Centurion Baoyan grimaced as he walked down the dorm corridor of the Yu Tower.

  He frowned, what the hell is that?

  The air smelled faintly chemical, sharp and sour. Is that cleaning fluid?

  He followed his nose, turning a corner and seeing his door standing at it the other end. The crude white graffiti of the rodent’s tail, daubed across his door all week, had disappeared.

  Approaching it, he crouched, running his fingertips across faint streaks still dark against the metal. It hadn’t been painted over. It had truly been removed.

  Seshwan ink… I was certain. How did anyone even get the solvent to remove it? Yu Tower maintenance would never have it. Who would bother? Could it have been Captain Shen, after he came to see me?

  He breathed out a thin breath of relief. No more sneers when people passed his door. No more reminders that his cohort saw him as vermin. But relief twisted into something knotted and uneasy. The mark may have been gone, but the jokes, the mockery, it ran too deep at this point. That much couldn’t be erased from people’s minds, it was too ingrained.

  Baoyan sighed as he stood up and pressed his key fob against the small glass panel next to his door.

  As he stepped inside, Baoyan thought about how he had begun to believe the graffiti would stay forever. He knew the strength of his district’s ink and had started imagining ways to make peace with the vandalism. After all, it was the association with rodents and the starvation that had shaped how the rest of Kowloon saw his people. The insult was meant to crush him, yet he had been turning it into a badge of honour.

  Sitting at his desk, he let his eyes drift across the pages of King in the East. The memory of being called Dongfashu returned to him. Rodent people. Once, it had been a slur foreigners coined and used; a word that stripped eastern dignity away, until his people reclaimed it as dongfa, the east’s word for brotherhood. He had realised not too long ago that he could do the same with the graffiti.

  In a way, it even felt fitting that the only Easterner’s door was marked so openly, distinguishing him from everyone else. He had half-joked to himself that, once he moved into the praefect dorms, he might paint another tail there by his own hand. Announce to everyone that an Eastern now lives among them. But now it was gone, scrubbed clean.

  And he couldn’t decide if he felt grateful… or hollow.

  Baoyan leaned back in his swivel chair, head tipped over the backrest. Raising his wrist, the holodisplay blinked the time into view.

  12 minutes until class starts.

  With a sigh, he gathered his notes, slung the satchel over his shoulder, and stepped out.

  The lobby was a blur of voices and footsteps. As he crossed the reception desk, Legate Ya-Ting called out to him. Baoyan tried to ignore her, but she started speaking to him anyway as he walked by.

  ‘Glad you listened to Captain Shen, Baoyan. Your outbursts have you in enough shit as it is.’

  Baoyan froze mid-stride.

  Listened? I haven’t listened to anyone recently.

  He recalled how the half-typed post on the Eastern rebellions had vanished from his outbox without explanation soon after Shen’s warning to delete it. His jaw tightened, but without acknowledging what the legate had just said, he continued to walk towards his class.

  One thought made him break into a sweat as he walked on. Did Captain Shen delete the post from my outbox?

  The classroom was a tiered lecture hall built from dark concrete, its walls lined with narrow vertical lamps that hummed faintly. Rows of metal desks curved towards the front, each fitted with a flickering holoscreen and scuffed from years of use. The air smelled faintly of after-shave and tile bleach.

  Captain Shen looked down at his pad as he began calling out names for the roll.

  ‘Kael Yuen-Lok.’

  ‘Present.’

  ‘Rian Ho-Teng.’

  ‘Present.’

  ‘Aelene Suen.’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘Taozhen Ming’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Baoyan Wong.’

  ‘Squeak squeak.’

  The mocking sound rang out from somewhere in the room, and the class erupted in laughter.

  Captain Shen fixed his gaze on Baoyan and arched a brow, as though he’d made the sound.

  Ears flaming, Baoyan shook his head. Wasn’t me.

  The captain exhaled sharply through his nose. ‘Baoyan Wong.’

  ‘I’m present,’ Baoyan said flatly.

  ‘Lyra Yan.’

  ‘Here.’

  As the captain continued to call out names, Baoyan’s heart sank. Two more hours of this bullshit.

  Captain Shen looked down at his pad after roll call.

  ‘Week 43 of Crisis Scenarios. You’re not Aux-Centurions anymore, you know the drill. Form teams and get behind a holotable.’

  As the others in his class paired off with friends, Baoyan braced for the usual: being left out until a team was forced to take him. But today was different. Shen walked over to Tyunlok, a skilled and popular centurion, and murmured something in his ear. Tyunlok glanced at Baoyan, pursed his lips, then gave a stiff nod. Shen moved on, leaving the two looking at each other.

  The captain asked him to take me. How embarrassing.

  Baoyan shuffled over, but Tyunlok barely acknowledged him, too busy calling others over. Baoyan even caught a murmur from him, reassuring another fellow centurion.

  ‘Nah, don’t worry about him. I won’t let it affect us.’

  Baoyan glowered. Fuck you, Tyunlok.

  As the teams of six finished gathering behind the five holotables, Captain Shen dimmed the overhead lights. The table leaders activated the holographic interface. Baoyan watched Tyunlok navigate through floating windows to join the simulation session with the rest of the class and awaited Shen’s brief.

  ‘This is a classic post-regicide case,’ Shen said. ‘The scenario is as follows: after a successful Kingmaker royal regicide, rival noble families have rejected the new family’s claim to lordship. They’ve locked down multiple precincts and have blockaded the capital. With your teams, you are to enter the district through the simulations and allocate tasks to destabilise the region and take out key rival family members. Mission is passed when the new lordship is consolidated.’

  Baoyan nodded. Simple enough.

  The holotables came alive, their round surfaces filling with shifting holograms of Kowlooni streets and groundscrapers. Each centurion’s name hovered above their own diorama, showing a separate slice of the same crisis on portions of the round table. Behind the scenes, artificial intelligence-controlled dice-rolls, algorithms, decisions, and consequences, like a hidden gamemaster, adjusted the simlulated world in real time. Team leaders mapped roles and the simulation played forward from there, presenting choices that changed as the situation evolved. Baoyan always felt like it was a roleplaying war game, but one with the same rules as the real world: a riot might be instigated to distract local gangsters, outposts could be sabotaged for another Kingmaker to slip past, or a killing in one sector could collapse negotiations in another. If the team worked together, their combined efforts could bring about endless realistic outcomes; from crashing the local economy to the one Captain Shen had set for them: consolidating a new Lord after a royal regicide.

  The simulation counted down from five and the room smoothly dimmed. When it began, everyone leaned in, faces glowing in the icy holographic light. Six profiles hovered above the table, each labelled with a centurion’s name.

  We’re now racing against the other teams, Baoyan thought.

  ‘Lau, you’re in charge of providing support to the enemies of the dissenting families,’ Tyunlok ordered. ‘Find out who they are and get them armed and ready to fight as our proxies.’

  He tapped Lau Tsz’s details into the profile.

  ‘Kaon-Hei, you’re in charge of disseminating disinformation. Turn the silent, non-political majority into a mob. Tell them what they need to hear so they’ll back the lord we’ve installed,’ Tyunlok continued.

  ‘The region looks to be modelled after South Kowlooni culture. I can convince the people that the dissenting families are seculars,’ Kaon-Hei replied. ‘That should set off the quiet majority.’

  ‘Good,’ Tyunlok said as he added Kaon-Hei’s entry. ‘They’ll back the new Lordship if they believe they’re pious Dongists. Lee and I will focus on guerrilla campaigns. Run attrition and harass patrols. Once we’ve taken out supply lines, Yip, cut the head off the sheh. Execute the family patriarchs.’

  Yip nodded as Tyunlok entered all three details into the holograms without ceremony.

  He glanced at Baoyan. ‘And you.’ Tyunlok looked at the rest of the team. ‘Reckon the brother can handle vermin control?’

  They snickered amongst themselves.

  Baoyan’s jaw set and his eyes went cold, lids lowered, pupils hard as pins, and held Tyunlok in a glare, who placed his palm on his chest.

  ‘Whoa, kid thinks I’m making fun of him. That hurts. I’m being for real. Research shows unstable regions are more prone to rodent infestation. We’ll need the Rodent Special Unit to keep watch while we work.’

  Tyunlok began to type. ‘Rodent Spec—’

  Not this time. Glancing at Captain Shen, who was speaking to another student, Baoyan cracked his neck and sucker punched the centurion square in the jaw.

  Tyunlok rocked to the side, clipped his head against the corner of the holotable and went crashing to the floor.

  Gasps rippled through the room as the other centurions from other tables turned to see Baoyan, chest heaving, looming over Tyunlok sprawled limp on the floor.

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  ‘What the fuck!’ Kaon-Hei cried, rolling Tyunlok onto his side to check his airway. Others gaped at Baoyan.

  Shock. Horror. Like onlookers watching a zoo animal having a violent outburst. As if his vengeful reaction was the last thing they expected.

  Then Captain Shen stormed over, eyes wide, nostrils flared. His anger filled the room. He looked first at Tyunlok, then Baoyan, and then the holotable next to him. Its six profiles were still glowing, and Baoyan’s was right in the middle:

  “Rodent Special Unit.”

  ‘Stand up, centurion,’ the Captain ordered.

  Two others hauled Tyunlok upright. Wiping the blood off his mouth with the back of his hand, he frowned at the captain. ‘What the fuck, sir?!’

  Then he tried to scramble up to lunge at Baoyan, but Shen stepped in between and seized his wrist and dropped it.

  ‘What’s a rodent special unit, Tyunlok?’

  ‘He fucking punched me!’ Tyunlok spat, straining against the hands holding him.

  The cold light of the holograms flickered across Baoyan, making him look carved in stone in the dim room. Standing motionless with his fists clenched, his gaze remained locked on Tyunlok.

  ‘Enough,’ Shen snapped. ‘No simulations today. Since Tyunlok wants to play the joker, we’ll go back over last week’s lecture notes.’

  Someone groaned as Captain Shen began headed for the room’s control panel on the wall.

  Tyunlok began striding towards Baoyan, but he planted himself to the ground. He wouldn’t let himself back down from another confrontation.

  Suddenly, Shen seized Tyunlok’s collar from behind and yanked him back, spinning him around, walking firmly with him towards the far wall.

  Baoyan watched, eyes narrowed and cold, as Shen whispered something sharp into the centurion’s ear.

  At the control panel, Shen flicked a switch. The ceiling lights flared, spotlights washing the room. Another command sent the five holotables groaning into motion. Their large circular shapes slowly unfurled into long lines and then split apart into 30 separate desks.

  ‘All right, sit down and focus, class. Your exams aren’t too far away. And Baoyan, come sit at the front.’

  ‘It’s okay capt—’

  ‘I didn’t ask, Centurion. Front row. That’s an order.’

  Baoyan walked to the front desk but stood for a moment. Then Shen walked closer to him and leaned in, his voice a razor-thin whisper. ‘Striking a brother calls for immediate disciplinary action. I am sticking my neck out to keep you in this uniform, Baoyan. Do not make me regret it. Now sit.’

  Baoyan gave a curt nod and sat while the rest of the class settled into their seats.

  The hour dragged on as the captain had everyone open up their notes from the lecture, and went through important questions that might appear in the exams. Shen’s voice moved steadily from doctrine to doctrine, ticking off key phrases, definitions, and tactical precedents.

  At first it was dry repetition; dates, names, procedures. On the table’s touchscreen interface, instead of taking notes, Baoyan was scribbling ideas for the history book he was writing, King in the East.

  As the captain went further into the class, the notes on theory shifted into practical application. He began talking about ways Kingmakers might prevent another attack like the Yau bombings.

  ‘The bombings happened due to several radical circumstances that the Yang carefully orchestrated. The first was the kidnapping of Warlord Trinh’s son from South Kowloon. It wasn’t important enough for the Kingmakers to intervene, but the Southern district had special ties to the Luen siblings. They requested the formidable Tai Li for the rescue, and the Yangs knew they would answer. Sure enough, the Tai Li took the bait, leaving Ji Sia City exposed without its usual watchdogs.’

  Baoyan kept his ear tuned to the discussion. The Yau bombings were a chapter in his book too, and he wanted to see if the captain’s version matched what he had written.

  ‘But the Yang knew the bombs wouldn’t be enough to bring down the buildings on their own,’ Shen went on. ‘They had people working the maintenance crews of each of the five groundscrapers they blew. They spent several menses-cycles pouring rust-inducing compounds and other weakening solutions down the septic systems and pipes. Leaks went into cracks, creating weaknesses in the superstructures. They compromised inspection reports so no one noticed anything.’

  A centurion at the back raised her hand. ‘How many bombs were set in each building?’

  ‘Eighteen, each strapped on a Yang, spread across seventy levels in five buildings,’ Shen replied. ‘And not crude devices either. Reports suggest these were some of the most powerful explosives ever developed. Chemical engineering far beyond what we’d expected from a Dongist terror group.’

  Another centurion leaned forward. ‘Is it technology we possess?’

  Shen frowned. ‘We’re unsure. The technology wasn’t stolen Kingmaker engineering. It was local to wherever it was developed. Even if we match the firepower, we still don’t know how they engineered it. Or how to detect or defuse it if we catch them next time.’

  Of course he won’t mention how, after the bombings, other southern diasporas across Central Kowloon were targeted in waves of violence. Blamed for an attack they had nothing to do with. I can’t help but wonder if it’ll take a second bombing for these damned Kowloonis to finally open their eyes!

  ‘The most impressive feat was their multiple synchronised moves leading up to the explosion. Masterful coordination we’ve rarely documented. They’d cut the power flow to each groundscraper seconds before the blasts. This disabled emergency systems from warning nearby groundscrapers.’

  ‘Animals,’ one of the centurions muttered. The room had grown silent, solemn. It annoyed Baoyan. So easy for them to sympathise with their own, he thought, gritting his teeth.

  ‘They jammed communication signals,’ Shen pressed on. ‘Created diversionary riots so the confusion overwhelmed responding Ji Sia gangsters rushing to help. For those few hours, the Yang had the entire district on its knees.’

  Baoyan scoffed to himself. Yau fell to its knees for good reason. The bombings were South Kowloon’s retribution. I might have been only an Aux-Centurion at the time, but I remember everything the praefects and tribunes boasted about during Operation Searchlight. I heard every detail of their brutality against the Southerners in Ji Sia City whispered through the mess halls. I hadn’t understood it then, not fully. But now I can say it with certainty: District Yau deserved the bombings.

  ‘How could the Luen siblings have prevented the attack?’ A centurion near the middle asked.

  Shen leaned back against the wall, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. ‘I’ll let you guys in on a little secret.’ Baoyan raised a brow and looked up. ‘Does anyone here know what became of the Tai Li?’

  ‘They were disbanded,’ someone beside Baoyan replied.

  ‘Officially, yes.’ Shen’s smile sharpened. ‘But don’t tell anybody outside this room. Not too long ago, their leader came to me, right here in the tower. They’re working with the Kingmakers now, not disbanded. Classified Yang work, don’t know too much about it. I’d made sure to ask the man what they’ve been up to since the bombings. They took a pledge to never stick their necks out for another district again, because now they’re convinced the whole kidnapping was a ruse.’

  A low murmur ran through the benches. I never knew that, Baoyan thought.

  ‘Now, the Tai Li only focus on protecting their own district, and in secret. So there’s your answer they finally figured out; you keep your strongest weapons in your own hands. The Tai Li would have inevitably picked up their chatter in the cycles leading up to the attack. The Luen’s will never have the Tai Li aid another district’s cause again.’

  ‘What if they try a bombing here? In the Yu tower?’ Another centurion asked right behind Baoyan.

  The question dropped like a stone. Chairs shifted, backs straightened, and the chatter stilled again. As though every centurion present had just recognised the weight of the possibility.

  ‘After Yau, our first duty has been safeguarding this tower,’ Shen said solemnly. ‘There’s been talk of closing the tower library off from the public. For now, as long as our borders stay tight, we stand the best chance of keeping such an attack from ever touching Yu ground.’

  The room held its breath. The silence lingered before Shen continued.

  ‘If the Yau bombings taught us anything, it’s that tragedy is the one force that binds us together, past divisions and hatred.’

  What? Baoyan’s chest tightened. That hasn’t been true at all.

  ‘We treat every life lost as if it was our own siblings that perished and teach our neighbours to remain vigilant in reporting suspicious activity. That’s the best way to deal with an insurgent group like the Yang.’

  Oh, “every” life a sibling? He couldn’t roll his eyes harder. Where was this reverence when it was MY people just a few cycles ago?

  ‘That’s why the Yau bombings can never be forgotten,’ Shen said, his voice steady. ‘The moment we allow it to fade, we invite the chance for it to happen again—’

  Baoyan shot his arm up. Shen stopped talking and nodded at him. Baoyan stood.

  ‘I’ve got to ask, sir. Where was this respect when Pik was suffering? When starving kids were trampled to death for trying to bring food to their mothers? What bullshit that every life is sacred. When it’s eastern lives, it’s squeaks from the back row!’

  Some centurions looked to be holding back smirks, others shifted uneasily, and Shen frowned, as if waiting for Baoyan to run out of steam. Baoyan just swallowed hard, chest tight.

  ‘Grieve all you want. Light knows you’ll only spare those emotions for your own. So when this tower really is annihilated in the next Yang attack and the Emperor’s body is scattered across the streets in a million pieces, maybe then you’ll know how it feels when the rest of Kowloon struggles to give two fucks—’

  ‘BAOYAN. GET THE HELL OUT OF MY CLASSROOM!’

  Shen’s face was flushed red, his lips drawn thin as he pointed straight at the door.

  Baoyan shrugged and walked towards the exit. As he crossed the room, a centurion he passed let out a faint squeak, just loud enough for him to hear.

  I don’t even care anymore.

  The door slid shut behind him, cutting off the room.

  Baoyan sat hunched on the steps of the fifth-level gallery, a wide mezzanine where Kingmakers lingered, leaning over the railings to watch the tower’s busy atrium below. He wished he could be like the others, carefree, unconcerned by the thought of all the starving families in East Kowloon. No friends, no kin to imagine in pain, just blissful ignorance. Instead, he felt like he was carrying the weight of Kowloon on his shoulders.

  Out of nowhere, a large Kingmaker lowered himself onto the step beside him.

  ‘What’s the news, brother?’ The deep voice broke his thoughts. Baoyan glanced right, eyes widening.

  ‘Praefect Ushi!’ He scrambled up, clasped palms with him and they pulled each other into a quick shoulder-grip before sitting back down.

  ‘I knew that spiky hair looked familiar,’ Ushi said, grinning. ‘What’s up? Is everything okay? Isn’t the centurion training block running at the moment?’

  Baoyan exhaled through his teeth. ‘I got kicked out. I’m done with the other Kings.’

  ‘Tell me what happened.’

  ‘It’s nothing… I’m just waiting for the day the dongfa jokes get old.’

  ‘They’re still at it?’

  ‘Your warning in the mess hall scared them outside classes. But when I’m studying inside, where none of you guys are, it’s gotten worse. Like they’re making up for whatever they can’t do outside.’

  Baoyan saw Ushi’s jaw ripple, his fists tremble. The young centurion continued.

  ‘Despite how others treat me, I always thought Captain Shen understood me. Hoped he’d show them that Kingmakers don’t kick someone while they’re already down. But he’s shown me we do.’

  ‘You’ve been waiting for the captains to step in and help? How’s that been working out for you?’

  ‘Like shit. Captain Shen’s turned out to be just like the rest. You know, I tried posting something to the online Kingmaker forums the other day. An excerpt from a book I wrote that exposes ancient Kingmaker crimes in the Eastern districts.’

  Ushi shifted on the step. ‘You’ve got balls. That wouldn’t have gone down well.’

  ‘I wish I’d been allowed to see that myself. But I’m convinced the captain deleted it before it even went live. He thinks he’s protecting me, but what he’s done has fucked me up worse than anything the others could do to me. And then the rodent tail on my door… the fucking rodent…’ His voice cracked.

  ‘What rodent?’ asked Ushi.

  ‘Some Kings graffitied my door with a rodent tail, but I think the captain took care of it for me…’

  He dropped his face into his palms. Ushi’s broad hand landed on his back, steady and warm, but Baoyan had already begun sobbing.

  ‘I don’t even know how to feel now that it’s been wiped away! Am I grateful? Angry?’

  Ushi was quiet for a moment. ‘When I was a Centurion, they tried to do the same to me,’ he said. ‘We were the first batch of southerners allowed back into the Kingmakers since the rebellions. Every stereotype about us, that we were violent… terrorists… barbarians who raped and pillaged, they were louder than ever when I was an aux-Centurion. The war had revived every age-old negative perception about our people. Each of the four captains, even the Dragons themselves, knew how we were being treated, and they did nothing.’

  Baoyan frowned as he rubbed his eye. ‘Then how did you go from that to everyone looking the other way when you walk past?’

  ‘Because we stopped waiting for captains or generals to fix it. I leaned on the other Southerners going through the same thing, and they leaned on me. I understood their experience and they knew mine. Could a captain know what it feels like to be called dangdexue? A dongfa’shu? No. You’ve got to live it to feel it. And you’ve got to feel it to fight it. You don’t have to take advice from someone who’s never been where you have.’

  Ushi’s words cut deep. They made a cruel kind of sense to Baoyan. Suddenly, every gesture of kindness from Captain Shen felt staged and empty. The check-ins, the questions about his book, even the effort it must have taken to scrub the graffiti from his door, none of it felt real anymore. It was as if his actions came from the obligations of a captain, not from the deeper human impulse to shield a boy in need.

  Ushi went on. ‘Our doors were being vandalised too, back then. We’d wipe it clean, but they’d just come back the next night and do it again. So we organised patrols along our dorm corridor. One sleep-cycle, we caught the Kingmakers responsible and beat the living shit out of them. Got away with it because we used southern hunting masks.’

  Baoyan gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘I punched a centurion in class today.’

  Ushi let out a howl of laughter as he clapped. ‘Did you knock him out?’

  ‘I think the ground hit his head harder than me.’

  ‘Good.’ Ushi grinned, leaning closer. ‘You don’t have to be alone anymore, brother. From now on, find us whenever you’re out of class. We southerners know what you’re going through, and we have enough rage in us to fight back together. That’s the only way people like survive in this damned tower. In fact, there’s a big debate in the forum coming up later today, my boys and I are all going. You should come with us.’

  ‘What’s the debate?’

  ‘It’s about the regicide of Borek Ata. The one that lit the spark for the district rebellions. One of our southern brothers is debating Tribune Tzishan. That one’s a known centralite supremacist. We’re going to back Ledan Mao. You can guess who the rest of the tower will be supporting. It’s south against central, and I think you’ll relate to it.’

  Baoyan looked up at him. Ushi’s tone was casual and offhand, but the invitation rang like an important call, and a part of him felt an impulse to pick it up. He felt a sudden, urgent pull toward Ushi’s band of Southern Kingmakers who’d promised to become the brethren he needed.

  ‘I’ll be there,’ he said. His voice was quiet, but inside, something had shifted, as if a heavy door had finally weakened enough for Baoyan to finally swing open.