The whole nation: You're put to survive on a desolate planet, you'll be running an alien b

The prophet looked at Li Haotian's face, twisted with greed.

The string of "reason" in his mind finally snapped with a "snap".

A fool who can't even use a bank card, a poor wretch who can be knocked unconscious by five million.

They actually dare to know the name "Space System Extraordinary Crystal Core," which only exists in top-secret files.

This must be a coincidence.

He must have heard a certain word on some online forum and thought he had found the key to wealth.

How tragic, and how laughable.

"Big brother, is this okay? Let's change to that one!"

Li Haotian was still rubbing his hands together, his drool almost dripping onto the table.

He even added a sentence.

"A small piece, passed down through three generations; the person may be gone, but the crystal remains!"

The prophet slowly stood up.

He straightened his spotless tracksuit.

The playful, cat-and-mouse expression on his face disappeared.

Instead, there is an extreme coldness and boredom.

"The game is over."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was like an ice pick, piercing Li Haotian's ears.

The greed and fawning on Li Haotian's face froze instantly, replaced by confusion and fear.

"B-Big brother, what...what do you mean?"

The prophet looked down at him from his high position, his gaze as if he were looking at a pile of inorganic matter.

"It means I've changed my mind."

"I've discovered that dealing with trash like you doesn't require so much trouble."

He raised his hand, his index and middle fingers joined together, and aimed them at Li Haotian's brow.

An invisible, immense spiritual force, which only he could perceive, began to gather at his fingertips.

"I want your account."

"I want your life too."

"As for the crystal core? Dream on in your next life."

The prophet gave a cruel smile.

Class A mental puncture.

Enough to turn the brain of this idiot in front of me into a pot of boiling tofu in a fraction of a second.

He could even picture the other person bleeding from all seven orifices, collapsing onto the plate like a dead dog.

too easy.

It was so simple that he found it boring.

"Farewell, lucky one..."

Before he could finish speaking, the expression on his face froze.

The spiritual energy at his fingertips, powerful enough to pierce through steel plates, vanished without a trace, like a light bulb whose power had been cut off.

What happened?

He tried to regain his mental strength, only to find his mind blank.

No, it's not blank.

It felt like being thrown into a block of ancient ice, where even one's thoughts were almost frozen.

An indescribable chill shot from the soles of his feet, up his spine, and straight to the top of his head like a madman.

He wanted to move.

He wanted to back away.

He wanted to do even just move a finger.

But he couldn't do it.

His body felt as if it had been filled with millions of tons of cement, nailed to the spot, unable to move an inch.

The surrounding noise, commotion, and shouts seemed to disappear in that instant.

The whole world was deathly silent.

Only one sound remained.

"Glug."

Li Haotian picked up the bowl of thin, watery free soup, tilted his head back, and took a big gulp.

Then, he put down the bowl and let out a satisfied sigh.

"Burp~"

He let out a burp, and a faint smell of seaweed wafted over.

The prophet's eyes were wide open, like copper bells, as he stared intently at Li-Hao-Tian.

The other person still looked like a poor college student, with messy hair and wrinkled clothes.

But those eyes.

Those eyes, which had just been filled with "stupidity" and "greed," were now as calm as a bottomless abyss.

There wasn't a single emotion in it.

Only a pure, indifferent gaze, like looking at a dead person.

Li Haotian finally raised his head and looked at the prophet who was frozen in place.

He slowly picked up a napkin and wiped his mouth.

Then he spoke.

The sound was soft and ordinary, yet it exploded in the prophet's mind like a thunderclap.

"Junior."

"Fighting in the cafeteria will result in a demerit."

Junior?

What did he call me?

Junior!

The prophet's mind was in a whirlwind of fear, which, like a burst dam, instantly overwhelmed all his ability to think.

He struggled with all his might to break free from this strange constraint.

But that force was like an invisible mountain, making it incredibly difficult for him to even breathe.

His gaze began to wander uncontrollably around him.

He saw a group of boys laughing and joking around at the next table.

He saw a couple feeding each other at the next table.

He also saw a girl with glasses in the distance, who was looking down and engrossed in playing on her phone.

Everything was normal.

Everything was so full of life.

wrong!

Something's not right!

The prophet's pupils suddenly contracted.

He saw it!

The girl with glasses who was looking down at her phone, and the shadow at her feet!

That shadow wasn't still at all!

It's wriggling!

It was like a pool of living, vibrant ink, silently extending from the ground, transforming into a black tentacle thinner than a hair, one end connected to the girl's ankle, the other end tightly wrapped around its own calf!

The prophet suddenly turned his head and looked in the other direction.

The shadows beneath the feet of those boys who were playing around were also wriggling!

Countless black, fine, spiderweb-like tentacles extended from the shadows of each person.

They entangled around the table legs, clung to the chair backs, and wove together a vast and desperate web on the floor.

And I am standing right in the very center of this net!

At that moment, the prophet finally understood.

This is hardly a university cafeteria!

This is clearly a meticulously arranged hunting ground, tailor-made for him!

These seemingly ordinary students are all... actors!

He felt a chill rise from his back and rush to the top of his head.

He felt like a naked clown standing in the center of a stage, arrogantly performing a clumsy one-man show.

Meanwhile, the audience, including the protagonist whom he treated like a fool, were all watching his performance with the same look they would give an idiot.

"You... what exactly are you...?"

The prophet struggled to squeeze out a few words, his voice dry and hoarse, like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together.

Li Haotian put down the napkin.

His timid, nosy expression, like a poor man suddenly becoming rich, had vanished without a trace.

Instead, there is a detached indifference and mockery of controlling everything.

"Was your acting just now alright?"

He stood up and slowly picked up his plate.

"To accommodate your performance, I didn't even order my favorite braised pork."

He walked up to the prophet, stopped, and turned his head slightly to the side.

"I forgot to introduce myself."

"Tunghai University, Department of Finance, Senior Year."

His voice was low and tinged with a hint of amusement, yet it reached the prophet's ears clearly.

"Now, let me give you your first lesson."

"Don't be so arrogant."

After saying that, he patted the prophet on the shoulder, as if comforting a junior student who had suffered a setback.

Then, carrying his tray, he walked towards the dish return area without looking back.

Throughout the entire process, he did not look at the prophet even once more.

It was as if, to him, a Class A mental awakener was just an ordinary junior who had made a mistake in the cafeteria and needed to be taught a lesson by his senior.