That’s so exciting!
by M1zushiOn clear days, if you were to stand on the surface of the Capital and gaze up at the sky, there was a chance you would see a string of small red dots linked across the night veil. They blinked and flashed, resembling Christmas decoration lights strung across the canopy of heaven.
But if conditions permitted, and you used a high-powered telescope to zoom in on the lens, you would discover their true identity—
Floating Observation Stations.
These stations integrated both military and civilian functions, born from the Old Empire’s planet defense maximization project. During those years of tense interstellar relations in the previous century, they served as the Capital Star’s aerial sentinels. Every monitor clerk who worked up there belonged to the absolute elite of their teams. They had to keep their eyes wide open at all times, strictly guarding against the Federation forces—who had been driven into consecutive retreats by the old Eagle-Owl Marshal—from launching a desperate, last-ditch final assault against them.
What a pity that those days had long since gone, never to return.
The observation stations of today housed only listless monitor clerks receiving minimum-wage salaries, yawning at odd times. If they grew deathly tired, they would simply huddle over the obsolete console and sleep until they woke up naturally. A clerk wouldn’t even waste money on a coffee to refresh themselves for a job like this.
The monitor clerk was fifty-two years old this year, with twenty-five years of service. He frequently complained to his juniors that his entire youth had been consumed by this ugly, lychee-shaped piece of junk. If he hadn’t acted on a sudden impulse back then, abandoning his chance to stay at the academy to join the Air Traffic Control Bureau to realize his “life value,” he would already be a full professor at the Imperial Military University, counting a fat allowance while waiting for retirement.
“A waste of life,” the monitor clerk grumbled loudly. “It would be great if aliens launched an attack.”
Today was shift-change day. His junior had just entered the cabin and said hurriedly, “Master, we shouldn’t test our luck by saying things like that. If you’re bored, you can watch the satellite TV; I called them to fix it last week.”
The observation station had been in service for over seventy years. The equipment inside was as ancient and the wiring, chaotic; it was a miracle it could even float normally, let alone expecting its lone entertainment facility to operate smoothly.
Logically speaking, the Air Traffic Control Bureau, which oversaw the interstellar toll stations, was the most lucrative department in the entire Empire; it shouldn’t lack the funds for renovation and maintenance. But one only needed to look at the landing pad of the Air Traffic Control building to see that those massive sums of money had all transformed into the luxurious personal vessels of the noble lords, each trying to outdo the other in opulence.
The monitor clerk slammed his fist hard against the television: “Damn it, there are only two channels working.”
There were dead pixels in the center of the screen, and rainbow-colored horizontal lines flickered intermittently, comically slicing the Sovereign, Kaide, in half.
“Good evening, my beloved citizens. I am your great and merciful King. The good news is that our light industry’s candy production rose by a full 7% this quarter! The bad news is that the egg-laying rate dropped by 20%; we must continue to strive harder.”
The monitor clerk wanted to change the channel after only ten seconds; it was the same irritating, hackneyed talk. He switched to the only other operational station and suddenly leaned his body forward, staring unblinkingly at the screen displaying what looked like a collapsing tower block. The anchor was delivering an emergency broadcast:
“It is reported that a terrorist attack has occurred at the plaza. The perpetrators acted with extreme baseness, detonating the sculpture and damaging cultural heritage relics from the previous century, severely wounding the feelings of citizens across the entire Empire. Currently, the Capital’s Defense Legion is conducting searches on all passing suspicious mechas and hover-craft. Eyewitnesses are urged to actively provide leads…”
“Master, something just slid across the radar!” the apprentice cut in.
The monitor clerk noted impatiently, “Probably a bat.”
“…But we are at an altitude of 9,600 meters. What kind of bat flies this high?”
“A mutant bat.”
“……” The apprentice began to wonder if his master’s prestigious academic credentials had been exaggerated. Examining the radar once more, he noted in astonishment: “The target suddenly vanished… Master, should we go out and take a look?”
The apprentice turned his head, stole a glance at the television screen, and said earnestly, “What if it’s the fleeing perpetrators?”
The monitor clerk swore under his breath, finding the kid incredibly annoying: “You do the work you get paid for. Even if it really is the perpetrators, what can you do if you go out there? Can you take them in a fight?”
“No.”
The monitor clerk flicked on the calling console. The light blinked for two seconds before turning green. Speaking with a total lack of patience, he said, “In the future, when you run into this kind of matter, just do what I do—open the communication tower and ask. If there’s a suspicious point, report it; if not, just treat it as a bat.”
The ATC channel connected. Pressing the talk key, he initiated the call: “This is Observation Tower No. 36. Please state your vessel model and identity. Acknowledge if you copy, over—”
The channel fell into a long silence, with no one replying. Just as the monitor clerk was about to disconnect, a sharp beep-boop signaled a connection.
A clear, resonant voice, imbued with the vitality of youth, came through: “Hello, Tower. This is No. 0880. The weather is clearing up. Wishing you a pleasant night, over.”
The apprentice racked his brains to recall: “0880? Is that model listed in our training manual?” He turned his head toward his master, only to find the monitor clerk frozen on the spot, plunged into a state of profound bewilderment.
“What the devil… 0880 is the Vermilion Bird. The Vermilion Bird! Hasn’t that crown jewel of the nation crashed long ago?”
The apprentice shuddered instantly, recalling numerous cosmic ghost stories, and shrieked in terror: “A ghost ship!”
“Is it really that fun to mouth off like that, you smelly chicken?”
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His long leg resting against the co-pilot console, Bai Ling cast a sidelong glance at him. “You’re the one who’s envious.”
“…Are you telling me you aren’t? That was a gargantuan warship, the number one most ferocious, tier-one warship in existence! An iron monster capable of ramming straight through asteroids, cluck-cluck.” Sava was so excited the feathers at his crown stood erect, and he couldn’t resist letting out a series of clucking sounds.
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Sava kept his eyes fixed ahead as he piloted the mecha, asking casually, “Work on what? Follow you into revolution?”
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Bai Ling slowly calculated his thoughts, stating, “You’ve harbored that kind of reflection in your heart before, haven’t you? Wanting to follow your grandfather’s path and carve out a career of your own. What meaning is there for you to remain on the Capital? Sava, you belong to the night, you belong to the sky. You are the lone, apex night-stalker killer among the avians; your talents are by no means limited to sneaking into the palace kitchens at midnight to steal french fries.”
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Sava dazed for two seconds, instinctively gazing out the window at the black night.
His grandfather had once piloted the Vermilion Bird across that patch of sky alongside his brothers-in-arms. The people on the ground had abandoned their sleep in the dead of night just to carry fresh flowers outdoors and cheer for them until their throats went hoarse. They didn’t care about any Dukes; they only knew that the Eagle-Owl had driven the Federation’s military defense line back by a full 10 light-years—leaving them a mere 1 light-year away from striking the Federation’s capital.
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Following that, he was born. His grandfather held immense expectations for him, permitting him to inherit his own name, to be called Sava II.
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“I… let me think it over first.” Sava lowered his head, his mind somewhat lost in a maze.
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“But if you can somehow grab the Vermilion Bird, I’ll drag my entire household and all my junior followers to go with you instantly.” Sava leaned back, cushioning his head with his hands as he cracked a casual joke.
Bai Ling felt like kicking him twice: “The Vermilion Bird was destroyed during the great war; it was likely dismantled by the shipyards long ago. Where on earth am I supposed to grab it for you?”
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That represented a young, vibrant, and energetic reserve force.
Looking at Sava right now, Bai Ling felt as if he were watching a chicken inside an electric rice cooker about to fly away. The Vermilion Bird… he recalled that the disappearance of this national treasure occurred prior to the collapse of the Old Empire. He would ask Yu Chen about it later; the man might have a lead.
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Sava dropped Bai Ling off at the Woodpecker Hospital and ended up staying behind himself.
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It strongly resembled an adrenaline rush; his expression was chaotic, shifting erratically between high excitement and absolute silence. When viewed against the light, his eyes shone with a snow-bright intensity, as if he were high on something.
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In one swift movement, the bird closed the distance, reached into Sava’s coat, and fished out a blister pack of foil-wrapped tablets. Popping one out, he tossed it casually into the air, tilted his head back to catch it in his open mouth, and crunched it to pieces with a sharp crack. Methodically rolling it around his mouth, he noted thoughtfully:
“Tch. Strawberry flavor.”
Sava’s expression fractured completely: “What the hell is wrong with you? Those are egg-prevention pills, not candy drops!”
Bai Ling noted airily, “I’m thoroughly exhausted from today’s work. I’m going to go look for some entertainment in a bit; taking one in advance ensures I can enjoy myself to the absolute fullest.”
That specific demeanor precisely mirrored a bruised dockworker who, after finishing a shift of dirty labor, was heading out to hook up with a little omega. Yet this fellow was an omega himself; striking the pose of a bandit like this—who exactly was he planning to violate?
Sava yanked at him, his face an unreadable mix of bewilderment and concern: “Who exactly are you planning to solicit?”
Bai Ling’s expression remained detached as he slowly licked the residual artificial flavoring from his teeth. “My guardian. He sustained an injury and is hospitalized here. A once-in-a-lifetime golden opportunity.”
“…Hey, don’t you dare go end up playing the man to death.”
“I won’t. I treasure him very deeply.”
Sava’s forehead broke out in imaginary black lines; he felt that this fellow’s words were thoroughly insincere. Driven by anxiety that his brother might add another innocent casualty to his ledger, he trailed after him into the ward sector.
The bird first swiveled through the intensive care ward for a quick turn. Emerging back out, he slouched against the nurse’s station, asking flatly: “Why is my alpha bound so tightly by those leather straps?”
Nurse: “Mr. Yu’s nerves are somewhat unstable, and he struggles whenever he receives his IV drips. Consequently, we were forced to bind him down.”
“Struggles?” Bai Ling arched his eyebrows. “How thoroughly exciting.”
Nurse & Sava: “……”
Bai Ling asked further, “Are you absolutely certain he cannot break free from those straps?”
The nurse explained with meticulous caution, “Those aren’t actually conventional leather straps; they are a specialized grade of rope imported from the Federation engineered specifically for whaling. Mmn… without external assistance, breaking free should be entirely impossible. Were you looking to unbind him, sir?”
“No, I was merely inquiring.” Bai Ling offered a serene nod. Having spoken, he prepared to step into the room, but after two paces, he swiveled right back around. His sharp falcon eyes swept over the young nurse’s thoroughly flushed face, and his tone was exceptionally light:
“No matter what manner of commotion echoes from the room in a bit, leave it completely alone. Rest assured, I can control myself; I won’t play him to death.”
Sava: I shall light a candle for this big alpha.
Author’s Note:
Little Bird: (Strikes a match to light a cigarette) I raided the enemy’s base while he was unconscious.
Old Merman: (Smiles) When a child commits a misdeed, he must harbor the absolute readiness to be severely disciplined by his parent.
Little Bird: (Produces a riding whip) (Brandishes it) Hurry it up for me! Have you not eaten your fish feed?!
Old Merman: ?
[A Small Notice Regarding an Adjustment to the Update Schedule~]
Taking my physical health into consideration, I have ultimately decided to alter the frequency of updates. (Otherwise, getting only three to four hours of sleep every single day is truly unsustainable, boohoo. I’m not doing this full-time, and I’m terrified that continuing like this long-term might result in sudden death.)
[Update Schedule for this week: Friday the 20th, Sunday the 22nd]
[Update Schedule starting from next week: Every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday]
Locking in fixed times like this ought to be vastly more stable than updating every alternate day and constantly having to request leaves of absence. Otherwise, troubling everyone to check back every day to see if there’s an update wastes far too much of your time. Sending you all my love~ I’ll write more mini-theaters to include in the Author’s Notes later as a little bonus benefit for everyone!
Translator’s note: author’s note about schedule don’t affect us but I wanted to include it just so everyone know how hard author worked while writing this series… they’re like those ao3 authors that got pneumonia, hit by a car and lost their house in a tornado yet keep writing