“It was just a small piece of bread.”

Later, Qin⁠⁠‍⁠‌​‌‌​​‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠​‍‍‍⁠‌​ Zhilu sat behind his desk in his room and read the Black Tower document: “…only willing to inform his supervisor. This is, on some level, a good sign. It indicates that Law has already established considerable trust and intimacy with Corner, and Corner will show continuous improvement in socialization.”

He looked up with a blank expression. “I know your trust in me. But this seems to be a bit… excessive.”

An Yu looked down, fiddling with the Commander’s terminal. On the screen, the octopus chibi was forcing the lop-eared bunny to work out.

He held dumbbells of different weights in his dozen or so tentacles. The AI algorithm had learned the essence of Qin Zhilu’s cruelty. This octopus-person intended to make the lop-eared bunny go through an “ascending set” with every weight from smallest to largest, and then a “descending set” from largest to smallest. If he didn’t finish, he didn’t plan on returning to his own terminal.

“I’m speaking to you.” Qin Zhilu was slightly displeased.

An Yu lowered his head even further. “Yes, Commander. I trust you very much.”

Qin Zhilu immediately asked, “Trusting me enough to think I could fabricate two perfect stories out of thin air—stories that not only had to impact you more than Ling Qiu’s death, but also had to make you feel anxious, ashamed, and secretive?”

An Yu nodded lightly. “Mm… Yes. You definitely have that ability…”

The silence in the room tingled his scalp.

He held out for a moment, then couldn’t help but defend himself: “I already reported the first screen to you. The first Super-aberrant discovered by humanity—that mad female scientist, Zhan Xue—is very likely my mother. I was that fetus that had been forcibly detached at three weeks but had bizarrely grown up.”

“Your origins absolutely cannot be known by anyone else.” Qin Zhilu’s tone became serious. “No one can estimate just how much irrational hatred and fear humanity holds for the first Super-aberrant. They’ll probably tear you to shreds.”

An Yu immediately nodded. “Of course. I remembered that.”

Qin Zhilu nodded. “The story for the first screen is easy enough to fabricate. We can still use the scene of killing Ling Qiu and just push the timeline back a bit—the moment you discovered Ling Qiu had aberrated, you had a moment of anxiety and collapse. That can just barely be justified.”

Qin Zhilu paused. “But you still haven’t told me what happened in the last screen.”

“I don’t remember.” An Yu mumbled.

“You’re lying.”

“Really… Commander.”

Qin Zhilu looked at him meaningfully. “It’s related to another person. Someone who has an even deeper impact on you than Ling Qiu. Don’t forget, you admitted that yourself when you were at the time console.”

An Yu was silent for a long time before responding, “I was being controlled by that thing deep in my consciousness back then. I just talked nonsense.”

“You’re lying again.” Qin Zhilu’s tone turned cold. “You hadn’t sensed He at all during this mission—we already discussed this. That’s just another part of your self. You two have already begun to fuse, so don’t try to fob me off with an excuse like split personality.”

An Yu was speechless. He looked down and poked at the screen, trying to reduce the weight of two dumbbells for the lop-eared bunny.

Qin Zhilu said coldly, “You have ten seconds. Tell me the truth about the last screen, or fabricate a lie that can convince me.”

An Yu: “?!”

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Qin Zhilu frowned. “You—”

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…

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Qin Zhilu was expressionlessly typing the battle report at his computer and not saying a word.

Right, the Commander also seems very displeased.

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After a long time, An Yu sighed and said in a low voice, “Commander, do you think… that the things I did in the screen will affect reality?”

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“It seems you yourself also feel that it will disrupt the existing order.”

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Qin Zhilu’s gaze softened. He looked at him earnestly. “Was what?”

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An Yu asked again, “Then what if—what if the memory I entered wasn’t something that had happened to me, but a memory of someone else’s that I had seen? Would my actions also disrupt objective reality?”

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“What do you mean?” An Yu immediately pressed.

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“Would it?” An Yu’s eyes suddenly lit up for an instant. A flicker of light streaked through those golden irises.

Qin Zhilu nodded lightly. “Mm-hm.”

An Yu unconsciously quirked the corners of his lips and muttered to himself, “Then I’m not entirely powerless, am I?”

Qin Zhilu stared at An Yu for a long time.

It seemed to be the first time he had ever seen An Yu reveal such a satisfied smile. It was a bit like when he was hugging a large bag of bread, but the happiness at this moment was undoubtedly much richer.

Night fell. An Yu said goodnight to the Commander and prepared to go back to his room for a long sleep.

When he reached the door, he still couldn’t help but ask guiltily, “That story for the last screen… have you fabricated it yet?”

“Not yet.” Qin Zhilu said, facing his computer screen. “I need to think about it carefully. I probably won’t be sleeping tonight.”

“Mngh… I’m sorry for troubling you.” An Yu lowered his head. “But I can assure you, even if I told you what had happened in the screen, it wouldn’t be of any help to you for fabricating the story.”

After he had spoken, he didn’t receive a response for a long time.

He only heard the sound of a chair moving.

Qin Zhilu walked up to him, step by step. His tall figure blocked the light from behind and encompassed him in his shadow.

“It’s alright, it doesn’t matter anymore.” Qin Zhilu whispered, “I probably know what happened on the screen. It really wouldn’t give me any inspiration for fabricating a story.”

An Yu looked up, baffled. “You know? How did you know?”

“I was recalling the past, and I suddenly felt my memory of a certain event had become very vague, as if a pivotal change had occurred.”

Qin Zhilu’s tone was even, but those black eyes were incredibly deep. He gazed at An Yu and whispered, “There once was a person who, although often starving, rarely asked anyone for bread. But one time, he was so hungry, he finally spoke up, only to be refused. He remembered that incident for many years. But—perhaps because too much time has passed, now he suddenly seems not quite sure whether he had really been refused back then, because he vaguely feels as if he had eaten that bread.”

An Yu stared blankly at those pair of pitch-dark eyes and gently asked, “Then, would he feel comforted by eating that bread?”

“He would.” Qin Zhilu said.

All of a sudden, he bent down and gently hugged An Yu.

His leather glove rubbed the old scar behind An Yu’s ear, the pressure gradually increasing. He paused, then lowered his head and pressed his lips to An Yu’s forehead, breaking away almost instantly.

Just like what An Yu had done to the young Qin Zhilu on the screen.

An Yu looked down at the tips of the Commander’s shoes and whispered, “It was just a small piece of bread.”

Qin Zhilu hummed in agreement. “But that small piece of bread was very important to him.”

M1zushi: today’s chapter is so soft and tender and warm

and chibi commander is so freaking cute 😭😭😭😭 I can’t wait for the next arc omfg