Axolotl Translations

It took a while before the communicator finally lit up with a reply. It felt like the other person had also spent a long time choosing their words—carefully, cautiously—before sending the message.

[Mm.]

[Is that okay?]

Ruan Zhao felt his heart beating so fast it was hard to breathe. His fingers began to tremble slightly, and the screen in front of him started to blur. It took him a moment to realize why. He was crying.

Somewhere along the line, tears had welled up in his eyes without him noticing. One slipped past the transparent virtual screen, landing softly on the smooth floor, sending out the tiniest ripple. Startled, he wiped the corner of his eye. The warmth lingered on his fingertips.

Why was he crying? He wasn’t sad. Not even close. Could people cry just from being… happy?

He didn’t want to admit it, but the moment they reconnected, a quiet, unfamiliar joy settled in his heart—real and undeniable. And along with it, the vague sense of unease that had been hanging over him since he arrived simply disappeared.

He couldn’t wait to see him again.

[Of course you can!]

Eyes still red, the boy sitting on the couch looked nervously out the window, checking the time. [But it’s already pretty late. It’ll be dark soon.]

[I just rented a place. There are two bedrooms, so if it gets too late… you could stay here tonight.]

Wait—wait. Wait a second—

Ruan Zhao froze mid-sentence, a hint of panic flickering across his face. Would that come off like an invitation? Was he implying something?

Sure, they knew each other better than anyone. They had already done everything there was to do—not that there were many lines left to cross.

But this… this was technically their first meeting in this world. And he didn’t even know what the man looked like yet.

No, no, no. That message had to go. He reached out to delete it—but in his flustered state, his finger slipped and hit Send instead. And this time, the reply came faster than before. So fast he didn’t even get the chance to unsend it. A single, bright word popped up at the top of the screen: [Okay.]

Ruan Zhao: “……”

[Where are you? I’ll come to you.]

Ruan Zhao clutched the plush bear and rolled across the couch several times, tangling his clothes and messing up his hair until a stubborn tuft stuck out at the side. After rolling around to his heart’s content, he sat up with a blank expression and sent his location.

A second later—someone knocked on his door.

…???

That fast?

The boy, with a small tuft of hair poking up from his head, blinked slowly, his light-colored eyes filled with confusion. Then it hit him. Of course. The other guy was loaded. Someone who could cut into the entire region’s broadcast system, who was praised for several minutes by the containment district’s management system…

An S1-level operative like that must have enough points to make anyone dizzy. It wasn’t even a comparison—definitely far beyond someone like him who’d only completed a few missions. While he was still worrying about how to feed himself and his system, nibbling on the cheapest instant sandwiches to save points, the other guy had already achieved financial freedom.

What seemed like an outrageous luxury to Ruan Zhao—instant location teleportation—was probably pocket change to someone at the S1 level. He almost felt like resenting the rich.

But then again, after thinking it through—even though he still didn’t know what S1 looked like, or his real name, or whether the man could still separate missions from reality—or if he still liked him like he did in those small worlds—Ruan Zhao had no doubt that S1’s points… were also his points.

Another polite knock came from the door. Light. Courteous.

Ruan Zhao smoothed down his messy hair, flipped his rolled-up sleeves back properly, and jogged to the door. His fingers hovered over the handle. He took a quiet breath, trying to calm his nerves—then pulled the door open in one quick motion.

Bright sensor lights clicked on overhead. And everything lit up.

He was face-to-face with a pair of eyes—deep, dark as ink, more endless than the night sky. And the moment those eyes saw him, they lit up—glimmering like scattered starlight, more dazzling than the brightest stars in the sky.

Ruan Zhao froze. The man standing at his door had a completely unfamiliar face. His eyebrows were sharp and defined, dark as raven feathers. His eyelids were deep-set, and when he lowered his gaze, there was something in his expression that made Ruan Zhao’s chest tighten. He was tall—so tall that Ruan Zhao had to tilt his head up just to get a proper look at him.

No… he had never seen this face before. A stranger. And yet, the longer he looked, the more familiar details began to emerge. In just these few moments, Ruan Zhao seemed to glimpse the shadows of several people he had once known—reflections of them woven subtly into the man’s features. His heart began to race again. Names rose instinctively to his lips… but he said none of them.

Time slipped quietly by. The two of them stood there, saying nothing, simply looking at one another for what felt like ages.

It was the system who finally broke the silence. Flapping its tiny wings, it flew over and hovered in the air, sensing something different. “Huh? Zhaozhao, is that a guest at the door?” It tilted its head, staring curiously at the man. The digital display on its face gradually changed—from confusion to realization: !!!

“Wow! So the other master’s finally home!”

Ruan Zhao: “……”

……

The apartment was still nearly bare. He hadn’t had time to buy much—no drinks, no tea—just a few clean glasses. So Ruan Zhao poured a cup of plain hot water for the man. The man accepted it with a polite, “Thank you.”

The steam from the cup rose between them, blurring their faces slightly in the haze. He looked composed, calm. His breathing was steady and slow. Sitting straight-backed beside Ruan Zhao, he turned his head slightly—and didn’t look away, not even for a second.

Then, without flinching, the man downed the entire glass of steaming water. Ruan Zhao blinked. “Didn’t that burn?”

The man replied calmly, “It was fine. Didn’t feel hot.”

Seriously? Ruan Zhao gave him a skeptical look but couldn’t detect even a flicker of discomfort in his expression.

“Well… do you want another glass?” Ruan Zhao asked. “I can get you more.”

“Sure.”

So Ruan Zhao went and poured him another glass of hot water. The man drank it all again—every drop. Even after he was done, the glass remained hot to the touch, so much so that Ruan Zhao’s hand stung when he held it. He could only imagine how scalding the water inside had been.

“…”

He quietly set the empty cup aside and gave up on pouring a third. Trying to find something to say, he asked, “When did you wake up?”

“A little earlier than you did.”

“Oh.” Ruan Zhao remembered now—in the last world, he had been the one to die first. After that, he’d spent a long time saying goodbye to people and looking for a safe place to go into stasis. It made sense the man would’ve woken up before him.

“I thought… I thought you’d go back,” Ruan Zhao admitted.

“Go back?” The man looked slightly puzzled, until understanding dawned. “You thought I’d return to my world.”

Ruan Zhao nodded. It wasn’t that the man believed he meant nothing to Ruan Zhao—that all his feelings couldn’t outweigh the pull of a homeworld—but he was someone who always liked to prepare for every possibility. If Ruan Zhao stayed in the Plane Management Domain, that would be one path. But if he went back to his original world… that was another entirely. And asking that question now—he was hoping to hear the one answer his heart most longed for.

But the boy stayed quiet. Too quiet.

The man’s breathing grew just a bit quicker. His pupils contracted slightly. His fingers, resting at his sides, curled in without him noticing. He started to consider changing the subject. After all, he’d prepared dozens of topics ahead of time. No way was he going to let their first meeting fall into awkward silence—or worse, make Ruan Zhao think he was boring.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak—Ruan Zhao let out a soft laugh. The kind of smile the man had seen countless times before, tucked away deep in the memories engraved on his soul. And yet this time, it still stunned him speechless. He stood there like a fool, just quietly staring, unable to look away.

All those carefully prepared topics, conversation starters, backup plans—they all vanished in that one moment. Before he even realized it, he had already reached out and touched Ruan Zhao’s cheek, where a dimple bloomed like a drop of honey.

“And do you think…” Ruan Zhao’s voice was soft. “Do you think I stayed… for you?”

The man heard his own reply before he even knew he was speaking. “I didn’t dare to hope.” Because if the answer had been no, he might’ve gone mad.

Ruan Zhao’s smile faded. But he reached out too, his palm coming to rest on the man’s face. Just like long ago—though he couldn’t say in which world it had happened. Or maybe it was something they’d done in every world. He brushed his fingers gently over the man’s eyes, then ran them across his long, dark lashes. As if they’d never been apart. As if they had always been together.

Different roles, different looks, different lives—it didn’t matter. None of it stood between them now.

“The time we’ve spent together… is already far longer than the eighteen years behind us,” Ruan Zhao whispered. “You should have more faith.”

It felt like every drop of blood in the man’s body had stilled—then rushed, all at once, to his chest. Pounding wildly. Hot, reckless, alive.

“Of course,” Ruan Zhao added, eyes crinkling as his smile returned, bright and playful. “A big part of it is also because of the system.”

He scooped up the gray mechanical bird that was still gnawing on an energy bar and cuddled it close to his chest. “It’s been with me for so long. I really couldn’t bear to leave it behind.”

The system: “…” Of course it didn’t want to be separated from Zhaozhao either. But now? Now Zhaozhao had brought it up in front of S1. Wasn’t this kind of… dangerous?

The system grew very alert, very cautious. Slowly, hesitantly, it tilted its head up—and locked eyes with the man’s cold, expressionless stare. Hiss—it sucked in a breath. Then it started shaking. With a terrified chirp, it buried itself in Ruan Zhao’s arms, refusing to face reality.

But soon enough, the man looked away. Apparently, he wasn’t all that hostile about being “one of the reasons” Ruan Zhao had chosen to stay. The system let out a tiny breath of relief.

The system peeked its head out from Ruan Zhao’s arms, grabbed its energy bar, and tactfully flew to a quiet corner of the living room, doing its best to be an unobtrusive little third wheel.

Crunch, crunch. It nibbled for a while—but still couldn’t help sneaking glances at them.

Zhaozhao was sharing a cake with the man. The cake was piled high with all of Zhaozhao’s favorite fruits. Around the edges, in a clumsy swirl of jam, someone had written: “Zhaozhao, always be happy.” It was obvious who had done it.

The system was new—it hadn’t been self-aware for very long. But it had heard stories. Stories about S1. The very first generation of taskers to venture into uncharted worlds after the Domain was founded. A legend—talented, precise, and ruthlessly effective. He could conquer any mission, no matter how impossible it seemed. Centuries, millennia—he operated like the most flawless of machines. Never slipping, always leading the charge.

The system had never met him. Only heard tales. Someone like that wasn’t even human in the usual sense. He was like a god—distant, untouchable, shrouded even from the Main System’s records. Cold. Emotionless. Far above everyone else.

But now, it watched—watched this so-called “god”—as Zhaozhao smeared cream on his face, and instead of frowning or pulling away, he just smiled. Gently. Indulgently. Until every trace of aloofness vanished from his expression. The system shook its head, chasing away all those outdated descriptions.

Ruan Zhao walked to the fridge and pulled out another jar of jam. Carefully, seriously, he wrote another line on the cake: “Star, always be happy.”

The system couldn’t hold back anymore. It zoomed over, wings flapping. “I want one too! I want—I want—”

That same icy gaze landed on it again. But this time, it didn’t back down. Back straight, feathers puffed out, it declared boldly—”Want!”

Zhaozhao laughed. “Alright, alright. I didn’t forget you.” He picked off a strawberry in the way, popped it into his mouth, then used a fork to feed a piece of mango to the man beside him. With the space cleared, he bent over and carefully wrote: “System, always be happy.”

Because kind people—bright, gentle souls who love life—they deserve a happy ending.

And even gods, cold and distant and long thought to be without emotion—once they find the anchor that binds them to a soul, even eternity begins to feel like it has meaning.

---

Previous Chapter | TOC