Perhaps it was because the Madam Herta that Kazuki portrayed was simply too far out of character, but Asta finally reached her breaking point.
“Enough!
Stop using Madam Herta’s puppet face to flirt with me!” Asta suddenly raised her weapon, the Astral Projection Device, her voice trembling with a chaotic mix of anger and sheer annoyance.
Kazuki hadn’t planned on keeping up the charade anyway.
The faint, teasing smile on his lips remained entirely unchanged as he took a casual half-step back, establishing a polite and safe distance between them.
“The Herta Space Station is currently under attack!
State your origin and identity immediately!
You are absolutely not Madam Herta!” Asta’s palms were slick with cold sweat.
Even without a single guard by her side, she forced her posture into a rigid defensive stance against the unknown threat standing before her.
“Of course I’m not Madam Herta.”
Asta choked on her next breath.
She had never expected the intruder to admit it so openly and without an ounce of shame.
The memory of how she had just been blushing, her heart pounding erratically, unable to string a coherent sentence together because of this very person, sent a hot flash of embarrassment and irritation through her eyes beneath her pink bangs.
“But does it really matter who I am?” He swayed his petite, borrowed frame and extended two fair, delicate little hands toward her.
“I am very cute.
Please give me money.
Rich lady, I’m hungry, and I want food.”
The sheer contrast was staggering.
Here was this tiny, elegant figure speaking with a sassy, commanding tone, yet the actual words leaving his mouth were a shameless, coquettish plea for cash.
Asta stared at the adorable face demanding her wealth with absolute coldness, and she swallowed hard.
Looking closer, this puppet was the spitting image of a battle-damaged Madam Herta.
The tilted crown, the torn black veil, the glowing purple markings…
that fragile yet dangerously alluring aesthetic hit every single one of her personal preferences.
In an instant, her tense combat posture dissolved.
Like a deflated balloon, she sighed heavily and rubbed her temples.
Now, she was far more inclined to believe this was simply another one of Madam Herta’s experimental puppets that had gone completely rogue.
After all, it wouldn’t be the first time such a headache had occurred on the station.
“My money is all managed by Arlan.” Leaning heavily on her Astral Projection Device, she offered a dry, perfunctory excuse and turned to walk toward the center of the Master Control Zone.
Before coming to find him, she had already received the operational reports.
The Trailblazers had successfully regrouped with Arlan, and the Antimatter Legion vanguard had been mostly cleared out.
As the acting station master, she had a mountain of administrative disasters to handle and could not afford to waste another second here.
“Then give me a Long-Range Remote Sensor.
In exchange, I’ll tell you a secret about Madam Herta.”
Before she could take a third step, that lazy voice drifted over her shoulder.
Surviving in this vast universe meant you could be poor enough to eat dirt, but two items were absolutely non-negotiable.
The first was a Synesthesia Beacon, the biological implant that allowed one to comprehend the languages of all alien races.
The second was a Long-Range Remote Sensor, the standard device used for interstellar communication, which looked and functioned exactly like a mobile phone.
When Kazuki transmigrated, the system had automatically installed the Synesthesia Beacon function into his brain, but it had completely neglected to provide him with a phone.
Hesitation flickered across Asta’s face.
After weighing the options for exactly two seconds, she compromised, reaching into her spatial storage to pull out a pristine white mobile phone.
This was the latest prototype from the Intelligentsia Guild, a restricted item supplied exclusively to board members.
Over ninety-nine percent of the universe’s population would never even lay eyes on it.
She happened to have several on hand, and this white model was merely a spare.
She didn’t particularly care for the design anyway, making it a fair trade for a genuine secret.
Kazuki accepted the device, winking at her mischievously, and instantly activated the unique ability of the Black Tomb Puppet.
His scarlet eyes dimmed for a fraction of a second.
An invisible neural network surged outward, invading the phone’s hardware, shattering its military-grade firewall, and rewriting its entire operating system in a single breath.
Two seconds later, a notification chimed on Asta’s private device.
She glanced down to see a new message from an unknown contact saved simply as ‘Suian’.
“Hello.”
“A deal is a deal.
I never go back on my word.”
“Here is your secret: Madam Herta is a top-tier kitchen killer, and she has a specific obsession with using Curios to cook her meals.”
[Image] Memory Wheel and the jellyfish on the stairs.
[Image] Super-Ultimate Spinning Top.
[Image] Space-Time Prism and Scented Cheese.
[Image] Dream-Entry Can.
[Image] Punklorde Greeting.
[Image] Bag of Knowledge.
[Image] Buried Soil and Turned to Dust.
[Image] Overnutrition.
Asta’s head snapped up, but in those brief seconds of reading, the shadow of the rogue puppet had vanished completely.
She quickly tapped into Suian’s profile.
A single line of text sat in the biography section: ‘Follow the flow and be at peace; whoever meets me will be at peace.’
Asta darted her eyes around the empty corridor.
Confirming she was entirely alone, she casually liked his profile, transferred exactly one billion Credits to his account, and attached a single caption: “Let me see your legs.”
A moment later, a gray, heavily pixelated image loaded on her screen, vaguely outlining the shape of a pair of legs.
Asta eagerly tapped to open it, only to find a mocking string of text plastered across the center: ‘You little pervert.’
She shoved her phone back into her pocket, feeling utterly defeated.
…
On the other side of the station, Kazuki carved his way through the sporadic Void Rangers lingering in the corridors, slicing through their armor as easily as chopping vegetables.
He finally reached the deserted staff dormitory sector.
He kicked open several empty rooms until he located a wardrobe with clothes that actually fit his true proportions, finally dropping the transformation and reverting to his original form.
A short while later, Kazuki stepped out of the shower.
A thick trail of steam followed him, clinging to his loose clothes like a layer of morning mist.
He leaned over the sink, wiping the condensation from the mirror, and froze.
His facial features still carried the familiar traces of his original self, but it was no longer the exact face he had known before his transmigration.
The young man reflected in the glass was tall and upright, carrying a naturally refreshing aura.
His face was sculpted like fine jade, framed by sharp brows and a pair of dark eyes as deep as a quiet pool.
Every time he blinked, a sharp, heroic spirit radiated outward, so striking it was almost blinding.
Even with the lazy, relaxed posture of having just bathed, that commanding temperament could not be suppressed.
One glance was enough to tell he was no ordinary person.
His hair was the color of frost, soft and brilliantly white, hanging loosely around his face.
A few damp strands stuck to his neck and jawline, highlighting the extreme fairness of his skin.
But what caught his attention were the three distinct strands of color hidden within that sea of white.
One red, one chestnut brown, and one pink.
They corresponded perfectly to Himeko, Madam Herta, and Asta.
A flawed Xianzhou General’s destiny?
Kazuki casually ran a hand through his damp white hair, glancing at the three character cards resting quietly in his system space.
Suddenly, the realization hit him.
“Wait, what exactly is this?” He tugged at the strand of pink hair, baring his teeth at the mirror.
“It’s one thing that my hair turned entirely white, but you deliberately dyed three streaks into it?
System, get out here and explain yourself!”
The system offered absolute silence, playing dead with practiced perfection.
Kazuki pondered the situation for a moment.
Suddenly, the image of Griseo from Honkai Impact 3rd surfaced in his mind.
She was the little painter who would be stained by the colors of those around her, causing her own personality to shift and mold to match theirs.
Looking at it from that angle, it made terrifying sense.
When he was acting as the Black Tomb Puppet earlier, there had been an uncontrollable surge of violent energy beneath his skin.
It hadn’t consumed his mind, but it had been there.
And just moments ago, when he was teasing Asta, that stubborn, arrogant, tsundere attitude had flowed out of him as naturally as breathing, carved from the exact same mold as Madam Herta herself.
Kazuki took a slow, deep breath.
Everything in the universe demanded an equivalent exchange.
This was the price for bearing the weight of other people’s lives.
So, where was he supposed to go from here?
Should he follow the Astral Express, become an official Trailblazer, and join the main cast on a grand, roaring adventure across the stars?
It would guarantee him the spotlight and the protection of destiny.
Or should he become a lone wolf, carving out his own brutal path through the hidden gaps of the main storyline to forge his own legend?
He leaned heavily against the sink, twisting the red strand of hair between his fingers as the two conflicting thoughts warred in his mind.
Following the Express was undeniably the safest route.
With the main crew acting as a safety net, he could smoothly ride the rails of the established plot, pulling whatever cards he desired and living as an invincible powerhouse in everyone’s eyes.
But the moment his fingertip brushed against the dyed hair, he let out a soft laugh and shook his head.
No.
He could borrow the identities of others.
He could bear the weight of their lives and allow himself to be stained by their colors.
But if he spent his existence walking in their footprints, living inside their stories, he would eventually be drowned out by the overlapping colors of countless strangers.
He would forget what Kazuki originally looked like, and he would forget exactly why he was standing here in the first place.
The Astral Express had its own destination, and the Trailblazers had their own journey to complete.
His path would not be chained to anyone else’s wheels.
He raised a hand to wipe the remaining moisture from his hair, his gaze settling into something cold and absolute.
He would walk alone.
The reasoning was incredibly simple, yet heavy enough to anchor his soul.
‘I can pretend to be countless people, but I must never lose myself.’
[Elysian’s Note:
Having a good time with the story?
Every single bit helps immensely: