Infinite Regeneration In The Apocalypse

As soon as he fully entered and the doors sealed behind him, an extremely terrifying pressure descended upon him. In that moment, Vogue felt numerous pairs of eyes land on his body, scanning him with intense, gazes that carried distinct hostility.

He calmly turned his attention deeper into the bus, and multiple figures entered his line of sight. They were already seated, having apparently boarded earlier, and they were all staring directly at him with varying degrees of unfriendly interest.

There were approximately twenty to thirty other passengers already present—all of them clearly fellow candidates for the War-Star University entrance examination. But the atmosphere was nothing like the nervous, excited chatter Vogue had observed in the crowds outside.

Here, inside this sealed vehicle, the mood was oppressive and threatening.

An intense smell—not quite blood, but something similar, like violence barely contained—pervaded the air even with the climate control running. The spiritual pressure emanating from several of these candidates was substantial, marking them as experienced combatants despite their youth.

These aren't ordinary students, Vogue realized immediately. These are people who've gone through real combat. Real killing. They're survivors of the same kind of brutal battles I experienced.

When Vogue's gaze swept across the assembled passengers, he immediately recognized several faces—people whose names he'd seen on ranking lists or heard mentioned in academy gossip. A strange glint appeared in his eyes as he identified potential threats and assessed danger levels.

However, he deliberately didn't react aggressively or show any fear. Instead, maintaining an expression of calm indifference, he walked further into the bus and found one of the empty seats near the middle section.

He sat down without ceremony, placing his bag in the overhead compartment and fastening the restraint harness with practiced efficiency. Then he simply closed his eyes and leaned back, as though preparing to rest during the journey.

Let them stare, Vogue thought coldly. Let them calculate and scheme. They're seeing a dual-talent student who donated valuable treasures to an academy. They're seeing potential prey. What they don't see is everything I've actually survived and overcome.

If any of them are stupid enough to act on their hostile intentions, they'll discover very quickly that I'm not easy prey.

He could feel the continued stares, sense the whispered conversations happening around him as people discussed his presence. But Vogue had grown up in the outer district slums where such hostile atmospheres were the norm. This was familiar territory.

He kept his breathing steady and his expression neutral, projecting an aura of someone who was completely unconcerned with potential threats—not from ignorance or arrogance, but from genuine confidence in his ability to handle whatever might come.

Several seats ahead and to the right, Vogue's enhanced hearing picked up a particular cluster of voices speaking in deliberately low tones that carried subtle hostility.

"That's him—the dual talent guy who gave his academy an evolution fruit," a male voice muttered.

"Dual talents don't automatically make someone worthy of respect," another voice agreed. "Plenty of dual awakeners have died to more experienced single-talent cultivators who actually know how to fight."

"I heard he got lucky during his trial. Probably stumbled into some treasures by accident and donated them to buy favor with the academy administration."

"We should… test him. See if he's actually worth the reputation, or if he's just another privileged kid riding on fortunate circumstances."

Vogue's eyes remained closed, but his awareness sharpened. He'd identified the source of those voices now—a group of four candidates seated together, clearly traveling as an allied faction.

The apparent leader of this group was a cold-looking youth with a long nose and calculating blue eyes. According to the fragment of information Vogue had absorbed from academy rankings before his trial, this was someone named Tryston Bane—supposedly ranked highly in a different academy.

If I hadn't taken first place in my trial and claimed those rewards, Vogue mused, then apparently they would have gone to this Tryston character instead. So he has a personal grudge against me for succeeding where he didn't.

How tedious.

The other three youths surrounding Tryston appeared to be followers or allies of lesser standing. They kept glancing at their leader, clearly waiting for some signal or instruction on how to proceed regarding Vogue's presence.

Vogue considered his options. He could continue ignoring them completely, which might embolden them to escalate. He could preemptively establish dominance through demonstration of power, which would warn them off but might attract unwanted attention from others. Or he could wait and respond only if directly provoked, dealing with problems as they actually emerged rather than anticipating them.

Before he could decide on a strategy, the matter was taken out of his hands.

One of Tryston's companions—a tall, muscular youth with an aggressive bearing—suddenly stood up from his seat. He walked down the aisle with deliberate slowness, his movements carrying clear threatening intent as he approached where Vogue sat.

The other passengers immediately fell silent, sensing imminent confrontation. All attention shifted to watch what would happen.

The aggressive youth stopped directly beside Vogue's seat and loomed over him with arms crossed, spiritual energy beginning to circulate through his body in an obvious display meant to intimidate.

When he spoke, his voice was deliberately loud enough for everyone in the bus to hear—this was clearly meant to be a public humiliation:

"This section doesn't welcome lucky dual-talents who don't know their place. So you have two simple choices: you can leave your seat and your belongings here like a good little charity case, and go crawl into the back of the bus where you belong… or you can stay here and become everyone's entertainment for the journey. Which will it be?"

The youth's energy surged more obviously now, releasing waves of pressure that marked him as having reached at least the peak of Stellar Knight realm—someone with genuine cultivation advancement and combat experience.

A test, Vogue understood instantly. If I show weakness or submit to this bullying, I'll be marked as prey for the entire journey. Everyone on this bus will know I'm easy to exploit. But if I respond with appropriate force, I establish that attacking me carries real consequences.

The choice is obvious.

Vogue's eyes remained closed for another moment, his breathing completely calm and steady. Then, moving with such casual grace that it seemed almost lazy, he opened his eyes and tilted his head slightly to look up at the aggressive youth standing over him.

When Vogue spoke, his voice was quiet—but somehow, in the silent bus, it carried clearly to every listening ear:

"You're standing in my personal space. Move."

The single-word command at the end—"Move"—was delivered with such flat, absolute authority that several passengers actually flinched reflexively.

The aggressive youth's face flushed with anger at being dismissed so casually. His spiritual pressure increased dramatically as he prepared to make his threat physical.

"You little—"

Vogue moved.

His right hand lifted from the armrest with deceptive slowness, rising through the air as though pushing through water rather than empty space. But the reality was that the movement was so impossibly fast that it appeared slow to enhanced perception—the same principle as objects moving at extreme velocity seeming to freeze in time.

A translucent shockwave rippled around Vogue's palm, trailing behind as a piercing sonic boom ruptured the atmosphere inside the bus. The sound was deafening in the enclosed space, making several passengers cover their ears in pain.

There was even the faint sound of thunder crackling as the palm continued its trajectory forward, as though Vogue had somehow compressed lightning into his flesh.

Although the attack appeared to move slowly—almost gracefully—the reality was that it was far too fast for normal perception to properly track. In the blink of an eye, the palm strike had reached the aggressive youth's chest.

The youth had apparently been somewhat vigilant from the beginning, maintaining defensive techniques even while attempting intimidation. He was experienced enough to recognize genuine danger when it manifested.

His own muscles tensed and he let out a low roar of effort, channeling all his spiritual power into a defensive stance. He threw his own punch forward with desperate speed, attempting to meet Vogue's attack head-on and overpower it through sheer force.

The two strikes collided in midair.

"BANG!!!"

The explosion of force created visible distortions in the air. Violent waves of energy erupted in a circular pattern, blasting outward in all directions and causing the entire bus to rock slightly on its suspension.

Remarkably, there was no destruction of furniture or damage to the vehicle's interior. Whatever materials this bus was constructed from were clearly designed to withstand far more than conventional combat between Stellar Knight realm cultivators.

But the aggressive youth's body was not so durable.

He trembled violently as compressed force ran through his entire frame like a freight train hitting a pedestrian. His defensive technique shattered like glass, and before he could even begin to stabilize himself, his body was violently launched backward.