I Only Wanted A Class In The Apocalypse

Chapter 1902: Itʼs a Chance!

A holographic projection flickered to life in the centre of the bridge, casting a cold, blue glow over the crewʼs grim faces.

The screen displayed an ancient-looking Torank with deep, weathered ridges across his brow and eyes that seemed to hold the weight of centuries. His expression was one of stagnant, calcified fury—a face Hye had never seen before in all his dealings with the race.

”This is Gregotal,” Olana whispered, her voice tight. ”The leader of the Toranksʼ Elder Council. The true power behind their throne.”

The projection began to speak. Gregotalʼs voice was like grinding stones, heavy with a rehearsed authority.

He spent the first several minutes of the broadcast steeped in propaganda, reciting the long, bloody history of the Toranks, the supposed ”purity” of their martial lineage, and the endless list of achievements they had purportedly scored for the stability of the universe. It was the speech of a race that believed its own myths.

”...And then,” Gregotalʼs voice dipped into a snarl, ”comes a worthless and nameless being. A creature from a good-for-nothing, primitive race—a human. This upstart has dared to throw dirt over our long and majestic history.

He has attacked our sovereign cities, committed the most devious and heinous acts of terrorism, and systematically destroyed our planets without any just cause, provocation, or reason at all!”

Hye stood up slowly, his boots clicking against the metal floor. He looked at Olana, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion.

”What the hell is that madman talking about? Attacking cities? Terrorism? Iʼve been busy clearing Hot Zones for twenty days straight. I havenʼt even looked in the direction of a Torank planet.”

Olana shrugged, her expression helpless. ”I donʼt know, Hye. No one in the universe actually knows. These claims were broadcasted on every emergency frequency simultaneously, without a shred of evidence or a single frame of proof. But in the court of galactic opinion, the Toranksʼ word is often treated as law.”

”I know the truth, but the universe doesnʼt,” Hye muttered, sinking back into his command chair. He felt a throbbing headache blooming behind his eyes.

This wasnʼt just a tactical problem; it was a total diplomatic assassination. The speech concluded with Gregotal formally declaring an All-Out War not just against Hye personally, but against his kingdom and the entire human race. It was a call for xenocide.

”Something seems off…” Hye murmured. Whenever he had dealt with the Toranks in the past, he had a lifeline—Silverlining. His old friend had always been the bridge between Hyeʼs ambition and the Toranksʼ bureaucracy. But this time, the silence was deafening. He checked his messages again; Silverlining hadnʼt returned a single ping.

”Donʼt tell me theyʼve locked him up again,” Hye thought, his jaw tightening. He remembered the last time the Council had silenced Silverlining for daring to advocate for a human. ”Tsk! This situation… Itʼs spiralling from bad to worse.”

He wasnʼt even close to solving the population crisis back home, and now a galactic superpower was raining fire down on his head.

”Theyʼve issued a massive list of bounties,” Olana added, scrolling through a secondary data feed. ”There are astronomical prices on your head, the heads of your top generals, and… even mine.

Hye, time is running out. We have one hundred fleets closing in on this sector right now. We need to retreat. We need to pull back to the core territory, hide behind our defences, and plan a counter-offensive properly.”

Olana had never regretted not having Hyeʼs friends on her contact list until this moment. She only had one direct line—Lily. In a moment of desperation, she had sent a frantic message to the girl, pleading for her to talk sense into Hye.

The reply she received was short, blunt, and utterly baffling: [Let Hye handle it. He knows what heʼs doing!]

Olana stared at the message, wondering if madness was a contagious trait among humans. Was the entire kingdom insane?

”No,” Hye said suddenly, his voice cutting through Olanaʼs panic like a blade. He raised his head, his eyes burning with a sudden, sharp clarity. ”We arenʼt retreating. In fact, weʼre going to continue exactly what we were doing. We keep moving forward.”

”Are you listening to me?!” Olana cried out, stepping toward him. ”This is a disaster! We are outnumbered, outgunned, and being hunted by the second strongest race in existence!”

Hye looked at her as if she had just told him the sun was cold. A slow, dangerous smirk began to spread across his face. ”Who said this was a disaster, Olana? From where Iʼm sitting, this is the greatest chance weʼve ever had.”

”A… chance?!” Olana stood there, completely stupefied. She briefly wondered if the stress of the war declaration had finally snapped his mind.

”Yes, a chance,” Hye repeated, refusing to elaborate. He didnʼt have time to explain the complex nuances of galactic power shifts to her. Instead, he turned his attention toward his internal inventory system, his eyes scanning through rows of digital icons until he found what he was looking for.

It was an old, dusty interface—a relic from his earlier days that he hadnʼt touched in a long time. He felt a surge of nostalgia as his fingers hovered over the activation command.

”Itʼs time to use this old antique again,” he whispered to the empty air of the bridge. ”Itʼs time to reactivate my channel. If the Toranks want to tell the universe a story about me, then I might as well give the universe a front-row seat to the real show.”

The disconnect between Hyeʼs icy composure and Olanaʼs rising hysteria was palpable. She stared at him, her mind a whirlwind of static, failing to grasp even a syllable of his intent.

Hye, however, wasnʼt interested in a lecture. He was a man of action, and his fingers were already flying across his interface, firing off a barrage of high-priority messages to his inner circle.

Olana was the only one left in the dark, a spectator to a plan she couldnʼt see. But reality has a way of forcing perspective; soon enough, the sensors began to scream again.