But when it came to Chi Zhan, that exceptional advantage seemed to completely fall apart.
The two were locked in a stalemate until Tao Ran finally couldn’t take it anymore and stepped in to mediate.
“Um… I know it’s not really my business, but shouldn’t we treat his injuries first? He doesn’t look so good.”
Cen Chi’s face was pale, yet he still managed a strained smile.
“I’m fine.”
But the look he gave Chi Zhan carried a subtle, hopeful glint.
“He’s a med student. He knows way more about this kind of thing than we do. He can take care of himself—doesn’t need anyone’s help,” Chi Zhan said coolly, his expression devoid of emotion.
Cen Chi didn’t look anywhere near fine. He might be an Alpha, but Chi Zhan had never seen one this fragile. Then again, it made sense.
Medical students didn’t train in combat. Aside from scalpels, they didn’t touch weapons. Their days were spent on strange experiments and endless interactions with medical reagents. Their skin was so pale they looked like vampires.
Just seeing him now made Chi Zhan seethe. Cen Chi was definitely putting on an act again. As if he hadn’t lied enough already—starting from his suspiciously intentional approach, to hiding his identity as an Alpha, and now dragging Chi Zhan into royal political games.
“What else do you want from me?” Chi Zhan said icily. “I won’t be your pawn. I don’t want to have anything more to do with you. Right now, I just want you to stay far away from me. Do you understand?”
Cen Chi let out a soft sigh.
“That’s not what I meant. Just this once, after that—”
He lifted his hand, trying to grab Chi Zhan’s arm, but Chi Zhan effortlessly sidestepped the touch and left the dorm without another word.
Tao Ran called after him, “Hey, Chi-Chi, where are you going? It’s already dark outside!” He made a move to follow, but Chi Zhan stopped him.
“I’ll be back soon. Just getting some air.”
“Alright… Don’t forget we’ve got class tomorrow,” Tao Ran reminded him.
Tao Ran returned inside. Cen Chi didn’t treat his injuries. He simply lay there, staring quietly at the ceiling, lost in thought. Tao Ran finally said, “I’ve never seen Chi-Chi this angry before. If you’re not planning to apologize sincerely, he’s not going to forgive you.”
“Even if I do apologize sincerely… I doubt he’ll forgive me. After all, he… really likes that guy, doesn’t he…”
The last few words were murmured so softly they were nearly inaudible. Tao Ran didn’t quite catch them and continued, “Are you seriously hurt? I still think you should get treated. Chi-Chi’s not the type to go soft on someone just because they’re injured.”
“I know. I only did this to let him vent a little. Honestly, I’d rather he hit me than ignore me.”
“Chi-Chi’s not someone who hits people lightly. You must’ve really done something bad to piss him off like this,” Tao Ran muttered to himself. “Love really does make people lose their minds.”
Even in anger, Chi Zhan hadn’t lost all reason. He didn’t aim for anything vital. And Cen Chi was definitely faking part of it. He’d hoped to soften Chi Zhan’s heart, but clearly, it hadn’t worked.
And that… was exactly the outcome Cen Chi had expected from the start.
Driving a wedge between Chi Zhan and the Crown Prince, tearing their relationship apart—of course Chi Zhan would be furious. The worst-case scenario was that Chi Zhan would never forgive him.
But now that Chi Zhan was furious… how the hell was he supposed to make it up to him?
That, Cen Chi hadn’t planned for.
He picked up a spray bottle from the desk and casually sprayed the wounds. Only then did he notice blood seeping from his arm—probably from the fall earlier. He switched to a hemostatic spray, but just as he was about to use it, his hand froze mid-air.
His expression slowly shifted into thoughtful contemplation.
Earlier, when Chi Zhan had gotten close, Cen Chi had caught the scent of his Alpha pheromones. They were messy, chaotic—clearly picked up unintentionally from outside. But among them, there was no trace of the Crown Prince’s pheromone.
So where had Chi Zhan and the Prince met? It would have to be somewhere with many Alphas—somewhere that wouldn’t expose their identities.
Cen Chi narrowed his eyes slightly and said, seemingly offhandedly, “Has he ever hit someone like that before?”
“Of course not. I already told you—Chi-Chi’s a super calm person. Not even the end of the world would make him lose his temper,” Tao Ran emphasized. “You’re the exception. I mean, you were his first boyfriend. Though maybe not for long.”
“……”
Outside, Chi Zhan stood in the cold wind for a while, trying to dispel the anger lodged in his chest. Eventually, the knot loosened slightly, and his head cleared enough for him to process what had just happened.
He had actually hit Cen Chi.
He’d completely lost control. In front of everyone, without thinking, he’d let his emotions take over. That wasn’t like him at all.
The Intelligence Division had a notorious foundational course—hellishly difficult. Ninety percent of students failed it. It was called “Emotional Regulation and Control.”
As the name suggested, the core objective was to hide emotions—to stay expressionless even as the sky collapsed, to face disaster without flinching. Mastery of emotional control greatly increased one’s survival chances.
But the difficulty lay in the assessment: students were thrust into simulated scenarios designed to evoke terror, sorrow, rage, joy… every intense emotion possible. Failing to maintain control meant failing the course.
Chi Zhan had aced it.
Not because he was a great actor, but because his emotional baseline was far more stable than most. His threshold was higher—he simply didn’t feel emotions as intensely as others.
But today… what the hell had happened?
Chi Zhan pressed a hand to his forehead, going over his own behavior with exacting precision. So what if Cen Chi had used him? Hadn’t he been on guard from the beginning?
There was no reason to be this angry.
He replayed every detail in his mind. And then, faintly, he recalled—he’d smelled something…
Cen Chi’s pheromone.
Faint as mist, like a drop of ink diluted a thousandfold in water. Easy to overlook.
Chi Zhan leaned back against the wall. Something poked him in the side. He reached into his pocket and pulled it out—it was a name tag. Pure white.
When they left the bar, they were supposed to return the tags. But for some reason, no one had collected his. And so, Chi Zhan had unknowingly taken it with him.
