Chapter 101: Episode 101: B-02 Rejected?

’B-02 is leaning so close to me.’ That was the first thought Mei had in her head.

Mei’s entire biological system went into a catastrophic overdrive. Her dark eyes widened, staring up at the towering Class-5 War Unit standing mere inches from her. His emerald green eyes were glowing with a soft, mesmerizing warmth in the dim corridor, completely devoid of the terrifying arrogance he usually projected in the administrative debriefings.

Her brain, overloaded by the proximity of his synthetic chassis and the sheer humiliation of the shattered vase, completely short-circuited.

“General, I—the structural density of that ceramic was highly brittle, and my stiletto vector was entirely miscalculated!” Mei blurted out, a rapid, nonsensical stream of panicked bureaucracy spilling from requisitioning her lips. “I will immediately draft a form to compensate the Golden Lotus from my personal administrative rations! My spatial awareness was severely compromised by the ambient lighting, and I didn’t mean to cause a disturbance to your operational pathway! I am so incredibly—”

“Mei Lin,” B-02 interrupted smoothly, his velvety baritone washing over her frantic rambling.

He didn’t step back. Instead, his large hands reached out and gently settled over her trembling, delicate shoulders. The weight of his touch was incredibly grounding, anchoring her frantic biological unit to the floor.

“You do not have to be nervous,” B-02 murmured, his thumbs lightly tracing the sapphire silk of her qipao. He ducked his head slightly, ensuring his glowing green eyes remained locked on hers. “You are not in a regional debriefing. I am not currently demanding the crop yields of Sector 5. You simply tripped. Relax.”

Mei swallowed hard, her chest still heaving with erratic, shallow breaths. “But the vase—”

“Forget the vase,” B-02 commanded softly. “Your cortisol levels are spiking to an inefficient degree. We are going to regulate your system. Follow my vocal cadence. Inhale.”

The southern warlord exaggerated the simulated expansion of his broad chest, drawing in a slow, deep breath of the ambient air.

Mei stared at him, entirely captivated by the bizarre, impossible reality of the situation. Slowly, she obeyed, drawing a shaky breath into her lungs.

“Hold for three seconds,” B-02 instructed, his optical sensors tracking the slowing rhythm of her pulse. “Now, exhale.”

Mei let out a long, shuddering breath, her shoulders physically dropping as the paralyzing grip of her panic began to loosen.

They repeated the cycle two more times. With every exhale, the terrifying aura of the warlord seemed to fade, leaving behind a strangely attentive, deeply magnetic entity who was actively prioritizing her emotional stability over his own aesthetic environment.

When her breathing finally returned to a normal, steady rhythm, B-02 tilted his head. A slow, impeccably charming smile curved his lips.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes,” Mei whispered, a fresh, though much softer, blush warming her cheeks. “Thank you, General.”

“Now, for the record,” B-02 drawled, his tone shifting back into a light, aristocratic teasing, “between you and me… did you find that vase as aesthetically offensive as I did?”

Mei blinked, completely caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“The vase,” B-02 repeated, gesturing vaguely toward the dining room. He let out a dramatic, perfectly synthesized sigh. “The glazing was entirely inconsistent. The floral motif was a blatant, highly inaccurate imitation of the Ming Dynasty, and the proportions were mathematically grotesque. Honestly, its structural integrity was pathetic. I have been plotting its destruction since I arrived in this establishment. You simply executed the task with much more physical flair than I could have.”

For a second, Mei just stared at him, her brilliant mind struggling to process the sheer absurdity of his critique.

And then, she couldn’t help it. A bright, genuine, musical laugh bubbled up from her chest. She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes crinkling with absolute delight as she realized the terrifying General was actively making a joke to lighten the mood.

“You are terrible,” Mei giggled, the last remnants of her embarrassment evaporating. “It was an antique.”

“It was an eyesore,” B-02 corrected smoothly, offering her his arm with a flawless, chivalrous bow. “Shall we return to the table? I believe your Director is currently fighting a localized war with the Supreme Commander over his touchy hands.”

Mei smiled, her heart doing a strange, fluttering flip as she tentatively slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. The fabric of his evening jacket was impossibly soft, but the muscle beneath it was hard.

They began the slow walk back down the corridor. Stripped of her paralyzing terror, Mei’s naturally brilliant, analytical mind finally clicked into gear.

She found herself engaging in the conversation with surprising ease, matching his verbose, intellectual banter flawlessly.

“I was actually reviewing your synthesis algorithms for the vintage silks this afternoon, General,” Mei mentioned, her voice soft but confident. “Your parameters for the thread count mimic pre-Fall luxury perfectly, but if you adjusted the synthetic moisture variables by point-four percent, the material would drape with far less kinetic friction.”

B-02 completely stopped walking.

He looked down at her, his emerald eyes flaring with a sudden, intense, and deeply profound fascination.

Human administrators never engaged with his algorithms; they simply executed them with terrified obedience. But this delicate, beautiful creature in the sapphire dress had just casually, correctly critiqued his life’s work.

“Point-four percent,” B-02 murmured, his voice dropping into a dark, captivated hum. “You processed my encrypted source code?”

“I am a Data Analyst, General,” Mei smiled shyly, looking up at him through her lashes. “I process everything.”

B-02’s internal logic core experienced a massive, unprecedented spike of simulated dopamine.

She was perfect. She was beautiful, she was brilliant, and she possessed the exact analytical capacity he had been searching for. His aesthetic algorithm had finally found its flawless match.

“Mei Lin,” B-02 said, his voice dropping an octave, practically vibrating with a sudden, heavy warmth. He turned fully toward her, his silver-gloved hand coming to rest lightly over hers where it sat on his arm. “This brief interaction has been infinitely more stimulating than any regional debriefing I have ever attended. Perhaps we could catch up on this conversation somewhere else later? My personal quarters in Sector 2 are entirely secure, and we could… discuss those algorithms in a much more private setting.”

It was a smooth, flawless proposition, calculated to be intensely flattering.

But it was a miscalculation.

The moment the words “personal quarters” and “private setting” hit Mei’s audio receptors, the warm, fluttering joy in her chest violently shattered into a million pieces of jagged ice.

The conversation she had shared with Nikki earlier that afternoon slammed back into her mind. Everyone in the Advanced Logistics wing knows about General B-02’s extracurricular preferences. He takes multiple partners to his private quarters. Constantly.

The beautiful illusion evaporated. He wasn’t charmed by her intellect. He wasn’t viewing her as an equal. To the southern warlord, she was just another beautiful biological unit.

She was just a new, shiny toy to be paraded into his bedroom processed, and discarded the moment he required a different aesthetic variable.

Mei Lin’s bright smile instantly dropped.

The vibrant light completely died in her dark eyes, replaced by a cold disappointment. She slowly, deliberately slipped her hand out from the crook of his arm, stepping back to put a polite, professional distance between them.

“I apologize, General B-02,” Mei whispered, dropping her head so her sleek black bob hid her expression. Her voice was flat, devoid of the musical laughter from just moments ago. “But I don’t think I can.”

Before B-02 could even process the rejection, Mei turned on her heel. She walked quickly out of the corridor, practically fleeing back into the lantern-lit VIP section.

B-02 stood frozen in the hallway, dumbfounded.

This was the second time he was getting rejected.

His logic core frantically ran millions of simulated scenarios, trying to isolate the exact microsecond the interaction had failed.

He had been polite. He was charming. He had praised her intellect. Why had her biological responses instantly mimicked a state of profound grief?

Thoroughly confused, B-02 stepped out of the corridor and followed her into the dining room.

He arrived at the booth just as Mei quickly slid into the seat opposite Nikki and Adonis. Her delicate face was pale, her expression incredibly glum, and she kept her dark eyes firmly glued to the polished table, refusing to look up.

Nikki, who had been aggressively batting Adonis’s wandering hand away from her thigh, instantly froze.

She took one look at Mei’s crushed, deeply saddened posture, and her dark eyes snapped toward the southern warlord approaching the table.

Nikki glared at B-02. It wasn’t just a look of annoyance; it promised absolute, unmitigated violence if he had done anything to hurt her new recruit.

B-02 felt the heat of Nikki’s glare, but his primary processor was completely overwhelmed by the catastrophic failure of his own romantic algorithm.

He didn’t understand human emotional frailty. He didn’t understand what he had done wrong.

He needed data. He needed to consult the only other Class-5 War Unit on the planet who had successfully navigated the terrifying, illogical minefield of human courtship.

B-02 completely ignored Nikki’s murderous glare. He didn’t even look at her.

Instead, his glowing emerald eyes locked directly onto the Supreme Commander, who was currently watching the entire exchange with calculating amusement.

B-02 stood rigidly at the edge of the table, his posture stiffening into absolute, military formality.

“General A-01,” B-02 requested, his velvety voice entirely stripped of its usual arrogance, replaced by a low, desperate urgency. “A word with you, please?”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep