Amidst the combined onslaught of the meteor shower and the enemy squadron, An Junlie skillfully eliminated his opponents while narrowly evading a world-ending barrage of falling rocks, successfully surviving the ordeal.

He knew this was no miracle.

Because, in the end, it was sheer capability that spoke volumes.

Yet, those of true capability often find themselves least favored by fate. Now, this man, standing at a standard height of one meter eighty-seven, was once again facing an immediate crisis. In the decade since he began commanding legions before even reaching puberty, he had never felt this utterly cornered.

The reason was brutally simple: the mech was refusing to obey him...

He attempted to run another diagnostic, and an ancient sigh echoed in his ear from the system, as if pitying the battered machine: "Insufficient energy. Cannot run diagnostic. How could you forget to replenish the power cells, Commander?"

An Junlie couldn't help but let out a weary breath.

A system voice so personalized was utterly infuriating.

The story behind it was rather long; essentially, a few retired veterans from the legion had taken up voice acting as a hobby and integrated their performances into the system sounds, adjusting the tone based on the mech's condition—some joyful, some sorrowful. And at this crucial moment, he had triggered the sorrowful setting.

As the energy reserves dwindled further, the system voice would grow progressively more hoarse...

It was truly one misfortune piling upon another.

In reality, even without running the diagnostic, An Junlie could already surmise his current status.

The central computer was unresponsive; mech damage was at least 75%; and the energy reserves...

Before his thoughts could conclude, the system's rasping voice interrupted, "Insufficient power, cannot di—" before abruptly cutting off mid-syllable.

The last vestiges of energy were depleted.

The mech plummeted straight down.

Fine. Let fate decide his course now.

The highly competent An Junlie finally decided to rely on luck—just this once!

At that exact moment, he noticed a grey-purple glint of light emanating from a star on his right flank in the sky.

A Purple Pulsar?

A thought flashed through his mind and vanished, too quick for him to grasp. He had no time for contemplation; seeing the light source, he instinctively channeled natural energy, tilting the chassis, forcefully altering the trajectory, and deploying the mech’s only energy-independent parachute, preparing for a forced landing on the nearest planet.

The sensation of gravitational acceleration felt precisely like jumping off a skyscraper.

Except the duration of the fall was infinitely longer than any building jump—it felt like being subjected to death by a thousand cuts.

Yet, instead of anxiety, An Junlie felt a strange sense of release. He sat back in his seat, eyes wide open, emptying his mind, allowing the mech to enter a state of freefall.

Closer now, much closer.

He could discern an endless expanse of purple, though whether it was foliage or blossoms, he couldn't tell. Even the ambient light was a muted, grey-violet, bringing a sense of oppressive disorientation.

Could this be... planet One-One?

The ten-meter-tall humanoid mech slammed into the ground with a resounding CRUNCH.

Through the violent tremors, An Junlie grit his teeth once more, his body feeling utterly dismantled, as if his internal organs had shifted out of alignment. But An Junlie was overjoyed—as long as he was alive, there was still hope!

His landing site was nestled against a hillside. A few hundred meters ahead lay a vast field of grey structures resembling ancient factories, surrounded by violet-hued trees, with no visible roads. On the other side of the hill shimmered a sea of fiery red flowers, blooming with fierce intensity.

Strangely, there was no sign of any life.

An Junlie exited the cockpit, stored the mech via the spatial recall button, and began walking toward the cluster of buildings. The unpaved ground was littered with gravel and weeds that barely reached his ankles.

After walking for about five or six minutes, he spotted a small girl, perhaps eight or nine years old, strolling down the path while clutching a plump little pig. Her light, delicate crimson dress stood out sharply against the pervasive violet landscape.

An Junlie rarely interacted with women, and his experience dealing with small girls was exactly zero. Currently in distress, he couldn't afford to stand on ceremony. He approached the girl and asked gently, "Is there a mech repair depot nearby?"

The girl abruptly looked up, her gaze locking onto him for half a second before she suddenly leaped up, screaming, "Alien! There's an alien!" Her grip loosened on the pig, which fell to the ground with a soft thud. She abandoned the pig without a second thought and scrambled away in a panicked run.

An Junlie stood momentarily bewildered. Did he look that frightening?

According to his Deputy Commander, Lan Li, An Junlie’s features were decidedly unkind to children; whenever he adopted a stern expression, Lan Li would laugh and tease him, saying, "You’re going to scare the little ones into crying, Commander..."

He wasn't one for excessive rumination, but having survived the near-fatal encounter, coupled with the dizziness from hunger, his mind felt hazy. Perhaps his judgment was slightly impaired.

An Junlie shook his head, banishing the urge to simply collapse and sleep, and continued walking. After taking about ten more steps, a sign written in Galactic Standard script flashed in his peripheral vision. The lettering was shaky, resembling the handwriting of a seven or eight-year-old child.

—Mech Repair Entrance, Five Hundred Meters Ahead...

To find someone conversant in Galactic Standard script in such a remote place—should he be grateful? An Junlie's body reacted faster than his brain; he strode forward purposefully. Only after completing this action did he belatedly register the half-sentence trailing beneath the main instruction—Make your toys more beautiful and softer!

Treating a mech like a toy? Was that a joke?

An Junlie wasn't intentionally being dismissive, but this entire location seemed utterly devoid of modern influence, like some ancient settlement on an unevolved planet.

Advancing precisely five hundred meters, An Junlie stopped dead in front of a billboard the size of a door panel. The top read "Professional Repair," and beneath it, a chubby robot was crudely drawn in colored markers, the lines as juvenile as kindergarten artwork.

Toy? Robot?

Had he been too rushed and misread the sign? Was it a toy robot, not a mech? The thought was infuriating!

The shop occupied the forefront of the "factory" complex. The building was only five meters tall, dwarfed by the ten-meter structures behind it, appearing like an insignificant, dilapidated stall.

An Junlie peered closely; the light inside was dim, obscuring any view of the interior. A moment later, a small girl, perhaps one meter tall, bounced out of the shop, wearing a gradient princess dress of goose-yellow. The vibrant yellow shone brighter than the surrounding grey, making the entire gown look like a ray of sunlight piercing through cloud cover.

She took a few steps, stumbled, and immediately collapsed onto the ground, bursting into loud, wailing sobs.

Another little girl.

An Junlie pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

A hungry man is an irritable man, and the little girl's crying was piercingly loud. The monotonous waah-waah sound sent stabbing pains through his temples. He desperately wanted to tell her to shut up, but recalling his previous frustrating encounter, he merely sighed in resignation.

Seeing that no one was attending to her, the girl stopped crying and raised a hand to wipe her tears. An Junlie's sharp eyes caught the neat red lettering inscribed on the back of her hand: T88. The girl he had met earlier on the road had writing on her hand as well: G438.

Could these be some sort of significant serial numbers?

The more closely he observed, the stranger it seemed. Both girls were nearly the same height, similar in build, and even their facial features shared a strong seventy to eighty percent resemblance. Was the previous girl also part of this family?

As he pondered this mystery, a figure emerged from the doorway. An Junlie saw clearly: the person first stepped out with their left foot. Their burlap trousers were wide, and as they crossed the threshold, they revealed the edge of a foot encased in cloth footwear—a somewhat slender foot.

The foot landed without making a sound.

An Junlie’s gaze followed the leg upward to a short boy, perhaps not yet fourteen, with a very lean frame. His expression was perfectly calm, as if he were accustomed to such events. The only incongruity was his disheveled hair, where every strand stood stiff and black, certainly not the kind of hair a slight youth like this should possess.

The boy held a light-screen manipulator. With one press, the little girl instantly stopped wiping her tears. With another press, the girl broke into happy laughter.

An Junlie froze in place. The little girl was actually a robot!