Chapter 188: At This Point, Let's Pluck Sunday's Ear Feathers
"Convict Sunday. Hey, Convict Sunday."
Rekka materialized out of thin air directly behind the former head of the Oak Family, his voice entirely too cheerful for the situation.
Sunday let out a quiet, long-suffering sigh and turned around, his expression a picture of weary composure. "...Please refrain from using that bizarre title."
"Fine, fine. Fugitive Sunday, then. I brought you something good." Rekka grinned, casually tossing a thick, leather-bound book into the Halovian's hands.
Sunday caught it smoothly, his brow furrowing as he inspected the cover. The text was stark and ominous. "...Death... Note?"
"Don't worry about the title, that's just a joke," Rekka waved a hand dismissively. "The main point is that I made some slight—very slight—modifications to this little notebook."
The concept of spatial folding was hardly a novelty in the vast cosmos. From the massive pocket realms engineered by the Xianzhou Alliance to standard-issue small-scale storage rings, countless civilizations had developed their own methods of bending dimensions.
"I just tweaked the internal parameters a bit," Rekka continued, leaning against the wall. "Increased its storage capacity to roughly the size of a star system. Not bad, right?"
Sunday's eyes widened a fraction. "...That is indeed quite impressive."
"Consider it a welcome gift for boarding the Express. You can write down your conceptual frameworks, draft your laws, and gradually perfect your ideal paradise during our journey. You get to build it from the ground up, with your own two hands."
Sunday stared down at the unassuming book resting in his palms.
It truly was a priceless artifact. As his fingertips brushed the leather cover, he could sense that he wasn't touching mere paper and binding. Beneath the surface lay a vast, dormant ocean of Imaginary energy, compressed to its absolute physical limit. It was an entirely independent, star-system-scale void—a blank canvas completely devoid of preexisting rules, concepts, or life.
"Why...?" Sunday murmured, his voice losing its usual polished edge. "Why are you giving this to me?"
"Because I want to see your paradise."
The sheer simplicity of the answer left Sunday momentarily stunned.
"You need more experience, more perspective," Rekka said, stepping forward to clap a hand firmly on Sunday's shoulder. "But I haven't written off your dream. I want to see the paradise of your ideals, too."
The gesture struck a deep chord within the fallen leader. After his total defeat on Penacony, Sunday had fully expected to face harsh judgment, imprisonment, or at the very least, an endless barrage of righteous lectures about the flaws in his philosophy. He had never expected to be handed a blank universe and told to try again.
—I want to see your paradise.
For a fleeting second, a spark of childlike fervor ignited in Sunday's eyes. Deep beneath the layers of political maneuvering and heavy burdens, he still carried the idealistic child he had once been.
"Since the old dream is shattered, go and create a paradise of your own," Rekka encouraged, his tone uncharacteristically sincere. "In this book, you are the absolute rule-maker. Go and test your ideas until you can prove your vision to everyone."
Sunday gripped the book tightly, his knuckles turning white. "I will do it."
A short time later, the Astral Express received an unexpected commission.
A mysterious lady of the Halovian race boarded the train, clearly attempting to conceal her identity. She wore a wide-brimmed hat, an oversized trench coat, a thick face mask, and dark sunglasses. She moved with the nervous caution of someone terrified of being recognized by the public.
Unfortunately, considering her distinct wings, the glowing halo hovering above her head, and her universally famous posture, she was instantly recognizable anyway.
"Everyone of the Astral Express... I... I would like to ask for your help in investigating the whereabouts of my brother," Robin pleaded, her voice laced with genuine anxiety as she stood in the parlor car.
To Robin's worried eyes, the crew of the Astral Express looked deeply troubled by her request.
"Ah... well... this is..."
March 7th was the first to crack under the sheer absurdity of the situation. She abruptly whipped her head toward the window, biting down hard on her lower lip to suppress a hysterical laugh, her shoulders trembling slightly.
"Although we Nameless are always happy to help those in need..." March managed to squeak out, keeping her face turned away. "Finding one specific person in the vast galaxy is like looking for a needle in a haystack! To narrow down the search, Miss Robin, could you perhaps provide a photo of your brother?"
In reality, every single person in the parlor car was acutely aware that Sunday was currently sitting quietly in one of the passenger cabins just down the hallway.
"Miss Robin, you want us to help you find Sunday's whereabouts?" Stelle asked, her face a mask of absolute, deadpan stoicism.
"Yes." Robin reached up and removed her sunglasses, revealing beautiful eyes swimming with distress. "I just hope to see him again. At the very least, there are some things I need to clarify with him... but... after the upheaval in Penacony, he vanished without a trace."
"I see..." March 7th coughed, her eyes darting nervously toward the corridor door. "Don't worry, Miss Robin! We will definitely help you with your brother's matter!"
Hiding a fugitive brother in a bedroom while watching his sister get teary-eyed in the living room was a brand-new experience for the Express crew, leaving a heavy, deeply awkward atmosphere settling over the plush couches.
"Regarding this matter..."
As the navigator and de facto adult in the room, Himeko smoothly stepped up to manage the chaotic situation.
"Locating someone is indeed within our capabilities," Himeko said, her tone elegant and reassuring. "But as you mentioned, Miss Robin, the Asdana star system has just undergone a massive upheaval. The flow of information is entirely chaotic right now. To find someone who is deliberately hiding under such turbulent circumstances, we will need some time."
"I can wait! As long as there is any news of him..." Robin looked up, a glimmer of hope returning to her face. "Please don't worry about the commission fee. I will ensure you receive a highly satisfactory reward."
"Ahem. Miss Robin, perhaps sometimes no news is the best news," Rekka chimed in, leaning casually against the phonograph. "Since he managed to escape unscathed from a disaster of that magnitude and has successfully evaded all official searches, it strongly suggests his current situation is safe and secure."
It was a rather heavy-handed hint, but it seemed to comfort the pop star.
Eventually, Robin expressed her deep gratitude and departed the Express. Only after the airlock sealed shut and the coast was entirely clear did Sunday emerge from the corridor.
"Thank you all for not revealing my whereabouts to Robin," Sunday said, offering a stiff, polite bow.
"No need to thank us, really," March sighed, rubbing her temples.
"Wait, were we just harboring a wanted criminal?" Stelle asked, tilting her head.
"This is called sheltering a homeless, lost traveler," Rekka retorted smoothly. "It suits our Trailblaze ethos perfectly."
After all, if they were being entirely honest, the Family had plenty of unsavory characters in their ranks anyway. Robin's commission was officially accepted, but it would conveniently be postponed indefinitely.
"Should we go tell Miss Robin that we found one of her brother's hairs?" Stelle suggested, her eyes gleaming with chaotic intent.
"That's way too perfunctory," March 7th shook her head, crossing her arms. "If we want to make it believable, at the very least, we should pluck one of Sunday's ear feathers to hand over as proof, right?"
"Oh, good idea! I'm really good at plucking feathers!" Stelle stepped toward Sunday, sizing up his head. "The left one or the right one? We should probably add a little bloodstain to make it look more pitiful. It would really highlight the intense hardships he endured during the great upheaval. How about that?"
Stelle was already mentally calculating the optimal angle to present the bloody feather to Robin for maximum dramatic effect.
Sunday, who had just been immersed in the complex, melancholic emotions of 'my sister came looking for me but I dared not face her,' felt his budding sentiment instantly shatter into a million pieces thanks to the two gremlins approaching him.
"That... may not be an appropriate suggestion," Sunday stated dryly, his posture stiffening.
"But Miss Robin is so worried about you! She'd definitely want to see that you made a tremendous, life-threatening effort to escape," Stelle reasoned, taking another step forward. "An ear feather with a bloodstain would let her... uh, actually, never mind. Better not have the bloodstain. Just the feather."
"Actually... I have a bit of a... small phobia regarding people touching my ear feathers."
Sunday instinctively took a large step backward, raising his hands defensively.
The trauma ran deep. When Sunday was roughly six years old, he had foolishly attempted to use his ear feathers to fly. The experiment had ended in a spectacular failure, resulting in a hard fall that nearly cracked the halo hovering above his head. He had never let anyone near them since.
"Alright, you two, stop fooling around," Rekka intervened, stepping between the terrified Halovian and the two plotting girls. "Just tell Robin that during the chaos, Mr. Sunday was caught in a Memory Zone turbulence and is currently missing. Tell her the Astral Express is conducting a complete, ongoing search using the Trailblaze routes."
With a sigh of relief, Sunday lowered his hands, silently grateful that at least one person on this train possessed a shred of common sense.
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