A suffocating silence fell.
No one answered the question.
Ever since he enrolled, he’d always excelled—outstanding grades, unwavering loyalty to the Empire—like a blade buried deep in his body. The longer it stayed there, the harder the wound was to heal. But the truth always comes out eventually. All one could hope for now was that when that day came, it wouldn’t hurt quite so much.
How could he possibly tell his brother that he was actually the child of a Federation general? That he should’ve been protected, cherished by all, instead of being reduced to a mere cadet at a military academy—one that treated its students as disposable pawns?
The Intelligence Academy was blatantly the Empire’s cannon-fodder division.
Just thinking about it made his heart twist painfully, clenching tighter and tighter.
“Chi… Zhan. Your name now is nice too. I’ll remember it.”
“It’s almost time.”
Time really was running out.
The two of them had somehow sat there in silence for hours.
“You wiped the surveillance clean, right? Don’t leave any loose ends.”
“Cut the crap.”
He looked at Chi Zhan reluctantly, fists clenched, but now simply wasn’t the right moment. No matter how unwilling he was to leave, he had to go.
The effects of the anesthetic gradually wore off, and Chi Zhan’s consciousness began to stir. But his body felt limp and powerless. When the lid of the medical pod hissed open and the ceiling’s harsh lights flooded his face, he still couldn’t move a muscle.
It felt like sleep paralysis.
What the hell was going on?
Even lifting a single finger took all his strength. Chi Zhan tried to stay calm. Where was the emergency button? Should be on the side, but he couldn’t move at all. He needed to…
Just then, a deep, emotionless voice spoke:
“Need some help?”
Chi Zhan’s eyelids twitched. The next second, someone reached around his neck and helped him sit upright.
The moment he took in a gulp of fresh air, full awareness slammed back into him—followed immediately by a sharp coughing fit as he accidentally choked on it.
He was soaked to the skin. Water dripped from his dark hair, and a faint flush colored his pale cheeks. The other person handed him a clean towel, saying, “Fresh one.”
“…Thanks.” Chi Zhan finally managed to speak, though his voice was still hoarse. “Sorry. I got your clothes wet.”
The other man responded with a simple, indifferent “Mm,” not seeming to mind.
Chi Zhan rubbed the towel over his dripping hair, intending to get up—when he suddenly remembered that he… wasn’t wearing anything.
And the other guy was standing very close.
Chi Zhan froze, giving up on the idea of stepping out of the pod.
Though he occasionally went shirtless in the dorms, being completely naked while someone else was fully clothed—and just inches away—still made him feel intensely self-conscious.
He rarely found himself in such close quarters with others outside of the combat arena. Feeling awkward, he leaned back slightly—his bare back pressing against the inside of the medical pod.
There was no room to retreat any further.
Thankfully, the other man’s gaze was respectful. He wasn’t staring at Chi Zhan, but looking off into the distance, as if preoccupied with something else entirely.
Chi Zhan cleared his throat lightly.
“Thanks for helping me out. For a second there, I thought I wouldn’t make it.”
“It’s common for first-time users of the medical pod to experience adverse reactions—fainting, limited mobility, and other stress responses. That’s why we recommend having a companion present.” The man’s tone was flat, like he was reading straight from a manual, which eased the awkwardness in the air.
Chi Zhan had seen that cautionary note himself before the treatment. But Tao Ran had something come up, and Chi Zhan didn’t want to trouble him further. He’d thought nothing would go wrong, so he came alone.
He hadn’t expected… to embarrass himself like this.
Chi Zhan took a closer look at the man beside him. His expression remained cool and aloof, but perhaps worried Chi Zhan might collapse again, he hadn’t left. He stood quietly, eyes lowered, long lashes casting shadows.
Chi Zhan noticed a small, barely visible mole at the corner of his left eye—a tear-shaped beauty mark. It softened his otherwise cold features, lending a touch of unexpected gentleness.
A tear mole…?
Chi Zhan blinked, suddenly remembering something a Beta classmate had said offhand at lunch—
“His tear mole is seriously pretty. Even a Beta like me is kind of falling for him.”
People with tear moles weren’t exactly common at school.
For example, Tang Ling—Chi Zhan’s most formidable rival in this wilderness exercise.
It all lined up almost perfectly.
Just as Chi Zhan was putting the pieces together, his supposed “rival” turned to look at him. Maybe because Chi Zhan hadn’t moved for a while, the other seemed to misunderstand the situation and asked:
“Need me to carry you out?”
***
Maybe it was because he’d already mentally labeled Tang Ling as a competitor, but when the other man calmly asked that question, Chi Zhan froze for a good five seconds before replying, “N-no need. I can do it myself.”
Even so, a faint blush crept up his face, unmistakable under the bright lights.
The other man’s deep black eyes lingered on him thoughtfully, as if they could see right through him. But that contemplative gaze only lasted a few seconds before he asked, “Anywhere else uncomfortable?”
Chi Zhan dropped the soaked towel and shook his head. “No, I’m okay now.” He gave the man a once-over, still puzzled. After a pause, he asked, “Are you… Tang Ling?”
The guy didn’t seem to match the aloof, untouchable persona described in all the rumors. On the contrary, he was surprisingly helpful.
But the man didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for another towel and handed it to Chi Zhan, saying, “You’ve got five minutes before this place closes.”
Crap! Chi Zhan startled, glancing at the digital clock on the wall. Sure enough, it was almost time for cleanup. He quickly said thank you and reached for the towel—only to find it resisted.
The man hadn’t let go. His long fingers still hooked onto one corner.
Chi Zhan looked up in confusion—and met a pair of dark, unreadable eyes, filled with emotions he couldn’t quite decipher.
“Qi Song.” The man spoke softly.
“Qi as in ‘Qi Feng.’ Song as in ‘praise.’”
