Robin spends most of her time off-world; this return to Penacony was only because her long absence happened to coincide with her ship passing through the Astral Galaxy System, giving her a convenient chance to drop in and see her brother.
"Very well, Miss Origami Bird. I hope our Paths cross again."
"I hope so too… Mr. Galaxy-Crackle-Ultra-Boom-Hot-Blood Junk King."
"In a couple of days I'll be changing my name to Invincible Tyrant God of War (Darkened)."
"Pfft—"
A… very humorous person.
The moment he stepped out of The Golden Hour, Caelus spotted another acquaintance—one who carried far more weight.
One of the Astral Express's rare, certified members of the upper crust.
Well, technically he hasn't boarded the Express yet.
So both siblings like to slip into disguises and stroll around when the pressure gets too high, huh… He didn't approach at once, simply leaned against a nearby rail, letting his gaze drift casually over the ribbons of light coiled around Sunday.
As though sensing that too-direct stare, Sunday lifted his head and locked unerringly onto Caelus.
Caelus didn't look away; instead he raised a hand in an easy greeting.
Sunday studied him, brows flicking almost imperceptibly. He clearly didn't recognize the man, yet the stranger's aura… was peculiar. Unlike the tourists lost in sweet dreams, this one stood detached, a lucid spectator keeping a delicate distance from the dreamscape.
More striking still: from this man he could detect no clear echo of a Path—only a void, or perhaps an unfathomably deep sea.
Unlike Robin, Sunday took the initiative to approach Caelus.
"Good evening." Sunday spoke, voice gentle yet impossible to ignore. "A visitor who seems to stand outside the dream. I trust Penacony's hospitality has not disappointed you."
"Disappointed? Not at all." Caelus grinned, straightening. "Fine wine, music, a carnival that never ends… and unexpected encounters. It's a place where dreams come true."
"…Sir, that is an idealistic wish. Even the closest kin can never fully see the whole of one another's dreams."
Whether people can truly understand each other—the same question, yet Sunday, long resident in Penacony, holds a view far more extreme than Robin, who roams the galaxy.
"Is that so? I see. Thank you."
Caelus offered neither agreement nor objection.
"…"
Sunday inclined his head. He could sense the man had not been surprised by the answer—he had, perhaps, foreseen it. The realization unsettled him, as though his carefully prepared reply had served merely to confirm some hypothesis.
"Then, sir," he shifted topics, tone turning light once more, "what about you? In this land of dreams, what dream do you pursue?"
"Me? I've no grand dream. And when everyone's busy dreaming, someone has to clean up the mess after they wake, right?" Caelus winked, the words carrying a double edge.
The smile on Sunday's face froze for an instant.
He caught the implication.
"Everyone chases a dream of their own—wealth, love, a moment's peace. The Family provides the stage; we never expect them to grasp each other's dreams. We only ensure every dream coexists beneath Harmony's melody, none disturbing the other."
Sunday's gaze lingered; in those worldly eyes flickered an unreadable glint. He asked no more, merely nodded with elegant composure.
"May Harmony guide your Path, unknown guest. Yet let me assure you: while the Family stands, Penacony's music will never cease."
"Is that so?" Caelus lifted a shoulder. "Well… something to look forward to."
The two regarded each other in long silence.
"If I could sever you from every Path for a moment and give you a choice… what would you choose?"
Caelus's fingers seemed to toy with something unseen as he asked softly.
The notion was absurd; a Path is like breath, influencing all.
"Naturally, I would throw myself into Joy's embrace."
Sunday answered.
Caelus looked at him and chuckled low.
"As expected. See? That's the result of 'understanding.' I understand your choice; you understand my question. Yet we stand at opposite ends of the road."
"The Family's ideal is a grand score where every voice resounds in Harmony," Sunday's voice wavered. "Even notes unable to join the main theme will find their place within the structure."
"Who even gets that… So, want to try? The choice is yours."
Caelus's hands closed around two ribbons of light Sunday could not see.
The gesture made Sunday's heart sink.
Why both hands?
Could it be— "One is Harmony; the other… a fallen existence." Caelus raised a finger to his lips. "I know your secret, but I've no wish to expose it. I only want to see how you choose. Cut connections to both, and— from the same vantage as I—experience the world anew. How about it?"
Sunday's pupils contracted; the composure he always wore cracked.
"You…" His voice, for the first time, lost its warmth and turned husky. "Who exactly are you?"
Caelus exerted the slightest pressure; the two invisible ribbons quivered faintly between his fingers.
Sever the ties? Re-examine everything as a truly independent self?
The lure was perilous, yet it carried a trembling promise of freedom.
He searched Caelus's face for any trace of deceit, but found only an abyssal calm.
"…No." At last Sunday exhaled the word, voice steady—firmer than before. "The Family's ideal is the road I choose. Joy's melody is my will. No proof is needed, no inspection that demands betrayal."
"Then our conversation ends here." Caelus released the ribbons; they vanished as though never there. "A shame—you passed up a chance to see more clearly."
"To see more clearly can mean plunging into deeper bewilderment," Sunday said quietly. "Order's blueprint is long drawn; Joy's score needs resolute players, not wavering listeners."
"Well spoken." Caelus clapped in genuine admiration. "Then I wish you… may you never regret the firm choice you made today."
Perhaps, on some level, the two had reached an understanding.
Sunday stood unmoving long after. Laughter and flowing music seemed walled off beyond an invisible barrier. Unconsciously he pressed a hand to his chest; there the ribbon of Harmony still pulsed warmly, while the other cold line remained silent.
In that instant, when Caelus had grasped both threads, he had felt an unprecedented… sense of severance.
And after Caelus walked away, Sunday stood transfixed.
Now he could clearly see every Path-ribbon—not sense, but see, the same way Caelus did.
Over everyone, the ribbons of their Paths now showed, some faint, some bright.
Back aboard the familiar, cluttered, very-much-'lived-in' scrap iron, Penacony's lavish dreamscape already felt like a distant memory. The air once again carried the faint scent of rusted metal and machine oil.
"Alright, perk up! The short vacation's over—time to return to our grand mission!"
"Penacony was amazing."
March 7th sighed in satisfaction.
"Captain, how much did the four of us blow on Penacony?"
"We kept it thrifty—just over ten million credits."
"How much?"
"This is Penacony, the glitziest den of excess in the galaxy. We booked the Family's top-tier suite, ate, drank, and played at the best spots, plus reimbursed your shopping. Ten million and change is downright frugal."
March 7th blinked.
Frugal…?
"Captain, you're so good to us."
March 7th's eyes sparkled.
"Of course I've got to treat you two well—how else am I going to squeeze every last drop of work out of you later?"
Caelus waved a hand.
"Back home, March 7th, you'll handle the stream. I already hyped the company; our account's a gag brand, so the host job falls to you."
"H-host?"
March 7th pointed at herself.
Host—me?
"How do I even host?"
"No worries. Prometheus will walk you through it in a sec."
"O-okay, I'll give it a shot."
"Dan Heng, you take a breather—two days off."
"Got it."
The named Dan Heng closed his book and nodded.
Under Prometheus's quick tutelage, March 7th fumblingly started her first broadcast.
"Uh… h-hello? Can anyone see me? Hear me?" She leaned toward the lens, whispering a greeting, equal parts nervous and curious. A handful of viewers trickled in, lured by the ridiculous title.
[She actually used that name?]
[The streamer really collects trash?]
[That background's a mess—an actual ship interior?]
"I-it is!" March 7th blurted after seeing the bullet comments. "This is the Cosmic Junk Company vessel scrap iron! I'm the new hire, March 7th! Our boss—uh, captain—is super nice…"
——
"Drop a little gift—cool~ A company with this comedy style actually exists?"
Silver Wolf let out a weird laugh.
"…"
"Blade, come watch! Super fun. Your hand's still busted, but your eyes work, right~"
"…Not watching."
"Ah~ this room belongs to my senior, Teacher Dan Heng~ He always looks icy, but he's actually the type who—"
Whoosh.
Blade appeared behind Silver Wolf, fragmented sword in hand, eyes murderous.
Even through the screen, even with his aura dampened, Blade would never mistake that presence; it ignited the killing instinct in his blood.
"Ah, this plug? It's the bath plug in Dan Heng's room, but the tub's glitchy—stick it in and it zaps him. Don't ask how I know."
[Streamer totally did it.]
[Try it again; five Planet Destroyers from me if you do.]
Five Planet Destroyers… March 7th's eyes bulged.
"N-no way…"
She hesitated.
But five Planet Destroyers… "How about I gift her a hundred?" Silver Wolf mused, glancing at the seething Blade beside her.
[User 'S.Wolf' gifted streamer 'Cosmic Junk Company – March 7th' Planet Destroyer x100! Come watch!]
Dazzling full-screen effects erupted, nearly swallowing the feed.
The sparse barrage exploded.
[Holy crap?!]
[A hundred?! My eyes broken?!]
[Big spender, what are you doing?!]
[Streamer, go zap him!]
[Which tycoon's slumming it today?!]
[Woof, I can be your dog.]
March 7th froze, mouth an 'O', eyes wider than before. She rubbed her eyes and pinched her arm.
"Ow! Not dreaming… o-one hundred?!" Her voice cracked, disbelief and panic written all over her face.
C-can I refund this?!
She flailed, trying to refuse the overwhelming "kindness."
"Plug? What plug? I dunno!"
She played dumb, gaze darting.
[Streamer chickened out!]
[A hundred Planet Destroyers wasted!]
[Rich kid got scammed!]
[Keep your word, streamer!]
Silver Wolf, watching March 7th scramble, grinned wider and typed: [Streamer, gift fraud violates the rules, y'know ( ᗜ v ᗜ )]
March 7th's face crumpled, near tears: "I didn't scam anyone! You guys—uh, I mean… this… that…"
She spun in frantic circles, pink hair practically frizzing.
Two hundred!
Three hundred Planet Destroyers in total—billions of credits!
"I-I-I-I-I'll ask the captain!"
She bolted to the bridge, phone in hand.
"Captain! Captain! Big trouble!"
Caelus, feet on console, discussing with Prometheus where to "restock" next, jumped at her shriek.
"Chill. If the sky falls, I'll hold it up." He picked his ear.
"T-three hundred Planet Destroyers! Tips! Stream tips!" She shoved the screen at him; endless barrage demanding she keep her "promise."
"Only a few hundred million credits—why so jumpy?"
"Can we refund it?!" She thrust the communicator at him; gift effects still looping.
"Refund?" Caelus raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Free money? We're keeping it."
"But it's too much!" she stomped. "And that S.Wolf says I have to plug it in or it's gift fraud…"
Caelus stood, motioned her over, then walked into Dan Heng's room.
Dan Heng, in the bath:?
"Dan Heng, we've got extra revenue—just need you to suffer a teensy bit."
"Suffer? What do you mean?"
He bristled.
"Hold still."
"Wait, what are you doing?!"
He panicked.
He didn't know Caelus swung that way!
"Let go! Caelus, what are you—stop, STOP—"
"A~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~"