The hall was quiet except for the gentle thrum of the reactor. The faint glow of console lights washed over the alloy walls, casting soft shadows across Valerian's composed face and Luna's fidgeting form.
Valerian's wristwatch panel blinked with endless data streams: warp gate records, black-market activity logs, fluctuating power readings from the Mecha Trade Expanse. His eyes never wavered. His posture was perfect, almost statuesque.
Across from him, Luna shifted in her seat, hugging her knees lightly against herself. She kept sneaking glances at him—each time telling herself just say something, Luna!—and then chickening out at the last second.
Finally, she blurted, "S-So… about earlier. You didn't have to call me pathetic, you know…"
Valerian didn't look up.
"Observation. Not insult."
Her cheeks warmed. "That's even worse!" She puffed her cheeks like a sulking child, then let out an awkward laugh to soften it. "You're really blunt, you know that?"
"Efficient," he corrected, tapping another sequence into the holo-display.
She tilted her head, watching him. "Mmm… or maybe you just don't know how to talk to people?"
That earned her a flick of his eyes—just a sharp glance, then back to his work.
She clapped her hands softly together, smiling nervously. "Knew it. You're bad with words. That's why you keep saying those same two—irrelevant, unnecessary. It's like your… trademark or something."
Valerian's voice was low, even. "Words… wasteful."
Luna leaned forward, elbows on her knees, chin in her hands. "Oh? Then what am I right now—wasteful?"
He didn't answer.
Her heart skipped a beat at the silence, and she laughed nervously again. "I-I'll take that as a maybe…"
She sat back, fidgeting with her sash, her eyes drifting to the mission display again. The boy's image flickered faintly on the screen. "You really don't let anything else matter, huh? Not jokes, not small talk, not even… me." She smiled gently, though her chest felt heavy. "Just the mission."
Valerian's voice cut through like cold steel.
"Are you serious about it?"
She blinked. "…Huh?"
He raised his head this time, storm-blue eyes locking on her. His words were sharp, clipped.
"This is not training. Not academy drills. Not cake in the cafeteria. It's an S-Class mission. A child is missing. If you are careless, if you are soft, if you play senior while treating this lightly…" He leaned forward slightly, gaze unblinking. "The boy dies."
Luna's breath hitched. She straightened immediately, her smile faltering. For once, she didn't fidget.
Her voice, when it came, was quiet.
"I… I know."
His eyes narrowed. "Do you?"
Luna bit her lip. Her usual warmth flickered, but she didn't let it vanish. "You think I'm careless because I smile? Because I eat cake? Because I try to be… human?" She lifted her chin, a rare firmness in her tone. "But I've pulled children back from the brink of death with my own hands. I've fought Titans twice my size. I've held dying comrades and kept smiling so they wouldn't be afraid. Don't tell me I don't take it seriously."
Valerian studied her for a long, tense moment. The hum of the reactor seemed louder.
Then, without a word, he turned back to his panel.
"…Show me proof."
Her cheeks turned crimson. She reached into her coat, fumbling. "P-Proof?"
He didn't look up. "Your rank. Your right to command. You claim S-Class. Show me, not with words."
Luna froze. For a heartbeat she thought he meant combat, or powers, or a display of skill. Her pulse raced. But then she saw his eyes flick briefly toward her coat pocket.
Realization struck—he wanted identification.
With clumsy fingers, she pulled her ISA S-Rank badge from her pocket and thrust it out. "S-See? Official. Recognized by the Council itself. Rank S. Luna Mooncreast, age twenty-one, Lysander Squad."
Valerian glanced at it once, then leaned back again. "Paper. Not proof."
Her face went redder. "Y-You…! Do you know how hard it is to even reach S-Class?"
"Unnecessary," he replied, returning to his typing.
Luna puffed her cheeks again, then let out a helpless laugh, rubbing her forehead. "You're impossible…"
Silence hung heavy for a moment. Then she brightened—just slightly—and tried again.
"...Do you at least want some cake? I still have a few slices packed. Blueberry, chocolate, and—oh!—honey cream."
Valerian didn't even glance at her. "Irrelevant."
Her laugh came out softer this time, almost tender. "You really don't change, do you?" She leaned back against the sofa, closing her eyes briefly, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. "Then I guess I'll eat your share too."
The holographic screen in front of Valerian flickered with lines of glowing data, painting his sharp features in pale blue light. His fingers moved in silence, tapping, swiping, reorganizing streams of intelligence until a full profile of the boy sprawled across the air.
Subject: Flame Stormbringer. Age: 12. Lineage: Golden Flames. Status: Kidnapped.
A family emblem pulsed faintly beside the profile—a crest of roaring fire, etched in gold.
Valerian's storm-blue eyes narrowed. His jaw tightened.
"…So that's why," he muttered under his breath, voice low but edged with disdain.
He leaned back slightly, scrolling deeper through the family file. Images of sprawling estates, towering vaults, and high-profile ISA donation records flashed before him. The Stormbringers weren't just wealthy—they were untouchable. Their power reached across multiple universes.
"No wonder this is classified S," Valerian thought grimly. "A kidnapping is a B-rank case at best. C-rank, if it's clean. But the Golden Flames don't bleed quietly… so the ISA bends."
He clenched his fists. The boy's wide, frightened eyes hovered in the air before him. A child is a child. But if this wasn't money, then what?
His mind ticked through scenarios—ransom, leverage, assassination, human trafficking. But none fit. The family had received no call, no message, no demand. It was silent. Too silent.
Valerian stiffened in his seat. The silence rang like an alarm bell.
He closed the projection with a flick, stood abruptly, and turned toward the corridor. His boots echoed across the alloy floor, each step sharp and measured. Luna, who had been fidgeting in her seat across the hall, jolted upright.
"W-Where are you going?" she asked, voice rising nervously.
"Rest," he said flatly.
She blinked. "…O-Oh."
He paused halfway to the bedroom, turning his head just enough for his stormy gaze to catch her in its edge.
"Exohorizon. Central City. Universe 07A. Diamond Spacehub."
Her back straightened like a cadet caught out of line. "Huh??"
"Flame's family was last confirmed there," Valerian continued, voice clipped, precise. "Cross-check records. Travel logs. Who they met. Who they argued with. Run everything against ISA archives."
Luna's mouth opened slightly. She froze, then quickly stood straight, heels clicking together like a soldier before a commander. Her cheeks flushed as she gave a stiff nod. "R-Right! Got it!"
Valerian's gaze lingered for the briefest second, as if measuring her posture. Then he turned and walked away. The door to the bedroom slid open with a hiss, and he disappeared inside, leaving only the soft hum of the ship's reactor behind him.
Luna stood frozen in place, arms stiff at her sides. Her purple eyes darted to the closed door, then down at the floor.
"…Wait." Her voice was small, a whisper to herself. "Did… did he just give me orders?"
She puffed her cheeks, torn between indignation and confusion. "He's A-rank. I'm S-rank. He's supposed to listen to me."
Her hands twisted into her sash nervously. She paced a few steps, then stopped, tapping her foot.
"B-But he looked so serious…" Her face burned red. "And his eyes—ugh—why do they make me feel like I'm back in the Academy again?!"
She shook her head quickly, patted her cheeks, then turned toward the holo-console. Her fingers hovered awkwardly over the keys. "Alright, Luna. Focus. He… he told you to check Exohorizon. So… check Exohorizon. Easy. You're not doing this because he ordered you. You're doing it because—because it's the right thing to do."
The console lit up as she tapped, pulling records from the ISA archive stream. Luna leaned closer, brows furrowed in rare concentration. The nervous smile faded, replaced by determination—though the pink tint on her cheeks still lingered.
"Flame Stormbringer…" she whispered, scrolling through the boy's last confirmed records. "Diamond Spacehub. That's where everything went wrong."
Her eyes softened as she stared at the child's image.
"…Don't worry. We'll find you."
She glanced once toward the closed bedroom door. A small smile crept back onto her lips.
"…Even if he doesn't like me… he won't fail you."
The door slid shut behind him with a hiss, sealing out the faint sound of Luna's tapping at the holo-console.
The bedroom was spare and functional—just a single broad bed against the wall, metallic walls brushed with faint blue light strips, and a small locker in the corner. No decorations, no warmth. Just space to rest.
Valerian sat on the edge of the bed, unfastening his gauntlet and setting it carefully on the nightstand. His wristwatch retracted into a dormant state, the luminous panel fading into silence.
For a long moment, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely. His storm-blue eyes stared at the floor, unmoving. His face, unreadable to anyone else, was a mask carved in stone.
But his mind was a storm.
Golden Flames. Money. Influence. Pressure. They only stamped this S-class because of the family's power. Nothing more. If this were any other child… ISA wouldn't have cared. Another "missing" in the archives, forgotten.
His jaw tightened. His loyalty, his anger, his conviction—all neatly hidden beneath his cool exterior.
But as much as he wanted to drown in the case, his thoughts drifted elsewhere.
His mission partner.
He had barely looked at her—just enough to identify: short, violet eyes, purple hair tipped black, nervous energy spilling out of her every movement. And yet… the details clung to him.
The way her cheeks burned red when he called her short.
The awkward way she tried to act senior, yet fumbled under the weight of his silence.
The nervous laugh, the way she fiddled with her fingers, tapping at buttons as if just to prove she wasn't useless.
That smile—bright, too bright—flashing crystal-white teeth when she tried to cover her nerves.
Valerian exhaled slowly through his nose, shaking his head.
"…Pathetic," he whispered.
Not her. Himself.
He knew exactly what those signs meant. He wasn't oblivious. A flush in the cheeks. Fidgeting hands. Nervous laughter. The constant effort to draw his attention. He had studied human behaviors long before he joined Hyperion Defenders—body language, tells, emotional patterns. He understood enough to read her without trying.
Attraction. Or at least… familiarity. She knows me. I don't know her. And yet she reacts as if…
His brows furrowed.
Why?
He leaned back, lying on the bed now, staring at the ceiling as the faint hum of the ship's reactor vibrated through the walls.
She was S-rank. A prodigy. An ISA hero. And yet she didn't carry herself like one. Not in front of him. Not with that nervous, awkward energy. Not with those flushed cheeks every time their eyes met.
"…She's careless," he muttered. "Too soft. Too open. Too… human."
His fingers drummed once against the edge of the bed. His tone, though cold, carried a weight of unease.
That kind of behavior gets you killed. S-rank or not.
And yet, his mind replayed the image of her smile again—like a flash he couldn't scrub away. Irritating. Distracting.
Valerian closed his eyes, forcing his thoughts back to the case. The boy. The Empire. The mission.
But even as silence filled the room, her laugh—nervous, awkward, crystal clear—echoed faintly in the back of his mind.