The Hidden Sovereign: 100 Days to Conquer the Academy

The Weight of a Ghost

The air around the monument seemed to drop ten degrees. Wei Jun’s finger was still pressed into Han Ye’s cheap suit, but for the first time in his life, the billionaire heir felt a primal shiver crawl up his spine.

It was the look in Han Ye’s eyes. They weren't the eyes of a "poverty student." They were the eyes of a man who had watched empires crumble and didn't find it particularly impressive.

“Three seconds,” Han Ye said. His voice was a calm, steady blade.

“You’re really asking for it, aren't you?” Wei Jun hissed, his face flushing with embarrassment as he realized the crowd was watching. He pulled his hand back, not to retreat, but to throw a heavy, entitled punch aimed straight at Han Ye’s jaw.

The move was telegraphed, clumsy, and—to a man like Han Ye—slow as a snail.

“Commander! Minimal force!” Blackhawk’s voice screamed in his earpiece.

Han Ye didn't strike back. He simply shifted his weight an inch to the left.

Wei Jun’s fist whistled past Han Ye’s ear. Because Han Ye didn't move his feet, it looked like Wei Jun had simply missed a stationary target. Before the heir could recover his balance, Han Ye reached out and caught Wei Jun’s wrist.

It looked like he was merely steadying a falling man. But Han Ye’s thumb pressed into a specific nerve cluster on the underside of the wrist—a technique used to subdue insurgents without leaving a bruise.

“Argh!” Wei Jun let out a strangled yelp, his knees buckling. To the observers, it looked like he had tripped and Han Ye was trying to catch him.

“Careful, Mr. Wei,” Han Ye whispered, leaning in close so only the heir could hear. “The ground here is sacred. If you fall, you might never get back up.”

“Let… go…” Wei Jun gasped, his face turning a sickly shade of purple. The pain was white-hot, radiating up to his shoulder, yet there was no outward sign of struggle.

“Han Ye! Stop!”

Su Qing finally stepped forward, her voice sharp enough to break the tension. She looked at Han Ye with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. To her, this was just a distant "cousin" of the family her grandfather had insisted she marry to fulfill some ancient debt. She saw a man who was supposed to be a quiet shield, not a source of public scandal.

Han Ye released the pressure. Wei Jun collapsed into the mud, clutching his arm and gasping for air.

“What did you do to him?” Su Qing demanded, her eyes searching Han Ye’s face.

“The rain makes the grass slippery,” Han Ye replied blankly, his expression returning to that of a dull, unremarkable student. “He lost his footing.”

“He’s lying!” Wei Jun screamed, scrambling to his feet, his expensive suit now ruined by grave-site mud. “He—he did something to my arm! Security! Break his legs! I want this trash buried!”

Two massive bodyguards in tactical gear stepped forward, their hands moving toward their holsters.

“Stand down!”

A new voice boomed across the cemetery. An elderly man in a high-ranking military uniform, chest covered in medals, marched toward them. It was General Zhao, the man who had officially overseen the Ghost Commander’s funeral.

General Zhao didn't look at Wei Jun. He looked at the casket, then his gaze swept over Han Ye. He paused for a fraction of a second, his eyes narrowing. He didn't recognize the face—the facial reconstruction and the "Seal" had done their job—but he recognized the stance.

“This is a National Funeral,” Zhao barked. “Anyone who spills a drop of blood on this soil will be tried for treason. That includes you, Young Master Wei.”

Wei Jun paled. Even the Wei family couldn't argue with the military’s top brass during a state event. “General, this nobody attacked me—”

“I saw what I saw,” Zhao interrupted. “You tripped. This young man tried to catch you. Now, leave before I have my MPs escort you out in zip-ties.”

Wei Jun cast one final, murderous look at Han Ye. “This isn't over. St. Jude’s Academy starts tomorrow. You’re that 'charity student' Su Qing’s grandfather took in, aren't you? I’ll make sure your time there is a living hell.”

He turned and stormed back to his Maybach, his bodyguards trailing behind him like scolded dogs.

---

The ceremony ended shortly after. As the crowd dispersed, Su Qing walked toward a black SUV, her movements stiff and exhausted. She stopped at the door and looked back at Han Ye, who was still standing by the grave.

“Are you coming?” she asked, her tone cold. “My grandfather wants you at the house for dinner. And tomorrow… tomorrow we go to the Academy.”

Han Ye looked at the monument one last time. The 100-day countdown was ticking in the corner of his vision.

99 Days, 23 Hours, 10 Minutes.

“I’m coming,” Han Ye said.

As he climbed into the backseat of the SUV, Su Qing stayed silent for a long time. Finally, she spoke without looking at him. “Why did you do it? Wei Jun could have ruined you with a single phone call.”

Han Ye looked out the window at the passing city lights. “He was being loud. It’s hard to hear the dead when people are shouting.”

Su Qing frowned, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Don't try to be a hero, Han Ye. My grandfather might have protected you today, but at St. Jude’s, you’re on your own. You’re just a ‘trash student’ there. If you want to survive the next 100 days, learn to keep your head down.”

Han Ye didn't respond. He just watched his own reflection in the glass.

The Ghost Commander didn't keep his head down. He just waited for the right moment to take the head of his enemy.