“What is your mating registry number?!”
Huan Jue blinked, the wooden staff still resting casually in one hand. The young man, Orynix, was still sprawled on the shimmering sapphire floor of the arena, his teal hair a wild halo around his flushed face. He looked like a startled, overgrown forest sprite, all wide eyes and trembling lips. Huan Jue suppressed a sigh. Modern youths were truly baffling. He’d just incapacitated a war machine with a splintery stick, and the pilot’s first concern wasn’t existential dread or a demand for a rematch, but… a dating query?
“My what now?” Huan Jue asked, his voice flat. His qi, which had flowed like a river through his meridians moments before, was now receding, leaving him feeling pleasantly warm but also terribly sleepy. This entire virtual escapade had been an unwelcome interruption to his planned nap.
Orynix scrambled to his feet, dusting off non-existent debris from his shimmering pilot’s suit. He took a hesitant step forward, his gaze darting from the staff to Huan Jue’s face, then back to the staff as if it might spontaneously combust. “Your civilian handle! So I can… you know, initiate a formal courtship protocol. You clearly have… superior genetics. And unprecedented tactical prowess. A true challenge! My bond-mates would be thrilled.”
Huan Jue stared. “Bond-mates? Courtship protocol? Boy, I just ripped your glorified tin can apart. Are you quite alright?” He made a mental note to complain about the quality of the galaxy’s elite mecha pilots to… well, he wasn’t sure who. The museum director? His original body’s VIP contact?
Orynix’s blush deepened, spreading down his neck. “It’s how we… acknowledge exceptional displays of dominance. You dominated me, Zynar. Fully. Completely. My mecha hasn’t been dismantled like that since… ever! It was exquisite! Truly. I must know your code.” He clutched his hands together, his pointed ears drooping slightly with earnestness.
Huan Jue groaned internally. This was going to be a problem. “Look, kid, I don’t have a courtship code.” I have a headache. And I need a cup of tea. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m logging out.” He flicked his wrist, a familiar gesture from his own time, and a translucent interface shimmered into existence before him, displaying the log-out prompt. He tapped it with the wooden staff, ignoring Orynix’s stunned gasp as the world around him pixelated into oblivion.
He tumbled back into the cold, sterile reality of the museum’s storage room, the holographic projections of ancient battle scenes wavering around him. The staff felt strangely heavy now, just a piece of carved wood. He sighed, rubbing his temples. Modernity was a relentless assault on his peace of mind.
As he pushed open the heavy blast-door of the storage room, intent on finding a quiet corner and perhaps a genuinely hot cup of water for his tea, he stopped dead. Standing directly in front of the door, as if he’d been waiting, was Orynix. The teal-haired pilot was dressed in fresh, immaculate pilot’s whites, clutching a colossal bouquet of metallic blooms that glinted under the dim gallery lights. Each blossom was meticulously crafted from polished alloy, their edges folded with intricate precision, radiating a faint, cool luminescence.
“Zynar!” Orynix’s face lit up like a supernova, his smile blinding. He took a step forward, extending the absurd bouquet. “I found your station through the Nexus’s public directory after your log-out signature. These are Titanium Roses! They’re extremely rare, forged only on the volcanic moon of Xylos. I thought they might express my… sincere interest.”
Huan Jue stared at the towering pilot, then at the indestructible metal stems. His eye twitched. “You followed me. Here. In person.”
“Of course!” Orynix beamed. “A true challenge deserves an equally true pursuit. My mecha was practically purring with delight even as it was being torn apart. What an honor!” He shoved the bouquet closer. The cold alloy petals nudged against Huan Jue’s nose.
“Look, kid,” Huan Jue said, waving a hand dismissively. “That whole thing in the arena? Server glitch. A momentary anomaly. My input was probably misread. I’m a janitor. I sweep floors. I don’t dismantle champion-grade mechas with… interpretive dance props.” He tried to sidestep the pilot, but Orynix was surprisingly agile for his size, blocking his path.
Just then, a bright, almost annoyingly upbeat voice cut through the awkward air. “Zynar! There you are, buddy! Heard you had a little… hiccup with your terminal connection.”
A young man with a mop of bright orange hair and a perpetually optimistic grin bounced into view. This was Tavros, the facility's virtual network technician, perpetually surrounded by a faint hum of unseen data streams. He wore a utility vest covered in blinking holoscreens and an air of boundless enthusiasm. Huan Jue’s original body had apparently been on friendly terms with him.
“Tavros,” Huan Jue acknowledged, an edge of irritation sharpening his tone. More interruptions.
“Hey there, Zynar! And… wow! Orynix! The Orynix? What a surprise!” Tavros gaped, genuine awe brightening his expression before it quickly smoothed into an easy, sunny demeanor. He carried a small, sleek datapad and a toolkit that hummed softly.
“My terminal is fine,” Huan Jue insisted, stepping toward the gap between them. “No hiccups. I’m just looking for some peace and quiet.”
Tavros merely chuckled. “Nonsense! The Nexus reported a high-level anomaly stemming from your login point. Could be a security vulnerability. Don’t want any precious VIP data getting corrupted, do we?” He winked conspiratorially, then leaned in close to Huan Jue. “Just need to run a quick diagnostic on your VIP chip. Won’t take a second.”
Before Huan Jue could protest, Tavros produced a small, almost invisible scanner from his toolkit. He expertly tapped the device against Huan Jue’s wrist, where the VIP chip was embedded. The scanner glowed for a fraction of a second, emitting a barely audible *ping*. As he pulled the scanner away, Tavros’s thumb subtly brushed over the VIP chip, a minuscule, barely perceptible pressure. Huan Jue, focused on the insistent Orynix and the rapidly fading hope of tea, barely registered it.
“All patched up!” Tavros declared, his grin unwavering. “Should be good as new, Zynar. No more… ‘glitches,’ eh?” He winked again, then gave a respectful nod to Orynix. “It’s been a pleasure, Champion! I’ll just go log this fix.” With another brisk bounce, Tavros vanished down the corridor, leaving Huan Jue once again alone with the galaxy’s most smitten mecha pilot.
Huan Jue glared at Orynix. “Alright, you’ve thrust metallic bouquets at me. Now, unless you’re going to offer me a quiet, undisturbed corner of the galaxy with a perpetually brewing pot of decent tea, I suggest you leave.”
Orynix beamed with renewed vigor. “A retirement world? You want a private world? I can buy you one! A whole sanctuary, Zynar! With… with tea farms! If you teach me. Teach me the ‘interpretive dance’ that broke my Veloce Imperator. Please! I need to understand.” He stepped even closer, the titanium roses now almost pressed against Huan Jue’s chest. The sheer earnestness in his wide, hopeful eyes was unsettling.
Huan Jue sighed, a long, drawn-out sound of pure exasperation. “Fine. Come. But if you think I’m going to teach you anything useful, you’re sorely mistaken. And you’re making the tea.” He led Orynix to a small, seldom-used staff break room, its synthetic walls gleaming under a harsh fluorescent light. He rummaged through a dusty cupboard, pulling out a battered kettle and a small, unlabeled sachet.
“This is what passes for tea around here,” Huan Jue grumbled, sniffing the sachet with a look of profound disgust. The aroma was vaguely chemical, with an undertone of burnt plastic. He poured lukewarm water from a dispenser into the kettle, then dumped the sachet’s contents into two chipped mugs. The resulting liquid was a pale, sickly green.
Orynix, however, was oblivious to the horror brewing before him. He watched Huan Jue with rapt attention, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “So, the… the dance. Was it a form of kinetic energy redirection? Or perhaps a resonance-based harmonic disruption? My diagnostic logs are still trying to process the data signature.” He leaned forward, his vibrant teal hair almost brushing Huan Jue’s cheek, the scent of cool alloy and Orynix’s own faint, pleasant musk filling the small room. The proximity was startling, a sudden, charged awareness of another being, vibrant and eager. Huan Jue felt a strange flutter in his chest, a sensation he hadn’t experienced in centuries.
“It was… a flick of the wrist,” Huan Jue deadpanned, pushing a mug of the offensive green liquid into Orynix’s eager hand. “And a lot of patience. Which you clearly lack.”
Orynix took a tentative sip of the synthetic tea, his face not betraying any of the expected revulsion. He simply stared at Huan Jue, his gaze intense, as if trying to decipher the secrets of the universe from his grumpy expression. “Patience,” he murmured, savoring the word. “And qi. Is that what you call it, Zynar? This… inner energy? Can I learn it?”
Huan Jue looked away, feeling an unfamiliar warmth creep up his neck. This boy was… persistent. And utterly guileless. He took a sip of his own synthetic tea, grimacing at the taste. A planet, he thought, with real tea farms. That did sound rather nice. Perhaps a small, quiet world. Far, far away from syndicate assassins and overly enthusiastic mecha champions.
Just then, in a quiet corridor several floors below, Tavros paused, his datapad in hand. The small device, which had been resting innocuously in his pocket, vibrated once, a soft, almost imperceptible tremor. He pulled it out, his cheerful smile faltering slightly as he read the incoming message. His gaze parsed the text, and a rigid, chilling stillness fell over his features.
[Tracker live. Erase the imposter tonight.]