The damp underground was lined with pale, metallic walls on all sides, suffocating and oppressive.

At the end of the corridor, a metal door stood open, faint light spilling through.

Inside the cell, Song Yu lounged lazily in a chair. A sapphire stud gleamed from his left ear, his right hand draped carelessly over the armrest. Through the iron bars, his cool gaze fell on the furious Zheng Long.

“Still not willing to talk?”

“You have no right to imprison me!” Zheng Long slammed the metal bars again and again, the clang ringing loudly. “Torture is illegal!”

His lips cracked, skin pale, sweat-matted hair sticking messily to his forehead. A wretched sight—so different from the arrogant figure of just days ago.

“Illegal?”

It was as if he’d heard something hilarious. Song Yu gave a cold chuckle. “And when you sent assassins after me, did you think about the law?”

A flicker of guilt crossed Zheng Long’s eyes, but he barked back loudly: “I don’t know what you’re talking about at all!”

Song Yu slowly twisted the ring on his finger. “So you insist?”

“Of course!”

“Then I’ll just have to ask your spouse.”

“Yun‑yun?” Zheng Long’s panic exploded. He pounded the bars harder. “What did you do to Yun‑yun?!”

Song Yu ignored him, turning casually toward the door.

Desperate, Zheng Long let his disguise crack. Alpha pheromones burst out, filling the cell, flooding toward Song Yu like a storm.

“I’ll kill you!”

[01: Collecting sample—sample secured.]
[00: Sample failed.]

Song Yu’s lips curved in mocking smile. “That’s it? Pathetic.”

From his waistband he drew a sidearm, spun, and put a bullet through Zheng Long’s shoulder.

“Ahhh!” The scream echoed as Zheng Long fell back against the bars, his pheromone flare instantly weakened.

Qin Luo arrived by Song Yu’s side. “Ge, your pheromones alone could’ve crushed him. Why waste the ammo?”

The small pistol flipped deftly through Song Yu’s fingers before vanishing back into his belt. His brows knit. “Trying to match pheromones against me? He isn’t worthy.”

Qin Luo thought it over, then nodded gravely. “…True. Daddy Rong might get jealous.”

At that name, Song Yu’s irritation spiked. He touched the stud in his ear—the one Rong Shi had forced on him before leaving this morning.

His bunny was gone, and he was stuck here choking on the stench of alphas. His mood soured further; he wanted to kill someone.

Seeing this, Qin Luo thought—this prisoner was doomed.

Song Yu turned to leave. “This one’s yours.”

Qin Luo bobbed his head at once. “Yes, sir!”

Once Song Yu was gone, Qin Luo gestured to the shadow guards.

Zheng Long clutched his bleeding shoulder, gasping. Sweat drenched him. His head snapped up again—only for the iron bars to spark alive with high voltage current.

He jumped back fast, but the jolt still hit hard, dropping him to the ground in spasms.

Qin Luo stood outside the bars, cold smile in place. “Why aren’t you pretending to be a beta now?”

Zheng Long’s eyes rolled, voice breaking: “Don’t… don’t hurt Yun‑yun. I’ll confess—”

“His Highness giving you even one chance was only because of Daddy Rong. If this were before? Hah. You think this is a marketplace where you bargain?”

Desperately, Zheng Long clawed the floor, voice cracking. “Please, please don’t hurt him. If something happens to Yun‑yun, I can’t live either—”

“Well, well—quite the romance.” Qin Luo crouched low, smirking. “And what if I had a drug that breaks a match bond?”

Zheng Long froze, eyes widening—

But Qin Luo only strolled off, leaving him hanging.

---

Catching up with Song Yu, Qin Luo reported: “He’s ready to crack. Won’t last the night.”

“When he talks, ship him off-world,” Song Yu ordered.

“Why not keep him here? It’s safe.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

They stopped before another cell.

Guards in filter masks saluted. “Your Highness. This omega is dangerous. Please wear the mask.”

Song Yu glanced at the ugly thing, waved dismissively. “No.”

“B‑but…”

Qin Luo cut in flatly, knowing Song Yu’s temper. “Stop fussing. Open it.”

“Yes!”

The door swung open, and omega pheromones slammed outward—heavy, angry, aggressive.

[01: His pheromone curve is twisted like a pretzel.]
[00: No data.]
[01: Matching samples. Roughly three minutes.]
[00: No data, hmph.]

Inside, bloodshot eyes glared.

“Let me go!” snarled Jiang Yun.

Song Yu stilled for half a second. He’d seen this face before—back in the underwater base. The program chief in the control room. The same man 01 had copied to open the data vault.

But the Academy’s database listed Zheng Long’s partner as a completely different person.

How could official military files—second only to the royal database—be so wrong?

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

An omega rising in the Organization had no business marrying a lowly sergeant. None of this added up.

Jiang Yun flared more pheromones, cheeks flushing, sweat streaking his brow. He turned from Song Yu—immune—to Qin Luo. “Release me.”

The voice was alluring, thick with omega pheromone. Qin Luo’s pulse betrayed him… until Song Yu smacked the back of his head.

“Ow!” Qin Luo clutched his skull, glaring. “You bastard—pheromones aren’t toys!”

[01: Two samples, 100% match. Logged.]
[00: Logged.]

Song Yu took the chair the guards provided. His tone offhand, as if ordering snacks. “Remove his glands.”

Jiang Yun froze. “…You wouldn’t dare!”

Song Yu sneered. “And scoop his eyes out while you’re at it.”

The guards stepped forward. Jiang Yun jolted back.

“I’m military personnel, you can’t—”

“Take his fingers. Slice them for samples.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Let me go! Don’t touch me—” His screams grew shrill as strong arms pinned him, collar torn back, blade pressed to his neck.

The shriek that followed made Qin Luo look away grimacing. Too brutal even for him.

Crouching close, he whispered to Song Yu: “Ge, are you really going for the eyeballs?”

Song Yu’s eyes gleamed. “When have I ever joked about my enemies? Besides… Rong Shi isn’t here.”

Qin Luo: “……”

That last bit was the real reason, wasn’t it?

---

In the Imperial Palace, Advisor Yin Rong strode down the corridor, immaculate suit crisp.

Inside the king’s study, Song Zheng signed files at his desk while Queen Ji Ling watered plants nearby.

“Your Majesty,” the queen coaxed gently, “the boy knows he was wrong. Please forgive him.”

Silence. Then Ji Ling’s eyes darkened briefly before settling back into a tender smile. He placed the watering jug away, brewed coffee himself, and set it before the king.

“Shutting him indoors in shame isn’t a solution either, don’t you agree?”

“If he never learns his lesson, he’ll keep daring.” Song Zheng set down the signed file, lifted the coffee, and sipped—with a frown. “Didn’t put sugar?”

Ji Ling stiffened—topic shift, just like that? He forced patience. “I thought too sweet might bother you. Just half a cube.”

“Make it three cubes. Two creamer.”

Ji Ling: “……”

So ham‑fisted. He returned, irritated, and dumped five lumps in before serving it back. “And the boy?”

“Monday. Let him attend school.”

A satisfied smile curved Ji Ling’s lips. “I knew you loved him most.”

A knock sounded. Yin Rong entered, saluted them both, and reported:

“The Academy botched the escort of the Second Prince. He has already arrested the officials responsible.”

Song Zheng’s head snapped up, brows tight. “Explain.”

At those words, Ji Ling’s brow twitched.

“The shuttle assigned to him was empty. All escorts vanished. No explanation has been offered.”

Ji Ling calmly lifted the cup, half‑lowering his eyes. “Sounds like children playing hide and seek.”

The tone was casual, but the jab sharp: an insinuation that maybe the event wasn’t real—or that the prince himself was suspicious.

“Outrageous!” Song Zheng’s hand slammed the desk.

Ji Ling’s lips curled faintly in triumph—until the king barked: “To insult the royal family! Strip Li Huating of office immediately!”

Ji Ling froze mid‑sip. Shock lanced through him.

This wasn’t right. The king’s thinking was shifting… increasing control again? Last time was only weeks ago.

---

At the Academy, Rong Shi sat in Qian Fan’s office, surrounded—and harassed—by a pack of directors.

“Your test score had better not be below 61 this time!” Zhao Qiqi grumbled.

Zheng Hai laughed, patting his belly. “Ignore the old fool. Sixty flat! The system won’t even read more.”

Zhao barked, “Is that how you guide students?!”

The noise stabbed Rong Shi’s skull. He rubbed his brow. Coldly: “You called me here—for this?”

“No.” Qian Fan pushed through, shooing the others away. “I needed you. They just refused to leave.”

He sat beside Rong Shi, handing him a printed document. His smile wide: “Congratulations.”

Rong Shi unfolded it. Zhao and Zheng leaned over—and cursed under their breath.

“Holy sh*t!”
“Damn impressive, kid.”

Qian Fan hummed, smug as if he himself had been promoted.

“According to protocol, it’ll be posted school‑wide for a month. I already started a thread on the forum. Log in and leave a statement, be a role model.”

Unfazed, Rong Shi opened the forum he hadn’t checked in ages.

---

Meanwhile, in the Second Corps mess hall, Lao Lin joked with Qing Song and Qiu Tianhao.

“…With all that merit, he’ll be glowing back at the Academy.”

“Why don’t you just ask him yourself?”

Lao Lin waved off. “Nah, the kid’s busy with school. Plus, whenever I see him, I feel like pestering him for a son.”

Qing Song choked on rice. “…” Wait—did he mean literally?

Qiu gave a cough. “Check the Academy forum. He’s their top star; anything big is posted.”

Smacking his thigh, Lao Lin logged in. His eyes bulged. “What the hell is this crap?!?!”

A top thread blared: #TellMeAJoke: A Freshman Claims He Can Pilot a Spaceship#.

Over ten thousand comments.

The main post, longwinded with pseudo‑dissections of ability, concluded in big red font: “Probability tends toward zero.”

Comments laughed: “Fans embarrassed yet?” “Arrogance exposed.”

One even swore: “If he really can, I’ll run a hundred laps around campus!”

Lao Lin raged: “He has an A‑Class license! Small warships are nothing!”

“Exactly!” Qing Song slammed chopsticks. “Disciple, roast them!”

Qiu sighed but dutifully switched to real‑name. Replied:
[Rong Shi has an A‑Class license. Flying a shuttle is no problem.]

Within seconds, a thousand new replies:

“OMG—upperclassman!!”
“Our two hubbies interacting again!!”
“An A‑Class license?! God tier!”
“Now the haters are face‑slapped!”
“Do you even know how insane that test is? Nine out of ten fail at 90%.”
“Alright, runners—start your laps!”

Not pacified, Lao Lin opened a new thread: #LittleRongIsAwesome(^▽^)# and dumped warzone footage—all featuring Rong Shi.

Black fans dove in to spray him—only to find themselves silenced by raw evidence.

---

Back in the dorm, Zhao Wan fumed, marshaled troll armies, but just as his smear post went up—Qian Fan himself made an official post, stamped in red.

“3,200 merits. Direct promotion to Second Lieutenant. Special exception.”

The forum exploded.

“Holy crap holy crap!!”
“Daddy Rong’s a monster!!”
“He’s insane—in our cohort?! I’m so proud!!”
“If spaceships shock you—try special promotion!”

As for Rong Shi, he only skimmed those threads without reaction. His attention lingered instead on the one berating Song Yu: listing his arrogance, his so‑called lawless behavior in snatching staff.

The ending words almost seemed fair—but that didn’t mean Rong Shi tolerated anyone criticizing his lover.

“Got a statement ready?” Qian Fan pressed.

Rong Shi typed calmly:

[LittleCatEatsMyFish: Xiao Yu is cutest. No debate. Insult him, IP ban.]

The three deans: “……”
Not what we meant…

The True Love Tower veterans: “……”
This age… do black fans always turn into stans??

---

That night, Rong Shi lay in bed replaying Big Cat’s video for the fifteenth time.

A faint click came from outside. He shut the display instantly, rolled inward, and closed his eyes.

Soft steps. The mattress dipped. The quilt shifted. A warm body slid close.

“Gege?”

He stilled.

“Chairman gege?” the whisper teased.

Rong Shi: “……”

A low, delicious laugh tickled his ear.

“If you don’t wake, I’ll eat you alive—”

Before the words finished, the world spun—Song Yu found himself staring up at Rong Shi’s face.

Hands caging his neck, Song Yu’s fingers slipped toward his glands, grinning. “Hook complete.”

Rong Shi caught that hand, pressed it to his lips, and kissed it. Smiling softly: “Mm. Caught my Yu (Fish).”

Seeing him damp hair and faint fatigue, Rong Shi stroked his head gently. “…Nightmare again?”

Song Yu’s smile faltered. “…I came to night‑raid you, and we’re talking about nightmares?”

A clear dodge—but Rong Shi let it go.

“Yes. And a night raid should do what night raids are for.” His hand slid slowly down to Song Yu’s abs.

Song Yu’s eyes lit up. Tonight, proactive?

…

Five minutes later, Song Yu sulked in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed.

“Night raid means me, not noodles!!”

Pot boiling behind him, Rong Shi calmly asked, “Thick or thin noodles?”

“Humph!”

“Thick then. You always eat an extra half‑bowl that way.”

“….” Damn it.

From the fridge, Rong Shi pulled shrimp, scallops, and vegetables.

“What happened in the interrogation?” he asked calmly.

Song Yu’s mood dropped; he summarized. “I suspect super‑omegas’ modifications limit their partners. They can’t freely choose.”

“Database analysis can confirm,” Rong Shi nodded. “Next plan?”

“My network’s in place. Lin family comes next. If I can’t uproot them, I’ll break half their backbone.”

“Good.” Rong Shi cleaned shellfish and smiled lightly. “Just don’t go where I can’t reach.”

That soft coaxing disarmed him yet again. Song Yu bit back a retort, unwilling to admit how much it moved him.

“Want an egg? How runny?”

“…”

“Never mind. Yolks just end up with me anyway,” Rong Shi mused.

“….” Damn rabbit. His kryptonite.

Song Yu finally wrapped arms around him from behind. “Two eggs.”

A soft laugh. “Okay.”

Biting his ear, Song Yu added, “And a sausage. Three cuts. Fry into a flower.”

“……” Rong Shi.

---

Author’s Note:

First—
Song Cat: I want cuddles, not noodles!

Later—
Song Cat: …My hubby’s noodles taste so good. [slurp]

Rong Bunny: Be good. As long as you’re happy. [headpat]