The Crown Prince was notoriously unrestrained. Ever since he had insisted on personally leading the army against the Federation—and returned with a sweeping victory—no one dared question his authority. Everyone now knew: the heir to the throne would not be the second or third prince, but him.
Everyone knew which side to stand on.
The Crown Prince cast a disinterested glance around as the headmaster, Rhodes, stepped forward and said, “Today is the third-years’ assessment day. Would Your Highness be interested in observing? This year’s class has exceptional potential.”
“Let’s have a look then.” The Crown Prince replied with layered meaning. “Hopefully, I’ll find the one I’m looking for.”
The Imperial Military Academy was located on the twin primary stars of the Aelros System—prime territory. It was divided into several branches: Strategic Command, Medical, Mech, Etiquette, and Intelligence. Each year, it funneled elite talent directly to the royal household.
The Crown Prince himself was educated separately by tutors handpicked from the best in every field.
“This is the Etiquette Division, Your Highness,” Rhodes introduced.
The Crown Prince raised a brow. “Oh?”
A glance inside made it obvious—well-bred Omegas from prominent families were gathered here, learning royal protocol, flower arrangement, and fashion styling—elegant and pleasing to the eye.
“Not bad,” the Crown Prince nodded, then asked, “Can any of them handle a firearm? Have someone show me.”
Rhodes hesitated.Â
“Ah… well, Your Highness, their curriculum doesn’t include weapons training…”
The Crown Prince smiled faintly.Â
“Then they’re nothing more than pretty vases—nice to look at, but useless. My secretary-officer needs to face life and death by my side. If they can’t do anything, what good are they?”
Rhodes instantly caught the subtext:
I came here for a proper secretary-officer, not a pretty plaything.
It had been less than a month since the Crown Prince’s victorious campaign had pushed him into the public eye. No one had yet figured out his temperament, let alone his preferences. Most had adopted the strategy of shoving whoever they could into his view—if he accepted them all, that would be a win too.
But judging from his reaction, His Highness had no interest in romance. His heart was set on governance.
“Then… Your Highness, the Intelligence Division’s third-years are undergoing combat exams. Allow me to take you there.”
There weren’t many divisions suitable for the secretary-officer role. Strategic Command and Mech were both combat-heavy and dominated by Alphas—none of whom would willingly play second fiddle. Most aimed to become field commanders in their own right.
Since the Etiquette Division had been dismissed, that left Intelligence as the best option. Its students were mostly Betas—low-risk, adaptable, and dependable. The perfect utility piece: plug them in wherever needed.
Even knowing they might end up as pawns in the ruthless game of royal politics, people still fought tooth and nail for a spot.
“Chi-Chi, you’ve got this!” Tao Ran was near frantic as the match grew more tense. Chi Zhan, who had held the upper hand at first, was now clearly struggling.
Moy hadn’t taken the match seriously at the start—he’d planned to coast through. But then the system notified him: the romance target had arrived. Perform well, win the match, and there was a high chance of earning their Favorability.
Out of the corner of his eye, Moy spotted the Crown Prince—handsome, cold, and exuding a commanding presence. His gaze was locked on the arena.
A sudden desire to show off surged in Moy. But he couldn’t overpower Chi Zhan—he was too damn strong. In desperation, Moy bought a “Swift as the Wind” item from the shop. After all, speed trumps all in martial arts!
What he didn’t expect was that Chi Zhan refused to yield.
Even when his pitch-black combat uniform was torn and soaked in sweat… even when every blow seemed ineffective… even when he was half-kneeling and barely able to stand… a fire had ignited in his calm eyes, burning fiercer by the second.
Until the very last moment—never give up.
That was a lesson from his Combat instructor.
Intelligence students needed stronger mental resilience than most. If captured and interrogated, they must never crumble and give up classified information.
So what was a little physical pain in comparison?
Moy had been sure of victory, but now he was starting to panic.
The item he’d used only lasted five minutes. It had cost him all his allowance—no chance of affording another.
He had to force this NPC to concede in the final ten seconds.
His strikes became increasingly aggressive.
But then—Moy suddenly felt a gaze colder than ice lock onto him. The chill pierced through his very soul. His movements hesitated—just 0.01 seconds.
It was imperceptible to most, but Chi Zhan saw his chance. In the next breath, he locked Moy’s shoulder in a reverse grip and slammed him hard into the ground. The force made his arm tremble.
The arena fell into stunned silence.
At that moment, Moy’s item expired. Pain wracked his body. He collapsed, unwilling to rise again.
Ten seconds later, the blue display screen lit up with the verdict:
Intelligence Division, Third-Year
Chi Zhan
Victory
The moment he saw it, Chi Zhan finally buckled, falling to one knee. One hand braced against the ground as he gasped for air.
He didn’t notice a nearby gaze fixated on him with keen interest.
Watching his half-kneeling posture, the fine, wiry line of his waist…
The faint flush blooming on his pale skin from exertion…
His face.
***
The combat exam over, Chi Zhan stepped out of the arena with unsteady steps, like walking on clouds. His body ached all over. But after a short break, he still had to complete the physical fitness portion.
He entered the rest corridor, and Tao Ran immediately bounded over.
“Chi-Chi! I was scared out of my mind just now. Moy is usually so weak in combat class—what the hell got into him today? He looked like he was on something! Are you okay?”
