Fourth Brother didn’t beat around the bush with him: “Three months ago, on the outskirts of the Eighth Star System, Poison Nest encountered a group of mysterious people. These people claimed to have a hundred mechas and two armed starships, and wanted to negotiate an arms deal. The chip was brought by this group—they implant it in the heart, and not only can it influence anyone and any AI within a two-hundred-meter radius at will, but it can also turn them into invulnerable superhumans. As far as I know, even Eden doesn’t have this kind of technology.”

What does a hundred mechas mean?

Five years ago, when the Alliance government secretly sent troops to surround Silver Fortress, they only deployed five hundred mechas.

Luke: “They’re not a local gang from the Eighth Star System.”

“Probably not,” Fourth Brother said. “These mysterious people offered a very low price—the first batch of arms was practically given away for free. All they wanted was for Poison Nest to help gather children aged two to four, a hundred at a time. They’ve already asked for two batches. I suspect they’re conducting some kind of human experiment. These mysterious people don’t let them abduct children from the same place—maybe to avoid drawing attention, or maybe they’re using these Poison Nest idiots to test the bio-chips. Now the Poison Nest gang is running wild all over the star system.”

Luke quietly waited for Fourth Brother’s conclusion.

Fourth Brother absentmindedly finished his processed breakfast before finally saying, “No rush. If these are pirates from outside the system, Poison Nest is probably just their first probe. Sooner or later, they’ll come knocking. Before that, it’s best to figure out exactly what that bio-chip is.”

“I’ll do everything I can to assist Principal Foster,” Luke paused, “By the way, will you be attending Principal Foster’s opening ceremony today as invited?”

“Do I look like I have nothing better to do?” Fourth Brother downed his coffee in one gulp.

Luke: “But I noticed you changed your clothes.”

Fourth Brother brushed him off: “Yesterday’s got blood on it, filthy, I got rid of it.”

Luke responded with an “Oh,” and cleared away Fourth Brother’s dishes and empty cup: “Then I’ll remove that event from your schedule.”

Fourth Brother sat in silence for a moment: “Who told you to put it on my schedule?”

Chapter 8

The opening ceremony that Principal Foster had been scheduled for by Luke hadn’t even started, and he himself had already run into a bit of trouble.

The ceremony was set for the morning, preceded by a full faculty meeting.

The newly established Xinghai Academy had three departments: Mecha Mechanical Design, Mecha Operation, and Information Science. The textbooks were all personally written by the principal… cobbled together from here and there.

According to Principal Foster’s grand vision, the future Xinghai Academy would be the ultimate temple of human wisdom, equipped with the most cutting-edge laboratories, a sensory library, its own publishing house—the most authoritative in the universe—research institutes spread across the eight star systems, gathering the elite of all humanity, standing shoulder to shoulder with the renowned Wulan Academy on distant Woto Star, echoing each other from afar. Countless names that shone throughout human history would be forever marked by Xinghai Academy.

Benjamin Foster had nothing to his name, but he dared to dream.

Step by step, Principal Foster firmly believed that these three tiny, humble departments were the first small step in his great undertaking.

Yet, in the bright morning just before the start of the semester, the three deans of these “small steps” gathered together, all looking gloomy, to present the principal with a cold dose of reality.

The dean of the Mecha Operation Department had a fiery temper. Before the principal could finish his inspiring speech for the new semester, he cut in: “Principal Foster, I can’t teach like this anymore. Last semester, our department’s failure rate was ninety percent—and that’s after all the final exam scores were square-rooted and multiplied by ten. What do you suggest we do?”

The dean of Mecha Mechanical Design added expressionlessly, “Our department’s failure rate is one hundred percent.”

Benjamin Foster was shocked by these numbers, but responded tolerantly, “The design major has higher requirements for basic knowledge, it’s fine. At worst, we’ll just extend the program. Look, maybe we shouldn’t be too strict in the first year—just bump up the borderline scores a bit and let them pass.”

“Can’t be done,” the design dean said, looking utterly defeated. “If we go by a percentage system, only one student in our department has an average score in the double digits.”

Benjamin Foster: “……”

“As for my department, there’s no data to speak of,” the dean of Information Science, an elderly man with a clear, dignified face and white hair, spoke slowly. “Principal, I don’t know how you advertised for admissions, but many students who applied to our department thought we taught how to gather inside information. I explained to them that we’re not a spy department, nor are we called the Special Agent Department. The result? Forty-nine students registered, and fifty dropped out. In other words, I have only freshmen now, no sophomores.”

Benjamin Foster went over the old dean’s words from start to finish: “…How did more students drop out than registered?”

The old dean said, “One student was halfway through registration, discovered a gang of thugs at the school who were his enemies, got scared of being beaten up, and immediately jumped to the withdrawal process.”

The teachers at the school were all scholars that Benjamin Foster had scoured the Eighth Star System to find, dug up from every nook and cranny. In the Eighth Star System, they were practically an endangered species.