Soul system:Return Of The SSS-Ranked Troublemaker-Chapter 40: Jeju Island (16) National student’s.

As the young man with the wolfcut and Somi stepped forward, the third South Korean student emerged from the plane. She had short, neatly trimmed hair, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd.

Zion’s breath hitched. His heart pounded as his gaze locked onto a familiar face. Short hair. Beautiful, unforgettable eyes. His mind raced, and his face flushed red.

"No way... she’s here?!" Zion thought, barely keeping his composure.

Yin, standing nearby, noticed his reaction and narrowed his eyes. "Isn’t that one of the Top 15 students?" he mused.

Then, another figure stepped out—a man with reversed pupils, an unsettling contrast of black sclera and white irises. The atmosphere shifted as whispers spread through the gathered students.

"Yo, what’s up with his eyes?" "Damn, does he have some kind of Sharingan?!" "Man, you need to stop watching anime..." "Still... those eyes are weird as hell."

With all of South Korea’s elite students now on the ground, it was America’s turn.

The first to step out was a dark-skinned man with a razor-sharp buzz cut and an immaculate hairline. His face was set in a serious expression, his puffy jacket draped over broad shoulders. A thick gold chain hung from his neck, engraved with the name "DarkG." He adjusted his black cargo pants and scanned the crowd, his presence exuding silent authority.

Following him, a blonde girl strutted down the steps. Her short hair swayed slightly, framing her piercing emerald eyes. She wore an elegant yet revealing dress, the open-back design showcasing smooth, toned skin. Her shoulders were bare, accentuated by delicate, translucent fabric. A pair of emerald earrings gleamed under the sunlight, and her long, pink-painted nails rested against her hips. Completing her look, she wore lewd knee-high stockings tucked into sleek high-heeled boots.

Then, another man stepped out—a stark contrast to the modern styles before him. He was dressed in an old-school American suit, tailored in a 1920s mafia style. His slicked-back hair glistened under the sun, and a classic gangster hat sat perfectly on his head. With an air of cold confidence, he adjusted the cuffs of his coat and stepped forward, his movements methodical and controlled.

After America’s top students made their entrance, it was now China’s turn.

The first to step out was a young woman with her hair tied into two neatly styled buns. She wore a striking red qipao, its traditional elegance contrasted by a high side-slit that revealed smooth, toned legs. A pair of form-fitting brown stockings hugged her thighs, accentuating their shape.

But it wasn’t just her attire that stole the spotlight—it was her damn thighs.

The moment she stepped onto the tarmac, a wave of murmurs, gasps, and outright worship rippled through the crowd.

"Oh... my... god..." "Oh, divine heavens! If I must die, let it be between those thighs!" One student dropped to his knees, clasping his hands in prayer. "Wait... don’t those thighs remind you of the Chinese S-Ranked hero, Chen Lee?" "Yeah, but come on—Chen Lee’s got even thicker, juicier thighs!" Their eyes gleamed as they compared, some even suffering spontaneous nosebleeds.

As the crowd continued to reel from this divine revelation, the next student stepped forward.

He was a stark contrast to the previous spectacle—a boy with long, straight hair and pale skin. His expression was unreadable, his aura eerily neutral. He wore a flowing white inner robe, his movements silent and precise. Yet, as he passed, there was no fanfare, no murmur of admiration—nothing. It was as if he existed in a vacuum, a presence that refused to leave an impression.

Then, the third student emerged—a figure with long, flowing hair and an androgynous beauty that left onlookers completely baffled.

Murmurs spread like wildfire.

"Wait... is that a girl or a guy?" "Nah, has to be a girl. Look at that face—way too pretty." "But check out the shoulder width... that’s gotta be a dude!" "Bro, if there’s a hole, there’s a goal."

Some students clutched their heads in confusion, while others simply stared, entranced by the sheer mystery of this person’s existence.

After the rest of China’s top students made their exit, it was now Japan’s turn.

The first student to step forward was a boy wearing a traditional Japanese festival mask—a red one with bloated cheeks, giving it a ridiculous expression. His hair was white and spiky, and he wore a flowing white kimono.

The crowd immediately reacted.

"Damn, that mask is fire!" "For real!" "Man, oni masks look way cooler." "I told you to stop watching anime."

As the masked student stepped aside, the next to appear was a boy with long, curly orange hair. But there was something... unusual.

He was small.

Dressed in a simple Japanese citizen’s outfit, he had a fierce gaze, but his expression soured as he muttered to himself, "Man, I hate going to other countries."

The murmurs spread.

"Yo... he’s tiny." "Poor guy, his dating life must be rough." "Yeah, being a dwarf must suck..." The students shook their heads in sympathy.

Then, one guy spoke up—far too seriously.

"Nah, don’t judge too fast. I heard dwarves are blessed with a huge stick."

Silence.

The group around him slowly turned, their faces filled with pure disgust.

"What the hell did you just say, you freak?!" "You need help, man!"

Before he could defend himself, they all smacked him upside the head.

"I TOLD YOU TO STOP WATCHING ANIME—ESPECIALLY HENTAI!"

Then, as the chaos died down, the next student emerged.

A stunning girl stepped forward, dressed in a classic Japanese school uniform. Her long, silky hair framed a face with perfectly curled eyelashes and gorgeous, piercing eyes.

Once again, the crowd erupted.

"Forget the last two. This... THIS is what we came for!" "For real." "Women for gooning vs. women to die for."

But then, one cautious student narrowed his eyes.

"Hold up... girls like that always have some kind of hidden secret. Probably a twisted personality. She won’t fool me!" He crossed his arms proudly.

The others glared at him.

"DON’T RUIN THE FUN, DUMBASS!"

And with that, they all smacked him upside the head.

After the last of the Chinese students stepped out, it was now Russia’s turn.

The first to step forward was a boy with curly brown hair and tanned skin—an unusual sight for a Russian. Dressed in a casual beach outfit, he blinked in confusion at the dense forest surrounding them.

"Man, this place is all trees..." he muttered to himself, glancing around. "Maybe I can sneak away and find a beach somewhere."

Next, a girl emerged, immediately drawing attention. She wore a crisp blue-and-white blouse that clung tightly to her ample chest, paired with a short white skirt. Topping off her outfit was a military-style hat, mimicking that of a general. But what stood out most were her piercing blue eyes and sky-blue hair, contrasting sharply with her pale skin.

Whispers spread through the crowd.

"What do you think?" "I don’t know, man. She looks kinda intimidating..." "You, little bastard—what’s your take?" "She’s totally my type!" one of them declared, crossing his arms with confidence.

For a moment, there was silence—then, a wave of approval.

"Finally! You said something right!"

Then, without warning, the air itself seemed to shift. A strange, suffocating pressure fell over the students, like an invisible hand tightening around their throats.

A man stepped off the plane.

Tall. No, not just tall—absurdly tall.

He moved with the presence of a warlord, two stunning blonde women clinging to his arms. His face was carved with striking, almost predatory features, deep-set eyes shadowed by exhaustion or perhaps something darker. Slicked-back hair gave him an air of cold authority. He wore a red polo with black stripes, fitted black pants, and polished black shoes. Draped across his back was the fur of some unknown beast, its dark texture adding to his aura of power.

Even the girls at his side weren’t just beautiful—they were on a level that made the earlier compliments from the boys sound pathetic.

The students could barely speak.

"Holy shit... I think I just pissed myself." "My manliness... it’s crumbling..." "It’s... aura." one of them managed to stammer.

The others immediately turned on him.

"Say something serious, dumbass!" "No, no... think about it." The boy swallowed hard. "I think he sees us as women."

There was a long, horrified pause.

"...Honestly? That might be valid." one of them admitted. "Yeah. That man’s testosterone is off the charts. Just his presence alone makes ours feel nonexistent."

After that, the rest of the Russian students stepped out—but something was off. Their faces were pale, their eyes wide with barely concealed terror. It was as if they had just witnessed something unspeakable, something so horrifying that it had shattered their composure.

Whatever that man had done, it had left a mark on them.

Then, it was Canada’s turn.

As the airplane door slowly opened, a different kind of presence washed over the crowd. Unlike the suffocating dominance from before, this aura was neither oppressive nor terrifying. Instead, it felt... vibrant. Colorful.

It was as if the air itself had been painted with warmth and wonder, a stark contrast to the chilling tension left behind by Russia’s entrance.

The students murmured among themselves, uncertain but intrigued.