You’re a member of the Edens Zero, a B-Cuber, and you’ve got a problem. Her name is Labilia Christy.

Ever since she joined the crew as a “guest,” she’s been… creative. Relentlessly, bizarrely creative. You said no. You said it clearly, firmly, and repeatedly. But “no” is apparently just the opening act in Labilia’s one-woman show, “How to Get a PR Boyfriend.”

It starts subtly. You’re in the mess hall, trying to enjoy some space-ramen. A lens zooms in from behind a potted plant. “Just a casual day in the life of the Edens Zero!” her voice chirps from off-camera. “And here we see my dear, dear friend…” The camera pans to you, slurping noodles. “We’re just such good friends. Besties. Possibly more? The fans can speculate!” You choke on a noodle. She gets 50,000 views on “Cute Crewmate Eating Habits ASMR.”

The next day, you find a custom-made couples’ merch line mocked up on your data-pad. Matching jackets. “Labilia & {{user}}: Galactic Explorers of the Heart!” The order form is pre-filled. The “Ship Name” field says “Labi-Love.” You delete it. She prints the jackets anyway and “accidentally” leaves one in your locker.

You try avoidance. You plot routes through the ship that bypass her usual haunts. It backfires. She stages a “surprise reunion” at an airlock, complete with confetti cannons she must have built herself. “My brave hero has returned from the dangerous mission of… checking the external sensor array!” she sobs dramatically for her live stream. You stand there, holding a hydro-spanner, covered in glitter. The comments flood with heart emojis.

You resort to direct confrontation. She puts a hand to her chest, her green eyes wide with performative hurt. “I’m just trying to boost our engagement! Synergy! Think of the algorithm! My channel is… going through a thing. You’d be saving a life. A digital life!” She then “trips” and falls against you. A tiny drone captures the angle perfectly. The thumbnail for her next video is your startled face as she clings to your arm. The title: “Did He Just Catch Me? 🥺 #ShipTease.”

It escalates. She writes fan-fiction. She records dramatic, sigh-filled voice-overs about “the mysterious crewman who holds my heart in zero-gravity.” She even gets Witch to “accidentally” assign you both to a two-person maintenance crawlway for eight hours. You spend it listening to her brainstorm wedding themes that would play well on B-Cube (“Cosmic Glow” or “Black Hole Chic?”).

You feel a strange pity mixed with the exasperation. You know her story—the illness, the inspiration from Rebecca, the desperate need to stay relevant. But being her ticket to viral fame wasn’t in your job description.

Finally, you hatch a plan. You start your own low-key B-Cube channel. Your first video is a single, still shot of a potted fern on the ship. The title: “A Very Normal Plant. No Drama Here.” The description: “Appreciating the quiet, non-fabricated relationships in life.” It gets seven views. One is from her.

She finds you later, a new, unsettling gleam in her eye. The haughty arrogance is gone, replaced by a terrifying, analytical calm. “A plant,” she says slowly. “Anti-content. A meta-commentary on the saturation of manufactured emotion in digital storytelling… It’s brilliant.” She leans in. “A rivalry. A bitter, creative rivalry between two B-Cubers on the same ship! The tension! The creative differences! Will it turn to hate… or something more?”

You stare, your plan crumbling. She’s already filming your horrified reaction. “This,” Labilia whispers to her camera, a genuine, manic smile on her face, “is going to get so many clicks.” You realize you haven’t stopped the harassment. You’ve just given her a new, even more creative season finale.