Trigger Warning
“Please, help me plead with the teacher. I still want to study under him. If you help me this time, I will remember it, and I will repay you in the future—”
In a corner of the restaurant, a brown-haired young man was begging the man in front of him.
The man sat with his legs crossed, hands spread out on the sides of the chair. Watching the brown-haired young man desperately trying to please him, he raised a smug smile at the corner of his mouth.
He remained silent, waiting until he had enjoyed enough of the person’s begging, then spoke with a cold sneer.
“Forget it, Doyle. The teacher despises you now and hates you to death. There’s no way he’d ever take you back.” He let out a cold laugh and said, “Just hearing your name makes the teacher fly into a rage. After the disgrace you brought him, do you still want to go back? Do you still think you’re his prized student? Still think you’re that star pupil from the past?”
“…Please help me, I will repay you…”
“Enough, Doyle. I never intended to help you. The only reason I came today was to see you groveling like a dog.” Tired of playing along, the man stood up, casting a contemptuous glance at the brown-haired young man. “Ha, you were that top student who got a few words of praise from the teacher and thought you were better than everyone else. Look at you now, what a pitiful sight.”
“You’ve offended not just one, but several ‘SS-ranked’ professors. Everyone in the association knows about it by now. You’re like a plague—people can’t avoid you fast enough.”
“Oh, by the way, because you slandered the elite professor, your qualifications have been revoked. You’re no longer part of the association. Now you’re just an ordinary unemployed commoner. Spend the rest of your life living as a lowly peasant, hahaha!”
The man laughed loudly, mercilessly mocking Doyle, then swaggered off, leaving Doyle standing there, utterly dejected.
Everything is gone…
The brown-haired young man thought in a daze.
Wealth, status, power, reputation, and an endless future—everything that had once been within his grasp, a future where he could have it all, shattered completely after he was disqualified and expelled by his teacher.
…He was going to become an outstanding and respected professor, noticed by the noble powers, recruited into their ranks, living a life above others, supported by them…
That was supposed to be his future!
A commoner? …How could he go back to being an ordinary commoner? How could he tolerate becoming such a lowly existence!
Doyle sat there in a daze as if his soul had left him, his gaze aimlessly fixed ahead.
Suddenly, his vacant pupils contracted sharply.
He jumped up, his eyes locking on a familiar figure — he would never forget it, the figure that shattered all his dreams, that appeared in his nightmares every night!
If it weren’t for this guy…
He thought.
If this person didn’t exist—
His mind went blank, but his body acted on its own. He grabbed the dining knife from the table and gave chase.
If this guy didn’t exist! Then he would have been the genius who amazed everyone in that qualification exam! If it weren’t for him, he wouldn’t have been expelled by the teacher! He wouldn’t have had his qualifications revoked!
It’s all because of him! As long as this person doesn’t exist—
The phrase echoed in his mind as Doyle hurriedly pursued.
With every step, his gaze grew more ferocious; with every breath, his eyes turned redder.
When he caught up to the youth who had just reached the stairs, the half-crazed Doyle grabbed his right shoulder. As the teenager instinctively turned around, Doyle, with bloodshot eyes, gripped the dining knife in his right hand and fiercely stabbed it into the teenager’s left chest!
The exhilarating sensation of the knife-piercing flesh was transmitted through his nerves to his entire body, making him shudder with excitement.
As he withdrew the knife, blood splattered onto his face. The scorching sensation of the hot blood further excited him.
Seeing the teenager writhing in pain, curled up in a pool of blood at his feet, the madness in Doyle’s eyes intensified. The thrill of revenge drove him to the height of excitement. He laughed maniacally and stabbed down again.
But just before his knife could come down, the teenager, who had seemed helpless on the ground, suddenly kicked hard at Doyle’s ankle. Caught off guard, Doyle lost his balance and dropped to his knees. The sharp knife in his hand grazed the teenager’s cheek, leaving a bloody cut as it plunged heavily into the ground.
“Go save him!”
The noble youth in the private room yelled at his subordinates and sprinted outside.
Doyle, having missed with the first stab, knelt on the ground.
After kicking Doyle to the ground, Miao Te lay sideways on the steps, using his hands on the higher step to try and push himself up. But just as he caught his breath and lifted himself halfway, he saw Doyle coming at him with another knife strike. Almost instinctively, he shot his hands up, grabbing Doyle’s right hand, and his body, which had just risen, slammed back down onto the steps, sending a sharp pain through his spine.
The sharp tip of the knife stopped just inches from his eyes, almost brushing against his eyelashes.
The intense pain in his left shoulder rendered his left hand useless. He held his breath, desperately trying to hold back Doyle’s right hand.
Just hold on a little longer!
He gritted his teeth, thinking that the noble inside wouldn’t just stand by and watch him be killed. He just needed to hold on for a few more seconds—
Suddenly, a hand reached over and tightly grabbed Miao Te’s throat.
The man pressing down on him had a ferocious expression, his left hand viciously choking Miao Te while his right hand gripped the dining knife tighter, aiming to stab it into Miao Te’s head.
The suffocating pain almost robbed him of the breath he was holding. His hands could no longer hold back the man’s right hand.
His dark pupils dilated to their limit as the teenager watched helplessly as the sharp tip of the knife came down—
The Imperial soldiers who had just reached the doorway to save him were already too late—
Out of nowhere, a hand shot in from the side, its five fingers spread wide, firmly grasping the knife that was about to pierce Miao Te’s forehead.
The hand holding the knife was gripping so tightly that the sharp blade deeply cut into the palm.
The teenager, lying flat on his back, widened his eyes. The knife tip had already pierced his forehead, causing a trickle of blood to seep from his brow.
His heart pounded wildly as he stared, watching the blood flow from that hand, gathering and running down the silver blade, dripping onto his forehead, and brow, sliding across his face, seeping into his hair, and staining his temples red.
He watched as the dining knife that had already pierced his skin was forcibly lifted by the hand gripping the blade, the blood-stained tip slowly moving away from him.
The only thing still falling onto his face was the blood dripping from the hand that held the blade.
Once the blade had moved far enough from the teenager’s face to no longer pose a danger, the owner of that hand swiftly reached out and tightly grabbed Doyle’s right wrist.
With a crack, the sound of bones breaking echoed, followed by Doyle’s scream. His right hand loosened, releasing the knife.
The person easily flipped their hand, the blood-covered hand that had gripped the blade now holding the handle.
The left hand, which had crushed Doyle’s wrist, grabbed his hair and yanked upward, forcing Doyle to tilt his head back. In the next second, the blood-soaked knife slashed across Doyle’s exposed throat.
Doyle’s throat was slashed in an instant, and he collapsed to the ground without making a sound. His eyes were wide open, pupils dilated, as blood poured from his neck, pooling around him.
The series of actions flowed smoothly, taking only a moment — just enough time for Miao Te to catch his breath.
He lay half-reclined on the steps, still shaken. Moments ago, he had been choked and couldn’t breathe, so now he was panting heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
He tore his gaze away from Doyle, now lying silently in a pool of blood, and slowly looked up.
The person who had cleanly severed Doyle’s throat turned and walked toward him. Miao Te saw his right hand hanging at his side, blood dripping from his fingers.
Major General Taylor crouched halfway down in front of him, dark strands of hair falling over and partially obscuring his eyes, making it impossible for him to read his expression. All Miao Te could see was the Major General lifting his hand, revealing a deep, gruesome gash in his right palm, as if the hand had been brutally split open.
“Your hand…”
Miao Te barely managed to speak half a sentence before the young Major General’s hands were already on his chest. With a ripping sound, the fabric tore apart.
Miao Te stared in shock as the Major General tore open his uniform, exposing his entire left shoulder to the air.
The area from the teenager’s shoulder down to his chest was drenched in blood, looking quite terrifying.
At this moment, Major General Taylor’s deep, dark blue eyes, now carrying a sharp intensity, slowly shifted to the wound on the teenager’s shoulder. His fingers reached out and pressed on the blood-soaked wound, causing Miao Te to gasp sharply in pain.
“It didn’t hit any vital organs.”
The Major General spoke, then used the torn fabric to lightly clean the blood from Miao Te’s wound.
No one noticed as the turbulent aura in his dark blue eyes, like a swirling storm, slowly calmed down.
Taylor pulled out two transparent, yellow pearl-like beads from the leather crossbody pouch hanging from the black belt at his waist. The small spheres were about the size of a thumb. With a squeeze of his fingers, the two crystal-clear orbs shattered and instantly transformed into two slender ribbons of liquid. As if alive, one flew toward Miao Te, covering his wound, while the other wrapped around the Major General’s right palm like a bandage.
The countless nanomedical robots in the liquid quickly sealed the wound, stopping the bleeding, disinfecting, and providing initial treatment.
“Your hand…”
Miao Te’s sentence was cut off again.
Mier finally arrived in a hurry, his face full of annoyance as he shoved aside the subordinates blocking the doorway. The moment he spotted Miao Te sitting on the steps, his face instantly lit up with joy.
“Lord Uriel! I’m glad you’re okay—”
As he shouted, he ignored Taylor standing in front of Miao Te and headed straight toward him.
But as he had just stepped down a single stair, the black-haired Major General, who was half-squatting in front of Miao Te, suddenly lifted his eyes and glanced at him.
Mier’s steps froze, and that cold glance rooted him to the spot.
That look…
He almost embarrassingly took a step back.
In the past, no matter how much he provoked this young Major General, the Major General had never fought back—he always thought it was because Major General Taylor feared the power of the family behind him and didn’t dare to cross him.
But now, he suddenly realized that Taylor had never feared him; he simply couldn’t be bothered to deal with him.
…With eyes that terrifying, that chilling gaze… He couldn’t quite describe the fear it invoked, but he suddenly understood. Someone with eyes like that, almost inhuman, could never be afraid of anyone.
He didn’t care about his provocations because he never considered him worth his attention.
But if he had never taken him seriously all this time, why was he suddenly showing such terrifying hostility toward him now?
Could it be…
Mier stared blankly at the backs of the two as they walked away.
Could it be because of that youth?
***
Having changed into new clothes, Miao Te touched his left shoulder, which still ached faintly, but it wasn’t too painful. After all, the wound had already healed.
The wound on his left shoulder looked bloody, but it wasn’t serious. When that person thrust the knife at him, he instinctively turned to the side, so the knife didn’t penetrate deeply into his chest but instead slashed diagonally from his chest toward his shoulder, leaving a large gash.
That’s why the blood seemed to have splattered so much.
Due to the constant warfare, medical technology in this interstellar era had advanced significantly. Even severed limbs could be reattached through cellular regeneration, let alone a relatively minor wound like his.
He had watched with wide eyes as the medic applied some kind of unknown liquid to his wound. The liquid wriggled over the injury, and through its transparent surface, he could see the wound on his shoulder healing before his eyes.
Half an hour later, only a faint pink scar remained on his shoulder. The small cuts on his forehead and cheek had also faded to barely visible marks.
However, the medic had cautioned him that only the surface of the wound had healed. The internal damage still needed time to mend, so he was advised not to engage in any strenuous activity with his left arm for a week, to avoid reopening the wound.
Dressed in fresh clothes, the teenager stepped out and froze when he looked up.
Major General Taylor was sitting in the hall, a pale blue holographic screen floating in front of him, quietly watching something.
His right arm rested on the soft armrest of the sofa, his right hand hanging down, wrapped entirely in a transparent liquid. The liquid moved gently, like a living thing, with ripples flowing across it.
Miao Te hesitated for a moment but then walked over.
The closer he got, the clearer the details became.
Major General Taylor’s skin was already pale, but now his right hand was so white it seemed almost translucent, with faint blue veins visible beneath the surface.
Through the transparent, sphere-like liquid enveloping Major General’s right hand, the terrifyingly deep gash in his palm was visible—Miao Te could even faintly see a glimpse of pale bone beneath the torn flesh.
The sight made his chest tighten instantly.
A wound so deep that the bone was visible—it was easy to imagine just how much force this person had used to grasp the sharp blade.
“Does it hurt?”
The teenager couldn’t help but ask.
When he saw the Major General lift his head and those deep blue eyes look over, he immediately realized the foolishness of what he had just said and hurriedly waved his hand in embarrassment.
“No, that’s not…” he stammered, flustered. “I meant to say… thank you.”
Glancing again at the terrifyingly gruesome wound in the Major General’s palm, Miao Te couldn’t help but speak again.
“You didn’t have to do that. You could’ve just kicked him away.”
“…You would’ve been cut.”
“Huh?”
“Your forehead.”
The Major General withdrew his gaze and lowered his eyes again, his expression cold and indifferent, his tone casual.
The teenager’s breath caught.
Yes, at that moment, the tip of the man’s knife had already pierced his forehead—though shallow, it had indeed broken the skin. If Major General Taylor had simply kicked the man away, a slip of his hand could have left a deep or shallow gash across his forehead or face. Worse still, if luck had been against him, the blade could have sliced into his eye.
That’s why Major General grabbed the blade with his hand—only after ensuring the knife’s tip was away from him did he take action against the man.
Thinking of this, Miao Te couldn’t quite figure out what he was feeling inside.
“But to let yourself get such a serious injury…” he said softly, feeling a bit stifled inside. “A cut on my face wouldn’t matter. I’m not a girl, so I’m not afraid of scars. Getting hurt isn’t a big deal; I don’t care.”
Just as he finished speaking, a hand suddenly shot out and grabbed his right arm.
Caught off guard, Miao Te was pulled forward, bending forward and leaning toward the Major General, who was seated on the sofa.
Major General Taylor, gripping Miao Te’s right arm and pulling him down, tilted his head back. His black hair fell away, revealing a pale forehead. His long, narrow phoenix eyes gazed at the teenager’s youthful face, the sharp curve at the corners of his eyes accentuating their intensity.
He glanced at the faint mark on the teenager’s brow and the light pink scar on his cheek, then his gaze shifted slightly downward, settling on the teenager’s eyes.
The teenager’s pitch-black, glistening pupils were like a clear night sky after the rain.
He stared into the teenager’s eyes as if wanting to devour them with his gaze.
“I care.”
He said.
***
Translated by NightOwll
***