Sanctuary 79, Outer City, Third Municipal High School — Grade 10 Academic Office.
A young woman stood with her back to the door.
She dressed in a micro-skirt, sheer black stockings, and white stilettos. Her figure sketched a silhouette of severe allure, the kind that made dress codes cry.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
Banging….
A heavy, rhythmic thumping began, its source unmistakably her desk.
She rhythmically slapped a document—
the Manhood Collateral Loan Agreement.
Amanda, the principal's secretary, frowned slightly.
[If this boy's homeroom teacher weren't so useless, I wouldn't have to get involved myself.]
Through her gold-rimmed glasses, her captivating eyes glinted with a mix of irritation and something vaguely predatory as she looked at the boy in front of her.
"Jake, have you made up your mind yet? This is your second week of declining grades. Still not admitting you've skipped your cognitive boosters?"
Jake: "…."
"Fine. Silence means consent. You know what happens next. No meds, no scores. No scores, no OC Elite Class. And without that, you lose your shot at early Genetic Awakening in Year 11. That means no bonus points for the Awakener Entrance Exam, no fast-track to university, which is your type's only way out! I don't need to spell this out again."
She paused, watching Jake's blank expression with theatrical disappointment.
"And let's not pretend you don't know what else is dragging you down. At your age, that thing between your legs is more liability than legacy. You're not qualified to wield manhood yet. Carrying it around like it's earned? That's just self-sabotage."
"You should be grateful the principal is even offering you this opportunity!"
Amanda said, tapping the Manhood Collateral Loan Agreement against the desk like a judge with a gavel.
"Sign this, and not only will you have the funds to resume your cognitive boosters — you'll also eliminate the root cause of your academic decline. Win-win. Tell me, who else in your grade has this kind of offer?"
She leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"And let's not forget — this transplant goes to the principal himself. One of the few men in this school can be officially licensed to possess masculine charisma."
Jake remained silent. Amanda's lips curled in a sigh and shook her head.
"I'm doing this for your own good. If your grades improve, do I get bigger boobs or a +1 to brain development?
You think everyone gets to collateralize this particular organ? Look at the Low-Function Class, no loan eligibility, straight to sterilization. They beg me for a chance. Do I even look at them?"
Jake had stopped listening. He'd heard all this before. Right now, his mind was elsewhere — focused on something far more important.
He cut in, voice clipped. "The manhood isn't a problem for me, and I'll get my grades up. If there's nothing else, may I leave?"
Amanda raised an eyebrow.
[So he's a hard and firm figure.]
She gave him a slow once-over, her gaze calculating.
[Interesting.]
The school's neural monitoring system had flagged Jake's biometric profile as exceptional. Not just physically…. but in that special department too.
High genetic value, transplant-compatible, rock-hard thing and financially viable. No wonder the principal wanted him personally. No wonder she had been sent in.
[If that old dog gets his new manhood toy, will his bed-combat stats spike? Will I finally get a raise? Heehee….]
Suddenly, Amanda noticed where Jake's gaze had drifted — her thigh.
[Oh? Still firm and hard, huh? These gifted types always crack under visual pressure. Think you can slip away from me? Not with my new butterfly tattoo today. Let's see how long he lasts.]
With a slow, deliberate motion, Amanda sat down and pulled a Sharon Stone leg-cross.
Her gaze softened, lips parted, just about to speak….
Smack!
Jake's hand landed squarely on Amanda's sexy sheer black stockings thigh.
"…Huh?"
Amanda blinked, stunned.
[This kid's bold. But definitely gifted.]
She leaned forward, eyes narrowing with intent.
[You want to play? I'll make sure you never recover.]
But Jake spoke first.
"I heard the Bisolarans' labs have been breeding mutated insects. They target… sensitive areas.
And you're only wearing stockings today. All that shifting and stretching? Risky. Pretty sure I just squashed one."
Amanda glanced down at her now-reddened thigh. No insects. Just Jake's handprint.
Her expression darkened. She kicked off a heel, just about to retaliate….
Jake turned on his heel.
"Miss Amanda, I'm heading off. Can't be late for High-Energy Physics."
"...."
Amanda froze for a moment, but there was nothing she could do — not yet. Class attendance was sacred, especially for High-Energy Physics.
After Jake left, her expression shifted between irritation and calculation. She wasn't here for fun. Even as the principal's secretary, she had quotas to meet.
This might be a school, but in the Outer City of a Sanctuary, education was a bloodspot.
Students survived on grades. Staff survived on performance metrics.
And performance wasn't just about test scores. It included meeting the school's loan issuance targets.
A student wasn't just expected to be smart and healthy — they had to be stressed, promising, and financially exploitable.
The ideal candidate took out high-interest loans during school, repaid them after graduation, and — if truly exceptional — donated premium-grade organs to the school's upper echelon.
That's what sustainable talent looks like.
[seizing every chance to issue a loan to a high-potential student — that's what makes a good staff. Otherwise, what right do I have to stay here? Might as well transfer to the Reserve Armed Division and feed livestock humans.]
She shivered at the memory of the principal's exact words — and the horrors of the Reserve Division.
Quietly, she tapped a message into her terminal.
[David, help me pressure Jake a bit more. We'll split the bonus 70-30.]
------
Jake walked away clutching the Manhood Collateral Loan Agreement, but his mind replaying his mother's last words three weeks ago when she'd paid his last tuition:
"Don't worry, I'll be safe and back soon."
Now, two days without her check-in messages...
"Jake, Auntie will be fine! "A voice piped up from his side.
At the sound of the voice, Jake turned to see a girl who had suddenly appeared beside him.
Standing at just over five feet tall, she had flawless body proportions, a delicate, beautiful face framed by perky twin ponytails.
Her whole being thrummed with teenage vibrancy that made the air around her seem brighter.
The girl is petite but dangerously curvaceous for her size, tilted her head back to peer up at Jake's towering 6'1 frame, her mischievous grin unwavering even as he ignored her.
When he didn't respond, she simply bounced alongside him, her twin ponytails swaying with each energetic hop, her generous assets jiggling slightly with the movement.
Every step radiated playful persistence, as if sheer enthusiasm alone could crack his gloomy demeanour.
The more the girl acted this way, the heavier Jake's mood became.
[No recent top‑up… has Stella's virtual avatar been downgraded to minimum pixel resolution?]
Stella was the AI assistant he had generated based on his own imagination. He didn't know why he had designed her this way, yet there was a special sense of familiarity about her.
It was a familiarity that came from deep within his soul — a warmth and closeness that seemed to cross both interface and time.
It felt as if Stella wasn't just an AI assistant, but the kind of closest companion and comrade bound to him by blood.
Jake had always wondered why he felt this way. After a brief moment of distraction, he returned to reality.
He knew that if things went on like this, he would no longer be able to use retinal AR imaging. Fortunately, the neural‑link his mother had paid for was on an annual plan — but when that expired, he would have to switch to AR glasses.
One of the basic requirements of the elite class was that every student must use a neural link to transmit knowledge and study through retinal imaging technology.
And now, Jake could see the road ahead leading to the teaching building through the loose pixel clusters that made up Stella's body.
long and swallowed in shadow.
------
And this — this is the reality of human society in the year 2225 AD.
It has been thirty-five years since humanity shattered the spatial prison that once confined them to the Blue Planet, a cage built by the Bisolarans from Zeta Reticuli.
The event known as the Day of Starshatter — a cataclysmic clash of dimensional weaponry — tore open the boundaries of this world.
Since then, the Blue Planet has become riddled with interdimensional rifts and convergence points.
Ki-energy began to awaken. Humanity reaped the benefits. Superpowered individuals emerged.
The rise of these new humans began to shift the tide of the interstellar war.
But under the crushing pressure of survival and power, society itself began to mutate.
Those in high places — driven by lust or ambition — tore away the last remnants of morality.
------
At that very moment, while Jake faced mounting pressure at school, 4,500 kilometers away, the Bering Strait echoed with the wail of icy winds and the dull crack of splitting ice.
Above the churning waves hovered a stealth-class anti-gravity vessel, bearing the crest of the House of Crescent Serpents.
"Our shadow ghost in *Guardian-17* dumped the nav data. Target is locked."
Inside the Craft, an elderly man in black robes stood by the viewport, waving off the officer who had delivered the report. He turned to the young man seated nearby, his voice cautious:
"Young Master, is such risk truly warranted? This target is not only the youngest rear admiral in the United Continental Forces—he commands one of only five quantum-class destroyers in existence."
He leaned forward, his robes whispering against the deck.
"Moreover, these prototype micro-singularity warheads are untested. Their targeting precision and yield remain... unpredictable. And should word of our tactical gravity weapons leak... .it would bring consequences too grave for us to bear."
The old man's knuckles whitened on his staff. "Let this old one confront him alone instead."
The young man exhaled, fingers steepled.
"Master Tony, their quantum destroyer's spatial distortion field could deflect even our guided missiles—coordinates or not, even with our shadow ghost on board. Without the singularity warheads, our odds are statistically negligible."
A holographic tactical display with the warhead and nav data flickered between them.
"And crucially, only gravitational weaponry leaves signatures matching the Bisolarans' rumoured experiments. "He met the elder's gaze.
"You're a Solar Master-rank, yes. But can you guarantee a one-shot kill against Solar Initiate-rank Jack Nickelson? "
His voice hardened. "If he survives—the military's golden boy, with half the Admiralty backing him—how long before they use that failure to purge our House of Crescent Serpents!? "
The young master's jaw tightened.
"We've stretched Jack Nickelson's exile to fifteen years from his son Jake using every clan resource, but the Military Joint Council's patience wears thin. If we can't hold him anymore then this leaves us no choice but elimination!"
"The Council barely tolerates our obstruction of their star admiral's homecoming."
The heir hissed. "The blood of Jack Nickelson's boy, that little Jake won't catalyse the ritual until his eighteenth birthday—we also need his mother alive until then."
The elder's robes rustled as he hesitated. "Rumours suggest... that...you have...certain pla.n…designs on the admiral's wife as well?"
A sharp laugh from the young man.
"The house Shadow Division intelligence confirms her unique constitution fuelled Jack Nickelson's rise from nobody to Solar Initiate-rank! Do you know what that means?"
The heir straightened his cuffs with deliberate calm.
"Don't mistake my cultivation needs for vulgar lust, Master Tony. The Dual Ascension Art requires multiple partners—this is to refine my energy, not debauchery!"
The old man remained silent as the young master pressed on, his voice edged with urgency.
"More importantly, you should know how many resources our house has poured into keeping his wife and son hidden in the wastelands 79, keeping them off the military's radar for fifteen damn years!"
The elder's silence spoke volumes. As one of humanity's supreme combatants, he had waited patiently....but now, unease flickered in his eyes.
"Young Master, even the Purple Astral Division's foresight remains unclear. Fifteen years of divination, and we still only see a 50% chance of breaking through the Solaris-rank Barrier using their bloodline."
His grip tightened on his staff. "And if we're exposed assassinating a rising star of the Federation...."
The young master shot to his feet, cutting him off.
"Enough! We've invested too much to back out now! The moment Jack Nickelson reunites with his family; do you think we'll get another chance to study his wife's... unique physiology? To extract his son Jake's Bloodline Source? "
His knuckles whitened. "I just got Intel says the military council is preparing to promote Jack Nickelson to vice high admiral. After that, he'll be untouchable! "
A vicious smile twisted his lips. "But kill Jack now, and his family becomes ours. Fifty percent? For a shot at surpassing Solar Rank—a possibility of reshaping the Federation's entire power structure? That's more than enough. "
With that, he turned on his heel: "This is for humanity's future!"
He tossed over his shoulder before striding toward the command centre.
As the doors hissed shut, the old man exhaled.
He gazed into the distance, as if his eyes could transport him across time to witness the destruction of *Guardian-17*.
[The Young Master... truly has the makings of a Scheming Overlord. Nickelson's family…that little Jake boy…gone!]