Even Elias gave Jian Ci a look like he was watching a man walk to his own execution. His brows were drawn tight, lips pressed into a line, eyes flicking with the kind of pity that made Jian Ci’s skin crawl.
Jian Ci ignored it. He had mech matches to prepare for. In the locker room, the air was thick with the scent of coolant and adrenaline. Jian Ci stood before his locker, slipping into the inner weave—psi-conductive fabric that clung to his body like a second skin. Every movement was precise, practiced. He tightened the straps across his chest, locked the seals at his wrists and ankles, and adjusted the neural ports along his spine with the ease of someone who’d done this a hundred times before.
Elias who had come in a minute ago, hovered behind him, shifting from foot to foot.
"Buddy," Elias said finally, voice low. "I know, I know—I am overstepping—but I got you this appointment."
Jian Ci didn’t look up. "What are you talking about?"
Elias hesitated. His mouth opened, then closed. He glanced at Jian Ci’s face, then at the locker, then back again. "Never mind. I just... I wish you luck."
Jian Ci turned, eyes sharp. "If you want to die, then walk out."
Elias flinched, but didn’t move. He swallowed hard, then said, "I thought you knew."
"Knew what?" Elias tapped his communicator. A floating screen blinked to life between them, casting a pale blue glow across the locker room.
"On the forum," Elias said, voice tight. "They... they are talking about you."
Jian Ci’s eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, the screen reflecting in his irises. Threads of text scrolled across the display. There were screenshots, speculation, blurry photos, and worst of all... memes. Dozens of them.
Jian Ci furrowed his brows as he stared at the floating screen. The title glared back at him in bold, mocking letters:
Tenth Is Impotent
Impotent! Impotent! Impotent!
The word echoed in his mind like a hammer striking glass three times, and then his composure cracked.
He scrolled down, eyes scanning the thread with growing disbelief. The original post was a secondhand account of someone claiming to have overheard Alarna’s roommate whispering in the dorm lounge.
["Apparently, His Highness has a problem down there. Otherwise, why hasn’t he even touched Alarna after four years?"]
The comments were a battlefield.
Some tried to defend him:
["His Highness is a perfect gentleman. He doesn’t want to sully our goddess."]
["Just because you’re in a relationship doesn’t mean you have to sleep together."]
But the rebuttals came fast and brutal:
["Four years. Four. Freaking. Years."]
["No way he’s just being respectful. He’s impotent, end of story."]
["Poor Alarna. She must be starving. Let let me be ypur husband. I will satisfy you."]
Jian Ci’s jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
He didn’t care about intimacy. Never had, but this...this was different. This was public humiliation. A direct attack on his dignity. On his body. On his name.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, the curse slipping out like venom.
He wanted to storm out and confront Alarna, demand to know what the hell she or her roommate, had been saying. But the match was about to begin, and he couldn’t afford to be late.
Behind him, Elias stood frozen, guilt written all over his face. He hadn’t meant for this. He really thought Jian Ci already knew.
He didn’t dare speak. Didn’t even dare breathe too loudly. He just slipped away, rushing to look for Yu Xi to save him.
***
The arena doors hissed open with a hydraulic sigh, and Jian Ci stepped through, encased in his mech suit; sleek, silver-black plating catching the floodlights in sharp gleams. Every piece of armor was perfectly aligned, every movement fluid and deliberate. He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. His presence alone carved a path through the tension in the air.
He walked like the battlefield already belonged to him.
The cadets in the stands erupted into cheers, their voices bouncing off the steel walls in a wave of sound.
High above, in the observation deck, Yu Xi leaned lazily against the handrail, his arms folded, chin resting on his wrist. His eyes never left Jian Ci.
There was no mistaking the look in them. They were intense, but more than that there was something darker. A glimmer of obsession, sharp and hungry. His gaze traced the curve of Jian Ci’s broad chest, the flex of his arms beneath the armor, the powerful line of his legs as he moved with lethal grace.
Yu Xi bit his lower lip, just slightly. He was enamored and he couldn’t wait for the next time he could have Jian Ci close enough to taste again.
Vigil a few feet from Yu Xi watched the entire exchange unfold. He saw the look in Yu Xi’s eyes, followed the line of his gaze to the figure striding into the arena like a god of war.
Vigil sneered. Then he looked back at Yu Xi, his expression unreadable.
***
Jian Ci’s face was calm, almost too calm. The kind of composure that made him look carved from marble, handsome in a way that felt untouchable. But when his gaze locked onto his first opponent, Harrison, the mask cracked.
A slow sneer curled his lips, revealing the sharp glint of his tiger tooth. It wasn’t just a smile, it was a warning. A predator’s mark.
The air in the arena shifted. It thickened, heavy with pressure, as if the oxygen itself had turned to glass. Jian Ci’s aura rolled out in waves, cold and merciless, pressing down on the steel floor like a storm front. The crowd in the stands fell silent, the tension so palpable it made the lights above seem dimmer.
Harrison’s breath caught in his throat. His hands trembled at his sides, his fingers twitching.
He wanted to speak, to protest, to beg someone, anyone, to take his place. But the match had already begun and escape was no longer an option.
The instructor stepped forward, voice clipped and impersonal. "You know the rules."
Both cadets nodded. "Wait for the signal," the instructor said, then turned and walked away, his boots echoing against the metal floor.
Seconds passed then minutes. The signal finally turned green.
Jian Ci didn’t move at first. He simply raised a hand and tapped his chest. The sound was sharp, resonant, like a war drum calling something ancient to wake.
Then it happened. A surge of light burst from his core, psychic resonance flaring outward in a violent bloom. Arcs of violet flame licked the air, curling around his frame like living serpents. Silver sparks danced across his armor, tracing the lines of his mech suit with electric grace. The crowd gasped. Harrison took a step back.