The spacecraft of the four academies docked at Greenstar's sprawling spaceport, and the cadets, led by their instructors, were ushered to a utilitarian dormitory complex for a brief respite before the selection's formalities. Baisha and Cen Yuehuai shared a spartan room—two bunk beds with desks beneath, a wardrobe, and minimal furnishings. They unpacked, arranging clothes and gear with practiced efficiency, then donned their formal Tianquan uniforms for the evening's events: a pre-exercise briefing at six, followed by a four-academy gathering with, rumor had it, a dance.
Tianquan's formal uniform was a tailored skirt ensemble—crisp shirt, long skirt, and jacket, crafted from exquisite materials, with gem-encrusted cuffs lending a refined, austere elegance. Baisha, dressed, smoothed her hair before a mirror.
"Time for a haircut," she mused.
"Why? Long hair's gorgeous," Cen said, pinning her high ponytail and affixing a gold academy badge. She clipped a hairpin, checked her reflection, and turned to Baisha. "Your hair's perfect—people would kill for that sheen."
Cen glanced at Baisha's mirror. The girl staring back, with raven hair and porcelain skin, was shedding her youthful softness. Her refined features carried a cool detachment, exuding an innate nobility when she met one's gaze. Cen sighed; Baisha's aura was increasingly reminiscent of His Majesty. Without her disguised hair and eye color, she'd be Cecil Ronin's mirror image.
"Speaking of, Your Highness," Cen said, feigning a pout, "I've never seen you without the disguise. When do I get the real you?"
Baisha raised a brow. "Curious?"
Cen nodded eagerly, like a chick pecking rice.
"My holodevice has a holographic mimicry module. I can revert my hair color for you." Baisha removed her tinted contacts and tapped her wrist device. A halo of light swirled around her, and her hair gradually shimmered into silver, glinting like moonlight. Her deep blue eyes, like polished sapphires, flickered with shifting hues under the room's light.
Cen's breath caught. This was the true Baisha Ronin, unmasked. The faint incongruity that clung to her vanished, revealing a polished gem radiating magnetic allure. Cen felt a royal beauty critical hit—her health bar plummeted!
She squealed, diving into Baisha's arms, nuzzling. "Beauty overload!"
Baisha froze. A minute later, at Cen's insistent urging, she deactivated the module, reverting to her disguised look.
"Tonight, I'm the only one who's seen the real you," Cen said, grinning wickedly. "Rounding up, I've claimed your beauty all for myself!" She cackled maniacally. "Mine alone! Mwahahaha!"
Baisha, exasperated, rapped Cen's head. "Can you act normal?"
Cen instantly sobered, clutching her head with a dramatic whimper.
After their playful tussle, they left the dorm, joining Sino and Yu Yan in the lobby. Sino, in the formal uniform, oozed aristocratic poise, every gesture refined. Yu Yan, reserved as ever, wore the dark gold attire with quiet dignity. The quartet headed to the elevator, passing students from other academies, their uniforms starkly distinct: Xizhou's sleek black, military-inspired cut; Nanmi's elegant white with gold tassels; Dongluo's deep green, vintage-styled garb.
In the grand hall, the academies formed neat phalanxes, a vibrant clash of colors. Baisha, as a freshman representative, stood at Tianquan's forefront, flanked by four upperclassmen—top second- and third-year Combat and Mechsmithing students. Unlike other academies, which had six front-row representatives, Baisha stood alone, positioned centrally, neither aligned with Combat nor Mechsmithing, a deliberate balance that drew eyes. Visually, she was the only one out of sync with her ranks.
"Is that Tianquan's dual-major royal?" a Dongluo student whispered.
"Double first in both majors? Insane! Is she competing as a pilot or mechsmith?"
"Does it matter? Pilot, and you flee her on the field. Mechsmith, and you cling to her coattails. We mechsmiths need fighters like her!"
Dongluo's cadets, ever candid, buzzed with speculation.
A figure ascended the dais. "Greetings, cadets of the Empire," said a man in an officer's uniform, his posture ramrod straight, faint crow's feet framing bright eyes. "I am Owen Adams, Tianquan's chancellor. I will outline the selection's protocols."
"This selection culls the joint exercise's formal team. While competition among academies is expected, it is a friendly contest. Youthful zeal welcomes victory, but honor and integrity must prevail. Ruthless ambition is hollow. The final roster will be overseen by all four academies' instructors, ensuring utmost fairness."
A cryptic smile crossed his face. "Now, please welcome His Imperial Majesty, Cecil Ronin, for his address!"
The hall fell deathly silent, then erupted in fervent cheers and applause, threatening to shake the ceiling.
"It's His Majesty!"
"He came in person!"
Baisha clapped along, bewildered. Her uncle hadn't mentioned coming!
Cecil Ronin strode onto the dais, resplendent in imperial regalia, a gold-and-blue sash across his chest, twin lotus medallions at his waist. His regal bearing commanded the room as his gaze swept the crowd. Abruptly, an overwhelming mental energy crashed over them, a tidal force of unimaginable power.
Instructors and cadets stiffened, instincts screaming, yet none dared resist. Lower-grade students felt submerged in an abyss, senses dulled, limbs numb under the pressure. Ten seconds later, the force vanished.
The cadets exhaled, some coughing softly.
"I am honored to meet you," Cecil said, his voice calm but resonant, reaching every ear. "Tonight, the Empire's four academies unite. As cadets, you are our future, the bedrock of our martial defense."
"I've seen battle," he continued. "My advice: stay vigilant always. Let vigilance seep into your veins. Treat every exercise as a forge, tempering you into steel, honing you into blades. Only through relentless trials will you become elite."
His words rang with conviction. "Whatever the selection's outcome, you are the Empire's treasure, bearers of its creed. Fight, surpass yourselves, and seek greater heights. Offer your fervor to the Empire."
"Ares Empire awaits the glory you will forge."
The cadets' eyes blazed, saluting with fervent reverence. "Yes, Your Majesty!"
"Ronin everlasting!"
"Ares Empire everlasting!"
The crowd's fervor enveloped Baisha, her heartbeat loud in her ears. She met Cecil's gaze briefly; his eyes flicked away, addressing the masses with practiced ease, as if to say: This is emperorship. Care to try?
The speech galvanized the cadets. After the briefing, the hall transitioned to a banquet, long tables laden with delicacies and drinks. Classical strings signaled the start of the social dance.
Baisha, plate in hand, savored the food. Cen and Sino, ravenous, joined her, eating while dissecting the emperor's surprise appearance.
"Scared me silly!" Cen said. "Why'd His Majesty show up?"
"First time he's addressed cadets," Sino said, biting into a chicken wrap. "Normally, you'd need a legion conference to see him." As the Uss heir, Sino had met Cecil privately often, so his surprise was muted.
"This food's amazing," Cen said. "Who's the chef?"
"Probably from Youdu Star," Baisha said.
Cen choked. "What?"
Students began pairing for dances, some from the same academy, others mingling across schools. Cen, puzzled, watched. "We're cadets. Why the dance obsession?"
"It's not about dancing," Sino said, glancing at the crowd. "They're scouting partners."
Cen nearly spat her juice. "Partners?"
Sino shrugged. "Empire cadets marry within. Fourth-years intern on battlefields, and post-graduation, you're stuck in military districts with scant leave. Nobles especially need to lock in matches now, or the good ones are gone."
Baisha blinked. "That urgent?"
"It's an Empire thing," Sino said. "We're loyal—pick a partner, and it's for life. So, choose carefully: chemistry, compatibility, strength. Strong parents breed strong kids, though some prioritize love over power."
Baisha smirked. "You're quite the expert."
"Noble basics," Sino sighed. Nobles obsessed over bloodlines and constructs, aiming for superior heirs.
"Why not dance, then?" Cen teased. "Find your soulmate?"
"I'm different," Sino said, sobering. "As Uss heir, I'll stay on Tianshu Star. No shortage of prospects there."
Cen, plate in hand, leaned closer. "Notice the stares? Someone's been watching us."
"Obviously," Sino said. "Why else am I here? To shield Her Highness from nosy suitors."
Baisha's mysterious royal status drew attention—some curious, others eager to court her. Sino's presence deterred the boldest.
A commotion erupted nearby. "Ji Ya and… Elias?" Sino frowned. Ji Ya, visibly irked, splashed water on a poised gray-haired boy in Xizhou's uniform, then stormed off. The boy, Elias, calmly wiped the stains, his expression unreadable.
"Who's Elias?" Cen asked, gossip-hungry.
Sino explained, "Empire's beast-kind split into four houses: Uss, Ji, Elias's Yi, and Grez. They're the big players."
Cen cut in, "You're losing Her Highness with all this."
"Losing you, more like," Sino shot back.
"I know this," Baisha said. "Xizhou's freshman rep is from the Grez family."
Cen recalled the sharp-eyed boy with the silver wolf. "Beast-kind drama's wild. How're your families' ties?"
Sino sighed. "Uss and Ji are close, both Tianshu-based. Grez and Yi? Tepid. Distant cousins, holiday pleasantries at best."
Baisha recalled Han Yong's warning: the beast-kind were once unified, but a leader's death split them. Uss and Ji swore loyalty to the crown; Grez opposed it. "Stay clear of Grez," Han had said. "Much of your danger in the Empire ties to them. Yi's fading—engage, but stay wary." Wary of their ambition for the throne, no doubt.
Baisha had dismissed such intrigue as distant. Yet here, at the selection, the four beast-kind houses converged.
"Elias is sharp and knew Ji Ya since childhood," Sino mused. "Why'd he rile her?"
Elias, unperturbed, left the corner and approached Xizhou's freshman rep—a sharp-eyed boy surrounded by a disciplined cadre, like a wolf leading a pack. Elias whispered to him, seamlessly joining the group.
Baisha sipped water, her gaze on the "wolf pack." The boy, Kaisin Grez, sensed her stare, meeting her eyes across the crowd. Silently, he grabbed a clear drink—matching her cup's hue—raised it in a toast, and flashed a chilling smile, his brown eyes glinting red. He downed it in one go.
Then erupted in violent coughs.
"Kaisin, why'd you chug that?" Elias asked, startled. "That's the instructors' strong liquor, sipped in small doses. Why gulp it?"
Kaisin, wheezing, glared at Baisha. She'd sipped hers unfazed, but now he realized—she was drinking water, not liquor. He'd been played.