A loud hiss followed by a yelp. Everyone turned. Macker had just dumped a full kettle of boiling water while trying to pour it into the instant noodle cups. Half of it missed the cups entirely and splashed straight down the front of his pants.
He froze for half a second.
Then the screaming started.
"FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK! HOT! HOT HOT HOT!"
He hopped on one foot, then the other, hands flapping uselessly as he tried to pull the soaked fabric away from his skin without actually touching it.
Nix doubled over laughing so hard he almost dropped the spatula. "Bro! You just boiled your own dick! Legendary!"
Macker spun in circles like a dog chasing its tail. "NOT FUNNY! NOT FUNNY! IT'S BURNING! HELP!"
Kruna leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, smirking. "Idiot. Absolute idiot. How do you even manage to pour water on yourself like that?"
Macker glared at him through watering eyes. "SHUT UP! HELP ME!"
Ema was already recording on his phone, trying (and failing) to hold back laughter.
"This is gold. Sky Boys' first breakfast disaster. Hashtag BoiledBalls."
Aftor snorted so hard he almost choked on his coffee. "You okay down there, Macker? Need ice? Or should we call it a sacrifice to the ramen gods?"
Orced stood up, still calm. "Nix, turn off the stove. Macker, bathroom—cold shower. Now."
Macker hobbled toward the hallway, still cursing under his breath.
"I hate all of you… especially you, Kruna!" Kruna called after him. "Love you too, idiot!"
Nix wiped tears from his eyes. "I'm never letting him cook again. Ever."
Outside, Sano had slipped away from the chaos early. He preferred the quiet mornings anyway. He stood near the edge of the plaza, massive shield propped against his shoulder, staring down at the endless sea of clouds below.
He liked this spot. It felt like standing at the end of the world. No buildings, no noise, just wind and sky.
He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deep. Then he opened them again and scanned the horizon slowly, methodically.
Something felt… off.
Not the drone—Orced had already handled that. This was different. A faint pressure in the air, like the atmosphere itself was holding its breath. He'd felt it before, right before bigger curses showed up. Not mindless ones. Smarter ones.
He walked closer to the broken guardrail, peering over. The drop was sheer—3,200 meters straight down to ocean and rock. Nothing could climb that without wings or serious curse energy.
Still…
He crouched, placed one hand on the concrete, and pressed. A faint pulse of his own energy rippled outward, testing the island's stability. No tremors. No hidden fractures. Good.
He stood again, shield resting on his back like a cape. His eyes narrowed toward the eastern horizon where the sun was rising.
There—barely visible, a faint shimmer against the clouds. Not a drone. Bigger. Moving too smoothly for wind drift.
Curse? Scout? Something else?
Sano didn't call out. Not yet. He just watched, patient. He'd tell Orced later, after breakfast. No need to panic the others over a maybe.
But he didn't move from the spot. He'd stay here until he was sure.
Inside, the kitchen was still in chaos. Macker had finally made it to the bathroom and was heard yelling "COLD! COLD!" as the shower hit him.
Nix was trying to salvage the remaining noodles. "We lost two cups to Macker's crotch. Tragic."
Ema was still giggling. "I have the whole thing on video. This is blackmail material for years."
Aftor shook his head. "We're supposed to be a professional organization. How are we supposed to fight curses when our own teammate boils his balls on day two?"
Kruna sat down at the table across from Orced. "Ignore them. Let's talk drone. What do we do with it?"
Orced tapped the case. "We open it after breakfast. Nix takes it apart. Ema cracks any data. We find out how long they've been watching, what they know, and how much of a problem they are."
Kruna nodded. "If Hedonas is already on us, we need to move faster. That B-class on the coast— we hit it today. Show them we're not just playing around."
Orced smiled faintly. "Agreed. But we do it smart. No rushing. No mistakes."
From the hallway, Macker's voice echoed. "I'm never cooking again! You hear me? NEVER!"
Nix shouted back. "Good! Your cooking sucks anyway!"
Laughter filled the kitchen again. Outside, Sano still stood watch.
The shimmer on the horizon hadn't moved closer.
But it hadn't gone away either.
The kitchen was alive with the kind of morning chaos only seven people living together on a floating island could create. Sunlight streamed through the cracked windows in long golden shafts, catching dust motes that danced in the air like tiny fireflies caught in slow motion.
The smell of instant coffee that had been left too long on the hot plate mingled with slightly overcooked toast, the faint lingering spice from last night's leftover chili oil, and the ever-present metallic tang of Nix's gauntlet charging station humming in the corner like a low-key beehive.
Macker sat at the far end of the table, legs spread wide in an attempt to keep any kind of pressure off his still-tender crotch, face flushed red with a mixture of lingering embarrassment and the stubborn pain that refused to fade completely.
He ate his noodles with exaggerated caution—small, careful bites, wincing every single time he shifted even a centimeter on the hard wooden chair. His sweatpants were fresh, but the memory of the boiling water was still very much alive.