Chapter 96
Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 96
Chapter Title: Whatever Catches Your Eye, Just Take It!
Whatever you like, just take it away!
It was right up there with “Here’s my card, swipe it freely”—probably the most romantic line in the entire universe. Especially when it came from the Emperor himself, radiating imperial authority and boundless wealth…
Even Heinrich felt pretty badass saying it. But before he could bask in the glory, Bian’an doused him with cold water:
“Sorry, Your Majesty, but you don’t have much in assets. Can I just dictate them?”
The Emperor: “…”
The Emperor roared in fury: “What kind of joke is this?!”
In front of Marshal Celia’s face, twisted from barely stifled laughter, the Emperor grabbed Bian’an by the throat and forced it to spit out a list of his personal assets. But that list looked so pathetic—nothing like the thick ledger Heinrich had imagined. It was just a measly half-sheet of paper:
“Bank deposits: 46,000 credit points. One personal shuttle: note, fifty-year-old model. One penthouse apartment at 399 Grand Avenue outside the gates of New Fontaine’s Bai Lu Palace, furnished with bed, desk, chairs, and various smart devices… Additional note: The smart housekeeper system is leased from the Imperial Palace, for a term of one hundred years, rent prepaid in full.”
“Holder of the above assets: Set Heinrich. Occupation: Emperor of the Empire.”
Celia’s lips curved up. In front of Heinrich’s ashen face, he laughed without mercy: “Nice location on that apartment. Smart investment. But wasn’t a hundred years of system rent a bit steep? Where’d you even get the money?”
“Bian’an—!” The Emperor shot to his feet with a bellow: “Why do I only have 46,000 in savings?! What about my salary?! Where’s the salary from the Senate—?!”
“No salary!” Bian’an’s voice boomed even louder than the Emperor’s: “Interstellar Bank went bust! Your account was in there too! You signed the red-header decree yourself!”
In that moment, the Emperor’s expression was a sight to behold—twisted in ways he couldn’t even articulate. After a long pause, he spat out in悲愤: “No one reminded me…? No one reminded me to transfer my account out?!”
The poor Emperor had shut down an interstellar bank, forfeiting fifty years of salary in the process. One could only wonder if the Audit Bureau had puzzled over who that idiot was who left a fortune sitting there during the final reckoning.
Heinrich hugged his head, legs tucked under him on the sofa, his face etched with profound agony. Celia reached out a finger and prodded the Emperor’s cheek, smiling as he asked: “So this is your entire net worth?”
The Emperor turned his head away, saying nothing.
“Yes, the palace buildings, land, and most furnishings are state property. I am also military department public property.” Bian’an dutifully explained from the side. But as the Empire’s most loyal mecha, its tone carried a hint of sorrow when it came to being public property: “Strictly speaking, Your Majesty only has usage rights to me. Which means if you one day abdicate—which seems quite likely at this point—I’ll be transferred to the military department, basking in people’s reverent gazes, lying there all alone amid countless honors and accolades, quietly awaiting my next master…”
The gryphon fluttered out from Celia’s pocket and sympathetically nuzzled Bian’an. But it only shook its head glumly: “The real issue is, will my next master have dogshit luck like this and find an Omega too?”
The gryphon: “…”
Celia: “…”
Celia’s lips twitched. He held up that half-sheet property list—printed in massive bold black font—and studied it with a frown for a moment before spotting another issue: “Didn’t you say the Gemini Emperors have a private treasury?”
The Emperor, who had just started to pull himself together, whipped his head around again, face darkening instantly.
Bian’an glanced at its master’s expression and cautiously replied: “Yes.”
“No money there either?”
“There’s… there’s money.”
Celia silently queried with his eyes: Then?
“The private treasury is the Emperor’s private property, but it belongs to the Emperor, not to Set Heinrich personally. And any use requires layer upon layer of Senate approval. Before, since the Emperor couldn’t find an Omega, the Senate was furious and decreed that no expenditures would be approved until after the marriage.” Bian’an carefully chose its words, then turned to the Emperor: “Your Majesty, actually, I think this time you could go to the Senate and ask for some leeway…”
Heinrich shot it a pitch-black glare, and Bian’an immediately shut up.
“No big deal. My assets aren’t much either.” Celia finally showed a shred of mercy, patting Heinrich’s shoulder comfortingly: “I used to have a villa on Blueshine, the Alliance capital, but now Blueshine’s Empire territory. I have usage rights to Phoenix, but the Empire’s impounded it. All I’ve got left is an officer’s apartment on Goldwater Star. Sure, the location’s not as prime as right outside the palace gates, but the salary I’ve saved over five hundred years should be a bit more than yours…”
Fresh blood surged to Heinrich’s throat. There stood Celia, smiling slyly: “Seeing as we’re both so broke, when are you giving Phoenix back?”
Both so broke… so broke… so broke…
The pointed jab nearly made the Emperor spit blood. He finally realized that perhaps, maybe, possibly… he was poor!
The problem was, Celia being broke didn’t matter—the Alliance had retirement security, even if it was mostly a sham these days. No one would dare withhold his pension. More importantly, he was an Omega now. Had anyone ever heard of an Omega needing to earn a living?
But Heinrich? He was an Alpha! One with nothing but a slightly valuable piece of real estate to his name!
Oh, don’t get started on how much that palace-gate apartment was worth—valuable, sure, but could he sell it? Not everyone had the clearance to buy property there. The number of people who could pass security vetting and live there Empire-wide could be counted on one hand. And even if a suitable buyer with a suitable offer came along, could the Emperor stoop to selling? If he ever really abdicated and couldn’t live in the palace, wouldn’t he have to buy another place with the proceeds?
White Heron Star, the capital, didn’t come cheap on land prices!
The Emperor had lived two hundred years, fought wars for one hundred eighty of them. He’d eaten and slept in barracks before, then lived in the palace after. He’d never felt any material lack—until tonight, when for the first time in his life, he realized he was a very poor man. The whole world seemed to crumble around him.
Celia ignored the Emperor’s livid face. Having finally gotten revenge for his house and mecha being seized by the Empire, he cheerfully got up to take a shower.
The indoor racetrack was within the palace grounds, after all. The facilities were top-notch, complete with a lounge rivaling a presidential suite for overnight stays. In terms of spaciousness, luxury, and privacy, it was no worse than the top floor of a state guesthouse. Celia glanced at himself—thankfully, he’d been smart enough to throw up all over the Emperor’s clothes earlier, so he wasn’t too messy. He tossed his scent-stained jacket into the laundry hamper, walked into the bedroom with its comfy king bed, and started unbuttoning his shirt. Suddenly, the door creaked open again. The Emperor stood there like a black specter, gloomily asking: “Have you decided what you want?”
“Have you decided what you’ll give me?” Celia asked the mirror.
Heinrich walked over and stood behind him, face stern. In the mirror, their eyes met. The true poor Emperor’s gaze seemed frosted over, and beneath the frost burned something fierce—not lust, exactly, but the restless frustration and unwillingness of a wild beast.
Celia watched him for a moment, then chuckled softly: “No worries. Leaders’ wealth is often inversely proportional to their people’s, so you being broke is normal. The Alliance’s Konsetlin family is rich as nations, but that’s about it.”
The Emperor’s expression finally eased a bit, though he was still sullen: “Did you guess this beforehand?”
Celia denied it flat-out: “Nope!”
Heinrich eyed him suspiciously. After a moment, Celia finally admitted: “I guessed it wasn’t much… but not this little. Who knew you’d bankrupt the bank?”
The Emperor slapped a hand over his face, standing there like a dejected bear. Celia couldn’t help but chuckle wryly, turned to pat his shoulder, and headed for the bathroom to rinse off. But after two steps, Heinrich grabbed him from behind, face nuzzling slowly into his neck: “Take me with you…”
Celia teased: “Go to the Alliance as a hostage?”
“Not good enough?” The Emperor adapted quickly: “Fine, you come to the Empire. No hostage nonsense—I’ll make you head of state. The entire Senate answers to you, with PM, cabinet, military ministry underneath. Policies roll out top-down from center to provinces. We’ll aim for universal social welfare in the next two centuries…”
“Constitutional monarchy?” Celia laughed. “You haven’t given up?”
“You have to believe how desperately a broke emperor—who can’t even support his own spouse—wants full social security.” Heinrich snorted: “But not the Alliance kind. Their welfare system’s on the brink, right? Employment at historic lows? Actual deficits dozens of times the published figures? I’m just surprised the Alliance people haven’t revolted. If it were me…”
Heinrich trailed off—if it were him, the outcome was proven. He’d built the Empire.
Celia said nothing. His expression wasn’t embarrassed, nor argumentative, nor spilling Alliance plans. He just stood there silently, letting Heinrich murmur on while slipping a hand under his shirt, soon fumbling open two buttons.
Though he hadn’t planned this on entering, Celia’s acquiescence felt like silent encouragement. Heinrich’s restless desire quickly ignited. They stumbled two steps in a tangle, Celia pinned face-first against the wall. Heinrich spun him around, trapping him in the narrow gap between himself and the corner, then buried his face in his neck, inhaling deeply: “Constitutional monarchy, whatever… But no producing inhibitors. That’s gotta be the Empire’s First Constitution…”
Celia’s face was impassive, but he was actually enjoying the scenting—his long lashes even narrowed slightly in pleasure.
Such a shift didn’t escape the Alpha he’d mutually marked. A wave of triumph washed over the Emperor’s heart. Unable to help himself, he slid a hand to Celia’s lower back, slipping it under the beltline: “Have you lost weight lately? Don’t dodge—let me check—”
Amid Heinrich’s interrupted kisses, Celia chuckled: “Isn’t it all thanks to you…?”
“Then what about you kidnapping me to Void Star? Diverting Dark Star Hall’s trouble my way? Why not mention that?”
Heinrich’s voice was growing ragged. Without waiting for rebuttal, he crushed his lips to Celia’s parted ones. Their tongues tangled in a shared sigh of satisfaction, temperatures soaring with skin on skin. Heinrich hardened fully, yanking open Celia’s shirt and sliding a hand down his flat abdomen—
But the instant his fingers brushed that taut stomach, Celia jolted like he’d been shocked, grabbing his hand!
“Wait!”
“What’s wrong?”
Their voices overlapped. Heinrich looked up in bewilderment, only to see Celia’s face flushing and paling by turns, something hard to broach. After a long pause, he awkwardly shoved him away: “Wait, I just remembered something I haven’t done…”
“What? What has to be done right now?” Heinrich’s temper flared instantly, his mind racing from “sorry, I don’t love you” to “I need to call Karyan first,” face abruptly changing: “You want to take pills! Tell me! Did you last time too?! Is that why no kids?! Spill!”
“Shut up!” Celia snapped the second kids were mentioned: “Get out of my way! Stop blocking like a damn post—let me shower!”
“No!”
“Let go!”
“No! Explain yourself!”
Celia shoved outward; Heinrich pushed inward. Like kids, they tussled forever. In the struggle, the Emperor finally grabbed his collar: “Celia, I’m telling you, under Imperial law those pills are—”
Rip!
The shirt collar tore right off. The Emperor’s eyes went wide.
Not because Celia’s shoulder was so pale and beautiful that it short-circuited him into mindless lust. No, Celia was a soldier through and through—lean and upright shoulders, prominent scapula, calluses from lugging solo cannons, even a dark red shrapnel scar on his arm muscles.
The Emperor stared at the pendant on his chest.
It wasn’t anything fancy—no huge gem, no ring engraved with Heinrich’s name. If anything, it looked less like jewelry and more like a tiny silver mechanical device, styled like a miniaturized mecha neural link.
Such things were rare now; even a mecha factory might not recognize it. But the Emperor’s mecha knowledge ran deep—he knew it at a glance.
A miniaturized mecha neural link.
Used to absorb excess mental energy, suppress overly high mental thresholds. Typically for lab testing. Or, in rare cases, as a safeguard in med pods for patients too frail to sustain their own psyche.
Either way, its effect was clear: dampen mental power, lower thresholds.
“You did this on purpose… You did this to me!!”
Celia protested: “No, I really just forgot to take it off!”
“You did it on purpose—!” The Emperor ignored him, face full of tragic accusation: “How could you? That’s too much! You don’t respect me at all!”
“No, I didn’t! Didn’t you lose in the end anyway?!”
Heinrich: “…………”
Celia: “………………”
It slipped out so easily, but it proved sharp tongues shouldn’t be indulged from the start. Marshal Celia’s barbs had piled up, and retribution came.
Silence hung in the room. They stared, big eyes on small. Then the Emperor gulped down blood surging to his throat and stormed out with a “bang!” of the door.
The deeply wounded Emperor was throwing a tantrum.