The town of Wonderton unfolded before the contestants like a setting plucked from a storybook—a whimsical haven that blended European-inspired architecture with a touch of Victorian fantasy and futuristic flair. 

Floating carriages glided gracefully along cobblestone streets, their wheels spinning without ever touching the ground. Tea houses in funny shapes like a heeled boot, a yellow hen or a smiling sunflower spilled warm golden light onto the paths, their chimneys puffing gentle clouds of lavender-scented smoke. Quaint shopfronts adorned by holographic signs advertised everything one might need like groceries and clothing to frivolous trinkets and curios. Clockwork cats jumped from rooftop to rooftop, their metallic fur catching the sunlight.

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Finally, at the heart appeared a sprawling square, filled with a carousel of mechanical horses and a towering fountain that seemed to defy gravity, its water cascading upward in elegant spirals. And it was here where the two hundred contestants would gather.

Following the directions of the NPC concierges, they made their way to the town’s square to wait for the next segment. Some clustered in small groups, their chatter and laughter overlapping in a merry cacophony. Others stood alone, gazing at the mechanical marvels of Wonderton with wide eyes that reflected its golden clock towers and starlit streets.

NPC townsfolk, dressed in an eclectic mix of Regency-style outfits and Victorian fashions, glided among the newcomers, offering maps of the district with cheerful bows. “Welcome to Wonderton, sirs,” they said, their melodic voices adding to the town’s charm. “Please take a map to assist you in exploring this enchanting part of your journey.”

As the contestants were allowed to wander freely and familiarize themselves to their future surroundings for the next three months, Mi Sha inevitably drew subtle but palpable attention.

In truth, he wasn’t the only one. Even among the crème de la crème chosen from 20,000+ applicants, there were always a few who stood out even among the most beautiful.

With a simple sweep of his eyes, Mi Sha spotted three he easily matched to the pictures and names circled on the contestant roster shown by the production team leader. With 200 contestants, it was inevitable that certain ones would be initially singled out to give more screen time, maybe even a “script” that would help them stand out to the audience. These “chosen ones” were usually whom the production team saw as having the most potential on the outset. 

But whether they could maintain such a good hand of cards dealt to them was something only time would tell. There was never a lack of dark horses appearing in shows like these after all.

The nearest one, a particularly tall youth with sharp cheekbones and a silky mane of blue-black curls, stole furtive glances at Mi Sha from across the fountain. Large heterochromatic eyes peered curiously at him under thick curling lashes that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a mascara commercial, only his were natural. 

But when Mi Sha stared unabashedly back, Aimé Blanchet’s flawless golden ratio features blushed a light pink. One blue eye, and the other brown darted away and then back like a skittish doe peering around to see if the predator had left. Only to flush further as Mi Sha showed no signs of looking away. This easy proneness to fluster caused Mi Sha to raise an eyebrow in amusement.

He was tempted to hold a staring match with the boy just to see what he would do. But mercifully, he decided to let the other off after watching those doe eyes do their back and forth dance twice more. Aimé clearly looked like he wanted to either melt into a puddle or dart away. 

A slight smile tugged at Mi Sha’s lips as he finally glanced away. Aimé’s innocence was endearing. The kind of person Mi Sha so rarely encountered that he also couldn’t help giving a second glance. (Though if a malicious part of him wondered just how fragile this greenhouse flower was, Mi Sha easily ignored it.)

A few feet away, Renato Leonetti leaned casually against a nearby lamppost, his bright smile never once dimming as he studied Mi Sha with interest—and incidentally catching the “staring match” going on just now. 

He was radiant even under the golden light, his large almond shaped eyes ringed by spiky golden lashes that appeared translucent in the light and a baby face that was generous with seraphic smiles. All of this added up to a youthful, honey sweet vibe. And just like his appearance, this former child actor had a lively, extroverted personality as was evident by the cheerful conversations he seemed to be having with several contestants at once. 

He didn’t bother to veil his interest, even when his obvious distraction caught the attention of the contestants he was chatting with. In fact, he almost looked like he would step forward in that social butterfly way of his, eager to make friends or connections. Unlike Aimé, Renato had no shyness holding him back.

But someone happened to be a step faster.

Phoenix Black, with his scuffed leather guitar bag and glossy dark blonde hair pulled back with a leather band, surprised Mi Sha by approaching him first. The young man had an aura of quiet observation, clearly a man who preferred watching to speaking, though his eyes held their own power. At once world-weary yet gentle and sympathetic, those soulful lavender eyes met Mi Sha’s own dark unfathomable depths directly.

In a way, Mi Sha was reminded of himself. The only difference was that Mi Sha wouldn’t consider himself an old soul. He was too petty, too spiteful, too stingy with his sympathies. 

“Hey, I’m Phoenix. Phoenix Black,” the young man introduced himself, holding out a hand in quiet friendliness. 

Mi Sha clasped it, meeting those pretty lavender eyes. Phoenix was one of those contestants who’d found his way onto the show with pure, raw talent and little else to rely on—no high-powered agency, no family fortune, no network of industry friends. People like him were a microcosm of the showbiz world’s overlooked treasures; they were often talented but unprotected, rich in potential but lacking capital or backing. And as Mi Sha had observed over the years, they could just as easily be disposed of, without extraordinary talent to anchor them or a selling point to catch the producers’ eyes.

But most importantly, he was a ground dweller.

The people of this world were separated into two kinds—ground dwellers and sky dwellers. Human ills such as overpopulation and pollution had changed the planet they lived on irreversibly leading to barren land and increasingly lack of natural resources. 

But luckily or unluckily, discovery of what was known as “Keys to Heaven” provided a solution. No one truly knew where they came from or why they existed, but their power was undeniable. Each Key was unique, bound to its holder, and capable of incredible feats of creation. With a single thought, they could build floating cities, design self-sustaining ecosystems, and manipulate the fabric of reality itself. It went without saying that their appearance had reshaped the world, both for the better and the worse.

With life on Earth becoming more difficult, the appearance of Keys that could lift entire landmasses into the sky, creating new havens for life offered humanity salvation amidst its decline. Only eleven such Keys had ever been found, their holders becoming figures of global fascination, their identities exalted or scrutinized, with their cities scattered across the globe like jewels in a rusting crown. 

However, while the Keys represented hope for humanity, it also exacerbated the dire situation on Earth. Governments, corporations, and individuals alike had fought bitterly for control of them, wars breaking out over the possibility of acquiring even one. Fathers turning against sons, daughters betraying mothers, once loving couples filled with hatred and animosity.

This of course accelerated the spread of environmental problems on Earth while also widening the gap between the privileged and those living on the fringes like never before in history. Which brings us back to sky dwellers, residents of the 11 floating cities who naturally felt more superior to the ground dwellers, those who remained living on the ground due to the lack of opportunity, connections, or other reasons. 

As a ground dweller, if Phoenix didn’t turn out to be a dark horse, then the cards were truly stacked against him. Because if he didn’t manage to make it into the final debut lineup, he would be deported back home to the barren, poverty ridden ground. In a way, the stakes were much higher for him than the rest of the contestants who came from other floating cities or even Ukiyo.

“Phoenix Black,” Mi Sha repeated, the name rolling off his tongue, evoking the smoky stage lights of underground venues so fond of by ground dwellers and sky dwellers looking to have a taste of “grunge living”. “Quite the name. Rolls off the tongue. You’ve performed a lot already, I take it?”

“A few gigs here and there,” Phoenix replied with a light shrug, brushing over the highs and lows that accompanied his experiences over the years. “Nothing like this, though. Just small stuff, you know, local stages. Makes you wonder if it all adds up to anything.”

A tentative smile appeared on that handsome face and a hand unconsciously reached up to tuck a long, glossy dark blonde strand of hair behind an ear in a sheepish, absentminded gesture. He seemed very happy that Mi Sha even responded, let alone showed any interest towards him.

“Depends on how you measure,” Mi Sha replied, the fingers of his right hand tapping against his jeans pocket where the Rubik’s cube was slipped into.

Though Phoenix had the initial attention of the production team, there was still no guarantee of a ticket to success. Without a storyline, friendship arc, or dramatic struggle such as becoming a dark horse, he would get lost among the hundreds of faces on screen, no matter how remarkable he might be off-camera. Just like in movies and stories, a fleshed out character was always more memorable and attractive. Likewise, many interesting things might have happened off screen to an unimportant character, but who would bother to look?

As Mi Sha considered Phoenix’s prospects, a habitual train of thought unraveled: appearance, makeup, camera angles, editing, script, capital, character design, fan service pairings… all these components layered together to construct a glossy image, each contestant becoming an illusion on-screen, a blend of lighting and fiction that the viewers adored, without ever truly knowing the reality of the person beneath. 

It was precisely this manufactured artifice that filled Mi Sha with equal amounts of distaste and morbid fascination—people of this era took thrill in watching lives twisted into shapes that entertained, uncaring of the truth behind the mask and Mi Sha could not say for certain that he had not become as guilty as the rest. 

Of course, if the unsavory truth behind the mask dared to reveal themselves to the public, well, that was a whole other matter. After all, the whole point of an idol was to present a shiny, bright and beautiful image that could please the audience. Like a fairytale, these young people were dream chasers but also dream weavers themselves.

For Mi Sha, the romanticism of this chosen industry wasn’t in its artifice (though he could admit that sometimes a moderate amount of packaging was needed) but in the subtle chaos that leaked through. Unpredictability, the thrill of real emotion against a script. Those raw moments when the actors slipped out of their roles, those fractured scenes that revealed more truth than any rehearsed drama could. 

It was why he had created Starbound Express in the first place, the whimsy to deliver something far greater than a pre-determined story, and to remind both audiences and actors alike that nothing would go as planned. 

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“That’s all it takes, right? A chance,” Phoenix said, his gaze never wavering from Mi Sha’s face. Those lovely eyes shone with the quiet but unyielding intensity that belonged to someone who had fought tooth and nail to get where he was. Someone who understood that opportunity was fleeting and must be grabbed with both hands.

Someone… a lot like Mi Sha himself.

“That, and a little more,” Mi Sha replied, giving him a faint smile. “After all, even a gamble needs stakes.” What he didn’t point out was that, luckily or unluckily, Phoenix had the highest stakes of them all.

The sleek black Starbound Express descended into Wonderton Station like a great celestial beast. Its shimmering, obsidian frame floated gracefully above the cobblestone streets, illuminated by the warm, golden light of the station’s antique lamps. The faint hum of its anti-gravity mechanisms reverberated through the station, accompanied by bursts of silvery steam that hissed out like sighs from a dragon. As the train came to a graceful halt, descending down on the station tracks, its doors shimmered with a soft, ethereal light before sliding open with a melodic chime of wind bells.

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The station itself was a bustling mix of old-world charm and modern sophistication. Vendors hawked automated toy soldiers and holographic music boxes alongside artisanal pastries. Delicate wrought iron railings framed holographic advertisements for the Starbound Express S3, and street performers played instruments that combined traditional strings with digital loops. Above, an immense, glass-domed ceiling showcased a shifting holographic sky—rosy with the hues of a setting sun, speckled with shimmering stars, and punctuated by shooting comets.

As the the young men began disembarking, the station became filled with a new sort of energy to the artificial noise and bustle of realistic NPC automatons who acted as residents. The automatons, indistinguishable from humans at first glance, bustled about like any ordinary townsfolk. They carried luggage, provided directions, and even engaged the contestants in small talk, their programming designed to maintain the immersive atmosphere of the show. 

Above them all, hummingbird drones flitted about, their camera-laden eyes capturing every moment. Clearly, the show had already begun filming in earnest. In fact, filming had started as early as when the contestants stepped onto the Starbound Express. 

The absence of human staff but the core production team hidden behind the scenes was intentional—a decision Director Loveless had made himself. And not because according to rumors, he was slightly misanthropic. It was no secret that the 11th key holder had no patience for the biases and unprofessionalism that often came with human crews. Especially in regards to competition related shows where lack of professionalism, prevalence of biases, leaks, and emotional entanglements often plagued similar productions in the past. In this case, the automatons were perfect—efficient, impartial, and tireless. 

Being met with such an extravagant set, a chorus of gasps, murmurs, and nervous laughter could be heard from the crowd of newcomers. The contestants, each carrying the weight of their dreams and ambitions, began to step off the train, their emotions written plainly on their faces.

Some emerged with confidence, their heads held high, ready to seize the opportunity of a lifetime. Others moved more tentatively, their eyes wide with awe as they took in the station’s grandeur. Still others were particularly anxious, and it was glaringly obvious that they weren’t familiar with Ukiyo or even floating cities in general.

Luckily, NPC automatons dressed as concierges—sleek black uniforms with polished brass buttons and gentle, synthesized voices—glided forward to greet the arrivals. Their elegant uniforms gave them the appearance of train attendants from an era long past, though their glowing visors hinted at their modern design.

“Welcome to Wonderton, sir,” one of them said with a bow, extending an arm to help a particularly clueless contestant. “Pleased to be at your service.”

From the crowd, a young man with sun-kissed curls and a blindingly bright smile stepped onto the platform, pausing to take it all in. “Now this is what I call a grand production,” he said, spreading his arms as if embracing the entire scene.

As he sauntered forward, he caught the attention of an NPC concierge. “Welcome, sir,” the automaton said, bowing politely as he did to all disembarking passengers.

“Thank you, my good…bot?” The lively young man replied with a wink, his voice warm and easy. “You’re doing a fantastic job keeping things so smooth. Must be a lot of pressure.”

The NPC hesitated, processing the compliment, then replied, “We aim to please, sir.”

A small group of contestants nearby exchanged looks, their reactions ranging from amused grins to subtle eye-rolls.

“Who does he think he is, the host already?” one of them muttered.

The young man turned, catching the comment with a disarming laugh. “Hey, it’s called making a good impression. You should try it!” He gave one last grin to the hummingbird drones that hovered near him, ensuring that the moment was captured perfectly before moving on.

A tall figure too thin for his frame emerged from the train car next over, carrying an expensive cello case slung over one shoulder. He moved with a quiet grace, his pale features framed by black hair that fell into his dark gray eyes. There was a perpetual air of melancholy that clung to him and unlike the others, he avoided the crowd, keeping his gaze low as though the spectacle around him was too overwhelming.

An NPC concierge approached, bowing deeply. “Welcome, sir.”

He nodded politely, murmuring a soft, “Thank you,” before continuing forward. His fingers tightened slightly on the strap of his cello case as he moved past, his steps measured and deliberate.

“He’s got an air about him, doesn’t he Jasper?” one contestant whispered to another.

The blonde haired, green eyed boy standing next to him looked over. “Yeah, like he’s some kind of tragic poet,” he snorted.

Another boy in their group rolled his eyes and muttered, “Those drones aren’t actually hummingbirds, y’know?”

A little ways off, another figure stepped out with a case strapped to his back as well, but this time for a guitar, the worn leather telling a story of countless performances. His stride was casual with hands stuffed into his jeans pockets. His shoulder length glossy dark blonde hair was slightly tousled from the train ride, and soulful lavender eyes darted around, drinking in every detail of the station.

“Wow,” he murmured under his breath, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. His voice was barely audible over the bustle of the platform. He turned in a slow circle, taking in every detail—the holographic sky, the intricate carvings on the station pillars, the sea of contestants around him.

A fellow contestant bumped into him, muttering a half-hearted apology before hurrying away. But he didn’t seem to mind. He was too engrossed in the moment, an amazed gleam in those captivating eyes.

“This is insane,” he said to no one in particular.

From a door towards the back of the train, Mi Sha finally appeared, having waited until the train was less crowded to make his way out.

The platform suddenly seemed to quiet as he stepped off the train, his presence commanding attention without effort. Clad in a soft knit oversized sweater in black, dark-wash jeans that hung loose on narrow hips, and gladiator sandals that trace the elegant lines of his ankles and long, sinewy feet, he moved with an elegance that felt almost like a feline prowl. Black hair caught the light like polished obsidian against pale, almost translucent skin. Equally black eyes, dark yet glittering as the starry night sky, flickered with a stubborn brilliance that refuses defeat.

The only color to stand out starkly against his otherwise monochromatic appearance were defined lips perpetually stained deep red as if kissed by pomegranate seeds. This harsh interplay of saturated colors and his finely sculpted features created a picture of one particularly striking youth—both painfully piercing and hauntingly beautiful, like a blade forged from glass.

He nodded but did not otherwise engage the NPC concierge who welcomed him in conversation, nor did he react to the whispers that followed him.

He didn’t even glance at the hummingbirds that darted about overhead. Instead, his gaze remained distant, as though he was lost in his thoughts.

“Who’s that?” one contestant asked in a hushed tone.

“No idea, but he looks like he stepped out of a magazine, with those airbrushed models and AI idols,” another replied.

Mi Sha’s Rubik’s cube clicked rhythmically in his hand as he walked, the motion more absentminded and habitual than deliberate, the shifting patterns of cosmic colors reflecting the light. 

It was at this time a tall, gangly young man with russet hair that seemed to have a mind of its own stepped onto the platform as well. Freckles danced across his face, and he carried himself with an endearing awkwardness that made him stand out in an entirely different way.

But as he stepped onto the platform, he immediately stumbled over the threshold, nearly toppling into a luggage trolley pushed by an NPC concierge.

“Oh! Sorry—sorry!” He stammered, flailing his arms to steady himself. The trolley, stacked precariously with suitcases, wobbled but thankfully didn’t topple.

The NPC tilted his head. “No harm done, sir. Welcome to Wonderton.”

Before he could respond, a soft, low voice sounded behind him. “Careful, now. You don’t want to crush someone’s dreams before the competition even starts.”

The clumsy young man turned to see a striking figure with sharply defined but delicate features walking past him, the faintest trace of amusement playing on those pomegranate kissed lips. He blinked, unsure if he’d just been teased or gently admonished. Either way, a flush suffused his high cheekbones, causing the smattering of freckles across his nose to stand out.

“Who was that?” He muttered to himself, his cheeks feeling too warm even for the heated atmosphere in the station.

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As the contestants continued to filter through the station, the NPC concierges began to guide them towards the exit and to the wider world of Wonderton, their synthetic voices blending seamlessly with the hum of conversation.

Above them, the holographic sky shimmered, a comet streaking across the expanse. Perhaps heralding a dazzling new future ahead.

AN: What do you guys think of this introduction to the world and its main cast? Is it more smooth and natural?

Hope Hall, resplendent in its gloomy grandeur, perched high in the craggy peaks of Ukiyo’s Ghostly Howl District.

Despite its name, the sprawling estate emanated a menacing charm, with its turrets and arches jutting out like skeletal fingers toward an ominous sky perpetually shrouded in a heavy mist. Fitting, as the rest of the district was as hauntingly gothic as its name suggested.

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Outside, the storm raged. Forks of lightning streaked across the sky, briefly illuminating the tall, leaded windows of the villa’s great hall. The sound of rain pattering against the glass was a constant rhythm, muffled and eerie, as if it came from the other side of the divide separating the world of the living and the dead. 

Inside the villa, the near-complete darkness made it no less gloomy than the world outside its walls. But for the faint, flickering glow of countless holographic screens that floated in midair and illuminated the cavernous yet intimate setting within. These displays projected vibrant images of the floating city of Ukiyo and the five shimmering districts that currently made up this hub of entertainment. Interspersed among them were news feeds from Ukiyo’s ten other neighboring floating cities, suspended like celestial islands over the barren earth below.

At the center of this dimly lit cross between a great hall, theater room and a stately study, seated on an aged leather Chesterfield loveseat, was a solitary figure. 

The man—or boy, for his age seemed as inscrutable as his demeanor—sat at ease, draped in a black knit hoodie pulled low over his head. Pointed ears like that of a cat’s protruded from the top of the hood, a whimsical detail that seemed somehow not out of place in the ominous atmosphere of the old villa. His legs, clad in black silk pajama pants, were crossed casually, exuding a detached elegance.

The light from the holographic screens carved shadows across his pale face, but it did little to throw it in into relief but for his most striking features: a razor-sharp jawline, skin as pale as the moon, and pomegranate stained red lips that formed its faint, habitual pout. He was still, save for the subtle motion of his fingers tapping on the armrest of the loveseat—a rhythmic beat, like a conductor signaling the tempo of an unseen orchestra. And indeed, faint classical music could be heard playing from somewhere in the villa, combining with the muffled pattering of rain to create a unique symphony.

Looking almost out of place in the univiting surroundings was a table standing before him, ornate and low, bearing a three-tiered cake stand laden with colorful confections. Next to it was a porcelain tea set, steam rising languidly from the spout of the teapot. The faint sweetness wafting from this delicate, almost childlike spread was practically lost to the musty, storm laden air thick with the scent of polished mahogany and aged leather.

Likewise, standing a respectful distance to his right, Rabbit, Mi Sha’s automaton assistant, provided a stark contrast to her cold and contemplative master. With long blonde hair tied back in a pale blue bow and a matching lacy skirt that swayed gently as she moved, Rabbit was the embodiment of sweetness. Her soft, mechanical voice carried a cheerfulness that seemed almost misplaced amidst the foreboding ambience of the villa.

Her mechanical joints also moved with fluid grace as if no different from a flesh and blood human, though her glowing sapphire eyes often stared ahead unblinkingly which gave the illusion away. White mechanical rabbit ears protruded from her head, twitching faintly as if to punctuate her words. In her delicate hands, she held a crystal holocom tablet, which projected a hologram of the conference call with the Starbound Express production team.

The tablet glowed with the image of a brightly lit conference room where the production team bustled about, their faces a mixture of excitement, curiosity, and thinly veiled anxiety. The contrast between their vibrant space and the shadowy villa was almost jarring.

“Good evening, everyone!” Rabbit chirped, her voice lilting. “The Director is ready to hear your report. Please proceed.”

The team sat straighter, adjusting their headsets and data tablets, their faces lit with excitement—and a touch of apprehension. At the head of the table was the leader of the production team, a man with graying temples and a warm yet frazzled demeanor. He pushed up his glasses and addressed the screen, his voice caught somewhere between respect and trepidation. 

“Good evening, Sir,” the team leader began, his voice steady but tinged with a tremor. “Thank you for taking the time to join us. We’ve finalized the contestant roster for Starbound Express: Season 3 as per your guidelines.”

He pulled up a holographic file that expanded into a list of names and images. “As last season was for female idols, this season will return to training male idols. The participants are all young men with exceptional talent and unique backstories.”

The screen expanded to reveal headshots and biographical snippets, faces frozen mid-smile or mid-pose. Rabbit nodded, causing the blue bow and long ears on her blonde head to bounce. Delicate hands also clapped excitedly. In contrast, her master still did not move, his eyes—hidden beneath the hood—fixed on the screen.

“Two hundred participants,” the team leader continued. “We believe we’ve curated a group diverse and talented enough to meet the rigorous standards of Starbound Express. Of course…” His voice faltered briefly, “…your participation, Sir, as one of the 200 contestants, will undoubtedly cause a stir if it is made known.”

A ripple of murmurs passed through the room, barely audible but unmistakably laced with curiosity. The staff whispered to each other about what it might mean to have Director Loveless—the enigmatic founder of Ukiyo—compete alongside the very idols whose fate he had personally overseen for years.

Rabbit’s rabbit ears twitched, and she giggled softly, a sound like the chime of a silver bell. “Oh, Director Loveless will certainly cause a stir,” she said, tilting her head with an air of playfulness. “He’s quite looking forward to it, you know! Isn’t that right, Director?”

The young man remained silent, lounging on the loveseat with one arm draped lazily over the backrest. His pomegranate red lips barely twitched, but his hand moved for the first time. Slender fingers reached out, picking up the peculiar Rubik’s cube that had been resting casually on the seat beside him. Its surface shimmered with a surreal quality, each square reflecting not colors but constellations, galaxies, and the shifting cosmos.

“Of course,” Rabbit continued, her tone effortlessly filling the silence. “The Director prefers actions over words, as you all know. But he did say something quite poetic about it earlier! Let me think… Ah, yes: ‘Even shadows will one day yearn for the light.’ Isn’t that lovely?”

The team leader forced a smile, his brow glistening faintly with perspiration. “Yes, lovely indeed. Still, if I may, Sir…” He hesitated, then plunged forward. “Your decision to compete has sparked… considerable speculation among the staff. With respect, some of us wonder if this is to test the format? Or to express… dissatisfaction with us?”

Rabbit’s sapphire-like eyes blinked once, then sparkled with mirth. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know!” she teased, clasping her hands behind her back. “But the Director doesn’t reveal his motives so easily. We wouldn’t want to ruin the plot by giving spoilers!”

After another round of confused exchanging of looks, the team leader ventured cautiously one last time, “Sir, forgive my boldness, but… are you certain about your decision to participate?” His words were chosen with the delicacy of someone approaching a dangerous precipice. “Even if it’s under an alias—”

It was understandable. After all, Director B.E. Loveless had always eschewed the limelight even as his name and deeds resounded across the world and all its 11 floating cities. This would be the first time he would be stepping out into the public gaze—something which he never did even when directing his many brainchilds, preferring to interact with the production teams and cast like he did now with Starbound Express‘s staff. Remotely and complete with an automaton assistant who did the talking as if he was too lazy to even deign granting the ordinary peons his true presence and voice.

As he turned the cube in his hands, the young man finally looked up, but not at the hologram of the conference call but at a small picture frame facing his way on the table. Within it was an old photograph of a boy in a school uniform. The image was faded, the boy’s face obscured by shadows. But one detail was clear: the name tag stitched onto the uniform. Mi Sha.

The tension broke as the faintest hint of a smile tugged at Mi Sha’s pomegranate red lips. “Yes,” he said, his voice low and smooth, yet measured, deliberate, and carried an undeniable weight that subdued any more questioning from his subordinates.

Rabbit beamed, her rabbit ears perking up. “There you have it!” she said brightly, as if Mi Sha had just delivered a rousing speech. “Now, shall we move on? The Director has a busy evening ahead—very stormy tonight, you know!”

When the holographic feed cut off, Hope Hall fell back into near silence but for the faint melodic strains of a cello. Mi Sha leaned into the loveseat, his fingers twisting the shimmering Rubik’s cube with idle precision. Rabbit returned to his side, her mechanical limbs moving gracefully as she set the holocom tablet on the table.

“Such an excitable group,” she mused, her tone light but thoughtful. “Do you think they’re ready for what’s coming, Director?”

The Rubik’s cube continued turning in his hand, reflecting cosmic patterns onto the walls and his own inscrutable face. His gaze drifted lazily back to the smaller holographic displays showing the evening news. The Kornukopias family saga dominated the headlines, with images of Pureland’s gold-and-diamonds decadence and its bitter heirs vying for power.

He seemed to both answer and not answer Rabbit’s question, his lips curling slightly as the Rubik’s cube clicked on untiringly. “No,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But they’ll learn.”

It was unclear who he was referring to but what was apparent was that everything was going as planned. Plans years in the making finally falling into place.

“…In breaking news tonight, the patriarch of the Kornukopias family, Primo Kornukopias, has passed away after a week-long struggle with sustained injuries. Sources confirm his death has sparked a fierce succession dispute among his heirs. Control of Pureland, the notorious hub of decadence, now hangs in the balance.”

Images of Pureland filled the screen: chandelier lit casinos, luxurious but secretive clubs, and hedonistic parties that never seemed to end. The anchor continued, recounting the sordid tales of the Kornukopias heirs, each vying for their grandfather or father’s coveted Key to Heaven, an artifact that granted its holder control over the city. An image of Pureland’s Key to Heaven, a highly publicized golden wine goblet was shown resting on a jewel entrusted pedestal.

Mi Sha watched in silence, his expression unchanging. But as PR pictures of the heirs flashed by—figures clad in opulent attire, their faces masks of arrogance and greed—a cold snort resounded softly in the otherwise quiet room.

The Rubik’s cube in his hand clicked sharply, the motion coming faster and faster, more deliberate now. His pale fingers blurred as they twisted the object, constellations shifting and aligning in patterns too complex to comprehend.

As the news report ended, replaced by an image of Pureland’s shimmering skyline, Mi Sha set the Rubik’s cube down with a final decisive click. His gaze lingered on the image for a moment longer before he rose from the loveseat, his movements graceful and almost feline.

The storm outside intensified, lightning illuminating the room in brief, blinding flashes. Mi Sha walked to one of the tall windows, his silhouette framed against the tempest.

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“Like snakes feeding on snakes,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the thunder. Whether it was contempt, amusement, or something darker, it was impossible to say.

Behind him, Rabbit tilted her head, her synthetic smile unwavering.

AN: The first chapter is so important, at least for me, not being satisfied with it really kills the momentum before it even started. Doesn’t matter if you’ve got the rest of the story outlined and each chapter planned. It just puts a stopper on things in a way advice like “just keep writing” doesn’t help. At all.

Though it’s the third time I am reposting this, it was actually rewritten at least 5 times before I am finally (hopefully) satisfied with this version. Now I can really get this story moving. Apologies to all of my confused readers. Please bear with this author and her perfectionist ways. Thank you 🖤✨️