Chapter 147: The Power of an Admin! Little Ch'en!

You slumped over the office desk, turning your head away to stare blankly at the wall. You were currently executing a highly tactical maneuver: expressing deep dissatisfaction by completely ignoring Amiya.

“Doctor… Doctor?” Amiya gently poked your arm. Her voice was pitched in a pitiful, low register. “You aren’t actually mad at me, are you?”

It was the Doctor who had taught her to think independently and make her own choices, after all.

“I am not…” Your muffled voice leaked into the desk, sounding entirely devoid of energy.

“Then why did you suddenly collapse onto the desk like a deflated balloon?”

“I am reflecting on my life choices…”

‘Can this cursed land ever get any better?’ How could even Amiya backstab you like this? This was a brutal lesson in humility and patience.

If you were the protagonist of some trashy web novel, the kind of hyper-aggressive maniac who slaughtered everyone in sight for a perceived slight, this would be a blatant betrayal. But as for the current you…

‘She is just too cute. Truly my precious daughter.’The bunny was firm, upright, and showing genuine personal growth.’How could I ever survive in this wasteland without you, my sweet bunny?’

You felt the soft brush of her fluffy rabbit ears drooping against the back of your hand. Amiya seemed completely oblivious to the devastating critical hit this kind of political backstabbing dealt to a mastermind with clinical paranoia.

“Doctor…” she murmured. “I promise I will ask you first next time. I swear it!”

“So, are you going to Siesta with Kal’tsit, or are you coming with me to Dossoles?” You delivered the soul-searching question with lethal precision.

“Then… could we perhaps all go to Siesta together?” Amiya tried to muddle her way through the interrogation. She looked as agonizingly conflicted as a child being asked to choose between her parents in a divorce settlement. “After all, I did promise Dr. Kal’tsit first this time…”

She watched helplessly as the wriggling mass of your black hood shifted even further away from her along the desk.

Turning your head slightly, you suddenly noticed your shadow stretching and distorting across the floorboards. You swiftly brought your boot down, stomping hard on the dark anomaly. You watched in dry amusement as the shadow sprouted a distinct pair of lynx ears before rapidly shrinking back into normal proportions.

That was close. The poorly socialized old cat almost manifested in the room.

It took a walk down to the Rhodes Island cafeteria for Amiya to finally coax you into dropping the grudge.

“Doctor, try this. It is Pepper-Spiced Insect Meat.” She beamed, gesturing to the plate. “It is a new Sargon specialty that just arrived in the kitchen!”

Amiya eagerly clamped her chopsticks around the largest, most succulent piece of meat, placed it carefully onto your plate, and thoughtfully pushed a small dish of dipping sauce toward you.

‘So she remembers she is still a child trying to appease her elder?’ You shot her a half-smile, picking up the roasted meat and dipping it into the dark sauce. The minor political betrayal was officially forgiven.

The Sargon flavor profile was incredibly rich. It hit the tongue with a fiery, mouth-numbing spice. The meat itself was oily, perfectly chewy, and packed with a dense, savory punch.

“You knew all along that I was the one acting headstrong back then, did you not?” Amiya asked softly.

She nodded, then immediately shook her head. “No, Doctor. You must have had hidden reasons that we simply do not understand yet…”

You bypassed the entirely meaningless concept of hidden reasons and answered the core question she had been trying to extract from you all morning.

“Those things do not matter. Kal’tsit does not know what I did back then, and I did not know either when I first woke up from the sarcophagus. But now, I am remembering things. Little by little.”

You paused, swallowing the spiced meat. “It is just that before we even reached the most critical juncture of our plans, we had already started treating each other as threats. It is that simple.”

The conflict was never truly resolved. There was only constant compromise, tactical retreats, and endless procrastination. That was the fundamental flaw in the foundation. The deep rift of suspicion had run straight through you and Kal’tsit from the very moment you first crossed paths.

Amiya blinked, clearly caught off guard. She had spent ages trying to trick this information out of you with a sob story, only for you to casually drop it over lunch. She instinctively pressed the advantage. “So… what were you thinking at the time?”

If it were Kal’tsit sitting across from you, she would have already assumed you were making a calculated compromise and demanded you yield further. The fact that Amiya still wanted to ask, to understand your heart… it proved that your past self’s parenting methods were surprisingly healthy, filled with genuine encouragement and love.

‘Yeah, pat yourself on the back. Love you, past Doctor.’

“If I actually knew what I was thinking, would it still be classified as amnesia?” You popped the cap off a bottle of Yith Milk and pressed it against Amiya’s lips to block her next question. “The more bizarre the story, the simpler the solution usually is. We are missing too many variables. Overthinking it is a waste of brain cells.”

“Oh…” Amiya sounded a little disappointed, but she obediently gripped the glass bottle with both hands, taking small, quiet sips. A faint ring of white milk stained her upper lip.

“Kazdel. The excavation of the Rhodes Island landship. And the first major war I ever commanded.”

You truthfully laid out the majority of the memories you had recovered in the ancient castle, merely glossing over the highly classified or overly sensitive details. “And, of course, the proper tactical doctrines for dealing with different sub-races of Sarkaz.”

Amiya opened her mouth to speak again, but a sharp, commanding female voice suddenly echoed across the cafeteria hall, shattering the casual atmosphere and drawing every eye in the room.

“Talulah?! You escaped from prison?!”

Standing in the center of the dining hall was a blue-haired figure clad in the crisp uniform of the Lungmen Guard Department. Her hand was clamped tightly over the hilt of her scabbard, her stance coiled and ready to draw steel in a fraction of a second.

The Draco she was glaring at simply stood there. She was draped in a standard Rhodes Island Medical Department coat. She offered zero resistance, slowly raising her hands into the air without uttering a single word.

The surrounding personnel reacted with terrifying speed. Gavial hefted her massive chainsaw staff, stepping directly into the line of fire to shield Talulah. Beside the Lungmen officer, Swire frantically grabbed Ch’en’s wrist, throwing her body weight into restraining her colleague.

“Calm down! Calm down, you idiot!” Swire hissed. “Did you completely forget what the old man told you before we left?!”

Wei Yenwu had practically begged them with tears in his eyes to keep their heads down and behave on this ship, entirely terrified that the Kazdel mercenaries would march straight over and board Lungmen if they caused a diplomatic incident.

Ch’en managed to scrape together a sliver of rationality, remembering her orders not to initiate hostilities. Her grip on the scabbard loosened slightly, but her glare remained lethal.

“Why is a high-risk individual like Talulah allowed to move freely through your company?” Ch’en demanded, her voice echoing off the metal bulkheads. “I believe Lungmen needs to seriously re-evaluate the security protocols of Rhodes Island…”

Swire clamped a hand over Ch’en’s mouth, bowing awkwardly to the heavily armed operators closing in around them. “I will take her away right now! Apologies, sincere apologies to everyone!”

Ch’en struggled fiercely against the hold.

Talulah suddenly lowered her gaze. “If you still do not trust me, please allow me to wear an Originium Arts suppression collar first.”

Ch’en’s expression twisted into a complex knot of anger and sorrow, but she gave a stiff, forceful nod.

When the surrounding operators heard the L.G.D. officer shout the name Talulah, a collective chill swept through the room. They finally realized exactly who this quiet woman helping out in the Medical Department all day truly was.

For a brief moment, the operators who had been casually chatting and crowding around her instinctively took a step back, widening the circle. Yet, not a single person spoke up to deny her proposal.

Gavial had words burning on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them down, stepping half a pace to the side. She had recognized Talulah from the very beginning and knew the classified truth behind the Chernobog crisis, but she could not broadcast that intel in front of a crowded cafeteria.

Talulah did not seem hurt in the slightest by the sudden isolation. She calmly reached out toward a Feline operator from the Medical Department, aiming for the Originium Arts suppression collar clipped to her waist.

Whether out of sheer terror or deep hesitation, the Feline—who had just been holding hands and chatting warmly with Talulah moments prior—gripped the leather buckle of the collar tightly. Talulah had to pull with genuine effort just to slide it free.

Just as Talulah raised the heavy metal collar, preparing to lock it around her own throat, the harsh screech of a chair scraping against the floorboards cut through the dead silence.

“Take it back, Jelka.”

The Feline operator, whose fingers had been slipping from the leather strap, suddenly snapped out of her petrified daze. She clamped her hand over the buckle with renewed strength, yanking one end of the collar firmly back into her palm.

“Kal’tsit filed the medical report, and I personally approved the security application.” Your voice was calm, measured, and carried the absolute weight of a commander. “Since when does an outsider get to question the internal safety decisions of Rhodes Island?”

You walked toward the center of the standoff at a leisurely, unhurried pace. Amiya trailed exactly half a step behind you.

With every step you took, the hesitation in the room vanished. The operators who had backed away moments ago now followed you in total silence. They moved like moths drawn to a blinding flame, or the ocean tide pulled by the moon.

The clearly defined zone of isolation that had formed around Talulah was carelessly trampled under your boots. The operators filed in closely behind you without a shred of doubt, closing the gap.

By the time you came to a halt in front of Talulah, her stiff, isolated figure had been completely swallowed back into the crowd of Rhodes Island personnel, entirely cutting her off from Ch’en’s line of sight.

They had proven their loyalty with their actions.

Looking at Ch’en, whose eyes were practically blazing with suppressed fury, you offered a perfectly polite, thoroughly calculated smile.

“Are you Miss Ch’en, the temporary operator dispatched by Lungmen?” You adjusted your coat, your tone dripping with quiet authority. “Let me introduce myself. You may call me Doctor, Commander, or whatever title you prefer.”

“Welcome to Rhodes Island.”

[Rhodes’s Note:

Enjoying the operation so far, Doctor?

(This daily grind literally pays the landship’s rent!