The principal didn’t stay long, only mentioning that the medical leave slip from the hospital had been extended until the 15th.
Su Cha understood the hidden message: lie low for a few more days and don’t blow your cover.
The incident during the mock battle had left the military in chaos. Their priority was to uncover why Mike had been turned—everything from his school days to his military service was being thoroughly scrutinized.
The discovery of a mole prompted a deep internal investigation within the military.
Such screenings are always time-consuming and exhausting. Amid his busy schedule, Yise asked about Su Cha’s situation. He had initially advised Su Cha to remain silent and wait for him to deal with it once he had the time.
Then he heard Su Cha had been suddenly hospitalized.
After the personal guard briefly explained Su Cha’s situation, he added, “It’s said the kid is in such a miserable state that even the Investigation Department is having a hard time pressuring the hospital to stay quiet.”
Yise, who was signing a document, raised an eyebrow at that. “They can’t suppress it?”
Isn’t the Investigation Department known for its ability to cover things up?
The personal guard painted the scene vividly: “Every midnight, the corridor echoes with his screams from nightmares.”
Yise paused mid-signature. The pen dug a deep scratch into the paper.
Meeting the general’s eyes, the personal guard played two surveillance videos. One showed Su Cha being carried out of the Investigation Department HQ on a stretcher. The other captured a piercing scream in the dead silence of the corridor at midnight:
“Don’t come any closer—!”
Yise: “……”
Guard: “Heart palpitations cause nightmares. And if you have nightmares, of course you’re going to scream, right?”
There was a short silence before Yise’s lips curled slightly. “Xie Rongjue was clever enough—he led the team to chase the space pirates himself and left the radicals in the department to make a mess.”
Now, if anything went wrong, he wouldn’t have to take the blame—at most, he’d be accused of poor oversight.
Yise looked at his guard. “Resubmit the Honor Medal application. This time, they’ll approve it.”
***
Three days later, the Investigation Department sent over the Rose Warrior medal. Su Cha understood this was their way of trying to settle the matter quietly, so he agreed to be discharged.
The medal’s petals were half-open, a crystal-clear red. Roses usually symbolized passion, but this one looked incredibly proud and aloof, like a snow lotus blooming on a frozen peak.
When Su Cha was discharged, all his teammates came to greet him.
The medal was pinned to the shirt under his jacket, faintly visible through the translucent raincoat.
“Not bad,” Rong Shao whistled. “The Investigation Department finally did something decent for once.”
Su Cha noticed that the others were wearing medals too, though not the same kind.
“Warrior’s Medal,” Rong Shao explained. It was awarded because they chose to return and rescue their teammate, successfully stalling until help arrived—recognition and encouragement from above.
“But it’s obviously not on the same level as your Rose Warrior.”
Seeing Su Cha’s confusion, Rong Shao explained, “One of the best things about our academy is that the top 50% of students get direct admission to the First Military Academy after graduation. But now that you have this honor, even if your grades fall short, you’ll still be guaranteed a place.”
“When you enter the military, you’ll also get promoted faster than others.”
“And your children will be eligible for direct admission to the affiliated high school without needing to test.”
“…Why does it feel like I won’t need any of those?” Su Cha thought.
But the others didn’t think that way. The Wu siblings were clearly envious.
Su Cha looked at their medals.
Rong Shao pouted. “Comparing ourselves to you just pisses us off. All we got was 300,000 star coins each.”
Su Cha forced a smile.
Poor guy, must’ve been so hard for you.
They boarded Ji Tianjin’s spacecraft to return to school.
It was the latest model, exceptionally spacious and comfortable.
Worried about falling behind in his studies, Su Cha asked if school had started while he was hospitalized.
The usually quiet Liu Xiqin replied, “They redid the preliminaries yesterday. The school year will start after the finals.”
“There’s still a competition?” Given what had happened, Su Cha thought the league would’ve been canceled.
The others didn’t seem surprised at all. They even nodded as if it was perfectly normal.
It wasn’t the first time an accident had occurred during a competition. For instance, back in Star Year 359, students encountered a swarm of insect beasts during a wilderness survival training. Only half survived, and those survivors were quickly transferred to a safe planet to continue their training.
To the people of the Empire, the harsher the environment, the better the training.
Liu Xiqin looked out the window. “I heard from my family that strange beasts have been evolving rapidly over the past century. Our generation can’t afford to slack off.”
For the first time, Su Cha truly felt the harshness of the interstellar era. The strength and peace of today were forged through fire and blood. After a moment of silence, he asked, “Since I missed the preliminaries, does that mean I…”
Knowing what he meant, Ji Tianjin—still piloting the spacecraft—spoke up, “We were directly seeded into the finals.”
Their outstanding performance during the incident had earned them that privilege. It was an official decision, and no one objected.
The school was still the same as before, except there were now a few bouquets of flowers placed by the sidewalks—memorials for the new students who had died in the accident.
The gentle Wu Shui softly said, “Once I get to the interstellar battlefield, the first thing I’ll do is kill a space pirate.”
Brutality and evil were trademarks of the space pirates. They often treated humans even worse than strange beasts did.
Su Cha felt a bit heavy-hearted for a moment.
The girls’ dorm was a little closer. Wu Shui stopped walking and asked, “Are you going to train later?”
Ji Tianjin shook his head. “A few hours won’t make a difference. Let’s wait for the official notice to see if the finals venue will change.”
They needed confirmation of the location before planning their strategy.
Everyone went back to their dorms.
The window had been left open; a layer of dust had settled in the room. After watering the flowers, Su Cha cleaned everything thoroughly inside and out.
Around 4:30 PM, the league’s official site posted an update: the competition location remained unchanged—Desolate Planet No. 37.
Real combat was much tougher than holographic simulations and required a lot more preparation. Desolate Planet No. 37 was mostly desert, so they had to consider everything from combat equipment to weapons to daily necessities like tents.
Buying all this would cost quite a bit.
Su Cha’s teammates were all wealthy and would surely prepare everything for him too. But he wanted to take care of it himself. Absorbing new toxic plants would benefit his Overlord Flower, and he needed to buy seeds, supplies, and other items—there were plenty of things to spend money on. He couldn’t keep relying on others.
The doctor had advised him not to use his spiritual power much this week, meaning he had to put off making food that helped soothe mental agitation.
Standing on the balcony, Su Cha browsed task listings and part-time jobs, but didn’t find many that suited him. As dinnertime approached, he decided to go to the cafeteria to eat and relax a bit.
On the way, he ran into the Wu siblings—they weren’t wearing their uniforms.
Wu Shui explained, “We’re going to shoot an ad.”
“An ad?”
“Yeah. The endorsement fee isn’t the main thing—the brand promised that as long as we film it, they’ll give us a full set of their newest protective gear.”
Good gear isn’t something money alone can buy—sometimes you couldn’t get it even if you queued overnight when it first launched. As long as it wasn’t during class, the school approved these kinds of outings.
Thanks to the simulated battle, they had gained some fame. Su Cha only learned from the Wu siblings that everyone else had taken ad jobs too.
After dinner, Su Cha sat on the bleachers by the basketball court, resting his face on his hand, muttering, “Why can’t anyone see the hero in me?”
Actually, it wasn’t that brands looked down on him. Most ads in the interstellar era were filmed in real-world settings, and the products needed to be operated with spiritual power.
That was something Su Cha couldn’t do at all.
“Student Su Cha, someone’s here for you,” said a guard on the evening shift.
At the school gate, a bald man was pacing nervously. When he saw Su Cha, he smiled awkwardly, “Nice to meet you.”
The man handed over a business card and got straight to the point. “We’d like to invite you to be our product ambassador.”
Su Cha glanced at the company’s business: herbal supplements for kidney health and vitality.
“It’s like this. We saw how you made all the beasts on the mountain go into heat—”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” Su Cha stuffed the card back into his pocket. “I’m thirteen.”
“Age isn’t a problem.”
Su Cha declined.
Still unwilling to give up, the bald man chased after him. “Su Cha, we can negotiate the price! Wait—don’t go… treasure boy!”
Su Cha turned his head and said coldly, “I’m calling the police.”
The bald man finally left, dejected.
Later that evening, another advertiser approached him. Same type of product.
“Listen, kid, with your image, it’d be a shame not to endorse our product.”
Su Cha replied indifferently, “I’m still young. I don’t deserve to be called ‘kid’ like that.”
“Treasure boy, listen—your image…”
After rambling on and on, the other man seemed to sense Su Cha’s growing resentment and gave up.
“Young man.” Just as Su Cha was turning to leave again, someone called out to him. “Interested in endorsing our functional drink?”
“Please keep all virility-related products away from my life. Thank you.”
The person froze. “We make anti-fatigue and energy-boosting drinks.”
Su Cha paused and coughed. “Sorry, it’s just that everyone who came before you…”
He didn’t finish, but the man clearly understood from his expression and nodded sympathetically. “Our brand, TriStrong Drinks, is a newly established company.”
The name alone made Su Cha want to walk away.
“Three million starcoins for the endorsement.”
Su Cha immediately changed his expression and smiled. “If your product and license are legit, I’ll sign.”
After finding his market niche, and through the recommendation of the TriStrong rep, Su Cha successfully picked up a few more endorsements. He started to love the interstellar era—shooting multiple ads a day, and the money came in fast.
The finals of the Ten Schools Tournament were postponed by a week, giving them more time to prepare.
They gathered in Ji Tianjin’s dorm to strategize.
The top-floor luxury suite was top-notch in experience and comfort, complete with an automatic beverage machine with various chilled flavors.
Ji Tianjin handed Su Cha a silver coin—inside was the equipment he’d need for the finals.
“How much? I’ll pay you.”
“No need,” Ji Tianjin replied honestly. “Your plants are very useful. We’re sharing the cost.”
Su Cha looked serious. “I’ve got money.”
Ji Tianjin nodded and pulled out a map. “On the desolate planet, we’ll face not only strange beasts but also some dangerous animals.”
Di Yuan Si frowned. “I specialize in ambushes—not ideal in the desert.”
Su Cha: “Seriously, I have money.”
Rong Shao handed him a glass of juice. “Don’t forget to coat your mechanical gloves with heat insulation.”
Su Cha opened his account and displayed his balance.
Everyone stopped talking.
Rong Shao stared at the long string of zeros. “Where’d that come from?”
Su Cha smiled like he was about to flick his fox tail. “Secret.”
…
Everyone at school was striving—just in different ways.
The StarNet was the Empire’s most functional and widely covered network. Beyond basic internet use, it allowed immersive live broadcasts, seamless communication, and even long-distance military star zone navigation.
At school, StarNet was mainly used for simulation matches.
“Whoa…” A cool senior raised her brows. “This ad’s pretty well-shot, almost cinematic.”
StarNet required heavy funding to maintain. Before each login, a 10-second ad would play, skippable after 5 seconds.
A waterfall hung upside down, crashing down like a violent thunderstorm. A motorcycle zoomed through the torrent, leaping off slick rocks. In midair, Ji Tianjin raised GRM’s latest silver hunting pistol and hit a row of moving targets with precision.
The ad felt epic—so much so that the senior forgot to skip it.
“TriStrong Drinks—feel powerful all over!”
The tone shifted instantly. Su Cha, holding a drink with one hand, seemed to pop out of the screen. Next to him stood a balloon mock-up of the star pirate Fasite. Su Cha punched it to pieces and flashed a bright smile: “This formula—Su Cha approves!”
On a nearby screen, another ad played. Su Cha wore a straw hat, smiling honestly: “Jialejia Fertilizer, the best you’ll ever use!”
The garish ad visuals made students frantically search for the close button—only to find it cleverly hidden in the background.
Clicking the wrong spot plunged viewers into full 3D immersion.
Su Cha walked toward them: “Jialejia Fertilizer…”
He poured the fertilizer onto soil, but it looked so real that students swore it was going into their mouths. They scrambled to find the close button.
The endorsement fees for these ads were very high—part of an aggressive marketing strategy. Even Su Cha hadn’t expected them to appear on the highest-traffic StarNet.
“D*mn…” One traumatized student couldn’t suffer alone. He called his friend: “Hurry! Log into StarNet! There’s a surprise in the ads!”
His friend, confused, clicked in.
Three seconds later: “What the—where’s the skip button!?”
Even after escaping, the jingles echoed in his head.
He quickly shared it in a group chat: “StarNet’s got a surprise.”
One message spread to ten, then a hundred—Su Cha’s ads began showing up everywhere.
Principal’s office.
While reviewing midyear reports, the principal picked up a call. “What is it?”
It was Principal Paxi of Jero Academy, the school that had faced them in the preliminaries. “Listen, no child should suffer, and no education should be denied due to poverty.”
“I don’t have time for riddles.”
Paxi: “Just log into StarNet.”
The principal paused, logged in—
An ad played without warning. Su Cha flipped his silver hair, smiling devilishly: “Power Pill—once you take it, your enemies are all… DOOMED!”
Each of the last words was dramatically drawn out.
“…”
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