The hardest part of military training was the early morning runs. The beds at the base were rock-hard, and He Siheng hadn’t slept well the night before. He was up before six, and by breakfast time after the run, he didn’t know how many yawns he’d let out.
Seeing this, Zhou Yu teased, “Heng Bro, you didn’t kick off your blanket again last night, did you?”
He Siheng had done exactly that the year before—too lazy to deal with it, he’d slept without covers.
Catching the jab, He Siheng laughed and cursed, “Get lost.” Zhou Yu grinned cheekily, but his smile faded when he spotted someone in a certain direction.
He Siheng followed his gaze and saw a group approaching. In the middle, glowering at them, was none other than Du Ziteng, whom he’d taught a lesson just a few days ago.
Their eyes met, and He Siheng lazily raised his hand, curling all fingers except the middle one in an international gesture of goodwill.
“You—”
Du Ziteng, already looking displeased, grew even angrier and seemed ready to start something, but his companion held him back. “Forget it, forget it. That’s He Siheng—you can’t beat him.”
Du Ziteng recalled the humiliation of being pinned down and beaten by He Siheng without a chance to fight back. The bruises on his face still hadn’t fully healed, so he could only swallow his frustration as his friend dragged him away.
He Siheng lowered his middle finger and saw Zhou Yu still staring. He tsked in dissatisfaction. “What, you wanna pick up the trash?”
“That cheating scumbag? Hell no!” Zhou Yu pulled back his gaze. “I’m just wondering—you see those bruises on his face that haven’t healed? Looks like he got beat up right after we broke up.”
He Siheng replied carelessly, “Call it heavenly justice.”
Zhou Yu suddenly remembered that on the day Du Ziteng had messaged him confessing to cheating, He Siheng had overslept at school after classes. He probed cautiously, “Heng Bro, you wouldn’t happen to be that justice, would you?”
He Siheng didn’t hide it. “Just a small effort, nothing worth mentioning.”
As expected!
Zhou Yu threw an arm around his shoulders, face full of emotion. “Heng Bro! You’ll be my good bro for life!”
“Quit grossing me out,” He Siheng shoved him away in disgust. “What bro? I’m straight as steel.”
Zhou Yu laughed. He knew this guy had a fuzzy grasp of secondary genders because he still hadn’t Differentiated. From childhood, he’d only liked girls and had a sister he’d always crushed on.
Especially after that incident with Lu Xinshu, He Siheng had grown averse to guys confessing to him. He rejected guys way more brutally than girls.
After He Siheng flipped him off, Du Ziteng stewed all morning.
After getting beaten by He Siheng last week, he’d planned to pull the surveillance footage to prove it. But the next day at the monitoring room, they told him the classroom camera had conveniently malfunctioned that day—nothing recorded.
It pissed Du Ziteng off to no end. What kind of rotten luck was this? The camera broke early or late, but had to crap out that day.
He nursed that grudge until the live-fire shooting drill that morning, when it finally eased a bit.
Out of ten rounds, he scored seven perfect tens—the best in Class 7. Even the instructor nodded approvingly and said he did well.
On the way to lunch after training, his two lackeys kept chattering.
“As expected of Du Bro—you were badass with that gun.”
“Yeah, yeah. You should’ve seen it—after you finished shooting, half the girls in our class were staring at you with stars in their eyes.”
Du Ziteng waved it off modestly. “It was just seven hits…”
Before he finished, excited chatter from two girls behind him cut in.
“He Siheng and Tan Jing are too OP—ten tens out of ten!”
“Not just OP, they were smoking hot. Watching them shoot in camo? My eyes are pregnant.”
“Bet they’re S-Rank Alphas. Even without releasing Pheromones, I want them to Mark me.”
“Isn’t He Siheng still Undifferentiated? Whatever, doesn’t matter. He’s this Alpha already without Differentiating. Can’t imagine what he’ll be like as an S-Rank Alpha later.”
…
The more he heard, the uglier Du Ziteng’s face got.
He Siheng again! Always He Siheng!
Just some Undifferentiated kid, hogging all the spotlight at school. How was he even worthy?
Meanwhile, He Siheng was sulking over the morning’s live-fire shooting.
He wasn’t one to chase the spotlight, but having Tan Jing steal it made him seriously pissed.
Both had ten tens, but because Tan Jing went after him, he ended up as the brick to attract the jade—totally overshadowed.
This shooting drill made He Siheng realize he really needed to update his view of Tan Jing.
Back in elementary school, the guy had been fragile as glass—twisted an ankle just running laps. What the hell happened in the past four years to change him this much?
Was it Differentiating into an Alpha?
No, this wasn’t Differentiation. This was straight-up a cheat code from the heavens!
The more He Siheng thought, the more depressed he got. His gaze drifted to Tan Jing.
Tan Jing kept his eyes down, eating slowly. The base cafeteria food was notoriously awful, but he ate it without batting an eye. His aura turned plain veggie soup into gourmet cuisine.
He Siheng slammed down his chopsticks and strode over, stopping by his table. “About that stamina contest you mentioned last week—ready to make good on it?”
Pretty much everyone in Class 1 knew these two bigshots didn’t get along, but the challenge still drew eyes—not just from their class, but others too.
The sweatiest was Zhou Yu, who’d just bought water and returned. Seeing the familiar scene, his mouth twitched.
He’d only looked away for a minute, and Young Master He was picking a fight again?
Song Lin, sitting next to Tan Jing, watched the show gleefully.
Wang Yizhou was unfazed—he’d seen He Siheng bicker over first place since elementary school.
Under everyone’s stares, Tan Jing looked up unhurriedly, meeting He Siheng’s eyes. “Aren’t you tired from training?”
He Siheng was pumped like he’d mainlined caffeine. “Not tired. Let’s go—what do you wanna compare? Your pick.”
Tan Jing drawled lazily, “I’m tired.”
He Siheng: “…”
Song Lin and Wang Yizhou couldn’t hold it in and burst out laughing.
Played like a fiddle, He Siheng’s forehead nearly sprouted an angry vein. Then he sneered disdainfully. “Hmph, not tired—scared. Coward.”
He bit out the last two words with heavy contempt.
Song Lin stopped laughing instantly. He and the distant Zhou Yu both broke into cold sweats.
They knew it was goading, but damn, this young master really knew how to court death. Did he even know how terrifying Tan Jing got when pissed?
But Song Lin’s worry didn’t pan out.
Tan Jing sighed, showing no anger—just a touch of helplessness.
He knew He Siheng’s temperament: bullheaded as hell. No contest today, and he wouldn’t drop it easily.
Tan Jing pushed aside his tray and wiped the table with a napkin. “Since you’re so insistent, arm wrestling it is.”
Wang Yizhou got hyped first. “Alright, alright! North Middle vs. South Middle first PK! Bet on Young Master He or Jing Bro—place your bets!”
Everyone crowded in to wager, turning the cafeteria rowdy.
Tan Jing didn’t want a scene and frowned warningly. “Wang Yizhou.”
Before Wang Yizhou could respond, He Siheng waved grandly. “I’ll kick it off—betting on myself, two thousand!”
