SSS-Rank Talent: Super Upgrade System-Chapter 50: You were very strong last night!

The moment Director Thorne vacated the training field, a controlled chaos erupted.

Recruits, still processing the Phase Three briefing and the enticing prospect of Class Transitions, quickly engaged in the complex and often ruthless social maneuvering of team formation.

Three members per team. Mandatory. The stakes were incredibly high.

Most aspirants gravitated toward those with similar perceived strengths or complementary skills.

D-Grade elementalists sought out C-Grade defenders; agile scouts looked for heavy hitters.

Those with rare healing or support talents found themselves suddenly very popular, surrounded by hopeful suitors promising protection and a fair share of the spoils.

Weaker talents, F-Grades with niche or seemingly useless abilities, struggled to prove their worth, hoping to join stronger groups that might carry them through.

Amidst this swirling mass of ambition and anxiety, Ayra Sand made her entrance.

She had changed out of her ruined training gear into a fresh, dark grey Vanguard uniform that.

Her earlier berserker rage had faded, leaving a smoldering intensity and faint bruising around her knuckles that only enhanced her dangerous presence.

Though her S-Grade [Primal Fury Berserker] talent had been pushed to its limits and she was still recovering from the energy backlash, her presence alone was enough to part the crowds.

Whispers followed her: "It’s Ayra Sand! From the White Lotus Clan!" "Did you see her fight Vance? She went Stage Three!"

"She’s an S-Grade, practically royalty. Who would be worthy to team with her?" Many admired her from afar, intimidated by her reputation and the sheer, almost palpable aura of strength she projected.

The thought of approaching her, especially after witnessing her destructive capabilities, was daunting.

One burly recruit, however, clearly hadn’t gotten the memo, or perhaps his C-Grade [Minor Strength Enhancement] talent had gone to his head.

He was built like a small tank, muscles bulging, and he swaggered towards Ayra with an air of misplaced confidence.

"Hey there, pretty lady," he boomed, flexing an arm that looked like it could wrestle a Gravehound.

"Name’s Grok. Heard you’re looking for a team. I’m strong, real strong. I can protect you. How about we team up, huh? Just you and me... and maybe one other, if we have to."

He winked, a truly horrifying sight.

Ayra stopped, her calm grey eyes, still holding a faint trace of crimson from her earlier exertion, raking over him with open disdain.

"Protect me?" she scoffed, her voice dripping with contempt. "With a C-Grade talent that barely registers on the power scale?

Are you offering to be a meat shield, or just a minor inconvenience to any actual threat we might face?"

She didn’t raise her voice, but each word was a perfectly aimed barb.

Grok’s face flushed. "Hey! I’m strong! I could—"

"You could what?" Ayra interrupted, taking a small, almost lazy step forward.

"Amuse me before I break you?" Without warning, she executed a low, lightning-fast sweep with her leg.

It wasn’t even a full power move, just a fraction of her [Primal Fury Berserker] Stage One, but the effect was devastating.

"Boom!"

Grok yelped as his feet were unceremoniously taken out from under him.

He hit the plasteel deck with a resounding thud that resonated across the now silent training field.

Ayra looked down at him, unimpressed.

"Weak. And you dare approach me with such pathetic advances? Know your place."

She turned away, leaving Grok groaning in a mixture of pain, fury, and profound public humiliation.

A collective gulp went through the nearby recruits. Note to self: Do not offer unsolicited protection to Ayra Sand.

Next, a slender young man with delicate looks and an almost painfully earnest expression approached her and bowed deeply.

He held a small, ornate wooden charm. ƒreewebɳovel.com

"M-Mademoiselle Ayra," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I... I possess an E-Grade [Soothing Melody] talent. I can play calming tunes to aid in recuperation and perhaps... soothe savage beasts?

I would be honored to serve on your team. I will do anything you ask, fetch your water, polish your... whatever weapons you favor..."

His voice trailed off hopefully.

Ayra’s eyebrow arched. "A sissy musician?" she stated flatly, her lip curling.

"I am a warrior of the White-Lotus Clan. I do not get hurt often enough to require constant serenades.

And if I did, I certainly wouldn’t want them from someone who looks like they’d faint at the sight of actual blood. Useless!"

The young man wilted, his face crumpling. He backed away, looking utterly crushed, clutching his charm like a drowning man grasping a twig.

The surrounding crowd hastily retreated further, a clear perimeter of "Do Not Engage Ayra Sand" forming around her.

Meanwhile, Daniel found himself in his own predicament.The mandatory team rule was a genuine pain.

His SSS-Talent, [Soul Assimilation], thrived on solo operations, on quietly scavenging power from the aftermath of chaos.

Being tied to a team meant sharing kills, revealing abilities, and potentially dealing with interpersonal drama. All things he’d rather avoid.

He needed two teammates. Lia, the A-Grade healer he’d encountered before Phase Three, immediately came to mind.

Her calm demeanor, intelligence, and powerful [Lifeweave Affinity] healing talent made her an ideal support.

She had approached him before, offering an alliance. He’d find her.

But who for the third spot? He considered Roxa Rourke, the S-Grade Berserker with the giant axe.

She was undeniably powerful and seemed to enjoy a good brawl as much as he did, but her boisterous personality and tendency for collateral damage could be... taxing.

He needed reliability, someone who wouldn’t accidentally vaporize their objective or start a bar fight with a Labyrinth Guardian over a spilled drink.

Just as he was pondering his options, trying to look as discreet as possible, a determined figure pushed through the throng of recruits, heading straight for him.

It was Ayra Sand.

She stopped directly in front of him, ignoring the gasps and whispers from the surrounding crowd.

Lia, who had been quietly observing the team formations from a nearby alcove, also approached, her grey eyes curious.

Ayra pointed a firm, unbandaged finger at Daniel’s chest.

"Vance!" she declared, her voice carrying across the training field, silencing all other conversations.

"You were very strong last night!"

A wave of shocked, scandalized, and curious silence fell over the training field.

Recruits exchanged wide-eyed glances. What in the blazes did that mean?

"Last night?" Strong in what way?

Daniel’s face shifted through a range of expressions, from surprise to mild panic to weary resignation.

This S-Grade Berserker was going to be the death of his attempts at a low profile.

Lia, ever composed, merely raised an elegant eyebrow, a faint, almost subtle smile playing on her lips as she looked from Ayra to the flustered Daniel.

This was getting interesting.