The next morning, Su Cha woke up very early. The first thing he did was say to the guard stationed at the door, “I’d like to read the newspaper for a bit. Is that okay?”
So many reporters had shown up yesterday—regardless of whether they caught anything substantial, they were bound to publish something.
Every day, several copies of the day’s newspapers were placed in the hospital’s lounge. The guard brought a few for him. Today’s front page headline was especially bolded—impossible to ignore:
<Another Victim? When Will Live Experimentation Be Held Accountable?>
“…The Xilin Group illegally funded Dr. Jin and several other researchers to conduct unauthorized experiments…”
Su Cha skimmed the article quickly, scanning ten lines at a glance. Several other pages were also dedicated to related reports, and he didn’t skip a single one.
He then picked up the other two newspapers, which looked more flashy and exaggerated in design. One of the articles was titled: <Smile and Keep Living>
In the accompanying photo, he was smiling brightly and waving to the crowd. Su Cha’s eyelid twitched slightly, but he kept reading.
The headline might’ve been gaudy, but the article actually helped him understand more about Galan Star.
People of the Galan Empire were born without a sense of smell, and their sense of taste rapidly declined after birth. There had been no breakthroughs in related fields of research. Xilin Group had once been the Empire’s top conglomerate. At its peak, it became bold enough to challenge the Empire’s authority. If they could find a way to restore the public’s sense of smell, they stood to gain both massive profits and social prestige.
After the live experimentation scandal was exposed, the Xilin Group quickly collapsed. However, though those involved were arrested, their punishments had yet to be made public.
Su Cha closed the paper and gazed out the window, realizing his current situation was precarious. If those arrested discovered he wasn’t really one of the experimental subjects, last night’s probe might’ve actually been a good thing.
“…Experimental subject…”
He couldn’t help recalling the final scene of his dream.
Those people in white coats pacing back and forth—were they just part of the dream, or had they actually existed?
He had suddenly appeared on Galan Star, looking like a teenager again. After the teleportation, he’d spent a long time in a dazed and foggy state—something might have happened during that time.
Noticing Su Cha staring blankly at the newspaper, the guard walked in and asked, “Would you like to watch some TV?”
Su Cha nodded. The guard pressed a button somewhere, and the center of the wall extended outward, revealing a projection screen.
Only then did Su Cha realize he was staying in a VIP hospital room—not only was there a TV, but also a home theater mode.
“The enrollment season at the First Military Academy’s affiliated high school is nearing its end. Out of hundreds of thousands of candidates, only 3,000 have made it to the final elimination round…”
The screen lit up with news.
When he heard that hundreds of thousands of people competed for a single high school, Su Cha couldn’t help but sympathize: “Is it that hard to get in?”
After last night’s events, the guard had become much friendlier toward him and replied, “The actual number of applicants each year exceeds ten million. The hundreds of thousands mentioned are already the ones filtered through district-level selections—only they are qualified to participate in the admission process.”
Su Cha felt a pang of relief. “Good thing I can read.”
No need to go to school, then.
The guard didn’t catch the deeper meaning behind his words and added, “There are many schools in the Empire, but the First Military Academy Affiliated High School is the best. Half of its graduates are guaranteed admission into the First Military Academy.”
Su Cha, however, quickly lost interest and switched channels. The next was a military training broadcast, the one after that a boxing match.
He clicked through one by one, unconvinced. Out of a hundred channels, eighty were military-related. The rest were either news or live sports.
“…”
Excellent. So much for entertainment.
The guard was surprised that Su Cha seemed uninterested in any of these programs. “There’s a live combat match today—it’s the highest-rated show in the entire Empire.”
Su Cha spoke his honest thoughts: “I just want to read and go online.”
Only that way could he truly learn about this planet.
“Once we get to Fukui Island, everything will be fine.”
“Fukui Island?”
“A rehabilitation island. The facilities and environment there are excellent, very helpful for mental recovery.”
The guard put it gently. In truth, Fukui Island was specifically designed to create an optimal recovery environment for people who had suffered mental trauma.
Su Cha asked, “Are there books?”
“There are. The island has a large library.” The guard tried to explain things as simply as possible. “Every day after you wake up, you can lie on the beach and soak in the sun, go to the library in the afternoon, and enjoy the sea breeze in the evening.”
A beam of sunlight streamed in through the window. Su Cha suddenly felt like the world had love again.
“What about General Yise?” He imitated the way the doctor addressed him yesterday. “Is there anything I can do?”
Although the media’s language was inflammatory, when it came to live human experiments, the press undoubtedly sided with the people. They wanted to use a breakthrough point to force the empire to eradicate all involved personnel.
The guard just shook his head.
It wasn’t the right time yet. As one of Yise’s most trusted subordinates, he knew more of the truth. This wasn’t just a power struggle between the empire and the corporations—it involved much more than what had been made public.
Only after making his position clear did the guard answer the earlier question. “The general returned yesterday to report to his superiors. As for today’s schedule, I don’t know.”
…
With his hand wrapped in bandages, it was hard to do anything. It was just a small cut, after all. Su Cha tore off the bandages and casually cut up a newspaper into little squares, making a makeshift deck of playing cards.
His dream retirement life: gardening, walking birds, and playing cards.
Might as well start with one of them.
He played a solitaire-style game by himself.
The rules were simple—divide the cards into two equal piles. When the same card appeared, the player could ‘swallow’ all the cards in between. The one with more cards at the end won.
“General.” The guard saluted at the door.
Playing cards on the second day of hospitalization—pretty absurd. Caught up in the game, Su Cha hurriedly stuffed the cards into his blanket. When Yise pushed the door open, Su Cha’s hand was still hidden under the covers.
Su Cha said, “I was just about to take a nap.”
The guard noticed his messy hair and the discarded bandages in the trash can and thought Su Cha was hiding his injury out of fear of being punished.
He was so young, unaware that he’d been caught in a political power play last night, and still trying to cover up for someone else’s “mistake.”
Seeing the guard’s increasingly gentle expression gave Su Cha goosebumps. What is he getting emotional over now?
Yise saw through the lie but didn’t expose it. “Feeling unwell?”
“Maybe just a bit stuffy.”
Being stuck in one place—how could that not be boring?
Yise’s next words felt like salvation. “If you’re feeling okay, we can process your discharge today.”
Su Cha nodded without hesitation. “Absolutely fine.”
He had nothing much to pack. Like a little tail, he followed closely behind Yise, eagerly waiting for the discharge papers. When Yise turned around, he saw the kid sitting on a chair behind him, resting his chin on his hand and asking, “Where are we going now?”
Hearing the hopeful tone, Yise gave a vague answer: “A very good place.”
“Fukui Island?”
Sunshine, beaches, libraries, sea breeze—here he comes.
Yise shook his head. “Even better—the First Military Academy Affiliated High School.”
It was the same school just featured on the news, a dream destination for every youth in the empire. Su Cha looked down at his skinny arms and legs and seriously asked, “Do you think… I’m qualified?”
That was the polite way of asking. What he really meant was: Is that even realistic?
Yise replied bluntly, “Military school is the safest place. No matter how long some people’s reach is, they can’t touch you there.”
There was something he didn’t spell out—after graduating from the school, the connections built would be enough to protect Su Cha for life. Public sympathy couldn’t keep him safe forever. Power and resources could.
“But the news said admissions season is almost over, and my age…”
Everyone else seemed to be around 14 or 15.
“Only a year off. I’ll sponsor your admission.”
“…No,” Su Cha firmly refused. He looked at Yise. “How could I let you be tainted because of me?”
Pulling strings? Not in this lifetime.
Yise made a gesture, and the guard closed the door.
“This is the second thing I wanted to tell you.” He stood by the bed. “The floral scent on your body—attempts to extract it have failed.”
Su Cha had sometimes noticed a faint floral scent on himself. He’d assumed it was his demon power slowly recovering. The system had promised to retain his former abilities, but the recovery process couldn’t be sped up.
“The scent is just a manifestation. The hospital’s test results are back—it was premature awakening.”
In most interstellar civilizations, people experienced an awakening at the start of adulthood. This was nearly universal. The type of awakening varied depending on the planet. On Galan Empire’s side, most awakened in mental or physical strength. Due to long histories of war and intermarriage, there were also rare exceptions—grouped under ‘mystic-type’ awakenings.
“If a mystic-type ability is confirmed to be useful, the academy will offer free admission.”
Su Cha asked cautiously, “Is my ability useful?”
Yise replied, “The kind that even the First Military Academy would treat like a treasure.”
Sunlight again flooded Su Cha’s heart.
Yise took out a transparent raincoat. “Military school is strict. I’ve spoken to the administrator. You don’t need to wear a uniform.”
“This coat suppresses abilities and masks special traits.”
“…”
“Your spiritual power is highly unstable. That might lead to a failed awakening. This coat can help.”
Su Cha sat up. “So I need to hide my ability?”
Yise reminded, “Once your ability is fully awakened, you’ll be the empire’s treasure. Until then, let others see your other qualities.”
Su Cha looked thoughtful.
Yise didn’t outright say it, but if the awakening failed, the high expectations could backfire, and all the privileges Su Cha enjoyed would have to be paid back—double.
“The school has a fully closed system. If you run into problems, you can call me.”
A brand-new communicator was placed on the table, already loaded with Yise’s contact. Anyone seeing this would be shocked—Yise never bothered with such details.
But for Yise, this was a fair trade—compensation for dragging Su Cha into last night’s chaos.
Seeing his hesitation, Yise asked, “Do you know why I insisted on sending you there?”
Su Cha was silent for a moment. “Protection and self-protection.”
To ensure his safety, and teach him how to protect himself.
“There’s another reason,” Yise said, shaking his head. “What really made up my mind was something you said yesterday.”
Su Cha’s spiritual power was weak. Even with a mystic-type ability, getting into the affiliated school wouldn’t be easy. Yise could have sent him to a lower-tier academy.
Su Cha looked up, puzzled.
Yise said, “You said, when you grow up, you want to become me.”
Su Cha’s heart skipped a beat.
“I admire your ambition. On the future interstellar battlefield—I’ll be waiting for you.”
