Faced with Yue Sen’s questioning, the secretary looked troubled. “According to protocols, the Social Administration Bureau is responsible for assessing Dark Guides. But those protocols have never actually been put into practice. This is the first Dark Guide to appear since humanity awakened.”

Yue Sen’s temples throbbed. He could already feel a headache coming on, so he dropped heavily into his office chair and let out a long sigh.

The first Dark Guide to ever appear…

If the Social Administration Bureau had handled the assessment, there might at least have been a chance for Li Feile’s parents to pull some strings.

“Why has the Special Operations Department gotten involved with our military academy?” Yue Sen asked coldly. “Aren’t they supposed to leave everything else alone and devote themselves entirely to dealing with extraterrestrial contamination?”

The Special Operations Department was the group Yue Sen understood the least.

Led by Chi Zhou, every member had an impressive military record, yet they never involved themselves in the political infighting within the Alliance. They were always on the front lines, fighting against extraterrestrial contamination.

Yue Sen had always thought there was something almost saintly about these people. All they ever seemed to care about was saving humanity. Was that really necessary? If extraterrestrial contamination was going to destroy the Alliance, it would take at least several hundred years. Wasn’t it better to enjoy life while they still could?

As for him, he had never believed in those so-called prophecies.

Under the light of his desk lamp, Yue Sen read through the assessment report again and again.

“Does the Special Operations Department even have the authority to issue this?”

The secretary could tell that Yue Sen was deeply dissatisfied with the result. Grimacing, he answered carefully, “Commander, the Special Operations Department is directly under the Alliance and is one level higher than the Social Administration Bureau. They have the authority to bypass the usual procedures and issue their own reports.”

That answer clearly did nothing to satisfy Yue Sen. He tossed the kraft-paper envelope onto the desk, crossed one leg over the other, and glared at the secretary. “Stop spouting nonsense. I’m asking how they made the assessment.”

After humanity awakened, the Social Administration Bureau developed a series of sophisticated instruments to determine the psychic power levels of sentinels and guides.

Once they reached adulthood, all sentinels and guides were required to undergo an assessment at the Social Administration Bureau. Students entering an Alliance military academy were no exception.

For anyone whose abilities exceeded the system’s measurable range, an experienced instructor was supposed to submit a report and wait for the Social Administration Bureau to send a specialist to conduct a manual assessment.

Yet despite the military academy having been established for so many years, this was the first time they had ever had to activate that procedure.

The secretary wiped the sweat from his brow. “Commander, Chi Zhou is a Dark Sentinel. If he says someone is a Dark Guide, who would dare to contradict him?”

His tone had turned somewhat resigned, as though he already knew that nothing he said would satisfy Yue Sen. Having given up on trying to please him, he simply voiced what he really thought.

Yue Sen fell silent.

He knew the secretary was right.

As humanity’s only Dark Sentinel, Chi Zhou was the most qualified person in existence to make such an assessment.

Yue Sen’s hand dropped limply to his side, and the assessment report drifted onto the desk, casting a faint shadow across its surface.

According to the Social Administration Bureau’s research report on sentinel and guide awakenings, only one Dark Sentinel would appear in any given era, destined to become the leader of all sentinels.

The same applied to Dark Guides.

There was nothing to do but blame Li Feile for being born in the wrong era—or for having bet on the wrong person.

Yue Sen lit a cigarette and stood by the window, gazing into the night with a profound sense of melancholy.

Ten minutes later, he returned to his office.

“Prepare to issue the announcement.”

The awakening of a Dark Guide was no trivial matter. It was an event of the highest priority.

As the military academy’s academic affairs officer, Yue Sen was obligated to notify all faculty and students immediately, as well as report the matter to the military and the Alliance.

This might very well be the final task of his career.

—

Half an hour later, the academy’s StarNet group exploded.

“Did everyone get the report?! We have a Dark Guide in our year!!!”

“Holy shit, I haven’t read it yet! Is this the first Dark Guide in the Alliance?!”

“Who is it? Who is it? Is it Qiu Luo?! I heard back in high school that his psychic power was rated S-class!”

“No! It’s Xia Ye! The one from District Twelve!”

“I remember him. Wasn’t he the one who took down Li Feile during the entrance assessment?”

“That’s him! The Special Operations Department just released the assessment report. He’s an SSS-class Dark Guide!”

 

The moment Xia Ye’s name appeared, the StarNet group fell silent.

For many people, the news left them with complicated feelings. Among them were the sentinels who had given Xia Ye love letters, the students Xia Ye had defeated during the entrance assessment, as well as Li Feile and Qiu Luo.

Back in their dormitory, Li Feile and Qiu Luo sat facing each other, both seeing a bitter smile on the other’s face.

They had been groomed since childhood to become the leaders of the next generation of sentinels and guides. Their parents had placed enormous hopes on them, expecting them to lead their families to even greater heights.

Now, it seemed those hopes were about to come crashing down.

After a long silence, Qiu Luo finally asked softly, “What do we do?”

Li Feile clenched his fists so tightly that the veins stood out on the backs of his hands.

“Is he really that strong?”

“Yeah.” Qiu Luo nodded. “I can’t even get close to his Mental Domain. We’re not on the same level.”

Hearing that from his guide, the last bit of strength Li Feile had been forcing himself to maintain finally drained away. He slumped back and muttered, “I don’t know.”

“Feile, listen to me.” Qiu Luo reached out and took his hand. “The only thing we can do now is choose to stand on his side, while no one else has started supporting him yet.”

Li Feile remained silent for a long time before finally nodding, though he was still deeply unwilling to accept it.

With Qiu Luo’s support behind him, a congratulatory message appeared in the academy’s StarNet group, celebrating Xia Ye’s successful assessment as a Dark Guide.

Qiu Luo and Li Feile had spent years building their influence in Upper District Seven, quietly regarding themselves as the leaders of the new generation of sentinels and guides. Even after entering the military academy, they had made no attempt to hide their ambition.

Although losing to Xia Ye twice had been a humiliating blow, they still enjoyed considerable prestige among the new students.

The moment Qiu Luo’s message appeared, the freshmen immediately understood which way the wind was blowing.

The StarNet group, which had been quiet for so long, suddenly came alive with messages congratulating Xia Ye on becoming a Dark Guide.

Lin Kezhi, the resident internet addict, was practically glued to his phone, scrolling through the messages with far more enthusiasm than he had shown when he received his own assessment report.

After the group had been chatting for a while, someone finally noticed that the person everyone was talking about still hadn’t appeared.

“Where’s Xia Ye? I remember he joined the group.”

“I added him.”

Lin Kezhi typed as he glanced over toward Xia Ye.

“He’s asleep.”

—

Xia Ye was curled up on his dormitory bed, but his sleep was far from peaceful.

Lin Kezhi wasn’t the type to pull someone’s blanket off, so he naturally hadn’t noticed that Xia Ye was running a low fever.

The consequences of overexerting his psychic power had finally caught up with him. Every cell in his body seemed to be protesting.

It had been an unbearably long day.

Because Xia Ye had refused to participate in matching, his entrance assessment had been dragged out indefinitely.

After the routine psychic power assessment, the academic affairs officer had arranged three team-combat matches for him, each against a three-person sentinel-guide team that had already successfully bonded.

All three teams consisted of freshmen, but once a sentinel and guide had bonded, their combat ability could increase by two or even three times.

With the guide’s assistance, a sentinel’s five senses became extraordinarily acute. They could even detect the slightest movement of air around them, giving them a tremendous advantage in both close combat and mecha piloting.

Xia Ye could overpower them in the Mental Domain, but physically, he had no advantage whatsoever.

If anything, he was at a disadvantage.

He knew his own weakness all too well. As a guide who had to rely on long-term use of genetic purifying agents just to maintain his health, his only option was to finish every fight as quickly as possible.

Even so, defeating three teams took a significant amount of time.

By the time the free-sparring session began, Xia Ye was already feeling exhausted.

But he refused to give up and continued accepting every challenge.

The price of using so much psychic power was that snow leopard became increasingly violent, almost impossible for him to control.

Even the gene suppressant he had used at the underground fighting arena had only kept it under control temporarily; the snow leopard was still restless, constantly trying to break free.

There was nothing he could do about it.

The snow leopard wasn’t actually his true Spirit Animal. It was the result of a violent transformation brought on by his hormonal imbalance.

Half-conscious, Xia Ye was still thinking about his snow leopard, desperately unwilling to let it slip beyond his control.

But the heat continued spreading through every cell in his body, overwhelming him until even his limbs felt heavy and weak.

Just before Xia Ye lost consciousness, the snow leopard finally broke free of its restraints and shot through the window like a streak of lightning.

—

At the Alliance Special Operations Department, it was already past three in the morning, yet the lights in the office were still on.

Shi Lu was buried beneath a mountain of files, rummaging through them one after another. Every so often, he scratched his head and let out a frustrated groan.

“What the hell? I can’t find anything about him! There’s nothing in the StarNet records or the underground fighting arena’s database. I just went to the Archives Bureau and pulled every file they have from District Twelve, but his file is completely blank.”

Chi Zhou’s voice came from behind the closed door of his private office, carrying a faint trace of sleepiness.

“I told you. You won’t find anything. His file is classified.”

Shi Lu looked sceptical. “Really? I even managed to find his sister’s.”

Chi Zhou opened the door and looked down at him.

“Really. Xia Ye’s file is classified. I sealed it myself.”

Shi Lu froze for a moment before murmuring, “Why?”

As a researcher at the institute, Shi Lu knew exactly what a top-secret Alliance file meant.

It meant that the person in question was hiding a secret that no one else was allowed to know.

Most people with top-secret files were members of the Special Operations Department. In one way or another, they had experienced extraordinary circumstances on the front lines against extraterrestrial contamination—things that could only be reported directly to the Alliance.

“If it’s classified, why are you asking?” Chi Zhou said lazily. “Go home and sleep. And stop making so much noise.”

He turned around and closed the office door.

The instant the door shut, a lithe snow leopard shot through the window and barreled straight into his office.

Chi Zhou leaned back against the sofa and studied the unexpected visitor.

The snow leopard faced him warily, extending its sharp claws and hooking them into the carpet. It looked rather fierce.

Yet every now and then, it would lift its head and let out a soft, rumbling purr.

Rather than a growl, it sounded almost like it was seeking affection.

“Snow leopard, huh… It’s basically just a big cat,” Chi Zhou muttered to himself as he held out a hand. “Come here.”

The snow leopard tilted its head, looking distinctly reluctant.

“I know you’re Xia Ye’s Spirit Animal.”

Chi Zhou walked over and crouched down in front of it, meeting its eyes.

“Good boy.”

—–

Author Notes:
Is there anything wrong with loving to pet cats? No! Humans loving to pet cats is only natural!

 

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