Ji Chenxi wasn’t the kind of guy to make blind calls. Even with all the confidence he carried, he still admitted he’d never actually piloted a real starship before.
So it all came down to this—did they want to gamble on that thirty-percent chance of an A+ grade, or take the wild card standing right in front of them, an “S” grade full of uncertainty?
Shadow didn’t even need a second to decide—no way he was letting Ji Chenxi take the controls. The risk was way too high. Just as he was about to speak up, Nether dodged yet another vicious round of fire, cool and certain as she said, “You take it.”
“Huh?”
Even Ji Chenxi himself was a little stunned.
“The simulation ships and real ones are basically identical. You’ll just need a moment to adjust. And with S-class spiritual strength, the jump is almost a guaranteed success. Even if you slip up because you’re not used to the real thing, you’ve still got a fifty-fifty chance. That’s higher than mine.”
With that, she didn’t hesitate—she gave up the pilot seat to Ji Chenxi.
After ducking through wave after wave of fire, the attacks finally eased a little, and the two of them swapped places in a blur.
Shadow was still shouting in protest. “Are you kidding me, Nether? Do you have a death wish? He’s never flown a real ship in his life!”
Nether pinched the bridge of her nose. “Shadow, back him up. Chenxi, all you focus on is the jump. Shadow will keep the ship safe.”
Shadow thought she’d lost his mind, but still, he moved to support Chenxi.
And honestly, the difference between a simulation and the real deal wasn’t much. If that S-class spiritual strength was real, letting him handle the jump was actually more reliable than letting Nether do it.
“Fine. Let’s gamble.”
With a grumble, Shadow threw himself into helping Chenxi. And because it wasn’t Nether in the seat, he watched even more closely. That’s when he noticed something—this cool, sharp-looking alpha really had some skills.
Ji Chenxi’s hands flew over the controls, smooth as flowing water, pushing the warp engine with absolute control. Under him, the starship leapt forward at a speed no one could’ve imagined.
On the other side, a man with gold-rimmed glasses narrowed his eyes at the sudden burst of speed, interest flickering in his gaze.
Beside him, a girl who had been absent-mindedly twirling her hair suddenly widened her eyes and let out a wild laugh. “That mercenary’s got something.”
The refined man with gold-rimmed glasses pushed his spectacles up and ordered, “Begin the hunt.”
Once Ji Chenxi took the main pilot seat, Shadow finally saw a sliver of hope to get away.
After getting a bit used to the real ship, Ji Chenxi planned to fire the jump engines and kick in faster-than-light to make the jump. Before he could finish feeding the complicated commands, he felt danger from behind — his strong spiritual power let him seam the ship away from that strike, and at the same moment they spotted a pirate vessel several times larger than theirs.
At a single glance Ji Chenxi knew their setup far outmatched them. While he was sizing things up, the alpha who’d just calmed and shown A-level strength suddenly yelled again, “Red Scorpion — the Red Scorpion pirates. We’re done for.”
Ji Chenxi paused for a beat. He hadn’t followed pirate gangs closely, but he’d heard of the Red Scorpion. There were ten pirate groups that really made a mark — the Big Ten — and Red Scorpion ranked fifth, notorious for brutal, anything-goes tactics.
Any pirate gang that could slip through major systems and still survive had real skill. Being one of the Big Ten was bad enough; fifth place meant they were seriously dangerous.
Adrenaline spiked in Ji Chenxi — that rush you only get when danger shows up — and it excited him. The thrill didn’t make him lose his head; he told the person beside him, “Fly it properly. If you can’t, get your sister to take over.”
After that cold warning to Shadow, he turned the ship and ran.
They couldn’t win — not even close. Trying to fight it out now would be pure stupidity.
Shadow didn’t get mad at being snapped at; he locked onto Ji Chenxi’s moves and protected the ship.
Ji Chenxi’s hands were steady — he’d found the feel again — dodging attack after near-miss. At the same time, he initiated the jump.
Crazy — daring to jump while the attackers were so close.
During a jump the ship would be stuck, frozen in place for a few seconds; those few seconds were more than enough for the enemy to tear them apart.
Ji Chenxi’s face went tight as he fed command after command into the control center.
Just then their display was hacked. The refined man with gold-rimmed glasses appeared on-screen, hands crossed at his neck, a smile on his lips: “Poor little kitty — you can’t run. Be a good kitty, and you might keep your body in one piece.”
“Holy shit!” Shadow swore again, his voice cracking. He never in his wildest dreams thought the one chasing them down would be Red Scorpion’s deputy leader. And there were only two deputies in that whole pirate crew—if this guy was making a move himself, they were screwed.
Even Nether was shaken this time. She rattled off an explanation to Ji Chenxi at lightning speed: “He’s got S-class spiritual power, A+ physical strength, and an overall evaluation just a hair shy of full S. An alpha who’s been with the Red Scorpion pirates for over ten years.”
Which basically meant—this guy was seasoned to the bone.
Ji Chenxi quickly scrubbed the one-way hack off their display. His hands were moving so fast on the console they almost left afterimages, but out of his mouth came a flat line: “Not S-class yet, huh?”
Damn. That was cocky.
Shadow had always known that people who liked to act cool usually had the arrogance to match. But the way Ji Chenxi said it—no expression, no emotion in his voice—you couldn’t even tell if he was being cocky or if he honestly thought it wasn’t worth stressing over.
Right now, Ji Chenxi was more than a little annoyed. He hated anyone calling his spirit form a “little kitty.” Still, with the setup he had right now, going head-to-head wasn’t an option.
Photon cannons, streaking like falling stars, tore past the small ship. Ji Chenxi’s hands stayed rock steady, punching in every command for the jump. Then he swung them into cover behind a drifting asteroid.
The man with gold-rimmed glasses didn’t look the least bit bothered by their desperate maneuvers. Instead, his voice was soft, almost gentle: “Show them a lesson, Amis.”
The girl called Amis flicked her hair, a cruel smile tugging at her lips. “They think hiding behind a rock will save them? Pathetic.”
A massive photon blast, glowing blue, roared out. It smashed into the asteroid without mercy. But the scene she expected—the blast tearing through the rock and shredding their ship—never happened. The ship hadn’t paused for a jump. Instead, it surged forward, faster, while the asteroid’s shattered debris scattered across the path and blocked their pursuers.
The doll-faced girl’s smile faded; her expression went pale.
“Amis!” the man barked again.
Her cruel grin faltered, lips tightening. She slammed the engines to full throttle and charged after them. As for the chunks of debris, under their firepower they were nothing more than a momentary drag on speed.
But even that brief slowdown was all Ji Chenxi needed.
Using the cover of drifting asteroids, he pulled far enough ahead to set up the jump in a hidden pocket of space.
The ship froze for those few terrifying seconds when a jump left it immobile.
Normally, Ji Chenxi’s escape would’ve been perfect. He’d already mapped out the pirate’s style and knew they couldn’t possibly catch up. But Red Scorpion wasn’t about to let him slip away. Out of the asteroid field, their pirate ship appeared again—dead on their trail.
A cold smile tugged at Ji Chenxi’s lips. Looked like the deputy leader himself had stepped in.
The two ships were still far apart. The pirates didn’t chase — they fired a massive blue photon blast straight at them.
It was already the third second of the jump, and the blast would hit in less than a second.
Every second felt like a year. Even a fast jump needed at least five to seven seconds.
We’re done for!
Shadow swallowed the thought.
The man with the gold-rimmed glasses let out a small sigh of relief as he fired — blow that ship apart, mission done.
But just before the huge photon blast hit the ship—
The jump succeeded!
The man’s smile froze dead on his face.
Amis let out a sound of disbelief. “That merc actually made the jump? Did we miss them?!!”
The gold-rimmed man exhaled heavily, then started to smile again, eyes bright with interest. He opened his holo and spoke to someone on the other side: “The little kitten escaped. Track them down. Note the ship’s signature… If you catch them, don’t kill them. I want to handle this personally.”
Back on their ship, Shadow went pale and slumped back into his seat, breathing hard.
Even Nether’s legs went weak — they’d been only 0.3 seconds from death.
Ji Chenxi casually rubbed his fingers, a little sore from the fast typing, then idly tapped in a few more commands.
“You—didn’t see that coming?” Shadow, calmed now, tried to chat up Ji Chenxi.
Leaning back in the pilot seat, Ji Chenxi raised an eyebrow. “What, feeling grateful now? Want to pay me a big fee?”
Shadow flipped his face into a grin so greasy it was basically groveling. “Talking money kills the vibe, Chenxi.”
For a mercenary to end up needing the client to protect them was a real shame. Shadow only hoped Ji Chenxi wouldn’t brag about it.
Ji Chenxi wasn’t planning to keep piloting. He was about to give the seat back to Shadow, then go rest — when he spotted a familiar small personal ship.
If their own ship was middling, that one screamed top-tier: latest model, black hull that flashed colors in the nebula, sleek curves, clearly modified — some changes even made it look better.
“How about we steal it?” Ji Chenxi sat back down just as he was getting up.
“What?” Shadow was stunned.
Ji Chenxi had his reasons. A jump always had some randomness to the landing point, and their ship didn’t have enough power to jump across multiple systems. That meant anyone serious about killing them could lie in wait at any likely drop point. Their ship’s signature was probably already exposed. Right now they were a huge, glowing target. Abandoning their ship and hijacking someone else’s to reach their destination was the smartest move.
Nether was clearly on the same wavelength as Ji Chenxi. She didn’t shoot down his idea of hijacking the ship—after a moment of thought, she actually backed it.
“Insane…” Shadow muttered under his breath.
Ji Chenxi ignored him and launched right into the plan. After everything the ship had gone through, only forty percent of its energy was left. He dumped thirty-five percent of that straight into the cannons.
First came two photon blasts, sharp and precise. Then came the message.
He knew that kind of top-grade ship wouldn’t be easy to take, so he went all in—forceful, cocky, voice dripping with arrogance. Using some slick tricks, he hacked into their comms and dropped a voice call straight into their system.
No approval needed—the call connected on its own.
“Your ship’s caught Red Scorpion’s eye. Either hand it over nice and quiet, or wait till our fleet tears you to shreds.”
Ji Chenxi had braced himself. A ship like that meant two things: money and muscle. There was no way they’d fold so easily. The threat was just step one; the real play came after the refusal. He was ready to be turned down.
But after a long silence, a steady middle-aged voice finally answered, heavy with humiliation: “We’ll open the hatch now. You can board directly.”
Then the call was cut off, hard.
“Hah. Luring us in, huh?” Ji Chenxi muttered, annoyed.
Shadow spoke up. “Or maybe they’re just scared of us? Don’t forget, Red Scorpion’s terrifying. The top three pirate groups vanish in and out like ghosts, but Red Scorpion—among the well-known crews—they’re one of the scariest.”
Ji Chenxi tuned him out. Instead, he thought about why the other side would be bold enough to link ships and invite them aboard. Was it because his voice sounded too young, so they underestimated him? Or because they had someone powerful enough to be confident? Or maybe they just had sheer firepower to back it up?
Whatever the reason, Ji Chenxi was fine with it. If they were opening the hatch and docking, that actually made things simpler.
And sure enough, not long after, the other ship really did open its hatch and dock with theirs.
Ji Chenxi’s hands flew across the console, typing in strings of commands to make the docking strictly one-way—only their side could board the other ship.
When Nether realized he meant to go over, she frowned. “It’s a trap.”
Red Scorpion’s name carried real weight. Even mercenaries like them wouldn’t surrender this easily, much less someone flying such a high-performance ship.
“C’mon, sis, you’re too cautious. What if we actually scared them? Red Scorpion’s name is huge. Just ‘cause they’ve got the cash for that ship doesn’t mean they’ve got the strength to back it up.”
Ji Chenxi flexed his wrist, eyes dark with thought. Then, without a second of hesitation, he popped the hatch and started toward the docking bay.
“You can either come with me, or stay on the ship and wait for my signal.”
Honestly, it would’ve been smarter for them to stay put, but Nether and Shadow’s main job was protecting him. They exchanged a glance, then followed Ji Chenxi anyway.
In this age, the scariest force wasn’t a starship—it was mechs. And with his mech in tow, Ji Chenxi had every reason to be confident.
A small ship was never too big, and a top-grade model like this wouldn’t hold more than fifty people. As long as he had his mech, most dangers inside were nothing to worry about.
When it came to personal combat strength, there was really only one person he needed to watch out for.
Ji Chenxi braced himself for ambushes. But from the moment he stepped onto the ship, he didn’t see a single soul, not even a half-baked trap.
The emptiness gnawed at him, enough to make even him uneasy.
“Told you they were scared,” Shadow muttered.
Ji Chenxi ignored him, leading the way straight toward the main control room.
The moment he opened the door, dozens of auto-controlled photon cannons locked onto them, with three people aiming photon rifles as backup.
That alone didn’t faze him—but the man sitting dead center, cold-faced and grim, was someone all too familiar.
“Well, what a coincidence,” the man’s icy voice cut through the air. “Didn’t know you’d joined Red Scorpion.”
Ji Chenxi hadn’t expected to run into him here of all places. Playing it smart, he put on a smile and waved lightly. “Hey… Brother Chi Zhuo, long time no see.”
Hello, everyone ヾ(＾∇＾). I hope you enjoyed the story! If you’re feeling generous, please buy me a coffee, share/comment on my translated works! Check out the link below for early chapters. (๑>ᴗ<๑)
