That traumatic hyperspace jump had left a permanent psychological scar in Chi Zhan’s mind.
And now—again?!
Chi Zhan clung to the seatbelt and armrest with a death grip, his fingers practically digging into the material.
At the Imperial Intelligence Academy, students didn’t begin jump-adaptation training until their third year. They also had to study courses from the Mecha Department, eventually becoming elite operatives capable of both commanding starships and holding their own in battle.
But for now, Chi Zhan had received no such training.
The dizziness hit like a devil’s hand, stirring what little clarity remained in his mind into a chaotic slurry. A fine sheen of cold sweat broke across his forehead and down his spine. But even then—especially in front of the Crown Prince—he could not allow himself to show the slightest sign of weakness.
For soldiers, interstellar jumps were just another Tuesday. They went through them more times a day than they could count. But many of the students aboard this shuttle weren’t so resilient—there were plenty of wails and cries echoing through the cabin from those who couldn’t handle the stress.
Chi Zhan’s only reaction, by comparison, was his increasingly rapid breathing.
Just endure it.
He had to.
But endurance was easier said than done. The jump wasn’t quick—it dragged on and on, grinding away at his nerves like a dull blade. Along with the darkness of past memories, it chipped steadily away at his willpower.
His head spun. Nausea churned in his gut.
The pain radiated through his entire body, and Chi Zhan summoned every ounce of resolve he had left to fight it off.
Then, suddenly, his whole body slackened. At some point, his seatbelt had come undone—right during the rotation of the jump. With no warning, Chi Zhan was flung forward.
But in the very next instant, strong arms caught him and pulled him into a firm embrace.
Right into a broad, burning-hot chest.
A pair of hands brushed across his damp forehead, wiping away the cold sweat. Those warm palms replaced the tormenting grip of vertigo in his skull, chasing away the disorientation and grounding him in something solid—something safe.
“Don’t be afraid. Relax. You’re too tense,” came a deep, velvety voice—like a cello playing low, soothing notes. Not jarring at all. One hand swept gently across his clammy cheeks, brushing away the tears at the corners of his eyes. Then, it patted his back with a rhythm that felt like a lullaby. A quiet comfort, as if saying: It’s okay. Nothing’s going to happen to you.
Then the Crown Prince gently lifted his trembling wrist, loosening fingers that had nearly drawn blood from his own palm—and placed them against his own chest.
“Hold onto me instead.”
The figure in his arms hardly felt like a grown Beta—so light, like a drifting cloud. As if he might float away if not held firmly in place.
“Open your eyes. Look outside?” That voice, low and magnetic, coaxed him like one might coax a frightened rabbit. “This jump path crosses the Temporal System. Some say it lets you return to the past.”
Chi Zhan’s mind was a scrambled mess. He blinked his eyes open, trying to focus on the ever-shifting lights outside the window—hazy illusions that danced before him.
All he managed to see was a shimmering belt of light, trailing across his vision like a streak of stardust.
“The Temporal… System?”
“It’s an uncharted frontier,” the Crown Prince explained patiently, his tone calm and even. “Humans have always feared time—afraid of what it means to return to the past, unsure how to live or find their way back to the future. There have been exploration teams sent into these starfields, but none have ever returned. Our current technology still can’t traverse such distances again, and no human lives long enough to wait for a solution.”
Chi Zhan’s dizzy, foggy mind slowly began to clear under that steady voice.
But once he regained full awareness, his first reaction wasn’t relief.
It was mortification.
He had cried… been comforted like a child… in the Crown Prince’s arms, no less.
Chi Zhan wished he could dive straight into a time tunnel and drag himself back ten minutes earlier.
But some things couldn’t be undone.
The Crown Prince didn’t seem to notice Chi Zhan had sobered up. He was still speaking in that low, soothing voice—the same one Chi Zhan had only ever heard on news broadcasts.
“If you’re still afraid, just sleep for a while.”
“……”
Chi Zhan stared blankly at the wrinkled front of the Crown Prince’s uniform, utterly at a loss. He didn’t know whether to apologize, beg forgiveness, or maybe just smooth out that wrinkle first.
And that’s when he realized.
Their current posture—was far too intimate.
More than half his body was curled into the Crown Prince’s blazing-hot embrace. He was… sitting on His Highness’s lap.
That was a position reserved for the future Crown Princess.
Chi Zhan felt a cold sweat break out all over again.
He didn’t even remember how he ended up like this—but it had to be his fault. Clearly, in his dazed state, he’d done something wildly inappropriate in public. And the Crown Prince—kind-hearted and unwilling to shove him away—had tolerated it.
As Chi Zhan spiraled, wondering if he should perform some ancient gesture of penance, a large hand suddenly cupped the back of his head, gently pressing his cheek against the firm chest beneath the uniform fabric.
Chi Zhan froze. This was definitely crossing the line.
He tried to pull away, but the gesture was misinterpreted as an instinctive flinch. The arms around his waist tightened again, drawing him closer.
“Is this better? I won’t let it hurt you.”
Chi Zhan couldn’t speak.
But this embrace… was warm.
So incredibly safe.
No one had ever held him like this before.
Back at the orphanage, Chi Zhan had longed to be adopted. He used to watch other children get scooped up in their new parents’ arms, feeling envy bloom in his chest.
But no one ever chose him.
A flicker of confusion passed through Chi Zhan’s eyes.
Even if he wanted to struggle now, he had nowhere to escape. The Crown Prince’s arms were as unyielding as steel walls—there wasn’t a single gap to slip through.
…Forget it.
Chi Zhan let his body go slack, slumping into the Crown Prince’s embrace like a man resigned to fate.
If punishment was coming, it could wait until after the simulation exercise.
When the time came, he’d accept whatever consequences awaited him.
What Chi Zhan didn’t realize—was that the Crown Prince’s gaze on him now was nothing like his voice.
That look held no warmth.
It was deep, unreadable, and far too intense to be merely gentle.
