None of it disrupted his breathing. Chi Zhan maintained the slow, even rhythm of someone completely asleep. From an outsider’s perspective, he looked no different from someone lost in deep slumber.
Deception was the most crucial and covert subject in the Intelligence Division—a discipline even more weighted than combat in evaluations. But not every student qualified for it.
Only first-year students who had undergone long-term observation and proven themselves would be invited to take the secret course—one so classified that not even the royal family was privy to its contents. Fewer than ten students per year were ever admitted.
They alone were eligible to partake in the most sensitive and advanced operations.
Chi Zhan had passed his first two academic years without incident. It wasn’t until the Crown Prince personally arrived at the academy that the system activated and delivered its ultimatum: complete the mission or be reset.
What the system didn’t know was that Chi Zhan had been waiting for “it” for a long time.
Ever since he became self-aware, Chi Zhan had felt that something was off. As if he’d forgotten something. The feeling was vague, elusive, like a shadow in his mind. Most people would have let it fade over time, choosing to focus on the rhythm of daily life.
“You feel like you’ve forgotten something?” Tao Ran hadn’t found it strange when Chi Zhan once mentioned it. “Totally normal. The memory input we get at ‘birth’ is incomplete. Everyone’s like that. Unless a player triggers some hidden plotline, this is just our life.”
This world was composed of countless NPCs. Some were insignificant, living ordinary lives. Others held crucial roles—like supportive NPCs who assisted romance targets—and had much higher system privileges.
Over time, ordinary routine dulled the edge of that uneasy feeling. Whenever it resurfaced, Chi Zhan would wonder if he was just being paranoid.
But the appearance of the system had disturbed those still waters once more.
The next morning, Tao Ran shuffled into the bathroom to find Chi Zhan already washing up.
Yawning uncontrollably, Tao Ran grabbed his toothbrush.
“Mornin’, Chi-Chi. Ugh, we’ve got early lectures today…”
“Morning,” Chi Zhan replied curtly. He bent over and splashed cold water onto his face. Droplets slid down his nose, his cheeks, and along the sharp line of his jaw. Against the chill of the water, his pale skin looked even more translucent, and his features stood out even more sharply.
“Hmm? Chi-Chi, are you in a bad mood?”
Even with his usual lack of awareness, he could still tell something was off with his friend.
Chi Zhan grabbed a towel and pressed it to his face, voice muffled.
“The review results come out today. I’m a little nervous.”
“Ohhh, that makes sense. Competition must be intense. And match ratings always feel kinda… arbitrary. Just gotta leave it to fate. If you get a direct qualification, though, that’d solve everything,” Tao Ran mumbled around his toothbrush.
Chi Zhan finished tidying up and stepped out of the bathroom.
Of course, that wasn’t the reason he was upset.
“Are you really not going to accept the mission?” the system asked. “You know you’ll be reset!”
“I don’t know why you chose me,” Chi Zhan said calmly. “I’m just a regular cadet. I have no connection to the romance targets. You picked the wrong person. Especially for something so senseless.”
Realizing that neither threats nor bribes worked on him, the system fell silent for a moment before speaking again.
“Actually… your identity isn’t as simple as you think. You’re not just an ordinary student.”
“My identity file says otherwise,” Chi Zhan replied coolly.
“What if I tell you the truth? Would you agree to do the mission then?”
“Not necessarily.”
The system felt like it was being toyed with.
“But,” Chi Zhan added, “if it’s something that makes sense, I’ll consider it.”
It suddenly felt like he was the one trying to seduce it—and worse, the system couldn’t help but comply.
Because Chi Zhan had already found its weakness.
The system couldn’t reset him. No matter how enraged or desperate it got, it was completely helpless.
The reason why wasn’t clear yet—but that vulnerability could definitely be used.
“Your true identity is the son of a prestigious Federation general. During the infamous Anti-Purging War, you were captured, stripped of your memories, and sent to the Empire. They hypnotized you, making you subconsciously drawn to the Crown Prince. In the end, you’re meant to assassinate him.”
“So basically,” Chi Zhan said flatly, “I’m just cannon fodder. The Crown Prince dies, and I get executed anyway.”
“No. You won’t be able to kill the Crown Prince. At most, you’ll seriously wound him. But that event is critical—it must happen to advance the storyline. Right now, none of the players can push the plot forward. If this continues, the entire world will stagnate.”
“You won’t die. Worst case, you get imprisoned. If you succeed, I’ll grant you one wish—any wish you want!”
“One wish, huh?” Chi Zhan murmured. “Why does that sound so familiar…”
“It’s true!” the system insisted. “Whether it’s freedom, escaping the Empire, or returning to the Federation, I can make it happen. You just have to finish the mission.”
“Hmm.” Chi Zhan seemed thoughtful. “Sounds tempting. But I’m just a secretary. You think I’m capable of pulling this off? Aren’t you overestimating me?”
His hesitant tone gave the system hope.
If it were that unshakable version of Chi Zhan from before, it would’ve been impossible to make progress. But hesitation meant desire—and desire meant leverage.
Chi Zhan buttoned his shirt, threw on a jacket, and joined Tao Ran as they headed to the lecture hall. Tao Ran chattered beside him.
“I heard the results come out at eight. It’s probably going to be an Omega matched with the Crown Prince, but I’m dying to know who it is.”
“As long as it’s not Moy, I don’t care who! Let’s see how smug he acts then. Hmph.”
Chi Zhan multitasked effortlessly—responding to Tao Ran while speaking to the system again.
“The Crown Prince is extremely cautious, and his combat skills far surpass mine. This isn’t going to be easy.”
Ten minutes remained before class started. Everyone had opened their textbooks, chatting excitedly as they anxiously awaited the match results.
Anyone who participated in the match—successful or not—would receive a text from the Central Matching System.
