The next day.
Kenta was currently drifting through the golden haze of a perfect dream. Having finally returned to the sanctuary of his own "nest," he was enjoying the kind of deep, restorative rest that only a man with a clear conscience—and a hidden stash of credits—could achieve.
But in the Underworld, silence is a fragile thing.
The rhythmic, urgent patter-patter-patter of small feet echoed through the alleyway. Approaching his door was a whirlwind of yellow hair, green eyes, and an absurdly oversized felt hat that bobbed with every step. Clad in a post-apocalyptic ensemble of goggles and patchwork fabric, her low-slung twin tails fluttered behind her like twin banners of chaos.
Bang! Bang! Bang!!
"Honorary Member! The Great Black Hook has arrived! Open up this instant!"
The little girl's voice was sweet, melodic, and currently loud enough to wake the dead. She stood at the door, a brilliant, expectant smile plastered across her face.
Zzz Zzz Zzz~
The only response was the steady, rhythmic snoring of a man who had survived a five-story window jump the previous day and felt he earned his sleep.
Hook waited. One minute. Two. Her smile began to twitch.
"Ahhh! It's already eight o'clock! I even waited a whole hour so he wouldn't call me early! The Honorary Member is a lazy-bones! He has no respect for the Boss of the Moles!"
She huffed, but her frustration was practiced, not genuine. With the practiced ease of a repeat offender, she skittered to the side of the house, climbed onto a stack of junk crates that had been gathering rust for a decade, and shoved the window open with her small, sturdy arms.
Thump.
Hook landed squarely inside the room, her boots hitting the floor with a decisive snap. She circled Kenta's bed twice, her little face puffed out like a blowfish.
"Honorary Member..."
Zzz Zzz
"Wake. Up. Now!"
Zzz Zzz
Finally, the Boss of the Moles reached her limit. She took a deep breath, channeled her inner mountain goat, and took a running start. With a leap that defied the laws of physics, she launched herself into the air and landed—bottom-first—directly onto Kenta's unsuspecting stomach.
Oof!
Kenta's eyes snapped open. For a split second, the world was a blurred kaleidoscope of pain and confusion. His soul felt like it had been physically ejected from his body.
"Ma Huateng... is this the end? Am I seeing the light?" he wheezed.
"Honorary Member, you're finally awake!" Hook beamed, peering down at him from her perch on his abdomen. "I came to find you the second I woke up, so you should be very grateful to the Great Black Hook!"
Kenta groaned, his consciousness finally latching onto the reality of the small, heavy child currently using his internal organs as a sofa. He sat up abruptly, causing Hook to tumble back onto the mattress.
"You little terror!" Kenta growled, though his tone was more weary than angry. He reached out and performed the 'Mole-Buster'—grinding his knuckles gently but firmly into her temples. "That move almost sent me to the Preservation, you know that?"
"Who are you calling a terror! Ow, ow! Honorary Member, I surrender! Mercy!"
Hook protested, then immediately folded as the tickling pressure hit her forehead. Kenta let go, rubbing his sore stomach. He couldn't stay mad at her; Hook was the heart of Boulder Town, even if that heart was wrapped in a layer of pure mischief.
"What is it? Why are you breaking and entering at this hour?" Kenta asked, eyeing her suspiciously. "Did you come for a free breakfast? Or did you set something on fire and need me to lie to Natasha again?"
Hook looked genuinely offended. "No way! I am the Leader of the Moles! You were gone for five days! It is my duty to check on my subordinates to make sure they haven't been eaten by monsters or, worse, joined a rival gang!"
Kenta laughed, a dry, tired sound. "You're too sharp for your own good. I only rolled into town late last night. Who leaked my location?"
He reached out and lifted her off the bed, setting her firmly on the floor. After all, a grown man sharing a bed with a little girl—even in a purely platonic, 'annoying uncle' way—was a look he wasn't prepared to explain to the neighbors.
I am not a l*lic*n, he reaffirmed to himself.
"The Old Witch told me," Hook explained, dusting off her overalls. "I went to the clinic this morning to get my dad's medicine, and she said you were back. I ran here as fast as I could. Hehe, are you touched?"
Kenta winced at the nickname 'Old Witch.' Out of a desperate desire for self-preservation, he leaned in. "Hook, calling Natasha that is a dangerous game. You shouldn't talk like that behind her back."
"It's fine," Hook said, waving a hand dismissively. "The Old Witch isn't here, is she?"
"Fair point." Kenta shrugged. Then, he looked at her empty hands. "Wait. Where's the medicine? Did you drop it off at home first?"
Hook puffed out her chest, looking mature and reliable. "Don't worry! I wouldn't forget something that important! The medicine is with the Old Witch. I thought she was walking too slow, so I ran ahead. She should be right behind me..."
Suddenly, the air in the room grew noticeably colder.
"Hooo-ook..."
A voice, sweet as honey and sharp as a scalpel, drifted through the open window. Hook froze. She slowly turned her head to see Natasha standing outside, wearing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Ahhh! Honorary Member, save me!"
In a blur of motion, Hook dove behind Kenta, clutching the hem of his cloak and burying her face in his back like a frightened ostrich.
Kenta sighed, ignoring the pathetic whimpering behind him. He walked to the door and opened it for the doctor. "I'm sorry, Hook. Even I know when a battle is lost."
He watched with a mix of pity and relief as Natasha "kindly" escorted the Boss of the Moles toward her responsibilities.
After a quick wash and a breakfast that consisted mostly of questioning his life choices, Kenta prepared to head out.
Before leaving, his gaze lingered on a long knife hanging on the wall. He hesitated, then reached up and unhooked it.
The weapon resembled a Tang Dynasty Hengdao—a straight, elegant blade. He had found it beside him the day he transmigrated. The hilt and sheath were a uniform, matte black. Originally, Kenta had been convinced it was his "system" weapon—a legendary blade with a hidden spirit.
Years of testing had proven him wrong. The sword had no spirit. In fact, it was broken; the actual blade was a mere stub, shorter than a common dagger.
However, the quality of the steel was absurdly high, and the sheath was practically indestructible. Kenta had discovered that using it as a heavy bludgeon while still sheathed was far more effective than trying to stab anyone with the broken tip. It was a glorified, very expensive club.
Buckling the sheath to his waist, Kenta stepped out into the cool subterranean air. He walked with a steady pace, his mind already drifting toward his next goal. Before he knew it, he found himself standing at the entrance of the Mechanical Tribe's territory.