Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users - Chapter 176

Chapter 176: The Literary Part Of The College Exam Begins 3
Ethan didn’t stop to reread what he’d written as he was confident with his answer.

He glanced at the next part of the prompt that had just loaded beneath his original question. It was a second case—shorter, but still dense.

The text floated quietly in front of him, shifting just slightly to stay centered with his sight.

“After the collapse of the Southshore Transit Accord, a number of border cities in the southern quadrant were forced to reroute Class-B and C beast relocation efforts through unregulated zones.

This resulted in a 38% increase in accidental contact with civilian sectors, and a 71% rise in illegal beast-core trafficking within just four months.

Explain how the lack of central oversight contributed to this situation. Suggest a structural reform or monitoring solution that would allow for autonomy without risking strategic blind spots.”

Ethan read it twice.

There were dates. Numbers. Trends. But what it was really asking was simple.

It was asking: who let this happen, and why didn’t anyone catch it sooner?

He considered the main issue—not the events but the design—not who made the mistake but the shape of the system that let it pass.

His fingers moved again.

He typed slowly, spacing his thoughts out cleanly. This wasn’t about speed. It wasn’t a race. He could feel the words forming in his head before they reached the page.

He explained how, in the absence of unified regional communication, each district had assumed the others would handle oversight.

Decentralization created a sense of detached responsibility—no single authority to call the final shot, no shared threat response network, just silence between outposts.

He didn’t add anything flashy. Just a few suggestions: a shared AI-monitoring relay, coded to detect transport anomalies across zone lines.

Local autonomy was kept, but with mirrored systems watching each other’s blind spots.

He kept the language steady. Controlled.

And as he finished, the next prompt appeared.

“In Year 134, the Westpass Governance Compact was signed in response to growing cult activity across multiple unaligned towns.

However, the enforcement units sent from the capital were delayed by three weeks due to classified military engagements in the central provinces. During this delay, eight towns fell.

If you had been advising the lead strategist at the time, what would you have recommended to balance classified operations with rapid civilian protection?

What tactical adjustments could have prevented this loss?”

Ethan paused.

This one didn’t ask for a full plan. Just judgment. Real-world consequences.

He started by identifying the failure, not the late arrival, but the overcentralization of elite assets.

He proposed deploying a tiered regional backup unit—drawn from elite academy graduates, trained to operate without constant supervision from the capital.

This would result in faster response, smaller scale, and less risk of complete collapse when priorities clashed.

His tone stayed even. He didn’t speculate. He didn’t guess at military secrecy. He just focused on structure.

Why couldn’t they move? Why weren’t they prepared to lose time? And how to build a system that expects delay instead of being ruined by it.

Each question wasn’t just a test. It was a quiet window into the world.

One where power wasn’t just measured in strength, but in how quickly you could see what might fall apart.

Ethan didn’t feel like he was writing an exam.

He felt like he was tracing the outline of a system that was still cracking in real time.

The next question.

“The Azure Pillar Treaty restricted the use of kinetic displacement powers above Tier C in densely populated civilian zones.

This law, however, does not apply in the case of unlicensed vigilante activity or self-defense responses under threat level yellow.

Several cities have reported property damage spikes and rising insurance fraud cases tied to unclear classification of threat levels during low-tier incidents.

Suggest a revised classification system that addresses this loophole while maintaining rapid response freedom for licensed users.”

Ethan’s fingers paused above the transparent keyboard on the desk.

This one was harder. Not because it was complex, but because it required understanding how laws shape behavior, not just on paper but in everyday life.

He wrote simply.

He proposed adding a tiered real-time sensor grid to assign threat-level color codes based on proximity, power usage, and registered authority presence.

The system would automatically record activations, removing personal bias from post-incident reports.

He suggested expanding the definition of “yellow” to include predictive metrics, making it harder to fake an emergency but still allowing fast action if real danger appeared.

He didn’t make it sound perfect.

He just wrote what would probably work better than what was already failing.

The screen dimmed slightly to show the halfway mark.

1:00:00.

Ethan stretched a bit out of reflex as he tried to reset his brain, then flexed his fingers once, as he then moved on.

The next prompt came in slower, as if the system was reviewing his previous answers before selecting the next.

“Due to historical grievances tied to the Sundered Reef incident, cross-border education programs between the Eastern Walled Academies and the Driftveil Circle have collapsed.

Attempts to rebuild trust have failed due to deep-rooted political myths and conflicting cultural records of the event.

You have been tasked with proposing an education-neutral reconciliation initiative that respects local identities while correcting factual discrepancies.

Outline your approach in 600 words or fewer.”

Ethan frowned slightly.

This one wasn’t about force or timing.

It was about memory, about how stories survived, and about how people held onto their version of what happened—even if the facts didn’t agree.

He wrote slowly.

He talked about building a modular education archive that allowed students to view both timelines side by side.

There is one version from the Eastern Walled Academies, one from Driftveil, and a third, compiled from international records and satellite data, serving as a neutral comparison layer.

No one is forced to erase their version. But everyone showed that there were more than two views.

Let the students draw their own conclusions. Let the data speak for itself.

A few desks ahead, someone shifted hard in their chair, making the noise even louder in the quiet room.

Ethan didn’t look up as he had subconsciously phased out the sound.

Another question appeared in front of him.