The Hidden Princess At All-Boys Alpha Academy

Awakening from a deep slumber, Rosaline Cloud took a deep breath, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she hadnt slept so comfortably in ages. Slowly, her sleepy eyes fluttered open, and her peripheral vision caught sight of an enormous circular canopy above her. For a second, she was bewildered—when had her room been adorned with such drapery?

Feeling a slight movement beside her, Rosalines eyes turned cold and sharp as blades, devoid of any emotion. Her right hand curved into a claw, and with a speed that rivaled lightning, she pressed it against the mans throat beside her, squeezing tightly until a faint "click" echoed from his larynx.

The man, initially dazed from just waking up, suddenly flashed a hint of terror in his eyes, likely due to the intense pain in his throat or the sense of impending death.

Rosilines gaze shifted to her arm, smooth and unclothed—she never slept naked. Her eyes swept across the room, and she felt her breath hitch as her mind short-circuited. The room was adorned in ancient splendor, with carved beams and grand, yet exquisite, decorations. The floor was paved with white marble tiles, covered with a red carpet embroidered with intricate patterns. The room was vast, and the lacquered grand bed could easily accommodate dozens of people lying comfortably. In the center stood a sandalwood table, next to a soft couch, and on the left, a display shelf held various valuable ornaments.

Was this a filming set? Which director had such grandeur to arrange these luxurious scenes?

Another movement on the bed brought Rosaline back to the present. Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she coldly snapped, "Whos there? Show yourself."

From the left corner, a head emerged. The man beside him was rubbing his sleepy eyes. Next to this man, another pair of smooth, slender hands peeked out from the brocade quilt—hands that, although delicate, belonged to a male. Rosalines face darkened, and three lines of frustration appeared on her forehead. Who had allowed such audacity?

Before she could finish her shock, Rosalines mind exploded as head after head emerged from the bed. All male, each more effeminate and delicate than the last, aged between fifteen and twenty.

Most notably, these men were either draped in sheer fabrics or completely naked.

One, two, three, four... nine in total. What was happening?

No woman could accept waking up to find nine men by her side, even if they were as beautiful as these, with their pretty, gentle, stern, or enchanting appearances.

Rosiline was momentarily dazed, releasing her grip on the mans throat and trembling as she pointed at them.

Furious, she bellowed, "Get out, all of you, get out now!"

A loud thud followed by a "whoosh" and a pained groan echoed in the room. Rosaline glanced over to see the beautiful youth she had slapped the wall, spewing blood, his face pale and lifeless, like a broken kite, his body limp and hanging.

Startled again, Rosaline wondered at her newfound strength. She had trained in martial arts for years, but when had she become this powerful?

At Rosalines fury, the eight other beauties on the bed swiftly rose, kneeling on the floor with their foreheads pressed against the ground, their bodies trembling in fear, their voices quivering with tears as they pleaded, "Your Majesty, please have mercy."

Rosilines rage was uncontainable; was this some sort of role-play? She had no interest in such games. Her only emotion was a raging inferno that spread without end.

"Get out, all of you, or Ill kill you all," she screamed, grabbing a pillow and hurling it at them.

"Yes, yes," they stammered, the beauties scrambling to collect their meager clothes from the floor, hastily dressing as they bowed out, including the injured youth.

The room fell silent, and Rosaline let out a sigh of relief. But the quilt moved again, and another head emerged.

Her anger flared anew, and she slapped the dazed少年 across the face. "I said get out. Are you looking for death?"

The slap sent the少年 crashing into the wall, his forehead hitting the corner of a table, blood trickling down.

Rosiline was about to berate him further when she noticed the state of the. His body was covered in whip lashes, burns, and sword wounds, many of which were open and seeping blood. His face was swollen with a handprint and bloodied scratches, making him almost unrecognizable.

What made Rosaline stop her tirade was his gaze—a pair of eyes so clear and clean, weak yet not submissive, in pain but not begging, filled with tears that he stubbornly held back, his sorrowful eyes looking at Rosaline with a deep fear despite his attempts to hide it.

Seeing such a gaze, Rosaline felt an illusion that such a delicate man deserved tender care. Then she thought of the ten men on the bed and the changes in her body. She couldnt believe nothing had happened.

Thinking of ten men... her eyes flamed with disgust once more.

She snapped, "Get out."

The少年 jolted at her words, fear in his eyes. He quivered his eyelashes, furrowed his brows, and looked weakly at the torn clothes on the floor—no, not clothes, but rags.

Suppressing the urge to cry, a deep sorrow flashed in his eyes, infecting the world around him, quietly creeping into the deepest parts of the heart. He seemed to remember something and resignedly lowered his head, crawling forward with his hands, leaving a long trail of blood until he disappeared and the door closed again.

After a while, Rosaline slowly pieced together the events that had just occurred. Why were there ten beautiful men by her side? She remembered being tired after work, going home, and lying on her bed—how had she ended up here? Was someone playing a joke on her?

Was this a movie set? But where were the lighting crew, cameramen, and directors?

Thinking again about those two slaps.

If the first slap could cause severe injury and vomiting of blood, the second, though in anger, was not heavy, yet it sent the person flying. This left her astonished.

She stared at her hands, her pupils contracting as she realized these were not her hands—white, delicate, and well-maintained, the hands of someone accustomed to luxury, not her own, rough and calloused from hard work. What was happening?

She wrapped the quilt around her, rushed to the mirror without shoes, and looked. Rosaline could no longer remain calm, her life having been more eventful in these short moments than in her entire two decades.

This was not her face; her face was oval, beautiful but not enchanting, bright but not vulgar, capable and transparent. Yet this face was even more exquisite than her original, without a single flaw.

Her skin was flawless, as soft as cream, white and breakable, with delicately arched eyebrows, a high nose bridge, and slightly thin lips. Her fine features were perfectly arranged on an impeccably beautiful face. If not for the lingering aura of ferocity around her eyes, this face would be flawless.

Her body swayed, and she collapsed onto a chair, looking at the magnificent and grand bedroom,联想到 the recent changes, she couldnt help but think of one word: transcendence.

Could it be that Rosaline Cloud, an orphan who built the Siro Group with her own hands, had transcended, and become an emperor?