When Aha, the Elation, climbed the high branches of the Tree of Existence, They saw that the vacuum was cold and loathsome, the stars moved by mechanical rote, and the meaning of all things gave way to nothingness.
They continued to watch, until They witnessed a newborn baby wail upon its first breath as if it had suffered all the world’s grievances, and They could not help but burst into laughter.
That clear laughter tore apart the cold, deathly silent universe, and its echo resounds through the worlds to this day.
—o— The boy regained consciousness amidst a peal of laughter that seemed to echo from an endless sea of stars.
He felt as though he had forgotten something.
Was it the memory of a person or a thing of importance?
Or was it the reason something was “laughable”?
He couldn’t understand, and so he opened his eyes.
Within his pale green pupils, like jadeite cooled to ice, his vision gradually sharpened.
It focused on a pair of long, slender female legs.
They were snugly wrapped in crimson, crisscrossing garter stockings.
Her left foot was clad in a black ankle boot, her right in a black thigh-high boot.
A black leather leg ring, biting slightly into her flesh, reflected a bright sheen under the light.
The boy could not lift his head.
Because the cold barrel of a gun was pressed against his forehead.
The woman’s purple leather-gloved finger was resting on the trigger.
It seemed she could end the boy’s life at any moment.
Accompanying this threat was a voice, a smile held within a reproachful tone.
—”Little pervert.” “…” At first, the boy didn’t understand why the woman would call him that.
Not until he looked down and saw his own naked body below his flat stomach, bathed in a holy light.
Pure and beautiful—that was the boy’s first reaction to this vessel of his.
Though it might sound a bit narcissistic to say so.
In truth, that was also Kafka’s first impression of him.
Could this be one of Silver Wolf’s pranks?
Did she order me…
an interstellar boy toy?
Otherwise, Kafka couldn’t figure it out.
Without an inside man, how could such a handsome boy have possibly bypassed the layers of security to arrive on this planet, which the Stellaron Hunters used as a supply base?
To arrive here, in the snow before the base.
And naked, at that.
With no weapon besides his unbelievable beauty.
If the boy couldn’t give her a reasonable explanation…
Kafka wouldn’t mind being his pallbearer in the slightest.
Afterward, she would place a bouquet of small daisies on his gravestone.
The language of the daisy is innocence and pure beauty.
But in the next moment, without Kafka having to act, the boy had already raised his slender arms.
His long fingers wrapped around the cold gun barrel, and with a slight exertion of force, he moved its aim downward.
Until it was before his lips.
Then, he closed his eyes, and without the slightest hesitation, he parted his lips.
He gently took the woman’s gun barrel into his mouth.
Kafka: “…” Witnessing this, a faint, almost sickly flush seemed to appear on the woman’s cheeks.
She was speechless for a long time.
Noticing that Kafka had no intention of firing, the boy opened his eyes again, his gentle gaze now tinged with confusion as he looked at her.
Helpless, he tried to pull the trigger himself.
But in that instant, Kafka seized his wrist with her other hand, then withdrew the gun, muttering to herself.
“…I thought Blade was trouble enough.” “Now whose soldier is this one?” He wasn’t as cold or as mad as Blade.
But the profound, bone-deep despair in his eyes could not be faked.
He was a human boy who, unlike Blade, almost certainly did not possess that curse of immortality.
Yet he was just as fixated on seeking death.
As if only then could he be liberated from his endless suffering…
The woman smiled and touched her forehead.
“Don’t tell me the Stellaron Hunters have become some kind of asylum for problem children.” “One after another, they just won’t let a person rest.” But Kafka seemed to have forgotten.
She herself was absolutely the upgraded version of a problem girl—a problem big sister.
“Why…
won’t you kill me?” Before Kafka could even lock the boy in a dark basement for interrogation, he was the one to ask her that perplexing question, his voice clear and ethereal, like shattered jade.
Children who don’t listen obediently, of course, must be punished by having their hair ruffled.
The boy was bewildered.
He didn’t get the “death” he wanted.
Instead, his snow-white hair was messed into a tangled heap.
But at the same time, the warmth from the woman’s palm transmitted through his skin—dozens, hundreds of times more sensitive than a normal person’s—and reached his neural network.
It allowed him to briefly experience a feeling called “happiness.” It was almost like…
Within the boy’s dim, lightless pupils, in the midst of that endless despair, a tiny, faint flame ignited—one that still refused to be extinguished.
“Little one, coming with me?” Kafka’s hand slid down the elegant contour of the boy’s face.
She gave his soft, delicate cheek a little pinch and asked teasingly.
“…” The boy didn’t respond.
But his actions gave Kafka her answer.
Kafka turned and walked toward the small, castle-style cottage where a warm fire crackled in the hearth.
She left behind a trail of elegant boot prints.
The boy followed behind her, stumbling as if he were a child who had just learned to walk.
He left another trail of small, messy footprints.
It felt as if she had picked up an abandoned puppy.
Or perhaps, a treasure.
Was the person who abandoned him an idiot?
Kafka thought with a smile.
Her mood was inexplicably cheerful.
—o— Nameless Planet, Stellaron Hunter Supply Base Cottage.
On a sofa before an antique fireplace, where logs crackled with a cozy winter ambiance, Kafka smiled as she wrapped an arm around the boy’s slender, upright waist, having him kneel on her lap and look down at her.
Fortunately, the boy was now draped in a set of Silver Wolf’s unisex pajamas, so he was no longer in his previous naked state.
It was also a good thing she was the only one at the base right now.
If Silver Wolf and Blade were to see this scene…
The consequences would be unimaginable.
The impact on the youth would be immeasurable.
But that had absolutely nothing to do with Kafka.
Alright…
maybe it had a tiny little bit to do with her.
She sat primly on the sofa and wiggled a finger at the boy, who had been standing frozen in place, gazing deeply at her.
Who would have thought the boy would be as obedient as a puppy…
Or perhaps not so obedient.
Because he didn’t understand distance, nor did he grasp propriety.
He climbed right onto Kafka’s lap, his small hands clutching tightly to the hem of her blouse.
“Name.” “…” “You don’t have one?
Don’t expect me to be any good at naming things, you know.” “You probably don’t want to be called ‘cat’ or ‘dog,’ right?” “A creation.” From a haze of memory, the boy dredged up that designation, his heart twisting as if struck by a knife.
“Zao Wu?” “That sounds quite nice, actually.
That name.” It was so much like the boy himself.
Zao Wu—morning mist.
As if it would cease to exist the moment the sun shone upon it.
But perhaps that faint warmth was all he ever craved.
For that warmth, he was willing to dissipate like the morning mist.
“Alright then, Zao Wu.
Tell me, why did you come here?” Unexpectedly, Kafka had no intention of using her “Spirit Whisper” on Zao Wu.
But the boy’s answer made Kafka’s cunning smile freeze slightly on her face.
He called out—”Mama.” —o— CREATORS’ THOUGHTS Aleph_0 show some support!