【Interstellar Contract Magician】Ruyuanke

Moonlight shone coldly on the earth, like a thin layer of frost. I stood at the doorway, looking up at the empty night sky. The bright moon seemed to quietly speak of a silent sorrow. My heart was filled with emptiness, as if all the noise and strife had faded, leaving only the deep darkness and moonlight. I took a deep breath, ready to leave, when I suddenly saw a familiar figure.

Nightingale hurried out of the house, his steps hurried, as if chasing something, perhaps a certain moment in time, perhaps an opportunity that could not be missed. His face was no longer as calm and confident as usual, but instead a panic that I had never seen before, even anxiety.

At that moment, I felt something strange. I didn't understand why, but for some reason, I subconsciously retreated, quietly hiding behind a nearby cover, and watched him silently. With every step, he seemed to lose his direction, his pace chaotic and hurried, as if some invisible pressure from behind was driving him.

He ran fast, but I could clearly see the panic on his face, an emotion he had never experienced before. I wondered if he wasn't aware of how he looked at the moment, still habitually hiding all his emotions and true face. However, at this moment, his mood could no longer be concealed, revealing his instinctive anxiety.

I don't know why I chose to hide. He and I had already run out of things to say, but I still chose to observe silently. Perhaps it was because I was so flustered that I didn't know what to do, or perhaps it was because I finally saw his vulnerable side.

The nightingale's running figure gradually receded until it vanished completely into the night. I remained standing, feeling a strange heaviness in my heart. Perhaps all the busyness and decisions I'd made during this period had made me oblivious to the complex emotions within him, but now, I was moved by this moment of panic.

I slowly stepped out of the shelter and turned to look in the direction he'd left. A strange unease welled up in my heart. Was he, too, experiencing some unbearable pressure? Was he not as calm, rational, and strong as I'd imagined?

But all of this will only be revealed at some point in the future. I didn't chase after him. I just stood there, silently watching him walk away in the night. The doubts and reluctance that rose in my heart also gradually disappeared into the quiet night sky as he walked away.

Perhaps, people like him are destined to forever face those unspeakable pains and problems alone in their own world. And I am just a passer-by, a bystander.

The call notification on the computer flashed, displaying Nightingale's name. I instinctively reached for it, but just as my fingertips touched the screen, I jerked my hand away. The computer bracelet he'd given me vibrated softly on my wrist, emitting a faint buzzing sound, like a reminder, but also like some unspoken urgency.

I stood behind the shelter, my back against the wall. Silence reigned, the only sound echoing in my ears except for the throbbing of my heartbeat. Nightingale's call request popped up again, flickering like a summons, yet weighed heavily on my eyes.

I didn't answer the call, calmly turning off the call notification. Then, I pressed the button on the optical computing bracelet on my wrist, completely disabling location sharing for the team's mission. At that moment, I felt an indescribable sense of oppression, as if all connections had been severed. All that remained was the cold wind brushing against my face and an undeniable loneliness.

I don't understand why I did this. Reason tells me that Nightingale will come soon, either because he's noticed something's wrong with me, or because he's in some urgent mood. Regardless, I should have gone to him long ago to solve the mystery that's making me feel a little uneasy.

However, I remained standing, motionless. The optical bracelet on my wrist vibrated slightly, and each vibration was like a heavy hammer hitting my heart, reminding me of the silence I had never experienced before.

Was it because I saw Nightingale's vulnerability in that moment, or was it because I suddenly feared facing this tangle of emotions? I wasn't sure. I just knew that I didn't want to move at that moment, and I didn't want him to find me, even though he was anxiously searching, even though he could already sense my departure.

I closed my eyes, the heaviness in my heart gradually overwhelming my thoughts, making it hard to breathe. Why did I have such thoughts? Why, behind Nightingale's panic, did I choose to stand like this, motionless and avoiding his world?

I don't know the answer. All I know is that I can no longer remain as calm as before, like that "nightingale" unaffected by anything. Tonight may be the beginning of a hidden emotional rupture. I can no longer easily immerse myself in tasks and responsibilities as I once did.

In the silence, I heard the nightingale's running footsteps in the distance, rapid and anxious, like every beat of my heart.

I leaned against the wall, quietly listening to the nightingale's footsteps fade into the distance. His once swift and determined steps now felt heavy and feeble, each one weighing heavily on my heart, bringing with it a silent pain. I had never before experienced such a sense of loss in him. The nightingale, usually calm, decisive, and unwavering, could actually experience such a vulnerable moment.

His footsteps sounded like falling into a deep valley, each one tinged with silent regret. I couldn't help but imagine that perhaps he had realized that I was no longer the little kid who would always respond to his guidance. Something between us seemed to be quietly changing. My emotions were mixed, and I closed my eyes tightly, trying not to listen, much less think.

Although I didn't stand up and look him in the face, and although I was still hiding behind the cover, I could feel that Nightingale's anxiety was gradually being replaced by an indescribable loneliness. He was looking for me, or perhaps he was also looking for something - an answer, or perhaps, the dependence I had on him hidden deep in my heart.

Under the silent night sky, only his departing footsteps echoed, receding further and further away. Each step announced a certain loss, an irreparable miss. In that moment, I suddenly felt that I was losing something too—perhaps the tacit understanding between Nightingale and me, or perhaps, everything I had always thought I could control.

I stood in the darkness, watching the nightingale disappear into the distance, but my heart was already in a mess.

The sky was already fading into daylight, and I remained hidden behind my dark shelter, my body frozen, my mind blank. Nightingale's footsteps approached, but they lacked their usual confidence and determination. Instead, they seemed to carry a heavy burden, their steps slow and ponderous. In that moment, I realized that Nightingale's state of mind was no longer as calm as it appeared. He was bearing not only the pressure of the mission but also something deep within his heart that he couldn't let go of.

I don't know why he's like this, and perhaps he himself can't clearly explain it. But I do know that his eyes, like a falcon that has lost its target, are hesitant, confused, and even a little helpless. I've never seen him like this before, even though he's always been a calm and rational mercenary, long since learned to conceal his emotions. But tonight, the decadence and loneliness that shone through his every step pierced my heart deeply.

I moved behind the cover, wanting to leave, but my steps seemed to be pinned down by some invisible force. I didn't know why I hesitated, perhaps because the change was too sudden, or perhaps because Nightingale's fragility was unfamiliar to me and I didn't know how to face it.

It wasn't until he returned to his own place that I mustered the courage to go out. It was already dawn, and Nightingale trudged home, completely oblivious to my presence. The door creaked shut, and I looked out the window to see him leaning against the doorframe, head bowed, seemingly unsteady.

At that moment, a surge of unease and doubt washed over me. I had never seen Nightingale like this before, never even imagined he could be vulnerable. All those days, he seemed so fearless, always able to lead us out of difficult situations, but today, he was like a lost child, stumbling back to his lonely abode.

I stood quietly in front of the window, my fingers tightly gripping the windowsill, and an indescribable pain suddenly surged in my heart.

Nightingale, has he ever felt at some point, like me, that he had gone too far and forgotten the way home?