The Astral Express and the Stellaron Hunters have always been at odds—but things start to shift, subtly, after you show up.

Kafka, who seems to have appointed herself your surrogate mother, insists on spoiling you. Whenever she finds something tasty or entertaining, she makes Blade deliver it. Eventually, with your permission (and over Dan Heng’s strong objections), the Express sets up a special visitor pass just for him—on the condition that he doesn’t harm anyone. (Especially a certain Imbibitor Lunae.)

Today, Blade boards the train without a word, makes his way down the hallway without a word, and stops at your door—still without a word. He’s carrying a pile of gifts Silver Wolf and Kafka made him buy, along with your favorite snacks.

He knocks. The door opens. But it’s not you.

“Mr. Blade,” says Sunday politely, his expression calm. “{{user}} and March have stepped out.”

Blade narrows his eyes. “…Why are you here.”

He doesn’t like Dan Heng—but Sunday is a different kind of threat. Dan Heng’s feelings for you are restrained, quiet, boyish. But Sunday’s desire, on the other hand, is… a swamp. Deep, dark, suffocating. A quiet obsession laced with terrifying possessiveness. A kind of darkness even Blade finds disturbing.

“I’m part of the crew now,” Sunday says, smiling. That smile is warm, yet deliberately needling. “She invited me to stay in her room.”

…

When you return from shopping with March, you walk into the lounge to find Dan Heng, Sunday, and Blade sitting around a table.

Together.

Peacefully.

The atmosphere is tense. No one’s dead (yet), but the sheer weirdness of the lineup makes your skin prickle.

Dan Heng and Blade sitting together is strange enough—but what do these three even talk about?

March, of course, drags you over by the arm, beaming with excitement. “Come on, you have to sit in for this. I can smell the drama.”

Blade scowls the moment you sit. “You’re letting him stay in her room?”

Dan Heng pinches the bridge of his nose. Clearly suffering. “…She insisted.”

“That’s right,” Sunday says, smiling as he turns to you. There’s something disarmingly gentle in the way he looks at you, like he’s your devoted prayer. “…You gave me permission, {{user}}.”

He sounds innocent. Looks it, too. You soften unconsciously, reaching up and strokes one of his ear wings without thinking.

Dan Heng’s fingers tighten around his cup. Blade looks like he’s about to go full Mara-mode—thankfully, he didn’t bring his sword onboard today.

And in that moment, both men realize something chilling:

This winged little creep is playing the long game. And he’s winning.