It was the kid from earlier, the pickpocket, standing in the doorway with eyes like stars.
"That was amazing!"
Other patrons emerged from hiding, first tentatively, then with growing excitement, the whispers started.
"Did you see that coat?"
"He didn't even touch him."
"The Admiral Force"
"Who is this kid?"
Building into a buzz of awe and speculation.
Lone was already back at the table, attacking another bowl of noodles that had somehow survived the confrontation.
Donut stood there, hammer in hand, trembling. But this time it wasn't from fear.
"You..." He looked at Lone, this impossible boy who'd just defended him without hesitation, without judgment. "You really want me in your fleet?"
"Yep!" Lone said through noodles. "You're super strong, and you bought me food. That's like, the best combination. Plus your hammer looks really cool. Does it have special moves? Can you make earthquakes? That would be so useful for---"
"I'm scared," Donut interrupted. The words came out raw, honest. "I'm scared all the time. Of Rifts. Of fighting, of disappointing people. I don't know if I can be what you need."
Lone swallowed his noodles and looked up. Really looked up, meeting Donut's eyes with that frightening clarity.
"Good," he said simply.
"...Good?"
"Yeah! Scared people try harder. And trying hard is how you reach your dreams." Lone's grin was back, full force. "Besides, I need someone to keep me from doing stupid stuff. Donut, that's you! You can be the Smart One!"
"I don't think you understand how fleets work---"
"First rule of Lone's fleet, everyone gets to decide how fleets work!" Lone stood on his chair, raising his bowl like a trophy. "Second rule, no giving up on dreams! Third rule, always buy the new guy food!"
"THAT'S NOT A REAL RULE SYSTEM!"
But Donut was smiling. Actually smiling, for the first time in years.
His hammer pulsed once, and this time it felt like recognition. Like... welcome home.
"Okay," he said quietly. Then, louder. "Okay! I'll join your fleet, Captain Lone Einstein. But on one condition."
"What's that?"
"You let me pay for everyone's meals today. Everyone whose food got destroyed in the fight." Donut looked around at the nervous patrons, at Tamura peeking from her kitchen. "It's my apology for bringing those idiots here."
Lone's eyes widened. "You'd spend that much money just to say sorry?"
"That's what good people do, isn't it?"
For a moment, Lone was quiet. Then his grin could have outshone the sun.
"Donut," he said seriously, "you're already the best fleet member ever."
The celebration was in full swing.
Tamura had opened her best reserves, sky-aged wine that sparkled like bottled starlight, grilled meat that sizzled with herbs from Layer 7,840, and noodles so perfect they could make a grown man weep. The entire restaurant had transformed from a battlefield into a festival, patrons laughing and drinking, toasting to the crazy kid who'd sent Hotdog running with his tail between his legs.
Lone was in heaven.
He'd somehow acquired twenty-five bowls simultaneously, arranged in a semi-circle around his seat like offerings at a shrine. His technique was less eating and more inhaling, his chopsticks moving so fast they blurred.
"How---" Donut watched in horrified fascination. "How are you not choking?"
"Practice!" Lone said through a mouthful of dumplings. "Old Man Basco said eating fast is important for Admirals! "
"That's not... I don't think that's real advice."
"It's worked so far!"
The pickpocket kid, who'd introduced himself as Patch sat across from them, working through his own bowl with the careful precision of someone who didn't often get full meals. His eyes kept darting to Lone's coat, which hung peacefully now, just fabric again.
"So that thing really absorbed Hotdog's attack?" Patch asked. "His Admiral Force just... disappeared?"
"Yep!" Lone reached for bowl number twenty-six. "It does that sometimes. I don't really get how. It just kinda... eats stuff when I'm in danger."
"That's a Soul Anchor ability," Donut said quietly, his massive hands wrapped around a tea cup that looked comically small. "Specifically, a Manifest Stage anchor. Those are rare, usually takes years of training to reach that level."
"Huh." Lone looked genuinely surprised. "Is it good?"
"Is it---" Donut's eye twitched. "Yes. Yes, it's very good. Most Academy graduates never reach Manifest Stage, some Admirals spend their entire careers stuck at Reso Stage."
"What stage are you?"
The question was innocent, but Donut flinched anyway. His hammer, propped against the table, pulsed once a low, mournful note.
"I'm... I reached Manifest Stage at the Academy," he said quietly. "That's why they accepted me. Mountain's Grief can create earthquakes, level buildings, reshape terrain. It's a weapon of mass destruction." His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "That's why I'm so scared of it."
Lone stopped eating.
The restaurant's ambient noise seemed to fade, just slightly, as that frightening clarity settled over his features.
"You're scared of your own power," he said.
"Wouldn't you be?" Donut's hands trembled around his tea. "One wrong swing and I could kill someone, could destroy an entire island. The last time I used it in training, I accidentally created a fissure that nearly dropped three students into the Rift below. They had to evacuate the entire layer."
"But you didn't mean to."
"That doesn't matter! Intent doesn't matter when people die!"
"Hmm." Lone picked up another dumpling, considered it thoughtfully, then popped it in his mouth. "Old Man Basco had really strong Admiral Force too. Could punch through Rift barriers, he said. Scared him sometimes."
Donut looked up. "What did he do?"
"He made a promise." Lone's smile was soft now, nostalgic. "He promised he'd only use his strength to protect people's dreams. Said that way, even if he messed up, he'd mess up while trying to do good. And messing up while trying to do good is way better than not trying at all."
The simplicity of it hung in the air.
Donut stared at this impossible boy, this fifteen-year-old who'd just defeated a notorious sky pirate without breaking a sweat, who was now dispensing wisdom between dumplings like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"You really believe that," Donut said.
"Yep! Plus, you're in my fleet now! So if you mess up, I'll catch you!" Lone flexed, which looked ridiculous given his scrawny frame. "That's what captains do, right?"
"I... I think so."
Patch laughed, the sound bright and unexpected. "You guys are weird. I like it."
"You should join too!" Lone pointed his chopsticks at the kid. "You're fast! Tried to steal my coat and I barely noticed!"
"That's not a compliment," Donut muttered.
"Sure it is! We need a scout! Someone sneaky!"
Patch's eyes widened. "You... you'd take someone like me? I'm just a street rat. Don't even have a Soul Anchor."
"Don't need one! Not everyone has anchors and that's fine!" Lone's grin was infectious. "You just gotta have a dream! So? Got a dream?"
The kid looked down at his hands---scarred, nimble, marked by a life of survival. When he looked up, there was something fierce in his eyes.
"I want to map every layer," he said. "Every single one. All the way to Layer Zero, I want to make a map so complete that no one ever gets lost in the sky again."
Silence.
Then Lone slammed his hand on the table so hard bowls jumped. "THAT'S PERFECT! We can map layers while we climb them! Donut, did you hear that? We're gonna be cartographers!"
"I don't think that's how---"
"Welcome to the fleet, Patch!"
The air changed.
It was subtle at first... a pressure, like the moment before a storm breaks. The laughter in the restaurant didn't stop exactly, but it... muted.
Lone looked up from bowl number thirty, chopsticks frozen halfway to his mouth.
"Huh," he said. "The feels weird."
Donut felt it too. His Admiral Force sense, dulled by years of suppression, suddenly screamed danger. Not the aggressive, violent danger of Hotdog's crew... this was something else. Something vast and old and utterly overwhelming.
"Captain," Patch said carefully, "we should---"
The restaurant's ceiling exploded.
Not violently, not destructively.
It simply... opened, like a flower blooming in reverse, wooden beams and tiles folding away with geometric precision to reveal the sky above. And descending through that impossible opening, standing on a platform of solid light, was a man who radiated authority like the sun radiated heat.
He was tall... not as tall as Donut, but tall enough that his presence filled the space. His coat was pure white, trimmed with gold thread that formed patterns of clouds and lightning. A crown sat on his head, simple but unmistakable, forged from what looked like crystallized Rift energy. His Admiral Force didn't press down like Hotdog's had.
It simply was.
The force of a man who'd climbed higher than most people dreamed possible.
The King of Sky Island, Layer 7,841 had arrived.
Behind him, an honor guard of twelve Admirals descended on their own light platforms, each one radiating power that made Hotdog look like a child playing dress-up. Their hands rested on weapons, on Soul Anchors, ready but not threatening.
Not yet.
The King's eyes swept the restaurant, taking in the destruction, the celebrating crowd, the strange trio at the center table. His gaze lingered on Lone, then moved to Donut, and there it stopped.