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.
