Chapter 193: The Man Who Seeks Death
Firefly paced back and forth restlessly, her boots making small, agitated sounds on the metal floor of the observation deck. She kept glancing at the tightly closed door at the end of the corridor—the door to Elio's chamber.
"It's been too long," she muttered, biting her lip. "What are they even talking about in there?"
She looked at Kafka, who was, as always, lounging leisurely on a nearby sofa, idly sipping red wine as if she didn't have a care in the world. The contrast between their demeanors was infuriating.
"Kafka, aren't you worried at all?" Firefly finally burst out, her hands clenched. "What if Elio can't convince him? What if he... what if he really leaves?" The thought of him leaving, of that brief, strange partnership ending, left an unexpected ache in her chest.
"Worried about what? About Orion leaving?" Kafka gently swirled the deep red liquid in her glass, watching the light play in its depths. She didn't look up. "Don't worry, Firefly. He won't leave."
"How can you be so sure?" Firefly demanded. "He just woke up, he has no memories, and we... well, I haven't exactly been welcoming. Why would he stay?"
Kafka finally lifted her wine-red eyes, a faint, knowing smile curving her lips. "Because Stellaron Hunters aren't just a group we find, Firefly. We are a group of people who are searching for something."
"Whether it's you, me, or Blade... it's all the same. Some things, once lost, one will spend their entire life searching for. And Elio..." Her smile widened, full of secrets. "Elio just happens to know exactly what he's looking for."
As if summoned by her words, the door at the end of the hall hissed open with a click.
Firefly immediately spun around, her body tensing, her heart pounding. She stared, her breath held.
Orion walked out.
His expression was perfectly calm, almost placid. He looked the same as when he went in—the same black uniform, the same handsome, amnesiac face. But Firefly, who had spent the last few days in combat training with him, felt a chill. Deep in his eyes... something had changed. The blank confusion was gone, replaced by a cold, quiet... purpose.
Firefly wanted to speak, to demand an answer, but she was afraid to hear it.
However, Orion didn't give her the chance. He acted as if nothing had happened, stretching lazily, his new body moving with a growing, familiar grace. "That took a while. After talking for so long, I'm a bit hungry."
He looked over at Firefly, then Kafka. "Want to go to the restaurant together?"
"...Huh?" Firefly was completely stunned. This anticlimax was bewildering. "Hungry? You... you just had a life-altering conversation with the 'Slave of Fate,' and you're... hungry?"
Didn't this man just say he wanted to quit?
"Wait, wait a minute!" she quickly caught up to him as he began to walk past her. "What's the result? How did your talk with Elio go? Are you... are you leaving?"
"Oh, that." Orion stopped and turned to look at her. His calm, golden eyes met hers, and the new, unnerving depth in them made her instinctively flinch.
"I've decided to stay."
Firefly's eyes widened, and for a moment, she didn't know how to react. A wave of relief, so strong it almost made her dizzy, washed over her, immediately followed by her usual defensiveness. "Oh. W-well, good! I mean, it's not like we couldn't handle things without you, but... good!"
From the sofa, Kafka couldn't help but chuckle softly. She raised her wine glass in a silent toast. "Welcome back to the Stellaron Hunters, Orion."
Her gaze lingered on his back as he walked away. "It seems this performance... has just gained another very interesting actor."
The ship's main commissary was quiet during this cycle. The atmosphere, however, was far from relaxed. It was charged with a strange, unspoken tension.
Firefly, having finally relaxed, was chattering about the ship's awful training simulations. "...and then the physics engine glitched, and I swear, the robot just phased through the wall. I mean, how am I supposed to—"
She paused, noticing Orion was just quietly eating, his expression thoughtful. "Hey! Are you even listening?"
To demonstrate her point, or perhaps just to break his concentration, she speared a piece of savory, sauce-covered meat from her own plate. "Here, try this. It's the only decent thing they make." She held the fork out to his mouth.
He was about to eat it when he suddenly froze.
His gaze locked onto the fork. Wait… his mind supplied, Firefly just ate with that fork, didn't she?
The implications of the gesture hung in the air. Is this… an indirect kiss?
Firefly, oblivious to his internal calculation, just frowned. "What are you staring at? It's not poisoned." She urged, pushing the fork a little closer. "Just eat it."
He looked at her impatient, slightly flushed face, then at Kafka, who was watching the entire exchange with overt, undisguised amusement.
Forget it.
He picked up his own cutlery. With a calm, fluid motion, he used his own fork to gently slide the piece of meat off hers and onto his plate. He ate it. "It's good. Thank you."
Firefly blinked, a little disappointed by his clinical refusal of her gesture, but she shrugged it off. "Right? I told you."
"Oh, my. How distant, Orion."
Kafka's lazy, magnetic voice cut in. She had been watching the scene with the interest of a predator. She elegantly cut a perfect, bite-sized piece of her own steak—a much higher-quality cut than what Firefly was having.
She then did the one thing he hadn't anticipated. She picked it up with her fork and brought it directly to his mouth, just as Firefly had.
"I'll also take care of our newcomer."
His gaze fell on the piece of steak, and he momentarily froze again. The piece of meat was perfectly cooked. And on the tines of the silver fork... there was a faint, perfect trace of her wine-red lipstick.
This woman... he thought, a flicker of annoyance mixing with a strange sense of amusement. She is definitely doing this on purpose.
He looked up. Kafka's wine-red eyes were locked on his, sparkling with a challenging, playful light. Firefly was also watching, her jaw now tight, a new, unfamiliar emotion flickering in her eyes. Annoyance? Jealousy?
Both beautiful women, his new "companions," were waiting for his reaction. It was a test.
Orion took a deep breath. He thought of the script Elio had mentioned. He thought of the new, cold purpose settling in his heart, the whispers of the Stellaron pollution he'd endured. This... was just a game.
He leaned forward slightly, his movements calm and deliberate. Without the slightest hesitation, he closed his lips around the fork, taking the steak, his mouth brushing the tines that still held her lipstick.
He chewed, swallowed, and then met her gaze. "Thank you, Kafka. It was delicious."
Kafka's smile widened, her eyes crinkling. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."
Firefly, seeing this, slammed her own fork down with a loud clatter. "I'm... I'm suddenly not hungry anymore! I'm going to go check on SAM!" She stood up abruptly and stormed out of the commissary.
The ambiguous, super-charged atmosphere remained, now hanging only between him and Kafka.
"She's... lively," Kafka mused, taking a sip of her wine.
"She is," Orion agreed, returning to his own meal, his calm unshaken.
Just as Kafka was about_to speak again, a sound shattered the quiet intimacy.
BOOM!
The reinforced metal door of the commissary was violently kicked open, slamming against the bulkhead with enough force to dent the metal.
A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, a living embodiment of cold, sharp rage. He was tall, with long, wild black hair. He held a cracked, bandaged ancient sword that seemed to drink the light from the room. A chill, far colder than the ship's recycled air, flooded the room.
His crimson eyes, burning with a light that was not entirely sane, swept the restaurant. They passed over Kafka, then fixed, with terrifying, absolute intensity... on Orion.
He froze for a moment. His pupils constricted. And then, a dark, all-consuming madness erupted in those red eyes. It was a look of agony, of hatred, and of a terrible, desperate... longing.
"Found him…" he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. A morbid, almost ecstatic smile curved his lips. "Finally... finally found him!"
He raised a trembling hand, his finger pointing directly at you.
"The eyes… the eyes that can kill everything!"
Before his words finished, he had already lunged!
He didn't run. He vanished. His speed was astonishing, a black blur that crossed the room in less than a heartbeat. The cracked ancient sword, humming with a murderous aura, went straight for Orion's throat.
So fast!
Orion's combat instincts, honed by a life he couldn't remember, took over. He had no time to draw a weapon.
Clang—!
In the nick of time, he grabbed the heavy, metal knife and fork from his table, crossing them in an 'X' to block the fatal sword strike.
Crack!
The ordinary cutlery instantly shattered into a dozen pieces under the force of the blow. The impact sent a bone-jarring shock up his arms.
But this momentary block was enough. It had bought him a microsecond.
Orion used the force of the impact to kick his chair back, vaulting backward to create distance. He landed lightly, his eyes now cold and sharp, analyzing the new threat.
The black-haired man sneered, undeterred. He raised his cracked sword again, preparing for a second, undeniable strike. "Pay the price..." he hissed, and lunged.