“General, please.” Bai Yong extended his hand, making a gesturing motion to lead the way.
Douglas swept a glance over this overly fawning officer. It had been him last time too, delivering tobacco to him after the opening ceremony—though Douglas had already thrown that tobacco away.
Walking onto the viewing stand, Douglas slowly pulled off his black leather gloves, casting his gaze downward.
Currently supervising training, Petrovna felt a familiar gaze. She turned her head and looked up, meeting Douglas’s eyes. A bright, enthusiastic smile spread across her face. Suddenly becoming excited, she cleared her throat and commanded loudly through the voice transmission system: “Cease training! Salute General Doug!”
The Imperial Alpha warriors, who had been dripping with sweat on the training field, stopped their movements instantly. With their wet faces turned upward and basking in the sunlight, they lifted their heads toward Douglas. Even though the bracelets on their wrists felt as heavy as a thousand pounds, they executed a crisp salute: “Salutes to General Doug!”
Petrovna arched her eyebrows triumphantly. Douglas suppressed a smile at the corner of his mouth, nodding back to her with feigned solemnity.
“General Doug? Leaving already? Is it because the soldiers’ performance was poor and disappointed you?” Seeing that Douglas had stayed on the stand for less than three minutes before walking down without lingering, his face heavy and unreadable, Bai Yong couldn’t help but grow nervous.
“You can increase the training intensity.” Douglas wasn’t actually dissatisfied, but right now he just wanted to be mischievous and let the soldiers of the Capital Military District experience what “life’s hardships” truly meant.
“Understood, understood. I will suggest it to Major General Petrovna.” Bai Yong breathed a sigh of relief. Seeing that Douglas only thought the training volume was insufficient made things easy; if Douglas had disliked the training methods themselves, that would have been a massive headache.
He caught up with Douglas, his mouth still running non-stop as he gauged Douglas’s expression: “General Doug, before General Mo retired, he ordered the construction of a sanatorium within the military district to settle officers suffering from mental illness. Do you intend for this project to continue?”
The power in the Capital Military District had shifted overnight. Regarding the legacy left by the previous general, Bai Yong didn’t know what this General Doug’s attitude would be.
“Continue it.” Douglas paused for a moment and answered immediately.
Mo Nanshan had once personally shown him those patients; he knew the kind of agony those officers suffering from psychological trauma were enduring. Mo Nanshan had been able to hand over the Capital Military District to him so easily precisely because he saw that Douglas shared a similar background.
“Where is Al?” Douglas frowned; the officer who had been following him was nowhere to be seen.
Bai Yong explained: “He went to commission a military starship. The military district attaches great importance to General Doug’s safety and has equipped you with the most secure starship facilities. Ordinary pilots do not have the clearance to fly it, so it must be handled by Mr. Al.”
He spoke as if he were a native of the Capital Military District and Douglas was a visiting guest. Douglas gave him a half-smile; Bai Yong immediately realized the inappropriate “insider” mentality in his words and chuckled sheepishly:
“General Doug, I didn’t mean it that way.”
Douglas withdrew the gaze that had made Bai Yong’s skin crawl and stepped forward: “Let’s go.”
Once aboard the starship, just as Al was about to set the destination for the Imperial Special Academy, he was stopped by Bai Yong. He looked up at Bai Yong, only to see the latter blinking incessantly, as if his eyelid were twitching.
A flicker of confusion appeared on Al’s cold face.
Seeing that Al was completely failing to take the hint, Bai Yong cursed him for being as dense as a block of wood. Today’s battle would have to be fought by himself.
He looked at Douglas with a smile and suggested: “General Doug, I wonder if you would do us the honor of dining with us? It will take some time to reach the Imperial Special Academy, and it happens to be mealtime.”
Al wanted to say he had no desire to dine with Douglas, but Bai Yong stepped on his foot in secret, forcing him to swallow his words.
Douglas noticed their little exchange, and the corner of his mouth twitched imperceptibly. He looked at Al and didn’t refuse directly: “Doesn’t Instructor Al have evening classes?”
“Yes, I still have to return to the school to teach. It is not quite convenient.” Al breathed a sigh of relief and nodded.
Before Douglas’s next word of refusal could leave his mouth, Bai Yong spoke again: “Since Mr. Al finds it inconvenient, I wonder if General Doug has the time?”
Douglas said curtly: “No need.”
Bai Yong had his own information channels; he knew Douglas had no work scheduled for tonight, which was why he had asked. He hadn’t expected to be rejected so bluntly. Could it be that Douglas had some social engagement he didn’t know about…?
As he thought this, something suddenly occurred to him, and he asked: “Is General Doug going to supervise the Military Department students’ classes?”
That was too ridiculous. Would a principal really do such “man-of-the-people” work? And so consistently?
Just as Bai Yong found it unbelievable, he saw Douglas give a nod, and his expression turned strange.
Douglas had no intention of building an image as a “relatable principal”; he disdained such things. He went in person every day primarily because he had a specific reason to be there.
He said righteously: “This is the principal’s responsibility.”
Bai Yong finally gave up on inviting Douglas to dinner. He turned his head away in a daze, thinking to himself that this General Doug truly possessed a remarkable sense of teaching ethics.
Al started the starship amidst the peculiar atmosphere.
After bidding farewell to Bai Yong and Al, Douglas returned to the Principal’s office, only to see a familiar figure waiting before the door.
Seeing the person finally arrive, Percival pulled himself together and complained like a resentful spouse: “I’ve been waiting for you for ages, why are you just getting back now? I sent you messages, didn’t you see them?”
Douglas indeed hadn’t seen them. Today’s inspection of the Capital Military District was important, so he had turned off the instant message pop-ups on his brain-computer interface.
He used his biometric signature to unlock the office door and invited Percival inside.
Before Percival even sat down, he pulled two invitations from his coat: “General Mo is retiring and holding a banquet. You and your partner, Mr. Elan, are invited to attend.”
“What would he go for? He’s currently a student at the academy. If he attends the banquet, all those noble children will recognize him. What would the school rumors be like when he gets back?” Douglas snatched both invitations from Percival’s hand. He threw the one belonging to Elan into his desk drawer and tore open his own.
Percival instinctively felt that making such a decision for one’s partner was improper, but since it was a matter between Douglas and his partner after all, he hesitated and swallowed the words he was about to say.
Douglas finished reading the invitation. There wasn’t much to see—just official phrasing, incredibly boring. He looked up and asked Percival: “Are there any dress code requirements?”
Percival’s expression was one of pure shock. “Since when did you start caring about that?”
“There isn’t a specific dress code, but you really should dress more formally. You can use my formal wear as a reference and have someone hand-make a few similar pieces using precious fabrics. Don’t wear something like that machine-stitched one you had before.”
“Reference yours?” Douglas appraised the suit Percival was currently wearing. It was just a standard work uniform, but the shoulders were adorned with eye-catching white feathers. He shook his head in distaste: “That’s not my style.”
“You’ve never cared about clothes; who knows what your style is. Based on your usual taste, it wouldn’t be a General’s retirement banquet, but a street bar competition—and a steampunk-themed one at that,” Percival couldn’t help but roast him.
Douglas: “…”
“Forget it, don’t worry about it.” Douglas thought of someone.
After Percival left, Douglas hesitated for ten minutes before finally opening his brain-computer interface to send a video call invitation to Elan.
Elan’s evening class had already ended. He remained in the training room, intending to do extra training once everyone else had left. After Professor Kazir’s treatment, his body had improved slightly; though the progress was faint, it gave Elan hope.
He didn’t want to interact with anyone, so he sat in the lounge area holding a cup of black tea, facing a light screen set to privacy mode.
On the surface, he was looking at his interface, but in reality, he was just a bit tired, his thoughts drifting far away.
Suddenly, the interface pinged with a string of instant messages. He pulled his thoughts back and opened a dialogue box he hadn’t touched in a long time.
(Two days ago) Alexia: You have disappointed me.
(Just now) Alexia: Elan, you must remember that you are of the Lehmann family. The blood of the Lehmann family flows through your veins, eternally unchanging; even marriage cannot shake that.
Alexia: You must attend General Mo’s retirement banquet on time. You should have received the invitation by now, right? I heard your invitations were delivered by the Chief Secretary, Percival.
Alexia: You are not attending as Douglas’s partner; you are attending as a member of the Lehmann family.
…
Elan lowered his eyes. Before he could reply, the interface buzzed again, and a 3D projection appeared before him.
Douglas looked at him, his eyes appearing somewhat nervous and hesitant.
Elan knew he was going to invite him to the banquet. Perhaps because it was the first time he had ever taken the initiative to ask a favor of someone, he seemed poorly adjusted to it. Thus, Elan took the initiative: “Is something the matter?”
He listened patiently to Douglas’s narrative: “Tomorrow is General Mo’s retirement banquet. I need to attend. I wanted to ask…”
“I wanted to ask, do you have time to go with me to tailor a suit? Weren’t you very disgusted by what I wore last time?”
Faced with an unexpected answer, Elan snapped his head up to meet Douglas’s gaze. He asked: “Only for you?”
Douglas seemed not to have expected such a question. He looked confused: “Yes, otherwise who else?”
“I don’t need to attend?” Elan couldn’t describe his current mood; he only took a deep breath, asking while suppressing his anger.
“You don’t need to,” Douglas said without a second thought.
Elan’s heart gradually grew cold. That tiny, hidden spark of emotion sparked by that previous ambiguous kiss vanished instantly.
Amidst his indignation, he even felt a sense of grievance. He thought: Am I that embarrassing to present? Why won’t he let me attend the banquet with him? He clearly received the invitation, yet took it upon himself to withhold it, and then had the nerve to come before me and ask about a suit!
Elan suspected Douglas was doing it on purpose—purposely coming to hint at his status and humiliate him: You and I have only kissed twice; do not have any ridiculous palpitations.
Just how much did he have to loathe someone to go to such lengths?
He gritted his teeth, spat out a few words, and immediately cut off the call.