The Flying Entrance
The scene cut to a quiet high school campus. Out on the walkway, a short but ridiculously muscular boy in a crisp white shirt came gliding across the ground. His feet were hovering a few inches above the pavement, arms stretched wide, one leg forward, the other trailing behind. To anyone watching, it looked like he was flying.
That boy was Frank—one of the Four Kings.
As he slid past, a gust of wind lifted the skirts of a group of girls. They yelped, clutching at the hems with both hands, faces flushed red. But even in their embarrassment, they couldn’t help blurting out:
“That’s him… Frank! One of the Four Kings! He’s so damn cool. Sure, he’s not tall, but he’s handsome—and strong.”
They gushed louder, recalling the last time they saw him punch a tree into dust—literally dust, without leaving a single trace behind. The two girls were already in love.
Just then, another girl walked up beside them, rolling her eyes.
“Forget it. Stop fantasizing. Frank already has a fiancée. It’s Rebecca from the next class.”
The first two girls froze, annoyed. But instead of giving up, they doubled down.
One huffed, “That’s fine. I don’t mind being his mistress.”
The other shrugged, whispering with burning eyes, “I’d settle for being the side chick too. As long as I get his genes, nothing else matters.”
The Long Jump Test
Class moved on to P.E. The teacher barked out instructions: today’s exam was the standing long jump. One by one, students lined up at the sand pit, each taking their turn.
Most of the regular kids managed jumps around two or three meters—already pretty impressive.
Then came a tall, familiar figure. Tom. Back then, he wasn’t a homeless drifter—he was just a normal student, towering at a full 1.9 meters. With his height, everyone expected something spectacular.
He bent his knees, swung his arms, and leapt.
Ninety centimeters. Not even a full meter. The class erupted in laughter.
Joshua strolled forward, gave Tom a light pat on the shoulder, and muttered, “Hey man, you suck.” Then, without even trying, he gathered his energy, bent low, and launched himself.
The result: fifty meters. He landed so far away it looked like a glitch in reality.
The class went wild. Boys and girls clapped like crazy, cheering his name. A few of the girls turned red, gushing about how handsome he looked, whispering about how strong his genes must be. Still, they admitted, compared to Frank’s legendary bloodline, Joshua was still a tier below.
But it wasn’t just the girls. Even a few of the boys flushed red, their imaginations running loose—already picturing themselves in bed with Joshua, lost in unspeakable fantasies.
Tricks, Smirks, and Disappointment
The long jump went on.
Colin stepped forward. His jump barely cleared a meter and a half—far from impressive. But he just brushed it off, muttering, “Sports aren’t really my thing. Whatever.”
As he spoke, golden letters shimmered out of his mouth and drifted across the air like glowing sparks. They slipped straight into the P.E. teacher’s body.
“I’ll take a hundred points for this,” Colin added casually.
The teacher’s eyes glazed for a moment, then he nodded and wrote down: 100.
Mario scoffed from the side. “That bastard—using his Golden Speech again. No doubt he’ll walk away with a perfect score.”
Then Mario crouched, swung his arms, and launched himself forward. He soared five meters, landing with a grin. Perfectly enough for a top mark.
“Long jump isn’t even my specialty,” Mario said with a smirk. “Wait till the next round—I’ll show you what I’m really good at.”
Finally, Khan stepped up. He gathered his qi, focused, and leapt. His body sailed through the air, hitting twenty-five meters before crashing down into the sandpit. A solid result by any standard.
But the class didn’t even blink. No applause, no whispers. With monsters like Joshua, Mario, and Colin’s flashy tricks around, twenty-five meters was just… average.
Frank Jumps to the Sky
It was finally Frank’s turn. The whole class lined up in two neat rows, eyes locked on his every move. Some whispered that Frank might be able to clear a hundred meters. Others scoffed—“A hundred? Too short. At least a hundred and twenty.”
The P.E. teacher overheard, stormed over, and slapped both students across the face. “Two hundred. Minimum,” he barked.
Frank stood at the edge of the sandpit. He didn’t even swing his arms—just bent his knees slightly. Then, with the smallest push, he launched himself at a perfect forty-five-degree angle.
He shot straight into the sky, up through the clouds, and vanished from sight.
The students and the teacher raised their hands to shield their eyes. The sunlight was too blinding; there was no way to measure how far Frank had gone. With a resigned sigh, the teacher pulled out his grade book and scrawled the infinity symbol on the page.
He shook his head, muttering with a smile, “Typical Frank. Always nonstandard. Too damn stylish.” His cheeks flushed pink—this middle-aged man, maybe even he was falling for Frank.
Checking his watch, the teacher announced, “All right, free time. He should be back in a few minutes.”
The students scattered. Some stayed by the sandpit, piling sand into castles. Others sprawled on tree branches, taking naps. A few boys crept after girls, trying to sneak peeks under their skirts.
Two or three minutes later, a familiar figure appeared on the horizon. Arms stretched wide, one leg forward, one back, Frank came gliding across the ground at over a hundred kilometers per hour. He slid right up to the teacher and stopped.
“Where’d you go?” the teacher asked casually.
“Oh, just jumped a little too far,” Frank said, brushing it off. “Ended up in another city—maybe a few dozen kilometers away.”
The teacher chuckled, shaking his head again. “That’s typical Frank. Always nonstandard.” His face reddened once more, and in the back of his mind, he had already fantasized about Frank hundreds of times.
The Speed Test
The next exam was running—one full lap around the track, one thousand meters.
Whispers spread through the class: “Frank doesn’t even need to run. He’s obviously going to get first place, a hundred points easy.” Even the P.E. teacher chuckled and said, “I like Frank. Maybe I should just give him a perfect score right now. What do you think?”
Frank shook his head. “No. I don’t want special treatment. I’ll run like everyone else.”
Before anyone could respond, Mario marched forward, pressing a tree branch against the teacher’s throat. “No way. First place is mine. When it comes to speed, I don’t lose to anyone—you bastard.”
Cold sweat dripped down the teacher’s face. “Easy! Watch where you’re pointing that. One wrong move and you’ll slice my artery open.”
Mario tossed the branch aside and stepped to the starting line. The whole class lined up beside him.
The teacher raised his starter pistol and fired into the sky—only it wasn’t a starter pistol at all. A real gunshot cracked, and a passing eagle dropped from the sky, stone dead. He had brought the wrong gun that morning, but didn’t care in the slightest.
The instant the shot rang out, Mario’s body flickered. In less than a second, he was gone—then suddenly reappeared behind the teacher.
The teacher spun around, eyes wide. “What the hell?! Did you even run or not? I didn’t see anything!”
Mario smirked and blurred again, leaving an afterimage as he zipped around the entire track in a single second and came to rest behind the teacher once more.
The teacher exhaled, defeated. “Fine… I get it. You’re fast. Way too fast. That’s five hundred points.”
Mario smiled with quiet confidence.
Not even a few seconds later, another figure came gliding across the track. Frank. His arms stretched wide, one leg forward, one leg back, he hovered just above the ground, sliding with effortless grace.
He crossed the finish line in under ten seconds flat. The teacher marked him down for a hundred points without hesitation.
“Nice job,” the teacher said warmly, patting Frank’s shoulder. His hand lingered a little too long… then slid upward, brushing across Frank’s solid chest. Flustered, the teacher quickly shoved both hands back into his pockets, pretending nothing had happened—though his face had turned noticeably red.
Golden Speech on the Road
Not long after, Joshua and Khan came sprinting in. They weren’t as blindingly fast as Mario or as effortless as Frank, but their speed still dwarfed the rest of the class. Both crossed the line in no time, easily earning full marks.
Meanwhile, the ordinary students were hopeless. Most hadn’t even reached halfway around the track. A few had barely made it one-fifth of the distance, dragging their legs, gasping for air.
Colin was done trying. Sweating and annoyed, he let golden letters pour from his mouth and sink into the body of a nearby muscle-bound classmate.
“Hey, loser,” he commanded. “Carry me to the finish.”
The boy immediately scooped him into a princess carry and sprinted toward the line, holding him like a bride. The run took over a minute, and Colin’s real score was only fifty. But with a lazy grin, he whispered more golden words, and the teacher obediently wrote down a perfect hundred anyway.
The bell rang, signaling the end of class.
As the sun dipped low, the group headed home together, chatting and laughing on the road. Colin glanced at Frank, Joshua, and Khan.
“So what about you guys? Headed to the Qi Master dojo again?”
The three nodded. “Yeah. We go every day. Learn a bit of kung fu.”
Mario scoffed. “Not me. I don’t need kung fu. I only care about sword technique.”
Colin folded his arms smugly. “And I don’t need martial arts at all. My Golden Speech makes me unstoppable.”
To prove his point, he turned to Mario with a grin.
“Hey, Mario. Kneel down and lick my shoes.”
Mario dropped instantly, licking at Colin’s shoes like a dog, tongue dragging across the leather.
Colin tilted his head, smirking at the others.
“You see what I mean?”