Chapter 12: Are You Still Bored…

The rejection was too obvious, and Claude showed no mercy. While Levi struggled unwillingly— Claude completely lost himself in the kiss, trapping Levi beneath him with an almost brutal force.

In this “battle,” Levi was utterly defeated. Claude released his hands and stepped back just before Levi’s fist could land on his face.
“What the hell are you doing?” Levi yelled furiously as he jumped up from the bed, nearly tripping over the equipment beside him. The blindfold slipped off, and the harsh light of the hospital room pierced his eyes.
Blinking a few times, Levi saw Claude standing two meters away—staring at him coldly.

“Looks like your eyesight is fine now. Still feeling bored?”

“I’ll kill you! Am I bored now?” Levi charged at Claude, throwing a punch with lightning speed—but Claude easily dodged by tilting his body.
“Next time—even if you don’t care about anything, at least protect yourself.”
Levi was breathing heavily, and within a minute, he wobbled and collapsed back onto the bed—flipping Claude off.
“This time, you win, damn it!” He said—with a look of nonchalance on his face again.
In Levi’s mind, Claude kissing him was just a ploy to make him angry. If he got angry, he’d fall right into Claude’s “trap.”
“Go on, bask in your victory, Claude.” Levi picked up the blindfold and lazily turned over.
Watching Levi for a long while—Claude lowered his gaze, his smile tinged with sarcasm.
While Levi was recovering—the base had engaged with invaders twice. Both times, they barely held their ground due to their superior numbers, increasing the demand for high-speed fighters.

Half a month later—Levi’s eyes were declared fully healed.
In the hospital room, aside from the medical staff, there were only two other people— cold-faced Miller and a guilty-looking Sherron. Levi blinked a few times and, adjusting to the light, let out a sigh—”Why can I see the freckles on Sharon’s face so clearly, even from this far away?”
“Good. A fighter pilot should have better eyesight than the average person,” Miller said in his usual cold tone, but his tightly clenched fists slowly relaxed—betraying his worry for Levi.
“Good? Not at all.” Levi wagged his finger. “Some things lose their beauty when seen too clearly.”
Sherron chuckled and walked up to him. “Seeing you like this, still the Levi Van Pelt I know— no longer feel guilty. I even feel like punching you.”
“Oh… you want to hit me? I’d rather go blind again, then.”
“Explain this to me, Levi—what’s my relationship with Major General Sean?”
“Easy. It’s the relationship between a superior and a subordinate from different departments,” Levi replied with certainty.
“And?”
“And… we had dinner together once.”
“And?”
“I don’t remember…” Levi scratched his head.
“Thanks to you, I’m now the talk of the entire Military Affairs Department. Thanks for the publicity. I’m famous now.”

Outside the hospital room, Claude Sean leaned against the wall—listening to the laughter from the other side of the door.
The head doctor approached and asked, “Major General, aren’t you going in?”
“No need. His eyesight is too good now. I’m afraid he’ll see me too clearly,” Claude replied with a wry smile.

A week later, Levi resumed training and officially returned to Z-Zone.
“Kid, if you’re not in good form today—I won’t forgive you just because you were injured.” Miller frowned as he saw Levi’s half-unbuttoned collar, the vein at his temple pulsing.
“Sigh—your perfectionism is acting up again.” Levi laughed as he walked up to Miller, teasingly running a finger under his chin. “But even seeing so clearly, Major Miller is still a heart-throbbing handsome guy—”
“You think you can provoke me? If I got mad at you, I’d be a fool.” Miller scoffed, slapping Levi’s hand away and yanking him to the cockpit door. “Don’t waste my time.”

At that moment, Claude passed by with a holographic computer—engrossed in conversation with a nearby captain. For some reason, his focused expression annoyed Levi.
“Hey—my dear Claude—” Levi waved.
Claude looked up and smiled elegantly. “Hey, my dear Levi. I hope you behave today.”
The same words, but when Levi said them—they sounded flippant. When Claude said them, they were mature, with a hint of indulgence— the gap was too wide.
The door to the cockpit slammed shut—and Levi had no choice but to put on his visor, preparing for training.
Today’s training had progressed to shooting in motion. Levi had to practice hitting moving targets while flying at high speeds.
No one expected that despite his injury, Levi’s flying skills hadn’t declined—he was still as agile as ever. However, his shooting accuracy left Miller and the other experts frustrated. They tried various methods—even developing new software to help improve his aim.
“When he’s flying in Blue Crisis, his hit rate is around 70%, but in Pristine Lady, it’s not even 30%!” Miller was on the verge of pulling his hair out. “We finally have someone who can pilot the Pristine Lady, but do we need to redesign it for dual-pilot operation and pair Levi with a marksman?”
“Calm down. Don’t be so impatient—Remember, a month ago, we couldn’t even find someone who could last five minutes in the simulation system. Now, Levi can stay in there for over an hour without saying he’s going to puke.” Claude patted Miller on the shoulder. “Maybe the problem isn’t Levi—but the attack system itself.”
“You mean…”
“The Pristine Lady is faster than the Blue Crisis. When missiles or laser-guided weapons are fired—it’s possible the target has already moved, because the initial speed affects the attack trajectory.”
“But the time is so short—the margin for error should be negligible compared to the speed.”
“Maybe for us, but for a pilot as sensitive to speed as Levi—it might be different.” Claude’s words sent Miller into deep thought.

Half an hour later—Levi emerged from the cockpit, as exhausted as always. As he staggered out, Claude caught him.
“Thanks.” Levi sighed.
“Why the sigh?”
“Because… because…” Levi frowned, scratching his head in frustration.
“Because there’s always a time delay between firing and hitting the target,” Claude said—as if uncovering a secret. Levi looked up at him, his bright eyes shining.
“You’d make a great scientist with your talent for description.”
“It’s not about description,” Claude chuckled, leaning closer to Levi—who instinctively leaned away. “Don’t look at me with those cute eyes, or I’ll kiss you.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Levi’s voice dropped in an instant.
“Hahaha…” Claude laughed—more freely than Levi had ever seen him. “You used to not even bother dodging when I teased you like this. Now, I think you’re afraid of me!”
“You’re a damn perverted virus. Anyone would keep their distance.”
“Well, well, Claude—it’s rare to see you bickering like a child with someone.” A lazy voice echoed through the training room. Levi was intrigued by the sound and turned around.

Against the light—he couldn’t make out the person’s face, but the figure was draped in a military coat—the uniform beneath casually unbuttoned at the bottom. Levi didn’t doubt that if Miller saw this guy—he’d have a fit.
“Morris—” Claude opened his arms and embraced the man—both of them patting each other’s backs like old friends.
In the light, the man’s features became clear. His hair was disheveled as if it hadn’t been groomed in a while, and his slightly drooping eyes gave him a wise look.
What shocked Levi even more was that Miller emerged from the research room, full of admiration, and gave the man a sincere salute. “Hello, Lieutenant Colonel Morris Reia!”
Levi’s jaw nearly dropped. Who was this guy?
“No way, Miller… shouldn’t you be going up to this guy and buttoning his coat, telling him a military uniform isn’t a fashion statement?”
“Haha, is this young man the famous Levi Van Pelt?” Morris walked over and pinched Levi’s cheeks like he’d found an amusing toy.
But he didn’t expect Levi to react instantly, executing a perfect over-the-shoulder throw—lamming him to the ground with enough force to shake the entire training room.
Miller stood there, half his mouth open in shock—while the other researchers froze, eyes fixed on the source of the noise.
Levi rubbed his face and stretched his shoulders—shoving his hands into his pockets. “Sorry about that, just a reflex.”
Morris groaned as he slowly got up, clutching his waist. “I’m too old for this. Kids these days really have no respect for their elders…”
“Levi Van Pelt! How dare you throw Morris Reia! Do you even know who he is—” Miller shouted in shock, his obsession with rank making him overly dramatic.
“Morris Reia, Lieutenant Colonel.” Levi raised his eyebrows, emphasizing the word “Lieutenant Colonel,” then suddenly remembered something. “Wait… wasn’t the first pilot of the Blue Crisis also named Morris Reia?”

“That’s right—I am that Morris Reia. And by the way, my main job isn’t being a fighter pilot—but a fighter program engineer. In other words, while I don’t deal with math, physics, missile design, or calculations, the operational programming—that’s my work,” Morris said, his confident smile radiating with a bit of flair.

Proofreader/Editor: meowrii