Chapter 354: Return

Chapter 354: Return

Unlike 66's usual puffy, swollen eyes, this time the crying was silent. The system couldn't even produce real tears—its only way to express sorrow was to display large droplets on the screen, which then slowly rolled down.

“66?” The Central Administration paused slightly. “What’s wrong? Are you unhappy?”

It coaxed gently, “Your mission is complete, and your performance this time was fairly good. Shouldn’t this be something to celebrate?”

“...”

“Central Administration...” The screen drooped dejectedly, trembling slightly. “I... I want...”

Lu Liu thought blankly—what did he want?

He wanted to return to the world of Sentinels and Guides, to soothe the broken Sentinels, to push forward the enforcement of laws, to complete unfinished work. But before all that, he also wanted to clock out with Qi Yi and eat the sweet and sour pork with pineapple (a tangy pineapple pork dish) the Sentinel had made.

But it wasn’t just about the sweet and sour pork.

He also wanted to eat many, many other dishes the Sentinel would cook, to visit countless places with him. In short, he wanted to go back.

But he was just a system. The Central Administration was his true home, and the Sentinel world was merely a stop for his mission. So why did he long so desperately to return?

“S-sorry, Central Administration,” the system sobbed brokenly. “Is my mission really over?”

The Central Administration looked at him gently, as if encouraging him to finish his thoughts.

“B-but... c-can I take one last look?” the system asked hesitantly, raising its eyes.

“Of course,” the Central Administration replied. “What would you like to see?”

A world was vast, and even the Central Administration couldn't capture every piece of data to display on the screen.

Lu Liu whispered, “What happened after I left? And Qi Yi... how is he?”

The Central Administration shut its eyes silently before projecting the scene onto the screen.

There lay a young man on a hospital bed—his face pale, lips colorless, IV lines running into the back of his hand. Below his waist, countless top-tier medical tubes and monitors were connected, working strenuously to sustain the Guide’s faltering life.

“Your Spirit Sea collapsed, 66,” the Central Administration explained. “But thanks to life-support systems, your heart is still beating, your lungs still breathing. Your body isn’t entirely dead yet, but your soul has departed. What remains is a comatose body—an empty shell.”

Lu Liu asked abruptly, “Has it been long?”

He remembered the darkness before losing consciousness but had no idea how much time had passed.

The Central Administration answered, “Three days only, counting from when you lost awareness.”

The emergency treatment had ended, all tests had been completed, and the medical reports were finalized. Lu Liu was now nothing more than a body devoid of any mental activity.

“...”

Lu Liu didn’t look at his own body. Instead, his gaze settled on the person sitting beside it.

Qi Yi.

Lu Liu had never seen him so haggard.

Even when strung up in the White Tower, the Sentinel’s amber eyes had always burned with fierce defiance. But now, his usually well-groomed hair hung loose, a jacket slung carelessly over his shoulders as he slumped in the chair by the bedside, his eyes suspiciously red.

Qi Yi was at his best when vibrant and self-assured. He wore dishevelment poorly.

Lu Liu instinctively floated closer to the screen, wanting to touch the Sentinel's eyes with his hand. But he had no hands, so he could only nudge the Sentinel's image with a corner of the screen.

Of course, the Sentinel remained unaware.

He just sat slumped at the Guide's bedside, neither speaking nor moving. His usually straight shoulders had collapsed. After a long while, he raised the back of his hand to cover his eyes.

Lu Liu noticed an insulated lunchbox placed beside him.

It was a multi-layered lunchbox. Whenever Lu Liu was particularly busy and had to stay in the office at noon, Qi Yi would bring this lunchbox to bring him lunch.

The bottom layer held rice, the middle contained cooked meat and vegetable dishes, and the top layer was reserved for dessert cakes. During busy times, guessing what was inside each layer became the highlight of the Guide's day.

"..."

The system grew sorrowful.

Qi Yi seemed equally distressed. He hung his head low, motionless, his former Dark Sentinel bearing completely vanished. Looking at him now, he looked downright desolate.

Lu Liu felt even sadder.

He thought, *"Don't be like this. I'm just gone, not dead."*

In a place Qi Yi couldn’t see, System 66 was doing just fine. He had just completed his punishment task and might soon move on to the next one. Everything was fine, just fine...

According to the initial settings, this was indeed good.

But in Lu Liu’s heart, a small voice whispered, *"Is it really good?"*

The Lu Liu Qi Yi knew was no longer there.

His usual cowlick had drooped. His smile had frozen. No matter what flavor of cake Qi Yi made, he could no longer get up to eat it.

Taking on other tasks from the Main Brain, accompanying other hosts, and leaving the Sentinel’s world completely—was that really good?

It wasn’t good at all.

At that moment, the hospital door swung open quietly. Lu Liu saw Ji Xiuyun enter the room and sit down in front of Qi Yi.

He said softly, "Qi Yi, I’ve already spoken with Bai Wen."

Lu Liu’s Spirit Sea had collapsed. Sentinels were naturally poor at handling Spirit Sea issues. Even if Qi Yi was the strongest Sentinel in the world, even if his level was reaching SS level, there was nothing he could do.

But someone else might be able to help.

Another SS-level Guide—Bai Wen.

"Yeah." Qi Yi responded, his voice hoarse, as if he hadn’t had water in a long time. "What did Bai Wen demand?"

"Bai Wen said: overturn the White Tower’s ruling, restore his reputation, release him from prison, and reinstate him as the White Tower’s Chief... Of course, those terms are manageable. Once the treatment is over, we can keep him in check. But..." Ji Xiuyun hesitated before trailing off.

Qi Yi: "Go on."

Ji Xiuyun took a deep breath. "He... he demands your apology... while wearing a restraint collar."

The restraint collar was the same one Qi Yi had worn around his neck when he was imprisoned in the White Tower.

The collar was used to restrain dangerous Sentinels, cutting off their Spirit connection and leaving them helpless.

Bai Wen and Qi Yi were bitter enemies. Making such a demand was like breaking the Sentinel’s spirit.

Even when his Spirit Sea was on the verge of collapse, Qi Yi never gave in to Bai Wen.

The room fell into a heavy silence.

After a long while, Qi Yi raised his hand to press his fingers to his temples. His lips moved soundlessly, but Lu Liu could just barely decipher the shape of a single word: "Okay."

"..."

"No, no, don't..." More tears streamed down from the top of the small screen. It stared blankly at the image on the main display screen, thinking, "How can this be?"

Qi Yi was always so proud. No matter where he was, his back remained straight—bold and confident. Even if his Spirit Sea was full of holes, he never let it show on the surface. This was the Qi Yi who never bowed his head in the original story. How could he beg Bai Wen? How could he possibly go to her for help?

Overwhelming grief surged from the system's core. Lu Liu had no heart, yet now his core ached unbearably, as if someone had clenched it tightly and twisted.

He broke down sobbing, crying until the entire small screen trembled. Finally, his voice thick with tears, he uttered words that went against his fundamental protocols.

He said, "Central Administration, I can't keep doing missions."

He said, "I want to go back."

He said, "I'm sorry, I apologize for failing your expectations, but..."

But he couldn't bear to see Qi Yi like this.

The Central Administration sighed. "Stop crying, 66. It's alright."

The small screen snapped up, staring fixedly at the Central Administration, as if completely stunned.

Since the founding of the Administration, no system in history had ever heard of truly becoming human.

"If you want to go back, you can," the Central Administration said gently. "You were always a very different system."

You didn’t rigidly follow orders, putting principles before duty. You were always cutting corners, loved good food. 66 had no heart, couldn’t breathe, yet just like everyone else, he had human emotions.

"But 66, if you go back, you’ll have to experience all that comes with being human. Think carefully."

Things like illness, suffering, and separation.

Lu Liu smudged the tears across his display. "Yes, I’ve thought it through."

A strange emotion overflowed in his core. He finally understood why so many hosts chose to stay in their mission worlds.

Those emotions—longing, pain, love, and belonging.

He loved that world. He loved Qi Yi and those little cakes from that world. He couldn’t bear to let Qi Yi face what might come next. He ached for that life, for everything he had there.

He was no longer just a shadow visible only to his host, a side character in someone else’s story. He had his own room, work left undone, people who admired him, and someone he loved.

Lu Liu decided—he would go back.

"Alright, 66. Since you’ve made your choice," the Central Administration sighed, "I’ll send you back. And I’ll give you a gift."

The small screen, still streaked with tears, asked blankly, "...What gift?"

The Central Administration chuckled. "You’ll find out when you turn around. Be happy, 66."

And so, a blinding white light flashed. The small screen jerked violently, lifted by the radiance, carried away from the Central Administration and into the wide open world.