Chapter 27

The two lay side by side as the air flowed silently between them. The humming of the grass insects grew increasingly distinct, and the crisp sweetness of the mountain osmanthus turned even more tender.

Sebastian suddenly tilted his frame sideways, propping his elbow up and resting his head against his half-closed right fist. Looking down at Asher, he murmured, "Then exactly to what extent do you deem we need to mind our boundaries?"

This posture sharply closed the face-to-face distance between them. A stray breath or two brushed against Asher’s cheek, wiping a shallow flush onto his skin.

Asher kept his head averted, his lips pressed into a tight straight line, offering zero response.

Sebastian continued in a gentle voice: "For instance, refraining from rooming together? Refraining from sharing the same car to school? Refraining from eating meals together? Or are we completely barred from even remaining desk partners?"

"I didn't mean that!" Asher turned his head abruptly to look at him. "That's far from what I meant..."

His tone carried a trace of panic at the start, before dropping down rather feebly at the end—exactly as if, upon realizing his own agitation, he concluded he shouldn't behave in this manner.

Sebastian suddenly felt he truly was wicked, essentially bullying the boy.

Yet he hadn't anticipated that an individual who was habitually as fierce and dominant as Asher since childhood would turn out to be this pure-hearted regarding this front—pure-hearted to a level that looked a bit dazed.

It truly left a person completely unable to resist the urge to bully him.

He softened his voice to an even greater level of tenderness: "Then explain exactly what you meant. I’m simply terrified of miscalculating your thoughts, making you unhappy again."

Beholding Sebastian’s upstanding attitude, Asher deduced that the other likely hadn't detected his body's biological reaction at that moment. While letting out a sigh of relief internally, he simultaneously felt aggravated that his request had turned out so groundless and inexplicable.

He clearly possessed a completely clear conscience, so why the hell did it look exactly like he was executing a clumsy attempt to cover his tracks?

Continuing along this trajectory would merely trigger an awkward friction, fracturing their sentiment.

He felt Sebastian treated him exceptionally well, and he was entirely unwilling to fracture this sentiment.

Thus, flipping his long legs twice, he pulled out his usual casual, reckless smile: "Heh, nothing, really. I was simply messing around. Act as though I never delivered the line; whatever trajectory we followed in the past, we'll maintain it in the future."

"But aren't you currently an Omega?"

"So what if I'm an Omega? Does being an Omega bar someone from remaining best partners alongside an Alpha? Otherwise, am I destined to live out my existence holding onto Milo in the future? In any case, as long as we remain thoroughly open and possess a clear conscience, we'll proceed with whatever tasks we please. Wouldn't you state that logic holds absolute truth?"

There was no telling whether Asher delivered these words for Sebastian’s ears or purely to soothe his own system.

The fact that he could speak in this manner naturally made Sebastian exceptionally pleased.

Although his own conscience was far from clear, let it remain unclear anyway—Asher completely lacked the capacity to see through it within a brief moment regardless.

Furthermore, the boy’s skin was exceptionally thin, making him far too embarrassed to back out of words he had personally delivered. Since he stated they would proceed with whatever tasks they pleased, it genuinely equated to an absolute license to proceed with whatever tasks they pleased. Even if he felt a trace of embarrassment internally, he would never voice it out to safeguard his proud front.

At a juncture like this, he turned out to be remarkably easy to bully.

Possessing the awareness that he was an Omega and that boundaries existed between Alphas and Omegas, yet turning out to be remarkably easy to bully right right before his face regardless.

Could a more flawless outcome possibly exist?

Although his own actions indeed looked a fraction wicked, worst came to worst, he could simply yield to him more in the future, letting the boy bully him back at his own absolute pleasure.

Sebastian was in an excellent mood. Refraining from delivering a direct counter-line to Asher’s words, he merely squinted his narrow eyes, a smile lightly hooking his lips: "Have you ever read The Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber?"

"Huh?" Asher had zero idea why the topic had abruptly leaped to this direction. "Never read it. Why?"

"Nothing, really. I'll lend the volume to you when an opportunity surfaces in the future; you can check it out. The hour isn't early anymore; let's return to the dorm."

Finishing his piece, Sebastian stood up and leaped cleanly down from the high-altitude platform.

Tracking immediately behind, Asher followed him to leap down.

Yet unfortunately, there was no telling whether this soft safety mat was deliberately assisting Sebastian to bully the boy; as Asher leaped down, his foot caught against the perimeter once more, twisting his ankle a second time. Except this once, he refrained from crashing down, Sebastian extending a hand to encircle his waist, stabilizing his frame securely.

His fingertips brushed past that sensitive waistline once more, causing Asher’s entire frame to instantly turn rigid as an arrow.

Sebastian withdrew his hand with total naturalness, pretending to remain completely oblivious as he asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Asher threw three words out at lightning speed. Pulling his cap brim low, his pace turned exceptionally rapid, leaving Sebastian trailing behind his back.

Sebastian twirled his fingertips, the curve hooked across his lips turning increasingly distinct.

He truly was... far too easy to bully.

When the assessment roster surfaced the next morning, the remaining members of the Alpha bracket collectively expressed that Mason's team consisted of three Kings carrying a solitary Bronze.

Asher and Sebastian naturally necessitated zero discussion, and Caleb, serving as Class 1's sports representative, although his academic performance sat at the absolute bottom of the class, his athletic cells within Class 1 were definitively top-tier.

Therefore, within the 15-minute baseline, the tactical timeline they allocated for Mason was seven to eight minutes, Caleb was allocated two to three minutes, while Asher and Sebastian each strictly had to complete the course within two minutes.

Mason's recorded time was the absolute most volatile, making him the definitive choice for the first relay leg, allowing the subsequent runners to flexibly manipulate their speed based on the actual situation. Tracing the same logic, Caleb assumed the second leg. The current problem focused entirely on who would assume the final leg.

Sebastian made the decision with virtually zero reflection: "Let Asher assume the final leg."

If the task of executing a reverse triumph to salvage the team was handed over to the child, he would definitively complete it with absolute flashiness when the time came, bringing a wave of intense joy to the child's system.

The remaining two individuals felt zero issues present either; whoever assumed the final leg between the two big shots amounted to roughly the same outcome anyway.

Yet Asher suddenly voiced a counter-argument: "Let Sebastian assume the final leg."

Sebastian lifted his eyelids to cast a glance over him.

Asher adjusted his uniform cuffs with total relaxation: "I have zero intention of assuming the position destined to carry the blame."

Mason's actual performance was remarkably volatile; during last night's training, recording a time of seven minutes, nine minutes, or even ten minutes was entirely possible.

The moment a catastrophic bottleneck occurred with Mason, it meant he and Sebastian would necessitate challenging an even greater threshold of their absolute limits.

And Sebastian was an Alpha. Regardless of whether he willingly acknowledged the fact or otherwise, Sebastian’s physical endurance and latent explosive power were inherently superior compared against his own. This was a congenital physical reality dictated strictly by gender, stripped of any alternative.

Therefore, Asher far from deemed himself genuinely weaker than Sebastian. He simply concluded that Sebastian wasn't his enemy, but his friend—an individual who could be trusted with zero conditions. If that was the case, why on earth should they refrain from establishing the most flawless arrangement?

True pride never focused on blindly fighting for dominance across every single fraction, but focused on working alongside you to push every single matter to the absolute best of their collective capacity.

A decade of deep mutual comprehension and companionship; although Asher’s mouth was stripped of pleasant words, Sebastian comprehended his true thoughts perfectly.

He suddenly felt he had still underestimated the child. Throughout the three years of his absence, Asher had grown into a shape that turned out even better than his imagination. That flashy posture of his wasn't self-indulgent arrogance, but absolute resilience and strength.

And he was remarkably sensible.

He let out a smile: "Rest easy, Coach. I definitively won't fail the collective expectations."

The starting pistol cracked.

Mason was the very first to launch. The initial segments proceeded with passable smoothness, and he cleared the low-wire crawl net within the anticipated timeline, yet for some unknown reason, he ran straight into a bottleneck when he reached the high wall.

Gripping the rope, he hauled his sallow, plump frame, expanding his absolute efforts to kick against the wall surface to scale upward. Yet every single time, he turned out to be short of exactly a tiny fraction of strength, failing to support his weight and sliding straight back down.

One attempt after another, the timeline bleeding away relentlessly. The members of the other teams spectating the event felt their hearts tightening with anxiety, to the point where they desperately wanted to advise them to abandon the attempt, telling Mason to simply return—otherwise, there was no telling into what catastrophic shape his hands would be torn by the hemp rope.

Yet Asher and Sebastian merely stood right there, looking toward Mason with absolute silence, total certainty, and absolute composure.

Even Caleb displayed zero trace of distraction or anxiety, executing his warm-up movements as he remained prepared to launch at any given second.

This unspoken trust and absolute determination traveled across a distance of several hundred meters to drench Mason's system. Finally, biting his lip violently and gathering his very last breath of air, he scaled over the high wall, running at lightning speed toward the platform to decisively leap down and strike the finish buzzer.

And right at the exact same fraction of a second, Caleb launched into a rapid sprint.

At this juncture, nine minutes and forty seconds had already bled away.

Meaning, the time remaining for the subsequent three runners was a mere five minutes and twenty seconds.

The baseline for an excellent rating among professional soldiers was one minute and thirty seconds. Caleb concluded that he strictly had to preserve at least a three-minute buffer for Asher and Sebastian.

Therefore, he was destined to challenge the absolute limit of his own recorded score too.

And he delivered.

He was an individual who habitually went with the flow most, refraining from committing anything to his core mind, yet this once, he unleashed an absolute ferocity—sprinting with desperate force to challenge his absolute limits, securing a buffer of three minutes and fifteen seconds for the remaining two.

Yet even along this trajectory, the situation could hardly be described as optimistic. Because everyone possessed the awareness that within an actual military unit, a score of one minute and thirty seconds was already sufficient to secure an exceptionally prominent rank.

No matter how formidable those two were, they were merely high school seniors, stripped of a lifestyle consisting of day-and-night training. If they could complete it, it would amount to an absolute miracle.

Yet Asher’s mind felt remarkably relaxed.

He concluded that although one minute and thirty seconds sat at the absolute threshold of his limits, he could deliver.

Taking ten thousand steps back, even if he experienced a catastrophic failure, he still had Sebastian backing his frame.

That man would definitively deliver.

Therefore, there was absolutely nothing to worry about.

Because he was stripped of psychological pressure, his entire body relaxed completely—turning agile, sharp, rapid, and clean, light as a swallow and resilient as an unyielding stalk of bamboo.

The moment his hand struck the finish buzzer, the recorded time read one minute and thirty-nine seconds.

The entire field was utterly dumbfounded.

This fresh record drove the crowd—who had originally concluded that this team possessed zero hope—to abruptly begin anticipating whether an actual miracle could genuinely surface within the remaining one minute and thirty-six seconds.

Every single individual desperately hoped for a miracle to surface, Yellow Ming included.

When a youth's tensed blood and absolute efforts pushed to this threshold, not a single soul could remain unmoved.

Sebastian launched.

His slender, straight silhouette resembled a majestic bamboo, cutting past this expanse of yellow earth alongside a gust of wind.

Straddle hurdles, deep trench, low net, single-log bridge—a total of three hundred and fifty meters completed.

Fourteen seconds remaining.

Snatched the high wall rope, kicking against the surface, scaling over the crest.

Six seconds remaining.

Sprinting toward the platform.

Three seconds remaining.

Leaping down.

The buzzer blared.

Yellow Ming pressed his stopwatch, roaring at the top of his lungs: "Sebastian, Asher, Caleb, Mason—assessment completed! Assessment score: total recorded time of fourteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds, Excellent!"

Every single member of the Alpha bracket, regardless of what their own assessment scores read, and regardless of whether their regular relations alongside these individuals were decent or otherwise, burst into a synchronized torrent of applause.

Celebrating this reckless, groundless brotherly sentiment, and celebrating a youth's unyielding temper that refused to acknowledge absolute defeat.

Staring at this pack of youths whose blood was boiling with excitement, Yellow Ming suddenly felt that the absolute bitterness balancing inside his heart was entirely unnecessary.

Within this universe, certain individuals were inherently born with a flawless destiny, while certain individuals were inherently born with a bitter destiny—it was far from being fair. Yet what remained completely fair was the reality that every single one of them had experienced the age of seventeen.

Seventeen—the exact age where he himself had been barked at by instructors until he wept inside the barracks, a timeframe he also deemed to be the absolute most flawless age.

Meanwhile, at the opposite end of the training field, Sebastian used one hand to push away the Mason who desperately wanted to launch a massive bear hug against his frame, while extracting his leg out from Caleb's arms.

Slowly pacing toward the Asher who currently held a stalk of foxtail grass clamped between his lips, lazily leaning against a tree, he came to a stop: "Well? Coach, are you satisfied alongside my performance?"

Asher gave two exceptionally reluctant nods of his head, signaling it was acceptable enough.

Catching his posture, Sebastian took another step forward, the distance remaining between the two less than two fists wide. Lowering his head, he asked, "If you are satisfied, can the coach deliver a reward?"

Asher raised an eyebrow, signaling an interrogation.

Sebastian extended his hand, plucking the stalk of foxtail grass resting between his lips. Twirling it once between his two fingers, he murmured, "I evaluate this piece turns out rather decent."

"..."

Asher concluded that Sebastian’s brain suffered a structural defect, casting a sharp glare over him before pointing a finger toward the nearby patch of wild weeds. "If you desperately want it, I can bring a pack of people in the dead of night to strip this entire patch completely bald for you."

Sebastian let out a soft chuckle. "No need. This solitary stalk is more than enough."

More than enough to forge a tiny gift.

By the time the military camp wrapped up, virtually every single individual within the Alpha bracket had secured an 'Excellent' rating across every single exercise.

Mr. Bennett felt exceptionally satisfied alongside this outcome. On the school bus returning to campus, he prioritized a massive wave of praise for Asher and the other three—refusing to abandon or surrender, demonstrating absolute collective unity, and pushing forward with unyielding strength.

A groundless storm of praise, bleeding across a dozen or twenty kilometers of the road, and he still harbored lingering momentum when they reached the campus main gate.

Speaking with a trace of regret: "We'll cut the talk here for today. I’ll execute a specific commendation during the flag-raising ceremony next Monday. Tomorrow is Thursday; everyone strictly still has to arrive punctually to attend classes. However, considering everyone endured a grueling hardship over the past few days, the administration has resolved that classes for this afternoon and evening self-study are completely cancelled. You boarders head back to the dorms to rest, while you day-students head home to rest. Eat more meat, sleep a bit longer—I have zero desire to encounter a pack of rotten eggplants tomorrow, hear me?!"

The students who had finally emerged from the living hell murmured with zero physical strength: "Hear—you—"

Stepping down from the bus, Mason yanked Caleb along to block Asher and Sebastian right before they could depart, his face packed completely to the brim with absolute joy: "Two dads, your unfilial descendants desperately want to demonstrate a sliver of filial piety today. Wondering whether you two could grant a sliver of face?"

Asher snapped, "Speak human language."

"To demonstrate my absolute gratitude toward you guys, I want to treat you to a round of Korean BBQ, skewered meats, beer, and ten pounds of crawfish. Is that acceptable?"

"I hold zero issues present; ask Sebastian. He is a meticulously fastidious guy, completely refraining from stepping into roadside stalls."

Hearing the line, Sebastian tilted his head sideways to look at Asher, his gaze carrying a trace of surprise: "Are you saying you step into roadside stalls?"

He recalled that regarding food, Asher was far more pickily critical compared against himself.

Asher raised an eyebrow: "Of course I eat it. My critical picking focuses strictly on flavor, completely refraining from picking based on price or status—mismatched alongside a noble, fastidious young master like yourself."

"..."

Sebastian had zero idea how on earth this person possessed the face to call others fastidious. Disregarding his text blow, he merely nodded his head toward Mason, granting his absolute consent.

Mason’s face burst into an instant bloom of smiles: "Flawless! Then I’ll go ask Milo and Eugene's group. If we’re going, everyone should join together—more people, more vibrant."

Everyone held onto a psychological alignment of 'regardless of whether I desperately want to eat it or otherwise, as long as I can swindle a meal off someone else, I am exceptionally joyful,' accepting the invitation across the board.

A massive team of seven individuals launched their march toward the BBQ restaurant.

With the military camp concluded, everyone had swapped back into their regular clothes. As fate would have it, the seven individuals were wearing seven entirely distinct colors. On a sudden whim, Milo and Eugene christened the combination "The Seven Fairies of Joy," before having a plate of pork belly deducted from each of their shares, feeling a wave of profound grievance.

Bicker-fighting along the entire path, they finally reached the BBQ restaurant.

The specific BBQ joint Mason tracked down sat a far distance away from Riverdale Prep, nestled deep within an alley inside the historic old town district.

The taxi driver executed seven turns and eight loops under Mason’s direction, leaving the remaining members completely unable to recognize exactly where they had arrived.

When the vehicle finally ground to a halt and they stepped down, navigating past another alley mouth, they finally caught sight of a staircase descending downward. A somewhat decaying sign was exposed at the gap of the staircase.

【Blind Man's BBQ Joint — Self-Serve BBQ, Skewered Meats, Crawfish, Midnight Snacks, Alcohol & Beverages】

Iron railings ran along the side of the staircase, rusted completely through and encircled by unidentified creeping vines. Descending past the staircase opened into a vast expanse of vacant concrete ground—far from being flat, yet remarkably clean. A BBQ grill was set up, tables and chairs arranged, and several massive umbrellas propped open.

At the far opposite end of the concrete patch sat two low, flat shacks, serving as the kitchen.

Taking the lead to march downward, Mason spoke: "Don't look upon the environment here as crude; it’s remarkably clean, the flavors are excellent, and the meat is far from being any bizarre artificial meat. The price-to-performance index is exceptionally high—famous across this entire district. Don't look down on it."

Then, recalling something else, he froze his pace. Turning his head to press his voice low, he murmured, "This joint is run by an elderly couple. The boss is a blind man, but he genuinely knows how to BBQ meat, and the boss's wife is exceptionally capable. They are both honest folk, but their destiny turned out bitter. Mind your words in a bit; don't deliver lines that shouldn't be delivered."

The crowd nodded their heads with total clarity, tracking behind his back to march downward.

Taking several steps, Asher suddenly felt something was amiss. Turning his head to look back, sure enough, Sebastian remained stationary on the original spot.

His eyelids were cast low, exactly as if his mind were trapped deep within a certain nagging worry.

Turning his frame around, Asher paced back to stand right right before Sebastian: "An issue present?"

"Nothing." Sebastian hooked the strap of the backpack resting against his shoulder, his tone thoroughly natural. "Simply unaccustomed to stepping into a location of this nature, terrified that consuming the food will trigger diarrhea, so I’m a bit hesitant regarding whether to descend."

"And the result of your hesitation?"

"You've already descended, could I possibly refrain from descending? Let's go, otherwise there's no telling what kind of absolute trash drama Mason's mind is going to manufacture again."

Sebastian let out a smile. Reaching out his hand, he encircled Asher's shoulder, the two of them side by side, stamping over the steps one by one to march downward.

As a gust of wind brushed past, encircling a certain vine against the iron railing that had turned yellow, dried, and withered for a long while, it finally let out a sharp pop, breaking completely through.