When messaging Doc, I was the picture of politeness.

  Outgoing message: R. P. Robinson

  Subject: Personal Inquiry

  Content: Good evening, sir. Apologies for the intrusion. How can I find out what happened to a cadet? My roommate, Bao Feng, hasn’t returned since visiting the Meditation Hall, and his cultivation ranking and qi levels have dropped sharply. If he’s in the infirmary, my friends and I would like to visit him.

  I made sure not to annoy Doc. At least—not until I found that damn tea. My neuro-interface confirmed the message had been sent, but there was no response.

  I sighed and dismissed the panel from my view.

  Bao had crashed.

  And it was a stark reminder of how easily things could fall apart in a cultivator’s life. Our eagle had soared high—only to plummet straight to the bottom. Didn’t seem like he’d died, though. His two remaining qi units in the rankings confirmed that much. But Doc had mentioned that some cadets… took their own lives. And Bao did strike me as the type who would see no point in life without cultivation.

  I didn’t care about him. He was a complete asshole. But I wouldn’t be happy if he just gave up. As long as you're alive, there's still a chance.

  Doc replied about twenty minutes later—just as we were nearing our room.

  "Bao is in a recovery capsule," he wrote. "He’ll be there for at least a week. No point in visiting."

  I froze, rereading the message.

  Looked like our dear roommate had just blown all his chances of making it through the culling.

  Then again… his family was rich. Maybe this wasn’t the end for him.

  "Bad news?" Marlon asked, noticing my expression.

  "Bao’s in a capsule for a week. We won’t be seeing him."

  Denis whistled low but just shook his head without commenting.

  The next message came after I had already settled into bed, scrolling through my tablet to read another training manual.

  Incoming message: K. L. Wong

  Subject: Mentor

  Content: "My master wants to meet you. Before lunch tomorrow. Let’s meet at 10:30 in the metro under your dorm."

  A master?

  Kate had said she needed to consult with him. So why the hell did he want to see me? Was it because of my cultivation results? Speaking of which—my qi level had dropped by two points over dinner. But this time, I wasn’t as concerned. I already understood that loss was normal.

  I sent Kate a reply and immediately received another message—from Hakim.

  Incoming message: O. S. Hakim

  Subject: Tea

  Content: Found someone who can sell the tea. Details in person.

  That message did put me in a good mood. I set up a meeting at the same metro platform for ten o’clock. Half an hour should be enough to sort this out.

  That was my last task for the day.

  The next morning, I woke up with a strange feeling. My muscles no longer ached from the Flow Chamber, but my body still carried a lingering fatigue—like after an intense workout. It felt like I had rested… but not completely.

  My qi level had dropped again. Down to 85 units. I didn’t check my ranking—no need for distractions.

  What I did notice was that we were late for breakfast. There had been no general wake-up signal. And none of us had set an alarm.

  Denis and Marlon were still asleep. So I woke them up.

  "Up! Breakfast!"

  Marlon groggily sat up, but Denis didn’t even budge.

  "Den, we’re leaving without you!"

  "Then go," he grumbled, pulling the blanket over his head.

  Well, alright then.

  Denis wasn’t the only cadet to skip breakfast—the cafeteria was half-empty. Looked like plenty of people were still recovering from the Flow Chambers. The meal passed in near silence. Marlon wasn’t much of a talker, which suited me just fine. I got my tray—a bowl of metallic rice, still holding the title of best-tasting food here—and used the time to search for information about tea.

  And of course, there were thousands of teas. The world of cultivators, damn it. They even brewed stones. And yet, there was barely anything on Yellow Pine Flower Tea. No photos. No videos. Not even a simple description, just obscure mentions in academic papers and cultivation forums.

  It wasn’t just rare—it was considered a third-stage cultivator resource and above.

  Its primary effects? Restoring internal channels and purifying qi—but only if your body could handle it.

  For a first-stage cultivator it could be deadly poison. Or, more likely—a drug.

  One mention caught my eye—30,000 credits for 10 grams. I almost choked on my rice. Doc had expensive tastes. If my insurance payout came through, I might be able to afford something. But right now?

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  I was seriously debating whether to message Hakim and cancel the meeting. After a long moment of consideration, I decided not to. At the very least, I wanted to meet the seller in person and get a sense of the prices.

  Time passed quickly.

  By ten o’clock, I was at the metro platform. It was nearly empty—first-years didn’t have many places to go. Of course, there were a few passersby—supervisor cadets, staff members, thinhorns in jumpsuits. But overall? The place felt cut off from the rest of the school.

  Omar was already waiting, leaning against a metal column. His signature dark curls fell slightly over his eyes, and the slight smirk on his lips suggested he felt like he owned the situation.

  "You're punctual. That’s good," he said as I approached.

  I didn’t bother explaining that, since I was broke, the least I could do was not be late.

  Hakim nodded over his shoulder and led me toward a bench a little further down. A tall, skinny guy with a tired expression was already sitting there. He looked about twenty, with sharp features and closely cropped hair. His jumpsuit looked slightly worn, and the threes gleaming on his collar marked his rank.

  "This is Brandon," Omar said. "He’s got the goods."

  Brandon gave me a silent once-over, then reached into his pocket, pulled out a small plastic bag, and held it out.

  "Ten thousand."

  I took the bag and examined it closely. The leaves were dark yellow, with a faint greenish tint. At first glance—just tea. And a lot of it…

  "How much is here?" I tossed it lightly in my palm, trying to gauge the weight.

  "Twenty-five grams."

  "This isn’t Yellow Pine Flower Tea," I said flatly, handing the bag back.

  They were trying to scam me. At that weight, the price should’ve been at least eighty thousand. Brandon raised a disapproving brow. Omar shot me a confused look, then turned back to him.

  "You said you had the damn tea!"

  "I said I had the right tea," Brandon corrected. "It’s cheaper. Safer."

  Safer?

  I suddenly remembered the properties of real Yellow Pine Flower Tea—and it clicked. He thought I was looking for a high.

  "I’m not here to trip," I corrected. "It’s a gift."

  Brandon slowly tucked the bag back into his pocket. Omar looked stunned.

  "Goddamn it, Brandon…"

  "I thought he was looking for something to take the edge off!"

  "What kind of arsehole does that?!" Omar looked genuinely pissed. "You tried to push this crap on a first-year?! What are you, a demon agent?"

  "Hey! This is quality stuff. Non-addictive." Brandon scowled. "Call me an asshole one more time, and you’ll be flying across the platform. And drop the conspiracy shit—there are no damn demon agents."

  Omar opened his mouth to fire back—but shut it again. Brandon was a full stage above him. Pissing him off wasn't a smart move. Instead, Omar shot me an apologetic look, then grabbed Brandon by the shoulder and pulled him aside.

  They spoke in hushed voices, but I caught snippets.

  "This was a setup, Brandon!"

  "It was a fucking mistake!"

  "Next time, maybe don’t make assumptions and just bring what the client asks for!"

  "And next time, maybe ask the damn client why they need it!"

  "Oh, I will!"

  I checked the time—10:07. Even faster than I expected. Well… No tea. But I did learn something interesting.

  Omar and Brandon both muttered some half-assed apologies before disappearing, not-so-subtly hinting that I should keep my mouth shut.

  Fine by me.

  I stayed behind, waiting.

  Kate arrived at 10:23. A minute later, we were on the train, heading toward her master.

  "So what am I walking into? What's this about?"

  "I have no idea," she admitted. "I messaged him about your request, and he called me back saying he wanted to meet you personally."

  "Does that happen a lot?"

  "Not really… Usually, masters don’t pay much attention to first-years until later in the period, when it’s clearer who’s going to pass and who isn’t."

  "And what the hell made me so interesting?"

  "I didn’t ask."

  "At least tell me about the guy. Is it actually a guy or a woman?"

  "Vaclav Novak."

  "Novak…"

  Bao had mentioned that name once—when he was convinced I was some big shot.

  "Famous family?"

  Kate smirked.

  "If you're a fifth-stage cultivator, your family automatically becomes famous."

  "Whoa!" There were only a few hundred of them. If he was that high up, then why the hell was he interested in me?

  The ride was long, and by the time we neared our destination, the crowd in the train had shifted. The black jumpsuits and heavy armor had almost entirely replaced the gray. The number of fours on collars was overwhelming, and I started feeling a little on edge. Once again, I found myself the focus of a few curious stares. Someone even stepped closer.

  "Hey there," said a deep voice.

  A massive man stood before me—one I immediately recognized. The red-armored cadet with the mace. The same one who had spoken to me the first time I rode the train with Kate. I felt a bit relieved that despite the fours on his lapels, he was still wearing a gray cadet jumpsuit.

  "Where to this time? Still looking for a mentor?"

  Automatically, I gestured toward Kate.

  "Already found one, but her master needs to approve."

  "I never asked for permission when I took on a mentee…" he mused.

  "I asked for advice," Kate clarified. "And he wanted to meet Jake in person."

  "Seriously? What’d he do to stand out?"

  "No clue," I admitted. "Unless memory loss counts."

  "Hah…" he muttered, his tone unreadable.

  "And who’s the master?"

  "Vaclav Novak," Kate answered.

  "Ah…" Same unreadable tone. "Well," he said after a pause, "hope we run into each other again." With that, he moved toward the doors, getting off at the next stop.

  What the hell was that about?

  "How do you know him?" Kate asked.

  I told her about our first meeting. She shook her head.

  "A lot of strong cultivators are taking an interest in you."

  Our stop was the last station.

  The ride had already been long, and the elevator ride was just as slow. Not literally the same duration, but the ascent felt endless. When the doors finally slid open, we stepped into a small lobby with four doors.

  A single couch and table sat in the center, looking like they had never been used. The air felt different—no trace of antiseptics, no stench of thousands of teenagers.

  Kate led me to one of the doors.

  Beyond it—

  A luxurious European-style apartment. Polished wood and glass everywhere.

  A massive panoramic window overlooked the school grounds—a sprawling landscape of tiered buildings, perfectly laid-out roads, enormous training centers, and open fields. Gardens bloomed across the terrain, stretching between the structures.

  Tiny figures moved among them—too small to make out any detail.

  We passed an ornate tea table and stepped up to the window.

  Kate let me take in the view.

  "Impressive?" she asked. "The first time I saw this, it took my breath away."

  "This all belongs to the school?"

  "Not exactly. A lot of the property is owned by private contractors and corporations. But the core infrastructure? Yeah…" She gestured around the room. "These apartments are school-owned."