Chapter 23

The air was thick with absolute provocation.

Yellow Ming had grown up roughing it out in a deep mountain valley. His family was impoverished, so he couldn't afford an education and frequently went hungry. He started working odd jobs at the age of thirteen or fourteen, enduring plenty of beatings and hardships. Later, through a stroke of fate, he joined the military, grinding through several years in a location with the absolute worst conditions. After being discharged due to injuries and illnesses, he joined a military camp organization to serve as an instructor.

He prided himself on being a man forged through raw hardship, so he didn't care much for those young masters who were born with silver spoons in their mouths.

He found Asher especially vexing—an absolute playboy luxury-boy type who was an eyesore no matter how he looked at him.

Habitually, even if he found someone an eyesore, he couldn't genuinely execute anything against them since strict discipline was firmly in place. But now that Asher was cockily driving straight into the barrel of the gun himself, he couldn't be blamed for resolving to crush the absolute pride of this pack of little bastards.

"Return to formation!"

"At ease, attention!"

"Eyes left, eyes right! Align yourselves across all ranks, call out your numbers!"

"Inspect firearms! Organize your gear!"

"Take your positions at the firing range!"

The sixty-two members of the Alpha bracket collected their rifles one by one, assembling and taking their positions at the firing range at the front section of the training field. The remaining three hundred-plus students maintained their military attention on the spot.

Standing at attention on the surface, but blatantly spectating a drama in reality.

The instructors all wanted to watch a hilarious joke out of these two incredibly flashy little bastards, while the students desperately hoped their Ash could win back a breath of absolute pride.

They had been brutally bullied by this pack of instructors for the entire day yesterday—disciplined, cursed, and punished relentlessly.

Although they were aware that Asher hadn't participated in the target shooting instruction yesterday, inexplicably, their experiences at Riverdale Prep over the past few years left them consistently believing there was absolutely no front their Ash couldn't pull off.

After all, Ash was number one in the universe.

Yellow Ming also picked up on the fact that the popularity of these two among the students appeared exceptionally high; everyone was staring with wide eyes, as if anticipating some kind of savior.

He concluded that this was fine too; the power of executing a public display of authority to warn the masses would turn out even more formidable.

Thus, channeling his energy, his voice boomed loud enough to be heard across the entire training field: "You two, step out of the formation! State your names!"

"Asher."

"Sebastian."

"Are you two certain you wish to apply to utilize the Type 56 semi-automatic rifle to execute target shooting training?!"

"Certain."

"Fine! Ten rounds per person. I already outlined the rules, but since this is an extra application outside of regular training that has delayed everyone's morning run, your failures will compromise the entire Alpha bracket! For every single extra kilometer you have to run, the entire bracket will follow you to execute an extra kilometer on top of the original five kilometers!"

This sent the spectating crowd completely into a daze. How on earth did a wave of drama manage to crash straight into their own heads?

Sterling was the very first to object: "Based on what?! They caused the drama, so based on what must we follow them to suffer a punishment? Hell."

Yellow Ming barked: "Sterling, step out of the formation!"

Sterling complied with absolute reluctance.

"Speaking inside the formation without requesting permission beforehand, and utilizing foul language on top of that—fifty push-ups as punishment!"

"Instructor, I..."

"One hundred!"

Sterling held his breath, yet didn't dare utter another single syllable, merely resigning himself to his grim fate as he paced to the side to begin his push-ups.

Asher remained thoroughly lazy, appearing to have completely disregarded Yellow Ming's words. Wiping down the rifle in his hands, he asked casually, "Report, Instructor. Can I apply that if Sebastian and I fail, I alone will complete the total number of penal laps required for the entire Alpha bracket?"

Fearing Yellow Ming would fail to comprehend, he continued to explain in a slow, deliberate manner: "Meaning, the entire Alpha bracket consists of sixty-two members. For every single round I miss off the target, I alone will execute an extra sixty-two kilometers. But if the two of us strike the absolute center with every single round, then the morning run for the Alpha bracket today will be commuted to a free study period. Look, is that acceptable?"

The entire field was shocked to the point of being completely at a loss for words.

Holy sh—, isn't this putting on a front that crosses the line a bit too much? What happens if he fails to deliver? Sixty-two kilometers—a single miss off the target would literally claim a person's life.

And striking the absolute center with every round? Did he assume he was a sniper character inside a game executing an ultimate ability with zero cooldown?

Yellow Ming concluded that this kid truly was arrogant to the absolute core, possessing a fair amount of flair in his arrogance.

He actually curled his lips into a nod, granting his consent: "Fine. Application approved."

Securing a satisfactory response, Asher tilted his head to look at Sebastian, raising an eyebrow. "Well? Boss Seb, do you have the nerve to accompany me to play a round?"

With one hand tucked into his pocket and the other gripping his rifle, Sebastian looked toward Asher, his eyes squinting slightly as his lips curled into an indulgent smile. "Rest easy. With me standing right here, could I possibly allow you to suffer a punishment?"

Along the eastern horizon, the warm orange glow of the early sun had already scattered a sliver of soft light.

Positions taken for shooting.

Prone position, loading ammunition, constructing a support base, right hand gripping the stock, frame aligned in a single line, left hand cradling the magazine, both elbows braced against the earth, frame flush against the ground, buttstock pressed securely into the shoulder, head tilted slightly forward, cheek resting naturally against the stock, aiming, taking up the slack on the trigger, holding breath, firing.

Ten rings.

Ten rings.

Ten rings.

...

From start to finish, tracking from rhythm to mechanical movement, the two were in absolute unison—every single shot drilling a perfect ten rings.

Even though the shooting range sat at a distance of less than a hundred meters, turning out a fraction simpler compared against a standard four-hundred-meter shooting training, this kind of textbook prone rifle-bracing mechanics and sight alignment was more than enough to leave every single student of Riverdale Prep utterly dumbfounded.

"Holy crap, Ash and Boss Seb are so freaking fierce."

"Legendary, legendary. Truly legendary."

"Is there a single thing star scholars and staggering beauties cannot achieve? No."

"Holy sh—, are these two twins? How on earth can they be this identical? I originally assumed my brain had automatically executed a copy-and-paste command."

Compared against the absolute shock and bedazzlement of everyone else, Elliot was far more peaceful, revealing an "I knew it" expression as he murmured in a low voice, "The shooting mechanics for these two were taught hand-to-hand by the exact same person, and they began learning together the moment they reached an age capable of holding a firearm. Can it turn out any different? And can it refrain from being formidable?"

The moment he outlined the details, everyone recalled the prominent backgrounds of the Asher and Sebastian families, finding it no longer strange.

A deep family heritage was destined to look distinct from ordinary wealthy children after all.

The two packed away their rifles and stood fully upright, devoid of any proud expressions on their faces. Their expressions were entirely flat; Asher even let out a casual yawn, as if he had merely fired a toy water gun just now.

Slinging the rifle casually over a single shoulder, Asher lifted his chin toward Yellow Ming. "Report, Instructor. A total of twenty rounds were fired by the two candidates, and twenty rounds struck the target. The average score: ten rings."

Striking the absolute center with every single round—the sniper character had truly carried the match.

At this range, executing fixed-trajectory shooting with a Type 56 semi-automatic rifle from a prone position, putting every shot into the red center wasn't overly difficult as long as someone had undergone disciplined training.

But these were merely two high school seniors.

Yellow Ming had originally intended to crush the absolute pride of this pack of luxury children, yet he hadn't anticipated that these two genuinely possessed a solid pair of skills.

The terms he had personally struck with Asher right in front of this many people could completely not be backed out of, otherwise his authority and face as an instructor would vanish into thin air. But if he genuinely granted an exemption from the morning run, casually cutting down on the training tasks would count as a failure of duty and a violation of regulations on his part as an instructor.

At that moment, he had simply found Asher's "I am the absolute fiercest in the universe" front deeply vexing, judging a book by its cover, and succumbed to a flash of goading.

As it turned out, instead of crushing their pride, he had trapped himself in an absolute dilemma, unable to step down gracefully.

Yellow Ming calculated for a brief second. Biting his lip, he resolved to safeguard his face first, leaving everything else for later. After all, four days remained; he was still their instructor, so opportunities would be abundant.

Thus, setting his face in a cold line, his voice dropped low: "Asher, Sebastian, return to the formation! The morning run for the Alpha bracket is commuted to activity on the spot! Disbanded! Assemble punctually at eight-thirty to begin four-hundred-meter obstacle race training!"

"Wow—"

Waves of envious, sharp gasps drifted over from the Beta and Omega brackets.

The Alpha bracket erupted into absolute excitement.

Utilizing their hands to gesture high into the air, Caleb and Mason took the lead to chant an endorsement: "Milky skin Asher! We love you Asher! The most Alpha Alpha Asher! All-powerful Asher!"

The two delivered the lines with full emotion and absolute sincerity, radiating a fair amount of infectious power, driving the pack of robust Alphas in the bracket to coarsen their throats to follow along, roaring the chant together.

Including that idiot Sterling "The Bull."

The scale of how devastating it sounded to the ears was completely unimaginable.

"..."

Asher turned his head, looking seriously toward Yellow Ming. "Report, Instructor. Is it still in time to order this pack of absolute idiots to go run the morning run right now?"

Yellow Ming had zero desire to throw a tantrum back at him.

Sebastian endorsed the phrasing "milky skin Asher" internally, letting out a tsk along the way. "This title of Riverdale's number one Alpha that I secured with so much effort has vanished just like that. Does it equate to the ten perfect rounds I fired being an absolute waste?"

Asher slanted a hostile look over him. "You should track down a flaw from within your own frame, reflecting on exactly why your popularity falls short. Have you ever reflected on utilizing your own excellence to secure a benefit for the masses? You haven't, so stop being defiant."

His logic held absolute truth.

"But I feel what they spewed holds absolute truth too. Our Ash is remarkably Alpha, and I hold quite a bit of submission toward that."

While delivering his words, Sebastian rested his palm securely against Asher's head, his smile carrying a fair trace of tender warmth.

Asher froze for a fraction of a second. "Sebastian, speak the truth. Did you genuinely turn into an absolute idiot from yesterday's fever?"

The hand Sebastian rested against his head froze silently for a brief moment, before utilizing the momentum to grab his cap brim—pulling it down with a sharp press to completely block Asher's line of sight, letting out a soft chuckle. "Didn't we strike an agreement yesterday? I’m going to ensure my words are sweeter, coaxing you more."

The face Asher hid beneath the cap flushed into an uncomfortable red.

"Sweet enough? If it falls short, I can actually make it a fraction sweeter."

Sebastian’s voice was habitually crisp and detached, yet pressing his volume low at this exact moment while harboring a trace of amusement, it sounded deep and magnetic—perfectly radiating the vibe of a predator playing with someone's heart.

"For instance, not only do I deem our Ash to be the most Alpha, I also believe our Ash looks the absolute best, appearing staggeringly alluring while firing a rifle. Or if you desire to hear 'milky skin Asher, we love you Asher,' I can deliver a few extra lines of that too."

His cadence was slow, gentle, and remarkably serious—completely distinct from his past provocations and mocking friction.

Asher felt the cap was making his face intensely hot.

Turning his body, he marched straight off.

"I'm going to track down a spot to take a morning nap."

He was habitually flashy; whenever others praised him, he would accept it across the board without a single fraction of omission, putting on a show right on the spot along the way.

He had also consistently felt that Sebastian’s mouth was exceptionally infuriating.

Yet when Sebastian genuinely delivered a praise over him, he tumbled into an absolute flush instead, feeling thoroughly unsettled across his entire frame.

Exactly as though the praise delivered by this man looked completely distinct from the praise delivered by anyone else.

Turning his body to march off, his pace was remarkably slow. Sebastian caught up within two steps. Keeping in mind that the boy's skin was thin, he refrained from shouting any further endorsement slogans, suppressing his amusement to murmur, "The dorms cannot be entered at this hour. Where exactly are you heading to take a morning nap?"

Snatched the cap off his head, Asher run his fingers through his hair, speaking with total relaxation: "Just casually tracking down a bench or a patch of open ground to lie down for a bit is fine, right? How on earth could I turn out that delicate?"

While delivering his words, he genuinely walked over to a long bench sitting beneath the shade of the trees outside the training field, dropping his weight down.

Leaning his frame back, he rested his neck along the back of the bench. Tilting his head half-upright, he slapped the cap straight over his face. "Call me around eight o'clock, preventing that instructor from delivering another round of mocking friction and endless nagging."

Driven by his fatigue, his waist relaxed downward naturally, exposing a resilient, soft contour. His long legs were draped loosely—slender, straight, and long, fully visible. With his head half-lifted, the line of his neck stretched long, and when he spoke, his prominent Adam's apple rolled up and down.

Even with that beautiful face completely blocked from view, the little rose remained staggeringly sexy.

Sebastian conducted a serious appreciation of the view, nodding his head with total satisfaction.

Then, sitting down right beside him, he tilted his frame sideways. Resting his right elbow against the back of the bench, his left hand removed the cap covering the boy's face. Staring into his tired, sallow eyes, he asked a question: "Sleeping in this manner—doesn't it trigger an uncomfortable reaction?"

Absolute nonsense.

Of course it's uncomfortable.

I desperately want to wrap myself inside a high-end down blanket over a two-meter-wide customized soft mattress at home to roll around endlessly; can you hoist that over for me?

Asher was packed completely to the brim with a waking temper, yet because his fatigue was far too immense, he even deemed opening his mouth to be an exhausting chore, refraining from spitting the biting words out.

Sebastian picked up on his displeasure, a trace of a predator taking advantage of someone's vulnerability tracing his lips. "If sleeping in this manner is uncomfortable, then I can actually lend my shoulder for you to rest against. Of course, my thigh isn't entirely out of the question either."

Asher unexpectedly and genuinely utilized the momentum to cast a glance toward a certain someone’s broad, flat shoulder and long, solid thigh.

Mm...