Chapter Ten

Evening approached.

Contestant Number Ten, having acquired a weapon, was extremely tense. Luck had favored him—a powerful laser gun was in his weapon crate. Nervous and uneasy, he took the laser gun away. He had no intention of competing with the stronger contestants; instead, he concealed himself among the concrete and steel jungle.

His plan was to hide until the end—forget conquering the stars, survival was paramount. Just as Number Ten tiptoed quietly into the depths of a building, a sudden noise came from a battered, mottled glass window ahead.

The last rays of the setting sun pierced through the glass. As his gaze shifted, the window creaked open. A foot landed lightly on the sill, and then a figure leapt down, crouching on the window ledge to look at him.

It was a white rabbit mask.

Streaks of blood marred the surface of the mask.

Her hand rested casually on her knee. She tilted her head and winked at him, her voice as lively as an over-excited bird, so cheerful it bordered on irritating: “Good evening—”

The little white rabbit hopped down from the window, swinging a long staff crackling with electric arcs. She smiled and declared, “Found you.”

Ten minutes later, Number Ten’s name dimmed on the screen.

Perhaps, even as he was eliminated, he never understood why Annie had reacted so indifferently to the laser gun, as if even being shot through would be no big deal. He hadn’t hit her, but her reckless, fearless demeanor made him abandon the fight almost instantly.

He joined the legions watching the live broadcast.

Half an hour later, Number Seven was eliminated as well.

“She’s an absolute fraud,” complained a furious viewer, spending a small fortune to make their message linger on the screen, followed by, “Pretending to be weak and harmless, pure bait—Number Nine’s combat skills are simply crushing the back ranks.”

Number Ten’s lips twitched as he watched, absently rubbing his ribs, which had narrowly avoided being shattered by a single blow. He shuddered at the memory.

“After all, she’s the bloodthirsty little white rabbit.”

“How many points does she have now? Forty?”

“Eliminations are happening so fast this time. Probably only Number One can stop the little white rabbit. I remember among the top ranks, only Number One has a clear advantage—the others are all neck and neck.”

“Exactly. They often swap rankings in exams. I really don’t see anyone else stopping Annie.” This comment seemed to be from a student at Hailan University.

“How is she so strong? Wasn’t she injured?”

“Number Nine’s recovery is way too fast. That’s not a normal human healing rate—there must be something we don’t know about…”

Night fell; several hours had passed since the start.

The number of people in the hunting ground had dwindled sharply. Only two contestants and a “killer” remained; apart from Annie, only Number One was left.

After reaching forty points, she stopped venturing out to hunt. Instead, she nimbly climbed through two more ventilation shafts, hopped across a balcony, slipped through the fence of the garbage pit, and dove headfirst into the room she once called home.

Most of the items inside had been dismantled—her father had sold nearly everything of value. Annie didn’t care. She leaned against the window and closed her eyes to rest for a moment, then suddenly pulled out a book from her bag.

A silent flying camera hovered closer, switched to night vision, and zoomed in for a close-up on the book in her hands—

“The Art of Romance.”

In such a dangerous, grave setting, she was reading this? Was she treating this as if she’d gone home?

The barrage of live comments, frenzied all day, finally broke down. A flood of “?” and “Huh?” swept across the screen.

Amidst this sea of question marks, only one person let out a soft laugh. His colleagues stared in stunned silence for a moment, then glanced at Lin, seeing him propping his chin up, a faint smile gracing his almost flawless profile.

But was he truly happy? Lin laughed for a while, then covered his face with his hand, masking his expression. No one could discern his joy or anguish, sense his indulgence or resentment. Soon, Lin stood and said, “Excuse me. I just remembered there are things left unfinished. I can’t keep watching with you.”

His colleague nodded, watching his figure disappear at the top of the stairs.

Lin returned to his room. A soft blanket lay on his sofa—Annie often spent the night here.

He walked over, picked up the book from beneath the sofa, and replaced it on the shelf. The cover still bore traces of small tentacles flipping through the pages.

How annoying, he thought, never putting things back after reading.

Yet as he mused, he opened the livestream platform once more. The giant projection cast itself onto the wall, the camera aimed perfectly at Annie’s face.

The flying camera didn’t need to get close to capture every exquisite detail. Bathed in moonlight, the white-haired human girl leaned against the window frame, a book on her lap, binding together wildflowers she’d gathered along the way.

Bouquets were rare in District Three—such fragile things were hard to come by, and these wildflowers were difficult to combine. Annie made a small bunch, hugged it to her chest, and kissed it, then suddenly looked at the camera.

The hovering little camera stiffened with tension, its mechanical orb shivering in mid-air.

Annie smiled sweetly at it. Many viewers found the “delicate” hunter’s smile chilling. She wiped the blood from her face and said, “Teacher, I’ll bring this back for you.”

Seeming to realize this was too casual, she cradled the bouquet in both hands and looked earnestly at the mechanical orb: “Teacher, I truly like you. Will you be with me? We can hold hands, hug, kiss, and then—”

The words reached her lips, but Annie shook her head and stopped, only smiling: “Would you like to be my—”

A derisive chuckle suddenly interrupted her. Barely half a foot beyond the window frame, a merman in a black trench coat revealed himself. “To whom are you confessing? Who told you a merman would ever agree to marry outside their kind? Stop dreaming.”

Annie looked at Number One, who wore a fox mask. “Senior, don’t interrupt my confession.” She turned back to continue, but in an instant, the fox appeared before her, icy blue eyes drilling into her gaze.

He was so close, his voice almost irritable: “Why are you ignoring me?”

Annie found this baffling. “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

“Now is not the time for these absurd confessions. You should be fighting me for victory!” The fox’s battle lust was unmistakable, his black coat spattered with blood—clearly, he’d racked up plenty of points, perhaps even lives. His confusion bordered on fury. “You wouldn’t come to die at my hand, so I had to hunt you down for a duel, and here you are, wasting time with a pointless confession? Damn romantic fool!”

As the fox charged, the flying camera dodged in fright, wary of the two living legends clashing.

Annie shook her head at his mask and pushed him away. “Wait a minute. I was just building up my feelings.” Hugging the bouquet, she took a deep breath, her body instinctively simulating the intense emotions of a human confession, her heart pounding wildly. “Lin, will you—”

“Who?!”

His voice overrode hers, more shocked than all the viewers witnessing the scene. A vein throbbed on his forehead, his teeth clenched audibly. Suddenly, he was livid. “I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you, you human who stains our noble kind!”

The smile vanished from Annie’s face. She set aside the bouquet, drew the electric baton at her waist, and said expressionlessly, “Senior, you’re really rude. There are only two times you can’t interrupt someone: during a confession, and during—climax.”

The little white rabbit, flecked with blood, delivered this outrageous remark and swung her alloy staff, tapping the fox on the shoulder with its tip. A scent, sweet yet tinged with blood, emanated from the staff, seeping into the chest with an indescribable richness.

Her confession-fueled emotions had yet to subside; the simulated heart beat faster and faster. The tentacles at her waist could barely resist sliding out, pressing close to her skin beneath her combat suit.

If the broadcast could transmit scent, that extraordinary aroma would have been impossible to ignore. Many viewers noticed it, their own breathing quickening under the influence of Annie’s simulated emotions.

“What’s that smell…”

“So strange…”

It truly was strange.

The fox drew a lightsaber from behind, parrying the sweeping staff. Electric arcs and shimmering beams collided. The shock vibrated his palm; that uncanny sweet scent was now strongest, corroding and saturating him, rooting from skin to bone.

Neither used firearms, though both carried them. Their close-quarters fight was dizzying, a blur of motion. Amid this rapid exchange, the fox, who had been in control, suddenly faltered, his palm sweating, grip slipping by half an inch.

The staff whistled by his ear, striking the coral exoskeleton that trembled and contracted near his jaw. Now it was Annie’s face that drew close—too close—her pale, tousled hair revealing clear, almost translucent pink eyes.

“See?” she said cryptically. “There really are times you can’t be interrupted.”

The fox’s breathing was ragged, the aroma flooding his body with torturous intensity. He retaliated swiftly, his formidable strength allowing him to break free of the girl’s hold in a blink.

It felt as if something intangible tugged at him—so slight it seemed an illusion.

Annie, released from his grip, leapt back more than a meter in an instant. She watched the fox intently and spoke to herself, “Senior, do you know the teacher? You seemed furious when you heard his name.”

“I don’t know him.” The young man’s voice was cold and volatile. “Did you use poison?!”

Annie smiled, a soft hum issuing from behind the rabbit mask. “No, I just touched you a few times.”

“What?!” The fox was incredulous.

She raised her hand. “I surrender, okay? Take off your mask so I can see you.”

“Are you insane?” he snarled, feeling oddly provoked. “Are you looking for death?”

Annie had only suggested it to gauge his relationship with Lin, not understanding the cause of his rage. She had no choice but to contend with this infuriated beast, evading his murderous advance as best she could. She dodged awkwardly, but her attacker fared little better.

The fox’s assault was riddled with flaws.

The closer he got, the more that strange scent gnawed at him. He was certain he’d been touched more than once—not by her hand, but by something feather-light and soft, raising goosebumps across his skin.

The nearby camera had become a source of humiliation. The sense of offense and helplessness boiled inside him, but he couldn’t utter a single word.

At last, Annie’s defense broke.

The fox seized the chance, piercing his lightsaber through her white hair, slicing a lock that fluttered to the ground. His slender fingers tightened; a slight shift would sever her throat—at such an advantageous range and posture, yet once more, his grip slipped.

Hot breath brushed her neck. Annie turned, watching his chest heave. Thankfully, the mask hid his tortured expression from the live broadcast.

She showed no fear. The opening in her defense seemed almost deliberate. Annie blinked and drew close: “Senior, how can you lose your grip on your weapon in combat?”

She was so near, she could hear his teeth grinding.

The young man didn’t answer. Suddenly, he swung his sword and smashed the flying camera, the live-feed spinning wildly before the mechanical orb was pinned beneath him.

The audience’s view went black. Only Annie’s voice could be heard, calm and unhurried: “Obstructing the broadcast violates competition rules—points will be deducted.”

“What did you use on me?… A hallucinogen?”

After the brief blackout, Annie’s first-person perspective took over. The contestant’s headset was designed for this. Before her, Number One covered his mouth tightly, unwilling to make a sound.

From this angle, the tentacles remained hidden, but the scent was overwhelming. Annie grasped his wrist, pried his hand away. Beneath the mask, his lips were bitten raw. He murmured, hoarse, “Let go.”

“No.” Annie removed his mask.

Unmasking an opponent was also against the rules—another deduction.

His face flashed before her, bending quickly to cover his mouth, pale blue hair veiling his expression.

The mechanical orb slipped out from under him, shell slightly dented, and the audience’s view returned.

All eyes were on Annie. That inexplicable, combat-crippling scent was surely akin to a hallucinogen, but no contestant could smuggle such things in; weapons and equipment were strictly controlled.

She must be a human with special abilities—a mutant, likely.

Speculation abounded outside, but Annie simply remained in her fevered, confessional mood. She pushed the fox’s shoulder aside, picked up the bouquet, brushed the dust from the petals, and turned to the camera.

The mechanical orb shivered.

So did the viewers, a sudden tension snapping through them.

Then Annie removed her mask. In her earpiece, a loud warning blared: “Rule violation detected, minus five points!”

Before the camera was her face, flushed with emotion, as innocent as a rabbit. She was so heartbreakingly earnest, so hopeful, so sincere—who could bear to refuse her, or deny her indulgence?

“Teacher,” Annie whispered, her expression pure and honest, “please be with me.”

She was a creature of remarkable learning ability—a star student who had deceived everyone.

Her face, magnified on the screen, was flawless, every microexpression perfect. The one being confessed to sat before the image for a while, quietly rearranged the books Annie had left in disarray, paused as he returned the last to the shelf, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he sighed.

“You clumsy little liar,” he said.

Again and again, he reminded himself.

Again and again.