When Li Po walked out of the tall tower, large swathes of warm yellow light poured down from above, landing on the edges of his clothes that were fluttering in the breeze. His light tea-colored eyes squinted slightly as he silently gazed at the setting sun on the horizon.

With an indifferent expression, he walked outward, his pale and delicate face devoid of any emotion. Even the redness at the corners of his eyes had faded completely. The emotions he had displayed earlier in front of Jiang Yu had vanished without a trace, and no one could have guessed that this Omega had been crying just a short while ago—though, admittedly, it was all his own doing.

Li Po held the handkerchief stained with his tears tightly in his hand, his face expressionless as he walked forward, encountering quite a few Alphas along the way.

“Hey, check it out, isn’t that the Omega who’s been flirting around ever since he came in?”

“Damn, this little O is hot. Do you think he’s been marked?”

“Wipe the drool off your mouth before it drips onto my hand.” One Alpha shot his companion a disdainful glance before speaking with a meaningful tone, “Use that thing between your legs and think about it, would it be possible? Could you resist such a pretty O? But… a permanent mark? Definitely not. If he had one, he wouldn’t be allowed in the S District.”

The other Alpha wiped his mouth regretfully, “Tsk, too bad. It’d be nice to have a taste. But it looks like he came out of that tower…”

As soon as he said that, both of them fell silent.

“Uh… didn’t you say he was flirting with everyone? Could it be…”

Just imagining the scenario made the Alpha shudder violently. “Don’t talk nonsense! If the officer finds out we’ve been badmouthing him behind his back, we’re done for. And that Omega’s no fool—he could flirt with anyone, but he dares to mess with him? Don’t overthink it, it’s definitely official business!”

They thought they were speaking quietly enough for no one to notice, but they didn’t realize that every word had reached Li Po’s ears, loud and clear.

Li Po’s lips twitched slightly, his eyes cold and emotionless.

Flirting? He found it rather amusing. People had always flirted with him, when had he ever flirted with anyone? Of course, if those Alphas insisted on thinking they were so irresistible, there was nothing he could do about that.

With this thought, he lowered his gaze coldly and walked past the two Alphas without sparing them a glance.

“Damn, so pure…”

“Stop gawking, check your communicator, something big seems to have happened.”

“…???!!!”

–

Although the upper levels of S District tried to suppress the spread of information, there were too many Alphas who had witnessed the parasitic incident. Panic spread, and the news eventually leaked, quickly circulating throughout the entire S District.

Despite this, few Alphas actually believed it. Most of them scoffed and didn’t take it seriously.

“Parasitism? What kind of interstellar joke is that! If pollutants could parasitize humans, we’d all be dead by now.”

“Exactly! Whoever started that rumor must be sick in the head. May they never get close to an Omega!”

S District had extremely strict rules and regulations. Every action of the combatants was closely monitored, and any misstep could result in military punishment. As a result, the Alphas were always careful with their words, afraid of saying the wrong thing. The recent rumors, spreading like wildfire, had directly hit a nerve.

Many were waiting for the rumor-spreader to be punished, and they even speculated gleefully about whether the culprit would have their eyes gouged out and be expelled from S District. The thought of such a scene made some shiver in anticipation.

As a secret military district, S District’s geographical location, building layouts, defensive facilities, and personnel were all shrouded in mystery to outsiders. While many people knew of S District’s existence, beyond its name, they knew nothing about it.

S District maintained this secrecy by tightly controlling who could enter and exit. Apart from receiving a batch of cadets who passed the annual assessment, S District had no open channels for outsiders—not even high-ranking officials from human bases could get in. The confidentiality measures were extremely thorough.

As for leaving, that was even more difficult. Unless on a mission, combatants didn’t have permission to board the starships, and without them, they couldn’t leave S District. In short, unless you were willing to risk your life for S District, you had no personal freedom—unless you were exiled.

S District rarely exiled anyone, and when they did, it was for only a few reasons. One such reason was contracting a terminal illness or suffering from a severe mental disorder. In those cases, S District would erase their memories and send them back to human bases to live out the rest of their lives as ordinary people.

The other situation was if they made a grave mistake. Leaking S District’s secrets, deserting, betraying teammates, or stirring up large-scale dissent were all reasons for severe punishment. In these cases, S District’s methods were far from gentle: lobotomies, drug-induced muting, limb removal, eye gouging… and then dumping the bloody remains into the darkest slums of the human bases, where pollutants lurking in the shadows would finish them off.

This was the darkest side of S District. They were ruthless toward traitors, and because of this, no one dared to violate S District’s taboos, ensuring that S District remained as mysterious as ever.

At the thought of this, a cold sweat broke out on the backs of many Alphas. Still, it had been a while since any Alpha had been foolish enough to walk into their own death. Some couldn’t help but feel a bit of schadenfreude as they awaited the district’s punishment notice.

But as they waited, they suddenly realized that not only had the rumors not been debunked, they were close to being confirmed!

–

Zong Mao hadn’t seen Hong Mao in days.

He was annoyed by Hong Mao’s stubbornness—despite hitting a wall, he refused to turn back, like a mule that couldn’t be dragged away. Still, Zong Mao felt a twinge of guilt. If it weren’t for him pushing Hong Mao into provoking that Omega, none of this disaster would’ve happened.

Frustrated, Zong Mao ruffled his hair and stomped his foot, forcing himself to walk toward Hong Mao’s dormitory. His footsteps were heavy.

Outside room 414.

Zong Mao took a deep breath and raised his hand, knocking gently on the door.

One second, two seconds, three seconds… Half a minute passed, and inside, it was dead silent. The oppressive stillness seemed to seep out from behind the door, wrapping Zong Mao in it.

“Asleep?” Zong Mao’s brow furrowed as something flashed through his mind, but before he could grasp it, the thought was gone.

Scratching his face, Zong Mao felt an odd ache in his teeth. Unwilling to give up, he knocked again, this time harder, loud enough for the neighboring rooms to hear.

Suddenly, the door next door opened.

An Alpha, radiating annoyance, stomped out. His face was stormy as he gave Zong Mao a dirty look. “What’s with the knocking, trying to give someone a funeral?”

His temper was short, and he wasn’t done venting. Just as he was about to say more, his eyes caught Zong Mao’s movements. With just one look, his expression froze, and he swallowed the rest of his words.

Zong Mao didn’t notice this change and quickly apologized. “Sorry, I’m looking for someone. Do you know where the Alpha who lives here went? He doesn’t seem to be in his room.”

Upon hearing this, the Alpha’s expression visibly worsened. He shot Zong Mao a glance and grumbled, “Are you his friend?”

Zong Mao hesitated. He wanted to say no, but seeing the Alpha’s hostile expression, he reluctantly nodded. “Yes.”

The Alpha was silent for a moment, sizing up Zong Mao from head to toe before finally fixing his gaze on Zong Mao’s flamboyant brown hair. Snorting disdainfully, the Alpha coughed and muttered, “He’s dead.”

Zong Mao didn’t hear clearly. “What?”

The Alpha, clearly irritated, repeated in a louder voice, “Dead!”

This time, the volume shocked Zong Mao, causing him to take a step back, his ears ringing.

But soon, Zong Mao forgot about his ears, his eyes widening in disbelief as he stared at the Alpha.

“…What did you just say? Dead?!”

Zong Mao’s face turned pale, his thin fingers clenching the doorframe so tightly that his nails dug into the wood. He didn’t even notice when splinters pierced his skin. The two light words fell on his ears like a heavy weight, leaving him standing there, dumbfounded, as if struck by lightning.

The Alpha had run out of patience. He scratched his ear and muttered, “Can’t you hear?” before turning around and slamming the door behind him with a loud “bang.”

Zong Mao stood there in a daze for a long time, staring blankly at the door. It wasn’t until a cold chill crept up his spine that he snapped back to reality. His back was soaked in sweat, and he gasped for breath, his legs feeling weak.

Slowly, the initial shock passed, but the growing sense of fear tightened around his heart.

Hong Mao was dead?

How could he have died so suddenly?

The last time they met, Hong Mao had been severely injured, but those were just flesh wounds, nothing fatal. Even if the wounds got infected, White Tower’s doctors would have treated him—it should never have reached the point of death. So, what had happened?

Could it be that Hong Mao hated him so much that he’d colluded with the neighbor to avoid him?

…Actually, that seemed likely.

The more Zong Mao thought about it, the more reasonable it seemed. He suddenly felt that his earlier actions were incredibly stupid. He had been moved by his own sentiment, only to become a joke for others to laugh at in secret. Ridiculous!

With his palm turning pale from the force, Zong Mao angrily grabbed the door handle, intending only to vent his frustration. But unexpectedly, with a creak, the door—opened.

“???”

Zong Mao looked as if he had seen a ghost, staring in disbelief at the door.

You see, in order to ensure the privacy of its combatants and provide a quiet resting environment, S District had installed the highest-grade iris recognition system in all the dormitories. Only a successful iris scan could unlock the door; even trying to pick the lock wouldn’t work.

Except for one extreme possibility.

That possibility was—

The combatant had died, their information erased from the system, and the room’s status changed to, [Unoccupied]