【Interstellar Contract Magician】Ruyuanke

Chapter 480 [Empire] Quilt

I'd also asked Qianmo about his past. I was actually curious about the experiences of these students. Did they come all the way from military school? Why did they choose this path? And so on.

"Have you ever thought about why you chose to come here?" I once asked Qianmo, my tone was very relaxed, as if it was just a casual question, but with some unknown curiosity.

He was silent for a moment, as if withdrawing his thoughts from the depths of his memory, and then he spoke softly: "There is no particular reason, it's just... I have known since I was a child that I have few choices." His voice was low, as if he had suppressed many complex emotions.

I didn't rush to respond, quietly waiting for him to continue. Qianmo stared at the distant starry sky, his eyes somewhat empty, as if the stars were reminding him of something. He slowly said, "Life in the military academy, while tough, has allowed me to find what I truly want. Here, I don't need to live for the expectations of others." At this point, his tone changed slightly, taking on a hint of determination.

I didn't immediately object. Actually, I could understand his feelings. Everyone's choices have unspoken reasons behind them, especially in a place like this, where you've chosen the only path and can't afford to regret every step of the way.

"What about you?" Qianmo turned around and looked at me. There was a hint of anticipation in his eyes, as if he was waiting for my answer.

I smiled faintly and unconsciously turned my gaze away. "I don't have anything special to share, it's just... maybe it's a form of escape," I said softly.

Qianmo said nothing more. Our conversation didn't deepen, as if all words had vanished beneath the starry sky, leaving only the silence of understanding, the silent understanding. Perhaps, regarding the past, regarding the choices we made, everyone has their own way of coping and letting go.

I don't know how interstellar society views menstruation, but I was truly uncomfortable with it, to the point of turning pale. Being in a single-sex military academy made it even worse.

That feeling of discomfort hits me at a certain time of the month, like an invisible pressure, growing heavier and heavier. I can feel every subtle change in my body: a heaviness in my abdomen, a slight dizziness, and an undeniable fatigue. A cold sweat breaks out on my palms, and when I look up, the world spins. I can't fight this inner discomfort, only letting it sap my energy and state of mind.

Every morning, the wake-up bell rings, and everyone begins their busy day like a machine. No one cares if you have any particular discomfort; everyone is held to the same standard. The military academy has strict physical requirements, especially for students like us in the special abilities class, who are required to undergo intense training on a regular basis. And I, on such occasions, can only feel powerless.

I watched as my reactor core operated normally. While my mental strength was affected, my body's endurance and recovery were also weakened. Standing on the training ground, surrounded by flashes of supernatural power and constantly shifting images, I felt as if my body had been decelerated. Cold sweat broke out on my forehead, and my vision blurred. It felt as if all the training had become meaningless.

However, no one seemed to notice the change in me. Qianmo would occasionally notice me, but he didn't say much. Instead, he seemed to understand that I was not suitable for today's training.

I could only grit my teeth, enduring the dual torture of body and emotion, trying my best to ignore the discomfort. I tried to calm down, regulate my breathing, and regain my composure. But the more I tried to ignore it, the more every detail of my body seemed to become more abrupt, and the pain surged with every second.

In this environment without any understanding or tolerance, I had no choice but to hide my vulnerability. I knew no one would think I had any reason to back down.

Until one day, I couldn't help but walk towards the lounge with my head down after training, trying to avoid those gazes and invisible pressure.

Qianmo's footsteps paused behind me for a few seconds, as if he was considering whether to speak. Ultimately, however, he remained silent, following me silently. I could sense the unease emanating from him. Although he didn't ask if I needed help, he didn't leave, nor did he urge me. That concern was silent and resolute.

I know that Qianmo doesn't understand what women's menstrual period is. Maybe he cares about my physical condition, but more deeply, he is afraid that I will be too strong and collapse alone in this unfamiliar environment.

This made me feel both helpless and heartwarming. For me, this discomfort was an inescapable obsession, a kind of normalcy. In this military academy life, I had long since learned to suppress and endure it. I knew that visiting the infirmary for a treatment pod or taking a few minutes of rest wouldn't fundamentally solve the problem. It was only temporary relief, and ultimately, I would still have to face the tormenting force within me—the part of me that was female.

I walked towards the dorm with a heavy step, trying not to focus on my discomfort. Qianmo followed me, neither quickening his pace nor catching up. He didn't seem to intend to break the silence. Although our relationship was somewhat awkward, and we didn't seem close enough to discuss such personal matters, the fact that he was silently watching over me from behind was a comfort to me.

Entering the dorm, I mechanically pushed open the locked door, barely in the mood to make my bed. The discomfort swirling in my head made it almost impossible to think clearly. Sitting down, I felt fatigue wash over me, as if my body were telling me of a weakness I couldn't suppress no matter how hard I tried. As I collapsed, my back pressed against the cold sheets, and a sudden, profound emptiness washed over me.

Qianmo stood at the door and hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but he said nothing. In the end, he just gently closed the door and gave me space.

I close my eyes.

However, the reality is that as my blood volume increases, I become more pale.

The feeling of weakness grew stronger, as if every drop of blood in my body was becoming heavier, unable to provide any support. As the blood volume increased, my body's reaction became more and more obvious. My legs began to weaken, my fingers began to tremble slightly, and even the simplest movements became difficult. My face was as pale as a sheet, and even I felt a little unfamiliar.

My breathing quickened, and my stomach churned, as if it were trying to expel all the energy and food. I could feel my eyelids growing heavy, as if I were about to collapse, but I forced myself to stay awake. Everything in that space seemed empty, only every cell in my body reminded me that I couldn't hold on any longer.

Qianmo was still standing at the door. At that moment, I could hear his breathing, which seemed a little subdued. He didn't come in, but just looked at me from a distance, his eyes showing a hint of anxiety, as if he wanted to say something but didn't know how to start. I knew he was worried about my condition, but he also knew that this kind of thing couldn't be solved by just talking.

Gradually, I felt like I didn't even have the strength to lift my head anymore, and my head started to feel dizzy. Even though I was still conscious, the heaviness of my body made everything blurry. I just hoped that this would pass quickly, even though I knew it wouldn't.

Qianmo's voice broke the silence at this time: "Or... I'll go find a doctor?" His tone was low and helpless, as if he was not sure whether his suggestion was appropriate.

I shook my head slightly. Although I felt that this insistence was a bit too stubborn, I knew that I didn't want to draw too much attention to him because of this little discomfort. "No, I can bear it."

However, the combined physical and mental strain was leaving me almost unable to hold on. If this continued, I was afraid I would actually collapse on the bed.

But what could I do? The screams of my body were like a slap in the face. I didn’t know if it woke me up, but it hurt.

The pain emanating from deep within my body was like a knife, mercilessly slicing through my sanity. Every muscle protested, every drop of blood burning. It was no longer a simple fatigue or discomfort, but a tearing pain that quickly spread to every nerve ending, directly impacting my consciousness.

I gritted my teeth, my fingers gripping the sheets, my nails digging into the fabric, trying to distract myself from the pain surging from my abdomen. But no matter how hard I struggled, the pain continued to gnaw at my body. It felt like something was tearing at my insides. I instantly lost all strength, completely overwhelmed by this silent pain.

My vision blurred, my mind was in a turmoil. I realized I was sweating, but I didn't have the energy to wipe it away. My body seemed to be losing control. I took a deep breath, but the intense pain caused me to cough violently. Each violent tremor made it harder to stand still, as if I was being pulled into an abyss, unable to extricate myself.

"You..." Qianmo's voice rang in his ears, still filled with helplessness and worry, "Now... don't force yourself, just listen to me."

He seemed to want to help me up, but my weak reaction stopped him. I wanted to speak, but the pain made my voice seem stuck, and even simple pronunciation became so difficult.

At that moment, the whole world seemed to disappear before my eyes, and only the pain was still fighting with me, cruel and ruthless.

I wanted to resist, but I was too tired and in so much pain that I couldn't hold myself back. Perhaps it was really my body telling me that I couldn't go on like this.

I didn't even have the strength to groan. Only one thought remained in my mind: I must not be weak. The rest was just darkness.

Darkness surged in like a tide, quickly engulfing my consciousness. The pain grew fainter, like a distant echo, heavy and empty. Every fiber of my being fought to stay awake, yet I felt as if I were being swallowed by a bottomless abyss, unable to escape.

The thought of "not being weak" lingered in my mind like the final straw, trying to hold me up. But no matter how hard I tried, the feeling of weakness in my body grew ever more pronounced. The pain seeped into my bones, embedded itself deeply in every cell, completely occupying every inch of my skin.

I wanted to struggle, to maintain my sanity, but my body's reactions were becoming increasingly sluggish, and even the weight of my eyelids was becoming unbearable. I could feel Qianmo gently supporting my back, his voice becoming muffled in my ears: "Don't do this, take a break."

But these words sounded more like an order. I even wanted to laugh, to mock myself for trying so hard to hold on, but I didn't even have the energy to smile. Ultimately, I could only rely on Qianmo's support, my body held up like a rag, a hollow growing deeper inside me.

No more thinking, no more struggling, just let the world collapse and let everything go with the flow.

I realized that sometimes, "weakness" may not be entirely a bad thing. It may be a surrender forced by the body, a compromise with oneself. And I may not always be able to be so strong.

The alternating sensations of hot and cold felt like countless invisible hands moving through my body, sometimes icy, sometimes scorching, as if the entire world were shifting unpredictably. My head was groggy, and a vague voice drifted from afar, like someone calling me, or perhaps even myself whispering. But I couldn't make it out; I just felt a heaviness in my chest.

I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids felt like they were being pressed down by a thousand-pound weight, holding me motionless. My consciousness slipped in and out, then faded. Every second felt like an eternity, and every inch of my body protested, begging for help. Cold sweat soaked my clothes, but my body temperature remained unstable, as if I were suffering from a high fever.

I know Qianmo is still by my side, his breath so close I can almost touch my skin, I can hear his gentle sighs, smell his cool breath. But other than that, I can't remember anything else.

In a daze, I seemed to call out a name again, but it seemed to come from the farthest corner, ethereal and insubstantial. The voice didn't belong to the world at that moment. Who was it? Who was I calling out to? All I knew was that a strong feeling was oppressing me, like some unignorable presence, haunting me, lingering in my ears.

Is that the blanket I unconsciously hold tightly in my arms? It's warm, but only warms one side of my body.

No, it wasn't a blanket in my arms. The warmth seemed to carry a different temperature, a soft, living feeling that spread from my embrace to every corner of my body. While warm, it wasn't enough to dispel the chill, especially as I felt increasingly weak. It seemed impossible to rely on this warmth to recover.

I subconsciously exerted a little force, as if wanting to hug it, to feel more comfort and support. But it seemed to sense my movement, its warmth growing stronger, closer, and I could almost feel its response—it was like a bond between dependence and reliance, its warmth enveloping me, bringing a hint of comfort, although it couldn't eliminate my fatigue and weakness.

Was it Qianmo? His scent mingled with the warmth, like the warmth he brought to my embrace. Did he sense my need for help and offer his support in his own way? But I couldn't confirm anything. My consciousness gradually blurred, and my physical and mental fatigue made it almost impossible to distinguish between reality and dreams.