The announcement continued playing.

Clips flashed across the screen.

Imperial Academy’s training grounds.

A suspended mecha laboratory.

A dining hall with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sea.

A simulated border-rescue course.

A night banquet classroom.

A dormitory building usually closed to outsiders.

A brief shot of six black-gold access cards laid side by side.

Then six silver access cards.

No faces appeared.

Only hands.

A long, pale hand adjusting a mechanical part.

A gloved hand tapping through an administrative document.

A hand lazily throwing a spacecraft key onto a table.

A hand marking equations in the margin of an ancient star map.

A hand pressing down on a medicine bottle shaped like a small silver fox.

A hand drawing a resource model with chilling precision.

Then the A-Class hands.

One holding a worn notebook full of neat writing.

One arranging an etiquette ribbon.

One wiping soil from the root of a restored plant sample.

One tightening a combat glove.

One adjusting a camera angle.

One opening a snack box labelled “ordinary student meal” despite the packaging clearly belonging to a luxury brand.

The editing was excellent.

The public was hooked.

But in an ordinary student apartment in Imperial Academy’s A-Class dormitory area, Ji Ran did not laugh with the others.

His terminal projected the announcement in midair.

Golden light reflected in his eyes.

His roommates were still shouting excitedly outside the room, but he had closed the door and locked it. On the desk before him lay several notebooks, all filled with handwriting so dense that ordinary people would feel dizzy after one glance.

Names.

Dates.

Childhood incidents.

Academy rumours.

Predicted events.

Teacher Lin Wenshu.

Mu Xiyu.

Yin Canglan.

Ruan Qingyao.

Xu Cheng.

S-Class.

Variety show.

Ji Ran gripped his pen tightly.

The pen body cracked slightly under his fingers.

Finally.

It had finally come.

For many years, Ji Ran had waited for the moment when the story would move into the stage he remembered.

Not the early childhood parts.

Not the vague classroom scenes.

Not those useless fragments where a group of imperial children surrounded Teacher Lin Wenshu and learned childish lessons about friendship, sharing, and emotional expression.

Those parts were too limited.

Too shallow.

Too frustrating.

The teacher had seen only what happened in school, and even then, he had not understood everything.

But the later extras were different.

The later extras had mentioned university.

Imperial Academy.

A variety show.

Public exposure.

Mu Xiyu’s coldness.

The elite children’s secrets.

A confrontation that would finally make everyone understand that the perfect young master of the Mu family was not as untouchable as he appeared.

Ji Ran inhaled slowly.

His heart was beating fast.

Excitement and fear tangled together until his fingertips trembled.

He had known too much since he was four years old.

At first, he had thought this knowledge was a blessing.

Later, he had realised that knowing the plot did not mean controlling it.

Too many things had changed.

Too many people had refused to stand where they were supposed to stand.

Mu Xiyu especially.

That cold, beautiful, incomprehensible Omega was like a calculation error that kept correcting itself.

No matter how many times Ji Ran tried to guide the situation, Mu Xiyu never reacted like a person in a school novel should react.

He did not cry when isolated.

He did not explain when misunderstood.

He did not become angry when accused.

He often did not even remember the names of people who tried to hurt him.

That indifference was hateful.

It was as if Ji Ran had spent years preparing arrows, only to find that the target had never bothered to stand in the same world as him.

But this time would be different.

This was not a private classroom.

This was a livestream.

Trillions of viewers.

Bullet comments.

Public judgement.

Cameras from every angle.

No matter how strong the Mu family was, no matter how terrifying Yin Canglan was, no matter how many border planets respected the white tiger crest, public opinion had its own power.

An Omega who could not understand people.

A fiancé who was protected too much.

A genius who treated warmth like a useless variable.

Once these things were placed under the camera, how long could Mu Xiyu remain above everyone?

Ji Ran lowered his eyes to the notebook.

On one page, he had written several lines many years ago.

Mu Xiyu is not good at emotional expression.

He appears cold in group activities.

Teacher Lin once misunderstood him.

Ruan Qingyao was hurt by his attitude.

Ordinary students dislike his arrogance.

Public exposure can magnify contradictions.

Below those lines, he had added another sentence later.

The audience will not love a person who does not know how to love them back.

Ji Ran stared at the sentence.

For some reason, the words that had once given him confidence now seemed faintly unstable.

He thought of Mu Xiyu’s achievements.

The military mecha stabilisation system.

The Soothing Pills.

The competition trophy.

The border planets.

The Crown Prince.

The Mu family.

And those S-Class monsters who had grown up around Mu Xiyu not only in classrooms, but in palace lessons, banquets, beast-form control classes, private starships, military drills, charity auctions, and noble ceremonies that the original story had never described in detail.

Ji Ran’s jaw tightened.

No.

That did not matter.

Stories always had a centre.

The original story might not have recorded everything, but it had recorded the important parts.

Teacher Lin’s perspective had been limited, yes, but it had also revealed the emotional truth of those children.

Mu Xiyu was cold.

Mu Xiyu was difficult.

Mu Xiyu was too high above ordinary people.

And the public hated being looked down upon.

As long as Ji Ran found the right angle, the cameras would do the rest.

Outside his window, a student shouted, “Ji Ran! Did you see? You’re on the official list! You’re going to be famous!”

Ji Ran blinked.

The tension on his face melted away.

When he opened the door, his expression had already become warm, modest, and slightly helpless.

“I saw it,” he said softly. “I’m also surprised. Compared with the S-Class seniors, I still have too much to learn.”

His roommate immediately sighed.

“See, this is why everyone likes you. If I were on the same show as the Crown Prince and Mu Xiyu, I’d already be shaking.”

Ji Ran smiled.

“Senior Mu is indeed very outstanding.”

The sentence was gentle.

The tone was sincere.

Only his lowered eyelashes concealed the dark light in his eyes.

On the projection screen behind him, the announcement reached its final scene.

The twelve silhouettes appeared again.

Above them, Imperial Academy’s crest unfolded into a field of stars.

The official voice spoke the show’s slogan.

“Twelve young elites. One imperial academy. A future witnessed by the stars.”

The words spread across trillions of screens.

Across the Federation Empire, countless people began waiting for the first broadcast.

In military stations, soldiers laughed and said they wanted to see the little young master of the Mu family.

On border planets, civilians reposted the announcement with white tiger emojis.

In noble circles, people began guessing whether old childhood relationships would surface.

In academy forums, students started comparing S-Class and A-Class.

In entertainment districts, marketing accounts sharpened their pens.

And in the A-Class dormitory, Ji Ran looked at Mu Xiyu’s name glowing on the screen.

His smile deepened.

This time, he thought, Mu Xiyu would not be allowed to stand above everyone.

Not again.