Deeper conversations, stronger bonds

The spaceship jolted violently, the star map stretched into a colorful band of light, and the jump was officially initiated. The lights in the main control room turned from red to green, the alarm was lifted, but no one spoke immediately. The battle that had just taken place was like a piece of red-hot iron, still stuck in everyone's throat, impossible to spit out or swallow.

Ye Mo leaned back in the passenger seat, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the holes in his work pants. He could feel a dull pain in his ribs, as if someone was gently tapping them with a small hammer. The crack in his glasses was still there; when he looked through them, the world in his right eye always appeared distorted.

"Those glasses of yours," Star-Lord suddenly spoke, his voice low, "If you keep wearing them, sooner or later you'll be seeing the sky with one eye and the ground with the other."

Ye Mo didn't move, only slightly raising his eyelids. "It still works."

"It's not a matter of whether it works or not," Rocket poked his head out from behind the maintenance panel, wrench in hand, "It's about what happens if you run into a wall someday—don't blame me for not warning you—I'm not responsible for carrying you to the hospital."

"A hospital?" Star-Lord scoffed. "Where in the universe are there aliens who specialize in curing nearsightedness? At most, they'll give you a prosthetic eye and then play the ' Guardians of the Galaxy: For Your Eyesight' documentary every day."

Groot gently shook the branch and said in a low voice, "We... don't need a hospital."

Gamora stood in front of the tactical screen, her finger swiping across the radar interface to confirm that the abnormal signal had completely disappeared before slowly turning off the alarm mode. She turned and walked over to Ye Mo, handing him a bottle of water. "Drink some. You've lost a lot of blood."

Ye Mo took the water, unscrewed the cap, and took a sip. The water temperature was just right, neither too hot nor too cold, as if it had been prepared in advance. He suddenly felt a dryness in his throat, not just because of sweating, but more like after fighting a long battle, finally able to catch his breath, he didn't know how to breathe properly.

"Your hoodie sleeves," Rocket said again, "You're really not going to sew them up? I bet if you get into another fight, the sleeves will be gone first."

"If you're really that bored," Ye Mo placed the empty bottle on the edge of the control panel, "You might as well check the engine, lest the ship fall apart halfway through the journey."

"Hey, I fixed the thrusters!" Rocket jumped up. "If it weren't for me, you'd still be gnawing on scrap metal in the wreckage of the Kree!"

"That's right." Star-Lord nodded. "If it weren't for the Rocket, we'd all be space junk by now. But—" he changed the subject, "If it weren't for Ye Mo single-handedly Wall Phasing, stopping people, erecting shields, and setting up fire walls, we wouldn't even have had the chance to be blown to bits."

Ye Mo was about to speak, habitually saying, "The system notification told me to do this," when Star-Lord interrupted him directly, "Don't bring up that non-existent system. You threw that punch yourself, you breathed that fire yourself, and you endured seventeen minutes without support all by yourself."

There was a moment of silence in the cabin.

Ye Mo didn't speak. He was indeed used to attributing credit to the "system," since no one could see it or verify it anyway. But hearing Star-Lord say it so bluntly, it felt like a layer of his heart had been pried open.

"Groot." He suddenly turned to the vegetative patient in the corner.

Groot raised his head, and the branches rustled slightly.

"When you sensed the structural stability near the crack, I knew that if you said 'safe,' then it truly was safe." Ye Mo paused, mimicking his tone, "'We... are safe.'"

Groot paused for a moment, then his whole body began to sway, his branches swinging merrily, and he made a "gurgling" sound as he laughed. Star-Lord laughed along, while Rocket rolled his eyes but didn't stop him.

"Gamora." Ye Mo looked at her again.

She was drinking water with her head down when she heard this and looked up.

"What did you say when you saw me put the gem into the sealing device?"

Gamora put down the water bottle, her voice soft. "At that moment, you weren't like a warrior, you were more like a guardian."

Ye Mo was stunned.

He never expected to hear such words from Gamora. This woman was usually so quiet, almost like she was on energy-saving mode, and when she did speak, it was always tactical analysis or risk warnings; she almost never commented on people. But these words, of all things, hit a nerve.

He really didn't want to be a soldier. He just wanted to survive, and incidentally, not let anyone else die too horribly. But when he said "three people share the responsibility" and locked it in the vault with his own hands, what flashed through his mind wasn't the mission or the system notification, but rather—this thing is too dangerous, I can't let it destroy anyone else's home.

"Back then..." he said softly, "You didn't laugh at me for being dramatic?"

"No," Gamora shook her head, "Because you didn't leave yourself a way out. That's the cruelest decision you made."

The Rocket clicked their tongue. "Can you two stop making this sound like a farewell speech? It's giving me goosebumps."

"Then stay away." Star-Lord laughed and tossed him an energy bar. "Eat something, or you'll be crying for your parents later."

The Rocket caught the package and glanced at the packaging. "Is it heated?"

"Can't you press the button yourself?"

"I'm a weapons expert, not a kitchen helper!"

"Then find someone else to heat it up," Star-Lord shrugged. "You can't expect Ye Mo to cook for you while he's healing, can you? He's not a babysitter."

"He saved me," Groot said suddenly, his voice clearer than usual, "He... pulled me out of the well."

Everyone fell silent.

That was their first joint mission. Groot fell into an abandoned ventilation shaft while chasing the enemy; it was bottomless. While the others hesitated about whether to risk a rescue, Ye Mo had already taken off his coat and started climbing down the broken ladder. In the end, he carried Groot back up, his shoulder cut by sharp metal, but he didn't utter a sound the whole time.

"You still remember?" Ye Mo was a little surprised.

Groot nodded. "I remember everyone's kindness."

Rocket was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly said, "You didn't abandon any of us. Even when I cursed at you, you still saved us."

He looked up, his gaze unusually serious. "You've got guts."

Ye Mo looked at him and suddenly smiled, "You guys aren't bad either."

That casual remark seemed to flip a switch. Star-Lord rummaged through the locker and pulled out several cans of heated food, snapping the start button. Soon, the aroma of food filled the cabin. Rocket complained, "This stuff is way too high in calories," while eating rapidly; Groot ate with clumsy but focused movements, using a twig to pick at his food; Gamora sat in the corner, sipping her nutrient solution; Star-Lord, with his legs crossed, hummed that old song.

Ye Mo lowered his head to eat, the steam fogging up his glasses. He didn't wipe them, just listened to the melody gradually filling the space.

Come and Get Your Love.

The same tune, the same rhythm, but this time, it wasn't static coming from a broken speaker, but a complete, clear sound, with a touch of the roughness of an old era, yet it was reassuring.

He raised his hand and tapped his knee lightly with his fingertips, following the rhythm, once, then again.

The movements were so natural, as if they had been done a thousand times.

Star-Lord heard him and winked at him. "Hey, Yezi, you can keep the beat now?"

"Shut up." Ye Mo said this, but his hands didn't stop.

Rocket, chewing on his food, mumbled, "He used to stare at the radar screen while eating, but now he can even listen to music—quite an improvement."

"People always change," Gamora said softly.

"Yeah," Star-Lord leaned back in his chair. "I used to steal spaceships all by myself, now a bunch of lunatics hang out with me. Isn't this universe strange?"

"Strange." Ye Mo finally finished the last bite, crushed the empty box, and threw it into the recycling bin. "But now I think having a team isn't so bad."

He was stunned for a moment after he finished speaking.

These words shouldn't have come out of his mouth. He's always been that "lone wolf," and since his transmigration, his motto has been "Don't get too close to anyone, don't be a burden, just stay alive." But now, he actually said "that's right."

Groot heard it, and the branch gently touched his shoulder, as if in response.

The cabin quieted down again, but the tension from the battle subsided, replaced by a relaxed feeling after exhaustion. The star map flowed slowly ahead, warp drive turning the starry sky into a blurry sea of light. The lights in the main control cabin were turned down to their lowest setting, casting a soft glow on everyone's faces.

Ye Mo put his glasses back on; the cracks were still there, but he didn't care anymore. He looked out the window, where the elongated starlight seemed like roads leading to the unknown.

He suddenly remembered that back on Earth, he always ate alone, walked alone, and stayed up all night working on his thesis alone. At that time, he felt that as long as he didn't bother others, it was the best way to survive.

But now, sitting beside him is a grumbling Raccoon, a singing Star-Lord, a grateful tree, and a taciturn but reliable female assassin.

They argue, they quarrel, they insult each other, but they are also on the same battlefield, back to back.

He looked down at his hands. The lingering tingling from the electric current in his palms was a trace of the Power Stone. But right now, he was more concerned about the empty seat to his right—the spot where Star-Lord had sat when he got up to get the can of food, which still retained a little warmth.

He didn't move; he just sat there.

When Groot started humming again, this time Ye Mo didn't just listen; he opened his mouth slightly and silently repeated a line of the lyrics.

No one noticed.

He himself didn't realize it.

But at this moment, he was no longer "Ye Mo, the transmigrator," nor "Mr. X," nor the guy who always tried to shift the blame to the system.

He is Ye Mo.

He was one of the members of this crazy yet reliable team.

The spacecraft was traveling smoothly in the warp drive, the radar screen was quiet, the trajectory was stable, and the energy was plentiful.

Ye Mo placed his hands on his knees, his back completely relaxed, and a very faint smile on his lips.

Outside the window, starlight flowed like a river.