“Your Majesty, the mission has been successfully completed.”

Dim light barely illuminated the inner structure of the Teleopean royal palace. In the centre, on the raised throne, sat the man who held absolute power over the entire civilisation. He lounged lazily against the throne, listening to the latest report from his two most trusted subordinates.

“Is that so? And you’re certain there were no errors?” the reigning Star Emperor asked, voice casual.

“We lost thirteen members of the Royal Guard in the fighting. But the mission was carried out as planned, Your Majesty,” Yin replied with rigid formality.

The Star Emperor smiled as he watched his subordinate. His long, shadowed eyes revealed no emotion; their coldness alone made Yin’s heart shiver.

“Then how,” the Emperor murmured, “do you explain this?”

He pressed a small keypad built into the armrest of his throne. A luminous screen materialised in front of them.

“The bar’s internal surveillance feed?” Yin blinked, stunned as the image played: a small group boarding an escape pod.

“Your Majesty, it is my failure. I allowed that group to escape.” Yin dropped to one knee, ready to receive whatever punishment his ruler deemed fit.

“This isn’t your fault,” the Emperor said, waving a hand dismissively. He wasn’t interested in assigning blame—not for this. Instead, he tapped another control and froze the footage on a single face.

Zoomed in, crystal clear—even magnified, the Teleopean features remained sharply defined.

“Interesting, isn’t it?”

Beautiful. Even among Teleopeans, the face was striking—a typical phenotype of a deliberately engineered bloodline. It still carried the faint softness of a younger stage, lending it a disarming purity.

Not a random civilian. Both men knew exactly who this was.

Too well.

“No matter where you run,” the Emperor murmured, lifting a hand to trace the person’s outline in the air, “you belong to me.”

Your every thought.

Your very fate—

ought to rest in my hands.

His slender fingers followed the contours on the screen, the corner of his mouth lifting into a cold, predatory smile.

“It has been too long… my lovely cousin.”

Beside him, Yin kept his expression blank.

But his fists clenched silently at his sides.

Neutral Planet — Vanfylion

Vanfylion was a neutral world, famed entirely for entertainment and tourism. Here, any pleasure imaginable—and many not—could be found.

Its parent star sat too close, dividing the planet into permanent day and night. The sunlit half was a deadly desert; all major cities were built in the endless shadow, earning the name Cities of Night.

Artificial lights bathed the metropolis of Zianllo—the planet’s largest city—in dazzling color. Every star-ring cycle, high-species tourists flocked there. Beneath the glamor, however, the city teemed with danger.

For lost travelers, it was a nightmare—wake up robbed blind after being beaten unconscious.

But for those who wished to disappear, it was perfect.

A figure slipped through a filthy alley, pausing at a rusted metal door. After ensuring no one was tailing him, he entered quickly.

“How’s the situation outside?”

“Good news or bad news?” The black-haired man shut the door behind him, meeting the other’s glare with equally cool eyes.

Lan crossed his arms, irritation flaring. Being declared wanted by his own homeworld for a whole star-ring week had shredded his mood. “Both. Mr. Mystery.”

“Touchy, aren’t you. Did you swallow explosives?” the black-haired man—Yao—shot back, equally annoyed.

“You—!”

“Enough,” Chen said as he stepped out from the back room, sounding more tired than angry. “We don’t have the luxury of fighting each other.”

“What are you doing here?” Yao redirected immediately, shifting his gaze to Chen. “You should be resting.”

He reached into his subspace pouch and tossed over a small vial.

Chen caught it neatly with one hand and stored it away.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“The medicine here can’t match Teleopean treatments. Your recovery will take time. And until then, avoid getting injured—your wounds won’t heal properly,” Yao said, sounding disconcertingly like a seasoned physician.

“Your advice is appreciated,” Chen answered.

Yao waved it off, then shot Lan a look filled with challenge.

“So. You want the good news or the bad news?”

“Good, then bad,” Lan snapped.

Yao pulled the tie from his long black hair, letting it fall loose—silky strands framing his sharp features. The motion was fluid enough that it made Chen momentarily lose focus.

“Good news: our bounty just went up,” Yao said dryly. “Bad news: that means even more hunters want to catch us alive.”

Lan blinked. “Bounty… went up?”

Yao sighed. “Classic move - The pot calling the kettle black.”

“…The what?” Lan frowned. Yao hadn’t spoken Teleopean or the common tongue, so the phrase meant nothing to him.

“Never mind,” Yao switched back seamlessly. “It means someone dumped the blame on us.”

Lan grumbled.

Chen—usually reserved—watched Yao quietly, golden eyes narrowing just a fraction.

The words Yao used earlier—

Chen understood them.

But why?