Since childhood, Zhong Yan understood the importance of power and status.

He was once adopted by a couple who had long been unable to have children. The husband was the owner of a local company, making them a wealthy family in the area. Zhong Yan still remembered how envious the other orphans were when he was adopted.

But before a year passed, his adoptive mother got pregnant. They paid a hefty fine to keep the baby, and Zhong Yan was sent back. Only after returning to the orphanage did he learn that his adoptive parents had told the orphanage he had stolen from them. His adoptive father was “generous” enough not to ruin the child’s life with a criminal record, so he signed a nullified adoption agreement with the orphanage.

Somehow, the news leaked, and whispers spread among the kids at the orphanage: that good-looking Zhong Yan was a thief, which was why he’d been sent back.

“I didn’t steal anything!” Seven-year-old Zhong Yan’s face turned red with emotion as he said, “Why would he say that? Let him report it, let the ‘Butterfly’ check! I didn’t do it!”

No one paid him any mind. A staff member grabbed his arm, dragging him back to the dormitory. It didn’t take much to understand—once they had their own child, it was easier to throw the blame on an orphaned kid with no family or background.

Ten years later, Zhong Yan was accepted into the Highest Academy. The first thing he did after escaping that small planet was report the orphanage director’s corruption to the Capital Star.

He was the Federation’s top student, a prestigious new representative of the Highest Academy. The Supreme Council on the Capital Star moved quickly; within two weeks of the semester, he received news that the orphanage had been shut down, bringing down several local bigwigs in the process.

It was all so easy! The mountain that once suffocated him had fallen with a single flick.

It was his first taste of power. Brimming with excitement, he shared the news with his roommate, who told him that such orphanage scandals were common, that the so-called monitoring systems only truly monitored civilians. The higher up someone was, the more ways they had to evade—or even manipulate—the “ever-present” Artificial Intelligence.

His roommate was an anti-AI activist. Zhong Yan didn’t care much. Honestly, it didn’t matter to him if AI ruled humans—or even if Interstellar Giant Rabbits took over—so long as he had a good life. Humanity’s future, whether it survived or perished a hundred years from now, was irrelevant to him.

Heartless? Unfeeling? Call him what you want. He’d never had anyone to care about, and he had no one to care about now.

But there was no need to tell his new roommate this—though from a big family on the Capital Star, his roommate wasn’t a snob at all and treated him kindly, like a real friend.

It was the first time anyone had been so good to him. This was his first friend.

Adrian had said he wouldn’t be his friend anymore.

Zhong Yan was slumped on the stairs, covering his face with his hands as clear, glistening tears seeped through his fingers, falling one by one onto the ground.

In the quiet of midnight, footsteps suddenly echoed down the corridor.

Zhong Yan jolted, hastily wiping his face with his shirt sleeve. He barked, “Who’s there?!”

The footsteps didn’t falter, coming up the stairs. Zhong Yan instinctively tried to hide his disheveled state but found himself too weak to move. He could only watch as the person came into view—

Adrian had never seen Zhong Yan like this before. He was slumped on the ground, looking sickly, his beautiful eyes filled with tears, rimmed in red.

Adrian, feeling a bit awkward, said, “I haven’t even cried, but here you are. What’re you crying for?”

“I’m not crying,” Zhong Yan replied.

Adrian glared at him, so mad he was momentarily speechless. After a pause, he said, “What, did your assistant die or something? Why don’t you get them to pick you up?”

“I’m fine. I’ll sit here for a while and head back.”

Calm down. Don’t get mad. Adrian reminded himself. This guy’s just like this; you know that.

“You really not calling anyone?” he asked, his patience wearing thin.

Zhong Yan felt a chill deep inside, almost shivering. He desperately wanted Adrian to leave, to stop seeing him like this, and said firmly, “I’m fine.”

“Alright then, I’ll call my people.”

“What—” Zhong Yan didn’t finish as Adrian’s coat was roughly thrown over him. Then he suddenly felt light; instinctively, he wrapped his arms around Adrian’s neck as he was lifted.

Tonight had been exhausting for Fein.

He knew that Adrian and Zhong Yan would probably clash, but he hadn’t expected so much news in half a day. The virtual community had been abuzz for hours, and as more people in different time zones woke up, the commotion would likely continue…

But let them talk. The real reason for their visit to the Academy was now completely hidden.

Fein was busy convincing himself of the upside when Adrian’s voice call popped up on his virtual screen.

“Commander, your walk sure took long. Ready to return to the ship?”

“Yeah, on my way back.”

“Great, I’ll have them prepare for our return…”

“Wait. Not yet. Get the medical officer… Don’t move!”

“Uh… I didn’t move?”

“Not you!” Adrian’s voice was irritated. “There’s a camera about ten meters away. You move one more time, I’ll dump you over there. Wanna try?”

Fein, now wide awake, leaned in excitedly. “Whoa! I knew it! Who are you with? A girl from the Academy? And you didn’t call me?”

“Buzz off. Tell the medical officer to prep a bed, clear the clinic, and disable the monitors and audio.”

“What? You’re even bringing them back? And using the clinic bed? This is getting intense!”

Adrian snapped, “What the hell are you thinking? Just get the medical officer to the clinic!”

He ended the call.

Fein mulled over it. Adrian had sounded full of energy, so he wasn’t hurt—so the other person must be. But what kind of injury would someone get in the middle of the night?

Adrian had specifically ordered all clinic surveillance removed…

Fein felt he understood his boss’s intentions perfectly and hurried off to wake the medical officer.

Finally, the medical officer opened the door and glanced at Adrian’s arms. “A man? Alright, they shouldn’t lie down flat; better place him on his side on the bed.”

Adrian, baffled, asked, “Why should he lie on his side? What do you mean, a man?”

The medical officer paused, then looked up. “What caused his fever?”

“Long exposure to cold? Maybe some other stuff. Just check him out.” Adrian set the person down, unusually quiet under his coat.

The medical officer put back the equipment he’d prepared and brought out the regular examination tools.

As he was about to lift the coat, Adrian grabbed his hand.

“You’re sure all the surveillance in here is removed?”

The medical officer nodded. “Disabled everything we could, and those we couldn’t were told to screen the signal.”

“You heard him. No monitors.” Adrian pulled back his coat.

After all that, Zhong Yan’s face was now completely red, though whether from fever, anger, or struggling on the way was hard to tell. He raged, “You’re just too unreasonable! This is—this is—”

“Abduction? Kidnapping a Council member?” Adrian smirked. “Go ahead and report me.”

The medical officer listened to their bickering, only interrupting once Adrian turned to him again. “Commander, are you certain you’re in your right mind? This is Councilor Zhong Yan.”

The officer’s best trait was his composure. But sometimes, he was too calm; he could drop alarming statements with no reaction, which had led more than one person to complain to Adrian, claiming they’d wanted to hit the medical officer every time they saw him.

Adrian’s brow twitched in understanding and, holding back his irritation, said, “Do you need my security code to confirm it? I know who this is! Just treat him already and get him out!”

“I’m not sick!” Zhong Yan protested weakly, each word a struggle, his voice barely convincing.

Just then, someone knocked on the clinic door.

Adrian opened the virtual screen on his terminal and, seeing the message, told the medical officer, “I’ll be back shortly.”

Fein, pacing outside, looked eagerly at Adrian as he came out. “How’s it going? Is he gonna make it?”

Adrian: “…Make it? Weren’t we supposed to discuss the report?”

Fein waved him off. “Eh, the report can wait—this is more urgent. We’re buddies; no need to hide anything. You even carried him back—so did you break his leg?”