【Interstellar Contract Magician】Ruyuanke

Chapter 468 [Empire] Kiss

At night, I felt a little uneasy and walked aimlessly around the training ground.

At that moment, my steps unconsciously stopped, my gaze fixed on the corner. The two boys hugged each other tightly, their actions seemingly unabashed, completely lost in their own world. Their intimacy left me stunned, even a little overwhelmed.

The way they kissed, both gentle and passionate, was like a silent declaration, completely isolating themselves from the surrounding noise. The air suddenly became silent, as if everything around them had been suppressed, leaving only their movements clearly visible before my eyes.

I didn't move away, nor did I interrupt. I simply stood there, feeling trapped by some indescribable emotion. My heartbeat seemed to lose its rhythm, and my mind went blank, unable to form a clear thought. The sudden uneasiness and confusion left me feeling bewildered.

What was I looking at? I had no idea. It wasn't until the two figures gradually separated and I gently wiped the traces from the corners of my mouth that I realized I had been standing there for a long time, and my heart was filled with an inexplicable wave of emotion.

This wasn't an accident, but it did make me feel a little disturbed. When I turned and left, I didn't look back or react at all, as if this scene had never happened.

Walking into the dormitory, I sighed softly and closed the door behind me. The room was quiet, the air oppressive, a lingering scent of the departed boys from the mecha class. I walked to the bed, took off my coat, and rubbed my sore eyes.

The poor little guy, still cautious as ever, sat on the edge of the bed, head bowed, sorting his things. His back looked frail, his shoulders slightly hunched, as if he were trying to go unnoticed. Though his presence was like an invisible shadow, always so quiet that it felt out of place in this dormitory, I knew deep down that he wasn't completely unaware. On the contrary, to some extent, his presence and mine were always filled with a silent confrontation.

I looked at him helplessly, opened my backpack, and whispered, "Relax, you don't have to do this every time."

He was stunned for a moment, as if he hadn't expected me to speak. He immediately looked up and glanced at me with his lifeless eyes. Then he lowered his head again, as if he was used to such looks and instructions. "Yes, Brother Yang."

I said nothing more, simply sitting on my bed and sorting out some military academy matters. Training, classes, team competitions…every single one was far from what I'd expected. I felt a little tired, but there was no way I couldn't help but deal with it. Life, it was always so complicated.

The poor little boy still maintained that cautious demeanor. From the very beginning, he'd been the type to be exploited without resistance. I'd seen him shoved and even deliberately excluded by other students during training, yet he didn't dare resist, simply enduring it silently. I could see his pain, even though he never showed it.

"Are you just going to obey them?" I asked suddenly, without much blame in my tone, but more of confusion.

He was silent for a while, his eyes a little confused: "I... I have no choice."

This sentence left me stunned. There seemed to be a hint of reluctance in his eyes, but more of a deep helplessness. He clearly didn't want to be like this, but life forced him into this.

I sighed, put down what I was doing, and gently patted the headboard: "From now on, you have to learn to choose what to do and what not to do."

He didn't respond, but just lowered his head, his fingers unconsciously stroking the sheets. This scene made me unconsciously feel a little sympathy. Although I am not fearless, at least I still have the ability to resist and make choices.

"You'll have a chance to change, too," I said finally.

His eyes seemed to light up slightly, but then disappeared immediately. He nodded, walked back to his bed silently, and continued to do his own thing.

I didn't say anything else. To me, all this was inevitable. Everyone has a role they can't escape, but some learn to resist, while others can only endure silently. Perhaps all I can do is continue on this path until one day, some force emerges to break this silence.

Ever since Xiao Kelian's logistics class started teaching outdoor cooking, our dormitory's "heartwarming service" has added cooking to its menu. It's no easy task, after all, many of these guys have the marks of training and work, their shoulder muscles aren't suited to holding a spoon, and cooking is always a struggle. Despite this, he always wears a slightly shy and nervous expression, as if he's unknowingly taken on the role of the dormitory's "silent chef."

Every night, after returning from training, our exhausted bodies instinctively gravitated towards one thought: eating. This poor little guy would be there, ready with pots and pans. Whenever I walked into the dorm, I was greeted not by the lazy atmosphere of the bed, but by the wafting aroma of food. Though he spoke little, he was always busy, his head down, meticulously controlling the heat, preparing pot after pot of simple yet warm food.

This warm atmosphere surprised me, but I also gradually felt a sense of belonging. Here, instead of the competitive stares of the past, there was a subtle tacit understanding, each of us doing our own thing in this small dorm. The poor little girl cooked silently, while everyone else went about their own troubles and lives. But in this strange tranquility, I found a brief sense of belonging.

Sometimes, I would even slow down and stand behind him before the food was ready, watching the dishes in the pot gradually change color and watching him concentrate on turning the ingredients in the pot. I knew that although he didn't do all this willingly, he did it well, perhaps out of a sense of responsibility, or because he was forced to learn to do it.

After the food is ready, he will carefully distribute it to everyone, his movements also gentle and cautious with a kind of fear, for fear that something will be spoiled or that others will not like it. Even if we don't particularly praise how delicious his cooking is, he never gets impatient, but just sits quietly with his head down, waiting for us to evaluate it ourselves.

All of this made me feel a little uncomfortable, but I also gradually began to think that perhaps some people were destined to exist for a certain mission, whether it was for the military academy or for themselves. Just like the poor little guy, perhaps he was there to make life in this dormitory less monotonous and cold.

For the past two days, I've been unable to stop thinking about the scene of those two boys kissing. Every time I close my eyes, that image quietly surfaces like an undercurrent, stirring up waves of unpredictable emotions.

Their movements were natural, without excessive passion, yet possessed a special tacit understanding, a rhythm long familiar to them. It was a gentle touch, the contact of lips against lips not violent, yet imbued with a hidden meaning. I remember that moment, the world around them seemed to have stopped, only their figures, remarkably clear under the dim streetlight. The subtle movements, the gentle touch, seemed to evoke a subtle vibration in the air.

At that moment, I stood there, unable to look away. I suddenly felt awkward, like I'd intruded into their personal space, or perhaps intruded into something I didn't even want to acknowledge as taboo. My heart raced for some reason, as if that simple contact had triggered some strange emotion. I didn't understand why I was so consumed by it. It was just two boys' actions, so why did it leave me so bewildered?

Gradually, that image became more than just a simple one. It seemed to develop a strange connection with some deep-seated emotion within me. Those two people spoke without unnecessary words, their actions without strong desire, but rather a pure reliance and emotional transmission. The image grew clearer and clearer in my mind, to the point where I couldn't tell whether I was thinking about them or myself.

This tangle of emotions left me bewildered. I couldn't understand why that moment of kissing had stirred such a powerful turmoil within me. Perhaps it was because it offered a glimpse into a kind of relationship I'd never truly experienced, or perhaps it evoked a deep longing within me. I began to wonder if I, too, longed for that simple, authentic intimacy, yet was afraid to touch that nebulous line.

My mind went blank, and I couldn't analyze calmly and eliminate the messy thoughts like I used to.

It's not like I haven't experienced kissing before; I've actually experienced quite a few. But those kisses were more often a struggle for power, a fight for the initiative, for who's on top, for who's in control, for who's the one who dominates. Every touch was a contest, an almost hostile struggle. Back then, kissing felt like a self-display, a conquest, brimming with purpose. There was no tenderness, only strength and intent.

Yet, looking at those two boys, I realized I'd never experienced that kind of pure, dependent intimacy. It was a contact without struggle, without jockeying for position or mentally calculating how to react. It was simply two people leaning together, relying on each other's presence, like a silent agreement, like unspoken trust in each other.

I couldn't comprehend that feeling; it felt so distant, so foreign. At that moment, I suddenly felt ridiculous. I'd kissed before, and even experienced some fairly familiar intimacy, but it had always been conducted behind closed doors. I'd never experienced such ease, such purposeless, and pressure-free intimacy.

Perhaps I've never truly let down my guard. My intimate relationships always involve a certain level of give-and-take, a certain amount of calculation. Sometimes I even deliberately maintain a distance, knowing it makes me feel safe. But these two men's kisses felt like a completely unguarded, unprotected embrace. There was no struggle, no complicated power dynamics. There was simply a woven together of dependence, trust, and affection, something I'd never experienced before.

This made me feel a sense of inexplicable loss, like I was missing something very important, or a gap that I had never realized. Perhaps this is what I have never dared to pursue - the kind of intimacy that does not require any reason, just for the sake of simple dependence.

I couldn't help but think of Nightingale. That person, once the one I knew best, taught me how to survive at the limit, how to find a glimmer of stability in an uncertain world, amidst difficult missions. Nightingale's calmness, decisiveness, and tenacity are like an indelible mark on my life. But now, on this frozen planet, thinking of him only makes me feel powerless.

I knew there was no point in thinking about him. The connection between us had long since faded. Even with the memories of our shared adventures, our worlds were now too far apart, too different. Our paths seemed to have diverged, as if different trajectories had intersected, only to disappear into the vast starry sky.

Despite the unspoken worries in my heart, I understand that feeling no longer holds me back. My time at the military academy has taken up all my time and energy. I must forge the path ahead on my own. Even if I still have memories and the past, I must let them go and continue on toward the unknown future.

Sometimes, I find myself wondering if, as a military academy student, or even a future soldier, I could ever be the rogue mercenary who once roamed the Capital Planet with impunity. Back then, I was free, all choices were my own, I didn't need to bow to anyone, and I acted spontaneously. Every action was a thrill of self-determination, and I dedicated myself to pursuing a goal, even if the mission was incredibly dangerous. In those days, I belonged solely to myself, unfettered by any constraints.

And now, standing on this strange planet, a member of a military academy, I can clearly feel the shackles that surround me. The academy's rules, the training requirements, even my future destiny, all tell me: You are no longer a free spirit; you are a soldier, a tool for the nation, for the battle. Here, my destiny is no longer determined by my own will, but by orders, choices, and seemingly glorious but inescapable paths.

Thinking of this, I can't help but wonder: If one day I truly became that soldier in uniform, draped in glory, would I still be able to remember those days? Would those free and unrestrained days, those unruly and dangerous missions, be buried under the heavy layer of military identity, gradually forgotten?

But no matter how hard I think about it, it seems I can never go back. Just like this frozen planet, the me who once recklessly indulged my youth has been frozen by something, and finding that uninhibited feeling again seems to be becoming increasingly out of reach.

Sometimes I feel that this transformation, though irreversible, also brings a strange sense of loss. It's as if one door has closed before me, while another has forced me into a completely different world. Whether I can find the freedom and self I once had on this new path is anyone's guess.