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SSS-Rank Talent: Super Upgrade System-Chapter 159: Slow And Steady!
Chapter 159: Slow And Steady!
A heavy, expectant silence fell over the vast competition field.
All eyes were on Daniel, the young man in the strange, heavy metal bands.
The whispers started as a low murmur, then grew into a wave of open disbelief and mockery.
The students from Astralis Academy, especially the senior ones who knew what they were looking at, were the loudest.
They saw the Strength-Sealing Manacles on his wrists and ankles and understood immediately what they meant. freewёbnoνel.com
"Look at that! It’s Vance, the so-called legend!" a burly senior student with tribal marks across his cheek sneered to his friends.
His voice was loud, clearly meant for Daniel to hear.
"The Principal’s personal disciple, and he’s competing in sealing manacles? What a complete joke!
Is he trying to show everyone how tough he is, or did he get punished for breaking too much stuff again?"
The small group around him scoffed, their eyes filled with contempt.
His friend, a slender woman with cold, sharp eyes, laughed, a sound as brittle as cracking ice.
"He’s just arrogant. That’s what it is. He probably thinks his reputation alone is enough to win.
Look at him, he can barely stand up straight with those things on. My little brother could pull radishes faster than that, and he thinks vegetables are a government conspiracy."
Their harsh words were like little stones being thrown at him, meant to sting and humiliate.
The freshmen, who had seen Daniel’s overwhelming power during the entrance tests, were especially mean.
Their fear had turned into a smug, bitter desire to see him fail.
They had felt so small and powerless in his presence before. Now, seeing him in this weak, burdened state, they felt brave.
They wanted to see the genius fall. They wanted to see him brought down to their level, or even lower.
Daniel heard every single word. He saw every mocking look, every pointed finger.
Just a month ago, this kind of open disrespect would have made him angry.
A cold, quiet anger would have filled him, and he would have wanted to show them their mistake.
He would have wanted to use his immense power to crush their arrogance and leave them speechless with fear.
But now, as their insults washed over him, he felt... nothing.
The long, hard days in the radish field had done more than just strengthen his body.
They had calmed his mind. The endless, repetitive work, the simple focus on one single task, had been like a long meditation.
It had washed away his pride, his need to always be the strongest, the best.
He had learned a new kind of strength, a quiet resilience that didn’t need to be proven with loud explosions or terrifying displays of power.
Their words were just noise, like the buzzing of flies, unable to touch the calm, focused core he had built within himself.
His mind was still busy with one confusing thought, if all these other students were so much stronger than him in his sealed state, why had he been doing so much better than them in the daily harvest?
It was a puzzle he couldn’t solve right now. He decided to put it aside. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered now was the competition.
He glanced over at Old Man Hemlock. The old man was leaning on his rake, his eyes closed as if he were napping, completely ignoring the drama.
But as Daniel looked, Hemlock’s eyes opened just a crack, and he gave Daniel a slow, almost invisible nod.
It was a small gesture, but it meant the world to Daniel. It was a nod of approval.
The old master was proud of him, not for his power, but for his newfound calm, his steady mind.
He had faced down the mockery of hundreds and had not flinched. He was ready.
Silas, the cold-faced manager, waited for the crowd’s noise to die down. His expression was, as always, impossible to read.
He raised a hand, and a hush fell over the field. "The field is open," he said, his voice flat and emotionless. "The soil is ready. The radishes await."
He scanned the eager faces of the competitors. "Let the Grand Harvest Competition... begin!"
A great roar went up from the crowd.
Hundreds of farmers, workers, and students surged forward into the vast, freshly tilled field.
It was a disorderly rush, a stampede of bodies and wicker baskets, everyone trying to get a head start, to claim the best row of radishes for themselves.
The Academy students were the most aggressive.
They used their full power, their unsealed strength and speed, to attack the field.
They ripped the giant radishes from the earth with grunts of effort and shouts of triumph.
BOOM!
Dirt and green radish tops flew through the air.
They were incredibly fast, their progress a whirlwind of activity. They looked back at Daniel, who had started his work at a much slower, more deliberate pace.
He was already falling far behind.
"Look at him!" the senior student with tribal marks laughed, holding up two massive radishes in one hand.
"We’re already twice as fast as the so-called genius! He won’t even fill one basket by lunchtime! What a failure!"
Daniel didn’t listen to him. He didn’t watch them.
He closed his eyes for a single moment, shutting out the noise, the taunts, and the frantic energy of the competition.
He took one deep breath, feeling the cool, rich earth beneath his feet, the gentle breeze on his skin.
He remembered Old Man Hemlock’s strange but wise advice: Follow your own rhythm. Do your own thing.
He opened his eyes. His world became small and focused.
The hundreds of other competitors vanished from his mind.
There was only him, his long row of green tops, and the quiet, steady rhythm of his own body.
He bent down, his movements no longer clumsy or filled with wasted effort.
They were fluid, practiced, and perfectly efficient.
He grabbed the leafy top of the first radish. He planted his feet, feeling his connection to the ground, a steady anchor.
He twisted his waist, using the power from his core, the center of his body.
His arms moved in a smooth, practiced motion, not pulling hard, but gently guiding the radish from the soil with a final, clean twist of his wrists.
It came free with a satisfying thump.
He had used the exact amount of energy needed, no more, no less. He had not fought the earth, he had worked with it.
He placed the radish gently in his basket and moved to the next.
Thump. And the next. Thump...
He fell into a seamless, almost trancelike rhythm.
His mind became empty and calm. His body moved with an instinctual grace he had never known before.
He had forgotten about winning the competition. He had forgotten about the divine medicine prize.
He had forgotten about the taunts and the stares. His whole world had narrowed down to this single, simple, profound task.
He was chasing a different kind of victory now.
He was chasing the quiet, steady pace of his mentor, the old man who was working in the row right next to him.
Their movements became a silent, mirrored dance, a master and his apprentice, working in perfect, unspoken harmony.
He was focused on one thing, and one thing only, becoming better than he was the moment before.
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