“Sister Kafka…” “…You really should be a little more careful.” Zao Wu murmured in a whisper-soft voice.
A faint blush, like plum blossoms scattered upon fresh snow, crept onto the boy’s cheeks.
He averted his eyes from the crimson silk stockings on the sofa.
He understood the principle of not looking at what was improper.
Although, since Zao Wu had taken on the duty of cleaning Sister Kafka’s room, he would eventually have to tidy them, and even…
touch them.
But the timid and bashful boy decided to save that task for the very end.
He wasn’t sure if it was the same impulse as when savoring a delicacy, saving one’s favorite bite for last.
Or perhaps Zao Wu simply wasn’t the sort of boy who would entertain such strange thoughts.
Carrying the faint disappointment of having missed Sister Kafka, the boy began his daily chores.
The repetitive, mechanical work was far too simple to occupy much of the processing power in his brilliant mind, so his thoughts inevitably began to drift.
Sister Kafka…
what kind of woman is she, really?
First and foremost, she was a woman who could be his mother.
Beyond that…
she was shrouded in mystery and a subtle air of detachment.
She always watched him with such a gentle gaze, a look as soft as falling cherry blossoms.
Why, then, did he perceive in those pale pink pupils a loneliness that seemed as if it could never be thawed?
He wanted to embrace her.
Not to seek comfort for himself, but to offer it to her.
But Zao Wu knew he was clumsy with words, especially when facing those who were important to him; he could never quite say what he meant.
Words alone would convince no one.
Perhaps even he couldn’t be one hundred percent certain that his motives were entirely selfless.
“Click.” The closet door slid open, revealing a neat row of overcoats from various planets, each in a different style.
Zao Wu pulled his thoughts back to the present, focusing his full attention on meticulously performing their daily maintenance.
Kafka rarely revealed her preferences.
No matter what meal Zao Wu served, she would praise it effusively; no matter what topic he raised, she was never opposed.
She was so perfect and considerate that it bordered on feeling artificial, and it was one of the sources of the subtle distance Zao Wu felt between her and the rest of the world.
Fortunately, through careful observation, Zao Wu had managed to identify the single hobby she allowed herself to show.
“Collecting velvet overcoats.” They were fragile and beautiful things, difficult to care for.
The slightest negligence could mar their luster.
Wanting to please Kafka and earn her praise, Zao Wu had dedicated an extraordinary amount of effort to learning how to maintain them.
He had yet to be rewarded for it.
Then again, he had never made his efforts obvious, preferring to work in silence.
But even the mere thought of Kafka smiling, perhaps because her coats looked as pristine as the day they were made, was enough to give his efforts meaning and bring comfort to his heart.
And his attentiveness was not reserved for Kafka alone.
Blade possessed an incredible healing ability, but his personality was cold and frenzied; he was usually either self-harming or on his way to do so.
This was why he had not taught Zao Wu “Hellscape,” the technique best suited to his immortal body, instead opting for a different, frost-imbued sword art.
In the past, Blade would either ignore his wounds or wrap them haphazardly with bandages.
Zao Wu couldn’t bear to watch.
He developed a medicinal salve that, when applied, would maximally reduce pain, provide a cooling sensation, and minimize scarring.
He had even endured Blade’s “do you want to die, kid?” glare, fighting back his fear and the urge to run away, to teach him how to wrap bandages correctly to avoid unnecessary pain.
In the end, Blade declared Zao Wu was a weirdo on par with himself.
Zao Wu still didn’t understand what he meant.
Then there was Silver Wolf.
Keeping her happy was simpler: he just had to be her gaming partner.
If being a co-op partner had a skill ranking, Zao Wu was unequivocally at the top of the leaderboards.
Lately, Silver Wolf’s daily disposition could be summarized as: “Ugh, I’m gonna die without Zao Wu to play…
I mean, without Zao Wu to play with.” “Zao Wu, Zao Wu, I’m online!
Hurry up!” “Quitting already?
C’mon, just one more billion rounds!” “Zao Wu!
How am I supposed to live without you!?” “Zao Wu, your hands are so small…
and so much fairer than mine…” “Zao Wu, you smell so good…” “How about you stay and pull an all-nighter with me?” This was no exaggeration.
One time, Silver Wolf even accidentally posted one of her unhinged rants in the “Stellaron Hunters Loving Family” group chat.
Even Sam, who was a universe away, grew curious about Zao Wu.
Sam: I can’t wait to meet little brother Zao Wu (〃’▽’〃) Sam: Elio is so mean, giving me such a long script (╥╯^╰╥)…
Though it clashed with Sam’s public image, she was indeed the type to use such cute emoticons.
And Zao Wu was just that kind of child—gentle to his core, and achingly endearing.
It made one wonder about the person who had abandoned him.
In the end, would they come to regret it?
—o— Herta Space Station, Restricted Zone.
Before the secret elevator to the Emanator of Propagation’s cultivation lab, Ruan Mei waited in silence, as elegant as ever in her cyan dress.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps—calm, yet powerful—approached.
Dr.
Ratio, book in hand as always, emerged from the shadows.
He revealed his handsome, true face to Ruan Mei, not the plaster mask.
“What a coincidence.” He offered the greeting, then stood beside her, waiting quietly for the elevator.
Ruan Mei did not reply, and Dr.
Veritas Ratio seemed not to mind in the slightest.
Soon, the elevator doors opened.
Whether out of adherence to “ladies first” or a genuine respect for a true genius, Dr.
Ratio waited for Ruan Mei to enter before he followed.
The doors closed.
They began their descent.
The transparent viewport reflected the dazzling spread of stars beyond the station.
Their light might have been from millions of years ago.
If one could stare into eternity, perhaps the past could be seen again.
In a break from her usual indifference, Ruan Mei turned her head slightly to gaze at the brilliant starscape, her thoughts a mystery.
Dr.
Ratio, however, slightly closed his deep-set eyes.
To this day, he had not forgotten that respectable creation.
That respectable fool.
Ten seconds of silence passed quickly.
The elevator doors opened.
Ruan Mei and Dr.
Ratio were about to part ways; geniuses, ever efficient, both had their own pressing work.
But perhaps Dr.
Ratio was an exception.
These days, he considered himself a “Fool.” And so, just as Ruan Mei prepared to leave, he spoke.
“I hear you went to see your creation recently?”