The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]-Chapter 161 - Spaceship ride

Dican leaned on the young human’s shoulder as they stepped out of the barn, his leg throbbing with every movement. The sunlight was soft, filtered through the morning haze, but it made Dican squint as the brightness hit his eyes. He pulled out the comm device he’d tucked into his belt and quickly dialed a number.

Nansich stayed quiet as Dican lifted the device to his ear, the alien’s brows furrowing in focus.

The line clicked, and a voice answered almost immediately. It wasn’t Xing’s voice. It was someone else—calm, crisp.

"This is Eren."

"I want the location of the cruiser, now," Dican said, voice low and sharp, laced with urgency.

Nansich didn’t want to eavesdrop. Whatever this man—Dican—was talking about, it was clearly something important, and private. So he respectfully backed off a few paces, his shoes lightly kicking through a few scattered rocks. One of them bounced off and rolled toward a patch of thin trees nearby.

As he turned away, his eyes landed on something that made him stop in his tracks.

A corpse.

Twisted and blackened, its limbs stiff and bloated, one of those aliens lay slumped against a rock near the edge of the trees. Its stomach was split open. Flies buzzed thickly around it.

Frowning, Nansich took a few hesitant steps toward it. The smell hit him first—foul, like rotting meat soaked in sewage. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, trying not to gag. The farther he walked, the more he realized that this wasn’t just one alien body.

There were more.

So many more.

They were strewn through the underbrush like a battlefield aftermath—limbs severed, necks sliced open, alien blood dried into thick patches of slime. Some were partially buried under branches or leaves, as if they’d tried to crawl away before they died.

Nansich’s stomach rolled, and he stumbled back, nearly slipping on a damp patch of moss.

’Who killed them all?’ he thought, his breath coming quick. His eyes widened slightly as a strange thought came to mind. His gaze slowly drifted toward the barn.

’Was it... him?’

He turned back, only to nearly jump when he found Dican standing right behind him, his own face twisted in a matching frown. The man had ended his call, his communicator already put away.

"You didn’t do this?" Nansich whispered, his voice shaky, still stunned by the sheer number of corpses.

Dican shook his head, stepping forward and lowering himself into a crouch with a soft grunt of pain. His eyes scanned one of the alien bodies with scrutiny.

"This was done by a Farian sword," he murmured, reaching out to inspect a clean cut running straight through what looked like the only solid bone in the creature’s body. "Not many can make a cut this clean."

Nansich watched him with curiosity and a sliver of awe. Dican’s tone wasn’t impressed—just thoughtful. Like he was trying to piece something together.

Nansich didn’t say it out loud, but another face flashed through his mind.

Jian.

He had a sword. A long, strange-looking one, unlike anything Nansich had seen. Could it have been him?

’Did Jian do this?’ he thought, heart thumping a little. The possibility stirred something uncertain in his chest, but he pushed the thought away for now.

"Hey," he whispered softly.

Dican glanced up at him. freeweɓnovel.cѳm

Nansich hesitated for a second, then pointed subtly to Dican’s forehead. "That thing... the mark on your forehead. Is it common for your kind? Is it always red?"

Dican blinked, raising a hand to touch his forehead. His fingers lightly brushed over the glowing mark there, his expression shifting into a slight frown.

"Jedis are only for the ones carrying the royal bloodline," he said slowly. "And no, it’s not always red. It depends."

He narrowed his eyes slightly as he studied Nansich’s face.

"Why?"

"Ah—n-nothing..." Nansich looked away quickly, awkwardly brushing a hand through his hair. "Just curious, that’s all."

Dican didn’t push. He stood up again slowly, swaying slightly before catching himself. Nansich immediately stepped closer, steadying him with a hand to his waist.

Their eyes met again—briefly.

For just a second, something warm passed between them. An unspoken thread of connection, uncertain but undeniably present.

Dican looked away first, his jaw tightening.

Nansich didn’t know what it meant yet. But his heart was definitely beating faster than before.

Soon the cruiser came into view as they neared the edge of the garbage dumps. It was parked alone amidst heaps of twisted scrap metal, shattered concrete, and rusting machinery, with no sign of life anywhere nearby. The area was eerily quiet—just the faint buzzing of distant flies and the occasional clatter of loose tin carried by the wind.

Nansich’s eyes widened the moment he saw it.

"Wow..." he breathed, slowing to a halt. "That is a sweet ride."

The alien craft gleamed under the muted sunlight. It looked almost like a fighter jet—sleek and aerodynamic, with a long pointed nose and swept-back wings that angled upward slightly. Its body was a polished, gunmetal grey, smooth and shiny like brushed steel. There were no visible bolts or seams, just clean, flowing lines that curved around the frame as if the entire thing had been sculpted from a single piece of metal.

A few glowing strips pulsed softly along the base of the hull, giving it an otherworldly look. The back end tapered off into two slim exhausts, silent and unmoving. It looked fast—dangerously fast. And expensive.

Nansich couldn’t help walking a slow circle around it, trailing his fingers along the smooth outer shell.

"It looks like it could slice through the air without even trying..."

Dican walked straight up to it, clearly unfazed by the sight. He placed his hand on a curved panel just beside the cockpit, and a soft, mechanical chirp sounded. A silver panel on top slid upward with a hiss, revealing a dark interior.

Without hesitation, Dican stepped up and climbed inside.

Nansich stayed outside, hesitating.

He hadn’t expected this. He’d offered to help Dican get to the city because he thought the man was going to walk the whole way—injured and half-dead. But this? This was a flying alien cruiser. This man didn’t need help. Not from someone like him.

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and sighed, backing away from the ship. This was probably where their paths split. The alien had someone waiting for him. He wouldn’t want to bother with a stray human tagging along.

Just as he turned away, a sharp voice rang out from behind.

"What are you dawdling outside for? Get in."

Nansich turned, surprised, and saw Dican poking his head out of the cockpit with an annoyed expression. His tone was as commanding as ever.

"I-I’m good!" Nansich called back with a forced smile, waving one hand. "I can get home myself. It’s fine. You go on ahead and find that person who’s waiting for you."

He tried to sound cheerful, but something about saying it out loud made his chest tighten a little.

Dican’s frown deepened. "If you walk back to the city, you’ll be eaten alive by the Graylings."

The bluntness of the statement made Nansich’s jaw tighten. His pride prickled instantly.

He crossed his arms and puffed out his chest. "I didn’t see any aliens on our way here. It was quiet. I’m pretty sure it’s safe, thank you. I can handle myself even if they do come."

Dican scoffed. "None attacked us because I was with you," he said matter-of-factly. "Go alone, and you’re Grayling breakfast for sure."

With that, he disappeared back into the cruiser.

But the entrance panel remained open.

Nansich stared at it.

It stayed open for several long seconds, almost like... it was waiting for him.

He bit his bottom lip.

His feet shifted.

Finally, with a soft grumble under his breath, he made his decision and stepped forward.

The interior of the cruiser was compact but beautiful. It was built for speed and agility, not for long journeys or many passengers. There were only two seats, both made of dark, smooth material that molded automatically to the shape of the occupant. Between the seats was a sleek console filled with small lights, holographic controls, and glowing symbols that shifted when Dican’s hand hovered near them.

Nansich carefully climbed in and dropped into the second seat. The moment he did, a belt system extended automatically and locked into place around his chest and waist, tightening gently.

He blinked, wide-eyed.

The inside smelled faintly of metal and something like warm ozone. The cockpit dome above them gave a clear view of the sky and the junkyard around them. The controls pulsed faintly with alien text, and he could hear a soft hum coming from beneath their seats—something alive, powerful.

"Alien tech is so cool," he whispered, looking around excitedly.

His eyes scanned every button, every flickering light. He tried not to touch anything, but it was hard not to stare in awe. It felt like he was sitting in the future—or in a movie. Everything was so clean and efficient, with none of the clunky switches or mechanical noises he was used to from Earth machines.

Beside him, Dican didn’t say anything. But his gaze flicked briefly toward the young human, watching his reaction with a small, unreadable look.

And maybe—just maybe—something in Dican’s chest warmed slightly at the sight of Nansich’s open wonder.

He turned back to the controls and started the engine with a smooth swipe of his fingers across the console. The cruiser hummed louder, and the ground beneath them began to vibrate faintly.

Outside, the garbage heaps trembled as the air around the craft shimmered.

And just like that, they were lifting into the sky.