The homing pigeon omega put down Bai Chunian’s phone, feeling a little hesitant. No matter what, Lan Bo was just an experimental subject. Jeopardizing three years of partnership for one experiment didn’t seem worth it. After all, all he had to do was grab a document and send it back. Doing Bai Chunian a personal favor seemed like a small, convenient gesture.
A week later, calculating Lan Bo’s schedule at the Alliance police station, he found a chance to enter Bai Chunian’s apartment.
He had no psychological burden and casually opened the apartment door, looking through each room.
But he didn’t expect to be caught by Lan Bo, hanging upside down on the bedroom balcony’s drying rod.
Lan Bo’s cold, damp hands gripped his upper arm tightly, and the homing pigeon omega instinctively worried that his bones might be crushed.
Lan Bo climbed down from the hidden balcony rack, standing before him. Using his fish tail to support himself, he was a head taller than the omega, looking down with an unblinking gaze.
The homing pigeon had seen a lot as an Alliance agent and Bai Chunian’s partner for three years, but being scrutinized by those deep, icy blue eyes still made him uneasy. The eyes lacked any bright reflection, making it hard to discern exactly where Lan Bo’s focus lay.
Lan Bo lifted the omega’s chin with his webbed hand, expressionless, and asked, “What are you looking for?”
The omega remained calm. “Bai asked me to get a document for him and send it back in a couple of days.”
Lan Bo raised an eyebrow. “Why not send it yourself?”
Frantically, the omega searched for a reason, unable to say, “Bai wants to keep your contract to prevent you from going home.”
Before he could answer, Lan Bo was drawn to something else about him.
He leaned close to the omega’s neck, sniffing lightly, and ran sharp fingernails across his gland, unleashing a wave of overwhelming, soul-shaking dominance pheromones.
The homing pigeon was struck by the aggressive pheromones, helplessly kneeling. Lan Bo lowered himself, wrapping the omega’s hands with his fish tail so he couldn’t move, and whispered, “You’re close with Bai… why?”
“‘Xiao Bai’?” The omega blinked, realizing the nickname referred to Bai Chunian. Only a few people in the Alliance called him that aside from the chairman.
“We’re colleagues. Often paired together,” the omega said, sniffing his uniform. “Do I smell of him? No way…” Aside from washing their uniforms together, there was barely any contact. Plus, he was already married with kids.
“Colleagues?” Lan Bo frowned, confused. “Sleep… in the same… breeding box?”
The omega didn’t understand “breeding box” and guessed he meant a tent. “If mission conditions require it, maybe in the same tent. I’ve had kids already; don’t get the wrong idea.”
Lan Bo froze.
The omega had no clue what he’d said wrong. He quickly took out his phone and showed Lan Bo a photo of his baby. “See? Cute, right?”
Lan Bo gently touched the screen, then silently withdrew his tail and climbed into the tank beside the bed, remaining still.
“Ah… this,” the omega muttered, scratching his head.
The receipt and certificate would not be taken today. Leaving the apartment, he replayed Lan Bo’s face in his mind. Omegas could be so handsome—it seemed such a waste of resources. But then thinking of Bai Chunian, it balanced out: handsome guys should go for handsome guys, not mortals.
Remembering Bai Chunian had mentioned sending the chairman’s son back, he felt it necessary to check on the school. That spoiled, temperamental little rabbit might be causing trouble at home, and everyone liked to curry favor with the chairman anyway. Checking the school first made sense.
Anfia Military Academy was one of the first top-tier combat schools in the country, supplying trainees and special forces agents to various organizations. Its curriculum was tight, challenging, and strictly enforced from theory to physical training. They also implemented a last-place elimination system: the bottom 100 at the end of the year would repeat the grade, and failing twice meant expulsion to an ordinary school.
The academy was divided into high, middle, and low grades. September was the time for promotion exams, with scores weighted into the final grades.
That afternoon, the students were taking a pistol close-combat test. Lu Yan and the others stood behind their respective cover tables. When the exam signal sounded, they immediately assembled their pistols from parts on the table.
Lu Yan finished first, inserted the magazine, chambered a dummy round, and vaulted over cover. Five rapid shots hit the red indicator lights on the nearest student’s body armor, eliminating them from the exam.
The body armor had sensors; red light meant elimination.
Lu Yan didn’t rush to reload. His Beretta 92F magazine held fifteen rounds, ten remaining.
Most students had assembled their weapons. A ten-meter distant alpha signaled to an omega behind Lu Yan. They coordinated to flank him.
Though random seating meant familiar students in the same exam room wasn’t rare, this alpha–omega pair clearly intended to target Lu Yan.
Lu Yan first aimed at the alpha’s chest, two shots to the heart, then ducked to avoid a volley from the omega behind him, simultaneously targeting the omega’s heart.
Both their armor lit red—eliminated.
Different hits on body armor required different numbers of shots; two shots to the heart were lethal.
Lu Yan listened carefully to movements behind cover. As a rabbit omega, his gland gave him extraordinary hearing, amplified by his species’ naturally quick reflexes, maximizing his advantage in close combat.
The match ended quickly. Lu Yan survived until the very end with twelve kills, achieving a perfect score.
He blew off the muzzle, stepped back calmly, and exited.
Close combat was easy for him; his real worry was the upcoming sniper exam, a test he repeatedly failed. Clearly, he hadn’t inherited any of his father’s genes in that department.
“I wonder how Lanxing is doing at the training base… oh well, he graduates this year anyway, won’t take the promotion exam,” Lu Yan muttered, walking to the pool to wash his face. He pulled a carrot-shaped clip from his pocket to secure his rabbit ears atop his head, keeping the fur dry, and glanced at his phone. All the messages were from him; Lanxing hadn’t replied once—probably because the phone was confiscated.
Suddenly, someone deliberately twisted the faucet, splashing cold water all over him.
His rabbit ears were soaked and drooping pitifully. Lu Yan wiped his face, widened his eyes, and looked to his left—seeing the alpha he had just eliminated standing by the pool, smirking, while the omega watched for amusement.
“Damn it, you asking for a beating?” Lu Yan shook his head, flicking the water off his ears, sneering at the alpha. “What’s the meaning of this? Still upset? Didn’t I just put your brains on the floor?”
The alpha crossed his arms, teasing: “I was going easy on you. Who doesn’t know the power of Master Lu’s father? None of us dare provoke you.”
Lu Yan laughed angrily. “What does that have to do with my dad? I didn’t see you holding back. Besides, I didn’t just kill you two—did I go easy on everyone in the room?”
The alpha snorted. “Everyone knows Master Lu’s name across the school. It’s all because of your father. What could we do? If we lost to you, you’d run home crying to Daddy—none of us could handle that. Don’t blame us for being unlucky, not having a powerful dad.”
“Do you even believe your own words? Fine, I have no strength, and everyone’s letting me win,” Lu Yan gritted his teeth, pulling paper and pen from his bag. He quickly wrote two lines, slapped the paper on the pool edge, and said, “I’ll give you a disclaimer. Single combat, if you break my bones, no one will blame you. Dare to fight me in the training room?”
The alpha’s expression stiffened, stepping back hastily, still smirking. “That paper won’t help. My dad could handle whoever he wants; who cares about a piece of paper?”
“It has nothing to do with my dad!” Lu Yan’s head buzzed with frustration. He shouted until his voice cracked, “So it’s my fault for getting first? Admitting I’m bad is that hard? My rank is higher than yours—so that’s true, right?”
“Hah, that’s just from your dad’s genes too,” the alpha shot back.
“You…” Lu Yan’s voice caught mid-curse, a choked sob escaping. He didn’t really want to cry, but his body betrayed him, and his resolve suddenly faltered.
Several fellow omegas in the class noticed, running over to comfort him and lead him away. The alpha by the pool continued jeering: “Flatter Lu Yan while you can, better make him happy.”
Lu Yan walked silently, rabbit ears drooping.
“No one really lets me win,” he muttered hoarsely. “I wake up at five every morning to train, get scolded for nodding off in class, stay up late for obstacle drills… I wake up with leg cramps in the middle of the night. My dad only ever scolded me for holding back Lanxing; he wouldn’t punish others just because I failed…”
Passing the school gates, he saw the homing pigeon omega waving, holding a small cake. “Was about to call your homeroom teacher—come get it.”
Lu Yan, too glum to be cheered by the cake, took the box. “I’m fine.”
The omega smiled. “I can see it; your face shows it.”
Lu Yan sank to the ground, burying his face in his arms. “Living feels so pointless. Everyone thinks I rely on my dad, but my dad thinks I’m an idiot.”
The omega comforted him. “That’s not true. The chairman and Mr. Lu both care about you.”
Lu Yan muttered gloomily, “Ugh, so annoying… I wish they weren’t so powerful.”
After a while, the homing pigeon reported the day’s progress to Bai Chunian.
“No receipt today; Lan Bo caught me, but I was clever enough not to get you in trouble,” he said.
Bai Chunian lounged lazily, propping his head on his hand, smiling. “I forgot—he’s very alert. Taking anything under his nose is tough. Whatever… I’ll just ask him directly next time.”
The homing pigeon added, “I also checked on Lu Yan at school. He’s been feeling down—probably not used to being separated from Lanxing for so long.”
Bai Chunian wasn’t especially impressed with Lu Yan. Though talented, he paled in comparison to Lanxing. Bai Chunian preferred to invest his energy in those with greater potential.
“Alright, rest a bit,” he said, tossing aside the phone and calling Lanxing over to hydrate.
Lanxing removed his VR glasses, wiped his sweat with a towel, and sat next to Bai Chunian to drink.
Bai Chunian’s gaze lingered on the photo on the screen; he couldn’t tire of looking. Lanxing called him a few times before he snapped out of it.
“Coach, can I borrow your phone to call Ayan?”
“For what? Absence makes the heart grow fonder?” Bai Chunian replied lazily. “He’s fine—busy with the promotion exam. Better not bother him.”
Lanxing looked disappointed but asked again, thinking it over: “By the way, why did you send Lu Yan away?”
Bai Chunian raised his eyes lazily. “Do you know why I kept you?”
Lanxing shook his head.
“All this time, I’ve wanted to build a small, elite squad for the chairman—like PBB’s Storm Special Forces. Few in number, but each a killing machine, coordinated, loyal. That would make life much easier for the chairman,” Bai Chunian said frankly. “Reaching m2 differentiation at seventeen is rare. I want you.”
Bi Lanxing: “Ah, but Ayan also reached m2 differentiation… and he’s only fifteen.”
A few seconds of silence.
Bai Chunian sat upright. “?? Just him?”