With Song Jin behind the controls, the situation evolved in ways no one could have imagined.

The training center was swamped; thousands of students were blocked outside, howling for a livestream. Soon, a student actually started a live feed on the forum, and the viewer count skyrocketed past ten thousand in the blink of an eye.

The District C training area was massive. Song Jin set the finish line at a straight distance of 1,000 meters from the start, and to prevent sensor interference from cross-contamination, he spaced Zhao Cheng and Li Xiao’s starting points fifty meters apart.

Zhao Cheng glanced at the setup and spoke first: “I want the left lane.” He had trained here often and knew the routes well; the left was relatively easier than the right.

“Why doesn’t the freshman get to pick first?” Da Bei raised his hand, shouting indignantly. “This competition is already unfair; letting the sophomore pick first is too disadvantageous for Li Xiao!”

Song Jin, who had appointed himself referee, turned to Li Xiao: “Do you have any objections?”

“Either lane is fine.” Li Xiao took off his jacket and handed it to Jiang Hao.

Song Jin noticed Li Xiao was wearing casual clothes unsuitable for tactical training and asked, “Want to swap with mine?”

“No need, it won’t affect me.”

“Already planning on rolling over before we’ve even started?”

“You aren’t helping me anyway.” Li Xiao’s tone sounded genuinely aggrieved.

Song Jin remained unmoved. “People must learn to face the world alone. Daddy will be cheering for you from the sidelines.”

“…” What an overgrown child.

Seeing Li Xiao offer no resistance, Da Bei prepared to storm over to Zhao Cheng’s side to argue, only to be dragged back by Qian Can, who was fighting for his life.

“Don’t get excited, trust your Boss.”

“What if he loses?! Who takes the blame?!”

Qian Can patted Da Bei’s shoulder, sighing with the world-weariness of an old man: “Then he just has to get a divorce.”

Da Bei froze, his anger dissipating instantly. Right. Why am I so worked up? If the Second Prince loses, he can just get a divorce. I can complete my mission without lifting a finger—it’s perfect.

Before the start, both Zhao Cheng and Li Xiao grabbed a military knife, clipped a ping-pong-ball-sized life-saving airbag to their waists, and took their positions. Song Jin activated the intelligent system, and two surveillance feeds popped up in mid-air.

As the countdown hit zero, Zhao Cheng bolted forward.

Steel arrows showered down like rain from every direction. Zhao Cheng dodged nimbly, using his knife to deflect the ones he couldn’t avoid. He vaulted onto the first rock, rolled underneath a swinging robotic arm—all with the practiced ease of someone who didn’t need to strategize.

“OHHH—! Zhao Cheng is a beast!” The gym erupted in cheers; many believed he had it in the bag.

One minute in, Zhao Cheng had already opened a twenty-meter gap—a distance very difficult to bridge in an obstacle course.

Song Jin’s flat, cold voice echoed through the speaker system: “We see Little Pointy-Head is unstoppable. He’s already passed the third robotic arm smoothly. As expected of a sophomore mecha-department seed player.”

“Pfft—Little Pointy-Head? A naming genius.” Qian Can and his friends laughed loudly.

Jiang Hao explained earnestly, “It’s not Little Bitch, it’s Pointy because his head is very pointy.”

His explanation only made the people around them laugh even harder.

Stimulated by the nickname, Zhao Cheng was distracted and took a steel arrow to the calf, stumbling before barely finding his rhythm again.

Song Jin turned his attention to Li Xiao: “Second-number Xiao-Baby is struggling at the start, still studying the second robotic arm. The gap is widening—looks like he’s determined to divorce me.”

“…”

After mapping out the launch ports, firing frequency, and the movement patterns of the robotic arms, Li Xiao suddenly accelerated. He vaulted over protruding rocks in mid-air, his blade precisely deflecting the unavoidable arrows. As he landed, the third robotic arm swung toward him; Li Xiao didn’t dodge, instead stepping onto the arm’s “hand.” As it swung upward, he was launched into the air, performing several fluid flips before landing on a bare tree branch. In the blink of an eye, he had closed the gap to within five meters of Zhao Cheng.

“WOW—! LI XIAO! GO LI XIAO!” Qian Can led the cheering, and the freshman section erupted, the atmosphere instantly ignited.

Da Bei completely forgot his mission, screaming at the top of his lungs: “GO BOSS! SHRED THAT LITTLE POINTY-HEAD!”

Song Jin: “Xiao-Baby jumps again—a beautiful triple-flip successfully dodging 42 steel arrows. He flashed his abs during the backflip; whoever got the screenshot, remember to send it to me.”

The students couldn’t help but laugh at the contrast between his flat tone and his words. On the forum livestream, the viewer count surged past 200,000.

“I thought he was done for after that miserable start!”

“Is this Li Xiao’s first time on this course? This reaction speed and judgment—an absolute killer!”

“Zhao Cheng is playing flawlessly, but compared to Li Xiao, he looks subpar.”

“Li Xiao calculated the trigger distances, swing patterns, and speed of the mechanical arms! His strategy and utilization of the environment are leagues above Zhao Cheng’s!”

Late-night matches of this scale couldn’t escape the notice of the faculty. Instructor Chen Xing was having dinner with colleagues, watching the stream. Seeing Li Xiao overtake Zhao Cheng, he jumped up, excited: “Beautiful! He’s finally showing his mettle!”

“Li Xiao is playing on ‘Advanced Mode’ right out the gate.”

“Compared to him, Zhao Cheng looks like the freshman.”

“Old Chen, did your class start teaching third-year material?”

“As if.” Chen Xing pointed at the screen. “Little Li is clearly a natural talent. This kind of ability can’t be taught alone. How many of your third-years could apply combat tactics so gracefully?”

The instructor asked remained silent. To be honest, not many.

At Venue 320, Li Xiao accelerated, observing the environment and wanting to end this quickly. It was too noisy; his ears were buzzing.

Dozens of meters away, Zhao Cheng saw Li Xiao pull ahead and suspected cheating. How could a freshman handle this course better than a veteran?! The constant barrage of arrows prevented him from focusing; he tried to accelerate but was pinned down by the combined pressure of the arrows and the mechanical arms.

Midway through, Song Jin spoke lazily: “Xiao-Baby has pulled ahead by over a hundred meters. Little Pointy-Head is trapped before the 39th arm—looks like he’s tired.”

Zhao Cheng gritted his teeth, wanting to push, but he was a beat too slow, catching two steel arrows in his thigh and back.

The audience, who hadn’t experienced this course, had assumed it was easy because Li Xiao made it look effortless. Seeing Zhao Cheng’s desperate struggle, they finally felt the sheer difficulty of the terrain.

Li Xiao vaulted over the 63rd arm, a steel arrow flying past his face. The tip lacked the safety rubber; it was a sharpened metal point. At this speed, a hit to a vital organ could be fatal.

Li Xiao didn’t have time to process if it was an accident before three more non-rubber-tipped arrows whistled past. Not an accident. Intentional.

“OHHH—! HE CAN STILL ACCELERATE!”

“Little Pointy-Head is eighteen streets behind!”

The crowd didn’t notice the anomaly, lost in the excitement.

“Wait.” Jiang Hao frowned, walking quickly toward Song Jin. “That arrow just now—”

“I saw.” Song Jin had noticed the moment the first “problematic” arrow appeared. He quickly switched to the site’s control backend to terminate the training program, only to find the software locked—he couldn’t shut it down from his terminal.

Qin Le and Qian Can realized the gravity of the situation, their faces turning pale. If these arrows hit, people could die!

Qin Le rushed to Song Jin’s side: “Boss—”

“Contact the Main Control Room immediately. Shut down the training program.” Song Jin left hurriedly.

Qin Le dialed the control room, but there was no response. He turned to Jiang Hao: “You and Qian stay here. I’ll be right back!”

Everyone’s attention was fixed on the race; no one noticed them leaving.

Qin Le sprinted to the third-floor control room, using his chairman override to bypass the sensors. The heavy metal door slid open to reveal a strange, faint, but persistent odor. He ignored it and rushed to the C-District office, only to find the staffer slumped over, unconscious. He checked for a pulse—alive—and frantically commanded the AI to unlock the program.

[Program locked. It will auto-unlock upon completion, or force-restart—estimated time: five minutes.]

Five minutes! Li Xiao would be turned into a pincushion by then!

Second floor, circular corridor. Song Jin headed toward the B2 equipment room.

“Boss, the restart takes five minutes. I’m finding another way!” Qin Le reported.

“Lock down all exits. Pull up the B2 equipment room surveillance.”

Each launch port was pre-loaded. Arrows were checked twice—by system and manual inspection—before being loaded by dedicated staff. The dangerous arrows had been loaded here.

Song Jin kicked the door open. Silence. He slipped inside. The room was like a warehouse, with racks of balls and arrows. He moved silently, smelling a scent like over-fermented fruit wine. A blue-uniformed alpha lay on the floor, surrounded by piles of unscrewed rubber tips.

Song Jin checked the alpha’s pulse, scanned the room to ensure no one else was there, and alerted the medical team before stepping out. “Send a few people to guard the exits of 320.”

“Yes!”

“Check if any of the monitored targets are in 320.”

“Only one alpha who met with Wei Ming. He entered 320, Sector A an hour ago, but we lost him in the crowd.”

“Name?”

“Lin Zhou, a sophomore exchange student.”

Inside District C, the screaming was constant. Li Xiao accelerated through the final third, driving everyone’s adrenaline through the roof.

When Li Xiao crossed the finish line, he had pulled a lead of nearly 300 meters on Zhao Cheng. Zhao Cheng’s mental state completely collapsed. In front of everyone, he had lost to a freshman, and lost miserably.

Seeing Zhao Cheng blindly pushing forward, Li Xiao scanned the nearby launch ports. The arrows hitting Zhao Cheng were normal. Li Xiao scanned the gym, spotted the signage for the second-floor equipment room, and turned to leave.

Jiang Hao and Qian Can finally let out a breath, realizing they were drenched in sweat.

Seeing Qin Le hadn’t returned, Qian Can took over the mic with his usual cheeky tone: “Looks like Baby Song fell into a pit. Grandpa Qian will take over the commentary… Grandpa Li has abandoned Little Pointy-Head, who has given up on treatment and gone insane. Oh, someone take him away!”

Jiang Hao watched Li Xiao head for the emergency exit and debated following him, only to see Da Bei sprinting over, eager to hand over a towel.

“Where are you going?”

“To give my brother a towel!”

“Song Jin is already there, it’s not your turn.”

Da Bei looked and saw Song Jin gone, stunned. This doesn’t look like a relationship that can be broken up so easily!

The moment Li Xiao left, the training program shut down. Zhao Cheng, still running, roared: “I haven’t hit the finish line! Who shut it off? WHO?!”

The gym went silent for a heartbeat, then erupted into uncontrollable chaos.

Qian Can cleared his throat: “Actually, there’s no point in continuing. You should go join those 3,864 people and get ready for line dancing.”

Li Xiao reached the second floor, catching a faint, rotten-tomato scent. The door to B2 opened; a stretcher robot carrying the unconscious staffer zipped out, followed by medical staff. Li Xiao stepped aside. As they passed, he caught an even stronger scent of rotten tomatoes on the staffer.

The attacker wants to see me die; they’re probably still nearby.

The first floor was being locked down. Li Xiao took the elevator to the 19th floor and climbed the stairs to the 20th. This was an unfinished, hollowed-out area, mostly vacant.

He pushed the door open, his footsteps light. The scent was there, fainter than on the second floor. A long corridor with pillars, nothing to hide behind except the columns.

Hundreds of meters in, he reached another exit. He heard a slight movement and locked eyes on a central pillar five meters ahead. The stench of rotten tomatoes intensified.

Li Xiao stopped.

“Jump,” a man’s low voice came from behind the pillar.

Li Xiao paused, then turned toward the railing on his left. Lin Zhou watched him from behind the pillar, cursing under his breath. Need to find a specific railing to jump from? Lin Zhou followed, patiently waiting for the suicide.

Li Xiao reached the railing and stopped.

Lin Zhou stepped behind him and issued a mental command: “Jump!”

Li Xiao grabbed the railing with one hand, stepped onto the bar, and leaned outward. A twenty-floor drop would turn anyone into meat paste.

Lin Zhou smiled. Such a simple mission, dragged out by those losers.

Suddenly, his vision blurred. Lin Zhou instinctively raised his arm to block, only to be struck by massive force, flying three meters into a stone pillar.

“Ugh!”

In the moment of “jumping,” Li Xiao spun around, kicked Lin Zhou, and regained his footing. Lin Zhou clutched his arm, confused—had the mental control broken, or was he being played?

Before he could recover, Li Xiao grabbed his mask. Lin Zhou deflected the hand and launched a barrage of attacks, cranking his pheromone output to regain control.

“Your pheromones stink. Don’t bother.” Li Xiao pinned his arm, twisting it, and kicked the back of his knee. “I like alphas, but I have absolutely no interest in you.”

Lin Zhou nearly dropped to his knees, struggling to break free. “You aren’t affected by my control?” He narrowed his eyes. “Because of your bloodline… so that’s why they failed.”

“What control? Pheromones?”

Lin Zhou didn’t answer, pulling a steel arrow from his waist. He was in too deep now. If his secret leaked, he was a dead man. He attacked with heavy blows, but Li Xiao countered effortlessly, forcing him to retreat.

Li Xiao, tired of the sensory overload, kicked the arrow out of Lin Zhou’s hand and delivered a roundhouse kick to his head. Lin Zhou staggered back, hitting the pillar, but Li Xiao grabbed him by the throat.

“Let go—!”

Li Xiao ripped off his mask and lifted him up: “Answer a few questions. Satisfy me, and I’ll let you go.”

Lin Zhou gasped for air, his face flushing purple, struggling to kick Li Xiao, who countered with a strike to his knee.

“Ugh! This is Holy-Ya, you can’t kill me!”

“You committed suicide. Nobody can do anything about it.”

“What do you want to ask?!”

“Who sent you?”

Lin Zhou glared with bloodshot eyes: “Who else wants you dead besides His Majesty?!”

Recent investigations all point to the Meng family. They’re the Older Brother’s dog, but the dog broke its chain a long time ago.

“What about this ‘pheromone control’?”

“Secret of the Dark Department. I won’t tell you!”

“Dark Department?” Li Xiao chuckled, tightening his grip. “If this is the level of the Dark Department, isn’t Danse doomed?”

Lin Zhou clawed at Li Xiao’s hand, eyes rolling back.

The door opened. Song Jin stepped in, spotting Li Xiao immediately. “Why didn’t you answer my comms?!”

Li Xiao noticed Song Jin’s approach: “Don’t come over!”

But it was too late. Lin Zhou flared his pheromones, roaring in a hoarse voice: “JUMP!”

Song Jin’s vision swam; his consciousness blurred. He struggled toward the railing, his face contorted in agony, cold sweat beading on his forehead as he fought the influence.

“Song Jin!” Li Xiao didn’t hesitate, lunging forward to wrap his arm around Song Jin’s waist, pulling him away from the railing. After two steps, Song Jin recovered his senses. He looked at Lin Zhou, calculating the distance.

Lin Zhou coughed, scrambling into the emergency exit.

“Why are you here? Don’t you have people for this?”

Song Jin, pale and sweating, looked at him. Li Xiao handed him his handkerchief: “Cover your nose! Don’t follow me.” Li Xiao ducked into the stairwell.

“Hey!” Song Jin looked at the handkerchief and covered his nose. A sharp, woodsy scent bloomed into a rich, spicy wine aroma, surging through his body. His clouded mind cleared; the irritability vanished, replaced by a surging urge to conquer.

“Making a handkerchief smell this good, you smug bastard.” Song Jin cursed and gave chase.

When Li Xiao reached the 19th floor, the elevator indicated it had reached the 17th. Hearing footsteps behind him, he pulled his eavesdropper and tapped it against Song Jin’s, immediately linking to the squad frequency.

“Suspect is taking elevator F30-5 to the first floor. Alpha, blue hoodie, black pants, slanted eyes, freckles. Intercept.”

Silence on the frequency.

“Who are you?”

Li Xiao strode toward the nearest elevator. Before he could answer, Song Jin’s cool voice echoed on the channel: “Your Lady.” Song Jin followed Li Xiao into the elevator, his voice icy. “Listen to him first. We’ll settle other scores after the job is done.”

“Yes! Team Three, move out!”

In the elevator, Song Jin tapped Li Xiao’s device twice, setting it to one-way receive mode, his voice frigid: “Do you know that for hacking this frequency, I could keep you locked up in Holy-Ya for the rest of your life?”

Li Xiao noticed his color was returning and asked softly: “Does your head still hurt?”

Song Jin frowned, huffing unhappily: “It stopped hurting ages ago. You think I’d be affected by trash like that?”

This brat, he thought, landing a soft blow while he was on the offensive, catching him off guard.

Li Xiao watched the floors descend on the virtual screen, nodding calmly: “I told you the handkerchief would work.”

“You’re a grown man, carrying around such a fragrant handkerchief—is that appropriate?”

“Fragrant?” Li Xiao watched the doors slowly open and stepped out with his long legs. “I use it to wipe my hands after I go to the bathroom.”

Song Jin, still covering his nose: “…………”

Is he looking for a beating again?!