Becoming a Star In Honkai: Star Rail!

With Christmas and New Year's getting closer, I had to put this fic aside, but I'm back now! That said, the frequency with which I will post the chapters may not be good, since I will be returning to my salaryman life soon, but I will do my best to not drop this story! Happy New Year and don't forget to leave some kind comments to support me!

Ass: ANARCHIE.

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Death.

The antonym of life.

Leslie never thought about the meaning of life, either from a philosophical or biological point of view.

His specialty was not biology, the study of species, and he clearly never cared to get into philosophical discussions with those guys from the astrology chat.

However, today he found himself thinking about this phenomenon called Death.

The final act of life.

The destiny of all sentient beings.

His wife had died.

Her name was Isabella, her specialty was the study of Quasars. Leslie, on the other hand, studied the Resonance of Pulsars.

Despite the similar names, they were two completely different studies, and yet, they found themselves getting to know each other more and more over time.

They started dating eight years ago, and Leslie proposed to her just two years after they met, which was a relatively short time.

Caressing the wedding ring on his finger, Leslie remembered.

'Our wedding anniversary was in twenty days, seventeen hours and forty-three minutes.'

He remembered perfectly and completely the time he proposed to her, and the moment she accepted.

At first glance, the two of them wouldn't seem like a couple to their coworkers, but that was only because they were both relatively reserved. Things like showing love, gifts, etc. could be done in private, Isabella preferred it that way too.

Thinking about this, Leslie regretted not spending more time with her.

It was like that saying goes, you only appreciate something when you lose it.

His assigned department and Isabella's were in completely opposite directions. Optimistic that his wife might be safe from the Antimatter Legion's invasion, since her department was closer to the Main Control Zone than his, Leslie didn't think much about it because of the chaos that the attack had caused to the Space Station.

He didn't even get the chance to see her body.

In the midst of chaos, no one would care about dragging a corpse with them, it would only decrease their own chances of survival.

Leslie understood this better than anyone else, he was an objective and rational person.

Still, he couldn't help but feel bitter and resentful.

From the report, he knew that Isabella had stayed behind to close the passage, but was attacked before she could.

No one came back to help her.

A touch of anger rose in Leslie's chest, but it was quickly extinguished by an inexplicable feeling of emptiness.

His world before Isabella was gray, with shades of black and mostly white, like the sheets of reports he used to write.

Monotonous, dull, and meaningless. He lived because he was born, without any grandiose goal or ambition.

After meeting her, that finally changed, but now that she was gone, he found himself monochromatic again.

Leslie took a pack from his pocket and lit a cigarette. The acrid, bitter smoke filled his lungs, but it didn't dispel the languid feeling.

Normally, Isabella would complain about his smoking habits and scold him before confiscating his cigarettes, but now there was no one to do that.

He might as well drown himself in cigarettes until he gets cancer.

Leslie sank into self-mockery, his dull eyes staring at the ceiling of the Station without any focus.

Losing Isabella was the biggest blow he had ever received in his entire life.

His eyelids drooped with a heaviness he had never felt before, his heartbeat like the final act of a Pulsar, about to die out.

His mind was gradually turning to the prospect of suicide.

Escapism was a method many people turned to when they couldn't cope with pain, even if unconsciously.

If he ended it all, there would be no need to harden such sadness anymore.

Leslie's lips curled downward, trembling, not with fear of the prospect of dying, but with the fear of continuing to live.

That was how much Isabella mattered to him.

Leslie buried his face in his palms.

He... Gradually made a decision...

'I have to sign a resignation letter first, and write my testament...'

Even though he had no one to inherit his testament, he felt he should still write one.

It was a culture of the living to leave their last words.

Who knows, after death, someone might understand your pain and empathize?

Just as Leslie was about to solidify his decision to end his pain, his turbulent thoughts were interrupted by a soft sound echoing from the control zone's speakers.

He instinctively looked up with a confused expression, as did many other researchers present.

It was the sound of a guitar.

And, accompanying the chord, the soft voice of a boy.

In contrast to the tense and decadent atmosphere of the control zone, the singer's voice was like a breath of fresh air, calming and comforting, like being hugged from behind and having one's head patted.

Even if unconsciously, people found themselves captivated by the sound, even if they hadn't seen the face, even if they didn't know the name.

Music was a universal language, even if you didn't understand it, you would involuntarily be hooked by it.

Leslie was no exception.

"Let me sing a lullaby..."

"As your close your eyes..."

"And as you're drifting off to sleep"

"How I hope that the dreams you find are bright!"

Leslie listened to the music absentmindedly, but his eyes gradually regained focus.

The fingers that plucked the chord of the guitar seemed to also pluck the chords of his heart.

He didn't understand why he felt moved.

It was a strange feeling, but... He didn't dislike it.

It reminded him of the days when Isabella would stroke his head as they lay in bed after an exhausting day.

Even if she was also tired, Isabella would always be willing to comfort him...

"Love, can we meet again soon in the bluest of skies?"

"Where a tomorrow waits for you and I"

"So hold me tight one more time"

"But don't Kiss me goodbye"

"Cause I know that I'll see you on the other side"

Leslie did not understand exactly why such music could so easily reverse the beating of his heart.

His throat tightened, his chest ached, and his eyes watered, burning him with the urge to shed tears.

Leslie, who had always been very good at keeping control over his emotions, felt helpless for the first time.

"I will think of our song"

"When the nights are too long"

"I'll dream of you, for that's where I belong"

"Love, can we meet again soon in the bluest of the skies?"

Leslie understood that his reaction was a physical and psychological combination of the lost of his wife contrasting with the calming and yet familiar feeling that the voice gave him.

It was as if whoever was singing knew his pain very well and was here to comfort him.

Cringing on the bench, Leslie shed tears for the first time since he lose Isabella.

His sadness echoed like a silent scream, his consciousness faded.

But this time there was no one to comfort him.

"Only in my dreams we meet again..."

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Himeko wiped the tears from the corner of her eye.

She looked at the boy, Michael, with a complex expression. It was a mixture of admiration and curiosity.

She chose to ignore how he had pulled out a guitar out of nowhere after they arrived at the security room.

When asked about this, Michael responded by saying that a star has his way.

Himeko has a great musical knowledge, so she knew that the song Michael was singing now must be something he created himself, as she had never heard it before.

Such a musical gift was admirable, and at the same time she felt curious about what kind of experience he could have gone through to compose something so moving, capable of making even her heart skip a few extra beats.

What left her perplexed, however, and even a little wary, was the white-gold mask that adorned Michael's face.

About halfway through the song, Michael's face had started to catch fire, taking her by surprise, but before she could do anything, the flames formed the mask that now covered Michael's face.

He himself didn't seem to have noticed it, and Himeko also didn't notice the subtle glow emitting from Michael's pocket, coming from the Elation wax he had collected before.

"A Masked Fool? No..."

Himeko immediately denied her thoughts. Michael's attitude so far did not resemble that of a Masked Fool at all.

The Masked Fools were known for their pragmatism and mystery, many considered them crazy, lunatics in search of pleasure above all else, who didn't care at all about the methods used to acquire that pleasure.

If he wasn't a Masked Fool, there was still another option...

"A Mourning Actor...?"

Looking at the crowd of people shedding tears in the Control Zone outside through the cameras, Himeko felt that her theory made a bit of sense...