【Interstellar Contract Magician】Ruyuanke

I woke up again.

Oh.

Thankfully, I woke up again.

Breathing felt like it was being forced back into my chest—heavy, sluggish, but undeniably present. I struggled to open my eyelids a crack, and the first thing I saw was dim light, then a face.

The man's face was so black it looked like ink could drip from it.

He stood by the bed, like a piece of iron pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe. The light sharpened his already unfriendly features, making his eye sockets look like dark currents surging. His jaw was tense, the lines almost bursting, and the muscles in his neck twitched and trembled slightly.

Ah—that's the smell of anger, I thought.

It wasn't a roar, nor was it irritability; rather, it was a barely suppressed rage, which he gritted his teeth and sealed tightly within his bones.

I think I really angered him. I really angered him.

My body was stiff as if frozen; I couldn't even lift a finger. The pain... was strangely faint. It wasn't an improvement, but rather a dulling of the pain receptors, like "too many wounds have numbed my pain receptors." I knew those wounds were still there; I could never be completely healed. It was just that my nervous system was temporarily on strike, making it impossible for me to feel pain fully.

I tried to turn my head, but I couldn't. My neck felt like a block of wood.

With the limited view I had, I was able to see my surroundings clearly.

This is a room with a roof.

Yes, it's a room, not a tent.

There was no wind or snow, no biting cold air seeping in, and none of the damp, musty smell often found in temporary camps. It was so warm here that it was almost unsettling, like being suddenly pulled back from the brink of death to the world of the living.

The air smelled of medicine, as well as metal and leather. It was that clean, cold, yet reassuring atmosphere unique to military buildings.

Although I couldn't move, I was fully conscious. The man with the dark face in front of me—Ye Lin—stood there, like a blizzard trapped inside my body. He stared at me, so directly, so intensely, as if trying to confirm that I was truly awake, truly alive, and not just experiencing a final flicker of life.

His shoulders trembled slightly, as if a trace of anger, which he had been holding back to the limit, was about to spill out, but he suppressed it again.

For the first time, I realized that someone was genuinely, physically, angry because I had almost died.

But that anger wasn't directed outwards; it was directed at me. Yet... it wasn't entirely directed at me.

On that face, etched with the marks of time and blood, I couldn't discern any true emotion, but the barely suppressed silence he exuded was almost louder than a roar.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

Ye Lin's eyes flickered slightly, as if he was holding back something, and his shoulders tensed up.

He lowered his head and said in a deep voice, his voice hoarser and more subdued than usual:

"...You're finally awake."

The tone wasn't one of relief or a return to normalcy; rather, it sounded like a painful anger at the fact that I had woken up.

It was as if I had no right to make him so passive and out of control.

However, the next second, I knew why he was so angry.

Snapped--!

A stack of papers was shoved at my face without warning. The edges of the pages were curled from his grip, and the damp wind lashed down on me like raindrops.

I blinked, and the papers slowly slid down to my chest.

The title above stung my eyes:

Application for Autologous In Vitro Fertilization

Gene Extraction and Testing Report

Gender Verification Report

……

What are all these...?

My mind went blank for a brief moment, even emptier than when I was unconscious.

Turning the next page felt like having a layer of skin torn off by one's own hands.

The conclusion in red in the last column is strikingly obvious:

Gender of the test subject: non-modern male.

Autologous propagation survival rate: 0%.

Application status: Rejected.

My vision instantly went completely white.

Gender verification? Not a new male? Zero survival rate? Application rejected?

I don't know how this breeding application came about, but I do know—

I've been exposed.

My gender has been revealed.

Papers were scattered on the bed, on my lap, and on the floor, a mess like a torn-up disguise.

The man finally spoke.

His voice was deep and resonant, like a raging fire suppressed deep underground; each word was so heavy it could shatter a sternum.

"you lied to me."

This is not a questioning. This is a judgment.

I gasped for breath, my throat feeling like it was being scraped by rough stones: "I...no...I am—"

"No?" He suddenly leaned down.

The mattress sank into his palm, and I was forced into his shadow.

He was so close, so close that I could feel the heat of his breath on my cheek—unnaturally hot, like the heat of burning anger.

He grabbed another stack of reports from the side of the bed, flung them aside, and the papers shattered with a loud crack: "The military system's application, which is only open to new males, was triggered based on the identity you reported."

His fingertips tapped on those red words, like tapping on the tip of my heart again and again:

"But you are not."

My stomach feels like it's been twisted off from the inside.

He spoke very slowly and softly:

"You infiltrated the military using a false identity."

"Use a fake identity to stay by my side."

"Go to the battlefield using a fake identity."

His voice suddenly went hoarse for a moment:

"Then he almost died in front of me."

That one sentence made me stop breathing.

There was more than just anger in his eyes. There was something deeper mixed in with the anger—being deceived, manipulated, and kept in the dark, or perhaps... another emotion I dare not even think about.

“Do you know what this means?” he whispered.

I wanted to shake my head, but my body was numb, even my nerves were numb, and I couldn't move. But actually, I vaguely knew.

He continued for me:

"It means that you were under my nose the whole time—pretending to be someone else."

He raised his hand, stopping at my chin, almost touching it, yet seemingly restraining himself from applying force. His fingers trembled slightly.

I looked at him, and it seemed...

What angered him was not the "fake identity".

But -

I almost died, and he, completely unaware of the situation, thought he was saving "someone else".

The secret was exposed, and the air felt so heavy I could hardly breathe.