【Interstellar Contract Magician】Ruyuanke

Chapter 490 [Empire] Sincerity

He emerged from the bathroom, still slightly damp, his hair caressing his shoulders. At that moment, he was wearing a clean training suit, a simple athletic style that defined his sturdy frame. His damp hair hung slightly, water droplets dripping along the ends, creating a subtle sheen in the low light. It was obvious he'd hurriedly dried his hair, leaving it a bit frizzy.

I couldn't help but laugh, a faint sound, but enough for him to notice my presence. I feigned composure, putting my hands to my face, quickly concealing my smile. However, he seemed to sense my gaze, and that smile had undoubtedly caught his eye.

Instantly, his eyes widened, his expression changing from his usual composure to a panicked one. Within seconds, his face flushed, as if enveloped by heat. He unconsciously rubbed his ears, appearing somewhat bewildered. His hair was damp, still beaded with water, and he stood there, looking awkward and comical.

He glanced at me, as if about to say something, but his words seemed to be stuck. At that moment, I saw his ears flush even more red, and even the tiny muscles at the back of his neck twitched slightly. His expression was clearly awkward, and he tried to mask his inner panic by wringing his hair dry, but the undisguised red couldn't escape my eyes.

I continued to stifle laughter, my eyes unable to move away from his frozen position. The air seemed to freeze for a few seconds. He lowered his head slightly, as if trying to regain some sense of control, or as if trying to escape something. At that moment, the redness in his face didn't fade as he turned his head away; it became even more pronounced.

I feigned a serious expression, took a deep breath, and deliberately cleared my throat. My throat forced a low syllable, as if trying to suppress something, but the laughter deep inside spread completely uncontrollably. I knew I was about to burst out laughing, but I still forced myself to stay calm.

However, the smile on my lips quickly betrayed me. I couldn't suppress it. My mouth curled up slightly, and the corners of my eyes couldn't help but curl a little. Even when I cleared my throat, I couldn't hide the smile that was about to overflow.

When I glanced at him, he was still standing there, his face even redder. His eyes flickered, as if he couldn't look at me anymore. He began to tidy up his messy wet hair with a little anxiety. But I felt that all this was so unreal and funny.

He suppressed his expression and looked out the window, as if he wanted to find some comfort in the light outside. But no matter what he did, the redness on his face had already been deeply imprinted.

I couldn't help laughing again, a more obvious laugh this time, a bit playful and teasing, but also full of warmth.

He didn't know how to respond, his eyes wandering, and he even anxiously rubbed his wet hair, making it frizzy, like a child who had done something wrong. His reactions, which should have been natural, became increasingly clumsy, as if every little movement was infinitely magnified, making him seem particularly overwhelmed.

He lowered his head, as if trying to avoid my gaze. His lips moved slightly, as if searching for the right words, but for a moment, nothing came out. I could even sense the pure, completely unpreparedness and lack of defense within him. Every one of his reactions was so genuine, with an awkward charm, as if every emotion was revealed without any concealment, without any affectation.

This unpretentious authenticity often makes me feel that he is much closer than those who are overly intelligent and flawless. Every little embarrassment, every unintentional action, seems like the simplest yet most lovely part of life. And it is precisely because of this that he seems so different.

I smiled unconsciously, a smile that was filled with a touch of doting. This person, though sometimes clumsy and irritating, was real, so real that I couldn't help but want to look at him more, want to protect him forever.

He seemed to have lost his usual composure throughout the evening, becoming somewhat distracted, as if a gust of wind could blow him away. Every time he moved, he seemed to be unconsciously adjusting his clothes, raising a hand, lowering his head, taking a few steps, his eyes would always glance at me inadvertently, then quickly look away, as if I was his "minefield".

When he sat down, he subconsciously adjusted his posture, placing his hands on his knees. He couldn't help but rub the area where he had just brushed his hair, as if trying to completely remove the dampness from himself. Whether sitting or standing, his movements seemed unnatural and tinged with unease, as if he was struggling with himself, trying to maintain a correct image, but always failing.

His speech became halting, his tone less crisp and forceful than usual, more hesitant. When he looked at me, his eyes were always evasive, as if he was avoiding any eye contact. Occasionally, he'd let slip an unsure smile, a forced, awkward one, as if trying to mask his inner unease.

All evening, he seemed lost in his own thoughts, his movements slow and his expression lost. While nothing outwardly changed, a subtle nervousness made me feel like he wasn't as steady as usual. Perhaps it was this uneasy demeanor that made him seem more genuine.

The next morning, on the training ground, Qianmo had regained his usual calm and composure. The sun had just risen, and the air was tinged with a hint of morning moisture. The sunlight cast dappled shadows across the field. He stood there, head slightly lowered, seemingly sorting out the final details of his equipment. He showed none of the previous night's flustered demeanor; his movements were steady and methodical.

As I approached, I noticed that his gaze no longer had the flickering, restless look of yesterday. Instead, it was sharp and focused. His steps were firm, stirring up the dust from the ground. His entire aura had changed significantly from yesterday, and his body once again displayed his usual maturity and confidence.

Qianmo's hands gripped the training equipment, his fingertips pale, the tension from last night gone. Every movement was meticulous and precise, not overlooking even the smallest detail. He turned, his gaze sweeping across the training ground. His focused expression was as if he had already settled into his training rhythm, without a single distraction.

He took a breath, stood still, and began his training, his movements smooth and precise. His gaze was firm, a faint smile on his face, as if to say, "I'm fine now." Although I knew he wasn't particularly good at concealing his subtle inner turmoil, he always managed to quickly adjust himself, as if the anxiety and confusion of that night had never happened.

Today's group confrontation training followed a familiar rhythm. We stood on one side of the field, exchanging a knowing glance. Qianmo stood beside me, his gaze focused, as if anticipating every possible situation. I gripped my training weapon, ready to take on any challenge. He stood more firmly, gently adjusting his steps, lowering his head and whispering to me, "Keep attacking, I'll support you from behind."

I nodded, mentally prepared. The moment the training began, I charged at the opposing team, closing in quickly, my gaze locked on the enemy, my steps steady and swift. Qianmo didn't rush forward. Instead, he stood still, his hands slightly raised, and began to summon plant powers. His movements seemed slow, yet they were imbued with control. Subtle green auras began to emerge around him, quickly converging into a solid barrier: plant vines, he used them to secure our position like an iron wall.

I quickly used this barrier to launch a fierce attack on the enemy, my immense strength and precise judgment allowing me to penetrate the enemy like a blade. The enemy, surprised by my speed and force, barely reacted. I cleared the path for Qianmo on the front line, while he remained vigilant, his eyes following closely, ensuring there were no threats behind me.

Whenever I approached an enemy, Qianmo would wave his hand gently, and vines would rapidly spread from the ground and air, entwining their weapons and blocking their counterattacks. Even when I engaged them fiercely at close range, his defense remained unwavering. His abilities were fully utilized under my tactics, and every ounce of my offensive strength seemed to be backed by the most solid support.

The opposing team's defense began to become fragmented. They hadn't anticipated the seamless coordination between Qianmo and me. Every time I approached the enemy, they were always hindered by Qianmo's plant protection, unable to react in time. My offense seemed to be becoming increasingly smooth, and Qianmo seemed to be standing behind the scenes, silently supporting me, unobtrusive yet omnipresent.

Midway through the fight, I suddenly noticed his intense gaze, as if reminding me of my next move. His gaze shifted to the other side, and I, without hesitation, adjusted my direction, quickly dodging the enemy's counterattack. Our coordination was silent, yet it imbued the entire scene with a sense of tacit understanding and rhythm.

As training progressed, we gradually gained the upper hand. Every switch between offense and defense flowed smoothly, as if practiced countless times. Qianmo remained the calm, steady supporter, maintaining a steady rhythm, while I constantly created opportunities from the front. Our silent understanding supported each other, forming the strongest possible partnership.

Despite our perfect coordination, despite Qianmo's plant powers protecting me at every turn, I still felt a sense of insecurity. Every time I wielded my training weapon, every time I quickly approached the enemy, I was deeply aware of my shortcomings—I lacked the ability to instantly transform the situation. Qianmo's defenses could block any attack, but I could only rely on my own limited strength to force the enemy into making mistakes.

As time went on, I began to feel a subtle fatigue. My strength was gradually depleting without my noticing, and compared to Qianmo, my supernatural powers offered me no direct benefit. With each encounter, I gave it my all, and the strain on my body and mind grew. Though my movements remained swift and precise, my heartbeat seemed to accelerate. I knew I was nearing my limit.

Every time I repelled an enemy and swung my weapon for the next strike, my muscles felt like they were being stretched tighter and tighter, and a constant pain in my wrists invaded me. Coordinating with Qianmo felt like marching in his footsteps, and with each step I landed, I became more and more aware of my lack of ability to sustain this battle. I relied too much on Qianmo's defense, and almost every counterattack was an attempt to fill his "gaps" rather than my own proactive offense.

My breathing quickened, my steps growing heavier. Though I maintained a calm demeanor, the anxiety deep within me was like a ticking time bomb, making me question whether I could truly continue to effectively cooperate with him. I knew I lacked his direct and powerful abilities, nor could I wield them with the same fluidity.

During the battle, I watched Qianmo quickly dispatch his opponent, his unwavering composure leaving me stunned. However, every time I turned around and observed my own reaction speed against my opponent, I found myself flustered at times. Without the aid of plants, I was just an ordinary warrior. While agile, the gap in strength between me and Qianmo was still palpable.

I looked up at him, and some complicated emotions surged in my heart.

At lunch, I sat at the table, my food barely touched. The aroma of the food didn't whet my usual appetite, but rather left me feeling a bit dull.

The rice was white and fluffy, the dishes were colorful and fragrant, yet each bite seemed to be swallowed mechanically, completely tasteless. I tried to focus on eating, to regain my composure, but the feeling lingered, like something stuck in my chest, suffocating me.

My eyes fell on the food in my bowl, but my mind kept replaying the moments from our training session. Qianmo's every move was clean and precise, while my every attempt seemed clumsy, like repeating a dance that had long since lost its momentum. Although my coordination with him seemed flawless to outsiders, I knew clearly that I hadn't truly integrated. There was still a long way to go.

My spoon paused in mid-air, but my eyes unconsciously drifted to Qianmo across from me. He was eating slowly, his head bowed, occasionally glancing up at me, as if noticing something was amiss. His expression remained calm and composed, as if he could handle anything with ease. This made me sigh.

In this silent atmosphere, my heart grew heavier, as if those uneasy emotions were only accumulating. My spoon remained motionless, my gaze fixed on the untouched dishes, just staring. The food remained familiar, and Qianmo hadn't changed either. It was just me who had changed.

"What's wrong with you?" Qianmo suddenly asked, with a hint of barely perceptible concern in his voice.

I paused, and almost reflexively forced a smile, "It's okay, maybe I'm a little tired."

He said "hmm" and continued eating his meal, but I still didn't pick up my chopsticks. Silence enveloped us.