Chapter 12

Chapter 12

At six in the morning, the assembly whistle pierced the air.

Fu Yan and Sui Bian had already finished their ablutions and were meticulously straightening their uniforms. In their three-person dorm, however, one figure remained utterly still. Fu Yan glanced at Shi Jian, still deep in slumber, and hurried over to rouse him. “Get up now! The assembly whistle only sounds three times. After the third, you have five minutes to be on the parade ground. Today’s the opening ceremony—all students, especially freshmen, must attend. Academy officials, parliamentary representatives, and military district leaders are all scheduled to speak!”

“That was already the second whistle!!”

Shi Jian felt as if an incessantly buzzing bee were circling his ear. He waved a hand, swatting away whatever was shaking his shoulder, then, clutching his blanket, gracefully rolled over. In the process, his loose black sleeveless shirt twisted and slipped, revealing most of his fair, smooth back.

“...!”

Fu Yan hastily withdrew his hand, his face flushing crimson. When he regained his composure and considered reaching out again, he hesitated, torn between the red marks his grip had left on Shi Jian’s skin and the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of the boy’s shoulder blades with each breath.

Sui Bian, utterly disgusted by Shi Jian’s pampered demeanor, let out a heavy snort and yanked Fu Yan to his feet. “He’s here for a comfortable life. Even if he’s late, it won’t matter much—unlike us. Don’t bother with him, or you’ll just end up getting dragged down with him.”

Fu Yan looked back at Shi Jian with a flicker of hesitation, but Sui Bian shook his head and pulled him out of the dorm.

“Hey—Shi Jian—” Fu Yan stretched out a hand in vain, swept along by the surging crowd rushing downstairs. Once he finally broke free, he gazed at the sea of cadets, utterly powerless, and could only silently pray that Shi Jian would make it in time.

In his hazy state, Shi Jian heard the hurried footsteps and someone calling his name, but his eyelids felt like lead, impossible to lift.

Soon, the hallway fell into an unsettling silence, thick with an oppressive tension.

In his drowsy state, he heard firm, hurried footsteps approaching. The moment they stopped, a heavy thud sounded right beside his ear, shaking his bed.

Earthquake?!

Shi Jian’s eyes snapped open to the pristine white ceiling, only for his vision to spin as he was violently pulled upright.

He shook his head, and Muye’s chiseled, stern face abruptly appeared before him, sneering. “Every freshman is at the parade ground for the orientation, yet you’re the special one who’s late. Is the military academy’s bed that comfortable? Or are you just so coddled, a young master or lady, that you’re arrogant enough to disregard even military academy rules?”

Shi Jian quickly cleared his head. “Sir, reporting. I was in detention all day during freshman registration. I wasn’t aware of today’s orientation.”

Muye laughed in fury, nodding repeatedly. “Good, very good. You’re quick to adapt and make excuses, aren’t you? Do you think that’ll get you off the hook?”

He shoved Shi Jian back onto the bed, his gaze frigid and merciless. “You have five minutes. Get up now, dress, and tidy up with military precision. Since you didn’t know about the opening ceremony, you’ll maintain attention stance on the parade ground for two hours, then run five kilometers! Let’s see if that teaches you a lesson about orientation!”

Before leaving, he kicked the bed frame hard, pointing at Shi Jian with deep disgust. “With silver-spoon recruits like you, relying on your parents’ influence to throw your weight around in the military academy, the Federation’s future is clear to me—doomed! The more trash like you there is, the faster the Federation collapses!”

He punched the door, rattling the frame, then stomped out of the dorm, muttering curses.

Shi Jian rubbed his elbow and slowly sat up, still somewhat disoriented.

He couldn’t comprehend Muye’s anger.

If he hated him so much, why not just report him to the administration and have him expelled? Wouldn’t that make everyone happy? Shi Jian had noticed this perverse habit in people—forcing someone unfit for the military academy to stay, then lecturing them, “Do you know how many people would kill for your spot?!”

As Muye had predicted, three times the allotted five minutes later, the spoiled aristocrat finally made his leisurely way to the parade ground, strolling as if on a leisurely walk. This drew numerous stares from the freshmen seated on stools, followed by a wave of murmurs.

Muye followed their gazes, his face darkening like ink. This little lord, drawing attention wherever he went, was nothing but trouble.

Shi Jian strode confidently from the entrance, clad in the Federal First Military Academy’s white dress uniform, reserved for major occasions.

Tailored to perfection, the uniform’s crisp lines and high-quality fabric accentuated Shi Jian’s aristocratic, refined bearing. The black cummerbund cinched his slender waist, flowing into the sleek, sensual lines of his legs, highlighting his youthful, lithe frame with effortless grace. Every movement carried the poise of a fashion magazine cover.

But what truly set the nearly ten thousand freshman Alphas whispering was Shi Jian’s unearthly beauty. His face was sharp yet exquisite, like bold ink strokes on pristine paper. His clear blue eyes held an untarnished innocence, making him sharp but not overtly aggressive—an unsheathed dagger yet to draw blood.

Suddenly, an instructor in the freshman ranks bellowed a command—one of his Alphas had an involuntary surge, their pheromones flaring, sparking localized chaos. Similar disturbances erupted across the field. Bewitched by such allure, even knowing Shi Jian wasn’t an Omega, many weak-willed Alphas succumbed to their instincts, releasing pheromones like dogs marking territory.

Muye’s expression darkened further, looking like it could wring water. He muttered curses, then swiftly grabbed Shi Jian and dragged him off the field before his own pheromones could erupt, his face contorted in a furious snarl. “You little—you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? You just love to entice those Alphas, causing trouble the second I turn my back. You’re nothing but a nuisance. At your defective rank, if those mutts went into a collective rut, how many lives do you have to spare?”

He slammed Shi Jian against a wall, ignoring the dull pain from the impact. Shi Jian lazily lifted his eyelids. “Sir, reporting. I am fully obeying your orders.”

Hearing that youthful, slightly magnetic voice call him “Instructor” made Muye feel like his lifespan had shortened. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re playing at. You think this’ll get you out of punishment? Even if I don’t make you stand or run on the field, I’ve got plenty of ways to break your spirit.”

“Sir, reporting. You could lock me in detention.”

Muye’s temper flared at Shi Jian’s indifference. A troublemaker from day one—had he already become a slacker?!

Gritting his teeth, Muye snapped, “Dream on. Let’s start with the basics. Squad drills. Squat!”

Shi Jian gave him a measuring glance, then, like a toxic blue mushroom, obediently squatted against the wall.

Muye snatched a branch as a makeshift whip and cracked it against Shi Jian’s calf. He instinctively winced.

“Did I say lean on the wall? Move! Right foot half-step back, toes down—who said knees on the ground?!”

Another lash struck Shi Jian’s already injured knee. The old wound flared, and he reflexively clenched his fist—only for a thin red welt to bloom on the back of his fair hand, a brutal contrast.

“...”

Shi Jian stared at the mark, humiliation burning through him. The strained squat made him feel, for a fleeting moment, as if he were kneeling before Muye.

“Hands on knees! Back straight! Don’t move until I say so!”

Muye chewed on a leaf torn from the branch, arms crossed, looking down at Shi Jian with the air of a thug rather than an instructor.

Shi Jian maintained the punishing stance, listening to the fragmented speech from the student representative on the other side of the wall. He pieced together an image of the speaker—likely a top-scoring commoner, unshaken on stage, eloquently sharing his decade-long struggle to enter the academy, his current excitement, and, most importantly, his ambitions to serve the Federation and carve out a legacy.

How did he know this was a commoner?

“I swear to the Galactic Federation and the Norman Royal Family that I will cherish my time at the Federal First Military Academy as dearly as my own life. In the countless days and nights ahead, I will pour my all into every task, delivering ever-better results!”

Thunderous applause erupted, the fervor of ten thousand Alphas vibrating through the wall and into Shi Jian’s skull.

Muye shot him a glance. “Hear that? Why can’t you be like him? With your background, even coasting through these four years would put you leagues ahead of where this kid’s blood and sweat could ever take him. His name’s Shen Xingchuan—an A+ Alpha, 688 on the entrance exam, top of the Seventh Military District. A true prodigy. But without this academy, he’d never even know your real name. Little lord, the worst hardship you’ve faced is what I’m putting you through now. Out of billions in the Federation, fewer than ten have it better than you.”

“Behave, little lord. Be glad you were born into such a family and differentiated as an E-level Alpha. Otherwise, with how you act… tch.”

Muye’s voice seemed to reach Shi Jian across light-years, weighing on his heart with a dull, persistent ache—not sharp, but lingering like a needle buried deep.

As the freshman representative’s speech ended, the first rays of dawn crept over the horizon, a flickering flame that kissed Shi Jian’s fingertips, then traced the red welt on his hand before climbing higher. With time, the gentle warmth became a scorching blaze, baking the boy exposed under the open sky.

The squat, seemingly the easiest drill, had now been held rigidly for half an hour.

Shi Jian’s blood felt sluggish, muscles prickling with static-like pain, a bone-deep ache spreading like ants beneath his skin, consuming him inch by inch.

Yet none of it compared to his knees. Bruised raw the night before, briefly soothed by Gu Shiyun’s liniment, they now bore his full weight in the unrelenting squat, protesting like overburdened machinery on the verge of snapping.

A puddle of sweat gathered at Shi Jian’s feet. Visible on his hands and hidden beneath his uniform, thin red welts from the branch crisscrossed like ribbons, throbbing faintly with a persistent itch.

The marks intertwined like rose-colored bows, stark against his snow-pale skin, as striking as his naturally upturned, faintly reddened eyes—glistening with moisture, pulling one into a damp, fragrant haze.