Before they knew it, the day of the preliminary round had arrived.
At 9 a.m., all new students gathered at the school gate—over a thousand people forming neat square formations.
Su Cha was still running through all the possible emergencies they might encounter when a voice pulled him back to the present.
“Su Cha.”
It was the boy and girl he’d run into on the road the other day. The two of them stepped forward one after the other, a little embarrassed. “Sorry, we misunderstood you.”
After reading the latest report, they realized they’d fallen into a cognitive trap—everyone had been judging by common sense. But Su Cha had been imprisoned all this time; he didn’t understand the world. Wanting to go out and see the world a bit before the competition was perfectly reasonable.
The boy scratched the back of his head. “I asked Ji Tianjin to team up before, but he turned me down. Later I found out he teamed up with you, and I guess it threw me off a little.”
“It’s nothing. I didn’t take it to heart.”
The boy immediately straightened up and said seriously, “If you ever need anything in the future, just come find me.” Then, remembering something, he frowned. “The Investigation Department went too far this time, actually forcing you to write a letter of forgiveness.”
Su Cha raised an eyebrow, surprised at how fast the news had spread. He didn’t believe for a second it hadn’t been helped along by the school. With things moving this quickly, if the Investigation Department wanted to quietly sweep it under the rug, they’d at least have to make some kind of gesture.
Seeing his expression, the boy grew even more indignant. “I knew it. Those b*stards…”
Someone nearby reminded them, “The principal’s here.” The two students quickly returned to formation, and the crowd quieted down.
Everyone had assumed a regular instructor would be leading them today—no one expected the principal himself to show up. The sight instantly ignited youthful passion and a strong sense of honor. Many had already begun imagining themselves shining on the battlefield.
The principal came to a halt and delivered a short pep talk: “Slots are limited. I hope each of you will perform your best and show the world our school’s brilliance.”
His voice wasn’t loud, yet every student held their breath and listened attentively.
“Bring glory to our school!”
As the principal’s words landed, voices echoed from all directions in perfect unison.
The shout made Su Cha’s shoulders tremble slightly. He couldn’t help but wonder how they all managed to time it so well. Still, he quickly joined in the chorus.
Two aircrafts had landed directly in front of them, each capable of carrying more than five hundred people.
Each team gathered together. Su Cha was no exception.
“Let’s play it safe,” Rong Shao said as he grabbed a window seat. “It’s just prelims—no need to go all-out for first place.”
“I’m afraid it won’t be that simple,” Su Cha replied. “They’re ranking based on total points this time.”
Li Huai had specifically emphasized before: being the top team in your own school doesn’t automatically guarantee a spot in the finals. As long as your total points are high enough, it doesn’t matter what school you’re from—you’re in. If the current top-ten rankings aren’t reported in real time, the safest strategy is to keep racking up points until the very end.
Twenty minutes later, the aircraft stopped in front of a massive arena.
This arena, located in the city’s western district, could accommodate up to 100,000 spectators. Schools competed head-to-head, and matchups were said to be jointly decided by school principals and the league committee. Su Cha’s team would be competing against Jero Academy—the second-highest ranked school in the Empire. The other eight schools were scheduled for later time slots but had all come to watch.
There were quite a few university students in the stands too, including some from the First Military Academy.
Su Cha found it strange—this match shouldn’t be all that exciting for those students.
“Who are you betting on to make the finals?”
“I was going to go with Ji Tianjin, but someone on his team is kind of dead weight.”
“Plenty of people are betting on them. Even if they win, you won’t make much. I think Jero might have a few dark horses this year—worth a try.”
As they continued walking, Su Cha was surprised to hear such open discussions.
“They’re not betting money,” Rong Shao, who was walking ahead, turned back and explained. “They’re betting school credits. But yeah, Jero’s no joke this year.”
The Galan Empire governed 108 planets. On the main star, most young people still chose the First Military Academy Affiliated High School. But this year, Jero had spent a fortune casting a wide net, scouring smaller planets and uncovering some hidden gems.
It was also Su Cha’s first time witnessing such a grand competition. The spectators, enjoying a rare moment of excitement, were cheering and waving signs. The atmosphere was loud and full of energy.
The crowd was dense, and some people’s presence stood out sharply, hard to ignore even when submerged in the masses.
Like the two men currently greeting each other—Jero’s principal, Paxi, had arrived. The two principals shook hands.
Paxi wore his usual Buddha-like smile. “Long time no see.”
The affiliated school principal nodded and glanced at the arena. “You’ve recruited some promising talents.”
“We’ll see how they perform in actual combat,” Paxi replied modestly, though the pride in his eyes was unmistakable.
Several accompanying teachers also exchanged greetings before taking their seats.
Under normal circumstances, students wouldn’t experience a full holographic simulation battle until at least half a semester in. But in such a grand setting, most of them didn’t even have time to feel nervous—they were too excited, staring straight ahead.
The main stage had a 3D structure resembling a beehive. Each honeycomb cell was a separate space with a biological pod inside. The front of each pod faced a display screen capable of visualizing the simulation environment.
Standing beneath the towering “hive,” the sheer scale of it made humans feel instantly insignificant. The arena was vast, yet even with over two thousand freshmen gathered, it didn’t feel crowded at all.
The two schools’ students eyed each other until staff guided them to their respective areas.
Su Cha noticed that those wearing mechanical gloves were all standing at the front—meaning they would be the first to enter the “hive” shortly.
The event was equipped with two commentators, with a slightly entertainment-heavy tone.
All expenses for the Ten School Tournament were covered by sponsors. This year, a new freshmen division had been added, which required a large additional investment. To make up for the cost, sponsors tried everything they could to add flair to what was otherwise a relatively low-stakes preliminary round.
Each contestant was handed a wristwatch by the staff. Once activated, it displayed their ID number. They were then prompted to enter their team name and the ID numbers of their teammates. The staff also reminded them, “If you encounter a life-threatening situation, an exit prompt will appear. Don’t try to push through.”
Every year, students got into trouble trying to act tough—holographic battlefield simulations were a major danger zone.
Only after repeating the warnings several times did the staff step aside and signal the host with a nod.
The host immediately got into character. His amplified voice echoed throughout the arena: “Youth is full of spirit, and youth is the future of the Empire. Today marks a special moment—right here, we begin the first-ever freshmen preliminary round!”
“This match will last six hours. The top ten scorers will qualify for the finals.”
“Each time a team kills a beast, the wristwatch will automatically tally the points.”
…
While the host continued explaining the rules, Su Cha leaned over and quietly asked Ji Tianjin, “Does the school have this kind of simulation network?”
Ji Tianjin replied, “Not like this. Only the military has the capability to run a full-scale survival campaign map with their holographic system. School simulations are still limited to basic 1v1s, arena fights, and challenge modes.”
Su Cha said, “No wonder we haven’t had any training days.”
Once the host finished the announcements and exited, the rest was left to the commentators to manage.
The lights focused on the field as a passage slowly opened at the front, leading to the bio-pods embedded in the hive above. A smiling staff member gestured for the students to line up and enter one by one.
At the very front was a team from Jero Academy. Every one of them wore mechanical gloves. These gloves were only issued after passing a series of strict assessments. In Su Cha’s team, the siblings Wu Zhi and Wu Shui didn’t have them. His own glove barely counted—his spiritual power wasn’t enough to switch it into combat mode.
As the first players stepped into the tunnel, a sudden announcement rang out: “Team Cold Winter is entering the field—welcome, ‘Swordsman’…”
Su Cha’s eyes widened. “What are they doing?”
Rong Shao, beside him, sighed at Su Cha’s overreaction. “It’s just to boost the entertainment factor. When you enter the tunnel, it automatically identifies your title.”
“Title?”
Rong Shao explained patiently, “Didn’t your glove run a scan when you first bound it? For some people, the assessment assigns a unique title. In larger-scale simulation battles, those with titles get theirs displayed as a priority.”
To be fair, the little gimmicks from the tech companies were pretty effective. With each announcement, the energy in the arena ramped up.
Only those who were exceptional or had great potential could earn a title. Most people, once they had the gloves, went all out trying to get one—which made it a good motivator.
Su Cha’s lips twitched as he listened, his expression turning slightly awkward.
Rong Shao didn’t notice. He was frowning as he stared at the figure of the player who just walked in. “Swordsman, huh? That guy’s probably good with cold weapons. Better not get into close combat with him.”
Titles revealed some of a contestant’s talent. Not just Rong Shao—many others were analyzing the player’s strengths.
The spectator stands were abuzz.
“They got a title even before awakening. Must have serious potential.”
“Jero’s really trying to stage a comeback this year.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions. The affiliated school probably has a few title holders too.”
While the discussions continued, it was finally Su Cha’s team’s turn.
Ji Tianjin led the way, and as he stepped into the tunnel, the announcer’s voice rang out again:
“Team He’s Here is entering the field—welcome, ‘Storm’…”
Su Cha was right behind Ji Tianjin. When his turn came, his steps faltered for a few seconds at the tunnel entrance. Many in the crowd saw it and assumed he was scared.
Ji Tianjin didn’t turn around, but said quietly, “Don’t be afraid.”
“Don’t be afraid.”
Another voice came almost simultaneously—Liu Xiqin, the always-silent one.
With his teammates’ reassurance, Su Cha closed his eyes and stepped forward into the tunnel. Scanners swept across his mechanical glove, and the walls of the tunnel gave a faint tremble.
Su Cha knew this moment had to come eventually—that cringe-worthy, scalp-tingling title was finally about to be revealed to the world.
The AI announcer’s voice rose a full octave, louder than before: “Let’s give a warm welcome to—
Treasure Boy!”
Silence fell over the entire arena.
Ji Tianjin, walking ahead, froze mid-step and slowly turned back. “Who’s Treasure Boy?”
Su Cha: “Treasure Boy is me.”
