Mu Lan and Beng Zeng logged out of the game and immediately began their morning routine. Just like the past few days, they started with a 10-kilometer run. Neither of them panted or slowed anymore—their bodies had adapted. In fact, they could probably push beyond ten kilometers now.
After finishing their run, they returned home and headed straight for the showers.
As Mu Lan stood under the warm water, his thoughts drifted.
Three days ago, I blew Xen Zu's head off. And I died with him. But when I opened my eyes again… I was back in my room. And Beng—my best friend—was still alive.
He remembered how hard he'd fought to hold back tears when he saw Beng standing in the doorway that morning. If I'd broken down, he'd have asked why—and I wouldn't have known what to say.
If only I'd known this would happen… I'd have killed Xen Zu years earlier.
A darker thought surfaced:
When I died, I was sent back twenty years… Could Xen Zu have been sent back too?
He shook his head. No. That doesn't make sense. Time travel isn't something that happens to everyone. I have to believe I'm the only one.
He clenched his fists under the water.
Right now, all that matters is getting stronger—and making sure Beng gets stronger too. So he can protect himself… and so I never lose him again.
"Hey, Mu!" Beng's voice cut through his thoughts. "How much longer are you gonna hog the bathroom? We're gonna be late for school!"
"Coming out now!" Mu Lan called back.
He dried off quickly, then headed to the kitchen. He grabbed a bowl of corn flakes and milk, sat across from Beng, poured the cereal and milk, and began eating.
"You seemed… distracted today," Beng said, watching him closely. "Everything okay?"
"Nah, you're imagining things," Mu Lan replied lightly. If I told you I came from the future… how would you even react? I can't explain it yet. Not until I'm ready.
"Alright," Beng said, shrugging. "I won't push it."
After breakfast, they headed to school. Their first class was Practical Martial Arts, so they changed into their gym clothes and entered the sports hall. Class wouldn't start for another 15 minutes.
Mu Lan turned his head—and froze.
Xia Lei had just walked in.
She moved like poetry, a flower blooming in the sterile gym. Her silver hair caught the light, and her green eyes scanned the room with quiet grace.
But then—a grating voice shattered the moment.
"Hey! Where the hell do you think you're looking, runt? What gives a scrawny loser like you the right to stare at her?"
Mu Lan turned slowly.
Standing there was Yao Lao—one of only five students in the entire school accepted into the Military Academy.
Accepted, Mu Lan knew, only because of connections, not merit.
Yao Lao sneered. "Got a problem, weakling?"
Mu Lan's reply was calm, almost bored:
"What do you want?"
The insult hung in the air. To Yao Lao—a "noble" military cadet—being spoken to like that by a nobody was unforgivable.
"Fine," Yao Lao snapped. "Since you're so eager to prove yourself… I challenge you to a sparring match. Right here. Right now. School rules allow it."
Mu Lan didn't flinch. "If you want a fight… I'll give you one."
The class erupted in whispers.
Is he insane?
That skinny kid's gonna get flattened in one hit!
Yao Lao's trained in lethal combat!
Yao Lao smirked inwardly.
Hah. Fool. You dared look at Xia Lei. Now I'll break you—and no one will care. You accepted the challenge. Consider this your lesson.
Xia Lei said nothing. She simply watched, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
Then Beng spoke—and stunned everyone again.
"Hey, Mu… don't go too hard on him. He's still a student, just like us."
Yao Lao's eye twitched.
"Hah! Spoken like the loyal dog you are. Thanks for the warning—I'll keep that in mind."
His voice dripped with mockery, but inside, he was seething.
The crowd exchanged confused glances.
What's going on?
These two nobodies—the scrawny one and the chubby one—they're acting like they own the place!
They're treating Yao Lao like he's nothing!
Is there anything more humiliating than this?
Yao Lao's face darkened. He stepped forward, voice low and venomous.
"Mu Lan… from this moment on, you're a dead man. Get your sorry ass on the mat. I'm going to wipe the floor with you."
Mu Lan didn't rush. He didn't flinch.
Instead, he walked forward—slowly, deliberately—as if stepping onto a red carpet.
The crowd parted before him, stunned into silence.
The match was about to begin.
And for the first time, no one was sure who would win.