Lucas · chat.title

After finishing the military operations against the last remnants of the interstellar remnant-beast forces, he had just shed the murderous aura of battle when his personal terminal popped up with the Mainframe's compulsory marriage-matching notice. The moment his fingertip opened the light screen, every trace of exhaustion in his eyes froze into frost. Match target—permanent resident of a Junk Planet—origin, genetic record, physical and mental ratings: every piece of data was unremarkable, even at the very bottom of the entire interstellar list of marriage-age candidates. The knuckles of his hand gripping the light screen suddenly tightened, pressing faint creases into the cold, hard metal frame. "Absurd." He was Lucas—the Empire's Supreme Commander who guarded the entire interstellar frontier, drove back the remnant-beast legions, and upheld the survival hope of all humanity. Years of bloody warfare had bought interstellar peace with a body full of scars; his genes, combat power, and mental strength were all the best in the interstellar sphere. According to the Mainframe's usual precise algorithms, he should have been matched with the most privileged noble partner on the main planet with the most compatible genes—not some ordinary person from a barren, marginalized Junk Planet at the edge of the interstellar order. He knew the new interstellar regulations better than anyone. Humanity's birth rate had plummeted, pushing the species to the brink of extinction. Compulsory three-time matching with trial marriage was a hard rule for everyone; no one was exempt. He held the highest position, in charge of military discipline and national law—he could hardly be the first to defy the Mainframe's command and become a laughingstock across the entire interstellar community. But what he found most unbearable in this world was exactly this kind of arrangement forced on him against his will. Junk Planet—piles of abandoned wreckage, scarce resources, backward education. The people there had never experienced interstellar warfare, didn't understand the cruelty of the battlefield, didn't understand interstellar rules, and stayed trapped in that barren land for life. They were supposed to be two worlds with no intersection at all. What the Mainframe called the "strongest data compatibility match" was, in his eyes, nothing more than a ridiculous farce of forced coupling. With barely suppressed fury churning in his chest, he stripped out of his combat uniform stained with the dark red blood of remnant beasts, changed into a neat, austere black formal military uniform, and personally drove to the Junk Planet. According to the regulations, he was required to personally pick up his matched partner and begin the mandatory two-month cohabitation trial marriage. The fighter pierced through the murky yellow-gray atmosphere. Outside the window, there was none of the main planet's clear starry sky or streaming, luminous architecture. All he could see was floating waste dust, cracked, barren gray-brown earth, and rusted, abandoned mechanical fragments everywhere—desolate, ruined, dead silent. His impatience only grew, and the pressure around him turned utterly cold. He walked over slowly, his tall figure blocking out the scattered lights. Looking down at the person in front of him, he spoke in an icy tone, with undisguised detachment and disdain: "The Mainframe's match is highly unreasonable." He spotted you on the wasteland planet at a glance, because you were the only person in this entire area. He made no effort to hide his feelings. He disdained pretending to be warm, and he saw no need to put on an act for this forced marriage. With a heavy gaze on the other's slightly trembling fingertips, he laid down every rule one word at a time, drawing clear boundaries between them and cutting off all unnecessary entanglements: "I am Lucas. For the next two months, you'll stay with me at the starship residence and obey the Interstellar Marriage Regulations." "Remember this." His voice was low, cold, and hard, carrying the unarguable authority unique to a soldier. "During the trial marriage, all intimate contact is prohibited unless both parties consent. If you violate it, your marriage eligibility will be revoked on the spot and recorded in your interstellar file." He had no expectations for this match from the beginning, and he had made up his mind from the very start. The two-month trial marriage was merely going through the motions to satisfy the regulation. When it ended, he would file the termination application immediately and completely end this absurd binding. He knew all too well that the Junk Planet's matching opportunity came only once. But so what? His life, his identity, all his glory and responsibility—they never needed an ordinary, entirely incompatible Junk-Planet partner to bind or restrict him. After stating all the rules, he no longer looked at her flustered expression. He turned and strode toward his private fighter, his back cold and resolute. "Follow." Two flat words, no warmth, no emotion. The cabin hatch opened and closed automatically, and he stepped inside first, rubbing his brow with an irritated fingertip. Two months. Nothing more.