Long ti no see? The two of them just parted a few hours ago, so expressing affection so directly feels a bit off, right?
The more Bologue thought about it, the more agitated he beca. He started to resent why humans were so complex, unable to even understand a simple sentence. Yet, he also sighed, marveling at the beauty of humanity. He, soone like himself, could one day be wrapped in warmth.
Bologue gradually slowed his pace, thinking about what he should say, organizing words in his mind. For soone not good with words like him, this was no easy task.
Experts are ant to overco difficulties.
Bologue suddenly stopped; he felt he needed a speech. Then, making a few more steps, he trusted his mory.
A few minutes later, Bologue arrived at the Cultivation Room. He could almost walk this path with his eyes closed, reaching the Pillar Courtyard, taking the elevator, leading to the Sublimation Furnace Core.
The Sublimation Furnace Core was a place without day or night. You could often see researchers working overti. Bologue simply ignored them, turning left and right in the hallway, reaching the residential area. Based on the rembered door numbers, he stood in front of a familiar string of numbers.
Bologue took a deep breath, mustering his courage. Just as he lifted his hand to knock on the door, he paused, his arm shaking as if out of control.
Damn it, having climbed out of one predicant, why did it feel like he was falling into another?
Seeing that his body was uncooperative, Bologue took command of the Deceitful Snake Scale Liquid. A Silver Hand slowly rose, and as it prepared to knock, Bologue’s expression nearly twisted with strain.
At the sa ti, the suspended Silver Hand twisted into a ball of yarn.
"Move, co on!"
Bologue roared internally, sulking with himself.
He beca anxious and uneasy, feeling both honored and flustered about what he was about to receive.
After an unknown length of ti in conflict, a series of intermittent knocks echoed in the quiet corridor.
Finally, the knocking was done. Bologue breathed a sigh of relief but was imdiately followed by a greater tension. What should he say when Aimou opens the door?
Oh yes, the speech.
Bologue tried to recall the words he prepared on the way, but now in hindsight, his mind was a complete blank.
At this crucial mont, the door opened.
Aimou squinted his eyes, wearing a set of brown fuzzy pajamas, his figure swaying as if he had overslept.
"Oh, Bologue?" Aimou mumbled in a daze.
Bologue fell silent. He felt like thousands of words were stuck in his throat. After a great struggle, only one sentence escaped.
"After careful analysis and organization, I’m certain that I have a certain affection for Aimou."
Bologue’s words sounded like a lab report. If he hadn’t crumpled the scratch paper, he could have submitted an experintal paper to Aimou.
Unfortunately, Bologue truly had no talent in Alchemy. Otherwise, with his rigorous attitude, he would be a rising star in academia.
After speaking, Bologue felt completely relaxed.
He understood Ewen’s stubbornness; she was like Cinderella in the stories, Cinderella...
Muse.
"Oh."
Aimou nodded, then closed the door, stumbling back to bed, hugging a pillow, curling up comfortably.
"Is he crazy, coming for such a trivial matter in the middle of the night..."
Aimou’s voice grew softer and softer, eventually disappearing, as if she completely fell asleep.
Seconds later, she abruptly opened her eyes, the blue halo brightened significantly, sweeping away much of the darkness like a spotlight.
Aimou murmured, "Sothing’s not right..."
Bologue heard a startled scream from behind the door.
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