Chapter 6: Oh No, Elio is Going Bald!
The heavy metal doors of the Stellaron Hunters' safehouse slid shut with a muted hiss, sealing away the ambient noise of the outside world. Kafka stepped in first, her heels clicking rhythmically against the polished floor, followed closely by the soft squeak of Silver Wolf's sneakers.
Halfway across the entryway, both women froze in unison.
Out on the open terrace, bathed in the pale glow of a distant nebula, sat Elio. The black cat was perched precariously on the railing, his small body angled exactly forty-five degrees upward as he stared into the cosmic abyss.
His golden feline eyes shimmered. Heavy, crystalline tears pooled at the corners, trembling under the starlight, threatening to spill over at the slightest provocation.
A cold draft swept across the balcony, scattering shredded pieces of parchment—the remnants of his carefully crafted scripts—across the tiles. Drifting among the torn paper were alarming clumps of black cat fur.
Silver Wolf rubbed her eyes, pausing the holographic game on her screen. She squinted at the feline mastermind. Was it just the lighting, or was the patch of fur right between his ears looking dangerously sparse?
"Elio, whatever is the matter?" Kafka murmured. Her voice was a soothing melody, drifting through the cool air like a velvet ribbon.
"I am so tired..."
A single, tragic tear finally broke free, tracking down the cat's furry cheek.
"This script... whoever wants to write it can be my guest. I quit."
"Wait, so that guy is actually Aha?" Silver Wolf lowered her console, her bubblegum popping with a sharp snap. "You're kidding me. That's way out of bounds, man. For real?!"
"No..." Elio let out a long, shuddering sigh, his gaze never leaving the uncaring stars. "But at this point, it is not much different."
He threw his little paws up in a gesture of absolute, utter despair.
"Does anyone understand my pain?! The script has completely collapsed! Years of careful planning, thousands of simulated futures, all ruined in an instant! I am done. I am officially flipping the table."
"Then how should we proceed next?" Kafka asked, her tone remaining flawlessly gentle, showing not a single ripple of panic.
Kafka watched the dramatic cat with a fond glint in her eyes. The Stellaron Hunters had started as a mere transaction—a gathering of outcasts bound by Elio's promises of the best possible future. Yet, after years of bleeding and fighting side-by-side, this ragtag group of criminals had unknowingly morphed into something resembling a family.
Elio lowered his head, his tail twitching erratically. "Next... Silver Wolf. Once this incident is over, you will make the first contact with him."
To Destiny's Slave, the flow of time was usually a clear river. It is well known that the end is a train moving backward; to reach the destination, one only had to trace the tracks. But now? The tracks were melting. The future was a chaotic blur of static, shifting and rewriting itself with every passing microsecond.
Elio strained his mind, diving into the sea of possibilities, desperately clawing for a single, stable thread.
But... I can't see it. I really can't see it!
Wait. A thought pierced through his despair. Should I try to recruit him?
The very instant that idea bloomed, the static cleared. A vast, boundless, and terrifyingly brilliant future exploded into his vision. Elio's breath hitched. His golden eyes blew wide open, pupils dilating into thin slits.
Oh, Aeons above. Why did I tear up the previous script?! I didn't need to scrap it! I just needed to edit a few lines!
Overcome with a fresh wave of agonizing regret, Elio raised his paws and viciously yanked at his own scalp. Another tuft of black fur tore loose, drifting pathetically into the messy pile of shredded paper on the floor.
Silver Wolf winced, nudging Kafka's ribs with her elbow. "He's pulling his hair out again," she whispered loudly. "Shouldn't we, I don't know, stop him?"
Kafka crossed her arms, her posture remaining elegant and composed. She glanced at the fluffy silhouette radiating a gloomy aura of low pressure by the terrace, and the corners of her mouth curled into a beautiful, highly amused arc.
"No need," Kafka replied, her tone dripping with maternal patience. "Just wait for him to snap out of it on his own."
"You sure?" Silver Wolf muttered, her tone full of doubt. "Because I feel like he's actually going bald..."
She squinted again. Yes, the fur on Elio's head had definitely thinned out even more.
"It is fine. Being bald is also very cute." Kafka tilted her head, looking at Elio with a soft, affectionate gaze.
Silver Wolf: "..."
...
Meanwhile, light-years away on the crippled Herta Space Station, Leon stood comfortably in the middle of a debris-littered corridor. He was casually waiting for the arrival of the Astral Express Crew.
The prospect of meeting March 7th and Dan Heng in the flesh sent a pleasant thrill of anticipation humming through his veins.
Right on cue, the rapid clatter of footsteps echoed down the metallic hallway. Two figures rounded the corner.
"Oh! Dan Heng, look! There's someone over there!" a bright, energetic voice called out.
"March, maintain your guard," a cool, measured voice replied. Dan Heng stepped forward, his piercing gaze sweeping over Leon and the two unconscious bodies on the floor. "The coordinates for these three were not provided by the Space Station's security grid..."
But before the cautious archivist could finish his warning, the pink-haired girl had already holstered her bow and trotted right up to the stranger.
"Oh, relax! Look at the state of this place, what's there to worry about?" March 7th waved a hand dismissively. "There are three living, breathing people right in front of us. It's not like they're fake holograms, right?"
She flashed Leon a brilliant, sunshine-filled smile. "Hi there! I'm March 7th, and the gloomy guy behind me is Dan Heng. The Space Station is currently under attack by the Antimatter Legion, but don't panic! Station Master Asta commissioned us to come and help clear the place out."
As she got a closer look at Leon's face, March's crystal-blue eyes sparkled. 'Wow, this guy is actually super handsome!' she thought, her smile widening just a fraction.
Leon offered a polite, completely unbothered smile. "Hello. I am Leon, just an ordinary civilian who happened to wander into this mess." He paused, his grin turning slightly mischievous as he reached into his pocket. "Actually, March 7th, I happen to be a massive fan of yours. Could I trouble you for an autograph?"
Leon happily produced a sleek little notebook and a pen, holding them out with the eager anticipation of a true fanboy.
Looking at the vibrant, living breathing versions of the characters he knew so well, a wave of genuine nostalgia washed over Leon. It felt exactly like logging into the game on launch day, only infinitely better. The smell of ozone in the air, the slight scuff marks on Dan Heng's boots, the way March's camera bumped against her hip—no screen could ever replicate this level of immersion.
March 7th blinked, pointing a finger at her own face. "Eh? Wait, I have fans?!"
She was just a rookie among the Trailblazers! Since when did she have a fan club?
"Of course you do," Leon replied smoothly, his tone dripping with absolute sincerity. "Where I come from, you are incredibly popular. Look, I even carry your exclusive merchandise."
Leon fumbled in his pocket for a second before pulling out a small, glossy sticker.
"Hehe! I can't believe I have actual fans!" March puffed her chest out proudly, reaching for the pen. "Alright then, I'll give you my very best—"
Her voice died in her throat as her eyes locked onto the sticker.
It was indeed a chibi version of her. That part was normal. But why was the chibi March 7th sprawled face-down on the floor, completely defeated, with her tongue lolling out of her mouth like an exhausted puppy?!
Sure, objectively speaking, it looked hilarious and undeniably cute. But looking at a caricature of her own undignified demise? March felt a crack form in her worldview.
"Ah, my apologies. I took the wrong one. It's this one," Leon said without missing a beat, smoothly pocketing the cursed image and drawing another.
"Haha... ha... it's fine," March forced a strained laugh, looking at the second offering.
Once again, a heavy silence descended upon the corridor.
The girl in this sticker looked strikingly similar to her, but something was deeply wrong. Why were the pupils a piercing, glowing red? The clothing style was entirely different, carrying a dark, gothic flair. Worse yet, the chibi figure was holding her hands up in a completely deadpan, expressionless pose. March rubbed her eyes. Was she hallucinating? Why did it feel like the sticker was physically swaying back and forth in a hypnotic, mocking dance?
"Oops. Wrong one again." Leon hurriedly hid the bizarre 'Long Night Moon Sway' sticker away. He finally presented a normal one.
This time, it was a perfectly wholesome chibi March 7th. She stood with her hands planted firmly on her hips, chest puffed out with a proud, radiant smile, looking absolutely triumphant as if showing off a grand accomplishment. It was the epitome of cute.
"There we go. Finally got the right one this time," Leon sighed, feigning relief.
March 7th stared at him, her eye twitching slightly.
'There is something deeply wrong with you!'she screamed internally.'Are you sure you aren't actually one of my anti-fans?!'
Despite the overwhelming suspicion that she was being trolled, her inherent politeness won out. She snatched the notebook and aggressively scribbled her signature across the page.
Leon immediately pivoted, holding the freshly signed book out to the stoic guard. "Dan Heng, I am also a massive fan of yours. Could I—"
"There are two unconscious civilians on the floor. Securing their safety is our primary objective," Dan Heng cut in sharply, his eyelid twitching. He completely ignored the notebook, shutting down Leon's 'performance' before it could even begin.
He had watched the entire sticker exchange with growing dread. That level of abstract, thick-skinned nonsense was not the behavior of a normal stranded civilian. A chilling thought crossed the archivist's mind.
'Could this guy be a Masked Fool?!'
[Aha: Aha says you are exceptionally suited to be a Masked Fool!]
March 7th clapped her hands, snapping back to reality. "Oh, right! We need to move to a safe place first. Are your friends injured? Why are they unconscious? Do they need artificial respiration?!" She leaned over the two gray-haired figures, looking panicked.
"That won't be necessary," Leon said calmly. "They should be waking up right about now."
As if on cue, soft groans echoed from the floorboards. Stelle and Caelus shifted simultaneously, clutching their aching heads as they slowly blinked their eyes open one after another.
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