【Interstellar Contract Magician】Ruyuanke

Chapter 462 [Empire] Poor Little One

However, one thing bothered me. During the Imperial Interstellar Era, only New Humans joined the military. Since New Women only awakened their healing abilities, they were often sent to special schools or institutions to train them as healers or battlefield therapists. This meant that all military academies were almost exclusively for New Men, with no room for women. Even the instructors were exclusively male, and the entire system's exclusion of women was almost ingrained.

For a new male like me, disguised as a woman, the first challenge was obviously finding accommodation and daily amenities. The academy's design and layout made it nearly devoid of any facilities specifically designed for women, not even a female restroom. The students were arranged entirely to suit the needs and habits of men, with all public facilities and activity areas designed with men in mind.

Of course, this arrangement wasn't accidental. The imperial military academy system fundamentally excluded women, even basic amenities were not designed for them. Since I started, I've had several awkward experiences, especially in the public bathhouses, where I often had to face completely unprepared situations as a boy, often feeling the gazes of doubt and rejection from those around me.

I also knew that, based solely on my status, I theoretically couldn't qualify as a "qualified" cadet here. After all, I couldn't even find basic accommodations, let alone compete on equal terms with other men. Although I never felt limited as a new male, a place like a military academy magnified any inappropriateness, especially the unavoidable difference of gender.

But the most daunting aspect is concealing my current identity. Until I'm fully dressed as a man, I have to navigate these intensely masculine environments almost every moment, maintaining a seemingly natural demeanor while remaining vigilant against the risk of revealing any details. This is especially true when it comes to accommodations. For the time being, I'm forced to share a dormitory with several other male students. While superficially, things may seem the same, every night, as I lie in bed, a subtle sense of discomfort creeps over me.

The dormitories here aren't arranged by class, but rather by random, scattered groups. This arrangement complicates everything. Each dorm occupies a different class, with diverse backgrounds, abilities, and personalities. Some dorms are filled with a fiercely competitive atmosphere, while others, due to the presence of one individual, feel oppressive and unfair.

The most conspicuous student in my dorm was a logistics student. He always kept his head down, avoiding eye contact, looking like a poor, abandoned child. The logistics class held a dreadfully low status in this military academy, practically at the bottom of the hierarchy. Everyone knew only students with no fighting or combat prowess were assigned to such a class. And this "poor little logistics student" clearly had no ability to resist.

He was the type who looked frail, always working quietly in a corner, seemingly never drawing anyone's attention. Every day, he would sit quietly beside his bed, head down, organizing his belongings, and trying to avoid any interaction with the stronger men around him. The burly boys, on the other hand, always liked to pick on him, constantly bossing him around and asking him to do trivial tasks.

From the outset, these people treated him as a lower being, as if he were the most insignificant speck of dust in this military academy. Not only did they fail to give him the respect he deserved, but they also trampled on his sliver of self-esteem with a seemingly indifferent yet malicious attitude. Perhaps because anyone with even the slightest ability would be assigned to the logistics class, these people simply ignored him and treated him casually, seemingly never considering that this "poor" boy once had his own dignity and dreams.

Looking at his dejected expression, I couldn't help but feel a surge of pity. After all, here, only students with exceptional abilities could enter the combat class, and only then were they considered worthy of respect. Students like him, with no one to rely on and only able to endure silently, would never receive the same respect.

However, such situations were not uncommon here. The Imperial Military Academy was a brutally competitive environment, with all students constantly striving for advancement. Strength was everything, and those without ability were denied even the most basic right to survive.

But in my opinion, this logistics student, although he has no ability to resist, is not completely incompetent. He was just born in an unfair era and was not accepted by this system.

Although he and I didn't communicate much, every time I saw him working silently with his head down, I would think that maybe one day he could find his own foothold, just like me, and gradually find his own direction in this hostile land.

However, when he lowered his head and brought a basin of hot water for washing feet to my bedside like he did to other people, I was silent. At that moment, I suddenly realized that although I didn't want to get involved, this matter still made me feel an inexplicable sense of oppression.

He still looked so humble, holding the basin of water in both hands, head bowed, as if he were simply diligently completing his task. Yet, this scene made me feel a little uncomfortable. Others might take it for granted—that he came here from the logistics department, destined to be ordered around. But I knew clearly that this unequal class gap was far from something he could endure.

I looked up at his cautious expression, feeling a complicated feeling. Although I never liked being treated this way, this man didn't seem to harbor any ill intentions; he was simply doing what he was supposed to do. This silent humiliation was almost unbearable.

However, the name "Superpower Class 1" seemed to have some unexpected effect within the dormitory. While competition between classes was fierce, my status within this chaotic dormitory still seemed to earn me a certain inexplicable respect. Even though I lacked those massive muscles and wasn't good at using force to overpower others, everyone assumed I wasn't someone to be trifled with. After all, the class name and its strength had already invisibly built a barrier.

So, when I made no sound, simply using my eyes to signal, the others simply looked on without intervening. This seemed to be a "privilege" I had inadvertently acquired. This privilege didn't stem entirely from my own strength, but perhaps more from the fact that my identity granted me a certain special status—at least, in the eyes of these people, I wasn't someone who could be easily trampled upon.

"Put it down," I said lightly, my voice not loud but clear enough.

He looked up, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes, as if he hadn't expected me to say that. Then, he gently placed the basin on the bedside, whispered "sorry," and turned to leave.

I watched him walk away, a complex wave of emotions welling up inside me. Although I knew this "submission" wasn't entirely his own will, but rather forced upon him by the environment, I couldn't ignore the sense of oppression and helplessness he felt, as if an unbridgeable chasm existed between him and this military academy.

I paused, then picked up the basin of foot washing water and placed it next to the bed.

I am not completely out of it.

A full day of physical training nearly strained my body to the point of collapse. It felt like I was being forcibly disassembled and reassembled. My muscles ached, my joints were stiff, and every step felt like pushing me beyond my limits. Having relied on my daily psychic training in Special Abilities Class 1, I hadn't had high expectations for physical training. But unexpectedly, everything here was completely different from what I expected.

Those big guys were truly natural fighting machines, their physiques impeccable, their muscles perfectly defined. They sprinted, leaped, and lifted weights tirelessly. Every movement seemed meticulously calculated, almost like natural strength. Their breathing was steady, their movements swift, unlike someone like me, whose physique would become limp after just a few push-ups.

Compared to them, I felt like a fragile paper doll, feeling as though I were about to collapse every time I lifted something heavy. While everyone else seemed brimming with strength and confidence, I could only force myself to endure the fatigue and discomfort, focusing on completing each exercise, even if my form wasn't perfect and my body was constantly protesting.

These "big guys" didn't seem to have much sympathy. They treated this training as a game, occasionally showing a relaxed smile when they saw me gasping for breath. Some even looked at me with contempt - they seemed to think that a "new human" like me, with a slender figure and seemingly no explosive power, was not worthy of fighting alongside them.

"New male?" A large man walked by, glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, and a hint of disdain appeared on the corner of his mouth. "Don't tell me you can complete this physical training like us."

His condescending tone made me frown, but I didn't respond. Rather than argue with them, I decided to complete the task quietly.

I continued with my final set of jumps, my feet heavy and my arms threatening to collapse with each push, but I forced myself to continue. No one felt sorry for me; rather, they simply didn't have time to worry about whether I would be crushed by the exercise. Here, life and death were viewed more as the result of hard work than as destiny.

After training, I almost limped out of the field, every muscle aching, surrounded by those big guys who were excitedly chatting with each other.

I took a deep breath, feeling like a well-kneaded rag doll. Though exhausted, I also felt a surge of excitement. Every time I pushed myself to my limits, I transcended myself—no matter what others said, at least I hadn't given up.

Tonight may be another night of soreness, but in this world full of competition, only the strong can gain a foothold.

When I returned to the dormitory, the guy was already waiting by my bed. Upon seeing me come in, he immediately handed me a towel and some massage oil, his eyes filled with careful concern. Seeing him like that, my emotions became even more complicated.

He still lowered his head, not daring to look me in the face. He carefully and cautiously handed the towel to me. I took it, frowning slightly, but didn't immediately refuse. He then took the medicated oil and slowly poured some into my palm. Once I relaxed a little, he gently extended his hand, ready to massage me.

At that moment, I suddenly felt a little absurd. I was clearly a strong man, a new kind of man, who should be confidently facing all challenges, but I was still troubled by this delicate situation.

Looking at his humble appearance, I couldn't help but be stunned.

I knew he wasn't trying to embarrass me; he was simply following his own "rules"—he was in the support staff, and the idea of ​​inferiority had been instilled in him since he started school. These invisible constraints seemed to have taken root deeply in him. Even so, I didn't think he deserved this treatment. I was silent for a moment, then whispered, "No thanks."

He was stunned for a moment, then withdrew his hand uneasily, his voice a little unsure: "Sorry, I just..."

I sighed and pressed the back of his hand, "You don't have to be so polite to me, just do what you should do."

He lowered his head, seemed to be somewhat relieved, then quickly backed away from my bedside and silently walked towards his own bed. I watched him step back, but for some reason, I felt an inexplicable sense of discomfort in my heart.

Sometimes, I feel that the rules of this world are so simple and cruel: the weak need to submit, and the strong are given privileges. Although I don't want to accept this way, here, it seems that there is no choice.

An air of silence spread in the dormitory, and even I began to doubt whether I could really find my true foothold in this environment.

When the boys from the mecha pilot class returned to the dormitory, the boy immediately became a different person, quickly becoming diligent and attentive. Without a moment's hesitation, he seemed accustomed to their arrival. He quickly stood up to greet them, bowing his head and respectfully accepting their equipment and belongings. His movements were skillful, as if he had been trained in this kind of service.

The boys in the mecha class showed no sympathy for his presence, instead ordering him around as if it were their right. "Fill my water bottle," a tall boy casually said, shaking off his training gloves. Another unceremoniously placed his combat boots beside the bed, signaling him to clean them up quickly.

The boy didn't resist at all, simply bowing his head and doing his bidding. It was clear he'd long since grown accustomed to this role; he didn't react at all, mechanically following orders. Even when they unconsciously laughed at him, he remained submissive, as if it were a part of his life, an inescapable shackle.

Their voices grew louder, discussing today's mecha training, competitions, and results. Some even offered provocations and jokes, but none of this affected his calm demeanor. He alternately served tea and water, then bent over to pick up shoes, as if he wasn't the center of this space, merely a background figure with a minimal presence.

I stood silently by, watching all this unfold, feeling an indescribable heaviness well up in my heart. I knew that in this environment, the position of the strong was undisputed, while the weak were relegated to the bottom, constantly enduring orders and ridicules that others took for granted. Though frail and small, the boy had almost no ability to resist and could only endure silently. In his eyes, I saw no resentment or spark of resistance, only a long-suppressed resignation, as if he had become accustomed to his fate.

I stood by, suddenly feeling somewhat powerless. Although I, too, was in this military academy, and as one of the "strongest," I received some special treatment, but when I saw this scene, I couldn't help but reflect: Is this so-called "strong" system fair to everyone? Or is it simply pushing some people deeper into darkness?

And he, the man who was like air, seemed to be unable to escape from this bondage forever.