Cultivation went… perfectly.

I felt like a tourist on holiday — somewhere warm, bathed in sunlight, completely at ease. The flow moved through me without resistance. I slipped into trance at the very start and only surfaced when the stream weakened.

My plexus-reactor was working flawlessly. I didn't just avoid breaking a sweat — I didn't even feel tired. That could change in a few minutes, of course, but… maybe I was ready for a reassessment? I'd have to check how to submit an application. I couldn't keep clinging to Doc or pestering Diego forever.

I left the Chamber.

The interface pinged immediately.

Missed Call: K. E. Johansson

Incoming Message: S. Liang

Subject: Urgent

Content: Go to the block.

My heart thudded against my ribs.

What happened? Did we screw something up? Where — and how?

I checked the chat right away. Nothing. No messages. No panic. No noise at all.

I typed:

Sullivan: Anyone know what's going on?

And not a second later, a message popped up:

Liang Shi: Block. Now!

I hurried — but didn't run. If something were actually on fire, people would be talking about it in the chat. Still, the unease gnawed at me. Was it so serious that Liang Shi had forbidden them from even mentioning it?

I tried calling Johanson — he didn't answer.

I entered the block — and understood nothing. But I did get a clear sense of the scale of the problem.

Cadets stood in rows along the walls like they were on parade. All of them silent, all of them wearing the same annoyed expression. In the middle of the corridor, between the rows, stood two chairs — turned to face opposite ends of the hallway, backs almost touching.

The one facing me was occupied by Liang Shi. The cadet seated behind him was much bigger.

And all of them were waiting for me?

What the hell had happened?

Liang Shi's eyes locked onto me the moment I entered.

"Sullivan!" he barked.

I snapped to attention.

The cadet seated behind him stood up and turned around.

Johansson? What the hell was he doing here?

Wait—wait—wait! Was the Hall of Order coming after me now?

A cold spike pierced the back of my neck and slid slowly down my spine.

"Finally," Johansson muttered in his official tone. "Do you have any idea why you're here?"

Because it's my block, and I'm coming back from the Flow Chamber?

"No, sir," I said, staring straight ahead. No smirk, no defiance — just careful neutrality.

"Then let me explain.

"Cadet Lukas Marek has filed a formal complaint with the Hall of Order against assistant supervisor Jake Sullivan. He claims that earlier this afternoon, you used your position to exert psychological pressure and threaten penalties in order to take possession of twenty-four Fist Essence ampoules."

Johansson's voice didn't waver as he continued:

"Cadet Marek also claims that yesterday, and I quote, 'your little gang staged a demonstration of what awaits him — repeated public humiliation, for which he was the one penalised.'"

The entire block fell silent. Even the air seemed to hold its breath. I could feel every pair of eyes drilling into me.

So that's the smell of incoming shit I've been sensing all day.

But now that everything was out in the open… I wanted to laugh.

I scanned the corridor, trying to spot Marek, Kiren, or Tan. None of them were there. Only Dubois — his pale face now blotched with patches of nervous red.

"Hah," I exhaled, relaxing just a little. "And does the cadet have anything to back this up, beyond his word?" I asked. "Cadet Marek is a known bully. He's been caught multiple times harassing others. It's not my fault his victims got organised and hit back."

I almost asked where exactly he got those ampoules — but caught myself. Too suspicious. Like I already knew about them.

Johansson tilted his head slightly to the side.

"We're entitled to search your locker," Johansson said, eyes sharp, scanning every flicker of my reaction.

"Sir, I'm a Fist cultivator. I do have Fist Essence in my locker," I replied evenly.

Johansson's expression soured slightly — not what he'd hoped to hear, clearly. I decided to make his job easier.

"Twenty ampoules, all traceable. In fact, Supervisor Liang Shi can confirm the origin."

By then, I was smiling — not even trying to hide it.

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Johansson turned to Liang Shi.

"You haven't used them yet?" the supervisor asked me.

"You can check that directly in my interface," I said.

"Assistants, step forward," Liang Shi ordered. "I take it each of you can confirm four ampoules?"

My fellow assistants nodded. Liang Shi paused slightly when his gaze landed on blotchy-faced Dubois, but chose not to comment.

"They were settling who gets the worst shift," he explained. "Their idea of 'worst' is… questionable. But the twenty ampoules are easy to track."

Johansson took in Liang Shi's calm assurance, my grin, and called out:

"Lukas Marek!"

Marek rushed over with an anxious look, already realising the plan was collapsing. Our eyes met — briefly. My grin widened. His face darkened.

Johansson didn't miss the moment. He then pointed at two other cadets.

"You and you. With me."

And so the whole parade of us marched to my room. My guys weren't allowed in, by the way.

Under the eyes of the supervisors and witnesses, I opened the locker and stepped back.

Johansson nodded at the cadets he'd picked.

"Inspect everything. No hands."

Once they'd scanned the inside, Johansson began pulling things out: gloves, my mace, water bottles, tins of tea… He laid it all out on the table.

"You," he said to one of the cadets. "Count the ampoules."

"Twenty," the cadet said.

"One by one. Out loud," Johansson ordered, without taking his eyes off Marek.

The air shifted. That dangerous aura of superior cultivation rolled through the room. I'd felt it before — and after Novak, it didn't rattle me much anymore. But Marek and the witnesses shrank under the weight of it.

"One, two…" the cadet began. "...twenty," he finished.

"Well?" Johansson asked Marek.

Marek was visibly rattled now, but not ready to give up.

"He hid them!" he snapped, desperation creeping into his voice.

"I swear, I never received any essence from him," I said, laughing. "Hell, I'd even take a truth serum test if you want."

Johansson raised a brow.

"What kind of serum are we talking about?"

"Truth tea," I said with a straight face.

"You've been reading too much science fiction, cadet," Johansson replied. "Still, your confidence is compelling." Then he turned back to Marek. "Unlike yours."

Marek's eyes darted like a cornered rat's. They landed again on my now-empty locker — then jumped to Marlon's.

"There!" he blurted. "He gave it to his roommate for safekeeping."

Almost nailed it, I thought.

"We have no grounds to suspect those cadets," Johansson said with a slow shake of his head.

But Marek doubled down. "They're definitely in there!"

"And you're willing to bet on it?" I asked. "Say… five ampoules of essence?"

"Sir, I think my neighbours would agree to open their lockers — if Marek pays them for the privilege. And if the ampoules are found, I'll reimburse him myself."

Johansson tilted his head. He'd already caught on — I was digging Marek's grave deeper, and he let me.

"I'd advise you to drop this idea," he said flatly. "I don't know what plan you had, cadet, but it's clearly failed. You've already earned yourself a solid penalty for false accusations, and if you continue pushing and causing trouble, it'll only get worse.

"Keep in mind — I'm not limited to ten points like Liang Shi."

"But what if the ampoules are there?" Marek asked — stubborn, to my absolute delight. "Do I still get penalised?"

"No," Johansson said after a beat. "Here's how we'll handle it. Right now, you're at twenty penalty points. For every locker we open that doesn't have the ampoules — that's another ten. Also, you'll be paying Sullivan's neighbours for access. I'll transfer the points from your account directly. Your balance can go well below zero. Whether it's worth it — that's your call."

I couldn't help grinning.

Marek nodded, jaw clenched, and went all in.

Marlon opened his locker without a word. There was barely anything inside — a box of tea, a set of plastic spikes, a brewing mug, and a toothbrush. The witnesses glanced over everything — clean.

"Next?" Johansson asked.

Marek gave a stiff nod, jaw clenched. All eyes turned to Denis's locker.

He sighed like he was about to be frisked before execution, but opened it without protest. Inside was a bit of clutter, but nothing unusual: six Palm Essence ampoules, a few herb jars, a couple of memory cards. Nothing illegal.

And then it was Bao's turn.

He stood silently, arms crossed over his chest, face like stone.

Johansson looked to Marek — now dark as a thundercloud — waited for the nod, then turned back to Bao.

"Your turn."

Bao didn't move.

"I refuse," he said at last.

I raised an eyebrow in surprise. Marek lit up like a jackpot had just hit. He must have thought he'd finally landed something.

"I don't want everyone here seeing what's in my locker," Bao said, voice flat and even.

Johansson gave him a long, measuring look. And I'll admit — I immediately thought Bao had screwed up again. Was the failed cultivation not enough? Did he really have something forbidden in there?

"Got something to hide, cadet?" Johansson asked, echoing my own thoughts.

"Of course I do!" Bao snapped. "Everyone's trying to get ahead here. I don't want to lay my cards out for the whole block!"

"I'll rephrase," Johansson said coolly, pointing directly at the locker. "Is there anything prohibited in there?"

"What? Of course not!" Bao bristled.

I exhaled and stepped in.

"Bao, come on. At this point, everyone knows there's something valuable in there. You really want rumours flying around? That you're hiding contraband? Or stolen goods? Just open it, show there's nothing illegal, and this'll all be over."

Bao clenched his jaw, eyes squeezed shut for a second.

"I'm Bao — people gossip about my family no matter what. I'm Bao Feng — they gossip about me even more. I couldn't care less about another round of whispers."

Then he turned to Johansson and said,

"I can show you what's inside. Only you, cadet."

The use of 'cadet' — ignoring Johansson's rank and authority — didn't go unnoticed. And Johansson didn't like it.

He pushed out his aura. Heavy and sharp.

Even I felt it in my gut.

Bao didn't blink. If anything, he straightened under the weight.

Right. His father was a fourth-stage cultivator. He's definitely weathered worse than this.

"With all due respect," Bao said calmly, "I understand you want this to be handled as cleanly as possible. I used to want to join the Hall of Order myself. I know how you operate. But not at my expense."

"You'll take twenty-five points," Johansson reminded him.

"Multiply that by ten and I might consider it."

Johansson smirked and shook his head.

"Two hundred and fifty? That's third place in the weekly tournament. We're done here."

"What? No!" Marek objected, digging in. "They're in there! I know they are!"

"And you're ready to put two hundred and fifty points on the line for that? Considering you've only got thirteen to your name, that puts you at minus three hundred thirty-seven. In all my years, I don't recall anyone hitting that kind of negative score in a single month of training.

"That's a guaranteed expulsion."

"They're in there!" Marek insisted, his conviction now bordering on manic.

"Two fifty?" Johansson confirmed, looking at both cadets.

Marek nodded instantly. Bao hesitated — less certain — but when Johansson gestured, he opened his locker.

We all leaned in, curious to see what exactly Bao had been hiding.

He pulled down a small, round plastic case from the top shelf, set it on the table, popped it open, and turned it to face us. Inside were four internal containers. I'd seen the same kind at Doc Robinson's. And Bao had shown one off before.

He opened the first one — revealing a tiny crystal, like a shard of ice.

"Qi crystals?" one of the witnesses asked.

Bao nodded and closed the container. Then, without ceremony, he gave us half a second to inspect each of the remaining three. Their contents were bigger, fuller — and even from where I stood, I could feel the qi pulsing inside them.

And to think he'd been whining that Daddy wouldn't help him anymore.

Johansson turned to Marek.

He was frozen — wide-eyed, jaw slack. But the eye contact snapped him out of it. He lunged for Bao's locker and started yanking everything out, dumping it onto the floor.

"Hey!" Bao protested.

Johansson looked at Liang Shi, who instantly stepped forward, grabbed Marek's shoulder, and gave it just the right amount of pressure.

Marek folded like wet laundry.

"That's enough, cadet," Liang Shi said.

"They have to be in there!" Marek wailed.

"Well, I don't see them," Johansson replied, scanning the scattered contents. He nodded at the witnesses, who leaned in for one last look.

"Nothing, sir," one of them reported.

"Then we're done with this farce."

Johansson's fingers flew across invisible interface keys. Marlon and Denis started grinning. Bao's eyes widened in disbelief. And Marek… let out a theatrical, drawn-out wail.

"No-o-o-o-o!"

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