Chapter 30: Chen Xing’s Flashback: A Hymn Called Courage
Chapter 30: Chen Xing’s Flashback: A Hymn Called Courage
Boom!
Episode 6 opens with a bang—literally.
Tendou unleashed his Stellar Technique—Dark Grey at the ultra-alloy testing pillar.
The result wasn’t world-shattering—the crater left behind wasn’t especially large—but the shockwave it caused was enough to make the entire training chamber tremble.
Just from that, you could tell how terrifying Tendou’s power had become.
And, at the same time, how ridiculously sturdy that “ordinary” testing pillar must be.
It was at this point that the audience finally understood why Chen Kong and the others outside had felt a “mini-earthquake” just moments ago.
“So… my current limit is only tenfold rotation speed?”
“Caroline, you got the energy readings?”
“Star Energy output—one thousand nine hundred,” Caroline reported crisply. “Equivalent to an early stage second-order strike.”
“Your energy conversion efficiency is at ninety-five percent. Which means this is almost your current limit. Pushing for the last five percent wouldn’t be worth the time—it’s diminishing returns.”
“Only one thousand nine hundred, huh…”
From that short exchange, the audience finally got a sense of just where Tendou stood among the Children of the Stars.
To obtain a Star Origin and have a base Star Energy of 100—that’s the mark of a first-order Starbearer.
And right now, Tendou wasn’t just a legitimate first-order Starbearer—his attacks already hit with the force of a second-order one.
For most of the other Children of the Stars, still fumbling around at first-order level, Tendou was basically two whole patches ahead of everyone else.
And yet… the man still looked unsatisfied, disappointment written all over his face.
That pure, concentrated perfectionism completely broke the audience.
“Bro, you’re already two patches ahead! Why do you still look disappointed?!”
“Please stop, King! Any further and you’ll hit the God patch!”
“Genius and hardworking. Yeah… no wonder he’s the strongest.”
Just as Tendou wrapped up his training, the door to the chamber slid open.
Chen Xing and Chen Kong stepped inside.
Tendou turned, smiling warmly as always.
But if the previous episodes had taught us anything, it’s this—
Tendou may be perfect in almost every way… except when it comes to his personality.
Because even when he can talk normally—he just won’t.
He’ll always, always go for the jugular.
“Xing, just look at your brother’s recovery! Not a single scar left on him.”
“Now look at yourself—insisting on keeping a scar on your arm ‘as a reminder,’ or whatever nonsense you called it.”
“Honestly, I think you’ve just had it too easy. You like to suffer for no reason. Who in their right mind turns down a no-scar surgery just to leave a mark behind? That’s not dedication, that’s a sickness!”
Chen Xing, as always, wasn’t one to take it lying down.
Her eyes blazed as she snapped back, fierce as ever—and this time, she even activated her newly acquired Star Origin ability: Karmic Flame.
For a moment, the entire screen was swallowed in scarlet flame.
Even through the monitor, you could feel the scorching power radiating from her.
But Tendou?
He just brushed the raging flames aside—calmly, effortlessly—as if he were brushing away dust from his sleeve.
“What, seriously? You get mad that easily? Can’t a guy speak the truth anymore?”
Tendou waved off the flames like they were nothing. The audience, watching him casually disperse Chen Xing’s fiery attack, could only gape in awe.
Just bare-handedly brushing aside fire like that wasn’t something normal people could even imagine—and to do it with that much ease? This man was terrifyingly strong.
Chen Xing, though, didn’t even look surprised. Clearly, she’d already learned the hard way what kind of monster she was dealing with.
After another round of their signature bickering—the kind that made every encounter between these two feel like a sparring match wrapped in flirtation—the scene wrapped up with Tendou announcing he was heading to the cafeteria.
But before he got far, a familiar voice called out behind him.
“Wait.”
He sighed. “What is it now, Xing-chan? I’ve been training all day—I’m exhausted. If you’ve got something to say, say it all at once, please.”
“Tendou, fight me again. I want to see the difference between us with my own eyes.”
“...Huh? Again?”
The look on his face said it all—he did not want to be here. But as always, the man who was known across Stellaris: Embers as the strongest couldn’t bring himself to say no.
Still, this time, he proposed a twist.
He raised his hand and drew a faintly glowing circle on the floor around himself—barely one meter wide.
“I won’t attack, and I won’t move from this spot.”
“If you can force me out of this circle within three minutes… you win.”
The audience went absolutely wild.
“LOCK IT IN! THE SHIP IS REAL—TENXING FOREVER!”
“You’re spoiling her again! One day she’s gonna get too used to this, bro!”
“Relax, it’s just a little lovers’ sparring match—(furiously vibrating with excitement)”
As the chat exploded with shipping wars, Chen Xing took a deep breath and began walking toward him, eyes blazing with determination.
But as she passed her younger brother, Chen Kong, she paused.
“Watch carefully, Kong.” she said quietly. “Because you’re about to see the true gap between us… and a true genius.”
“And that gap… ,” she added, her voice trembling just a little, “is so vast, it’ll make you despair.”
There are some truths that hurt only when spoken aloud.
Hearing Chen Xing admit—herself—that the distance between her and Tendou was one of despair made the audience’s hearts sink.
If the Number Two herself said it, then there was no doubt left. Tendou wasn’t just strong.
He was something beyond human.
“Chen Xing… what are you doing? Without you, who’s left to stand against the Demon King, Tendou?!”
“Doesn’t matter—wife losing to husband in shonen anime is normal!”
“Excuse me?! Everyone knows Caroline’s the real main girl here!”
“Main girl? Ha! You must be new here.”
“No love for Tendou x Liuli fans? Hello??”
“Tendou x Liuli? Go back to the kiddie table!”
While the fandom went to war in the comment section—“TenXing” versus “TenCar,” versus “TenLiu”—the screen suddenly shifted.
The warm training room faded away, replaced by soft sunlight and the laughter of children.
It was a flashback. Chen Xing’s flashback.
Unlike Tendou’s grim, battle-scarred memories, hers began in gentle, colorful tones—the smiling face of a child, the faint echo of her parents’ laughter (their faces deliberately blurred).
You could tell, even through the haze, that young Chen Xing had once lived a peaceful, happy life.
But, as with all warmth in this world, it didn’t last.
The scene cut to a little girl wearing a paper crown, her face glowing with joy as she blew out the candles on her birthday cake.
And that was the last moment of happiness before everything changed.
But the moment she blew out those candles—
—the screen glitched.
Static, distortion, blocks of digital noise—like someone had smashed the memory itself into fragments.
That sudden mosaic-like tearing of the image hit the audience like a gut punch.
Everyone watching could feel it—something bad was coming.
And sure enough… when the screen cleared again—
—the cozy, firelit home was gone.
In its place stood a room swallowed in darkness, blanketed in dust, ruined by time and disaster.
Chen Xing was still there, standing where she had been a heartbeat ago.
But her frilly birthday dress had vanished, replaced by a ragged shirt and torn shorts.
The birthday cake before her—once glowing with candles—was now nothing but a lump of moldy bread, crawling with flies, reeking of rot.
One second she’d been in heaven. The next, she’d fallen straight into hell.
The viewers all felt it—the knife.
The deliberate cruelty of the production team.
“No way… not like this…”
“That cut—it’s a death flag! They didn’t just stab us, they twisted the blade!”
“Kong, stay here,” Chen Xing said softly. “I’ll go find us something to eat. Don’t wander off.”
“O-okay, sis.”
They were both so young. Both should’ve been the ones protected.
And yet here she was—this little girl, standing tall, her voice steady, her eyes unflinching.
She tucked her brother in, slung a worn backpack over her shoulder, and stepped into the cold, silent night—toward the ruins of a dead city.
It was a perfect echo of her words from the final trial:
“So even if I know the next step leads straight into the abyss—I’ll still walk forward without hesitation. After all, there’s no one left standing in front of me.”
Chen Xing had always been proud. But it was never empty pride.
It wasn’t arrogance. It was conviction.
A will that refused to bend, no matter how cruel the world became.
She didn’t boast about her pride—she lived it.
And that’s why no one ever hated her for it.
Because people despise hypocrites—but they can only admire those who keep moving forward while carrying their pain.
Courage—that’s humanity’s greatest hymn.
Meanwhile, somewhere far away, Tendou sat in his dorm room, watching the episode unfold on his dimensional screen.
And for the first time in a long while, he found himself speechless.
He straightened in his seat, eyes wide.
It wasn’t just the shock of seeing how strong Chen Xing had been, even as a child.
It was something else.
This entire scene—the flashback, the ruined home, the fall from light to dark—none of it had been in the original script.
Which could only mean one thing.
Because of his unexpected appearance in this world, Stellaris: Embers had once again begun to rewrite its own story.
And this time, he had absolutely no idea what would come next.
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