-Before the fight-
Moonlight turned the ocean into liquid silver.
Fenrir crouched behind a porthole, green eyes fixed on the shore. His ears swiveled forward.
Footsteps.
A figure emerged from the darkness. Heavy gait. Cautious approach.
In the cabin, Liam snapped to attention. His existential crisis about rapid aging and death energy could wait.
Company's here. And they're not selling Girl Scout cookies.
Fenrir bounded back to the main room. Liam guided the wolf to shove a cargo box into position—makeshift cover. Then directed Fenrir into a room across the corridor. Door cracked open. Just enough for wolf-eyes to see through.
Liam turned to Lumos. "Sorry, Lumos. Need you battle-ready again."
No blood available. He plucked another hair—ow, dammit—and reached for the tiger's belly.
Lumos tilted his head. Blinked. Made no move to resist.
You're too trusting. Someone's going to exploit that.
Liam pressed the hair-star against white fur. Rose-gold mark burned into existence.
He ducked behind the cargo box. Controlled Lumos into ambush position. Then went absolutely still. Breathing shallow. Three pairs of ears—human, wolf, tiger—tracking every sound.
Thud.
Soft. Deliberate. Someone boarding the ship.
The footsteps stopped.
He knows someone's here.
Shit. I left evidence everywhere like an amateur.
The footsteps resumed. Slower. More cautious.
"Who is it?" A man's voice. Tense. "Come out."
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Liam pressed his back against the box. Eyes closed. Breathing controlled.
Fenrir's eye gleamed through the door crack. Lumos coiled on the floor, muscles tensed like loaded springs.
The intruder entered the corridor—
Hours later.
Liam lay sprawled across Lumos's side. The tiger's breathing created a gentle vibration—full-body massage via apex predator.
I got lucky. SO lucky.
The intruder had been exhausted. Low on aura. One more competent Nen user and Liam would be dead.
To a real Nen user, Lumos and Fenrir are just animals. Clever animals, sure, but still just flesh and blood. Nen-reinforced skin stops bullets at close range. What are claws and teeth going to do?
And my Hatsu? Powerful. One-hit-kill potential. But only if I can LAND the mark first.
Liam stared at the ceiling. "I need training. Actual training. The Four Major Principles—Ten, Zetsu, Ren, Hatsu. I barely know half of one principle. My aura output is pathetic. Two Star Marks attempt and I'm empty. That's not sustainable."
Lumos rumbled in his sleep.
"And the heart thing." Liam touched his chest. "That death energy. Every corpse near me sends something into my body. It accumulates. I pass out. Wake up older. What the hell is that? Is it Nen? Some post-mortem curse? Biological weirdness?"
No answers. Just waves against the hull and the warmth of tiger-fur.
"Tomorrow I need to figure out how to kill Musse. Can't leave a witness. Can't risk—"
Liam's thoughts dissolved. His body curled into a ball. Sleep claimed him mid-sentence.
Inside the locked room.
Musse lowered his hand. Stared at his palm.
Secret Window failed to activate.
He'd tried three times. Three failures.
The kid manipulated himself first. Just like I do. He's already protected.
Musse couldn't wrap his head around it. The kid was five years old. Maybe shorter than a meter. Body of a kindergartener.
But he had a mature, fully-formed Manipulation Hatsu. Battle instincts of a veteran. Tactical awareness that suggested he'd survived dozens of Nen duels.
Who taught him? How is this possible?
The theory Musse had proposed earlier—post-mortem Nen from the mother, aging the child rapidly—even HE didn't believe it.
If that's true, if the kid is less than a week old, how does he speak? How does he think? Logic. Strategy. Language. You don't inherit those from dying thoughts.
Unless—
Unless he's something else entirely.
Musse sat heavily on the floor. "I failed. Failed the mission. Failed His Highness. Captured by a child."
He reached for the door handle. His body locked up. Frozen. The command—you are not allowed to come out without my order—held him like chains.
Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
My fate is in a five-year-old's hands.
His expression calmed. Acceptance settled over him like a shroud.
Musse bent down. Removed several mechanical components hidden in the sole of his shoe. Assembled them with practiced efficiency. A mini-pistol. Three pieces. Barrel. Trigger mechanism. One bullet in the chamber.
He stood. Straightened his suit. Faced north. Toward Kakin. Toward the empire. Toward the prince he'd sworn to serve.
"Goodbye, Your Highness Benjamin." Musse raised the pistol. Pressed it to his left temple. Thumbed the safety off. "You will become King of Kakin. I'm certain of it. I'll be watching from the other side."
He pulled the trigger.
BANG.
Lumos's eyes snapped open. His head jerked toward the sound. He raised one massive paw and shoved Liam's sleeping form.
"Don't..." Liam mumbled. Pushed the paw away. Rolled over. Buried his face deeper into tiger-fur.
Lumos lowered his head. Licked Liam's hair. Pushed harder with his skull. Insistent.
Liam's eyes cracked open. "Wha—"
Gunshot. That was a gunshot.
He sat up. Looked toward the corridor.
Musse.
Star Mark had two states: active and dormant.
Active meant Liam could sense the mark's location. Could switch control methods at will. Like a pilot light always burning.
Dormant meant the mark existed but Liam couldn't feel it. No connection. No awareness. It happened when he disconnected all controls without physically removing the mark.
Right now? Fenrir's mark was active—Liam could sense it like a compass pointing north.
Musse's mark was dormant. Had been since Liam locked him in the room and went to sleep.
Did I sleepwalk? Accidentally switch to full-possession mode? Then immediately disconnect, putting the mark dormant again?
Liam frowned. Reached out mentally. Switched Fenrir to first-person control.
Wolf-eyes blinked. Night vision engaged. Fenrir sat in the dark room, exactly where Liam had left him.
Across the corridor: Musse's door. Still closed.
But I definitely heard a gunshot. And this idiot just sat here?
Oh. Right. I only told him to attack if Musse LEFT the room. Didn't account for other scenarios.
I'm bad at this.
Fenrir lunged. Grabbed the door handle with both paws. Twisted. The door swung open.
Blood smell hit like a physical wall.
Musse lay in a spreading pool of crimson. A mini pistol clutched in his right hand.
Where the hell was he hiding that? Actually, don't care. More important question:
Fenrir approached. Nosed Musse's head.
How did he shoot himself when I ordered him not to leave the room?
Loophole. My command didn't say "don't kill yourself." Just "don't leave."
Rookie mistake.
Fenrir turned Musse's head with one paw. The left temple had a bullet wound. Point-blank range. Exit wound painted the floor behind him.