—Numbers make people feel safe.

  But numbers can also be a collar.

  We were back at the orbital elevator dock overlooking Rankis.

  Al-Safar slid into her berth with the slow confidence of a predator returning to its den, and waiting for us on the deck were maintenance drones…and a group wearing armbands stamped with a familiar symbol: a stylized ship inside the Milky Way.

  GDC.

  They were fast.

  Too fast.

  “Ugh. They’re here…” I muttered.

  Thomas gave me an awkward smile. “They came last time, too. Whenever ‘weird stuff’ shows up, they mobilize. There’s a branch office in a nearby system.”

  “‘Weird stuff’…” I clicked my tongue. “I hate that I can’t even deny it.”

  Genichiro spat his words like he was clearing grit from his teeth. “If you’ve got time to be mad, help unload. If we drop that, it’s over.”

  “That” meant the half-destroyed scout ship of Gara XFI-Za-B—the one Miyu had been inside of. Not Miyu herself.

  “If you already understand, don’t make me confirm it,” he snapped.

  His mouth was still atrocious.

  His procedures were still correct.

  The scout craft had been sealed and packed so none of its poisonous compounds could leak. Sitting on the dock floor, it looked like it had dragged the graveyard’s chill back with it—scorched, torn, scraped raw, wiring guts still exposed. Ice crystals on its surface were melting and pooling beneath the packing film like cold sweat.

  And for some reason, watching GDC staff reach for it with clean gloves made my skin crawl.

  “They touch it wrong…” I said before I could stop myself.

  Genichiro answered instantly. “They do. They touch it like it’s ‘something you can break.’ We touch it like it’s ‘something we can’t afford to break.’”

  “Worst phrasing imaginable,” I said.

  “Still accurate,” he replied.

  Ahmad stepped forward. He looked the same as always—calm, composed—but today his air was harder. Negotiation-face.

  The GDC lead bowed with perfect formality.

  “Team Rashid. Captain Rashidd. We’ll confirm receipt of the recovered items.”

  “Confirm it,” Ahmad said, and gestured at the craft. “Gara XFI-Za-B scout. Heavily damaged. We extracted part of the internal logs, but full analysis will be faster on your side.”

  Scanning lights painted a grid across the hull while staff read out numbers. Their efficiency was both a relief and a disgust.

  Relief, because maybe it would expose the enemy’s methods.

  Disgust, because I could feel the next step coming: those same hands reaching for Miyu like she was another item on the list.

  The lead said it like an afterthought.

  “…And about the passenger.”

  My shoulders went rigid on their own.

  Miyu.

  The moment her name got converted into paperwork was the moment my stomach really started to twist.

  “She is under this team’s protection,” Ahmad said.

  His tone didn’t change. That steadiness made it stronger.

  “I understand,” the lead replied. “However, our internal ethics committee and security division will be involved. We need to organize the information.”

  Organize.

  A convenient word.

  You can do almost anything under “organize.”

  Genichiro cut in, blunt and dangerous. “If you ‘organize’ by taking her apart, take me apart first.”

  “Genichiro!” I hissed.

  His wording was insane.

  The lead didn’t even move an eyebrow. “A misunderstanding. We are not dismantling her. —Not at this stage.”

  “‘At this stage’ is the least trustworthy phrase in the universe,” Genichiro growled.

  Ahmad stopped it with a look and nodded toward a side corridor.

  “Change location.”

  We moved to a passage near a blind spot—visible if you looked, but hard to hear. Space stations were weirdly good at providing those.

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  I tried to follow.

  Genichiro caught my collar and yanked me back. “Don’t. Your face gives you away.”

  “That’s cruel!”

  “It’s fact.”

  Ugh. The worst part was how hard it was to argue.

  Low voices traded conditions.

  Miyu would be registered not as an “individual,” but as a “contract subject (technical collaborator).”

  Custody would not be transferred. Any contact would be supervised. All questioning would be recorded.

  Psychic-interference testing would be forbidden without her explicit consent.

  And if analysis logs produced anything “activation key” related, GDC would share it first—in exchange for “joint response” in emergencies.

  A shield.

  And the shadow of a collar.

  Paper rope tightening.

  It made me furious.

  And it was necessary.

  You can’t protect someone with fists alone.

  When the quiet deal ended, the scout craft was lifted by a GDC cargo crane and carried away.

  A floating corpse…becoming “research.”

  Miyu watched from a short distance, silent. I couldn’t read her expression, but I saw her fingertips tremble—just barely.

  I stepped to her side.

  “You don’t have to look,” I said. “If you hate it.”

  Miyu shook her head, small and stubborn. “...I want to. I want to see where I came from.”

  “Wow. Mature.” I huffed. “I’m the type who looks away!”

  “You don’t look away,” Miyu said softly. “You get angry.”

  “Hey—shut up.”

  She smiled, just a little.

  She could smile.

  That was a rescue line all by itself.

  But behind that smile, a new reality had already started.

  —Surveillance.

  When we left the dock, two GDC armband staff drifted into position behind us.

  Not blatant. Not close.

  Just…present.

  A distance that said: We are always watching.

  “…Hey,” I whispered. “Is that tailing?”

  Thomas whispered back, same volume. “If you call it tailing, they’ll get mad. Officially it’s ‘safety confirmation.’”

  “Polite-space euphemisms,” I muttered. “Alive and well.”

  “Don’t care,” Genichiro said. “If you care, you lose.”

  “If I don’t care, I get stabbed!”

  “If you get stabbed,” he replied flatly, “then you stab the guy who stabbed you.”

  “Your phrasing!”

  Ahmad walked on like this was the weather. “They are not enemies. But they are not allies either.”

  “Worst category!”

  “They’ll disappear eventually,” Ahmad said. “Until then, treat them as external guests.”

  Miyu spoke, very quietly.

  “…I’m a contract subject.”

  The calmness in her voice made it heavier.

  She understood what it meant to become “not human” on paper.

  She was trying to swallow it anyway.

  That hurt.

  I set my jaw. “Contract subject or not, you’re you. The contract isn’t a collar—right now, it’s a shield.”

  Miyu lowered her eyes. “...A shield can stab you if you hold it wrong.”

  “…True,” I admitted. “So we hold it together.”

  Miyu nodded once.

  Then her gaze tracked something in midair.

  “…I can see it.”

  “See what?”

  She touched her chest.

  “…Letters. Transparent…”

  I frowned. Transparent letters? Now?

  Space loved throwing nonsense at you when you had no time for it.

  “…MP,” Miyu said.

  I blinked. “MP? Like game magic points?”

  Ahmad answered calmly. “Could be the capacity of her shadow-matter condenser. A projected self-diagnostic UI.”

  “And the UI chooses to label it MP because…someone’s hobby?” I said.

  “It’s not a hobby,” Genichiro snapped. “It’s translation. It’s converting into something humans understand.” He scowled. “…Whoever did the conversion just has terrible taste.”

  “This is not the time to be picky about taste!”

  Miyu raised a hand, hesitant. Her fingers trembled—just slightly.

  The fact that she could tremble now made something in my chest loosen.

  “…Light,” she whispered.

  The next instant, light was born.

  Bright, clean—without heat.

  It made the back of my eyes ache.

  “…That’s actually magic,” I breathed.

  Miyu gave a thin, crooked smile. “Calling it magic makes it sound light. But… there isn’t another word.”

  Ahmad nodded. “She’s converting shadow matter into ordinary plasma. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it, directly.”

  Miyu tried again.

  “…Aqua.”

  Moisture in the air condensed into a thin fog, grains so fine it looked like a controlled mist rather than a sloppy burst. She wasn’t throwing power around randomly.

  She was precise.

  She was strong.

  Ahmad spoke like a lecturer. “Shadow matter is likely changing the electron arrangement to encourage condensation—density manipulation, local perturbation of physical constants.”

  “‘Perturbing constants,’” I groaned. “Space sure knows how to make words scary.”

  “If you’re scared,” Genichiro said, “don’t handle it wrong.”

  “That’s true, but it doesn’t help!”

  Miyu looked at me. “...Nardia. Can you see it too?”

  “Huh?”

  “Status….”

  I stared hard.

  At first—nothing.

  Then a snag at the edge of my vision. Like a transparent film. A faint overlay.

  Letters floated there, thin and pale.

  —Nardia

  —MP: Low to Mid

  —Affinity: Cooling / Shielding (?)

  “…No way.”

  My voice cracked.

  “I can see it. I can see it and I hate it. My life turning into a game is terrifying!”

  Miyu laughed softly. “Probably my ability. With this… we can form a party.”

  “Don’t say ‘form a party!’ That breaks the entire genre!”

  Her laughter cut off halfway.

  Her eyes darkened.

  “…This is a weapon, isn’t it?”

  The air tightened.

  She understood. That was why she was afraid.

  And the fact she could be afraid meant she was strong in the right way.

  I looked at her hands—metal hands—and the way she clenched them now, by choice.

  “Miyu.”

  “What?”

  “If you’re scared, you can say you’re scared. Even if GDC is watching. Say it.”

  Miyu lowered her eyes. “...GDC watching is the scariest part.”

  “I get it,” I said. “I hate their ‘safety confirmation’ word, too.”

  Genichiro grunted. “If they’re watching, then show them. Show them you don’t break.”

  “Isn’t that just bravado?”

  “Bravado’s fine,” he said. “Bravado is survival.”

  Miyu exhaled. Then nodded.

  “…Yeah. I won’t break.”

  That answer sounded stronger than before.

  Ahmad, still walking like the universe couldn’t surprise him, dropped the next assignment.

  “GDC has issued an urgent request. Transport duty. Mu-Arcium.”

  “Already?!” Thomas blurted.

  “Fast,” Ahmad said. “Which means dangerous.”

  “That logic is the worst kind of convincing…”

  Miyu murmured the name like it carried weight. “...Mu-Arcium…”

  “It’s a different exotic substance than my planet’s Psi-Slate, right?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Ahmad said. “A special mineral said to relate to shadow matter, with a short half-life—meaning if containment fails, you don’t get a second chance. On Earth, long ago, some ‘chemtrail’ sightings were allegedly this.”

  Shadow-thick material.

  Shadow-thick war.

  Shadow-thick contracts.

  I clicked my tongue—and faced forward anyway.

  “Fine. Then the trainee goes to work again. …Seriously, what even is ‘training’ at this point?”

  Miyu smiled a little. “Nardia, you’re mad.”

  “I’m mad,” I agreed. “So I move.”

  Genichiro didn’t miss a beat. “If you’re moving, watch your footing. Space is full of traps.”

  “That’s not about the floor. That’s about life!”

  Ahmad’s mouth softened—just a fraction. Maybe.

  And behind us, the GDC armbands were still there.

  A shadow that could be a shield.

  Or a collar.

  Even so, I stayed beside Miyu.

  If there’s a collar, then we learn how to cut it.

  Until we learn, I’ll hold the line with sheer attitude.

  “Rangata system,” Ahmad said. “Planet Tyuro. Mining site. We go in Shiratori’s high-speed mode. It’ll shake.”

  “Ueeeh…” I groaned, remembering Al-Safar’s “high-speed” violence. “Shiratori’s smaller. That means it’s gonna shake worse.”

  Thomas’s laugh was nervous. “Welcome back to training, I guess.”