Clone Ascension

Rothsay was carried into the medical wing behind the arena, where healing‑type evolvers worked with the speed of ER surgeons. Unless someone was dying, they could fix almost anything in minutes.

Down below, the crowd stared at the Dongli teenager who had just electrocuted a Gu’an prodigy into medium‑rare. Shock, jealousy, admiration, and fear churned together.

“Are you kidding me?”

“That’s a Six Nations kid?”

“He’s stronger than the rumors.”

Even Prince Rayan Al‑Sahir looked stunned.

“Evan Cole of Dongli… truly worthy of his reputation.”

Evan collected half his entry fee with Wendy, satisfied.

Rothsay—now healed—shouted, “You’re strong, but nowhere near Gu’an’s true geniuses! In May, you’ll witness real talent!”

Evan didn’t respond.

If I reach Cocoon‑tier by May, that’ll be bullying.

But for now—

He was still Chrysalis‑tier.

Two evolutions.

Nothing more.

He slept well that night.

The next morning, the Dongli delegation arrived at Linwood Royal Academy. The campus looked like an Ivy League university fused with a military academy—red‑brick buildings, marble columns, manicured lawns.

Delegations from other nations arrived. Rothsay stood among the Gu’an group, fully healed.

The Desert United Kingdom delegation approached warmly. Prince Rayan extended a hand.

“Evan Cole, it’s an honor.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

They exchanged contact information.

But Evan’s attention drifted toward the Rovan delegation.

He was here for one person.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Dr. Boyi Feng.

The man who created his clone body.

The man who might know the truth behind Evolution’s Grace.

Dr. Feng walked with calm authority, surrounded by scholars. When his gaze brushed past Evan, it paused—just for a heartbeat—before moving on.

Evan’s pulse quickened.

He recognized me.

A director guided the delegations through the academy. The extravagance bordered on absurd. The main building resembled a courthouse. The library looked like a cathedral. The student center could have been a five‑star hotel lobby.

Prince Rayan whispered, “This is the richest academy in the Sovereign Nation. Their donations alone could build a city.”

Evan nodded.

So this is what money looks like.

Throughout the tour, Dr. Feng remained surrounded. Evan couldn’t approach.

The conference hall looked like a luxury ballroom—crystal chandeliers, velvet curtains, polished floors. Soft piano music drifted from a grand piano. A dessert table offered macarons and chocolate fountains.

If Evan didn’t know better, he’d think he was at a gala.

A professor announced the theme: Mutation.

Scientists took the stage one by one. Some calm, some passionate, some arguing fiercely. Most were from the Sovereign Nation.

Evan listened… or pretended to.

He understood the terminology—Wendy had drilled enough theory into him—but the academic tone was painfully dry.

Still Chrysalis‑tier, he reminded himself.

And still bored out of my mind.

After an hour, Wendy took the stage.

“Humanity’s pursuit of mutation is correct. But when studying human mutation, we must uphold ethical boundaries.”

She referenced the Evolution God Cult’s human experiments.

“Science must have a conscience.”

The hall grew tense.

Four nations urged the Sovereign Nation to sanction the cult.

Rovan and Shepherd remained silent.

A Linwood scholar finally said, “The cult has committed unforgivable crimes. But here, they behave. They contributed greatly during the Evolution War. The high council is conflicted.”

Another waved a hand. “Enough politics. Back to mutation.”

The topic ended.

Evan refocused on Dr. Feng.

He needed to talk to him.

Finally, Dr. Feng stood and walked toward the restroom. As he passed Evan, his gaze flicked sideways—brief, deliberate.

An invitation.

Evan rose quietly and followed.

The restroom was absurdly luxurious—marble floors, gold‑trimmed mirrors, soft lighting, eucalyptus scent. Evan scanned the stalls. No sign of Dr. Feng.

He turned—

And froze.

Dr. Boyi Feng stood behind him, silent as a shadow.

“I asked the others to give me a moment,” he said mildly. “Crowds are… inconvenient when one wishes to think.”

His eyes sharpened.

“Were you looking for me?”