Chapter 163: Nesting Star

At that very same moment, Chen found himself back on the Astral Express.

‘This is… the Parlor Car?’ he thought, his senses slowly returning.

But it only took a moment for him to realize that something was deeply wrong.

There were people in the car, yet the atmosphere was submerged in an eerie, unnatural quiet.

Ms. Welt Yang was seated in her usual spot, methodically wiping her glasses, her expression as placid and unmoving as ever. Mr. Himeko stood with his back to the room, stationed by the coffee machine as if in the middle of brewing a fresh pot; his tall, broad-shouldered figure exuded its usual reliability. Dan Heng leaned against a pillar with his signature weapon, Cloud-Piercer, in his arms, his eyes closed in what appeared to be a state of rest, projecting the same cold and aloof demeanor. Caelus sat on the carpet near the window, hugging her knees as she watched the river of starlight flow past the glass.

There was even… another Chen, slumped over a table on the other side of the car.

The only piece missing from this strange tableau was a certain lively figure with a shock of flying pink hair.

Chen stood frozen at the entrance to the Parlor Car, his brow furrowed in deep suspicion. His gaze swept across the scene—a scene that was, on the surface, perfectly normal, yet pervaded by a deeply unsettling stillness. Everything was as static as a carefully arranged painting, a diorama frozen in time. It lacked the vibrant, chaotic breath of daily life that usually filled the space.

Most, March 7th was gone.

The one who was always chirping and buzzing with energy. The one who would leap up at the slightest provocation to join the conversation—he was nowhere to be seen.

Alarm bells screamed in Chen’s mind. This was undoubtedly another one of Phantylia’s tricks, and it was far more insidious than the low-effort school harem dream she’d tried to trap him in earlier.

He walked calmly toward Ms. Welt and waved a hand directly in front of her eyes. There was no reaction. He reached out and lightly touched the temple of the glasses she was polishing; the sensation of cool metal and smooth glass was real. Yet Ms. Welt didn’t so much as twitch an eyelash, her hand continuing its steady, repetitive wiping motion.

It was the same with Dan Heng and Caelus. He could touch them, feel the warmth of their bodies and the distinct textures of their clothes, but they showed a bone-chilling indifference to his presence, to his very touch.

As for the prone version of himself, Chen strode over and delivered a blunt, forceful kick to its side. The body slumped sideways from the impact, letting out a muffled grunt before mechanically righting itself, returning to its original, slumped-over position.

‘Ignored…’Chen thought, a cold knot forming in his stomach.’Complete, programmatic ignoring.’

Was this Phantylia’s new game? Mass isolation? Turning everyone else into hollow, unresponsive background props to psychologically torture a single target?

His gaze swept once more over the empty corner where March 7th usually held court, and his heart suddenly clenched. He knew March’s personality—lively, active, and almost pathologically dependent on his companions for validation and interaction.

If he was also trapped in an illusion just like this one, forced to face this terrifying scene of everyone he cared about ignoring him completely…

Chen could almost picture it: the panic, the confusion, the raw, desperate fear that would consume him.

“March…” he murmured, the name a puff of condensed air. Without another moment of hesitation, he turned and walked briskly toward the residential section of the Astral Express.

He passed through the familiar corridor, his footsteps echoing unnaturally in the silence, and stopped before the door to March 7th’s room. It was shut tight, its soundproofing impeccable; not a whisper could be heard from within.

But Chen had a powerful, gut-wrenching premonition.

He gripped the handle. With a gentle twist, the door swung open.

No lights were on inside. Only the faint, ethereal glow of distant nebulae filtering through the porthole outlined the familiar contours of the room. And there, on the carpet by the bed, leaning against the wall, was a small, curled shadow.

Faint, intermittent sobs emanated from that shadow, each one a tiny needle pricking at Chen’s heart.

He lightened his steps, moving silently across the room. He knelt down, letting his eyes adjust to the starlight.

He saw March 7th, his face buried deep in his knees, his vibrant pink hair a messy, disheveled tangle. His small shoulders were shaking uncontrollably with the force of his weeping.

Chen reached out a hand. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before gently placing it on the boy’s trembling shoulder.

“Hey, March.”

The curled figure went rigid, and the sobbing stopped abruptly.

Slowly, March 7th looked up, his expression one of utter disbelief. Tears blurred his vision, tiny droplets clinging to his long eyelashes. His nose and cheeks were flushed a blotchy red from crying. His small mouth, which usually wore a bright, irrepressible smile, was now downturned in a pitiful pout as he stared blankly at the person who had suddenly appeared before him.

Seeing him in such a disheveled, pathetic state, the simmering irritation Chen had felt toward Phantylia’s illusion… mostly dissipated, replaced by a wave of helpless amusement.

He deliberately pulled a long face, scratching his cheek with a finger. He put on his best “shame on you” expression, his tone a deliberately drawn-out tease.

“My, my… look who we have here. Isn’t this our invincible, super-handsome little March 7th?”

He leaned in a little closer. “You’re such a big boy now. So why are you hiding in here, secretly wiping away tears and crying your eyes out?”

“For shaaaame—”

He dragged out the last word, but the mocking tone was completely absent from his eyes. They held only a gentle warmth, an unspoken promise to chase away the gloom.

March 7th just stared at him, his mind seemingly not yet rebooted from the suffocating loneliness and sorrow. Or perhaps he was simply stunned by Chen’s sudden appearance and the familiar, comforting sting of his teasing.

Fresh tears still welled at the corners of his eyes, poised to fall, and his mouth hung slightly open, creating a silly expression that was a perfect mixture of aggrieved and bewildered.

After a few seconds of frozen silence, a tidal wave of emotion—immense joy, lingering fear, deep grievance, and sheer, overwhelming disbelief—crashed through the dam he had built around his heart.

It smashed through his defenses in an instant.

“Qi—Chen—!!!”

[Elysian’s Note: Having a good time with the story? Every single bit helps immensely: