Chapter 4: The Predator in the Mess Hall

POV: Zhang Wei (Seventeen-year-old Cadet)

Location: Youth Training Sector, Main Corridor

Zhang Wei didn't move. He couldn't.

The sleek military tactical knife was still vibrating loudly, embedded four inches deep into the wooden dartboard exactly two centimeters away from his left earlobe. He could literally feel the cold breeze radiating off the steel.

What. The. Actual. Hell, his mind screamed, his heart pounding against his ribs like a trapped drum. Did... did Li Qiao just dodge a ricochet, catch my knife out of mid-air like a literal ninja, threat-whisper in my face, and then launch it back at me without even looking?

He slowly turned his head, his eyes wide as he looked down the long corridor. Li Qiao was already walking away, her single dark braid swaying casually behind her back as if she hadn't just shattered the laws of physics.

"Bro..." his friend Chen gasped beside him, finally breaking the suffocating silence. "Did the General’s grandkid just inherit super powers from that concussion?"

"Shut up, Chen," Zhang Wei barked, his face instantly turning a bright, embarrassing shade of red as he violently yanked the knife out of the wood. His hand was shaking so badly he almost dropped it.

He was supposed to be the top cadet in the youth sector. He had spent the last three months watching online tutorial videos and practicing that flashy reverse-grip flip in front of his bedroom mirror just to look cool. He wanted to look like an elite special forces operative.

Instead, a fifteen-year-old girl who was famous for crying during morning jogs and face-planting into a concrete obstacle course just treated him like an annoying toddler.

She said she would slide it down my throat, Zhang Wei thought, a cold shiver running straight down his spine. She wasn't even yelling. Her eyes were completely dead. Like... serial killer dead. Why did she look so serious? And more importantly... how do I get her to teach me how to do that catch? If I could do that catch, the girls in the capital would literally faint.

"Hey, Wei," Chen muttered, checking his watch. "Are we... are we still going to the cafeteria?"

"Obviously," Zhang Wei snapped, shoving the knife into his belt holster with aggressive, defensive pride. "But if she's in there, nobody will look her in the eye. I think the head injury made her psychotic."

POV: Zai (Inside the body of Li Qiao)

Location: Base Cafeteria

Finally. The Promised Land, Zai thought, her inner voice practically weeping with relief as she pushed open the heavy double doors of the military mess hall.

The room was vast, cold, and entirely constructed from stainless steel and gray concrete. Row after row of long benches were filled with younger cadets eating in structured, disciplined silence. Zai didn't care about the atmosphere. Her nose was actively sniffing the air like a bloodhound tracking a target.

Smell profile: boiled cabbage, unseasoned pork, and... disappointment, her inner voice sighed, deeply depressed. Is it a crime in this country to use garlic? I am beginning to think the Obsidian Syndicate didn't raise me to be a weapon; they raised me to have a functional palate. This place is a gastronomic wasteland.

She picked up a stainless steel tray and slid it along the metal counter. The cafeteria cook—a massive, burly man with a permanent scowl and a blood-stained white apron—slapped a massive scoop of greyish potato mash and three slices of boiled chicken onto her tray.

Zai stared down at the food, her face settling into a grim, deathly serious expression that looked like she was staring at a fresh corpse.

"Is there chili oil?" Zai asked, her voice dropping into a flat, demanding monotone.

The cook grunted, not even looking up. "No substitutions. No condiments. Standard military diet for behavioral reform cadets. Eat your calories and move along, kid."

Zai didn't move. She leaned her small hands on the metal counter, tilting her head slightly. Externally, her teenage face automatically twisted into a deeply dramatic, narrow-eyed pout. Internally, her assassin brain was calculating the cook's weak points. Tricep density: high. But his left knee is wearing a supportive brace. One sharp kick to the patella and I can commandeer the entire kitchen pantry.

"Listen to me carefully, Chef," Zai whispered, her serious face boring holes into the man's forehead. "I have spent two weeks eating watery rice porridge. My soul is currently empty. I know for a fact that military cooks keep a private stash of Lao Gan Ma chili oil hidden beneath the industrial dishwashers for their own survival. Bring it out, and nobody gets hurt."

The cook finally looked up, blinking in absolute shock at the sheer, icy audacity of the fifteen-year-old girl standing before him. Usually, the rich brats sent here just whined and cried about wanting fast food. This girl was speaking to him like a cartel boss negotiating a drug deal over a plate of mashed potatoes.

Before the cook could yell at her to get in line, a shadow fell over Zai’s tray.

"Miss Li," a deep, strict voice interrupted from behind her.

Zai didn't flinch. She slowly turned her head to see Commander Lin standing there, a crisp electronic tablet tucked under his arm. His eyes flicked down to her tray, then up to her intensely serious scowl.

"Your medical leave is officially over," Commander Lin announced, his voice carrying the weight of a judge delivering a sentence. "General Lin has personally reviewed your behavioral file. Since you have recovered from your... curfew violation, your new training schedule begins tomorrow at exactly zero four hundred hours."

He handed her a printed slip of paper from the tablet.

Zai took the paper, her eyes scanning the text with rapid, mechanical speed.

[ MANDATORY REFORM CURRICULUM: CADET LI QIAO ] - 04:00 AM: 5KM WEIGHTED RUCK RUN (10KG VEST) - 06:00 AM: HAND-TO-HAND COMBAT BASICS (LEVEL 1) - 09:00 AM: TACTICAL DRILLS & BASE CLEANUP - 13:00 PM: OBSTACLE COURSE REPLAY (UNTIL COMPLETED WITHOUT FALLING)

Commander Lin braced himself, fully expecting the original Li Qiao to throw a massive, screaming tantrum in the middle of the cafeteria, stomp her feet, and curse out her grandfather.

Instead, Zai just stared at the paper with a chillingly calm, analytical expression.

Weighted run? Light cardio. Hand-to-hand basics? Cute, I can practice my blindfolded parries. Obstacle course? I’ll tear that concrete barrier apart, her inner voice chuckled with dark, corporate satisfaction.

"Ten kilograms are a bit light for the vest, Commander," Zai said completely straight-faced, stuffing the paper into her pocket. "But it will do for a warm-up. Tell my grandfather I accept his challenge."

She grabbed her tray, turned around, and walked toward an empty table, leaving Commander Lin standing by the counter, utterly speechless and questioning his entire military career.

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