Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users-Chapter 263: Beast Psychology And Inter-Species Adaptation

Instructor Varra didn’t shift her tone. She wasn’t there to hype them up or crush them down—just to deliver reality as it was, plain and cold.

Her eyes moved across the gathered students, most of whom were still waking up in some form or another—blinking hard against the crisp morning air, adjusting their breathing, trying to stand tall even though their bodies hadn’t quite caught up with their ambition.

A few straightened their spines too much, faking alertness. Others looked like they regretted getting out of bed altogether.

"No one here is special. Not yet," she said, her voice low but carrying. "That part comes later.

For now, you learn how to keep your feet, take a hit, and shut your mouth when someone meaner walks in."

The way she said it didn’t carry cruelty or challenge. It just sounded like a fact—something they would all learn soon enough, whether they believed it now or not.

Her gaze swept the group again, sliding past Ethan without pause, then hovering on Everly for a breath longer before continuing on as if she hadn’t noticed anything at all.

Then, without warning or build-up, she asked, "Who wants to spar blindfolded? No powers. No enhancements. Just instinct."

The silence that followed wasn’t dramatic—it was the kind that settles when everyone is thinking the same thing but waiting for someone else to act on it.

Eyes shifted. A few students shuffled and glanced sideways. No one wanted to be the one who got embarrassed first.

And none of them had seen enough of each other to know who would surprise them.

Ethan rolled his shoulders once, exhaled slowly, and raised his hand without fanfare. "I’ll go."

Varra nodded once. "Blindfold’s by the wall. Pick someone close to your size." freewёbnoνel.com

Ethan glanced toward the twins and gave the smallest of gestures. "Everly?"

She stretched as she stood, brushing imaginary dust from her pants. "Sure. But I’m not going easy on you."

"Didn’t ask you to."

He walked to the side of the platform, retrieved the cloth, and tied it around his head without ceremony.

It was thick enough to block all light, no fancy tech—just cloth and trust. Once it was secure, he lowered his stance slightly and waited.

The world around him dropped into silence.

Then a footstep. Sharp. Left side. He turned his body accordingly.

Another one, softer and closer. Right side. He dipped low, adjusting.

Everly didn’t rush in wildly. She circled, quick on her feet, probing for hesitation. Her strikes were sharp but measured, and her movements had a certain unpredictability that made them harder to anticipate.

But Ethan didn’t guess. He didn’t react out of panic or overcommit to an early move. He stayed relaxed, letting each shift in pressure tell him where to lean, where to step, when to pivot.

His rhythm was slow, sure, reactive.

He wasn’t fighting for show. He was responding like someone who’d been in tight situations before—someone who didn’t need eyes to feel the intent behind each motion.

The match didn’t last more than two minutes.

When it ended, he stood where he started—still blindfolded. Still upright.

No bruises. No trips.

Varra didn’t clap or nod.

Her device screen pulsed red once. She’d made a note.

No praise. No criticism.

Just data collected and logged.

The rest of the session moved forward without pause—drills that tested their coordination, their ability to lock joints without enhancements, their balance while walking over shifting platforms that simulated broken terrain.

By the end, more than a few students were sweating heavily, and a couple dropped down to sit with a bit too much relief.

Next was the second class: Beast Psychology and Inter-Species Adaptation.

From the moment they arrived, it was obvious this wasn’t a traditional classroom. The dome felt... grown, not built.

The walls were curved and lined with thick moss, while natural light filtered through layered skylights, casting the space in a soft, forest-green glow.

The floor beneath their feet was a mix of root-woven wood and rich earth that seemed to breathe quietly underfoot.

The scent of the room was fresh. Like rain that hadn’t fallen yet. Not overwhelming—just clean and alive.

At the center stood a barefoot woman in layered robes the color of pine needles and deep brush.

Her hair fell loose across her back, and her posture held no stiffness. She stood like the dome belonged to her. Like the trees nearby might listen if she spoke.

Her eyes shimmered faintly, just enough to be strange.

"My name is Nera," she said, her voice clear and grounded. "I’m not a teacher. I was invited specially for this class."

No smile. No formalities. She simply raised her hand, and without any dramatic gesture, a projection flickered into the air beside her.

It wasn’t just light. It had weight.

The image sharpened into a beast—large, hunched, claws bared, muscles tense. Even as a projection, it gave off presence, not like a 3D graphic, but more like a memory of something real.

The low growl that followed made a few students tense instinctively. One of them stepped back.

The growl wasn’t loud, but it resonated. Not in the ears—in the chest.

Nera didn’t flinch. She stepped forward, raised her hand again, and placed it gently over her chest.

She whispered something under her breath. No one caught the words.

The beast’s head twitched slightly.

Then, slowly... lowered.

The growl stopped. The body relaxed. The danger faded.

Not because of dominance. But because something between them had quietly shifted.

The room fell quiet again. But this time, it wasn’t confusion—it was focus.

Nera didn’t launch into a lecture. She didn’t pull up a list of species or start citing theory.

Instead, parts of the dome began to open, tiny vents releasing scent cues, shifting colors, and faint light pulses along the floor.

They mimicked things—beast behaviors, natural instincts, safe gestures, patterns that meant ’not prey.’

Nera guided the class with short commands.

"Approach without fear."

"Don’t hold eye contact too long."

"Let your breath come from your stomach."

A few students picked it up quickly.

One triggered a misfire. A projection snarled sharply, reacting to a wrong posture. The light in the room flickered as tension returned.

Nera didn’t panic. She didn’t raise her voice.

She whispered again.

The beast flickered, froze, then dissolved into light.

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