Inside the first-year director’s office at the Military Academy, Qian Fan and second-year director Zheng Hai were reviewing the monthly exam papers.

“That brat Zhao Qiqi is still sulking,” Zheng Hai said, lounging on the sofa by the window, thermos cup in hand, a sly smile on his face. “He called me in the middle of the night the other day, begging to set this month’s exam so he could take that single point back from Rong Shi.”

It was an open secret that Rong Shi always controlled his score at exactly 60. But Zhao Qiqi, with what he proudly called the ‘hardest paper in history’, had ruined that neat streak. It had become a thorn in his side ever since.

“The exam schedule’s set long in advance—no way I’d swap it out whenever he asks.” Qian Fan chuckled as he flipped through papers. “If he’s got a problem, he should settle it with Rong Shi directly.”

A knock at the door. Qin Lin walked in carrying a thermos. Spotting Zheng Hai, he greeted casually: “What’s got you two in such a good mood?”

“Who else?” Zheng Hai laughed. “By the way, Rong Shi should be back at school any day now, right? Just in time for exams. Old Shi (the chief examiner) has been losing sleep over writing the paper—worried sick that Rong Shi won’t stick to 60.”

Qin Lin set his thermos down, fetched a porcelain bowl from the cupboard. “Rong Shi’s been gone? That explains why I haven’t seen him in so long.”

Head bowed over the test scripts, Qian Fan straightened and rubbed his sore neck. “He and Xiao Song were sent out on a mission. You’ve been busy—I didn’t mention it.”

“A mission already? In first year?” Qin Lin poured soup and smiled. “Talented kid.”

The class bell rang. Zheng Hai had a lecture, so he strolled off with his hands clasped behind him.

Qian Fan picked up his bowl and settled into the sofa. “It was his father’s arrangement. Can’t imagine what he’s thinking. Rong Shi’s first mission—placed into someone else’s corps.”

“What kind of mission?” Qin Lin asked. “Routine patrol?”

“Pioneering. They were sent to V99.”

Crash! The porcelain bowl slipped from Qin Lin’s fingers, shattering on the floor.

Qian Fan frowned at him. “It’s just soup. Still dwelling on your experiments? Leave the mess for the bots.”

“I… I just remembered I forgot to turn off the lab’s power.” Qin Lin hastily muttered, stepping over shards and fleeing the office.

Watching his back disappear, Qian Fan’s brows knit, expression thoughtful.

---

The Second Corps’ fleet had only just departed when the Academy’s transport ship docked at the space station.

Rong Shi and Song Yu walked down the metallic corridor to the hatch. Their terminals scanned the ID zone. The door hissed open.

It was empty. No one stood inside to greet them.

They took a step on board—and Rong Shi immediately sensed something off. He pulled back, but too late: the hatch sealed shut behind them.

Air whistled at his ear. His eyes sharpened; he whipped his head aside, arm rising. He caught his attacker’s wrist and wrenched violently, throwing the man to the ground.

[01/00: Full ship scan complete. A total of 45 people detected. No heavy weapons located.]

The voices in their minds flickered out. Shadows stepped into view—assassins.

Song Yu reversed his grip on his blade and slashed it across an enemy’s throat. Clean, brutal.

“Fast work,” he sneered. “So few of you against us? Looks like they’re underestimating us.”

Rong Shi’s fist smashed into a face, sending a man flying meters away, not getting up.

“Or maybe this is all they could gather.”

Too few men, no serious weapons. That suggested the masterminds inside the Academy had little real authority. They couldn’t mobilize big forces—or smuggle arms past inspection.

Masks concealed the assassins’ faces; they wore the uniforms of campus guards. But their stances and strokes lacked official discipline.

An ugly realization hardened in Rong Shi’s eyes. He drew the knife from his back and cut down an oncoming man, then kicked with brutal force.

“Inside. Move.”

They fought their way down the corridor, blood splattering the silver deck like a red carpet leading to the control room.

The hatch recognized their faces and opened.

[01/00: A timed device is detected. Attempting to disarm—Warning: ship speed excessive. Trajectory diverted. Impact with V03 in fifteen minutes.]

Rong Shi thought grimly: As expected.

Assassins? No, these were suicide troops. Whoever sent them had double insurance: kill them here, or else blow the entire ship, ensuring they never returned alive.

Surrounded by blades, Song Yu drove his boot into a knee, twisted a wrist, caught the falling knife—and stabbed another man straight through the heart.

“Arghhh!” Screams.

Seizing that man’s failing body, Song Yu hauled him crosswise as a shield.

The others couldn’t pull back in time. Their blades pierced blindly into their own comrade.

Screams filled the narrow corridor. Blood everywhere.

[00: Ship to collide with V03 in eight minutes.]

[01: Uhh difficulty rising—need ten minutes to crack bomb. What do we do? QuQ]

Even mid-battle, Rong Shi’s eyes flicked constantly to Song Yu. The timer was pressing. Yet what he thought was—my wife fights so beautifully.

“It’s fine,” he muttered coldly, cutting another foe down fast and hard. “You handle the bomb. I’ll handle them.”

The last assassin fell.

[Device disarmed. Bomb circuits severed.]

They entered the main control chamber. Empty.

Rong Shi stood at the console, gaze on the floating displays.

“Even the navigation system’s shut down.”

No navigation. No AI autopilot. The entire system locked.

[00: Ship will crash into V03 in three minutes.]

Rong Shi’s slender fingers flew across controls. Windows multiplied, streams of dense code scrolling wildly.

Outside the viewport, the ship plunged through atmosphere, the planet’s surface looming.

Song Yu felt no fear—only adrenaline surge. With Rong Shi at his side, nothing felt unsolvable.

His terminal buzzed. He flicked it open.

Panicked shouting from subordinate Chestnut:
“Boss! What’s happening?! Why’s your ship breaching V03’s airspace?!”

At the console, Rong Shi: “……”

Boss’s wife?!

“We’re fine,” Song Yu said coolly. “From now on, put the entire Academy under surveillance. Report any unusual activity immediately. If you’re short on manpower, borrow from Old Qin.”

The V99 incident was already sealed by Jin Dazhao—the Corps had closed ranks.

So whoever knew enough to act here… could only be insiders informed by the Organization.

Chestnut: “Yes, sir!”

[00: Collision in 50 seconds… 45… 40…]

At the final instant, the ship’s nose tilted upward. Smoothly, it swept along the planet’s curve and re-ascended.

Rong Shi flexed his stiff wrist and rose. “01—take over.”

[01: Aye!]

Within seconds, 01’s cheerful voice rang through the speakers:

“Welcome aboard flight 8848, the cosmic express. Our destination: Central Military Academy, Academy Star. For your safety, please refrain from flaunting PDA, and do not withhold your partner’s energy stones. Thank you for your cooperation.”

00: “Also, no withholding rations.”

Rong Shi: “……”

Song Yu: “……”

The terminal vibrated again. Qing Li’s projection flickered into the room.

“You’re alive?” His eyes scanned the chamber, taut with worry. “Where’s everyone else?”

Song Yu scowled. “What the hell do you mean we’re alive? Were you hoping we weren’t?”

The phrasing was awkward.

But seeing them unharmed, Qing Li relaxed slightly. “…Someone told me you’d definitely be attacked.”

Rong Shi met his eyes. “Who told you?”

Qing Li’s gaze was calm, carrying authority. “Doesn’t matter. Since you’re safe, I’ll leave it for now. We’ll talk later.”

“Hey—!” Song Yu bristled. The line cut.

“Half-spoken words,” he snarled.

Rong Shi stroked his head gently. “Maybe not convenient to say. Ask him later.”

---

At the appointed time, Qian Fan waited on the Academy landing pad alongside other faculty.

“With those two away, campus feels half dead.”

“You can say that again. My students all lost motivation—they’re using the excuse that their idol’s absent to slack off, ha!”

“Same with mine. Work ethic decaying by the day.”

“They used to all wail they wanted to die when Rong Shi was around. Now he’s gone, and they’re listless without him.”

“No doubt about it—he’s the school’s spiritual food supply.”

“Not just students. Even in class, I feel dull without him around.”

The teachers chattered. Someone asked Qian Fan: “Old Qian, how many military merits do you think they’ll bring back?”

Guesses rang out.

“Maybe get promoted to Junior Officer.”

“He’s impressive, but it’s his first battlefield. They wouldn’t give such heavy assignments. Military merit, maybe. Promotion? Too much.”

“Or perhaps spotted by Major General Jin, given a plumb position?”

“Impossible’s nothing with Rong Shi. I bet he gets promoted. Loser runs laps shouting ‘Dad!’”

Qian Fan smiled faintly. “Just kids playing war. I never expected rank. As long as they didn’t blow up the Second Corps’ base, anything is fine.”

Teachers: “……”
(Your expectations couldn’t be any lower.)

---

At three o’clock the shuttle descended.

“They’re here! They’re here!”

Teachers surged forward to greet… two tall, graceful figures stepping off side by side.

Joy flickered in Qian Fan’s eyes—then froze, darkening with a frown. Just the two of them?

“Director.” Rong Shi greeted him politely. “Look at you, standing here in the rain. Poor Professor Qin must be worried for you.”

Qian Fan’s eyes narrowed. They swept past him toward the ship. His voice dropped. “Where are the others?”

Each mission, Academy students were always escorted by academy guards to the corps rendezvous. Likewise, returning students came back with escorts.

Safety was rigorously monitored throughout.

Something was wrong.

“Where are the others?” Song Yu’s voice was like a whip, cutting the air. His eyes swept coldly across the gathered faculty. “There was nobody. This entire ship carried just us. If it weren’t for my brother’s piloting, we would never have made it back at all.”

“Just you two?!” Qian Fan’s brows knit tighter.

Teachers exchanged uneasy stares. The implications began to trickle in.

Song Yu’s expression chilled further. “For the Academy to fail so catastrophically in such a routine matter—I won’t let this pass quietly.”

---

Author’s Note:

Before—
Teachers: Damn it, Rong Shi scored 60 again! Does he think our test papers are worthless?!

Later—
Teachers: Please, child, please just score 60! If you score more, it makes us look bad!

Rong Bunny: ……What do you all want from me?

Song Cat: Whether or not they’re worthless, don’t you all know in your hearts?

Teachers: QuQ