Future Love Contract (GL) - Chapter 20

Gresya Antowa’s scheduled date to arrive at the training center was set for one week later. In the meantime, the staff assigned Zhao Xinyun a room, and to her surprise, she ran into a familiar face in the hallway.

“Hu Yushi!”

“Haha, we meet again!”

“I heard there are several zones here. I didn’t expect you to be living in the same one,” Zhao Xinyun said, marveling at how small the world could be.

“Zone A3 is the largest, so the odds are highest here. But just look at how many empty rooms there still are—people will definitely keep moving in.”

“Were there any rules when assigning rooms?” Zhao Xinyun asked, curious since Hu Yushi seemed to know a lot of behind-the-scenes details.

“Not really… Most of it’s random. But I heard if someone makes a special request, they can choose their room. Still, most people can’t be bothered. All the accommodations are the same. Plus, this building is circular, so the distance to the classrooms in the center is identical. Unless someone wants to live near a friend, there’s really no need to pick.”

Only then did Zhao Xinyun remember that she’d filled out a form before coming here. She’d only skimmed it—it seemed routine, and most of the options were pre-filled—so she hadn’t paid much attention. That probably included room assignments. Since Gresya was coming later, maybe she would choose to stay next door?

After a day of rest—although there wasn’t much to recover from—Zhao Xinyun spent time accompanying Hu Yushi as they explored the training center. The word “explore” was fitting, considering the building’s circular layout. Along the way, they saw plenty of people busily moving about.

 Although Zone A3 was still far from full, clearly waiting for the next batch of arrivals, it already had a bit of a buzz. Other than the people they encountered, every part of the circular building looked exactly the same.

The next day, training officially began.

Zhao Xinyun had expected large theoretical lectures to kick things off, but that wasn’t the case. Because each person’s special abilities were different, classes were split into small groups of seven or eight and assigned based on individual capabilities.  

From the start, they were bombarded with information. At first, Zhao Xinyun had no idea what any of it had to do with brainwaves. She could only sigh and rub her forehead—she hadn’t expected there to be this much to deal with before even setting foot on an alien planet.

But after taking a closer look, the material wasn’t especially difficult. During those days of studying, she also confirmed something for sure: her special brainwave frequency had nothing to do with her transmigration—it was entirely due to genetics. In other words, this trait belonged to the original owner of the body. That realization finally put her at ease. The fact that she’d transmigrated had always made her uneasy, but now she could only feel lucky. What incredible fortune that this body happened to have such ideal conditions—it was practically built for the alien exploration program.

During her downtime, Zhao Xinyun often thought about Gresya. Was she doing okay on Mars? Was she thinking of her too? Wait—why was she even thinking like that? Weren’t thoughts like these supposed to belong to real couples? This didn’t make any sense! And it was just a quick trip home—what was there to worry about?

Since the standard rooms in the training center had no access to the external internet—only an internal intranet for study and communication—the long-outdated forum system had come back into use. With little else to do, everyone poured their energy into training, which was probably exactly what the training center intended.

“They really cut off the internet. That’s harsh,” Zhao Xinyun grumbled to Hu Yushi.

“As long as there’s a network, there’s bound to be drama. Where there are people, there’s a battlefield.”

“Exactly! Yesterday I saw people going at it over a sci-fi novel that doesn’t even exist. With how strict they are about the internet, are they seriously just letting that happen?” Zhao Xinyun laughed at the thought. Maybe people just needed drama. Even if the intranet barely had anything interesting, they’d still find something to argue about—and if they couldn’t find it, they’d invent it.

“I doubt the center will step in. Everyone knows that usernames are tied directly to their real identities, so I thought people would tone it down a bit. But if the center starts policing even these petty squabbles, someone’s bound to quit.”

Zhao Xinyun simply shrugged. She loved watching arguments because they always made her laugh, but she never joined in. She knew she’d never win one.

A week later, it was finally the day Gresya was due to arrive. Just as Zhao Xinyun had guessed, Gresya chose the room right next to hers. Even though they had only been apart for a few short days, they had had zero contact due to the blackout.  

In this day and age, it was rare for two people to lose touch because of technical limitations. A saying popped into Zhao Xinyun’s head: “One day apart feels like three autumns.” What nonsense! She didn’t have thoughts like that! Her imagination was just too active, that’s all. She quickly stamped out the thought. Still… Did she miss Gresya just a little? Maybe. But only the way friends miss each other—definitely just that!

As she tangled with those thoughts, Gresya’s excited voice broke through them. She looked energized, not the least bit tired from travelling.

“It’s finally happening!”

“Huh? What is it?” Zhao Xinyun asked, puzzled.

“The vast Milky Way—here I come!” Gresya spread her arms as if embracing the sky.

“Enough already. If someone sees you, they’ll think you’ve gone crazy!” Zhao Xinyun laughed. “Aren’t you already in the Milky Way?”

Gresya lowered her arms. “True. Good point. Thanks for the reminder. So, how was your week?”

“My special brainwave frequency is purely genetic. What about you?”

“That wasn’t even related to what I asked. Did you study yourself into a stupor? It’s only been a week! I finally had time off and got to return to my hometown on Mars—of course I went sightseeing. Nothing special beyond that.”

“Well, if I am losing my mind from studying, you’ll be next. Oh, by the way, there’s no external internet here. Only the internal net. Did you know that? So losing brain cells is totally understandable.”

Laughing, the two of them returned to their rooms.

From the next day onward, Zhao Xinyun’s training changed significantly. She was now attending the large lectures she had originally expected, with over a hundred participants in each. Despite the heated online arguments, people were surprisingly friendly in person—genuinely so, not just putting on a show. That made Zhao Xinyun even more convinced that the drama on the intranet was just the result of people being bored.

It made sense. Everyone here shared the same goals and interests—these were like-minded individuals. There was no direct competition either. As long as everyone passed the final evaluations, they could all join the real alien exploration. 

From the committee’s perspective, the more qualified people there were, the better. If they didn’t have enough participants, they’d be the ones in trouble.

In one of the lectures, the instructor mentioned upcoming components like physical training and psychological conditioning. Honestly, those sounded easier than the theory courses. Maybe it was because theoretical knowledge had to be constantly reviewed to avoid forgetting?

During lunch break one day, Zhao Xinyun and Gresya went to the cafeteria together. In this era, eating wasn’t necessary in the traditional sense. Busy people often relied on concentrated nutrient supplements—they met every nutritional need and cost about the same as regular food, sometimes even less. But most people still preferred not to live that way. Eating was one of life’s simplest pleasures, and those pills stripped it away entirely.

To someone from the 21st century, the cafeteria’s food might have seemed plain. But to people of this time, it was practically a luxury.

Looking at her tray, Zhao Xinyun sighed. “Sigh… pretty soon, we won’t even have this anymore.”

“You mean once we board the ship?” Gresya asked.

“Yeah. People are always complaining that this food isn’t good, but once we’re on that spaceship, we’ll be stuck with nutrient pills. Still, when you think about how we’ll get to see alien planets, this feels like a small sacrifice.”

Soon, the theoretical portion of training wrapped up, and everyone was moved to the nearby Station No. 2. This next phase wasn’t as easy as Zhao Xinyun had imagined, but the mental workload was lighter, at least. That gave her more time to reflect—especially on her relationship with Gresya.

Ever since they’d come to the training center—or really, ever since they’d both been selected—they’d become more outgoing, and their bond had grown stronger. Sure, their closeness still rested on the foundation of ordinary friendship, but technically, they were still operating under the label of “a couple.” Zhao Xinyun thought about that for a long time and finally came to a conclusion:

If—just if—Gresya ever suggested taking their pretend relationship and turning it into something real, Zhao Xinyun wouldn’t be against the idea. After all, they’d been getting along perfectly well lately, so maybe it wouldn’t be a bad choice.

Of course, all of that depended on one thing: whether she could ever learn what Gresya’s real intentions were back then. And that was the real question—would Gresya ever be willing to tell her?