In the forest, all was still.
As there were no animals living on this simulated planet, it was a frightening quiet. If anyone came near, the noise they made would reach Lan Grace first.
With her situation confirmed as safe for now, Lan Grace finally had the mind to deal with her sand‑scalded skin.
From the way President Ferrero had appeared before the exam, Lan Grace had guessed that every move every candidate made was under the Academy leadership's eye.
So even to cool her burns with mountain water, she set down her few carried items on the stream bank. Fully clothed, she stepped into the flow and soaked herself—letting the water drench her completely.
The thick fabric grew heavy when saturated, but it also soaked up plenty—letting her skin stay in contact with water longer.
The cool stream soothed the blazing pain of her scalded skin; for the moment, she felt much better.
Beyond that, given current limits, there was little she could do.
To repair this face, the best would be aloe for a mask—but Lan Grace could only think of it.
Fruit and grain—natural foods—were already priced to absurdity in this era. Aloe—a thing uncommon even before—how much more so?
Lan Grace didn't even know whether aloe still existed in this world.
From desert to forest in a single step felt like passing through two times.
Between these different simulated environments lay special barriers. Before Lan Grace stepped from desert to forest, there hadn't been the least hint of green in sight.
After she entered the forest, the desert that ought to have been behind her vanished likewise.
Forest air was damp, but no cooler than the desert.
It was still hot—only, unlike the desert's dry heat, the forest's was steamy.
Even if she didn't wet her clothes with water, the humid air would soon dampen them—clammy and sticking to her skin.
As the water soaking her cooled body had half dried—
Over in the desert, a giant holographic screen appeared in mid‑air—so large that everyone there could see it clearly.
Soon, President Ferrero's face appeared once more before the examinees' eyes.
Minutes earlier, as he sat at ease in his garden over breakfast, Ferrero had received an incoming call request from one of the invigilators—Mentor Jin Ling.
He accepted at once, with hardly any hesitation.
The next second, Jin Ling's live, life‑size hologram was projected before him.
Holo‑calls in this world were far more advanced than the video calls of Lan Grace's era—projecting the person directly for far greater presence.
"What is it?" Ferrero spoke offhand, yet kept his head down, slicing the steak on his plate with care.
The beef was coarse, sinewy with gristle that made it hard to chew; half‑raw to boot—hard to swallow.
But Ferrero was strangely fixated on the food before him.
He didn't care about taste. He ate steak to constantly flag his noble status.
Steak, it was said, had been a favourite of ancient nobles centuries ago—so popular it had crossed borders. Everyone prided themselves on the etiquette of eating steak.
Those who couldn't eat steak properly were even looked down upon.
Over centuries, many foodways of that era had been lost to time; only steak etiquette had been passed down, generation after generation.
To‑day, steak was esteemed across the Alliance. For someone of his rank as Academy president, a steak a day was simply a marker of status.
"My apologies, President Ferrero, for disturbing your meal. But something has happened—I must." Jin Ling's voice was serious.
"The first‑round desert trial in the Academy entrance exam has already been passed before the task was announced. We, the invigilator group, seek instructions—shall we begin the desert trial now?"
At that, Ferrero was shocked enough to stop cutting his steak.
At last he deigned to raise his head and look at Jin Ling's projection—as if to read from her face whether this was a joke.
Clearly, Jin Ling was not one for jokes.
Her solemn expression was answer enough.
"Who passed the desert trial?" Ferrero's curiosity was piqued.
"A genius from the great houses of the Alliance? Or a battle‑regiment elite?"
"Neither." Jin Ling shook her head.
The answer surprised Ferrero all the more. He tried to lighten it, half‑joking. "Haha—surely not my good‑for‑nothing grandson, Fei Fei?"
"Not him either." Jin Ling continued, "She has no background, no foundation. In physical metrics—both physique and mental power—she doesn't rank among the candidates at all. She is simply a girl from a Waste Star."
Clang! Ferrero was so startled by the answer that the fork slipped from his fingers and clattered back onto the plate.
And thus, after only three days, his giant image once more appeared before the examinees.
In the dry, scorching desert, the president's appearance made every examinee in the sands drop what they were doing.
Even a few teams in the midst of a firefight ceased and looked up—faces full of respect—at the huge image above.
Ferrero's expression was stern—almost as if steel frustrated.
Through gritted teeth, he said, "I hereby announce: the desert trial begins now. All examinees must leave the desert within 24 hours, or be eliminated."
The checkpoint originally set to be announced on day five, with three days allowed to complete, was now being brought forward—while the time to complete was slashed as well—all because Lan Grace had gone "ahead of the syllabus."
Even so, Ferrero felt not the least that the difficulty was too high.
Anger tinged his voice. Having discharged his duty as president, he added a private admonition to those still in the desert: "I expect you so‑called geniuses and elites to work harder. Do not be inferior to a Waste Star girl."
With that, Ferrero shut down the screen in a huff and vanished from sight.