Chapter 6

Hello, please forgive me for taking the liberty of browsing your correspondence with Tawil. I am Yog.

Before typing these words, I hesitated for a long time over whether I should contact you. But since you are his friend, I believe you will be mine as well.

We are currently still in the Azathoth Star Sector. I got Tawil drunk, and now I’m in his room, sending you this message using his communicator. I saw your previous exchange, and I’m glad you asked those questions—they helped me immensely. Now, I no longer have to agonize over his attitude or be frustrated by his unilateral decisions.

Before seeing the messages on his communicator, I had always thought your species was rather slow—no offense intended, but I was genuinely troubled by this. Tawil always interprets my advances as something else entirely. Take, for example, the conversation he mentioned to you about our differing views on life. He is the kind of life I would adore. I thought my expressions were already quite straightforward, yet he still steered the conversation toward academic discussion.

It was torture.

But after reading your exchange, everything that once tormented me now makes me want to laugh: Tawil seems to have regarded me as an innocent newborn, bewildered by the new world, while I treated him as a fragile, delicate object.

Yes, a fragile, delicate object—that was the image he left in my mind the first time I saw him.

Unlike most species in the universe, my kind has no fixed physical form. As a result, we are rather… unconventional in our courtship methods—our means of attracting mates can be somewhat… unorthodox.

You must have realized it by now, right? The planetary form Tawil encountered me in was actually a failed attempt at attracting a mate. I can’t quite remember why I chose to become a planet—perhaps to increase my chances of being discovered?—but it was a terrible decision. I left myself utterly motionless in space, trapped in orbit.

The endless rotation and revolution made me question whether I had always been a planet.

Tawil wasn’t the first to discover my existence, but he was the only one who landed for me.

When he stepped onto me, I felt the tremor of my core. Earthquakes, hurricanes, tsunamis, volcanic eruptions—I wanted to welcome him with everything I had, but I held back. He seemed so small, so fragile. Too intense a reaction might hurt him.

So I spent some time observing him, then even longer imitating him. I had planned for a more stable first meeting, but before I was ready, he entered my ocean.

Using some unknown technology, he transformed himself into a jellyfish, trying to blend in as one of my own. It amused me—he could never succeed. He was the only lifeform on me that existed independently of me. No matter how he altered his appearance, I could always recognize him.

So I caught him, and he took me away from that star sector.

The planet collapsed without its core. He grieved and blamed himself for the loss of life on it, but I felt nothing but joy—I’m not as gentle as he believes, but if that’s what he wants, I can be gentler.

Life with him has been delightful. My prolonged planetary state often made me clumsy and awkward when adapting to this new body, but he helped me patiently, tenderly.

I’m glad it was him who landed on me. It would be even better if he stopped calling me “Mr. Planet” and treated me as an equal.

That’s what I thought at the time.

I will never return to being a planet, and I will never leave his side. I tried to convey these two points in our daily interactions, but his obliviousness was truly exasperating.

I teased that silicon-based special envoy because he disrupted my life with Tawil. I agreed to The Alliance’s terms because Tawil wanted to abide by the rules at the time.

Your Alliance has no real means to compel me—I only played along because he wished to stay within its framework. In other words, if he ever wanted to break free, I have more than enough power to ensure his liberty.

So, can you understand why I was so furious upon learning his full plan?

I had thought he intended to escape the festival with me. He allowed my misunderstanding to flourish, even encouraged it—until we slipped into the Starport under cover of night and saw that single-seater spacecraft. Only then did he calmly wish me well, telling me to “chase the life I wanted.”

I suppose I really did act too harmless in front of him.

Perhaps the memory of our first meeting was too vivid—I was always worried I might startle or hurt Tawil. Now, it seems I need a different approach.

Honestly, if I hadn’t seen your messages with Tawil today, I can’t guarantee I wouldn’t have resorted to extreme measures. I know many regions beyond your Alliance’s control—I could have vanished with him without a trace. But thanks to your questions, I finally understand what he was thinking.

Once he wakes up, I’ll have a proper talk with him.

At the very least, I need to correct all those laughably wrong impressions and draft a new escape plan—stealing a “planet” only to be locked up afterward isn’t exactly a legendary tale.

I hope for a better reunion. What do you think?