This place really wasn't meant to exist.
The thought settled heavy in my chest as we walked, refusing to move, refusing to soften. Galactors stretched endlessly around me—layered platforms, floating corridors, controlled gravity fields humming beneath every step.
And somehow—
Neither was I.
That realization came quietly. No drama. No panic. Just a dull certainty, like a sentence I'd already lived past without permission.
Then I felt it.
Attention.
It wasn't the kind of attention that followed fame or danger.
It felt closer to evaluation.
Like the way a system pauses before categorizing an anomaly—not hostile, not curious, just aware that something doesn't fit neatly into existing parameters.
The sensation crawled along my spine, subtle and invasive. I couldn't point to a single person staring, couldn't identify a single source.
It wasn't coming from eyes.
It was coming from space.
From the corridor itself.
From the architecture.
From the invisible rules governing who was supposed to be here—and who wasn't.
Not sudden. Not violent.
It crept in.
The corridor widened as we moved forward, architecture unfolding smoothly as if responding to Yuna's presence—or perhaps to mine. Glass walls curved outward, opening into a broader artery of the base where foot traffic thickened.
Then—
The atmosphere shifted.
Not heavy. Not threatening.
Just… noticed.
Like the room itself had decided to acknowledge something new had entered it.
People straightened without realizing why. Conversations softened mid-sentence. Laughter dipped. Heads turned—not all at once, not obviously, but enough that I felt it prickle across my skin.
The air tightened.
Not with danger.
With expectation.
Whispers rippled through the corridor, overlapping, half-swallowed by the hum of machinery and distant systems.
"S-Rank…" "Executioner…" "Raven's here."
I didn't see him at first.
I felt him.
It reminded me of standing near the edge of a pool before a race—when the water hadn't moved yet, but you could feel its depth pressing back against your awareness.
Not danger.
Mass.
Like something with enough presence to bend the environment without trying.
People didn't turn toward him because they were told to.
They turned because their bodies had already adjusted.
A subtle pull, like gravity leaning slightly in one direction.
Then a man stepped into view.
Black combat coat, worn loose instead of formal, hanging open like it didn't need to prove it belonged on him. The fabric moved naturally with his stride, not stiff with armor plating but reinforced where it mattered. Along his collar, feather-mark insignia traced faintly, catching the light only when he shifted.
His presence wasn't oppressive.
It was effortless.
Like the air had already made room for him.
This was Raven.
His vivid orange hair stood out instantly—wild, untamed, like he'd never bothered telling it to behave. Pale amber eyes scanned the corridor lazily, calm to the point of arrogance, as if danger had long since stopped surprising him.
The moment Raven appeared—
Chaos.
Not shouting. Not screaming.
A chorus.
"RAVEN—!" "Captain Raven!" "Did you finish your mission already?!"
The reaction hit like a wave.
Girls flooded toward him from every direction—operators, analysts, tech staff—voices overlapping, bodies pressing in as if this were routine, rehearsed, expected.
"Coffee? Please!" "Just one date—just once!" "I don't even care if it's after a mission!"
Laughter spilled through the corridor, bright and unrestrained, cutting through the sterile hum of Galactors like something alive had been injected into it.
Raven raised both hands in mock surrender, a wide, easy smile flashing across his face.
"Hey, hey—easy," he said, voice smooth, amused. "One at a time. I only have two hands."
Groans and laughter erupted together.
"THAT'S NOT FAIR—!" "HE SAID ONE AT A TIME—!" "PUT ME FIRST—!"
I stared, momentarily stunned.
He checked his wrist display, expression shifting into exaggerated regret.
"Sorry, ladies," he said lightly. "Mission call just came in."
A collective cry followed.
"Awww—!" "Again?!" "Next time, then!"
Raven grinned as he walked past them, slipping through the crowd like it parted for him instinctively.
"Next time," he said over his shoulder. "Café's on me."
That only made it worse.
"I'M HOLDING YOU TO THAT—!" "DON'T FORGET—!" "YOU PROMISED—!"
He waved once without looking back.
And kept walking.
Cool.
Unbothered.
Gone.
The corridor exhaled after he left.
Not relief.
Rebalancing.
Like a current had passed through and the space was settling back into its normal flow—voices returning to their usual pitch, footsteps redistributing, attention diffusing outward again.
Normality reasserted itself with practiced efficiency.
Too practiced.
I realized I'd stopped moving.
"…That's an Executioner?" I muttered.
Yuna smirked beside me, clearly enjoying this.
"Yep. A-Rank." She tilted her head slightly. "He does that on purpose," she said. "Shows up. Says nothing. Leaves." A shrug. "Classic showoff."
"People like… that?" I asked, still watching the space he'd disappeared into.
"They love him," she corrected. "Difference."
Raven passed us.
Just once, his eyes flicked toward me.
Sharp. Curious.
Not hostile.
Not friendly.
Like he was cataloguing something interesting and moving on.
He didn't slow.
The moment he disappeared around the curve of the corridor—
The attention shifted.
Not at Raven.
At me.
I felt it immediately.
This was different.
Not excitement.
Assessment.
"Who is that…?" "He doesn't belong to any division." "Look at his face—" "And that body—"
The words scraped against my awareness, unwanted and invasive. I tried to keep my expression neutral, but my shoulders stiffened without my permission.
A girl leaned closer to her friend, whispering loudly enough for me to hear.
"He looks beautiful. Look at his red eyes."
I froze.
Another nodded, gaze tracing my shoulders, my posture, the way I moved.
"He doesn't look engineered like Raven," she murmured. "He looks… real."
Real.
Not optimized.
Not reinforced.
Not adjusted.
The word implied something unfinished—something that hadn't been standardized yet.
Something that could still break.
My jaw tightened.
I didn't know what Galactors considered artificial.
But I was starting to understand what it considered incomplete.
That word hit harder than it should have.
Real.
My stomach tightened.
I didn't know what she meant—but the way she said it made my skin crawl. Like whatever they were seeing, I hadn't chosen to show.
Like my existence was a variable that hadn't been processed yet.
I shifted uncomfortably.
"…Why are they looking at me like that?" I muttered.
Yuna glanced sideways at me, one eyebrow lifting.
"Welcome to Galactors," she said dryly. "Either people want to recruit you… or date you."
I choked.
"That's not reassuring."
She gave me a sideways look. "…You'll get used to it."
That didn't help.
If anything, it made the feeling worse.
Exposed.
Like a specimen pinned under glass.
The hum of Galactors wasn't random.
I started noticing it the longer we walked—the way the vibration subtly shifted under my feet, adjusting to weight, pace, even hesitation. The base wasn't just reacting to movement; it was measuring it.
Every step I took felt logged.
Not stored.
Logged.
Temporary data awaiting confirmation.
Like my existence hadn't been finalized yet—like the system was waiting to see whether I would stabilize… or require intervention.
Every breath acknowledged.
Panels dimmed slightly as we passed, then brightened again once we moved on, like the system itself was correcting for my presence. I didn't feel targeted.
I felt registered.
That scared me more than hostility ever could.
Because whatever Galactors was—
It didn't see me as a threat.
It saw me as data that hadn't finished compiling yet.
We continued down the corridor, footsteps echoing softly beneath us. The farther we walked, the quieter it became—not empty, but controlled. This wasn't a public artery anymore. This was somewhere deliberate.
Somewhere important.
And somewhere ahead—
I felt something waiting.
Not looming. Not threatening.
Certain.
Like a door that already knew my name.
The base hummed around us, systems breathing in perfect rhythm, gravity fields stabilizing, distant energy signatures flickering like stars I couldn't yet read.
I swallowed, fingers flexing unconsciously.
Whatever Galactors was—
It wasn't finished with me.
Not even close.
✦ END OF CHAPTER 18 — REAL ✦