The Moment Elysia Confess Her Love, War Wages On the Ship

“A-ah… this is just…”

Mei stumbled over her words, caught red-handed in a blatant act of espionage, with the captain witnessing her awkward blunder firsthand.

She had no intention of challenging Elysia directly—in fact, those impulses were already deeply suppressed.

Even the pulsing energy of her Herrscher core had slowed, as if lulled into sleep.

“Ahem.”

Luo Ming cleared his throat. Although he trusted Elysia, he couldn’t deny a certain curiosity about the “Elysia Analysis 2.0.”

What could Mei have observed in such a short time?

Elysia noticed the pages Mei was trying so hard to hide. In a blink, she vanished, reappearing directly behind Mei before the latter even had a chance to react.

“Let me take a look…”

With no time to respond, Elysia grabbed the report on the spot.

Her blue eyes, tinged with pink, scanned the pages rapidly.

Before long, she sighed and set the report down with a somewhat crestfallen look, handing it back to Mei.

“Miss Mei, you’re incredible! You managed to pick up on so many of my likes and dislikes from just one meal together. I feel so deeply cared for!”

“This…”

Mei was stunned.

What did Elysia mean by this?

She seemed genuinely serious, with no hint of teasing.

Could it be… that Elysia wanted… to be her friend?

“Since I’m the captain’s girlfriend, naturally I want to know what he likes and doesn’t like to eat. I’ve been trying to observe him too, but all I could gather was that he has a clear preference for traditional Shenzhou flavors.”

Elysia chimed in, eyes gleaming with playful envy.

Mei nodded.

“That takes time and observation. It’s normal if you find it difficult.”

A sudden wave of cold detachment washed over Mei, originating from her Herrscher core, with electric currents flowing like water through her tall frame.

However, she managed to suppress it within an instant, barely aware of the reaction herself.

Elysia smiled, waiting for Mei’s response.

From the moment she sat down, Elysia noticed a certain something in Mei’s gaze, a similarity of sorts.

It was clear that Miss Mei was equally taken with the captain.

So, that report was for the enemy, yet it read more like a housekeeping guide.

This was clearly a habit.

That report in hand suggested that Mei likely had a record of the dietary preferences of everyone on Hyperion, with the captain receiving a more personalized focus as the one she was most concerned about.

Bit by bit, Mei had mastered his food preferences with quiet dedication.

And now, Elysia had stepped in, officially claiming the girlfriend role and asking Mei for this precious intel.

It was a provocation. And an exceptionally severe one at that.

Elysia’s smiling demeanor hid a razor-sharp move.

This was just too…

Elysia beamed at Mei, expecting to see some hint of embarrassment or frustration on her face.

But nothing changed. Mei remained as composed as ever.

What was going on?

Elysia realized something was off.

No matter how she poked and prodded, Mei’s gaze wasn’t fixed on her.

She was looking at the captain.

In her eyes was an expression that was somewhere between a devoted admirer and… a “motherly” figure, a look that seemed to transcend personal affection, radiating a kind of greater, selfless “maternal” care.

<+>

Luo Ming felt like he was finally understanding Elysia’s intention.

Was she serious?

Having a beautiful girlfriend was already amazing, but Elysia’s interest in his tastes? Did she really excel at cooking, too?

But what about Mei? How did she see me?

My own tastes… I don’t think I’ve even thought about them myself. Has Mei’s love for cooking really gone that deep?

Faced with Elysia’s “good-natured” question, Mei didn’t respond. She didn’t move a muscle.

This could be trouble.

The conversation had definitely hit a dead end.

Thinking it over, it made sense. Every chef holds their recipes dear, and while Mei is incredibly kind and finds it hard to refuse others, it doesn’t mean she’s comfortable sharing. Mei was always gentle that way.

Because Luo Ming understood her personality—her difficulty in saying no—he had never confessed his feelings to her. He didn’t want to take advantage of her kindness or disrupt the natural bond she shared with Kiana. That would be exploiting a vulnerability.

Whenever he saw Kiana and Mei laughing and playing together, a pang of loneliness would hit him, but… so what? Would he really prioritize his feelings over his conscience?

“Ahem.”

As the captain, and with a girlfriend, he had the privilege of taking things more in stride.

Meanwhile, one of his crew members was about to be cornered into a tight spot, so Luo Ming decided to step in for Mei.

“Elysia,” he called.

“Hmm?” Elysia had just been preparing to tease Mei, eager to see how her Herrscher state might respond—perhaps even get a glimpse of her powerful companion Honkai beast. She hadn’t expected the captain to speak up as the situation grew tense.

But that didn’t faze her; Elysia turned around slowly, already speculating on what Luo Ming was thinking.

“If you need a meal plan from me, Elysia,” he began, “all my menus are already uploaded to the database. You can check with Ai-chan.”

“Oh, really?” Elysia hadn’t anticipated this, and suddenly she found herself on the back foot.

She glanced at Mei, considering her next move.

But Luo Ming interrupted again, this time with a firmer tone. “I didn’t come on this ship to receive special treatment. I know full well what everyone thinks of me. There’s no need to put extra pressure on Mei.”

He glanced over at Mei, reassuring her to relax.

‘I don’t mind at all. From the start, I knew you and Kiana were the main ship in Honkai. I never had any expectations, and you don’t have to worry. Even if you turn down Elysia, there’s no problem.’

Having such an understanding superior was indeed fortunate.

But for Mei… the truth was, she actually loved to share. Her silence just now and her inability to provide a full report on the captain’s preferences had other reasons.

She’d written it.

It was just that she had too many observations to record, with far too little already written down.

The detailed meal plan she envisioned stretched across 365 days, all based on her daily watchful observations of the captain.

She wanted to craft a perfectly finished recipe book that captured all his tastes, so she could cook something new for him every day.

But the unfinished draft lay under Mei’s pillow.

It had become so bulky that she eventually digitized it, and each day, she’d read through it carefully, adding new insights.

If she shared something incomplete now, it would feel terribly disrespectful.