The aircraft quickly vanished beyond the horizon. Su Cha stood stiffly in place for a few seconds before reentering the campus.
The dorm building was completely silent. Not a sound could be heard—after dismissal, most freshmen had gone off to the combat rooms or other facilities, itching to prove themselves.
As soon as he got back to his dorm, the first thing Su Cha did was search for information about the Ten-School Tournament.
He tried calling for the mechanical glove.
“Cuckoo V40.”
“Ready to assist.”
“Help me look up information about the Ten-School Tournament.”
“The Ten-School Tournament is an interscholastic—”
Before it could start rambling through the registration boilerplate, Su Cha narrowed the scope of his question: “Where is it held?”
“Desolate Star No. 37.”
Desolate stars were known for strange beast infestations and extremely harsh environments.
The smart assistant pulled up live updates from the official site: “The preliminary round will be conducted through the military’s holographic simulation network.”
The military’s holographic network was divided into beginner training arenas and simulated real battlefields. It was frequently used to simulate small-scale cosmic skirmishes and historical wars. Through biocapsules, it fully replicated the participants’ physical capabilities and spiritual power.
Death in the simulation meant actual brain death. Even those who barely survived would suffer total mental collapse.
Under normal conditions, a forced exit option would appear when near death, but there were occasional instances where disconnection failed. The system had a one-in-ten-thousand mortality rate each year.
Su Cha fell into deep thought. He had assumed he wouldn’t encounter this realm for a long time—military academy training was far more brutal than he’d imagined.
“Training… it’s not impossible.”
As a former office worker who’d endured years of grind, Su Cha merely rolled over on his bed after a moment and yawned.
With his current physical state, high-intensity training for a month might kill him. His not-fully-awakened ability wasn’t much of a selling point either. He glanced again at the rules—since the mechanical glove and small weapons could be replicated in the simulation network, then maybe plants and medicines could too.
“How about… growing some flowers?”
He might be lazy, but he didn’t want to drag others down.
Su Cha got up to pour himself a glass of water and looked up plant species native to the Galan Empire. What he saw made him forget to drink. Due to soil quality issues, ordinary flowers and plants were hard to grow on this planet—but desolate stars were full of poisonous flora.
On Desolate Star No. 1 alone, there were over 12,000 plant species, most of which were toxic. The school had a dedicated trading platform shared across First Military Academy and other institutions. Other than contraband, you could find pretty much anything.
Su Cha skimmed the listings rapidly. Among the ten nearby desolate stars, No. 7 best suited his needs. It was home to many poisonous species—even the air contained trace toxins.
“Overlord Flower.”
The name stood out across all categories.
Su Cha read the description carefully. The Overlord Flower was similar to the Rafflesia he had seen before, also known as the “man-eating flower.” If brought to the main planet, it would barely survive. It only turned carnivorous after blooming—before that, it was nearly useless.
Planting issues were the least of his concerns.
After registering an account on the trading platform, Su Cha posted a task.
There were plenty of people heading to train on desolate stars. Both plant specimens and fresh samples could be procured through purchasing agents. Since people from Galan had no sense of smell, they carried detectors with them, making poisoning attempts nearly impossible. The school did not ban research on toxic plants.
“When I raise a pot of highly venomous Overlord Flowers, I’ll go door to door pitching myself to join a team.”
Thinking of this, Su Cha frowned slightly: “If I’m holding an Overlord Flower, will people see it as a threat?”
He waved his hand the next second. “How could it be a threat? It’s just friendly communication.”
The Empire provided a monthly subsidy of 3,000 star coins, all the way until graduation. Tuition was fully covered, and daily expenses should be manageable. But if he wanted to buy extra things, those star coins wouldn’t stretch far.
Fortunately, few students at the academy researched plants, so most items listed on the platform were reasonably priced. Still, on average, acquiring a single plant specimen wasn’t cheap.
Su Cha was lucky. Not long after he posted the task, someone accepted it.
The person sent him a private message:
80YearOldBringingIllnessToTheBattlefield [Saw you’re at the affiliated high school—just a heads-up, most plants brought back from desolate stars have a low survival rate.]
ChaChaChaChaCha: [No worries, I know what I’m doing.]
Su Cha clicked into the other party’s profile. Gender: male. The guy seemed like someone who posted a status update for every purchase he made. The item he bought most often? Charms.
The most recent post had gone up just five minutes ago—
“Lost another bet—screw these charms! (angry.jpg)”
No wonder he’d accepted the task so quickly. Most likely broke again.
Su Cha thought for a moment and typed quickly: [Senior, have you heard of the Ten-School Tournament?]
80YearOldBringingIllnessToTheBattlefield [Of course.]
ChaChaChaChaCha: [Then why not bet on the final participant list? Or just bet on whether I’ll be among the ones who make it through.]
80YearOldBringingIllnessToTheBattlefield sent a lovestruck emoji, then asked: [What’s your name?]
ChaChaChaChaCha: [Give me a 50% discount, senior. A lot of people are underestimating me right now. But if you bet on me, you’ll definitely make a profit!]
Gamblers love high-risk, high-reward bets—80YearOldBringingIllnessToTheBattlefield was no exception: [Best I can do is 20% off.]
ChaChaChaChaCha: [Deal. My name’s Su Cha.]
[…]
The other party really wanted to ask if he was being trolled—but then glanced at the username again and thought, this might really be Su Cha.
[Senior, when I qualify, I’ll message you with the good news.]
After sending a flower emoji, Su Cha exited the app.
The sun was still blazing hot. He decided to go out later to buy flower pots and take a nap first.
That nap lasted three full hours.
—
By the time the sun was setting, Su Cha got up. Still wearing his raincoat, he pulled on the hood without bothering to fix his messy hair.
Though the sun had set, a strong wind had kicked up.
The path to the campus supermarket could only be described as a demon wind tunnel—especially when passing a certain building, where all he could hear was the howling of the wind.
His oversized raincoat kept flapping wildly. Still half-asleep, Su Cha walked forward, head down and arms crossed.
As one might expect, not looking where he was going meant he walked right into someone at the corner. Seeing his utterly lazy appearance, Ji Tianjin—who usually minded his own business—couldn’t help but say: “You should train a little…”
He hadn’t even finished the sentence before Su Cha went flying like a kite with its string cut.
Ji Tianjin: “…”
That bump had thrown off Su Cha’s balance, and he was calmly blown over by the wind.
He considered using his demonic energy to stabilize himself but figured it wasn’t worth the drain—wasting power in a place like this would be stupid.
Ji Tianjin instinctively reached out to grab him.
Su Cha, still expressionless, was carried by the wind. Ji Tianjin rushed over in three steps and caught him, yanking him upright by the raincoat.
He was holding onto the hood’s connection seam—a special material custom-made by Yise. The quality was excellent and showed no signs of tearing even under strain. Dangling from the grip, Su Cha stared calmly at him with wide eyes.
“Thanks,” he said evenly.
Once Ji Tianjin let go, Su Cha moved sideways to a tree, wrapped his arms around the trunk, and with his raincoat puffed out by the wind, tilted his head like a little koala.
“Classmate, the wind was too strong—I didn’t hear what you just said?”
Ji Tianjin avoided the question. The corner was a wind tunnel, and seeing Su Cha looked like he’d get blown off again, he frowned and asked, “Where are you going?”
“The supermarket.”
The moment he said that, his wrist was grabbed—through the raincoat.
Ji Tianjin had awakened as an S-class in terms of spiritual power, and his physical strength was far beyond the average person. Walking against the wind posed no problem for him.
Su Cha was less fortunate. He had to hold down the hood with one hand just to shield his face from the wind. Every step took effort.
The school supermarket was located underground. It was large but usually not crowded. With a robot guiding the way, Su Cha finally found the flowerpots he needed in a corner. Judging by the discoloration—plastic turned from white to yellow—they’d been sitting there a long time.
He took both ceramic and plastic pots. Ji Tianjin raised an eyebrow. “You’re taking all of them?”
Su Cha nodded. “General Yise gave me some rose seeds earlier. I want to plant some other things as well.”
After checking out at the self-service kiosk, Su Cha pushed the cart through the wind. To keep him from getting blown away along with the cart, Ji Tianjin ended up helping push it back.
“Lucky I ran into you,” Su Cha sighed in relief once they took the elevator to the third floor.
They didn’t live on the same floor. Just before the elevator doors shut, Su Cha waved to Ji Tianjin and thanked him again. Back at his dorm, he unloaded the flowerpots one by one, then took the cart downstairs. A robot would pick it up within 30 minutes—but there was a one-star-coin fee for that.
Now that he had the pots, next came the soil—which wasn’t a difficult problem. Su Cha found a bucket in the third-floor junk area and went outside to dig up half a bucket’s worth.
Back and forth with pots and soil, he eventually drew the attention of Li Huai, the dorm supervisor, who finally opened the door and asked in a deep voice, “What are you doing?”
“Planting flowers.”
His answer was so assertive that Li Huai’s frown deepened. “Your strength is behind the others, but that doesn’t mean you can give up on yourself.”
Who knew what Yise was thinking, putting faith in this kid to qualify for the Ten-School Tournament?
Su Cha stood still, unfazed, which made Li Huai feel like even glancing at him was a waste of time. He turned to go back to the office—then paused as his peripheral vision caught something.
“What happened to your hand?”
There was a small patch of torn skin in his palm, still seeping blood.
“I fell earlier when the wind knocked me over.”
“…If we send you to training, the ambulance might have to show up three times a day.”
Li Huai’s eyelid twitched. “Come in.”
He took out cotton swabs and disinfectant from the first-aid kit. Su Cha sat quietly. Even as the swab brushed over the wound, he didn’t blink.
Li Huai gave him a look, making sure he wasn’t suppressing any reaction. “Doesn’t it hurt?”
Su Cha didn’t think much of it—compared to his past injuries, this didn’t even register as a wound.
Li Huai considered what kind of torment Su Cha might’ve endured as a former test subject and didn’t press the issue. “Don’t sell yourself short. Make the most of your time here at the affiliated school.”
After the disinfection and bandaging, Su Cha stood up. “Thanks, Instructor. Once I get these flowers growing, I’ll give you a pot.”
Judging from the instructor’s personality, he probably wouldn’t appreciate decorative roses. Su Cha decided to grow an Overlord Flower and gift that instead.
His energy was limited—he’d deliver it after the preliminaries ended.
Seeing him leave with a bucket, then come back down for a small shovel to dig more soil, Li Huai’s frown never left his face.
So… he didn’t hear a single word of what I just said?
No background, no strength—what could this kid possibly rely on to survive in the future?
As he passed by the dorm office, Su Cha clenched his fist and called out to the man inside, “Instructor, don’t worry. I’ll definitely make it to the finals.”
Li Huai gave a small nod.
…Well, at least he still had some confidence.
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