Chapter 22

"But Sebastian, I am far from being a brainless idiot stripped of a single shred of conscience. As for exactly who treats me well, it hasn't reached the point where I completely fail to see it."

Those words struck Sebastian's heart like raw green plums pressed into juice, flowing through his tongue straight into his body, seeping into his blood—carrying a trace of bitterness, a trace of sweetness, and a lingering wave of sour friction.

Presumably, when it came to loving someone, no matter how meticulously cautious one remained, it could never be completely concealed.

He pressed his lips together, just about to say something, when Asher spoke up again.

"I know you've looked after me plenty over all these years, and I'm far from being ungrateful. Although we've always been somewhat at odds, our relationship has always been distinct from everyone else's. I comprehend that much perfectly in my heart."

Sebastian lowered his eyes. He desperately wanted to ask Asher exactly what made it so distinct.

Refraining from waiting for him to ask, Asher continued on his own: "Just like my mom used to say when we were kids—what biological brothers don't grow up bickering and fighting? If you didn't deliberately goad and anger me, how on earth could I refrain from viewing you as my best partner?"

"..."

Who the hell is your biological brother.

Who the hell is your best partner.

Sebastian lifted his head to look at the two bags of fluid hanging from the hook, seriously calculating whether stuffing this single-celled paramecium named Asher into them would drown him.

Yet this already counted as the most sentimental speech Asher could possibly deliver.

求得 Asher’s face look somewhat uneasy as he rubbed his nose with a trace of awkward discomfort. "Although I'm not very skilled at delivering pleasant words, I'm actually a remarkably loyal person. I don't owe favors to others. In any case, tracing whatever good you've done for me, I commit it all to memory, and I'll treat you well in return. So in the future, can you stop constantly goading me on purpose? My temper isn't great, and it's easy for me to put on a sour face, but in truth... I've never genuinely detested you."

Whether a favor was owed or not, Sebastian found it difficult to say.

But he had never anticipated that one day, Asher would be the first to fracture the thin sheet of ice that defined their tacit, aggressive standoff—actively taking a step forward toward him.

The fact that he had actively taken this step was already more than enough; everything else no longer held much significance for himself.

He couldn't afford to be greedy.

Letting out a smile: "Fine, then I’ll ensure my words are sweeter in the future, coaxing you more. How does that sound?"

"Who the hell wants you to coax them."

Asher slanted a hostile look over him. Snatching the suppressant, he paced toward the Omega restroom.

When he returned, he was carrying a portion of mung bean, lily, and sago porridge—a specific blend Sebastian was highly fond of drinking.

No sugar had been added.

Yet Sebastian felt as though he could faintly taste a sliver of sweetness.

Sebastian possessed an excellent physical build. After his fever broke, he was kept under observation for two hours, and once no further issues surfaced, the physician casually prescribed a few medications to prevent a cold before permitting his return.

Having been injected with the third suppressant, Asher’s body had restored its normal state, and he casually collected two extra pieces along the way just in case.

Watching him meticulously stuff the suppressants inside his bag, Sebastian blurted out as if possessed by a ghost, "There's no telling whether taking too many of these things inflicts any harm on the body."

"Uh, the impact should be minimal," Asher zipped his backpack, hooking the strap to sling it over a single shoulder. "The physician stated that suppressant technology is exceptionally mature nowadays. Certain Omegas will depend entirely on suppressants to live out their entire existence after their Alpha passes away, purely to remain loyal to them."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "What exactly does that expression of absolute relief on your face signify?"

"What else could it signify? The literal meaning on the surface, of course! The moment I reflect on being marked by an Alpha and tied to one for the rest of my life, my scalp turns completely numb. Therefore, catching sight of the fact that I still possess an alternative choice to live out my existence alongside suppressants, shouldn't I feel thoroughly delighted?"

The delight belongs entirely to you, having absolutely nothing to do with me.

Sebastian uttered not a single syllable, marching straight toward the decaying old Santana dispatched by the base.

Passing a convenience store, he stepped inside to purchase several bottles of water and a carton of cigarettes. Getting into the vehicle, he handed them straight to the driver, speaking with total courtesy and politeness: "Sorry for the trouble of making you take this trip, Big Brother, and making you wait for so long. Genuinely embarrassed."

"No, no, not at all! In any case, we're simply completing a task for our wages. Being idle is being idle; absolutely no necessity to be polite."

The driver spoke the absolute truth. He had caught a break to watch a ball game for the entire morning. Now, being treated with such meticulous consideration and sensibility by an exceptionally handsome child from a wealthy family made him feel thoroughly embarrassed instead.

Sebastian delivered another couple of lines, and scratching his head, the man accepted the gifts. Returning to the base to report the situation, he described Sebastian’s illness to be a fraction more perilous than it actually was. The camp instructors felt a trace of dissatisfaction, yet found it difficult to voice any further criticisms.

Mr. Bennett was also a person who doted on his students, concluding that a military camp amounted to nothing more than raw formalism anyway. Asher and Sebastian were exceptionally upstanding on regular days—possessing excellent health and stellar academic records; it wouldn't do to have them break down from exhaustion or fall ill over a military camp, making it difficult to deliver a proper justification to the school and parents later.

Thus, once the two returned, he refrained from making them join the training immediately, chasing them straight back to the dorm to rest.

Taking advantage of the vacant dorm, the two comfortably completed a hot shower, slipped into their pajamas, and lay down on their cots to play on their phones, a collection of snacks Sebastian had purchased from the convenience store resting on the desk.

By nightfall, when Caleb and Mason returned while supporting each other, they immediately drove over to offer their condolences due to their nagging concern for the two grand lords. Catching sight of this scenery, their entire systems went haywire.

It took Caleb a massive horde of effort to restrain the Mason who desperately wanted to go take a cold shower to trigger a fever.

Seeing his scheme fail, Mason dropped his weight straight onto Asher’s stool, weeping a torrent of tears and snot. "Ash, you have zero idea, this simply isn't an existence meant for human beings. Do you comprehend exactly how much misery we endured? The moment we roll out of bed, it’s a five-kilometer run, followed by a four-hundred-meter obstacle race. Then we stood at absolute military attention for two hours in the afternoon, and once that wrapped up, they actually forced us to practice with rifles! Rifles! Real freaking firearms! I am a compliant, innocent child born in a time of absolute peace, what the hell am I practicing with that trash for?!"

Caleb threw his arms around Mason’s head, letting out a loud wail as he wept: "Practicing is one thing, but they demand absolute precision! During the final evaluation, if your total score falls short of forty-five rings, you won't secure an 'Excellent' rating! Without an 'Excellent', the Exemplary Student title vanishes into thin air! Good heavens!"

This was the very first time Asher witnessed a literal execution of weeping while holding heads together, watching with immense interest. Once he had seen enough, he offered a well-intentioned reminder: "Mason weeping is one thing, but Caleb, what the hell are you weeping for? What does the Exemplary Student title have to do with you?"

Caleb wiped his tears. "Your logic holds absolute truth."

Yet his tears refused to stop. Curling his mouth, he continued his frantic wailing: "Ash, you have zero idea. The Omega and Beta brackets are acceptable enough, but our Alpha bracket is a pure living hell. That instructor is an absolute sadist, genuinely. Every sentence he delivers is laced with mocking friction, his temper is exceptionally explosive, he loves launching personal attacks, and he looks down on everyone intensely."

Mason nodded in absolute endorsement: "Genuinely! He perfectly radiates the vibe of a toxic, obsessive dominant male force forcing his control over you!"

Asher: "...What on earth are you reading day in and day out?"

"That isn't the principal focus! The focus is that I feel I won't survive to return to Riverdale Prep alive! Ash, save us, waaa..."

An earth-shattering racket, as if mourning a deceased parent.

Catching wind of the situation, Elliot came over to visit the patients. Standing at the doorway, he asked with total gravity, "Did you guys discover some terminal illness at the hospital? Why exactly are they weeping this catastrophically?"

Finally, an Alpha with a normal system had arrived.

Asher asked, "Elliot, word is the instructor for the Alpha bracket is an absolute beast."

Stepping inside, Elliot sat down along the edge of Asher's cot, pulling a packet of potato chips from next to him. Opening them, he spoke, "He indeed is a bit much."

Asher delivered a swift kick to his leg. "Don't sit on my bed to eat."

"Have the times you sat on my bed to eat potato chips been few and far between?"

"In any case, if a single crumb drops, you’re destined to wash it for me." Asher was habitually groundless, returning straight to the core topic. "Word is you guys practiced with rifles?"

"What's this, getting fired up?" Elliot slanted a glance at him. "Experience tells me you're preparing to show off again tomorrow. But I advise you to rein it in; that instructor's character is truly garbage. Be careful not to let your flashiness cross the line, otherwise he won't grant you an 'Excellent' rating when the time comes."

"I don't particularly care about that Exemplary Student title. Hey, don't finish them all yourself; feed me a chip."

"Are your hands paralyzed?"

"Too lazy to wash them."

Elliot rolled his eyes. Selecting a massive piece, he extended it straight right before Asher.

Sebastian, who had remained entirely silent while reading his book on his cot all this time, suddenly closed the volume with a heavy, sharp bang.

Lifting his eyelids, his gaze swept flatly across the three outsiders inside the room. "Slipping into other dorms results in a deduction of conduct points."

His gaze finally came to a rest securely on Elliot.

It could hardly be described as friendly.

Elliot found it somewhat bizarre, yet he had also caught wind of the fact that this untouched flower was difficult to get along with. Fearing Asher would be caught in an awkward position between them, he stuffed the potato chip straight into his own mouth, patted his hands, and stood up. "True enough. I estimate the dorm checks are about to begin. You patients rest up properly; I'll head out first."

Caleb and Mason also clearly detected that Grand Lord Sebastian had been thoroughly annoyed by the racket. Exhibiting excellent situational awareness, they supported each other, trembling with weakness as they departed.

The vibrant room turned instantly quiet and cold.

Asher curled his lip. "Look at this flaw of yours. Sure enough, there's a definitive reason why your popularity falls short."

Sebastian had zero desire to speak with an Omega caught in the late stages of straight-Alpha syndrome.

At six o'clock the next morning, when Asher was yanked out of bed by Sebastian to be stuffed into his camouflage uniform and combat boots, he finally comprehended Caleb and Mason's misery.

This was genuinely far from an existence meant for human beings.

Driven by his waking temper, his eyes were cast down with absolute laziness. The belt bound his waist into a narrow blade, and the combat boots encased his long, straight legs, yet his pace remained thoroughly loose—the proud ferocity tracing his very bones completely impossible to hide.

Flashy, yet thoroughly arrogant.

Turning to Sebastian, nothing but pure arrogance remained. He was a fraction taller, his shoulders broader, and his legs were long to an absurd extent. That uniform draped over his frame sat with absolute precision and crispness, not a single inch short of flawless perfection.

Stripped of the gold-rimmed glasses he habitually used to put on a front, his features revealed a wave of casual detachment and disdain—crisp, cold, proud, ascetic, and dominant.

Neither of them had ever experienced a brutal beating from society. The moment they arrived at the training field strictly hitting the designated time, every single student and instructor had already arrived beforehand.

Yet the two young masters concluded that since assembly was set for six-thirty, and it was currently only six-twenty-six, there was absolutely no rush. Thus, utilization of their long legs, they lazily sauntered from this exact end of the training field toward the Alpha bracket at the far opposite end.

The appearance of either individual alone was more than enough to anchor the crowd's gaze; when the two surfaced simultaneously, the effect underwent a geometric explosion.

"Holy sh—, arghhhh, give me an oxygen tank right now!"

"Currently pinching my own pressure points."

"That devastating beauty has thoroughly soothed my fractured soul."

"Are they genuinely wearing the exact same model of camp uniform as us?!"

"Ah, my Ash is far too hot, heavens, don't look at me, Ash, don't look at me! If you look at me further, my water is going to break."

"Ash is clearly looking at me!"

"Ash belongs to you all, I simply want to forcefully strip Sebastian's clothes away just to watch him shed biological tears!"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"Secure this Omega suffering from absolute mental illness, I'll go track down a chicken coop."

"Requiring a chicken coop plus one, but the two of them genuinely are so handsome, there's no telling who will luck out in the future."

"No matter who either of them stays with, it feels like an absolute pity."

"So why exactly don't the two of them just stay together?"

"..."

The crowd shifted their eyes toward that bamboo pole who had just transferred into the Beta bracket.

"Your logic holds absolute truth."

"Your logic holds absolute truth."

"Your logic holds absolute truth."

...

Only a certain pair inside the Omega bracket treated this with absolute contempt, launching an internal slander.

Lulu: My boy needs to study hard, that predator Sebastian get the hell away from him! Let me take a drag of my boy's devastating beauty!

Milo: The most Alpha Alpha belongs entirely to me!!!

The training field, which had been completely dead just a moment ago, erupted into an instant boil due to the appearance of the pair—low whispers and high-pitched squeals filling the air relentlessly. The instructors raised their voices to bark a few barks of discipline, yet it was entirely useless.

The true culprits remained completely oblivious, pacing along with an unhurried step, insisting on completing their absolute front of flashiness.

The moment they reached the Alpha bracket and prepared to step into the formation, they were called to a stop by the instructor: "You two, halt!"

Asher frozen his steps, turning his head to raise an eyebrow. Sebastian also frozen his steps, lifting his eyelids to cast a flat glance toward that instructor named Yellow Ming.

"Is there an issue?"

Thoroughly impatient.

The members of the Alpha bracket, who had been brutally broken down for an entire day, held their breath.

The instructor had never encountered students of this nature before, letting out a cold sneer. "Are you two the fragile, weak students who headed down to the hospital yesterday?"

Hearing the words "fragile and weak," Asher was instantly displeased. He desperately wanted to stuff the speaker beneath freezing water for an hour in the dead of night to see if he could still remain vibrant.

Conducting a thorough evaluation of the man, he was a relatively tall Alpha, possessing robust muscle density that even the camouflage uniform failed to conceal. Yet unfortunately, his face was remarkably narrow, his forehead sharp, and a trace of uncomfortable, predatory ferocity traced his features.

His speech was indeed laced with mocking friction.

The instructor took two steps forward, his lips curling into a somewhat dark smile. "Across the entire grade, you two arrived the absolute latest, yet you're sauntering along this slowly. Are you here for a military camp or a fashion show? Who exactly are you putting on an arrogant front for?"

Sebastian lifted his hand, casting a glance at his watch. "Six-twenty-nine and forty-eight seconds. Not late."

"When you step onto a battlefield, who the hell is going to check the clock for you?"

From childhood to adulthood, Asher despised this exact metaphor of stepping onto a battlefield most, replying lazily, "Safeguarding world peace is an absolute responsibility for everyone. In a time of absolute peace, why exactly are you cursing a war into existence?"

A low wave of laughter erupted throughout the crowd.

Yellow Ming knew that engaging in a battle of words with two students wouldn't grant him any real benefit; delivering an instant show of authority was the definitive choice.

Letting out another cold sneer: "Then you better pray the world remains peaceful forever, otherwise with you luxury, lazy young masters who are cut from the exact same cloth as absolute trash, you'll drop dead faster than anyone else. I am far from intending to look for trouble with you on purpose, it's simply that target shooting was already taught yesterday. I lack the spare time to grant you personal tutoring, so brace yourselves—don't drag our Alpha bracket down during the evaluation when the time comes."

"Fine, then." Asher slanted a glance toward the neatly stacked crates of camp firearms resting nearby. "Type 56 semi-automatic rifle?"

Yellow Ming was a bit surprised. "Quite sharp."

"Average." Asher tilted his head to sweep a look over Sebastian. "Are your hands rusty?"

"Acceptable enough."

Asher nodded, looking back toward Yellow Ming. "Instructor, can these rifles fire right now?"

Yellow Ming assumed he was simply a teenage boy whose hands were itching upon seeing firearms, wanting to touch a toy.

Casting a dismissive glance over him: "What's this? Want to satisfy an itch? Let me leave my words right here: I established the rules for this shooting exercise yesterday. A total of ten rounds; for every single miss off the target, a one-kilometer run. Anyone who fails to hit three rings three times consecutively executes a one-kilometer run. If you want to fire, fine, but you must strictly follow the rules."

The crowd let out a synchronized, sharp gasp of air.

Ash and Boss Seb hadn't been present during the instruction yesterday; after ten rounds, a five-kilometer run would be the absolute minimum foundation, right?

Yet the two subjects put on entirely flat expressions.

Asher cracked his thumb against his index finger, letting out a sharp pop, before shaking his neck twice, his tone packed with a lazy wave of absolute arrogance.

"It's nothing, really. I simply wanted to make you see that we luxury, lazy young masters... might actually turn out to be pretty freaking formidable."