Chapter 629 The Yap

Chapter 629 The Yap

Proxima Centauri b, one month later.

At the former site of Research Base New New South Wales, a single tree grew. Unlike any of the other newly created vegetation, it was alone in the center of a vast clearing and was of no particular species of tree. And on that tree was a single fruit, pulsing with a rhythmic red light.

Motes of shining mana were flowing into the fruit, causing it to sway from side to side. As more and more motes struck the fruit and passed through its skin, the swaying sped up with each passing second until cracks spread on the fruit’s surface. They continued spreading and widening until the fruit fragmented much like an eggshell, dropping a slim, hairless human figure to the ground, covered in a clear, slick goo. The man, for man he obviously was, given the equipment between his legs, stood and wiped the goo from his eyes.

“Fuck me!” he cursed as a wave of dizziness swept over him and he nearly fell to the ground. “I think I forgot how to walk. Do I have to grow up AGAIN!? FUCK!”

He took a deep breath and looked at his slimy form. “Holy shit! I have an eight pack now!” he exclaimed. “Sweet!”

The man lay on his back, staring up at the red sky of the planet, then crazily cackled, “I’m back!”

He was none other than Lee Joon-ho, and he had escaped certain death a second time.

Once his laughing fit passed, he rested, regaining strength with every breath he took. It felt like he was inhaling something together with the loam-scented atmosphere of Proxima Centauri b, and he immediately deduced what it was: mana.

“I wonder how long I’ve been, err, well... out of it,” he mumbled to himself. He was completely out of the habit of silently thinking after having spent such a long time in the timeless meadow, where the only sound was that of his own voice. “I hope I’m not the only person left here.”

“No telling yet, Sir, but whatever it is... it’s big. Really big, Sir,” the sensors officer replied. “It’s coming through clear because the mana shield around the area seems to have thinned. It might finally be disappearing, Sir.”

Captain Marinakis exchanged a glance with Ayaka, then nodded. He turned to the security officer on the bridge and ordered, “Prepare a lander for a remote mission to check out that signal.”

The security officer came to attention and snapped, “Aye aye, Captain.” He was just short of saluting.

“And belay the academy yap, Lieutenant,” the captain said in a wry tone.

(Ed note: The “academy yap” is a distinct tone that new graduates from military training use when speaking to officers or NCOs. It’s difficult to describe in text, you just have to hear it to understand it. It’s highly formal, very precise, and usually overly enthusiastic. It’s also very, very loud. I couldn’t find anything on YouTube for you, but check back in a few days; I’ll keep looking, and if I find it I’ll leave it here as a comment.)

An hour later, the sensors officer on the bridge of the Farsight reported, “Looks like the shield is down, Captain. I’m getting good returns on all sensors.”

Captain Marinakis acknowledged the report, then turned to the security officer again. “Send the lander mission, Lieutenant. Remember: remote piloting only, no sense risking the few flyboys we have aboard.”

“Aye—” the lieutenant began, but was shortly interrupted by the captain.

“And can the yap, Lieutenant!”

Everyone on the bridge fell into a sudden coughing fit as they stifled their laughter.