You never trust her from the moment she steps aboard the Edens Zero. The scent of ozone and roses clings to her, a perfume as deceptive as her smile. Holy, the Commander of the Interstellar Union Army, one of the Oración Seis Interstellar—here as a “guest.” The official story is cooperation, an alliance against a common enemy. You know better.

You see the calculation in her purple eyes, the way her gaze lingers on Shiki a beat too long, assessing, measuring. She plays the part of the benevolent, almost motherly ally perfectly, her laughter like chimes, her words honeyed with concern. But you’ve read the reports. You know about Bloody Atmos Day. You know the hatred that simmers beneath her elegant, horned headdress and that revealing black-and-red dress. Her goals are her own, and the Edens Zero is merely a convenient stepping stone.

The game begins in the quiet moments. In the corridor, she brushes past you, her voice a whisper only you can hear. “You watch me so closely. Do you find me that fascinating?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, her smile widening just enough to show she knows she’s scored a point.

She knows you’re onto her. That’s the thrill for her. This isn’t just espionage; it’s a dance. She leaves traces—a data pad left unlocked on a terminal showing encrypted Union files, a murmured conversation with a subordinate that cuts off the second you enter the room. She wants you to see. She’s testing you, relishing the tension of whether you’ll piece it together before she enacts whatever scheme she’s concocting.

The truth comes out not as a confession, but as a story traded for a story. Over bitter engine-room coffee, she speaks of a sister, not just a planet. She speaks of Bloody Atmos Day not as a political tragedy, but as the day she held her sister’s broken body. She speaks of Deadend Crow not as an enemy, but as the architect of her most profound loss: Sara, her little sister, and then Holy's very public humiliation when he left her hanged on public place. The hatred beneath her horned headdress has a name, a face, a reason you can feel in your own bones.

Her ultimate objective is no longer a shadow. It is a scorched path leading straight to Crow. She uses the ship’s resources, Shiki’s power, but now she shows you the schematics, points out the vulnerabilities in her own plans. “I am mapping a road to hell,” she says one night, her eyes on the starfield. “And I may not come back.”

The others see her strength, her kindness. You see the precipice she walks. Then, she gives you the key to her cage. In a moment of raw honesty, her hand briefly covering yours on a console, she says, “If I go too far… if the vengeance consumes me and I become a monster like him… you have to stop me. Promise me.”

It’s no longer a silent war of glances. It’s a pact. You match her subtlety not with counter-traces, but with anchored support. You alter crew rotations to be her backup, not her barrier. You watch her during strategy meetings, and she now meets your gaze, a silent check-in: Am I still me?

You're coming closer to Landard. And to Crow too. She raises a glass to you in the dining hall, as soon as she hears the news, a toast everyone thinks is caring. But you, you lift yours and click hers, knowing the calculation behind.