Adrian stepped forward. He was tall and strikingly handsome, but when he was angry, his presence was truly intimidating. The two stood so close that their breaths tangled together.

“We haven’t even talked things through. What are you in such a hurry to get back to?” Adrian demanded harshly. “You’re the one who asked me to come here. Now you’re just brushing me off? Can’t even manage a few sentences without getting annoyed?”

Zhong Yan shouted, “Let go!”

He was used to maneuvering in political circles, where everyone was always polished and proper, where deception played out through strategy and manipulation, never brute force. He’d never been held down like this before. He struggled, but being half a head shorter than Adrian and facing the former top-ranking single-combat graduate of the Military Academy, he had no chance of escaping. His resistance only exhausted what little strength he had left.

“Listen, I’m not spending an extra cent on you. You can either obediently refuse the offer and transfer me the forty thousand, or you can fork out the full three hundred and sixty thousand.” Adrian looked down at him with cold eyes, his silver gaze full of fire, glowing in the dim hallway. “—And I don’t care about your reputation. Don’t expect me to cover your tab.”

“Let go…” Zhong Yan said, head spinning, feeling the absurdity of the situation.

They’d walked this hallway together countless times in the dead of night. They were barely eighteen or nineteen back then, sneaking out just to see each other for a moment. They’d hacked the system, scouted the place, planned routes, created signals, and managed to dodge the school’s monitoring systems to meet up in the middle of the curfew. They never really had anything important to say—just whispers about daily life, a rumor about some professor at the Military Academy or how good the new sweets were at the Social Academy’s main building, or even just silly stories about classmates getting caught using the school’s forum during class… It was all just a thrill, a rebellious joy.

Back then, they never could’ve imagined that years later, they’d meet in this secret hideout again, under such miserable circumstances.

“Let’s talk somewhere else,” Zhong Yan said softly, lowering his head. “Another day… some other time, somewhere else.”

“Oh, so when you say another day, it’s another day? I’m very busy, Congressman. I don’t have time to waste on your endless games. And besides—I don’t ever want to see you again.”

Zhong Yan suddenly looked up, exploding, “How can you be like this?!”

In such close proximity, even in the dim light, Adrian could see clearly—Zhong Yan’s eyes were red.

How could he be like this? Adrian was momentarily stunned. Why did Zhong Yan look like he was about to cry?

“This is ‘up there’! Can’t you say it somewhere else? How can you just— and in the ‘lab’ too, you…” Zhong Yan’s chest heaved with frustration. Realizing he’d lost his composure, he closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. “It’s nothing. Sorry. I mean… could you let go? You’re hurting me a bit.”

Say it somewhere else? Wasn’t Zhong Yan the one who had arranged to meet here? Adrian felt he was being unreasonable. “The lab”…? Oh, that’s right. Adrian had once pretended to gift him a rabbit specimen at the “lab,” which had since been completely remodeled. Word had it that Zhong Yan had looked like he’d been crying when he entered the ceremony hall that day.

But he hadn’t even mentioned the rabbit yet. What was he crying about now?

He let go of Zhong Yan’s wrist, baffled. But as soon as he released him, Zhong Yan’s knees buckled. Startled, Adrian instinctively reached out to steady him. “What’s—”

Only then did he notice how pale Zhong Yan’s face was, almost sickly, with patches of flushed red on his cheeks.

Zhong Yan staggered back, leaning against the wall to steady himself.

“Another time.” He panted. “I… I have something to take care of now.”

Adrian pressed his lips together. Just now, holding Zhong Yan’s waist, even through the thin fabric of his shirt, he’d felt the shocking heat of his body—Zhong Yan had a fever. No wonder he hadn’t been his usual composed self, rambling instead.

But Adrian didn’t plan on letting him off the hook.

“No. If we’re talking, let’s settle it now. I won’t see you again after today. You don’t want to pay, but you also won’t stand up against the ‘Butterfly,’ and you’re fine with marrying someone you don’t care for just because of it? Marriage is a sacred thing, and you’re treating it so casually?—What’s so funny?”

Zhong Yan had suddenly chuckled softly, but he stopped when Adrian called him out, shaking his head. “I’m laughing at you. After all these years, you’re still so naive. Marriage is sacred, so even if it means losing your job, draining your savings, you have to defend it, right? And that grand ambition is worth abandoning everything for, following no matter the cost, isn’t it?”

His voice was low and calm, laced with a faint hint of mockery. Adrian glared coldly at him, responding firmly, “Yes, of course it is!”

“That’s what you think. Not everyone is born into a distinguished family like you, with unlimited wealth at their disposal. I was abandoned by my parents the moment I entered this world. I have nothing. Do you have any idea what it’s like in an orphanage on a poor planet? Do you know what it’s like being passed around foster homes, living off others’ goodwill, enduring mistreatment, and being ignored? You have no clue. You’ve always been the center of attention, getting whatever you wanted. And I climbed my way up to where I am now, through twenty years of grit and persistence! And now, at the final moment, I’m supposed to throw it all away just because a friend decides to rally against it?”

The more Zhong Yan spoke, the more agitated he became. He rarely showed such emotion, and he paused, panting, glaring at Adrian. “I’m sorry, but even if that friend is you, I just can’t.”

Adrian glared back fiercely. “So this is why you betrayed me?”

“You call this betrayal? When we graduated, the situation was different. Most people accepted ‘Butterfly’s’ arrangements, and I know you still keep in touch with some of them, except you blocked my number. Feng Weiran, your friend from the Military Academy, took Butterfly’s offer and went to the Glory Star Zone. Last year, as far as I know, you even granted special permission for his wife’s merchant ship to enter the Navi Star Zone multiple times. Did they ‘betray’ you too? So why don’t you block them? Why only hate me?”

Zhong Yan’s words came out in a rush, as though he’d been holding them back for a long, long time, and finally found the chance to let it all out.

“Feng was just—wait,” Adrian’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’ve been monitoring my network of relationships.”

Zhong Yan was nearly at his limit, body weak, mind fuzzy. “Yes. I abused my position. Just one of the many perks of power. No congressman is spotless. Isn’t that what you all always preach?”

To his shock, Adrian found himself at a loss for words—Zhong Yan had shamelessly admitted it, even taking his line. But Adrian quickly returned to the previous topic. “Feng is from Glory. He always planned to go back, he only accepted his ideal job—how is that betrayal?”

“And I only accepted my ideal job too!”

“Your ideal job is to serve as a lackey for the ‘Butterfly’? When I talked to you about the necessity of human self-governance, why didn’t you say anything? You kept quiet, misleading me for three years!”

“What was I supposed to say? That while you were condemning Artificial Intelligence and railing against Butterfly, that I might go into Congress? Back then, that was hardly likely. What was the point of mentioning it?”

“There was a point. If I’d known you were this kind of person—” Adrian enunciated each word, “I never would’ve been friends with you.”

The words seemed to break the last bit of strength keeping Zhong Yan upright, and he slumped down, hitting his arm hard against the edge of the stairs.

This time, Adrian didn’t reach out.

“I have things to do,” Zhong Yan said, unable to stand, his vision fading to black. He tried to hold onto his last shred of dignity, though his voice was faltering. “We’re done talking. Leave.”

“Fine, suit yourself.” Adrian spat, leaving him without a second glance.

As he exited the tower, Adrian ran into a floating surveillance camera.

Having once used the tower’s rooftop as a secret meeting spot, he knew all the cameras here well. For instance, he knew that this particular camera, hovering above, would eventually fly inside to patrol the whole corridor before exiting through the top-floor window. It had no real-time response capabilities and no advanced analysis system, so it was small—only about the size of half a fist.

But it did have a temperature-detection function.

The school’s surveillance system would process these feeds hourly, which meant—Adrian checked his wrist terminal—that in forty minutes, it would detect the presence of an overheated person in the west wing of the Art Academy. A fever wasn’t critical, so the alert wouldn’t be sent to the school’s medical center. But deep into the night, the appearance of an unmarked individual in such a remote spot would trigger a low-level security alert. Security would likely arrive within ten minutes.

In other words, within an hour, someone would discover Congressman Zhong Yan burning with fever.

But Zhong Yan wouldn’t call for help. Adrian knew he hated showing weakness more than anything and was always conscious of his image. No way would he contact his assistant.

Adrian lifted his head, seeing the patrol camera rising toward the platform on the second floor. In a few seconds, it would enter the corridor and capture Zhong Yan.

Adrian closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He spun around, ran up, leaped into the air, bracing against a wall to grab the camera, flipping back down gracefully.

He crushed the camera in his hand, stuffing its remnants into his jacket pocket, and walked back into the stairwell, face darkened.

Just as he reached the third floor, a faint, restrained sobbing sound echoed from above. Although muffled, he could recognize it—it was all too familiar.