"The Family… isn't being cooperative," Asta shrugged, glancing at Lady Herta beside her.
Though Herta's expression was calm, fury simmered beneath. How admirable—Lady Herta's composure truly matches her genius! So cute!
"They're getting paid in credits! Why the hostility? What's Sunday's problem?" Herta scoffed, now suspecting Anming and Sunday had a history. Why else would the Family's leader react so violently?
One moment, Sunday had been all smiles during the video call. The next, at the mention of "Anming," his genteel facade cracked. Mumbling about "The First Day's Truth," he hung up.
"That… seems unlikely," Asta blinked. "If Anming were the Family's enemy, his risk assessment during his space station onboarding would've flagged it."
Anming had no warrants across star systems. If Sunday—a Family patriarch—loathed him this intensely, wanted posters should've plastered even the station's toilets. Yet there were none. Asta couldn't fathom why Sunday despised someone he'd never met.
Strange… The Sunday I recall was always gentle. What's changed?
"Lady Herta, should I inform Anming?"
"Pfft. You think I can't handle the Family?" Herta prepared to mobilize her connections. If one ally failed, she'd drown Sunday in credits—or unleash Ruan Mei's biochemical lockdown followed by a diamond meteor shower!
Let's see him stay stubborn then.
Penglai Hotel, Pier Point
"Where is Robin?!"
Sunday stormed into the lobby, his snow-white suit rumpled. Though not Family territory, the hotel had been booked by Robin's team 24 system-hours prior.
The receptionist smiled flawlessly. "Mr. Sunday, Miss Robin left a letter in her suite."
Sunday snatched the keycard, knuckles whitening. When Asta's business inquiry first mentioned "Anming," he'd thought it a ghost. But hacked space station footage (courtesy of Silver Wolf and a grinning Masked Fool's "gift") confirmed it: That bastard was alive.
The man who'd nearly stolen Robin—
Crunch. The golden doorknob creaked under his grip. He entered to find Robin's favorite decor: soft pastels, star-patterned curtains.
As the galaxy's brightest star, Robin's schedule was packed—especially with the Harmony Gala approaching. Yet she'd vanished without a trace until seven hours ago, when cameras caught her removing her mask and waving goodbye.
A feather-quill pinned a letter to pristine stationery. The script danced like musical notes:
Brother,
I know you'd forbid this, so I left quietly.
To the Family, he is a sinner. To you and me, unforgivable.
But he is also my beloved.
Brother, why do birds fly?
—Robin
Sunday stood frozen.
Why do birds fly?
Memories surfaced: A young Robin, smiling through tears, asking that same question. His answer then: "To return to skies they can never reach again."
He dialed Herta, voice hollow. "The Family accepts your terms… on one condition."
"Tell me where Anming is."
Belobog Underworld
"Achoo—!"
"Catching a cold?" Firefly adjusted Anming's coat, fussing. "I told you to dress warmer."
"With my personal furnace here? Impossible." Anming grinned, though unease prickled. Who's cursing me? Qingque complaining about unpaid overtime? Please, not a third girl…
He glanced at the system prompt:
[00:00:00倒计时]
Begging me to simulate again? Three gold-tier talents upfront, or no deal.
[Please! Just simulate!]
"No dice. Unless you gift me three gold passives."
He'd rather save points for the Kanyun Mirror—a portable "Lan's Archery" nuke. Even Aha would think twice before trolling me!
"Daydreaming again?" Firefly poked his cheek. "What do you think of the Underworld's situation?"
"Rooted in the Stellaron, but class conflict fuels it," Anming shrugged. Classic divide. Belobog's future hinged on Cocolia and Bronya. His role? Cut the Stellaron loose.
After all, a Trailblazer's stay is fleeting.