The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL] Chapter 147 - Quick trip

Dican left the buried store behind reluctantly, casting glances over his shoulder every few steps. He didn’t like leaving Bian alone—not for a second. There was a strange hollowness in his chest now that they were apart, a tether being pulled too taut.

But Bian had asked for a spacecraft. And Dican would do anything for him.

Even if it ant walking away.

He clenched his jaw as he moved quickly over the rubble-strewn street. Most of the city was still crumbling from the last series of Grayling attacks. The sky above was thick with smoke and low-hanging clouds. He winced as he put weight on his wounded leg, pain flashing up through his thigh.

His communications gear—his Farian comms—had been destroyed in that blast. Right now, he had nothing but a scratched-up Earth-made phone he’d borrowed.

He pulled the phone from his pocket and dialed the only contact he had morized.

Xing Yu.

The phone rang. And rang.

And kept ringing.

Dican’s fingers tightened around the device. He was about to hang up when the call finally connected.

Sowhere in the distance, Xing yu and the others had set up camp for the night as the young human was falling asleep in the prince’s arms. Eren heard a phone ring loudly. He found it in the general’s pocket of a human shirt he had worn earlier. The general had tossed it away as he wore his armor but eren had kept it safe as it had their blood on it. After all Farian royal blood was never to be spread to the masses.

Seeing the unknown number he frowned and connected the call. "Hello?"

Dican frowned imdiately. "This is Dican. Is Xing Yu there?"

A beat of silence. Then a nervous reply, "Your Highness, General Xing Yu is... um... busy..."

A short distance away, Eren, stole a glance at their general. Xing Yu, their ever-serious leader, was currently crouched by a pile of dry sticks, furiously trying to start a fire the old-fashioned way—rubbing two sticks together like a man possessed. Eren blinked slowly, torn between amusent and concern. Nearby, the newly found prince stood with arms crossed, scowling deeply at the scene like he was watching a toddler bang rocks together.

Dican’s voice sharpened. "I don’t care. I want a spacecraft. Now."

Eren blinked as he looked away from that amusing sight. "Oh—uh—sure. Share your location, Your Highness. I’ll have one sent to you. The other team is obviously looking for you—"

"No," Dican cut in coldly. "I only want the craft. No one should be inside. Or near it."

Another pause. Dican could hear soone breathing anxiously.

Eren doubtfully gazed at their general. He walked over to ask him instruction but xing yu only gave him a cold glance telling him to back off.

"The others had landed in the outskirts of the city," sighing he finally answered. "There’s no clear landing space inside. The city’s filled with rubble, so sending a craft without anyone inside is... well..."

"Where are they?" Dican snapped. "Just tell them to leave the craft. I’ll pick it up myself."

"Understood. I’ll forward your order right away. Oh—wait! I forgot to ask—are you injured? Are you okay?"

Dican looked down at his leg. The tear in his pants exposed skin still bruised and sluggishly healing. A slow crust of dried blood clung to his shin. His healing abilities were sluggish—likely due to the toxins in the atmosphere or the stress on his system.

But it didn’t matter.

"I’m fine," he said shortly, then ended the call.

The phone screen went dark in his palm.

He didn’t have ti to waste.

Bian had looked so eager. His eyes shining, his hand gripping Dican’s tightly, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. There was urgency in him now—desperation hiding beneath his soft voice. Dican could feel it.

And that desperation pulled at sothing inside him. He didn’t understand it fully, but he didn’t need to. Bian needed sothing. So Dican would bring it to him.

He began moving faster, despite the ache in his limbs. Each step jarred his body, but he pushed through it, limping through the shattered streets and toward the edge of the city.

His mind was filled with Bian’s voice—"If I want you to hurt a Farian, will you do it?"—and the way Bian’s face had flushed red when he kissed his hand.

Dican smiled faintly.

Whatever you need, love. I’ll get it for you.

Dican moved quickly, his long legs striding over the broken pavent and debris as he headed toward the outskirts of the city, just like the soldier had said. The sun was already going down, casting long, sharp shadows across the ruined streets. The fading light made everything look harsher, emptier. His heart pounded not from exertion, but from urgency. He didn’t want to leave Bian in the dark for too long.

He didn’t like this distance. Even if it was temporary. Even if Bian had asked him to do it.

The ache in his injured leg pulsed dully, slowing him down more than he wanted to admit. Still, he pushed forward, jaw clenched, eyes focused ahead.

He couldn’t fail. Bian was waiting.

He climbed over a crumbled wall, then leapt down onto a sloped road lined with shattered glass. His boots crunched on it, but he didn’t stop. He passed a tilted, half-collapsed building and rounded a corner.

His sharp Farian eyesight caught movent in the distance.

A small group of humans—maybe survivors—had camped a few streets away. He could see the flicker of a fire, faint shadows of figures around it.

If it was any normal situation he would have gone and had a chat. But now he did not wish to.

He stayed low, watched them from a distance for only a second, then moved on. He didn’t approach. Didn’t want to waste ti.

He turned away and kept going, quickening his pace.

He had to reach the outskirts fast. He had to get the craft and return before the darkness swallowed the city completely.

Bian was waiting.