The Hidden Sovereign: 100 Days to Conquer the Academy

The Dead Man’s Guest

The rain over the National Cemetery was cold, relentless, and smelled of ozone. Under a sea of black umbrellas, the most powerful figures in the country stood in hushed silence.

At the front, a massive granite monument bore a name that had once made enemies tremble across three borders: Han Ye, The Ghost Commander.

Behind a row of weeping dignitaries, standing at the very edge of the mud-slicked grass, was a young man in a cheap, ill-fitting black suit. His hair was cropped short, his frame lean but coiled like a hidden spring. To anyone passing by, he looked like a distant relative or a low-level soldier paying respects to a legend.

Nobody realized they were standing five feet away from the legend himself.

“Commander, can you hear me?” A tiny, vibrating pulse came from a microscopic transmitter in Han Ye's inner ear. It was the voice of Blackhawk, his most loyal lieutenant.

“Loud and clear,” Han Ye murmured, his lips barely moving. His eyes remained fixed on the high-definition photo of himself resting on the casket—a man in full military regalia, eyes cold and piercing. It was a strange sensation, attending one’s own funeral.

“The transition is complete. Your DNA records have been wiped from the Global Defense Network. Your bank accounts are frozen. The ‘100-Day Seal’ is now active. For the next three months, you are officially Han Ye: a failed military cadet with a dishonorable discharge and zero assets. If you use your signature combat moves or reveal your identity, the traitor’s surveillance will trigger. You’ll be hunted before the mission even begins.”

“I understand,” Han Ye said.

His mission was simple: Infiltrate St. Jude’s Academy. Find the mole who had sold out his unit. And do it without the world knowing the Ghost Commander had returned from the grave.

---

The silence of the ceremony was shattered by the aggressive roar of an engine. A silver Maybach lurched to a halt at the cemetery gates, splashing mud onto the mourners.

A man stepped out, adjusted his designer tie, and walked toward the front of the crowd with an arrogant swagger. This was Wei Jun, the heir to the Wei conglomerate—a man whose wealth was only matched by his lack of character.

He didn't stop until he reached the front, standing directly next to a woman in a black veil.

Su Qing. The "Cold Empress" of the Su family and, according to a secret contract signed by her grandfather, Han Ye’s wife.

“Quite a turnout for a dead man,” Wei Jun’s voice carried over the crowd, dripping with mock sympathy. He didn’t look at the casket; he looked at Su Qing’s profile. “But let’s be honest, Qing. A ‘hero’ who dies at twenty-four is just a soldier who wasn't smart enough to survive. Why waste your tears on a ghost when the living can offer you so much more?”

The crowd gasped. The disrespect was a slap in the face to every soldier present.

Su Qing didn't move. Her voice was like ice. “This is a funeral, Wei Jun. Leave.”

“I’m just being practical,” Wei Jun sneered, reaching out to touch her shoulder. “Your grandfather is dying. Your company is hemorrhaging money. You need a partner, not a memory. Marrying this ‘hero’ was a mistake from the start. Luckily, death has a way of fixing mistakes.”

Han Ye, standing at the back, felt a familiar heat rise in his chest. His fingers twitched, instinctively reaching for a sidearm that wasn't there.

“Commander, stay calm,” Blackhawk’s voice cautioned in his ear. “If you break his hand now, the security cameras will flag your biometric signature. You’re a ‘trash student’ now, remember?”

Han Ye exhaled slowly. The heat didn't vanish; it just turned into a cold, calculated focus.

Wei Jun grew bolder, his hand tightening on Su Qing’s arm. “Come on, Qing. Let’s leave this depressing place. I’ve already booked a table at—”

“She told you to leave.”

The voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the rain like a gunshot.

The crowd parted as Han Ye walked forward. He didn't run. He didn't shout. He moved with a rhythmic, effortless grace that made the elite bodyguards in the crowd instinctively tense up, though they didn't know why.

Wei Jun turned, squinting at the man in the cheap suit. “Who the hell are you? A janitor?”

Han Ye stopped three paces away. The "Information Gap" was a beautiful thing. Wei Jun saw a nobody. Han Ye saw a target with three structural weaknesses in his posture and a nervous tic in his left eye.

“I’m the man who’s going to help you find the exit,” Han Ye said calmly.

“You?” Wei Jun burst into a laugh, looking at the crowd. “Do you hear this? This poverty-stricken brat wants to threaten me?”

Wei Jun stepped closer, poking a finger into Han Ye’s chest. “Listen, kid. I own the shoes you’re wearing. I own the ground you’re standing on. One phone call and I’ll have you buried in a hole next to your hero.”

Han Ye looked down at the finger on his chest, then back up at Wei Jun. A thin, dangerous smile touched his lips.

“You have ten seconds to remove your hand,” Han Ye said softly. “Before I decide that the Seal is worth breaking for a piece of trash like you.”

“Commander!” Blackhawk’s voice was frantic. “99 days, 23 hours, 55 minutes remaining! Don't do it!”

Han Ye didn't move. He didn't need his "Ghost" powers to handle a spoiled brat. He just needed to be the "nobody" the world thought he was.