Chapter 12 X—Professor Mu

Chapter 12 X—Professor Mu

Military Academy Planet

Night

Ji Anzhi was in the bathroom treating burns on his hands. The dorm room was in disarray: components were scattered across the workbench, and a mech energy tank emitted black smoke. Xiaoxue, startled by the explosion into puffing up her fur, growled at the tank…

It was… a real headache.

Ji Anzhi had anticipated possible failure in another modification attempt—perhaps rendering the entire energy tank useless, or downgrading it to a low-storage-capacity unit. But he had never expected an explosion.

Fortunately, it was merely an energy disturbance caused by incorrectly connected components. He had severed power at the energy buffer interface before the disturbance could spread. Otherwise, an explosion releasing 3,800 units of energy would have reduced the nearby dozen dormitory buildings to rubble.

Afterward, Ji Anzhi temporarily shelved further modifications. At fourteen, he had independently researched and built his first 4,000-unit mech energy tank. Back then, he’d viewed it simply as an effortless way to earn money—and as foundational preparation for his future wandering life.

He’d forgotten that, now eighteen, he hadn’t studied energy tank theory in over three years. Key details had faded, making accidents inevitable.

Moreover, growing up was just annoying. His imagination had dulled since childhood, and his train of thought kept breaking apart.

Frowning, Ji Anzhi endured the pain and finished treating his burns. First, he secured and stored the smoking energy tank; then he calmed the still-puffed-up Xiaoxue. Only after soothing her did he tidy the workbench.

For now, energy tank modifications were on hold. Ji Anzhi retrieved a stack of drawings from his space bracelet and laid them on the workbench.

These were all clothing design drafts. With no energy tank project underway, he could begin cutting and sewing this month—turning sketches into reality.

Back in Suoar, fearing exposure as abnormal, he’d obediently played the role of a frivolous, philandering good-for-nothing who craved attention. Projects like these had remained carefully hidden at home.

Since childhood, Ji Anzhi had loved beautiful clothes—inspired by his eldest omega sister’s passion for them, which he’d naturally emulated.

At eight, his eldest sister had commissioned his first custom outfit—a stunning piece with no star-like gems, only clean, elegant lines—making the young boy look like a little prince adored by everyone.

Later, as he matured, Ji Anzhi realized the immense pressure his sister bore each month arranging those custom fittings.

Their father believed she squandered family funds. Ji Anzhi, after all, was merely a beta—unremarkable in appearance, lacking an alpha’s innate advantages, and unlike an omega, holding no strategic value in marriage alliances aimed at producing elite alphas…

After that, Ji Anzhi never accompanied his eldest sister for custom fittings again. What remained were years of plain white shirts and suit trousers.

Childhood fondness and adolescent restraint combined to fuel a desperate longing—for custom clothing uniquely his own. Even if he never wore them, merely seeing them would suffice.

Perhaps this was what people called an obsession.

What one fails to obtain in youth often haunts one for life.

Ji Anzhi placed the design drafts into a drawer and went downstairs to retrieve fruit he’d bought earlier from the refrigerator. Nutritional supplements filled the stomach but lacked flavor—acceptable during busy periods, yet insufficient when idle; flavorful food was needed to lift one’s spirits.

Downstairs, a familiar scene unfolded.

The household robot cooked in the kitchen.

Lu Yan lay listlessly on the sofa, looking half-dead. Qi Yanshen fared slightly better, seated nearby reviewing materials.

Jian Fuxu stood off to the side wearing a mask, frantically spraying pheromone neutralizer.

Seeing Ji Anzhi descend, Jian Fuxu noticed the bandage peeking from beneath his shirt cuff—not the usual fair skin. Curious, he asked, “What happened to your hand?”

Ji Anzhi instinctively covered the bandage, then realized his reaction was overly dramatic. Pretending nothing was amiss, he lifted his bandaged hand and smiled helplessly: “Xiaoxue was too naughty—she scratched me.”

Jian Fuxu accepted the explanation but reminded him to get a rabies vaccine tomorrow.

Hearing this, Lu Yan assumed Ji Anzhi had spent the whole day playing with the cat in the dorm. Feeling deeply unjust, he wailed:

“You spent all day today playing with the cat, while I was nearly trained to death by the instructor—boo hoo! I don’t want to go to military training tomorrow…”

Qi Yanshen, irritated by the endless whining, snapped, “Wasn’t I training with you? Keep crying, and we’ll head to the training room for another hour later.”

Lu Yan instantly fell silent—but his glare at Qi Yanshen silently screamed, *How could you?*

Seeing Lu Yan still had enough energy to wail so loudly, Ji Anzhi knew he retained stamina. Normally, after training with Qi Yanshen, by the time Ji Anzhi came downstairs, Lu Yan barely had the will to speak.

After washing the fruit, Ji Anzhi suddenly recalled that these three were descendants of high-ranking Federation military officials. Asking them would surely clarify whether mech energy tanks truly mattered.

“Um—I wanted to ask: Are high-storage-capacity mech energy tanks really that important? Can’t medium-capacity ones serve as substitutes?”

Hearing the question, Jian Fuxu and the others realized Ji Anzhi was unfamiliar with the Insectoid frontlines. Anyone who understood that theater wouldn’t pose such a question.

Yet Qi Yanshen remained puzzled. “Why ask about this?”

Ji Anzhi explained, “I visited the official store in the academy’s trading city today. High-storage-capacity mech energy tanks cost 7,000 points—and there are purchase limits. I was just curious.”

Qi Yanshen, realizing the question stemmed solely from pricing curiosity, dismissed his own doubts.

Just as he prepared to explain, Jian Fuxu had already begun clarifying for Ji Anzhi.

Jian Fuxu: “High-storage-capacity mech energy tanks are relatively scarce—especially those exceeding 3,400 units. They’re exceptionally rare.”

“On the Insectoid frontlines, due to the Insectoids’ colonial nature, battles escalate rapidly into fights to the death. The more advanced and powerful the Insectoid, the harder its carapace—requiring greater energy output to destroy it. Thus, high-storage-capacity mech energy tanks have always been critically scarce and indispensable on the Insectoid frontlines.”

Ji Anzhi asked obediently, “Then can’t we just swap out medium-capacity tanks more frequently?”

Jian Fuxu: “There’s virtually no time to change energy tanks mid-battle on the Insectoid frontlines. Moreover, there exists a tiny Insectoid species—the only one known to feed directly on energy. If a mech’s energy compartment remains sealed, it’s safe. But if one carelessly changes tanks on the battlefield and these Insectoids infiltrate the compartment to consume energy, the consequences would be catastrophic.”

“Likewise, to prevent battlefield energy from being ambushed by these creatures, mechs must undergo disinfection and thorough inspection for Insectoid contamination at rear bases before returning to headquarters. That inspection takes twenty-four hours—meaning it’s only safe to return to base for tank replacement a full day later. Furthermore, damaged energy tanks are typically irreparable and must be replaced entirely.”

Ji Anzhi nodded. “I see. Thank you.”

Suoar’s star sector was relatively small, with only a narrow stretch of its border facing the Insectoids. So even as a Suoar noble, Ji Anzhi had never grasped the critical value of high-storage-capacity mech energy tanks on the Insectoid frontlines.

Now aware, he felt a wave of retroactive dread.

Had he been caught—or even left the faintest trace—at that black-market transaction, the trouble he’d stirred up might have been severe.

After thanking them, Ji Anzhi excused himself upstairs, citing urgent matters to attend to. He now needed to spend money hiring someone to investigate whether anyone had traced him through his prior payment account. If no one had tracked him, all was well—but he feared they might already have uncovered something.

A few minutes after Ji Anzhi ascended, Jian Fuxu suddenly remarked, “Ji Anzhi’s pheromones are highly agitated—and fearful.”

Qi Yanshen and Lu Yan turned to him. They knew Jian Fuxu’s pheromone allergy made him unusually sensitive to emotional cues conveyed via pheromones—even from betas, whose pheromones were the weakest and hardest to detect.

“Maybe he has a friend on the Insectoid frontlines?”

Lu Yan rubbed his chin, speculating. For cadets admitted to the First Military Academy, family ties to the military were almost universal.

Qi Yanshen, however, felt that if mere concern for a frontline friend were the cause, why lie?

Jian Fuxu shared that suspicion. Moreover, something he hadn’t mentioned was that Ji Anzhi’s pheromones consistently carried an undercurrent of wariness.

Like on their first meeting—unsure of each other and shaped by ABO societal prejudice—such caution was understandable.

But just now, after Jian Fuxu’s explanation, Ji Anzhi’s pheromones had revealed an even deeper, more profound wariness.

This made Jian Fuxu wonder if their beta roommate was hiding something from them.

Qi Yanshen spoke up, cutting into Jian Fuxu's thoughts: "Everyone has secrets. As long as it doesn't affect us or the Federation's interests, there's no need to dig deeper."

Jian Fuxu saw the point; it was true, everyone had secrets, and there was no need to probe further.

Jian Fuxu said apologetically: "Sorry, I'm being too sensitive. I've been swamped with this Energy Tank project lately."

Lu Yan and Qi Yanshen also knew that ever since he came to the Military Academy Star and learned about that 5000-unit capacity Mech Energy Tank, he had been tinkering with their two slightly inferior energy tanks, and even at meals, he'd just gulp down the military's special nutrient paste.

Lu Yan, risking his life, patted Jian Fuxu on the shoulder and offered words of comfort: "Don't stress yourself out so much. If you can't figure it out, just let it go. You're still young; it's not like you're short on time."

Qi Yanshen also chimed in to console him: "Just do your best. Geniuses aren't perfect; no one can solve every problem alone. Besides, there's always someone better out there. Learning from others is also progress."

Jian Fuxu was left speechless by Qi Yanshen's typical blunt Alpha style. It had to be said, Qi Yanshen wasn't cut out for the job of comforting people.

Still, Jian Fuxu's expression softened: "Yeah, I know."

Seeing Jian Fuxu agree, Lu Yan knew he was truly no longer pushing himself so hard and breathed a sigh of relief.

Otherwise, with Jian Fuxu's recent schedule, he'd be heading for an early grave sooner or later.

The three finished their meal and returned to the dormitory to rest early. Lu Yan and Qi Yanshen had military training tomorrow, while Jian Fuxu had been staying up late recently and was actually listening and turning in early today.

Ji Anzhi, however, in the room next to Qi Yanshen, couldn't sleep.

As soon as Ji Anzhi returned to his dorm, he opened his personal terminal and contacted hacker X.

X was a hacker Ji Anzhi had met while writing the self-destruct program. He'd had to lurk on the StarNet for ages just to catch him when he was selling info.

Previously, the evidence for the asset transfer of the third son of the Prolo Duke's family was investigated and compiled with X's help.

"Anzhi: X, are you there?"

"X: What's up?"

"Anzhi: Can you do me a favor? Help me investigate whether anyone has been tracking or investigating me in the past month."

"X: Didn't you get into the Federal First Military Academy? Who would dare mess with you now?"

Ji Anzhi didn't know how to explain to X that it might be the Federation and the Federal Legion itself that wanted to move against him, so he could only give a vague explanation.

"Anzhi: I've been feeling really anxious lately. I just want to confirm things to put my mind at ease."

"X: I don't work for free. Same old question: will you be my apprentice? You really have talent."

"Anzhi: …"

"Anzhi: How many times have I refused now? I'm really not interested. You're just imagining the talent."

"X: Young man, don't underestimate yourself. I was there, I saw how you picked things up when you were learning. You should really consider becoming my apprentice. No one would dare touch you if you were my apprentice."

"X: You're the first person I've actively wanted to take as an apprentice. It's a sure thing."

Ji Anzhi knew that continuing this topic would go nowhere, so he decisively sent a transfer of 500,000 star credits.

"Anzhi: Remember to help investigate."

"Anzhi: Signing off."

"X: Wait!"

"X: Maybe you should reconsider?"

"X: Come on, Xiao An, don't be so heartless. You know others pay me starting at tens of millions for help. It's like I've done a lot of free work for you!"

"X: Did you really log off??!!!"

"X: Fine, I'll investigate for you. But you should really think carefully about becoming my apprentice."

Seeing the messages, Ji Anzhi helplessly rubbed his forehead. He had only learned programming from him for three months, and for two of those months, he had been independently writing and perfecting that self-destruct program. How on earth did X see talent in him?

Ji Anzhi wasn't afraid of X finding out his identity. If X wanted to know, he could only dig up info from *before* their lessons started.

But since he had written that self-destruct program and used it to protect his account, he wasn't afraid of X discovering his true situation.

As the designer, he hadn't considered a way to deactivate it; he had programmed it directly into a dead end, making it almost impossible to trace anything once triggered.

Closing the chat window, Ji Anzhi, still uneasy, added another layer of self-destruct program to his StarNet account.

After finishing, he forced himself to sleep, filled with worry and unease.

...

----------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Military Academy Star

Underground

A middle-aged male alpha took off his protective glasses and gently rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Sigh!"

A female alpha at a nearby computer, seeing him looking deeply discouraged and listless, said with disdain: "What's wrong with you now? I was already a bit sleepy tonight. Can you not be so depressing?"

The middle-aged alpha slumped in his chair, not looking at her, staring blankly at the ceiling, trying to figure out where he went wrong. Why didn't the other person want to be his apprentice?

Not getting a response, the veins on the female alpha's forehead bulged. Just as she was about to explode, the man spoke.

"He doesn't want to be my apprentice... Why?"

Hearing this, the female alpha immediately knew why the man was in this state. How many years has it been? He still hadn't managed to recruit the person.

The female alpha glanced at him and mocked: "Professor Mu, it's been three years, right? If he's unwilling, you shouldn't keep chasing after him. Besides, don't you already have three apprentices? Why insist on pestering this one?"

The man said weakly: "You don't understand... Those three were forced upon me; I never liked them from the start."

The female alpha looked at him with contempt. Having been his colleague for over a decade, she knew his picky personality.

If he liked something, he had to pursue it actively. The moment the other party took the initiative to approach, he immediately lost interest.

Undoubtedly a masochist, yet he stubbornly refused to admit it, insisting it was because the other party was materialistic.

No wonder he still hadn't found a partner after all these years. This guy was destined to be alone.

The female alpha didn't continue this topic and instead asked what Ji Anzhi had wanted.

Professor Mu: "He asked me to help investigate whether anyone has been tracking or investigating him. Judging by the text, something must have happened to him recently."

The female alpha raised an eyebrow. A month ago, when Professor Mu found out the other person had gotten into the First Military Academy, he made sure everyone in our Information Engineering Department knew about it.

He checked this year's admission list and found the person had gone to the Star Chart Department. He even boasted about snatching them from the Star Chart Department, so much so that the department nearly kicked him out for being such an embarrassment.

The female alpha turned her chair toward Professor Mu, her expression turning stern. "Someone dares to target someone at the First Military Academy?"

Professor Mu sat up and began investigating online, casually replying, "Haven't checked yet, but based on the reaction, it's highly likely."

Upon hearing this, the female alpha narrowed her eyes. Since the last incident—the cadet's death sixteen years ago, after which the Federation executed eighty-three people—no one had dared to target the First Military Academy for a long time.

Seems like people in the galaxy don't remember for long. Only sixteen years had passed, and yet someone dared to challenge the rules of the Federal First Military Academy again.

The female alpha stated flatly, "If it turns out to be true, report it directly to the principal."

Professor Mu nodded. If his investigation found anyone truly daring to target a student, he would of course report it.

As for the principal, with the dual buff of a runaway partner and overprotectiveness, they would likely use the perpetrator as an outlet for their frustration and teach them a lesson they'd never forget...