Planet Teleopea - Royal Medical Research Center

The alloy walls gleamed with sterile brilliance, reflecting the sharp white light overhead. Every corner of the chamber hummed with the cold indifference of machines—perfectly precise, perfectly oppressive.

Chen’s mental-wave patterns flickered across the main display.

Sharp. Violent. Erratic.

A storm disguised as a mind.

“His stability is… beyond correction.”

Mien flicked through the report, silver eyes moving with clinical detachment that didn’t match the tension in his posture. He stopped at the most damning lines—each one glowing red.

Severe mental impairment.

Fragmented self-schema.

Aggression index: catastrophic.

Telepathic contamination: unpredictable.

Potential for uncontrolled emotional resonance events: extreme.

None of that should have been surprising.

But one line was wrong.

Completely wrong.

—— Subject presents no outward symptoms of mental derangement.

Mien whispered, almost to himself.

“…Impossible.”

He shut the report and turned sharply toward Shi.

“With a profile this unstable,” Mien said, “he cannot be allowed to walk freely on Teleopean soil. According to imperial regulation, the only responsible decision… is termination.”

Shi, leaning against the wall with arms loosely tucked beneath long golden hair, did not react. The effeminate elegance of his appearance contrasted violently with the cold, dangerous sharpness of his eyes.

“Mien,” he said quietly, “you are afraid of him.”

Mien did not flinch.

“I’m afraid,” he replied, voice low and steady, “of what he means.”

“This is not a normal Continuation,” Mien said.

“This is a high-risk anomaly. And you—of all people—should know how dangerous anomalies are.”

Something sharp flickered behind Shi’s eyes.

A buried memory.

A loss still bleeding beneath the bandages of time.

“You’re not seeing him,” Mien said quietly. “You’re seeing the ghost of the one we both failed.”

Shi’s breath caught, so subtle most would miss it.

“But this Continuation is not the one we lost,” Mien said, stepping closer, each word precise and merciless. “And your grief is blinding you.”

Shi straightened.

The temperature in the room dropped.

“Mien,” he said, golden eyes like sunset over a battlefield, “don’t you dare start this.”

That struck a nerve.

Mien’s jaw tightened.

“You think I don’t feel?” Mien hissed, composure cracking for a heartbeat. “You think I don’t relive it every night? You think you were the only one who failed that day?”

Silence.

Heavy, suffocating, raw.

Then Mien forced his voice back under control.

“But grieving does not excuse recklessness.”

He gestured sharply to the mental graph.

“This Continuation destroyed twenty-six telepathic suppressors. He exhibits stronger psychic force than the current Emperor himself. And unlike the Emperor—he does not recognize the line between restraint and instinct.”

Shi did not blink.

“That,” Shi said softly, “is precisely why he can surpass the Emperor.”

Mien stared.

“You mean to make him heir.”

Shi did not deny it.

“That’s a bold move even for you.” Mien said, voice dangerously low.

“No,” Shi replied, “I am planning to survive.”

Their gazes clashed—gold and silver, grief and fury.

Finally Mien exhaled.

“…Even if he carries the royal bloodline,” he murmured, “he is still a Continuation. The council will never accept him.”

Shi’s smile was slow and faint, like a blade sliding from its sheath.

“Then the council will learn to adapt.”

Mien’s pupils contracted.

“This path leads only to war.”

“Then let it come,” Shi said.

“Because the alternative is letting that creature continue ruling us.”

The accusation was clear—the Emperor.

The tyrant galvanising Teleopea’s internal fractures while driving the civilisation onto a warpath.

The cancer rotting Teleopea from within.

Mien closed his eyes briefly.

“…Shi,” he said quietly, exhausted, “You can’t…”

“This IS my will” Shi countered.

“If it means a future worth building.”

Mien sighed—a sound made of defeat. He opened the door to leave.

“If,” he said without turning back, “the Emperor discovers the truth… you just give him a perfect reason to burn Teleopea to the ground.”

Shi’s voice followed him out, soft and cold.

“Then we must ensure he never does.”

One star ring month later

Planet Teleopea – Training Arena

“Chen! Your right hand is too low, left hand too high—you’re handing your weak points to your opponent on a platter. Do you want to die?!”

Shi stood at the edge of the training ground with his arms folded, shouting at the two figures locked in close combat.

Or more accurately—shouting at one of them.

What did I ever do to deserve being turned into a live punching bag?

Xiao cursed inwardly, thoroughly displeased at having been browbeaten and threatened into coming here to “help” train this person.

He was just the commander of the Special Operations Unit. His monthly pay wasn’t even that good.

He’d already resigned himself to being thrown into deathtrap missions by the High Chancellor on a regular basis—that was spelled out in his original contract when he signed up. But on top of his official work, he still had to pick up all sorts of random side tasks. Xiao’s complaints were endless.

If only I had Lan’s brain, he thought bitterly, then I could sit comfortably behind a console doing logistics support instead of playing bullet-sponge and errand-runner.

“Xiao! Why are your punches so slow today? Are you holding back? Want me to dock your pay for this entire star-ring cycle?!”

Shi’s voice cracked across the arena.

Xiao swore under his breath, snapped back into focus, and once again tightened his hand into a fist, striking toward his opponent’s right neck.

The other reacted immediately, blocking Xiao’s blow, turning with the force of the impact and counterattacking in the same motion.

The movement was smooth, sharp, and fast—the angle of attack tricky and hard to evade, the kind that punished even minor hesitation.

But for a battle-hardened fighter, danger was nothing new.

Xiao slipped past the strike with a near-impossible motion, sweeping Chen’s legs out from under him with a single kick. He dropped down with one knee, pinning the younger Teleopean beneath him. His clawed hand hovered symbolically over Chen’s vital point.

Bout over.

“Stop!”

Shi barked from the sidelines.

“All right. That’s enough for today.”

The tension left both fighters’ bodies. Xiao rose, then offered Chen a hand.

Chen glanced at the outstretched hand, hesitated briefly, then took it. Xiao applied a bit of strength and pulled the younger Teleopean to his feet.

“Xiao, Chen will stick with you today,” Shi said, sounding impatient. “Remember—not a single person is to find out who he really is. Bring him back to my residence tonight.”

He didn’t even bother with his usual teasing of Xiao—just turned and walked straight out of the training room.

“What happened?” Chen murmured to himself, frowning slightly. Xiao heard him and cast him a quick look.

“He probably had an argument with the Chancellor again. Those two… I don’t know when they’ll stop this endless loop.”

Xiao accidentally said his thoughts out loud.

“Uh…” He grimaced. “Don’t you dare repeat that to Shi. If he hears about it, my pay for this entire star-year is gone.”

Chen tilted his head slightly, raising a brow.

“You seem to value currency a great deal. Is it really that important?”

“Not really. It just buys the things I’m interested in,” Xiao replied. “If I’m going to risk my life all the time, I need some way to unwind, right?”

“That’s fair,” Chen agreed.

His gaze dropped to the hand Xiao had just pulled him up with, a faintly puzzled look crossing his face.

“Your telepathy’s sealed. Normal physical contact shouldn’t bother you that much,” Xiao said.

He’d heard that members of the royal line were even more sensitive than ordinary Teleopeans when it came to touch. Even if they didn’t want to, their telepathically sharpened tactile nerves would automatically read fragments of others’ emotions and thoughts.

Uncontrolled, the rush of someone else’s feelings flooding into your mind was… unpleasant, to say the least.

“I see…”

Realizing he had finally escaped those stray consciousness fragments constantly trying to claw into his head, Chen actually looked pleased. His lips curled faintly.

“Well, I was supposed to have a day off today,” Xiao continued gloomily, “but I just got ordered into unpaid overtime as your entertainment. So, how do I keep you amused, sir?”

Unlike Chen, Xiao was very clearly not pleased.

His one day off in two star-ring cycles had just evaporated.

But orders were orders.

Unless he wanted to become unemployed.

A hard-working wage slave like him still had another seven hundred eighty-one star-years, three star-months, four star-days, and twenty-five star-hours to go before retirement benefits kicked in.

Xiao sighed inwardly.

With no particular plan, the two of them took a small vessel to a space bar located on the border of Teleopea’s outer sphere to meet some of Xiao’s friends.

The bar was built along the orbit of a gas giant’s moon. Massive panoramic windows looked directly out over the gas giant’s atmosphere—vast flowing bands of color and raging storm systems swirling far below.

“Xiao, you haven’t shown your face here in ages. Still not dead yet?”

A Teleopean about the size of a juvenile, nursing a clearly not-for-minors alcoholic drink, raised his glass in greeting as the two entered. Two more Teleopeans sat beside him, each with a different colored drink in hand.

“Thanks for your concern, friend.”

Xiao put special emphasis on the word “friend,” his tone dripping sarcasm. One of the others handed him a glass; Xiao took it and downed it in one shot.

“So, aren’t you going to introduce the new one you brought?”

The juvenile-looking Teleopean turned his gaze toward Chen, standing just behind Xiao, and asked directly, “Hi, I’m Lan. What’s your name?”

“Greetings, Chen is my name. ”

Chen answered properly with slight awkwardness, his expression reserved but polite—one of Shi’s recent training results.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Xuan,” said the Teleopean sitting to Lan’s right, giving Chen a nod. His clothing clearly marked him as a member of the Emperor’s personal Royal Guard. He gestured toward the third person across from them. “That’s my younger brother, Yuan.”

“I—I think we’ve met before…”

Yuan cast Chen a wary glance. He was part of Xiao’s Special Operations Unit. He remembered this strange individual they’d hauled back from that dead world.

Xiao shot him a warning look. Yuan sensibly kept his mouth shut after that and focused on his drink. Xuan noticed his brother’s odd behavior and frowned slightly, but chose not to press.

“Sit, have a drink?” Lan waved Chen over, bottle in hand.

“Thank you.”

Chen smiled faintly and accepted an empty glass, watching Lan pour in a softly glowing liquid. The luminescent effect was nothing more than an additive, meant to make the drink seem more appealing.

After a few rounds, the familiar Teleopeans slipped into easy conversation—current developments in the interstellar war, the latest gossip about someone’s neighbor, trivial stories.

Chen remained where he was, quietly listening.

He rolled the glass between his fingers, his gaze drifting absentmindedly over the crowd. He had never truly adapted to environments like this. Even when everyone around him shared his species, he still felt like an outsider at the very edge of their warmth.

He sampled a cautious sip of his drink and decided his taste buds did not appreciate the flavor of ether.

Somewhere between boredom and distraction, a flicker at the edge of his vision snagged his attention.

A figure in the far side of the bar.

Chen turned his head toward that direction.

Unlike his own golden eyes and wild mane of hair, the stranger had straight black hair, dark eyes, and refined, quietly resolute features.

Through the shifting crowd, their gazes met—black and gold locking together.

Time seemed to freeze at that exact point.

A name rose almost all the way up his throat—but for some reason, Chen couldn’t remember it.

Chen…

Forget… me…

Don’t… I’m sorry…