The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL] Chapter 204 - Sharp pain

They moved through the half-cracked pavent and dust-choked alleyways in silence, each footstep punctuated by the crunch of broken glass and debris. The city around them was a ghost shell—burned-out windows, bent lamp posts, remnants of old lives scattered in twisted tal and soot. And still, not a word passed between Jian and Xing Yu.

Jian deliberately kept his gaze ahead, jaw set, sword clenched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles blanched. He didn’t want to speak to Xing. He didn’t want to look at him. It was still echoing in his head—"This isn’t a ga, Jian." Like he was just so clueless, fragile outsider. Like he didn’t belong on the battlefield.

Yes, he was new. Yes, he had just begun to understand the true face of war. But being dismissed that easily, being told he was only useful for watching from behind a bush, made sothing raw churn in his gut. Jian wasn’t trying to play hero. But he had to fight. It was the only thing keeping him sane.

Beside him, Nansich trudged along, swinging a rust-caked rake over his shoulder. The tal teeth glinted faintly, red with dried blood. Jian finally broke his angry thoughts long enough to glance at it.

"What are you going to do with a bloody rake?" he asked, unable to help himself.

Nansich shrugged, his bleached hair bouncing. "I guess I want to stab so of them right in their faces..." His voice was light, but there was sothing jagged behind it. A sliver of fury. Grief.

Jian didn’t laugh. He just looked forward again.

Behind them, Li Wang stumbled over a crack in the road, clutching the bridge of his glasses where the fra had split. He wasn’t carrying anything—not a gun, not a weapon, not even a rock.

"Why don’t we just stay back at the house?" Li Wang puffed, trying to catch up. "It sounds dangerous and we’re just... powerless humans, right?"

That stopped Jian in his tracks.

He turned slowly, brows drawn low, a coldness in his eyes that wasn’t there earlier. Nansich followed suit, glaring at the older boy like he’d just insulted their ancestors.

"We help as much as we can," Jian said, voice low, nearly growled. "Even if we’re useless, even if we’re powerless—we still try. We don’t sit in so room hiding like cowards."

"We’ll stay out of their hair," Nansich muttered, eyes flicking to Jian for a mont. "Least we can do."

Xing Yu, a few paces ahead, glanced over his shoulder at that. His eyes lingered for a beat too long, flicking from Nansich to Jian.

But Jian didn’t et his gaze.

He turned his head sharply, ignoring the look.

Eren let out a loud whistle, sharp and cutting through the air like a blade. He cracked his neck and began boxing at the air, throwing a few punches with exaggerated flair. "Man, I’d be pissed too if I were him," he muttered, eyes glittering. "Kept out of the action like that? Tch. Sucks." Still, a grin stretched wide across his face, all too bright for soone supposedly sharing Jian’s frustration.

Xing Yu, walking a step ahead, ca to a slow halt.

The air between them seed to pause. He didn’t look back imdiately, but his hands curled loosely at his sides. "...Do you think I made a mistake?" His voice ca quiet, low, almost unheard under the sound of boots scuffing against rubble. "By keeping him on the sidelines...?"

Eren jogged up to match his pace, his usual cocky energy softened, though not gone entirely. "No," he said simply. "You didn’t make any mistake, General."

Xing Yu’s eyes slid toward him, but Eren didn’t falter. He adjusted the strap on his shoulder, nodding ahead toward the faint glint of the signal tower rising like a skeletal limb against the broken skyline.

"It’s just—this situation..." Eren continued, more serious now. "It calls for those kinds of decisions. It’s not about fairness, it’s not even about trust. It’s about survival. You’re the one leading this op. That ans you get to shoulder the guilt for calling the safe shots, even when it pisses off the guy you’re trying to protect."

Xing Yu exhaled, long and slow.

Eren slowed too, his voice dropping. "Even if your prince gets involved... what if he gets hurt, huh? He’s the royal bloodline. You know what that ans."

Xing Yu didn’t respond.

"If even a hair on his head goes missing," Eren said, dragging a hand across his face in mock horror, "the first prince’s gonna hang us out to dry. The Emperor’ll probably have our heads gift-wrapped and sent to so moon colony as a warning."

He ended with an exaggerated expression, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue in a pretend death pose, hoping to lighten the tension. But the joke didn’t quite land.

Xing Yu stared ahead, jaw clenched faintly. "I know," he muttered. "I just... don’t want him to think I don’t believe in him."

Eren tilted his head slightly. "Maybe you should tell him that."

Listening to Eren’s advice, Xing Yu let out a silent breath and slowed his steps, falling back in line with the others. His eyes followed Jian’s figure—the stubborn way he kept walking without turning back once.

Xing Yu opened his mouth, trying to approach with calm. "Jian..."

But before he could say more, Jian turned his head just slightly—just enough to shoot him a flat look.

"I won’t get in your way," Jian said, voice perfectly calm, perfectly neutral. "Don’t worry. I’ll be at a very safe distance and I’ll watch."

Then he walked ahead without another glance.

Xing Yu stood there in silence, His fists clenched loosely at his side.

Nansich, dragging his rake like a tal scythe, scoffed as he passed Xing Yu. "You really pissed him off, huh?" he muttered, loud enough for only him to hear.

He jogged a few steps to catch up to Jian and, with a casual familiarity that stung for so reason, threw a hand over Jian’s shoulder.

"Co on, emo prince. Let’s be the dramatic backup duo in the bushes," Nansich joked, trying to lift Jian’s mood even just a little. Jian didn’t react much, but he didn’t shrug him off either.

For a second, just a blink of a mont, sothing in Xing Yu’s chest twisted. A brief, sharp pang—like sothing pierced straight through into his heart.

He looked away and drew in a slow, deep breath, letting the cold air numb it down. Now wasn’t the ti. Now wasn’t the place. His emotions had no room here.

He had to stay clearheaded. He had a mission to lead.