【Interstellar Contract Magician】Ruyuanke

My thoughts were interrupted. I dazedly accepted the warm corn from the poor little thing. My fingers burned slightly from the heat, yet it also brought a sense of comfort. I instinctively took a bite, and the salty, creamy aroma instantly spread throughout my mouth, bringing with it an unexpected warmth. While it wasn't a fancy delicacy, at that moment, I felt an inexplicable sense of satisfaction.

The taste of corn was simple, yet remarkably real, as if it could temporarily soothe the turmoil in my heart. My thoughts paused at that moment, as if drawn back to reality by this ordinary flavor. I looked up at the poor little guy standing nearby, his eyes filled with anticipation, as if waiting for me to say something.

I gently swallowed the corn in my mouth and couldn't help but say, "Thank you." My voice was low, with a touch of unaccustomed tenderness. Maybe he didn't understand, but I knew that this kind of concern didn't originally belong to our relationship.

He nodded, as if relieved. Then, he lowered his head and began to clean the table. Although his movements were clumsy, he was extremely serious, as if he was trying hard to complete each little thing, as if this could give him some comfort.

I couldn't help but sigh: this military academy's logistics program is much more affordable than culinary school. While the cooking skills aren't fancy, the simple, home-cooked meals they prepare surprisingly give me a long-lost sense of warmth. At least, eating gives me a sense of security, unlike when I was wandering around, where restaurant food always lacked something—be it flavor or temperature.

Moreover, seeing the poor little girl working so hard to cook is also an indescribable feeling. Although he never actively expresses anything, his dedication is truly touching. Although I have never understood why he is so attentive, even taking care of her beyond the normal range, perhaps this is his way of surviving in the military academy.

"This corn is delicious." I smiled and whispered to the poor little thing. Although it was a simple sentence, I knew he would be very happy to hear it. After all, no one wants to be ignored.

He looked up at me, a faint smile flashed across his face, then he lowered his head and continued to work, seeming to be more focused.

Sometimes, I find myself lost in this chilly landscape, the scene before me seemingly disconnected from my own world. The cold here, even the wind, carries a tepid indifference, making it difficult to truly sense any warmth. Even if I stand in the quietest corner, feeling the biting wind, I find myself still trapped in the cage of the military academy, unable to break free.

Perhaps this is the "freedom" of a military academy. While seemingly unfettered, every step is actually fraught with constraints. Every ounce of strength is used to strengthen the body, enhance abilities, and enforce discipline. Even "thinking" must remain within prescribed boundaries, unable to stray too far or be too free.

Sometimes, I feel like a tamed beast, confined to certain corners, perhaps to make myself less conspicuous, or perhaps to reclaim a glimmer of my long-lost self. The scenery, however captivating, truly doesn't matter. After all, these scenes outside of school, no matter how wonderful, have nothing to do with me. Gradually, I've learned to stop searching for their meaning, or even to care if they even exist.

I gazed at the boundless sky, feeling strangely lonely. But perhaps loneliness was my truest state at the moment, whether it was due to military school life or being isolated by this unknown planet and the harsh reality.

Taking in the scenery has become my most frequent activity these days. Most of the time, I stand at the edge of the playground or on the rooftop terrace, gazing at the ever-changing, cold sky in the distance. The sky is always gray, as if shrouded in layers of mist, as if nothing at all concerns me. I stand there, doing nothing but quietly watching, letting the wind blow through my hair, washing away the day's fatigue.

Even though I was drenched in mud after physical training, my clothes soaked with sweat, some even blue from the weights I'd used, it only made me feel a little removed from the world. Sweat and dirt mixed together, creating a barely perceptible filth. Every part of my body betrayed the brutality of the training, but I still raised my head from time to time, gazing at the distant sky. Even when my vision blurred, I refused to look away.

At these moments, the surrounding clamor seemed indifferent to me. The trainees passing by, some still training, others chatting and laughing, but I simply lowered my head, wiping the sweat from my face, and continued to stare into the distance. The flocks of birds drifting overhead, the mountains looming in the distance, all reminded me that this place was still shrouded in an unbreakable layer of ice, a bond that seemed inescapable no matter what I did.

I understand that those seemingly leisurely landscapes are but fleeting illusions. They never belong to me, only fleeting solace. Yet, whenever I gaze upon them, a subtle peace wells up within me. Perhaps this is the only space I can find, a small part of my own.

"What are you doing?" A male voice broke the silence. I turned around and saw it was the quiet boy.

I froze for a moment, a little surprised, before I could even look away. Standing behind me was that quiet boy—he never showed off in class, always quietly observing the world around him. I didn't know how to respond for a moment, so I just smiled faintly and pointed at the scenery ahead: "Look at the scenery."

He stood not far away, his expression complex. I could sense he wasn't as relaxed as I'd imagined, but rather uneasy. He seemed to hesitate, wondering whether to approach or simply keep his distance. Finally, he stepped closer, standing beside me, his gaze following my gaze toward the distant horizon.

The air was a little chilly, and the wind blew past him from behind, picking up some of his scattered hair. I saw him unconsciously raise his hand to adjust his clothes, his movements neither hurried nor slow, a little reserved, yet also with a subtle gentleness.

He stood there in silence for a long time, until I couldn't help but speak again: "Do you like to watch the scenery too?" My voice was low, as if I didn't want to break the quiet atmosphere.

"Yeah, I come here occasionally." His voice was a little low, as if he was considering the weight of every word. "This kind of place can make people calm down."

I nodded and looked at him in silence.

"You... haven't formed a team yet?" I asked softly. I frowned, but couldn't help asking, "Are you waiting for me..."

He paused for a moment, as if startled by my question. Then, he slowly turned his head, his eyes a little erratic, but not completely avoiding my gaze. In that moment, I couldn't help but sense his discomfort.

"Well..." He answered in a low voice, so soft that it was almost inaudible, "I'm waiting for you."

I was stunned. I hadn't expected him to actually wait for me. I'd assumed he simply enjoyed the scenery, but it was because of me. "Why?" I asked. Even though I knew the question was probably awkward, I couldn't help but want to know what he was thinking.

He was silent for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, before finally speaking slowly, "You don't look like someone who would easily join a team." There was a subtle tenderness and observation in his tone as he spoke. He then added, "I think you might need a suitable teammate, um... if you're willing."

I didn't respond immediately, merely lowering my head to ponder for a moment. Indeed, that feeling of unease had been nagging me—rather than proactively reaching out to others, I felt like I was passively waiting for them to accept me. Even forming a team seemed incredibly complicated. Ultimately, I hadn't truly forced myself to fit in.

But the boy before me felt different. He had no ulterior motive, even waiting for me quietly, like a friend. In that instant, I felt a long-lost sense of comfort—no longer the tension of the battlefield or the pressure of the training ground, but a gentle support, perhaps exactly the kind of support I needed at that moment.

"Thank you." I finally spoke, my voice soft but filled with a long-lost gratitude.

He smiled slightly, his eyes still not leaving the distant scenery: "It's okay, I just want to stand with you and enjoy the scenery."

The simplicity of these words softened my heart. I nodded gently, saying nothing more. The air was filled with a kind of understanding and tacit agreement that needed no words.

Perhaps it was the boy's presence, or his calm companionship, that broke the loneliness I'd long felt. In short, I couldn't completely isolate myself in that deserted corner, shutting out all external noise and distractions, as I usually do. Perhaps sometimes, I need others, too.

It was a strange feeling—not one of dependence, not habit, but a sudden realization that I, too, had needs. Even though it was just simple companionship, a silent understanding, it gave me a sense of peace.

We stood there for a while, the wind a bit chilly, the air a bit damp. I no longer felt uncomfortable, nor did I have the urge to leave quickly. I even began to enjoy this quiet time.

"You, really are..." I suddenly began, but the words hesitated as they reached my lips, wondering if I should speak them. I knew I was being a bit conflicted, but I couldn't help but ask, "Why are you so... quiet?" I knew the question seemed a bit unreasonable, but that "quietness" made me want to explore it.

He turned his head and looked at me, his eyes seemed to reveal a hint of surprise, and then he smiled faintly: "Don't you think that a quiet world is also good?"

At that moment, I didn't know how to respond to him. Yes, a quiet world is indeed quite nice. Perhaps in the hustle and bustle and chaos, I have never stopped to feel this kind of tranquility.

"Yeah," I responded in a low voice, and suddenly felt that maybe we don't need too many words. Sometimes, just standing together quietly is good enough.

The atmosphere in the cafeteria was much quieter than I'd imagined. Perhaps because everyone was already accustomed to the rigorous training of the military academy, there wasn't much noise in the cafeteria, only the occasional chatter and the clatter of dishes and chopsticks. The lights were dim, illuminating a corner of the cafeteria with a warm glow.

He sat quietly across from me, not moving much, not exchanging much words. He simply ate his meal, occasionally looking up, his gaze resting on me for a moment, then lowering it again to continue eating. It was as if he was accustomed to this silence, and I gradually relaxed, realizing I was no longer so anxious or restrained.

I picked up the rice in my bowl and ate it bite by bite, and my mood seemed to calm down. Occasionally, I would steal a glance at him, and his face was still calm, as if he could handle anything calmly.

"What do you like to eat?" I suddenly asked a simple question, a little surprised at why I suddenly had such a thought. Maybe I wanted to break the silence, or I wanted to know something about him.

He stopped, looked up at me, a faint light flashed in his eyes: "I don't particularly like it, as long as it's edible." His voice was still that unhurried tone, as if these problems were no big deal to him.

"Hmm..." I replied without saying anything more. He didn't ask me anything about myself, and we finished dinner in silence.

The lights in the cafeteria grew dimmer, and the night air filtered through the windows, bringing a hint of coolness. The world outside seemed to be still bustling, but between us there was an unspoken silence.

When I stood up to leave, he suddenly looked up and his eyes fell on me: "Are you still going to training today?"

"Yeah, maybe," I replied, my voice a little low, but something subtle was changing inside me. That simple greeting seemed to make the evening less lonely.

He nodded, stood up and followed me out of the cafeteria.

Back at the dormitory, the air outside the door was thick with the scent of laundry detergent and disinfectant. While military academy life wasn't luxurious, everything here held a simple, unpretentious, and regular feel. I entered the shower room and began to remove my soaking wet training clothes. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and dirt. I took a deep breath, quickly turned on the hot water, and let the water wash away my fatigue.

The hot water sprayed over me, the warmth instantly dispelling the chill and soreness from my training. Every drop seemed to soothe the pent-up tension and fatigue. Standing there, I closed my eyes, letting my mind wander. It was as if the entire world had momentarily stopped. Only the occasional sound of the running water mingled with my own breathing, creating a sense of otherworldly tranquility.

I remember those days as a mercenary on the Capital Planet, those days of freedom and unfettered freedom. I might have been sweating profusely from training, but it felt so much more comfortable then. But everything has changed, becoming both unfamiliar and impossible to return to.

The hot water gradually washed away my fatigue, and it also seemed to wash away some of the restlessness in my heart. I finally turned on the faucet, rinsed off the foam, and felt a sense of relief. When I returned to the dormitory, I was left with only a fresh scent and a sense of comfort.

After changing into clean pajamas, I walked back to my bed. Through the light from the window, I watched the night deepen outside my bedroom, the wind rustling the leaves. The warmth and quiet of the room left me somewhat disoriented—it seemed like the only glimmer of peace I could find on this planet.

Everything seems to have been discounted, and I am slowly adapting and integrating. But those past memories and nostalgia always unconsciously surface at certain moments, flooding into my heart like a tide.