated. Now there was something else simmering behind their eyes. Determination. Challenge. Even a bit of fear.
"Alright," Max said. "Time for the next person who’ll be helping with assessments."
He glanced toward the tunnel at the far end of the arena, where another figure was approaching, someone he had specifically called in.
Darno frowned slightly, leaning toward Nonto. "He... can’t know that many strong people... can he?"
But Max only smiled faintly as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed closer, each one measured and confident.