Zerg: I ​​was picked up by the cold and beautiful Major General at the start of the game.

"Bang!"

The exquisite glass cup was slammed to the ground, shattering into pieces.

The page displaying the imperial joint statement on the screen was still glowing faintly, reflecting the Second Prince's gloomy and distorted face.

"Great...what a wonderful improvement in your mental state!"

The subordinates, who stood with their heads bowed in the hall, lowered their heads even further, held their breath, and dared not make the slightest sound.

The second prince closed his eyes, pressing his fingertips hard against his throbbing temples, forcibly suppressing the surging anger in his heart.

When he opened his eyes again, although there was still some ice inside, he had regained his usual calmness and calculation.

"Ayland... has indeed given me a 'surprise'."

His voice was low and deep. "It's truly unexpected that the collapse of one's mental state could be reversed."

He strolled to the huge viewing window and looked out at the bustling capital city.

"However, even if things improve, it will take time to recover, and there are only a few days left before the expiration of the retention period for the military post."

A cold, mocking smile curled at the corner of his lips. "In such a short time, does he, Ailand, really think he can create a miracle and wake up immediately?"

He turned around, his gaze sweeping like a blade over his subordinates who were still kneeling on the ground.

"Investigate! I need to know the internal assessments from the Imperial Academy of Sciences and the Medical Department—how long it will possibly take for Ailand to awaken! No detail is overlooked!"

"Yes, Your Highness!" The subordinate immediately accepted the order.

"And another thing," the second prince added, his eyes darkening.

"Keep a close eye on Lin Luo and Parks. I want to see what secrets are hidden behind this so-called 'improvement'."

"Understood!"

Watching his subordinates quickly retreat, the Second Prince turned his gaze back to the glaring statement on the screen, lost in thought.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Military Headquarters

Hawke practically shoved the communicator right in front of Akto, who had just entered, his voice trembling with excitement:

"Akto! Look! The official statement! The Major General's mental state... is showing signs of improvement!"

Akto's previously languid expression instantly vanished. He grabbed the communicator and quickly scanned the joint statement:

"Really?! That's great! I knew it... how could the Major General fall so easily!"

He let out a heavy sigh of relief, a genuine smile spreading across his face, and playfully punched Hawke on the shoulder.

"Great! You don't have to stare blankly at the empty office all day anymore, and I don't have to be put on the spot fighting for that damn candidate qualification!"

Hawke winced from the punch, but couldn't stop smiling. He pulled over two chairs:

"Sit down! Quick, sit down! I almost shouted it out when I saw it!"

As he spoke, he deftly poured Akto a glass of energy drink, as if in celebration.

"Speaking of which," Akto said, taking the cup, tilting his head back and taking a large gulp, his eyes filled with nostalgia.

"Remember that exercise? The major general led our squad, circled around to the 'enemy's' rear, and took out their command post!"

Hawke immediately perked up, his eyes lighting up:

"How could I not remember! Back then you were just a green recruit, so reckless, you almost gave away your position. It was the major general who shoved you into the camouflage grass, and the look in his eyes..."

He mimicked Aland's usual serious expression, "So scary you wouldn't dare breathe!"

Akto scratched his head sheepishly and chuckled:

"Don't even mention it! But later, the major general privately taught me a lot of infiltration techniques."

His tone became serious, "Honestly, I learned more during my time under the major general than I did in several years at military academy."

"Yes," Hawke said, leaning back in his chair with a gentle expression.

"The major general may seem cold, but he's actually very kind to us subordinates..." He didn't finish his sentence, but the meaning was in his eyes.

The two smiled at each other, and the office was filled with a long-lost, relaxed and joyful atmosphere.

They chatted amongst themselves, reminiscing about the moments they fought alongside Ailand—those tense, passionate, and even somewhat comical memories—which now transformed into a fervent anticipation for the future.

"Once the Rear Admiral wakes up," Hawke clenched his fist, his eyes resolute, "the Seventh Fleet will surely rise again!"

Akto nodded heavily, feeling much more at ease even though he had only learned that Major General Ailand had awakened.

"Cheers!"

The female sailors of the Seventh Fleet surrounded the screen displaying the official statement, their faces beaming with joy.

"I knew it! How could a major general fall down!"

"Officially confirmed! Let's see who dares to say the Major General won't wake up!"

"When the Major General returns, we absolutely must celebrate for three days and three nights!"

Cheers, laughter, and even insects excitedly pounding on the table filled the rest area with a joyful atmosphere.

In stark contrast to the Seventh Fleet—

In the Second Fleet Commander's office, Terman stood with his back to the door, his adjutant standing a few steps behind him, hands at his sides, barely breathing.

After a long silence, the adjutant finally mustered his courage, his voice trembling almost imperceptibly, and whispered his request:

"Commander...regarding...regarding the data on the candidate insect for Aland's successor...should we submit it as usual?"

Terman, standing by the window, did not answer immediately. After a moment of suffocating silence, Terman's thin lips parted slightly:

Submit as usual.

A flicker of surprise crossed the adjutant's lowered eyes, and he respectfully replied:

"Yes, Commander!"

Terman's gaze fell on the distant sky in the direction of the Seventh Fleet's base, a sharp, icy glint flashing deep in his eyes.

Meanwhile, in a side hall of the Second Prince's bedchamber, a trusted aide was reporting in a low voice:

"The Seventh Fleet is practically celebrating, and Rear Admiral Terman... his adjutant just confirmed that they will still submit candidate Zerg data."

The second prince toyed with an exquisite seal, and upon hearing this, he chuckled softly, his expression unreadable.

"Telman is quite composed, which is good. With him holding the line, it saves me a lot of trouble."

"Go and make things easier for Terman; don't make the document submission process too 'cumbersome'."

"Yes, Your Highness."

The jubilation on the StarNet and the undercurrents of competition are unfolding simultaneously.