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cosmic-conqueror-diabelos · 13 days ago

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An adventurer’s guide to the galaxy

In their relentless pursuit of peak physical perfection, Jihyo, Momo, Sana, and Mina had pushed themselves through nearly every fitness trend—from intense Pilates sessions to disciplined weight-lifting regiments. But when they hit a frustrating plateau, their competitive spirits refused to settle. Searching for the next challenge, they found themselves drawn to a quiet yet well-respected dojo nestled just on the outskirts of the city.

It was there, under the strict yet graceful tutelage of Sensei Umezewa—a stoic Japanese immigrant and the daughter of a so-called "exiled samurai"—that they began spending nearly every weekend honing their skills. What started as a personal training sanctuary soon turned into something else entirely. As word spread among their peers, the dojo quickly became a magnet for other idols chasing their own version of physical and mental mastery.

Before long, familiar faces began appearing at the dojo: Sakura Miyawaki, always composed and deadly with a shinai, and Kazuha Nakamura, graceful as a dancer but deceptively strong. Their presence added a new layer of intensity to the sessions, and it wasn’t long before their training schedules naturally aligned. They often sparred together, sweat and adrenaline bonding them through every strike and counter, their movements crisp and purposeful beneath layers of traditional gear.

Today’s session had been no different—rigorous, disciplined, and exhausting. Sensei Umezewa had calmly observed from the sidelines, her eyes as sharp as a blade, offering the occasional correction or nod of approval. The training had concluded with the quiet arrival of three new recruits: Giselle and Karina of Aespa, and Itzy’s Yeji—all drawn to the dojo for the same reason as the others: the hunger to evolve, to transcend.

After bowing to their Sensei and one another, the group made their way out of the dojo, laughter, and conversation punctuating the quiet of the late afternoon. But as they stepped into the gravel path outside, something strange happened.

One, two, three… eight steps.

Then nothing.

They kept walking—but the scenery didn’t change. Their feet moved, and the gravel crunched beneath them, but they weren’t getting anywhere.

It took a moment before anyone noticed. One by one, they paused, puzzled, glancing around. The air felt heavier, charged with a strange, humming tension. Confused murmurs gave way to silence as they all tilted their heads upward.

That’s when they saw it: a colossal beam of pale blue light pouring down from the sky, shimmering like liquid glass. It enveloped them completely, holding them in place with an invisible grip.

A split second later, everything went white.

And then—nothing.

Darkness.

They came to—roughly four Earth hours later—disoriented and sprawled across the cold, metallic floor of an alien chamber. The room hummed softly with energy, its walls a lattice of strange, glowing symbols and seamless, shifting panels. The very structure they were in felt alive, its design so far beyond human comprehension that even trying to make sense of it gave them a dull headache. No edges, no visible doors—just smooth, flowing architecture that pulsed like a heartbeat.

And sitting at the far end of the chamber, upon what looked like a throne grown out of the floor itself, was a towering figure that resembled a man crossed with a white tiger—broad-shouldered, draped in dark, ornamental armor, and radiating a quiet, effortless menace.

“Oh good, y’all are awake,” the feline giant said in heavily modulated English, his voice deep and oddly melodic, like metal scraping velvet.

The idols instinctively recoiled, hearts pounding, pressing themselves against the walls as far from the creature as possible. Panic danced in their eyes—this was no stage, no dream, no fantasy.

The creature raised a massive paw in what seemed like a gesture of calm.

“Now, now—no need to be afraid,” he said, his tone rehearsed but not unkind. “I’m not here to hurt you. My name is Rylor. I come from the planet Jenji, in the Solaris system. I am what you might call… a recruiter.”

“A what?�� Sana whispered, still breathless.

“I seek out exceptional talent and bring them to their new… hmm. Not ‘masters,’ no—that’s not the word. Employers. Yes. That’s what you humans call it,” Rylor corrected himself, his tail lazily flicking behind him. “You’ve been chosen. I hope to make your transition from your… previous lives to this one a bit easier.”

As their eyes adjusted, the girls noticed the details of him more clearly: he was less like a cartoonish feline and more like a white tiger standing on two legs—hulking, rippling with muscle, with intelligent amber eyes that gleamed beneath his metallic circlet. He was beautiful in the way a storm is beautiful. Dangerous. Unstoppable.

Jihyo stepped forward, fists clenched.

“You didn’t recruit us,” she said firmly, her voice low and even. “You abducted us. You stole us from our home.”

Rylor let out a low, rumbling laugh. “You’re from Earth. It’s practically the same thing.”

He paused, scanning each of them with what looked like genuine curiosity—and maybe even a little admiration.

“Liroc,” he called, not looking away from the idols, “get them chipped and resonant.”

From a nearby shadowed corridor emerged something even less comforting—an insectoid creature, tall and skeletal, with glistening carapace armor and multi-jointed limbs. Its face was a twisted mandible of clicking parts, closer to a nightmare than anything terrestrial. Think Predator, if it grew up in a hive instead of a jungle.

The idols froze, eyes wide.

“Move,” Rylor said gently, as if herding kittens. “He won’t bite. Unless you try to run.”

The creature—Liroc—made a rapid series of harsh clicks and guttural sounds that echoed off the walls like static-fed radio transmissions. The girls tried speaking to him, asking questions, but all they got in response were more unsettling chittering noises and unreadable gestures.

He led them down a narrow, curving corridor. The floor beneath their feet shimmered with every step, adjusting somehow to their pace. At the end of the hallway, a chamber opened—a sterile white room illuminated by ambient light from no visible source.

Standing in the center was a humanoid robot—sleek, silver, and humanoid in shape, with glowing red eyes. Despite the intimidating appearance, its voice was eerily calm, a soft, automated baritone that sounded like an old friend reading bedtime instructions.

“Welcome,” it said. “I am HAL-2000. You have been selected for linguistic synchronization and cosmic resonance attunement. Please proceed to the tubes.”

Six cylindrical pods stood against the wall, faintly humming, mist swirling at their bases.

The idols hesitated.

“It is painless,” HAL added, sensing their fear. “And necessary. You will understand everything soon.”

With no other choice—and Rylor’s words still ringing in their ears—they stepped forward, one by one, into the strange machines.

As the lids closed over them, a soft pulse filled their ears.

Then—

Darkness again.

Light slowly bled into their consciousness.

This time, when they opened their eyes, the sterile chamber was gone. The soft walls here were the color of aged parchment, gently pulsing with an inner glow. The air was warmer, breathable—but laced with an unfamiliar metallic tang. Each of them lay in their own cot, covered by strange yet comfortable woven sheets that shimmered like liquid thread.

They were no longer in the pods.

At first, they stirred quietly, groggily, unsure if they were dreaming again. But then a sound reached them—soft at first, like fingers tapping on crystal. Then it formed words.

Actual words.

Words they understood.

“In your language now?” came a voice—clicking, layered, but unmistakably intelligible.

They sat up. Liroc stood at the entrance to the chamber, his towering insectoid frame half-hidden in the shifting glow of the doorway. No longer just a horror movie silhouette, he now looked more… real. His mandibles twitched with each word, but his voice carried directly into their minds, perfectly fluent—not in English, but in each of their native tongues.

“I know this is unsettling,” Liroc continued, his multifaceted eyes scanning their faces one by one. “And I know it’s scary.”

There was no trace of mockery or malice in his voice—just a tired honesty, like someone who had delivered this speech many times before.

“But if you do your four years,” he said slowly, “you’ll be free. And you can go home.”

Silence fell over the room like a thick curtain.

Sana was the first to speak, her voice barely above a whisper. “Four years of… what?”

Liroc didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped into the room, claws clicking gently on the floor. He didn’t loom or threaten—he sat. Or rather, crouched in a way that seemed both alien and oddly respectful.

“Work. Missions. Tasks that require… exceptional beings. You were chosen because your abilities—discipline, adaptability, group cohesion, physical prowess—are rare. Even among humans.”

“Chosen,” Mina repeated flatly.

“Recruited,” Jihyo added bitterly.

Liroc inclined his head slightly. “I won’t lie. Most of you would not have volunteered. But many before you have served. And survived. Some even thrived.”

Karina spoke up, voice trembling. “And if we refuse?”

There was a pause. Not ominous—just… somber.

“Then you’ll be reassigned,” Liroc said. “To less cooperative handlers. I can’t protect you from them.”

That landed with force. The room went cold again.

“Why are you helping us?” Yeji asked.

Liroc’s mandibles twitched, and he made a low, rattling sound—it might’ve been a sigh.

“Because I remember what it was like,” he said quietly. “To wake up in a place that wasn’t mine. To be told I belonged to someone else. I earned my freedom. I serve now by choice. And I would rather guide you gently… than see you broken.”

The silence that followed wasn’t fear.

It was decision.

As the days turned into weeks—four Earth weeks, to be exact—the idols slowly began to settle into an uneasy rhythm aboard the alien vessel. The initial terror faded into something more mechanical: they cleaned, they ate strange but nourishing food, and they trained.

Under the ever-watchful eye of Rylor.

Training was rigorous. Physical drills, weapons handling, even simulations that pulled on both their instinct and discipline. They were pushed hard, but not broken. The crew—diverse, strange, and mostly indifferent—treated them with a cold professionalism. No cruelty, but no affection either. They were assets. Temporary, expendable.

But Rylor was different.

Though none of the others were singled out, Jihyo somehow drew his constant attention. She noticed the way he lingered during sparring sessions, the way he observed her with a mix of curiosity and something else—something more possessive. It wasn’t romantic, exactly. It was… fixated. Fascinated.

Jihyo didn’t trust him. Not even a little. But she kept her guard up and her tone neutral, even when he hovered just a bit too close or watched her with those amber, unreadable eyes.

Despite the circumstances, the group adapted. They grew stronger. More cohesive. They began communicating with each other and the ship more easily thanks to the resonance chips. They weren’t free—but they weren’t helpless either.

As their vessel neared the coordinates of their so-called employers, a quiet anxiety settled over them.

Then came the night before they were to be handed over.

Rylor summoned Jihyo to his private chambers.

It was a rare invitation. No one refused. She went—cautiously.

The chamber was dimly lit, filled with artifacts and relics from across the galaxy: weapons mounted like trophies, silk banners embroidered with alien script, and the faint scent of incense that made her slightly dizzy. Rylor lounged on an elevated couch, a decanter of shimmering blue liquid in one paw, two crystalline cups set before him.

“Sit,” he said, voice low but heavy with expectation.

Jihyo did, stiffly. She didn’t touch her drink.

Rylor, on the other hand, was already a few glasses in. As the evening wore on, the stoic pirate grew looser, more talkative—his speech slurred, his posture relaxed.

“You know,” he said, tail flicking lazily behind him, “you humans don’t usually do it for me. Too soft. Too loud. But you… you're different.”

Jihyo said nothing. Just listened.

“You remind me of the Panthera Regiment back on Jenji,” he went on, eyes glazing over with memory. “An all-female platoon. Vicious. Lethal. Beautiful. They didn’t fear anything—except failure.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering.

“You could’ve led them. You should stay with me. Be my consort. My wife.”

Jihyo’s face remained unreadable, but her heart pounded. She kept her tone polite, measured.

“I appreciate the… compliment. But I can’t accept.”

Rylor froze, just for a moment. Then something shifted.

“How dare you?” he growled, rising slowly to his full, imposing height.

“I take care of you. I train you silly apes. I give you purpose, and you—"

A sudden buzz sliced through the tension.

The intercom crackled to life, interrupting him mid-rant with a calm but commanding female voice:

“Pirate Rylor, this is Commander Samira of the Galactic Federation. You are in direct violation of the Nephilim Treaty of Year 17 Billion—Earth year 2012—regarding the acquisition of Terran civilians. Prepare to be boarded and arrested.”

For a moment, the chamber was still.

Then Rylor’s expression twisted into something primal. He slammed the decanter to the ground, blue liquid splattering across the floor like blood.

“Federation scum…” he hissed, eyes glowing with fury.

He turned toward the sealed door, muscles tensing, ready to fight.

Behind him, Jihyo remained silent—calculating.

Her moment might’ve just arrived.

As the last syllables of her warning faded from the comms, Commander Samira turned smoothly from the console to face the three of us—her elite strike unit, her so-called little wolves.

There was a gleam in her eyes—equal parts mischief and menace.

“My little wolves,” she purred, brushing a lock of silver hair behind her ear, “would you be darlings and tear that cat’s ship apart?”

I gave a sharp nod, feeling the familiar pulse of power building in my chest.

“As you wish, Commander,” I said.

With a slash of my hand, a portal tore itself open before us—vibrating with crackling energy. Through it, the innards of Rylor’s ship were revealed, dim and pulsing like the belly of some dormant beast.

Combat Captain Dinozen Sisko, ever silent and grim, stepped through first—his hammer already crackling with kinetic charge. Artillery Specialist Magnara Unika followed close behind, her twin shoulder-cannons humming softly, calibrated for close-quarters suppression. I entered last, sealing the rift behind us with a flick of my wrist.

We materialized in what looked like the prisoner holding bay—cold, metallic, sterile. The idols were there, huddled but alert. All of them except one.

Magnara gasped softly. “Oh my stars… it’s really them.” Her voice was unusually high-pitched with excitement. “Is that Kazuha? And Sana?!”

She was fangirling—actually fangirling in the middle of an extraction op.

“Focus, Unika,” Dinozen muttered, though his mouth twitched in what might’ve been a grin.

Magnara gathered herself quickly, motioning for the idols to follow. “Come on, ladies. You’re safe now. Let’s get you out of here before things get… explode-y.”

They obeyed, moving fast but wide-eyed, still processing their rescue. Just before they reached the portal, one of them—Sana, I believed—turned back and looked up at me with urgent eyes.

“Um, sir?” she asked, voice trembling with both hope and fear. “Can you save our leader? Her name’s Jihyo. She’s about this tall—” she held up her hand, “—big brown eyes, tan skin. She’s probably still with that… tiger freak.”

I gave a short nod. “I’ll find her.”

Dinozen and Magnara led the group through the portal, the shimmering light swallowing them as they vanished back to the safety of Samira’s warship. As they disappeared, I caught a glimpse of one of the paler idols—Mina, maybe—casting a lingering glance back at Dinozen. Her gaze wasn’t fear, though. It was curiosity. Interest.

I chuckled softly to myself. Well now… that could get interesting.

Then I turned, armor humming as I moved deeper into the belly of the ship, toward the captain’s quarters. Toward the one they called Jihyo.

The moment the intercom cut out and Rylor stormed toward the chamber doors, Jihyo made her decision.

No more waiting. No more being watched. No more being handled.

She had seen the shift in Rylor’s eyes—how rejection twisted his fascination into something darker, something that boiled beneath his pride. The look of a predator who wasn’t used to hearing “no.”

As he stomped toward the control panel beside the door, growling curses under his breath, Jihyo moved. Not wildly. Not recklessly. Precisely.

She snatched the shard of the shattered decanter from the floor—glass in this part of space wasn’t like Earth glass. It didn’t break into fine sand; it fractured into jagged, durable splinters. She wrapped part of her sleeve around one end, creating a makeshift grip, and crept toward the brute’s back.

“How dare she,” Rylor snarled under his breath, punching in override codes. “I offer her legacy, power… and she—”

He never finished the sentence.

Jihyo struck.

The shard sliced across the back of his knee, deep enough to draw a roar of pain but not enough to sever anything. The beast fell forward, surprised more than wounded. She leapt back as he twisted toward her.

“You dare?” he bellowed, voice echoing through the chamber like thunder. “You little animal—”

“I’m not yours,” Jihyo snapped. Her voice didn’t tremble. “You don’t get to ‘keep’ people. We’re not prizes. We’re not pets.”

Rylor charged.

She dodged—barely—tucking and rolling across the chamber as his claws scraped the floor where she’d stood. He turned, slower now, dragging his wounded leg.

“I was going to make you a queen,” he hissed.

“I’m already a leader,” she replied, tightening her grip on the glass shard. “And I don’t need a crown from you.”

Just as he lunged again—

-The wall behind Rylor ruptured in a violent blast of energy.

A portal flared open, clean and circular, its edges sparking as if reality itself had been neatly sliced. I stepped through—calm, composed—my gaze immediately locking onto the bleeding, seething tiger-like pirate.

Jihyo blinked in surprise. “Who—?”

“Reinforcements,” I replied coolly, tone level, but edged with authority. “Now, is there any chance you’ll surrender peacefully? Or are you intent on making this even more difficult?”

Rylor didn’t answer. He just growled—and lunged.

Wrong move.

A charged pulse shot from the coil around my wrist, striking him square in the chest. The blast sent him flying backward, crashing into the bulkhead with a sharp metallic crunch. He slumped, dazed but alive, smoke curling from the scorch mark on his armor.

I stepped into the room fully, scanning quickly—and then I saw her.

Jihyo.

Her light bronze skin glowed faintly under the flickering emergency lights. She stood tall despite the chaos, chin lifted, shard of alien glass still clenched in her hand like a dagger. Her eyes—wide, warm, but unyielding—held both the gentleness of a leader and the fire of someone who refused to break.

I understood in that instant why Rylor had fixated on her. But what struck me most wasn’t her beauty, or her resilience.

It was her presence.

“I believe your friends are waiting for you, Leader Jihyo,” I said, lowering my hand and offering a respectful nod. “Care to come home?”

She looked from the scorched wall… to Rylor, groaning but beaten… then finally up at me. Judging me. Measuring me. And then, she nodded.

“Yeah,” she said, slipping the shard into her belt. “Let’s go.”

I opened a second portal behind me, and together we vanished into the light.

⸻

We emerged into the safety of the Federation warship’s transport bay. The idols were already gathered there, recovering under the soft blue glow of medical filters. As soon as Jihyo stepped through, the others rushed to her.

“Oh thank God you’re safe!” Sana cried, flinging her arms around her.

The others followed quickly—Momo, Mina, Sakura, Giselle—all wrapping her in relief and laughter. The tension eased. Their leader was back. The circle was whole again.

I made my way across the deck toward Commander Samira. She stood with her arms behind her back, cool and commanding, letting the idols have their moment before speaking.

“Welcome, Terrans,” she said with a practiced warmth. “I am Commander Samira of the Rune Terra system, native to the planet Noxus, and an agent of the Galactic Federation. I’m here to take you home.”

The room filled with cheers and emotional gasps.

But I noticed something quieter amid the noise.

Three of the Terran girls were looking at us—at me, Dinozen, and Magnara—with something different than relief. Something more… curious. Jihyo’s eyes lingered on me. Sakura seemed drawn to Dinozen, her gaze soft but focused. And Giselle? She was practically orbiting Magnara, clearly fascinated by the towering artillery specialist.

I’m cheating as I write this, I know—I didn’t get their names right away. But I’ll learn them. I always do.

Samira turned and clapped her hands once.

“My wolves will escort you to your guest quarters,” she said, addressing the idols. “There you’ll find fresh approximations of Terran cuisine, warm baths, clean clothing, and real beds. Rest well, knowing you are safe now.”

Magnara and Dinozen led the group down the corridor. The girls followed, quieter now, some still glancing back. But Jihyo lingered.

Samira noticed and gave me a sideways glance. I opened my mouth to speak, but Jihyo was already walking toward me—measured, deliberate. She stopped so close our chests nearly touched.

“You saved me,” she said softly. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

Her voice was warm but unwavering. Her face was close—far too close. I could hear the skip in my own pulse. She was distracting. Dangerous.

I smiled slightly. “Anytime.”

She gave a tiny nod, then turned quickly and jogged back to her friends.

Samira was smirking before I even turned around.

“Could you be any less subtle?” she teased. “I thought you were going to throw her down and kiss her on the deck.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Where did you learn that phrase?”

“Oh, Magnara taught me. Apparently it’s something people yell on ‘reality TV’.” She waved a hand. “Not important.”

She leaned in with that knowing grin. “So. My little wolf has a crush on a Terran.”

I composed myself quickly. Straightened my shoulders.

“She’s… stunning. Yes. But I wouldn’t call it a crush,” I said, voice even. “I have no desire to engage her.”

Samira laughed softly. “Of course not,” she said. “That’s exactly what a man with a deep, dangerous crush would say.”

I didn’t answer.

But I did glance down the corridor—just once—to catch one final glimpse of Jihyo.

She hadn’t looked back.

Yet somehow, it still felt like she knew I was watching.

Samira chuckled behind me, her tone knowing and amused. “So what’s up, Witch-Wolf? Don’t tell me the mighty Giordano’s been undone by a Terran girl with pretty eyes.”

Her words snapped me out of my trance, and I exhaled, shaking off the lingering warmth in my chest.

“Commander,” I said, shifting back into mission mode, “what’s our plan for Rylor? I saw the scorch trail—he escaped the moment the power grid failed. We both know he’s not going to stay quiet.”

Samira’s smile thinned, and her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“No need to chase him,” she said with a shrug, voice far more serious now. “He’ll be back—he always is. Especially now that he knows we’re heading toward Earth. He’s the vengeful type.”

She stepped forward, lowering her voice as if the ship itself might be listening. “But you—my little Witch-Wolf—don’t get to go full arcane wrath just yet. Not here. Not while we’re traveling through Federation trade lanes. You know the treaties.”

I nodded slowly. The Arcades Accord had grandfathered me in—barely. One of the last recognized war mages allowed to exist within Federation space, let alone operate freely.

“I don’t want to test the bureaucracy’s patience,” Samira continued. “Not until we’re out of their jurisdiction. You may be Chulane’s last pupil, but even that only buys so much tolerance. We wait. Once we hit the outer reach of the Sol system—past the Beacon Lines—then you can rampage splendidly.”

There was a glint of wicked amusement in her tone at that last part, but also trust. Faith.

I bowed my head slightly. “Understood, Commander.”

“Dismissed.”

I turned and began the walk toward my quarters. The halls were quiet now, shadows stretching long under the pulse-lights. My boots echoed softly.

The corridors of the Aurelius were quiet at this hour. Most of the ship’s human guests were finally resting after the chaos of their abduction and recovery. The faint hum of power cells and stabilizer coils echoed through the metal halls, familiar and comforting to someone like me.

I was heading back to my quarters after a debrief with Samira, boots barely making a sound against the polished alloy floor. My mind wandered—mostly to her. To Jihyo. I had heard her music thanks to Maggy who was a massive fan and had grown to like them but

I told Samira I didn’t have a crush.

Maybe I was a liar.

Just as I turned the corner by the guest wing, someone stepped into the hallway from one of the side rooms. I stopped short as she nearly collided with me.

It was her.

Jihyo.

Fresh from a bath, she wore soft Federation-issue loungewear—loose, comfortable, and cut in a way that made her seem even more disarmingly human. Her long hair was still damp, curling slightly at the ends, and her skin had that freshly-cleansed glow. She smelled faintly of citrus and something floral.

“Oh! Sorry,” she said, stepping back. Her tone wasn’t flustered, just… surprised. Then her eyes lit up in recognition. “You again.”

I swallowed before speaking. “You have a habit of bumping into your rescuers?”

She smirked. “Maybe just the handsome ones.”

That was… new.

“I’m kidding,” she added quickly, her grin widening. “Kind of.”

I chuckled and tried to keep walking. My heart was pounding like I’d just come from combat training. She turned and fell into step beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re not like the others on the ship,” she said, glancing sideways at me. “You speak our language too well. And your accent… It’s familiar.”

“I studied Terran linguistics,” I offered.

She narrowed her eyes, not buying it. “No. You are Terran, aren’t you?”

I hesitated—then nodded.

“Yeah same as Dinozen and Magnara I was born in California. Earthside. For taken off-world when I was young.”

Her eyes lit up even more. “I knew it! I could tell the way you moved, the way you looked at us. You’re not just some Federation soldier—they recruited you.”

I let a small smile crack through. “Something like that.”

“Well, Giordano,” she said, testing my name in her mouth like a lyric.

I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t tell you my name.”

“It’s on your badge,” she replied, smug.

I laughed—a real one this time. First one in days.

“Giordano,” she repeated, drawing it out in a teasing tone. “Too many syllables. I’m gonna call you Gio.”

“Gio, huh?”

She shrugged. “It suits you.”

I slowed my pace, half-expecting her to head back to her quarters.

She didn’t.

She kept walking beside me, arms folded casually, bare feet padding softly over the floor.

“You’re heading back to your room?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Cool. I’ll walk with you,”

Absolutely — here’s a refined and expanded version of the scene, keeping the emotional vulnerability and growing connection between the narrator and Jihyo while improving flow, emotional beats, and sensory detail:

⸻

And she stayed beside me—step for step—as if this was something we’d always done. Like we were walking through memory instead of metal corridors, our rhythm already synced.

As we neared my quarters, she leaned gently into my shoulder. Not clingy, not fragile. Just… present. Like she wanted to feel I was real.

When we reached the door, she turned to me with a small smile. “After you.”

I chuckled, brow raised. “Are you sure you want to be alone with me?”

She looked up at me, steady. No hesitation. “I feel safe with you.”

Then—before I could say something dumb to ruin it—she placed a hand on my chest and gave a soft push, guiding me through the door.

The lights flickered on as we entered, revealing the stark simplicity of my quarters: neatly stacked weapons on the rack, no decorations, no comforts. Just order and shadows.

Jihyo stepped inside and looked around. “Huh. Very… military monk.”

“Spartan elegance,” I said, dropping my gear onto the shelf.

She watched me as I moved—quietly assessing, but not judging. I took a seat on the couch, and without a word, she joined me, leaning into my side like it was the most natural thing in the galaxy.

We sat in silence for a few moments. Her body was warm against mine. The scent of whatever soap they stocked in the guest quarters clung faintly to her—floral, unfamiliar, but nice.

Then I spoke, my voice softer than usual. “Can I ask you something personal?”

She tilted her head, eyes curious. “Um… sure.”

I hesitated, then looked at her, really looked at her. “Did Rylor… hurt you? Or touch you in a way he shouldn’t have?”

Jihyo’s expression shifted. Not angry—just surprised. Thoughtful. She stared at me, her gaze unreadable for a moment that felt like a minute.

Then, she laughed.

Not a forced one. Not bitter. A warm, genuine laugh that cracked the tension like glass underfoot.

“No,” she said, smiling. “My knight in—well, slightly scorched—armor showed up just in time.”

I exhaled in relief and chuckled. “I’m not really a knight. Definitely no shining armor.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she murmured.

We sat there for a while longer, the air warm with something unspoken. Eventually, her laughter faded into a yawn, and her body grew heavier against mine. Her head nestled into the crook of my neck, fitting there like it belonged.

Her breathing slowed. Peaceful. Safe.

I held still, not wanting to disturb her. Just listening to the silence, letting her weight anchor me.

After a moment, she whispered something.

“Why?”

I turned slightly. “Why what?”

“Why do you care so much?” she asked, eyes still closed.

I didn’t answer right away. Just let my hand rest lightly on her shoulder and stared at the dim ceiling above us.

“Why not?” I finally said.

She didn’t respond. She was already asleep.

But I sat there a little longer, smiling to myself like an idiot with a secret.

And outside the viewport, the stars kept moving—slow and steady—like time itself had decided to let us rest.