Whether in ancient times, the present, or the future, childbirth has always been a physically demanding process, and the interstellar age is no exception. Although minimally invasive surgery leaves only a small incision, with surface wounds healing in under ten minutes thanks to advanced medication, surface healing doesn’t mean the body has fully recovered internally. A loss of vitality still requires proper care and nourishment.
Auston’s desire to resume intense training immediately was clearly out of the question—neither Ryan nor the elders from their hometown agreed to it. He had no choice but to follow orders, sticking to simple exercises to gradually regain his strength.
During this period, Ryan prepared a variety of delicious meals for Auston, ranging from Chinese to Western cuisine, from creatures that flew in the sky to those that walked on land or swam in the water. The lavish diet left Auston with a noticeably rounder face, as his light training sessions were far from enough to reduce body fat.
The little one, who had been delivered from Auston’s body, was transferred to an incubation pod. The spindle-shaped pod quietly resided in the nursery, its central chamber simulating the environment and functions of a human womb. The baby, no larger than a small peach, floated curled up in the amniotic fluid, connected to a placenta by an umbilical cord. The placenta was securely attached to the base of the pod. Over the next six months, Bunier, acting as the baby’s dedicated caretaker, would periodically adjust the nutrients within the pod to ensure the baby received adequate sustenance for healthy growth and development.
Calling the little one just “baby” wouldn’t do. Ryan and Auston racked their brains for months before finally deciding on a name: Bennett Dalton, symbolizing their wish for the child to be forever blessed. Ryan wasn’t particular about the surname, nor did the family on E69 have any specific expectations. Given their family history, the paternal surname held no significant importance. As Ryan’s grandmother put it, “Taking the mother’s surname is perfectly fine.” After consulting the family, the baby’s full name was finalized. The formal name would be used for household registration, the birth certificate, and linking to the personal terminal. Meanwhile, they also gave the child an adorable nickname.
In the dimly lit nursery, Ryan gently touched the pod where the little one floated and softly called out the nickname he had chosen: “Tuan Tuan.”
“Tuan Tuan?” Auston looked puzzled. They hadn’t officially settled on a nickname yet. “Why this one? Didn’t we come up with a whole list of cute names?”
Among all the double-syllable nicknames they had brainstormed, hadn’t they initially agreed that Tuan Tuan Yuan Yuan (symbolizing togetherness and completeness) was one of the least creative options?
Ryan smiled. “Look at him. All curled up like that. Doesn’t he look like a little bundle—a ‘Tuan Tuan’?”
Auston glanced at the baby and was instantly struck by a wave of tenderness. The name felt perfect. It wasn’t just about appearances; it carried the beautiful symbolism of unity and wholeness. “Little Tuan Tuan,” he murmured affectionately.
“It’s amazing how he seems to change every day,” Ryan said, gesturing with his hands to illustrate the baby’s tiny size. “By the time the military parade training and ceremony are over, he’ll have grown so much. I really hate having to leave.”
The baby’s transfer to the incubation pod marked the countdown to Ryan’s departure for the parade training base. As one of the soldiers representing the Golden Crusade Legion, Ryan couldn’t afford to linger at home, no matter how much he yearned to stay with Auston and their child. He would have to endure the heartache of separation and head to the parade camp.
“I’ll send you photos every day,” Auston reassured him.
Ryan nodded, then added with a serious tone, “Mm, while I’m away, you must take good care of yourself. Don’t rush to increase your workout intensity all at once—progress gradually to avoid injuries instead of building strength. And…” He rambled on, his words laced with concern. “We can’t take Connor’s warning lightly. The behavior of the ‘Bird of Paradise’ is becoming increasingly reckless. They’ve become a blade in certain people’s hands. When you’re investigating, you absolutely must not use yourself as bait or venture too deeply into danger. Promise me?”
Auston already knew all of this, but hearing Ryan repeat it over and over didn’t annoy him. On the contrary, he felt a sense of warmth and fulfillment from being cared for. “I know. I’ll take full responsibility for myself. I’m not alone—I have you and our child. How could I take reckless risks? Don’t worry.”
“When you go out, always take Yuan Chu with you. I’ve modified its body to enhance its combat capabilities and make it more discreet. I’ll feel much more at ease if you have it with you.”
Auston thought of Yuan Chu’s current form and barely suppressed a laugh. “Yuan Chu’s been telling me all sorts of embarrassing stories about you again.” Thanks to these anecdotes, he had come to know much more about Qin Feng Anderson from seven centuries ago. Who would have thought that the lofty President once had such a childish side? What a shame that in this second life, Ryan had shed many of his old habits, including that playful streak…
But as Auston glanced at Ryan, who was secretly grinding his teeth in frustration, he immediately retracted that thought. Ryan’s childish side had never disappeared—it was merely hidden beneath a calm demeanor, surfacing now and then to peek through his otherwise composed exterior.
No matter how many reassurances and reminders they exchanged, the day of temporary separation finally arrived. Ryan had to report to the parade camp.
At the edge of the woods near the main estate, a small starship was parked with its hatch open. Ryan, Auston, and a few others stood nearby—the others had come to see Ryan off.
“Yuan Chu,” Ryan instructed, “you must stay close to Auston and remain vigilant.”
Yuan Chu, now standing at a drastically reduced height of only 30 centimeters, blinked its mechanical eyes. In its flat, emotionless tone, it responded, “Acknowledged, sir.”
Feeling a pang of guilt, Ryan avoided meeting Yuan Chu’s gaze directly. He cleared his throat and hastily made a promise. “This small form is only temporary. Once this busy period is over, I’ll design you a new body—grand and imposing, I swear.”
Yuan Chu tilted its head back to look up at its creator, its diminutive form seemingly at odds with its unyielding presence. “The beast-type mecha,” it said flatly, as though confirming an earlier request.
Ryan replied, “That’s for Auston.” In other words, it was the new body for Code Zero.
Yuan Chu lowered its head, and despite its metallic frame, it somehow managed to convey a sense of disappointment. “Oh.”
Ryan’s heart softened. “You can think about what kind of appearance you’d like. I’ll try my best to accommodate.”
“Oh.” Yuan Chu’s monotone voice still carried a hint of dejection, and it continued to hang its head low. Such a despondent attitude was exceedingly rare for it.
Feeling a wave of guilt, Ryan crouched down to meet his old companion at eye level. “I’m sorry. Right now, I just can’t give you a bigger body.”
“It’s nothing.” As the being who knew Ryan better than anyone else, Yuan Chu raised its head and said with a resigned air, “After all, I’m used to it. Sigh, really used to it.”
Ryan felt a pang in his chest. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll make it happen.”
Yuan Chu, with an air of great magnanimity, finally answered, “Don’t trouble yourself, sir. That white winged lion model you’ve been working on—just make me a black one, and that’ll do.” Its mechanical eyes stopped blinking as it stared intently at Ryan, awaiting his reaction.
Ryan froze. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been tricked by Yuan Chu’s act, but a promise was a promise. A gentleman’s word is as steadfast as a four-horse carriage. Sighing internally, he resolved to fulfill the request. “Fine. I’ll make you an identical one.”
Yuan Chu’s eyes flickered with a glimmer of light as it asked, “No adjustments at all?”
Ryan said, “No need for that—this way, I don’t have to draft new blueprints. I just need to change the color.”
Yuan Chu paused. “…Oh.” Having already used the same tactic once, it couldn’t keep playing the pitiful and disappointed act any longer.
Ryan chuckled and straightened up, his gaze falling on Auston. A thousand words filled his heart, but in the end, they condensed into one simple sentence: “I’m leaving.”
“Goodbye.” Auston stepped forward and hugged Ryan. Before Ryan could react, Auston turned his head and planted a quick kiss on Ryan’s cheek. “Stay safe.”
Ryan tightened his embrace, nodding firmly. “You too.”
The small starship lifted off, soaring higher and higher. It pierced through the transparent protective membrane and then headed westward, leaving the old estate as a distant dot on the horizon. Soon, those inside the house could no longer see the ship.
Ryan withdrew his gaze from the window. The parade camp was two time zones away from Eve City, a journey of over three hours by ship. Not one to waste time idly, he opened his personal terminal, pulled up his drawing tools, and began modifying the saved blueprints. What he had told Yuan Chu about merely changing the color was just to tease it. He planned to create the black winged lion as promised, but its internal functions would be completely distinct from the white model, making it a truly unique beast-type mecha.
The holographic blueprint on the screen shifted from intricate to simplified as Ryan erased many elements from the original design. Then, as he worked, the design transitioned from simplicity back to complexity. His years of drifting through the void had been a time of endless inspiration and accumulation. With so many ideas etched into his mind, the pen flowed effortlessly, unhindered by doubt. This was what it meant to work with confidence and assurance.
As the blueprint took shape, the small starship flew out of Eve City. Its incredible speed transformed the scenery below from sprawling metropolis to smaller cities, then to endless farmland, and finally to quaint towns. Away from the city’s transparent protective membrane, the ground below was fully visible, as was the sky above—a real, slightly hazy sky. Unlike the perfectly filtered, artificial azure of the city, this slightly imperfect sky felt authentic, even with its muted tones.
Sitting by the window, Ryan gazed absentmindedly at the ground below, his mind a tempest of ideas, searching for the perfect combination among countless inspirations. Suddenly, the ship jolted violently, breaking his trance. His vacant, contemplative eyes sharpened in an instant.
Without hesitation, Ryan rushed to the cockpit, leaping into the pilot’s seat. His hands flew across the control panel with practiced ease, switching the autopilot to manual. He skillfully dodged an attack from the ship pursuing him. A quick glance at the monitor confirmed an unidentified vessel tailing him relentlessly, firing rounds in quick succession.
Thud, thud, thud! The small starship took several more hits as its system blared warnings. The attacks were fierce and unrelenting, giving Ryan no time to react in conventional terms. The assailants clearly aimed to destroy his ship in one decisive strike.
But they had miscalculated—they were dealing with Ryan. Raised amidst the chaos of war, he possessed an innate combat instinct. There was no panic, no hesitation. He adapted to the battlefield instantly, as though born for it.
Ryan’s gaze grew colder by the second. The starship he piloted bore the Dalton family crest, the same vessel Auston often used for travel. As an otherwise unremarkable individual, Ryan knew there was no reason for three enemy ships to target him. The conclusion was clear: these attacks were meant for Auston.
Within seconds, two more starships joined the assault, creating a three-way crossfire. Despite the overwhelming odds, Ryan maneuvered the ship with practiced precision, evading the onslaught gracefully. However, his ship was ill-equipped for prolonged combat—it lacked significant weaponry and ammunition for a meaningful counterattack.
“How much ammunition is left?” Ryan demanded.
The ship’s system responded, “Six rounds of TNT projectiles remaining.”
Six rounds… far too few. Ryan shifted course, calculating how to maximize the utility of the limited munitions. A thunderous explosion erupted from the starboard side, followed by the system’s urgent alert:
“Warning: Right hull damaged. Right hull was compromised.”
Ryan remained unfazed. “Seal the cockpit. Jettison the entire rear section of the ship.”
The system hesitated. “Warning: Jettisoning the rear section will leave insufficient energy reserves for completing the flight.”
“If we stay as we are, we’re dead anyway. Forget completing the flight—just execute the command!”
The system acknowledged swiftly, “Understood!”
The rear doors sealed with a series of sharp clicks, and a mechanical hum resonated as the rear section of the starship detached. Ryan issued a final command to the jettisoned section: accelerate forward. Equipped with 70% of the ship’s total energy reserves and its own propulsion system, the detached rear surged ahead at full speed, adhering to the pre-set trajectory until its fuel would eventually deplete. The enemy ships trailing Ryan instinctively veered, expecting the detached section to slow down or drift. Instead, it rocketed forward, catching the starboard attacker entirely off-guard.
Boom!
Fire erupted midair, a massive explosion instantly consuming the lives aboard the enemy ship. The shockwave propelled Ryan’s cockpit forward, the force granting him a critical burst of speed that widened the gap between him and the two remaining pursuers—a gap that, in this battle for survival, was truly the distance between life and death.
Seizing the moment, Ryan activated the ammo ports at the ship’s bow, releasing two TNT projectiles. In mere seconds, the missiles found their targets, obliterating the two enemy vessels in a blinding cascade of fire and debris.
A small, determined smirk played across Ryan’s lips as the explosions reflected in his eyes. Everything was going according to plan.
As always, reality proved that plans could never keep pace with change. Just as Ryan was about to breathe a sigh of relief, three more enemy ships entered his field of vision. Their relentless pursuit and aggressive maneuvers made their intentions unmistakable—they were determined to eliminate him at any cost.
…
Meanwhile, in the East District of Eve City, Auston had resumed his work routine. Seated in his study, he meticulously handled various documents sent from Gamma Military Base, listened to his subordinates’ reports, and delegated tasks based on current circumstances. Beyond the administrative workload, Auston was also deeply engaged in liaising with allies to uncover high-ranking government officials with connections to the “Bird of Paradise” organization. His tasks were numerous and complex, but everything proceeded with precision under his command.
Every hour, Auston would rise from his desk to stretch and take a moment to gaze out of the window at the courtyard below. The view often brought a slight smile to his face, especially at the sight of Da Fu, the family’s mischievous pet, pacing around a cluster of woolly Meh-Meh Beasts. Da Fu was clearly frustrated, letting out exaggerated howls tinged with impatience, as though scolding the beasts for their lack of reaction. Why don’t you run? Why don’t you dodge? You’re ruining all my fun!
The Meh-Meh Beasts, for their part, had grown utterly indifferent to the antics of the little predator. They huddled together contentedly, basking in the sunshine and gentle breeze, blissfully ignoring the clawed and overly dramatic creature circling them.
Auston often found himself unable to stand by the window for more than twenty minutes before he would involuntarily walk into the nursery. By the time he realized it, he had already lost track of how long he’d been standing in front of the nurturing chamber, gazing at the little one floating in the amniotic fluid. He felt like he could never be apart from the child, even for a moment.
“Your daddy is reluctant to go to work, I’ve been standing here for so long. If it weren’t for the scheduled assembly, he would have surely been stalling even longer.” Auston spoke softly to the baby inside the chamber, his hand pressed against the wall. The warmth from his palm filtered through the wall, reaching the child, offering a sense of comfort and presence. Bunier had suggested this, even if there was no scientific evidence to back it up. However, many studies showed that children who felt their parents’ presence during their development in the chamber were more likely to develop a better temperament. They tended to be more grateful, lively, and cheerful, whereas children who didn’t receive that kind of emotional connection often grew up distant, gloomy, and indifferent to the world and their families. Ultimately, a parent’s presence was far more nourishing than any physical nutrient—it was the longest-lasting and most profound bond of all.
“Little one, I hope you grow up quickly and join Daddy and Papa. I can’t wait to see you hopping around and playing. Before I met your papa, my life wasn’t so vibrant. I never imagined I’d be so eager for your arrival. Your papa is truly a warm light in my life…”
Auston’s personal terminal beeped twice, and as he glanced down, the warmth that had been on his face vanished in an instant. Cold, unyielding fury replaced it, and the icy ruthlessness in his eyes seemed capable of shattering anything in its path. “What did you find at the scene? Are there any…” He closed his eyes briefly, pushing down all vulnerable emotions, his voice calm but carrying the weight of authority. “Any bodies?”
The voice on the other end of the communication answered, “Eleven bodies were found aboard the sunken starship. Preliminary analysis suggests they came from some remote planets.”
“Have you found Ryan?”
“I’m sorry, General, but we haven’t located him yet,” the person on the other end hesitated before continuing, “There are also three charred bodies at the scene.”
Auston, who had already left the nursery and instructed Bowers to prepare the starship, felt his heartbeat quicken. “Have DNA tests been done?”
“We’re currently running the comparisons, but the results aren’t in yet,” came the reply. “It’ll take about five more minutes.”
“Once the results are in, notify me immediately.” Auston was already aboard the small starship, accompanied by Yuan Chu and Code Zero at the helm. His piloting skills were superior to those of even some seasoned veterans with over a century of experience. Auston issued a command, “Get to Windmill Town at maximum speed.”
“Understood, General!” Without hesitation, Code Zero accelerated, and the starship surged forward at incredible speed, breaking through the transparent membrane and heading toward Windmill Town.
Windmill Town wasn’t on the route to the military parade grounds, deviating by about fifty kilometers. It was a small, rare town on the Capital Star, with a population of fewer than five thousand. The small population was due to the town’s role as a hub for artists, housing countless pieces of art from around the galaxy. It was known as the “Cradle of Artists’ Dreams,” and it was also the location of the prestigious Imperial Academy of Arts.
Even from a distance, one could see the many windmills scattered around the town, their blades turning in the breeze, generating an endless supply of electricity for the town’s residents. The town still preserved much of the charm from Earth’s ancient past, with modern amenities being a rare sight. At the town’s edge stood a towering fifty-meter white tower, which housed an extensive collection of art pieces. The tower itself was a masterpiece of architecture, created by one of the greatest building masters.
Today, the normally quiet and peaceful town was abuzz with chaos. People either hid inside buildings, afraid to make a move, or curiously gathered near the White Tower to watch the distant incident unfold. Four small starships had crashed in the area, with one of them disintegrating mid-air. Only the battered and scorched nose of the ship remained, riddled with bullet holes and burn marks. The ship’s nose had been severely deformed, making it almost unrecognizable as to its original model.
Two charred bodies were dragged from the wreckage, their faces unrecognizable, though they could still be identified as two young men due to the small sections of skin that remained intact.
“The accident was huge, so many people died. It’s terrifying.”
“Did you hear what those people were saying? There were three more starships that exploded in mid-air, and everyone inside died.”
“How tragic. I’ve always said these flying things aren’t reliable. They should bring back the Ancient Earth land cars.”
“Give it a rest. Didn’t you study history? The records all say ‘car accidents are as fierce as tigers.’ Land cars aren’t safe either, and many people die in them every year.”
“Look, look, another starship has arrived. The police, military, media, and government officials are here. Who do you think they are this time?”
“I’m not guessing. This whole thing feels off. I’m leaving.”
At the base of the white tower, the crowd surged with activity. Some people left, believing in the principle, “A wise man keeps away from danger,” and wanting to safeguard themselves as quickly as possible. Others joined in, thinking it was just a spectacle to watch. They figured taking videos or pictures might even land them a spot on the star network’s trending page.
At the crash site, three nearly intact starships showed minimal signs of explosive damage. Their destruction resulted from collisions that led to their crash and subsequent explosions. Everyone aboard had perished, leaving no survivors. The bodies had already been recovered, and the police were conducting facial scans to determine their identities.
In addition to these three ships, another had disintegrated mid-air. Its debris was found 45 kilometers away. The cockpit wreckage discovered at the scene was severely deformed, barely recognizable as part of the Yuan Chual craft. Investigators had extracted charred and damaged remains from the cockpit, taking blood samples for DNA analysis to identify the victims.
It could now be confirmed: none of them were Laine.
But then, where was Ryan?
Another small starship landed, and as the hatch opened, Auston stepped out, dressed in casual attire. Following closely behind him was a toy-like, 30-centimeter-tall miniature mecha, so inconspicuous that it was easy to overlook its presence.
The officer in charge of the crash site hurried forward to greet him, his forehead glistening with sweat. He managed a hasty salute, “Good day, General!”
Auston raised his hand in return, “How’s the investigation progressing?”
“We’ve identified three out of the eleven bodies found,” the officer reported. “One of them went missing twenty years ago, tied to a child disappearance case from that time. The other two are from remote planets and had traceable, legitimate jobs, but none of the three had any records of entering the capital planet. They were illegal immigrants.”
After summarizing what everyone already knew, the officer, who was closely accompanying Auston, lowered his voice and added, “General, we can confirm this was an assassination attempt targeting you. They deployed six starships with the sole aim of killing whoever was aboard your small starship. Based on some insignias found on their clothing, we believe they were members of the ‘Bird of Paradise’ organization.”
This police official was one of Auston’s trusted men, with a military background. He had been the one to report the situation to Auston immediately.
“We’ve expanded the search radius for Mr. Smith, but…” He hesitated. “It’s been over an hour, and we haven’t found anything—no sign of him or even a body.”
After a brief discussion, the search team concluded that there were two possible explanations for the lack of results. The first was that the search area was still too narrow. The second was more grim: the body might have been obliterated mid-air by concentrated fire, leaving nothing but fragments. Of course, a third possibility—one that everyone silently acknowledged but refrained from mentioning—was that the enemy had arrived first and taken Ryan away.
Auston didn’t need anyone to say it—he had already considered the possibilities. Standing near the wreckage of the ship’s bow, his usual calm composure began to erode, replaced by an unfamiliar sense of bewilderment and fear. Just hours ago, they had parted ways, and now, life and death were shrouded in uncertainty. Death was no stranger to him; he had faced it countless times—comrades who had fought beside him, respected elders, familiar or unfamiliar faces. He knew all too well how fragile life could be, how easily it could slip away. But he had never imagined death could reach Ryan so quickly. They had spoken of growing old together, of raising a family with children running around.
Journalists, having broken through the police cordon, aimed their cameras at Auston’s stoic figure. They were desperate to uncover why the Empire’s Admiral was here and whether there was a monumental secret buried beneath this tragedy.
“Are any of the deceased your relatives or friends?” The reporter’s question hung in the air, but the moment their eyes met Auston’s, an icy chill surged through their body. It felt as though their blood had frozen solid. They instantly regretted the question and dreaded the answer, realizing that pressing any further might seal their fate.
Auston’s eyes, dark as an endless abyss, shimmered faintly with scattered sparks of light. He asked uncertainly, his voice carrying a rare tremor, “Is it true?”
The seemingly inconspicuous “toy,” Yuan Chu, delivered a definitive answer. “Sir is still alive. I’ve detected his blood traces in the grass. The trail leads to Windmill Town. He’s in the town.”
Upon hearing this confirmation, Auston wasted not a second. He turned and strode toward the town, his pace quickening with each step until it became an all-out sprint. Yuan Chu remained close at his heels, tirelessly keeping pace. Once they entered the town, Yuan Chu’s sensors locked onto a precise location. “The white tower. Sir is inside the tower.”
Behind Auston, the reporters, sensing that this was no ordinary incident, hesitated briefly before deciding to follow. They were certain they were on the cusp of uncovering a sensational story.
Sam Williams On TYMIMA Chapter 152