Honkai: Star Rail: I Can Fix This Gender-Bent World — Chapter 50

Chapter 50: He’s Actually Giving a Damn Speech

Chen followed the signs scrawled on the frost-caked walls, his path leading him through a warren of alleyways until he found the tavern nestled in the heart of the town.

The wooden door was a relic, warped by age and humidity, with crude iron bands nailed across it for reinforcement. He paused before it, taking a deep breath and schooling his features. He needed to look like any other outsider, just a curious passerby drawn in by the noise, not someone with a specific agenda.

Satisfied with his neutral expression, he gently pushed the door open.

The light inside the tavern was a stark contrast to the gloom of the alley, a warm, yellow glow that pushed back against the ever-present chill. Most of the rough-hewn wooden tables and chairs were occupied. The patrons were a cross-section of the Underworld: miners in dusty work clothes, scavengers in patched-up old coats, their faces etched with the hardships of survival.

But at this moment, every single person was silent. Every gaze, every held breath, was focused in the same direction.

In a small, cleared space in the center of the tavern, a simple wooden crate had been upended to serve as a makeshift podium.

And standing atop it was a young man. It was Seele.

This version of Seele had neat, short-cut hair the color of deep-sea blue, and his eyes burned with a fiery intensity. He was dressed in practical clothes designed for easy movement, and he was in the middle of a passionate speech. He held no script; his hands were his only props, clenching into tight fists one moment, then swinging through the air with powerful, emphatic gestures the next.

Chen let the door swing shut behind him with a soft click, then quietly slipped into a shadowed corner near the entrance. Leaning his back against the cold stone wall, he fixed his gaze on the youth on the stage.

With every soul in the tavern captivated by the speaker, and with the dim, forgiving light of his chosen corner… no one paid him any mind.

Seele’s voice wasn’t loud, but it possessed a piercing clarity, carrying the distinct timbre of a young man on the cusp of adulthood. It was a voice laced with power—a power born from suppressed anger and grief, yet one that remained unshakably firm. It cut through the tavern’s ambient hum and hammered against everyone’s eardrums.

“…And just like that, they left!” he declared. “They took their clean, warm lifts back to their spotless houses, back to eat exquisite food we’ve never even seen. They put on their bright, beautiful clothes and went right back to living their decent, comfortable lives!”

He paused, his chest heaving with the force of his words. His gaze swept over every face below him—some were filled with indignation, others were numb with weariness, and a few held a flicker of hidden anticipation.

“I once… I went up there with Aunt Oleg,” Seele’s tone suddenly dropped, becoming low and reminiscent. “I was only ten. Auntie said she was going to take me to see the world.”

“After we reached the Upper District, Auntie pointed at those houses, the ones with the warm lights glowing in the windows, and she asked me: ‘Seele, is it beautiful up here? Do you want to come back again?'”

He stopped, as if a lump had formed in his throat. It was a long moment before he could continue. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Because what I saw… it wasn’t beautiful at all.”

His head snapped up, the reminiscence in his eyes instantly consumed by a blaze of anger. His voice climbed several notches. “I saw them! Eating in their big houses, with snow-white tablecloths and plates that shined under the lights. And those plates were piled high with roast meat, fresh bread, and cakes drizzled with cream!”

“But what did they do with it?” His fist slammed down on the wooden crate, the impact a dull, resonant thud. “Someone took one bite of a cake, complained it was too sweet, and just threw the rest away! Someone ate two slices of roast meat, said they were tired of the taste, and had a servant pour the entire platter into the slop bucket!”

“That bread was still warm from the oven! The grease from the roast was still dripping!”

“And what about us?” His gaze swept over the weathered faces in the crowd, his voice cracking with emotion, yet somehow becoming even more piercing. “Some of us get into bloody fights in the alleys over half a piece of stale, dark bread! Some of us have children so hungry they cry for their mothers at night, with nothing but a few gulps of melted snow to fill their stomachs! Some of us are still down in the mines with hands so cracked by frost that they bleed, unable to find even a scrap of cloth to wrap their wounds!”

“What they throw away is what we would give our lives for! What they disregard is the dream etched into our very bones!”

He clenched his fists, the youth’s eyes burning with a raging fire that was tempered by a heartbreaking, stubborn resolve. “Who would ever want to see a world like that again? Who would even dare to?”

You could have heard a pin drop in the tavern. The only sounds were the ragged, heavy breathing of the crowd and the muffled cracking of knuckles being squeezed white.

Seele’s voice rang out again, this time with a clarity that defied his age. “That was when I understood. The Upper District and the Underworld have never been separated by just a lift. Some walls aren’t built of stone; they’re built in the hearts of men. Some cold isn’t brought by the wind and snow; it’s brought by indifference.”

His fists tightened. “We’ve grown used to losing our homes. We’ve grown used to struggling in this Eternal Freeze. We’ve grown used to watching those around us fall to injury, to hunger, to despair… We’ve even grown used to crying. But who are we crying for? Ourselves? When you’re all alone, you can cry your eyes dry and it won’t change a thing!”

His voice suddenly soared, infused with a resolve that felt sharp enough to shatter steel. “And that is why we have Wildfire!”

With a flourish, he pulled a bright red silk scarf from his breast pocket and held it high. That single splash of crimson, stark against the dim yellow light, was like a leaping flame, and it instantly ignited the gaze of every person in the room.

“Tie on this red scarf!” Seele’s voice was powerful and resonant as his eyes blazed across the crowd. “It’s not just a piece of cloth! It’s a promise! It’s an oath! It is our mark upon one another! From this day forward, your pain is my pain! Your hardships, we will shoulder them together! We are not a heap of loose sand! We are not ants to be forgotten under the ice!”

“We are family!” he roared, the veins on his neck standing out in sharp relief. “We are Wildfire! We are the fire that will burn a path to survival even in this frozen hell! No matter how high the walls of the Upper District are, they cannot stop a prairie fire started by a single spark! No matter how cold their indifference is, it cannot extinguish our will to live!”

“Wildfire never dies; it burns eternal!”

He shouted those last words with every ounce of strength in his body. His voice echoed through the tavern, seeming to shake the very dust from the rafters.

After a heartbeat of stunned silence… the room exploded.

“Wildfire never dies! It burns eternal!”

“Well said, Seele!”

“We’ve had enough!”

The crowd erupted into a storm of fervent shouts and thunderous applause. Many people’s eyes were red with unshed tears as they waved their arms, roaring out years of pent-up frustration and despair.

That single, high-held red scarf became the sole source of light and faith in the world.

Chen remained in his corner, leaning against the cool stone wall. He quietly watched the youth on the stage, who seemed to be glowing, immolating himself to ignite the spirits of others.

‘So… this is the Seele of this world,’he thought, a strange sense of familiarity washing over him. He had listened to the entire speech, rapt, as if watching an old friend take the stage.’This is just too impressive,’Chen mused.’That impassioned stance, that raw charisma… Slap a little mustache on him, and he’d be the perfect template for a failed art student rallying the masses with a single shout.’

But beneath the cynical, meta-joke, a genuine appreciation stirred. This Seele was no longer a lone wolf, but the spark that ignited the masses. The core of his being—that righteous anger at injustice, that fierce protection of his comrades, that stubborn persistence for hope—it had never changed. It was simply erupting in a more direct, more fiery, and far more public manner.

He watched as Seele, bathed in the cheers of the crowd, took a moment to calm his breathing. Then, with a nimble leap, he was off the wooden crate. He carefully, almost reverently, folded the red scarf and tucked it back into his shirt, close to his heart.