Zhao Chen's objective had always been clear.
With his current resources, constructing a true T3 Blizzard-class Light Interstellar Battlecruiser from scratch was impossible. The materials, precision manufacturing, and costs were far beyond his reach.
But if the T3 blueprints were used as a foundation—and the three obsolete T2 starships before him were dismantled, recombined, and restructured—then a simplified Blizzard-class could be born.
In Zhao Chen's mind, empowered by the knowledge of a Top Starship Engineer, countless calculations unfolded simultaneously.
Feasibility: 80%.
"Use the Devil Crocodile's main hull," Zhao Chen muttered, eyes gleaming. "Integrate the Hyena's power distribution modules… replace secondary systems with Gray Wolf performance units…"
A faint madness flickered in his gaze.
Once the assembly plan was finalized, Zhao Chen didn't hesitate.
He climbed into the control platform and personally operated the mechanical arms, plasma cutters igniting as they descended onto the ancient hulls.
This was his first time modifying a starship.
Yet the moment he began, his movements flowed with unnatural familiarity. Each cut was precise. Each extraction flawless. Each connection instinctively optimal.
Even the most senior engineers in the academy—men with decades of experience—would have been left speechless.
Without fifty or sixty years of hands-on practice and elite theoretical mastery, such precision should have been impossible.
Dismantling three full-scale starships alone was an enormous undertaking.
Hiring engineers or technicians would have reduced the workload dramatically.
But Zhao Chen never considered it.
First, he had no academy points left. Every last one had gone into components.
Second—and more importantly—this process could not be witnessed.
Reassembling three starships into a new vessel required incorporating core Blizzard-class technologies. If word spread, the consequences would be unpredictable.
So Zhao Chen worked alone.
By his own calculations, twenty days would suffice.
For the next three weeks, Zhao Chen vanished from campus life.
He skipped nearly all remaining classes. With the semester ending and most assessments already completed, his credits were sufficient to advance. His absence drew little administrative attention.
But rumors spread anyway.
News of the duel between Zhao Chen and Zhang Haoran circulated through the third-year cohort like wildfire.
Students came looking for the so-called down-and-out baron.
They left disappointed.
Zhao Chen never appeared.
Beep—beep—beep—beep—
The workshop's alert chime rang again and again.
Zhao Chen ignored it at first.
Five minutes passed.
Ten.
The sound persisted with infuriating patience.
Finally, Zhao Chen staggered away from the control platform, exhaustion weighing heavily on his limbs. He dragged himself to the workshop entrance and opened the door.
"Zhao Chen, are you insane?!"
The door had barely cracked open when a sharp voice rang out, followed immediately by a slender, pale leg stepping inside.
Zhao Wan'er jabbed a finger at his face, her expression furious.
Zhao Chen barely listened. He leaned weakly against the doorframe.
"Wan'er… done scolding yet?" he murmured, yawning. "If you're finished, I'm going to sleep…"
The woman before him was his sister—Zhao Wan'er.
A fourth-year cadet at North Star Academy. Next year, she would enter her fifth.
Unlike Zhao Chen, she was a true prodigy.
She had completed the three-year curriculum in a single year, overtaking her own brother with ease.
Beautiful, composed, and sharp-minded, Zhao Wan'er was a well-known figure throughout the academy.
She was still wearing her white officer uniform—clearly just returned from a practical examination.
After hearing the news, she had come straight to him.
Her anger faltered when she truly looked at Zhao Chen.
Dark circles rimmed his eyes. His hair was a mess. A faint, sour odor clung to him.
Behind him lay a makeshift bed near the workshop entrance. Empty boxes of instant nutrient meals littered the floor. A change of academy uniforms lay discarded in a corner.
This was how he had lived for half a month.
"You still think about resting?" Zhao Wan'er snapped, grabbing his ear. "Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you caused?!
"For a woman, you challenged Zhang Haoran to a starship duel—and wagered expulsion from the academy!"
She tugged sharply.
Normally, that would have hurt.
But Zhao Chen was too exhausted.
His legs gave out.
He collapsed forward—straight into Zhao Wan'er's arms.
"You—!"
Thud.
Both of them fell to the floor.
Zhao Chen leaned against her like a child, already half-asleep.
"…This idiot," Zhao Wan'er muttered.
With effort, she dragged him fully into the workshop.
Then she looked up.
And froze.
In the vast hangar—large enough to hold several football fields—a starship stood silently.
Its hull was old. Uneven. Scarred with the marks of past bombardments.
Around it lay scattered components, dismantled sections, and exposed conduits.
Yet despite its battered appearance, an oppressive presence emanated from the vessel.
A restrained hostility.
More unsettling still—it felt familiar.
But no matter how she searched her memory, Zhao Wan'er could not recall any such ship from the encyclopedias she had studied.
"Wan'er."
Zhao Chen's voice sounded from behind her.
She turned.
He was sitting cross-legged on the floor now, eyes clearer. A short rest—barely ten minutes—had restored some of his strength.
"…What is that?" Zhao Wan'er asked, pointing.
"My starship," Zhao Chen replied without thinking.
She snorted. "Liar. Li Wei told me you exchanged three old ships. Those aren't—"
She stopped mid-sentence.
Her gaze snapped back to the vessel.
Realization dawned.
Her pupils contracted.
"That's why it feels familiar…" she whispered.
Zhao Chen smiled faintly.
"Wan'er," he said lightly, "you're usually smarter than this."
He looked up at the incomplete warship.
"How long do you think it takes… to turn scrap into a monster?"