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Chapter Text

[MACAQUE'S APARTAMENT — NIGHT] 

It was deep into the night. The city was quiet, blanketed by moonlight and the faint buzz of distant neon signs. For most this peace was comforting—but not for Macaque.

The shadows of the past still lingered.

He stood in the middle of his small, dimly lit apartament. The curtains were drawn, but silvers of light crept in through the edges. His apartament was plain—almost bare—like someone who had never really planned on staying long. A couch sat by the wall, a dusty desk by the window, and a few scattered personal items here and there. But it all fell temporary. Hollow. 

Macaque sighed. 

He didn't say a word, but the way his shoulders drooped told the whole story. The war was over. The Lady Bone Demon was defeated. The world had moved on. 

But he hadn't. 

The hold she had over him may have broken the moment she was gone, but the scars, the memories, the weight of it all—they didn't disappear with her. He was free now. Free to go. Free to leave it all behind. 

He lifted a hand and, with a whisper of shadow magic, summoned a swrling dark portal in front of him. It flickered faintly in the room, casting strange, dancing shadows on the wall. 

He stared at it. 

But then—

Click. 

The soft sound of the apartament door unloked echoed through the stillness. Macaque didn't turn. He didn't have to. He already knew who it was. 

A familiar voice called out, slightly breathless. 

"Macaque?"

Macaque shuts his eyes for a moment. Then slowly turned around. 

There, standing in the doorway, was MK. His hoddie was half-zipped, his hair messy like he'd run the whole way there. His chest rose and fell as he cought his breath, his eyes locking onto the portal and then Macaque. 

A silence passed.

MK's voice cracked just a little as he spoke. "Are you really going to leave?" 

Macaque didn't lie. 

He sighed and nodded. 

"Yes. Like we talked that night."

[FLASHBACK—A FEW NIGHTS AGO]

The city was still recovering from the chaos of the finall battle. The Lady Bone Demon was gone—finally, truly gone. But the scars she left behind still ran deep. 

Macaque sat on the edge of a rooftop, legs dangling off the side. The moon hung low and heavy behind him. He looked older in the pale light—tired. Not just physically. Soul-tired. 

He didn't notice MK at first, but the kid had been searching for him ever since the fight ended. 

"There you are," MK called softly as he climbed up behind him. "Been looking for you." 

Macaque gave a low grunt, not turning. 

"Didn't ask to be found, kid." 

MK walked over anyway and sat beside him. 

They both looked out over the city, quiet for a while. The lights twinkled below. Sirens murmured in the distance. Life was moving on. 

"You okay?" MK finally asked. 

Macaque exhaled slowly. 

"I will be. Eventually." 

Another pause. Then, without ceremony, he said it:

"I'm leaving." 

Mk blinked. "What?" 

"I'm leaving the city," Macaque repeated, his tone flat. "For good. No goodbyes. No announcements. Just... gone." 

"Why?" MK asked, confused. "We won. She's gone. You're free now." 

Macaque finally looked at him. 

"Exactly. I'm free. And I don't want to spend that freedom in a place haunted by her memory. Everything here reminds me of what I did... of what I let her do to me."

MK was quiet, absorbing that. "So you're just gonna disappear?" 

Macaque shrugged. "It's what I'm good at." 

"Macaque..." MK's voice softened. "You don't have to go. You could stay. Things are different now. You helped us. You save people." 

"Dosen't erase what come before." 

"No, but it's a start." 

There was a long silence between them. MK looked at him with something close to hope. 

"Will you at least... think about staying?"

Macaque glanced sideways at him. MK was trying so hard to be strong, to sound casual— but his voice gave him away. 

The older monkey sighed. 

"... I'Il think about it." 

MK smiled faintly. "Good." 

[END OF FLASHBACK]

MK took a hesitant step forward. 

"I thought maybe.. you'd change your mind." 

Macaque shook his head slowly. 

"No. MK, I'm done with this place. The fights. The memories. Everything." 

His voice lowered. "There's nothing left for me here. If you try to stop me, you can try... but it won't change anything." 

MK stayed quiet for a moment. 

Then, softly—

"Then take me with you." 

The shadows flickered at that. 

Macaque blinked, cought off guard. "What?" 

MK repeated himself, more firmly this time. "Take me with you, I want to go." 

Macaque stared at him like he'd grown two heads. 

"Kid, no. What are you even talking about? You've got people here—your friends, your life. You're the Monkey Kid." 

MK looked away, voice low. "It dosen't feel like a life anymore."

Macaque paused. 

MK hands were clenched at his sides. His voice shook. 

"Sometimes I still see her. In dreams. In reflections. The way she looked at me, the things she said... it dosen't go away just because she's gone." 

He sniffed but didn't cry. "And when I walk around the city. I see all the places where everything happened. Where people were hurt. Where I—where we almost lost." 

Macaque said nothing, MK went on. 

"I try to be happy. I smile. I laugh. But it's like this weight is always there. And nobody really talk about it. Not really. They just want to move on like it's all fine." 

Another silence. 

The MK looked up at him, eyes wide and glassy. "So if you're leaving... I want to leave too."

Macaque rubbed the back of his neck. 

"MK, listen... it's not going to be easy. I don't know were I'm even going. I've got nothing. No plan. No destination."

He started listing off reasons:

"It could be dangerous. You'd be away from your friends. From the city. And I'm not exactly the best company for a kid like you." 

MK just stared at him. 

And he gave him that look. That puppy-dog, big-eyed, heart-squeezing look. 

Macaque groaned. 

"Ugh. Fine. You can come." 

MK's entire face lit up. He made a happy life sound, bouncing in place, fists clenched in excitement. 

"YES! I'm going on a shadow trip with a grumpy monkey!" 

He did a little dance in place. 

Macaque chuckled, amused despite himself. 

"You're such a weirdo."

"And you're stuck with me now." 

They both chuckled. 

Then Macaque raised an eyebrow. "What about the others? What are we telling them?" 

MK paused, thinking. 

"We could leave a letter. Something simple and honest. Say we couldn't be in the city anymore. That it's... depressing. Full of bad memories."

Macaque sighed and nodded. 

"Alright, kiddo. Give me a sec to find some paper and a pen."

Cue chaoting rustling as Macaque searched random drawers, behind furniture, and even under the kitchen sink. He summoned a pen out of the shadows... only to pull out a sock. 

"How does a sock get into the shadows?" he muttered. 

Eventually, he found a crumpled notepad and a barely-working pen. 

"Got it. Alright. You wanna start?" 

MK shook his head. "You go first." 

Macaque sat at the desk and starter writing. 

When he finished, he handed the paper to MK. MK read it over. 

"I'm done. I've left the city for good. Don't come looking. MK's with me. He chose this. Respect that. Maybe we'Il be back someday. But right now we need space to breathe."

—Macaque

MK read it and gave a small nod. 

"Not exactly poetic, but... it's honest." 

He added his own below:

"Hey guys. Sorry I left like this. I just... couldn't stay. Everything here reminds me of what happened. Of her. Of what we went through. I need to find peace. And Macaque? He understands. He gets it. I'll be okay. I promise. I love you all."  — MK ❤️

He added a doodle of himself waving and placed the letter on the desk.

Macaque turned to him. "Alright, where to, kid?"

Mk blinked. "Wait... you're asking me?" 

"You're the one who wanted to tag along. Your call." 

MK thought for a moment, then his eyes lit up. "How about... New York?" 

Macaque raised an eyebrow. "Big City. Loud. Weird. Yeah, sounds like fun." 

Macaque opened a new shadow portal. 

"Yougest first." 

MK smirks. "Age before beauty, old man." he leapt in with a laugh. 

Macaque chuckled, then followed him through. 

The portal closed behind them. 

Silence returned to the room. 

On the desk, their letter sat alone. 

The only proof they'd even been there.

[PIGSY'S NOODLE SHOP — MORNING] 

The morning light broken over the city, golden and warm, cutting through the remnants of a sleepless night. The streets of Megapolis stirred awake—buses hissed, early risers shuffled by, and neon signs flickered dimly in the daylight. It was a peaceful morning. But not for Mei. 

She stepped off her bike just outside Pigsy's Noodle Shop, helmet under her arm, her green-tinted goggles glinting in the light. With a grin, she pushed open the door. 

The Bell chimed. 

"Morning, Pigsy!" she called as she stepped inside. "Have you seen MK? I was gonna drag him into some morning fun—maybe a race or coffe or both!" 

Pigsy, standing behind the counter in his usual apron and hat, looked up with a frown. 

"MK? Kid hasn't shown up this morning." 

Mei blinked. "Huh? But wasn't he on delivery duty?" 

Pigsy scratched the back of his head, clearly concerned now. 

"He was supposed to deliver a round of noodles hours ago. He never picked them." 

That wiped the grin of Mei's face. 

"Wait—he didn't show up? Like, at all?" 

"Not even a text," Pigsy said, tapping his phone. "And you know him. He always leaves a message if he's late. Something's off." 

Mei crossed her arms and furrowed her brows, her tone shifting. 

"Yeah... that's not like him." 

She pulled out her phone. 

"Don't worry, Pigsy. I'Il find him." 

And with that, she was out the door.

Mei ran through the city streets, calling MK's name now and then, checking every usual spot—his favorite rooftop, the alley behind Pigsy's, the arcade they both loved.

Nothing.

No MK. No sign of him. 

She reached a bench and stopped to catch her breath. Her fingers flew over her phone screen as she pulled up his contact and hit call. 

Ring... Ring... Ring...

 Voicemail.

 "Come on, MK, pick up..." she muttered, redialing. 

Voicemail again. 

"Dammit," she hissed under her breath. 

She hesitated a second—then opened her contacts and dialed someone else. 

The line clicked after a few rings. 

"Morning, Mei." Wukong's cheerful voice greeted her. 

"Is MK with you?" Mei cut in quickly. 

"Huh? No, why—wait, what's going on?" 

"He wasn't at the shop this morning. Pigsy said he missed his delivery run. I've been looking for him, and I can't find him anywhere. He's not answering his phone either." 

A pause. 

"So you're telling me that MK's... missing?" 

Wukong said slowly, his voice darkening. 

Mei tightened her grip on the phone. 

"Looks like it." 

There was silence on the line for a moment. 

Then, something sparked in her memory—something about how werid Macaque had been acting recently. The way MK looked a little off the other day. A gut feeling. 

"I'Il call you back." she said suddenly. 

"Wait, Mei—" 

But she ended the call and turned sharply, taking off into a sprint.

[MACAQUE'S APARTAMENT — DAY] 

She arrived at Macaque's building a few minutes later , heart pounding, breath shallow. The place had always feel a little eerye, but today? Today if felt cold. 

Wrong. 

She didn't knock. She burst through the door. 

"MK? Macaque?" she called. Nothing. Only silence. 

The apartament was dimly lit, curtains pulled. It looked... abandoned. Like someone had packed up and left in a hurry. Dust motes floated in the still air. The couch cushinos were crooked. The sink ripped quietly. 

A chill ran up her spine. 

"Guys?!" 

Still nothing. 

Mei stepped further in. Her boots made soft thuds on the wooden floor. She scanned the room carefully—nothing seemed obviously out of place, but it fell off. 

Then her eyes landed on the desk. 

A single piece of paper sat neatly on top, as if waiting to be found. 

Her stomach dropped. 

She moved to it and picked it up slowly. 

Her eyes skimmed the words. Her face went pale. 

Her hands shook. 

"... They did what?" she whispered, breath catching in her throat. 

Then she turned and bolted out of the apartament.

 Back outside, Mei yanked her phone from her pocked and opened the group chat. Her fingers flew across the screen. 

Mei:Everyone. Met at Pigsy's. Now. Emergency. 

The group chat exploded instantly. 

Wukong:🐵❓🏃🌫️ 🍜❗

(Translation: Mokey? Where?Running fast! Noddles! Urgent!) 

Pigsy: Did you find MK? 

Red Son: What is going on?? 

Tang: Are we under attack again?! 

Sandy: Is MK okay?! 

Mei stared at the flood of messages and took a deep breath. She typed one finall message:

Mei: Tell you when we're all at Pigsy. Just get there. Fast. 

[BACK AT THE NOODLE SHOP] 

The bell above the door gave a sharp jingle as Mei burst back into Pigsy's Noodle Shop, slightly out of breath from running. The moment she stepped inside, she was meet with a room of worryed, tense faces. Everyone she had called was already there. 

Pigsy stood behind the counter, nervously twisting a rag in his hands. Sandy sat at the far booth, arms crossed tightly. Tang hovered close to him, fidgeting. Red Son leaned against the wall, his arms folded and a restless flicker of flame dancing at the tips of his hair. And Wukong... Wukong stood by the window, tail swishing, eyes fixed outside with quiet agitation, the golden fur around his knuckles tense from how hard he was clenching his fists. 

As Mei stepped further into the shop, the silence in the room was almost suffocating—until Pigsy broke it. 

"Did you find MK?" he asked quickly, voice heavy with concern. "What happened?" 

Mei hesitated, her lips pressing into a line. "I didn't find him," she said carefuly. "but... I know where he went." 

Everyone perked up. 

"He left," Mei continued. "With Macaque." 

The reactions hit all at once—brows furrowed, eyes widened, mouths half-open in stunned confusion. 

Red Son blinked. "Left? What do you mean? Like... left on vacantion?" 

"No," Mei said, shaking her head. "They left the city. As in—they're not coming back." 

"What?!" Tang blurted out. "Why would they do that?!" 

Wukong scoffed from his spot by the window, turning around with narrowed eyes. "Of course. I knew Macaque would do something like this. He's always been a bad influience on the kid." 

Mei turned to him, her voice steady. "No, Wukong. MK left willingly. Macaque didn't drag him away. He made the decision himself."

Wukong looked skeptical. 

"To prove it," Mei said, reacting into her pocked, "read this." she pulled out the folded note she had found in Macaque's apartament and handed it to him. 

Wukong frowned at the paper, squiting at it like it might bite him. "You know I can't read, right?" 

Red Son let out a dramatic groan and marched over, snaching the note from his hand. "Give it here. Honestly..." 

He unfolded the letter, cleared his throat, and began to read it out loud. 

As his voice echoed through the shop, the others fell silent. 

There was a weight in the words Red Son spoke—something raw and vulnerable. Mei watched the group closely as the minutes passed. The room seemed to sink lower with each line. Wukong's ears dropped slightly. Sandy looked down at the table, his massive hands gripping the edge. Pigsy had stopped wringing the towel. Tang's brows kint together tightly, jaw clenched. 

After several minutes, Red Son finished the letter and lowered the paper. His voice had dropped to almost a whisper.

"... Shit." he muttered. 

Pigsy sighed deeply and sat down on the stool behind the counter, looking more tired than usual. "Kid never mentioned anything like this to us."

Mei nodded solemnly."Probably becouse he didn't want us to worry. Or try to stop him." 

Wukong took a step forward, tail twitching. "We need to find MK." 

"And Macaque," Mei added without hesitation. 

Wukong groaned under his breath, rubbing the side of his face. "And that idiot too." he muttered, clearly trying not to say something worse. 

The tension in his voice was obivous—but he didn't argue. Whatever his feelings toward Macaque, he wasn't going to let then get in the way of helping MK. Not now. 

Sandy finally spoke, his voice low and unsure. "But... we don't know where they are. They could be anywhere." 

Wukong nodded with a frustated growl. "Big Blue's right. Knowing Macaque, he used on of his shadow portals. They could be halfway across the planet. Or another realm."

"Then we start searching." Mei said, her voice strong and certrain now. "We make a plan. We don't stop until we find them. MK is our friend—our family. And we don't leave family behind." 

Everyone looked at her. Red Son nodded slowly. Pygsy gave a small grunt of agreement. Sandy smiled faintly. 

Wukong sighed, then crossed his arms. "Alright. Fine. Let's figure something out. But I'm warning you—if I see Macaque, he better not give me a reason to punch him." 

"No one's punching anyone," Mei said with a look. "This is about MK." 

"Exactly,"Wukong muttered, looking away. "Only reason I'm not already chasing him through a portal." 

Outside, the city buzzed on, unaware that its two most unlikely companions had vanished into the unknown—leaving behind a letter, a mystery... and a group of friends now determined to bring then home.

[NEW YORK CITY — CENTRAL PARK — AFTERNOON] 

The golden afternoon sunlight bathed Central Park in a warm glow, casting soft shadows over the walkways as the sound of traffic, birds, and city chatter blended into a simphony of urban life. People lounges on benches, jagged along widing trails, and kids played nearby, laughter echoing through the air. In the middle of it all, sitting on the edge of a fountain, were two unusual figures—though they looked like just another odd pair to New Yorkes used to strange sights. 

MK grinned happy, swinging his legs over the side of the fountain as he licked at a double-scoop ice cream cone—half strawberry, half cookie dough. Beside him, Macaque sat in his usual dark cloak and ragged scarf, nibbling slowly at a modest chcolate cone, his golden eyes half-liddled with amusement and exhaustion. 

MK glanced sideways, eyeing the older monkey with mild suspicion.

"You know," MK said, tapping his chin with his cone. "I think you need new clothes." 

Macaque pause mid-lick. "What's wrong with the ones I wear?" 

MK gave him a look. "Uh, literally everything? You wear the same outfit every single day. Like—every day. When was the last time you even changed your clothes?" 

Macaque frowned slightly, looking down at his attire. He picked at the edge of his tattered sleeve, shrugged, and muttered." I... honestly don't remember. "

MK threw his arms up." Exactly! That's it— we're going shopping. "

Macaque scoffed, raising a brow. "Shopping? With what money, MK? Do I look like someone who carries a wallet? And wait a second—how did you pay for the ice cream?" 

MK gave him a mischevous grin, holding up a black and golden credit card. "Monkey King's card." 

Macaque blinked. "You stole his card?!" 

"No!" MK said quickly, shaking his head. "He gabe it to me! Okay—well, not directly. He had one made for himself, but he never figure out how to use it. Literally. Couldn't remember the PIN, didn't understand interes rates—he got frustrated and just tossed it at me one day like, 'MK, take this, I'm to divine to deal with capitalism.' So technically... it' s mine now."

Macaque stared at him for a moment, unimpressed. "... You're gonna get us arrested."

MK snorted. "Please, this is New York. We're not even in the top ten weridest people in this park right now."

He stood up, dusting off his hoodie, and offered Macaque a hand. "Come on! You seriusly need some new threads. Something not, you know... dark, dramatic, brooding? You're not under LBD's control anymore. You're free. Time for a new look!" 

Macaque frowned, not moving. "I don't need new clothes." 

MK crossed his arms. "You sure do. I'm not walking around the Big Apple with a walking haunted house." 

"That's rich coming from a Guy who still wears hoodies from five years ago." 

"Hey, they're cozy!" MK huffed, then grabed Macaque's hand without warning. "To bad! You're coming with me whether you like it or not." 

"Wait—wait, Mk—!" Macaque started, but it was to late. MK had already started dragging him off the fountain ledge, leading him toward the nearest street lined with boutique shops, departament stores, and small local clothing outlets. 

Pedestrians gave them brief glances—some amused, some confused—but MK was on a mission, determine to find the perfect new look for the former Shadow Demon. 

Macaque groaned, still holding his half-eaten cone. "At least let me finish my ice cream first—!" 

"No time!" MK called back with a cheeky grin. "The fate of your wardrobe is at stake!" 

As they disappeared down the bustilng sidewalk, the tops of skyscrapes where gleaming in the golden sunlight, a soft breeze rustling the trees. It was a new day in a new city—and for the first time in a long while, laughter followed Macaque wherever he went.

[END] 

Chapter Text

[MACAQUE'S APARTAMENT — DAY] 

Two days had passed since the sudden and unnerving disappearance of Macaque and Mk. The city felt quieter, heavier—like the calm before a storm. Though the sun poured golden light through the windows of Macaque's apartament, it didn't warm the cold air that lingered between Mei and Wukong as they stood just beyond the front door.

Wukong scratched the back of his neck and looked around the apartament with a skeptical expression, his tail flicking with faint irritation. "What are we doing here again?" he asked, his tone clipped, as if this whole venture seemed pointless to him. 

Mei stood near the kitchen, already scanning the room with a determine gleam in her eye. "We're searching for clues," she said, walking toward the countertop. "We need to find anything—anything—that could lead us to where those two went. They didn't just vanish into thin air."

Wukong muttered something under his breath as Mei moved deeper into the kitchen. She pulled open drowers one by one—some held old utensils, a few napkins, a very dusty pack of teabags. Nothing useful. Her eyes fell on a small cupboard above the sink. She opened it casually, but what she found made her pause. 

A single book. 

Her brows furrowed as she reached up and carefully pulled it down. "Alice in Wanderland?" she murmured aloud, confused. 

Meanwhile, Wukong prowled the living room half-heartedly. He picked up a half-burned incense stick, a cracked decorative bowl, and some loose change. Nothing important. With a huff of frustation, he dropped onto the couch—only to wince when something poked him sharply in the back. "Ow—what the...?" 

He stood up again, brushing himself off and scowling at the cushinos. "Alright, What's hiding in here?" 

He yanked the pillow aside—nothing. Then he crouched down and looked beneath the couch. His long tail curled in amusement as he reached underneath and pulled out... two metal spoons and a single bent fork. 

Footsteps approached. Mei stepped into the living room with the  book still in her hands. "Did you find anything useful?" 

Wukong stood up and held up the silverware like evidence at a crime scene. "Just two spoons and a fork under the couch," he said dryly. "What about you?" 

Mei raised the book. "All I found was this copy of Alice in Wanderland—in the kitchen. Inside a cupboard." 

Wukong gave the book a skeptical look. "Why would he put a book in a cupboard?"

Mei shrugged. “Why would he put two spoons and a fork under the couch?”

They stared at each other for a moment, the sheer absurdity of their finds sinking in.

“Well,” Wukong huffed. “We didn’t find anything useful. Can we leave now?”

“No,” Mei said firmly. “We still need to keep searching. We have to dig deeper.”

Wukong threw up his hands. “How? We’ve been looking, and look what we’ve found—a fairy tale and some utensils!”

Mei rolled her eyes and walked toward a wall near the hallway. She leaned against it with a sigh, exasperated.

Click. 

Her weight caused the wall to shift inward slightly. A subtle mechanical creak echoed through the apartment. Mei straightened and stepped back, eyes widening.

Part of the wall slowly slid open, revealing a narrow, shadowed corridor hidden behind it.

“Whoa,” Mei breathed. “Who would’ve known...?”

Wukong squinted at the passage and scoffed. “Of course. Macaque always tries to hide things. Goes so far as to build a secret passage in his apartment.”

“But why?” Mei asked, puzzled. “Why go to all this trouble?”

Wukong shrugged. “Maybe it’s our next clue.”

“Well, let’s find out.” Mei nodded and stepped forward. “Come on. Let’s see where this leads.”

Without another word, they slipped into the narrow corridor, the hidden wall quietly sliding shut behind them.

[MK'S ROOM] 

Elsewhere, in MK’s room at Pigsy’s place, Red Son moved quietly with the grace of someone very aware that he was being watched—even if only by memory. Pigsy had made it very clear before leaving the room: “You break one thing in there, and I will personally rearrange your jaw.”

So Red Son moved carefully, though his usual dramatic flair still colored his motions. He combed through MK’s things—an old Monkey Cop poster, a few K-pop albums, some school notebooks with doodles in the margins... and a single mismatched sock.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Dammit,” he muttered. “Nothing.”

He paused, squinting at the room like it was a puzzle.

“If I were MK... where would I hide something important?” he whispered aloud.

He dropped to the floor and lifted the bed skirt. Beneath the bed, half-buried under old wrappers and dust, was a leather-bound book.

He pulled it out. 

MK's old journal. 

Red Son turned it over in his hands, hesitating. “I shouldn’t read this...”

But curiosity—burning, insatiable curiosity—won out.

“Heh. Not my fault he left it behind,” he muttered, flipping it open.

The first page was a childish scrawl from when MK had been ten. Nothing useful. He flipped through pages of random thoughts, school notes, doodles. But then, somewhere in the pages dated when MK was twelve, something caught his eye.

“I wish someday that I could visit cities or go somewhere else... like New York or Mexico. That would be so cool.”

Red Son blinked. "Huh... interesing."

Back in the hidden corridor, Mei and Wukong walked in silence. The narrow stone hallway twisted and turned, the air growing cooler as they moved deeper underground.

“Finally,” Wukong grumbled as another door came into view ahead. “We’ve been walking for hours.”

“It’s been fifteen minutes,” Mei replied flatly.

“Still felt like hours.”

She sighed and stepped forward, hand resting on the aged handle. With a slow breath, she turned it and opened the door.

Beyond was a large, dust-choked chamber.

Macaque’s dojo.

“No way,” Mei groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me. He built a secret passage... to this place?”

Wukong walked inside, kicking up clouds of dust. “Figures. Classic Macaque. Always so dramatic.”

Mei sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Let’s just look around. Maybe there’s something useful here.”

“Sure,” Wukong muttered, brushing cobwebs off a shelf. “Let’s dig through this haunted dust museum.”

They searched in silence for several minutes. The dojo looked like it hadn’t been used in years. The floor creaked under their feet, shelves were mostly bare, and old training gear sat untouched in corners.

“This place hasn’t been cleaned in forever,” Mei remarked.

“Probably because he was too lazy,” Wukong said, dusting off a nearby scroll rack.

Mei knelt beside an old drawer and opened it slowly. Her fingers touched something solid—a box.

“Wukong,” she called, “I think I found something.”

He was at her side in seconds. “What is it?”

She handed him the box. He eyed it with suspicion, then slowly opened the lid.

Inside were neatly folded letters, sealed with black wax.

“Letters?” Mei asked, puzzled.

Wukong pulled one out and stared at the text—but after a few seconds, his ears twitched. “Tch. I can’t read this. Here.”

He passed it to Mei.

She unfolded the parchment—and gasped.

“They’re from... LBD,” she whispered. “From before we got rid of her.”

“What?!” Wukong snapped. “Why would she send Macaque letters? Why not just send him a cursed text or something?”

Mei shook her head, overwhelmed. “I don’t know... but this one talks about plans to get rid of us.”

Wukong snorted. “Figures.”

Mei looked through more of the letters. “And this one... says if he fails, she’ll make sure he stays dead.”

“She was really a psycho,” Wukong muttered.

Then he noticed an unopened letter tucked deeper in the box. “Hey, this one’s not opened.”

Mei took it, broke the seal, and unfolded the paper. Her eyes widened. “This was sent... one week before her death.”

Wukong leaned in. “What does it say?”

Mei read aloud, “‘If you really value your life, Macaque, you better do as I say and stick to the plan. It’s your choice whose side you’re really on, huh? I have all the strings on you, you little pawn. Be all ears because you need to put the plan in action.’”

She paused. “It also details the entire plan.”

Wukong was silent for a long moment.

“So if he never opened this...” Mei murmured. “Then her plan never succeeded.”

Wukong nodded grimly. “Looks like it.”

Suddenly, Mei’s phone rang, making both of them jump. She fished it out of her jacket pocket and looked at the screen.

Red Son.

She answered. “Hey, Red. Did you find anything?”

Red Son’s voice came through the speaker. “Well, I did find something. Could be a lead on where MK and Macaque went. What about you?”

“We found something else too,” Mei said. “But let’s not talk about this on the phone. Meet us at Flower Fruit Mountain.”

“Got it,” Red replied. “I’ll be there.”

Mei hung up and looked at Wukong. “We’re taking the letters. They might lead to something else.”

Wukong nodded. “Cloud or passage?”

“Your cloud is faster.”

Wukong summoned Nimbus with a snap. The cloud shimmered into existence beside him.

“Hop on,” he said.

Mei climbed up behind him. The cloud lifted into the sky, leaving the secrets of the dojo—and the dust—behind them.

They flew toward Flower Fruit Mountain, hearts heavier with questions, but now... with clues to follow.

[NEW YORK — RENTED APARTAMENT] 

Rain pattered softly against the foggy windows of a small, slightly crooked apartment on the third floor of a red brick building nestled somewhere between a bodega, a pawn shop, and a karaoke bar that had a suspiciously flickering neon sign. It wasn’t fancy. The wallpaper peeled in some corners, the radiator made strange sounds at night, and the stove could only be lit with a match. But it was theirs.

Well. MK’s. Technically. Macaque had made it very clear he thought using MK’s credit card to rent the place was a very bad idea.

But MK had shrugged, smiling faintly. “It’s not like they’re gonna track me down through a cheap rental, right?”

Macaque hadn’t smiled back.

Now, two days into their unofficial exile, the apartment smelled faintly of old radiator heat, detergent, and cheap soup. MK sat slouched on the sagging, secondhand couch, one leg tucked under him and a half-ripped blanket around his shoulders. He wore a loose grey T-shirt and soft grey sweatpants that had definitely seen better days. In his hand was the battered TV remote, and he kept clicking through channels with a dull, vacant stare.

Nothing good.

Infomercials. A reality show about ghost hunters. A cooking show in a language he didn’t understand. A rerun of Monkey Cop that made him wince and quickly switch again.

“Ugh,” he muttered, resting his head on the couch arm. “How are there this many channels and nothing to watch?”

From the nearby kitchen—a tiny, rectangular alcove barely separated from the living space by a half wall—came the sound of a can opener squealing through metal, followed by the plop of soup sliding into a pot. Macaque stood by the stove, wearing a black hoodie (hood up, of course) and his signature maroon scarf wrapped snug around his neck, as always. His own grey sweatpants were tied low on his hips, and his tail swayed lazily behind him as he stirred the contents of the pot with a wooden spoon.

“Be grateful you’ve got something to do,” Macaque muttered, poking the soup and sniffing it suspiciously. “I’m over here making ‘dinner’ with two cans of sodium-packed mystery goop.”

MK let out a tiny snort, but didn’t respond. He tossed the remote onto the coffee table and picked up his phone instead. The screen lit up immediately with a flood of red notification bubbles.

57 unread messages.

12 missed calls.

The group chat had exploded. Mei. Red Son. Pigsy. Sandy. Even Tang. All leaving frantic messages, ranging from worry to fury.

MK’s thumb hovered over the screen, but he didn’t tap anything. He didn’t reply. He didn’t even open the messages. With a quiet sigh, he locked the screen again and stared blankly ahead.

Five more minutes passed. Then Macaque emerged from the kitchen, carefully carrying two mismatched ceramic bowls filled with steaming soup. One was blue and chipped, the other was plain white. He handed the white one to MK and dropped onto the couch with a huff.

MK sat up, eyeing the soup suspiciously. “I still think we should’ve gone out to buy some real food.”

“I know,” Macaque replied with a sigh, lifting his own bowl and blowing on it. “But this isn’t as bad as it looks. Only if it’s cold. Then it’s basically an edible death sentence.”

MK quirked an eyebrow. “Did... did you eat cold soup before?”

Macaque glanced sideways, a bit too casual. “You do what you have to do to survive.”

MK paused, then slowly picked up his spoon. “That’s depressing.”

“You asked.”

Silence. MK took a tentative spoonful, expecting the worst—and blinked in surprise. “Wait... this is actually good?”

“Told you,” Macaque muttered, slurping his own. “It’s got a weird aftertaste if you think about it too hard, though.”

“Dude,” MK said, grinning as he took another bite. “You’re so bad at selling your own cooking.”

“Hey. It’s not my cooking. It’s Campbell’s.”

“Who’s Campbell?”

“No clue.”

The two of them settled into a kind of shared stillness. It wasn’t awkward—it was comforting. The kind of silence that said, I don’t need to talk. I’m glad you’re just here. Steam curled from their bowls, drifting into the air as the sound of the rain outside softened even more.

When they were done, Macaque stood and took both empty bowls. “I’ll wash ‘em later,” he muttered, tossing them gently into the sink with a pair of dull clinks. He lingered there for a moment, staring at the faucet as if considering turning it on... but then shook his head and turned away.

MK was back on his phone.

Macaque plopped down on the couch again, his hoodie rustling. He noticed how MK’s thumb just hovered above the screen—not texting, not calling, just staring.

“You know,” Macaque said, voice gentle, “you can text them. If you want.”

MK looked up at him slowly. His eyes looked tired, hollow in a way that hadn’t fully gone away since LBD.

“I know,” MK replied. “But... I don’t want to.”

Macaque gave a small nod, his lips pressing into a thin line. He didn’t push it. Silence fell again. The rain whispered against the glass.

Then Macaque glanced at the pillow on the couch.

A thought sparked.

He reached over casually, picked it up—and without a single warning, whump!

He threw it directly into MK’s face.

MK yelped. “Dude! What the hell?!”

Macaque sat back smugly. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

MK slowly peeled the pillow off his face, his brows raised with mock offense. “Oh... so that’s how it is, huh?”

He stood up, keeping his eyes locked on Macaque—and then suddenly hurled the pillow back with full force.

Whap!

Macaque ducked, but not in time.

“Oh, you’re playing dirty now!” Macaque shouted, grabbing another pillow from the floor and launching it at MK, who was already halfway across the living room, diving behind the couch for cover.

The apartment exploded into chaotic, laughter-filled warfare.

Pillows flew like missiles. A lamp nearly tipped over. MK threw a couch cushion. Macaque deflected it with an old pizza box. One of them knocked over the TV remote. MK got whacked in the side of the head, spun dramatically, and flopped to the ground, playing dead.

Macaque stood over him, victorious.

“I warned you,” he said solemnly. “I don’t fight fair.”

MK suddenly sprang up and tackled him with a yell, both of them toppling onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Feathers burst from one of the cheaper pillows, drifting lazily down onto the rug like confetti.

They both lay there for a second, catching their breath. Macaque’s hood had fallen back, his long hair tousled. MK’s face was red from laughing.

“I think we may have broken a pillow,” MK said.

“Worth it,” Macaque replied.

For the first time since they got to New York, the weight pressing on their shoulders felt just a little bit lighter.

They lay there in silence again, this time not heavy or empty—but full.

Of warmth. Of survival. Of quiet, ridiculous joy.

The sky above Flower Fruit Mountain was tinged in golden-orange light, the late afternoon sun casting long, soft shadows across the thick trees and winding cliffs. The waterfalls glistened like liquid glass, crashing down into the deep, serene pools below with a soothing, eternal roar. Birds chirped somewhere in the canopy, and the rustle of leaves whispered gently in the breeze.

But inside Wukong’s hut, the atmosphere was heavy with tension.

The small, circular home nestled into the mountain stone had always felt cozy, but now it seemed cramped with anxiety. The walls were covered with ancient scrolls, dusty relics, and strange trinkets from centuries past. A glowing lantern swung gently from the ceiling. The once-cheerful space had been turned into an impromptu war room.

In the center of the room, on a low wooden table, sat the pile of clues:

— A slightly worn copy of Alice in Wonderland, the cover curled at the corners.

— Two tarnished spoons and one old metal fork, found under Macaque’s couch.

— A small, unassuming box of letters, still sealed with old string.

— And most important of all, MK’s childhood journal, its worn spine creased and pages yellowed.

Mei, Red Son, and Wukong were all seated on a worn couch against the back wall. Mei sat cross-legged, her fingers tapping anxiously against her knee. Red Son sat stiffly upright, looking particularly out of place in Wukong’s dusty, earthy home, his fiery hair casting flickers of light against the hut walls. Wukong, seated on the end closest to the table, looked tired. He hadn't slept much—again. His fur was slightly unkempt, and he hadn’t bothered trying to look regal.

A tense silence hovered for a few beats.

Then Red Son glanced toward the door and asked, “Where are the others? Pigsy, Tang, Sandy?”

Mei sighed, adjusting her jacket. “Pigsy’s busy running the shop. Tang said he had some work to finish, and Sandy… well, he couldn’t make it.”

Red Son scoffed faintly under his breath. “Convenient.”

Wukong didn’t seem to care. He just nodded, eyes fixed on the table. “Then it’s just the three of us.”

A beat passed.

Red Son leaned forward and picked up the box of letters, untying the old string and opening it slowly. He flipped through the first few, scanning them with narrowed eyes. “These are mostly ramblings from that LBD creep,” he muttered. “Poems. Threats. They won’t lead us to anything useful.”

He set the letters down with a dull thunk, then reached for the Alice in Wonderland book and turned it over in his hands. “Well. At least Macaque has good taste in literature.”

Mei snorted from her seat. “Oh yeah, he’s totally the sentimental type. Probably cried during the tea party scene.”

Wukong groaned, rubbing his temples. “Can we please focus on what we’re doing here?”

Mei gave him a look. “Says the one who wouldn’t shut up while we were crawling through that secret passage.”

“You try fitting this tail into a crawlspace and see how chatty you get,” Wukong snapped.

“Maybe if you didn’t complain so loudly, we wouldn’t have scared all those rats,” Mei fired back, smirking.

“They bit me,” Wukong replied indignantly, gesturing to a small bandage on his arm.

Red Son rolled his eyes. “Focus, children.”

Wukong growled softly and grabbed MK’s journal from the table, flipping it open to the last few entries. His eyes scanned the pages in silence.

Red Son leaned back. “I still think they’re in Mexico. Or New York.”

Wukong closed the journal with a quiet snap. “New York?” he echoed. “Macaque hates loud places. That city’s a wall of sound and flashing lights. He wouldn’t want to go there.”

“But,” he added reluctantly, “it’s also full of chaos. He might’ve gone anyway. He… thrives in that.”

Mei leaned forward, squinting at one of the journal pages. “Do we really think MK would just say, ‘Hey, let’s go to New York?’ I mean… who knows? Maybe what he wrote in the journal was just a passing thought. Not a plan.”

Wukong’s shoulders slumped. “Do you have a better idea? MK could be anywhere right now. He didn’t leave a map. No trail.”

Red Son rubbed his chin. “Mexico is quieter, yes, but it’s got its own kind of chaos. Cultural depth. Spirits. Energy. It’d make a better hiding spot.”

“True,” Mei said thoughtfully. “That could be a start. But if we’re going to follow this trail, we’ve got to pick one.”

“And if we pick the wrong one?” Wukong asked sharply. “What if they’re in neither?”

The question hung there.

“What if Macaque didn’t go along with MK’s suggestion?” Wukong continued. “What if they ended up somewhere else entirely? Somewhere we haven’t thought of.”

Mei sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Macaque… does seem to have a soft spot for MK, though.”

Wukong snorted loudly, sitting back with crossed arms. “Yeah, well. I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“He’s different around him,” Mei said, more softly now. “I mean, don’t you notice? He listens. He doesn’t boss him around. He lets MK talk. And MK… trusts him.”

Red Son nodded. “Strange as it sounds, I think she’s right. MK got under his fur. In a good way.”

Wukong looked away, jaw tight.

Mei took a deep breath. “Okay. Then this is what we’ll do. We start with New York. If they’re not there…”

“Then we go to Mexico,” Red Son finished, standing and adjusting his cuffs.

“And if they’re not in Mexico?” Wukong asked, still skeptical.

“Then,” Mei said, firm and clear, “we don’t stop looking.”

Red Son hummed in agreement, his usual smugness absent. “This is MK we’re talking about. If he’s out there… he needs us.”

Wukong stared at the journal in his hands again, then finally sighed, shoulders dropping.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “We’d better find them soon.”

Outside, the sun began to set behind the mountain peaks, casting golden rays over the treetops. Inside the hut, the three of them sat together in determined silence, surrounded by memories and half-clues—but now, finally, a plan.

[END] 

Chapter Text

[FFM — MORNING] 

Morning broke over Flower Fruit Mountain, the sky painted in streaks of amber and rose. The wind whistled gently through the trees, a soft farewell as the search party prepared to depart.

Outside the hut, Wukong, Mei, Pigsy, Tang, and Red Son stood packed and ready, bags over shoulders and determination etched across their faces. Sandy stood off to the side, arms crossed, towering and silent but calm. His ever-present cat yawned lazily on his shoulder.

“I’ll stay behind,” Sandy said with a quiet nod. “If they come back, I’ll call you right away.”

“Thanks, Sandy,” Mei said, offering him a tight smile. “We’re counting on you.”

She then adjusted the strap of her travel pack and turned to Red Son, her voice brisk. “Alright, let’s get this over with. Red—open the portal.”

Red Son, ever the dramatic, didn’t say a word. With a subtle smirk, he raised a hand, conjuring a swirling portal of glowing red and golden energy. It shimmered like liquid fire, hovering just above the grass and swirling with faint embers.

Wukong didn’t hesitate. “Come on. The sooner we start searching, the sooner we find them.”

With that, he stepped forward and vanished into the portal, the energy rippling as it swallowed him. Mei followed next, then Pigsy and Tang. Red Son rolled his eyes and strutted in last, his cape flaring slightly as he disappeared.

[NEW YORK CITY] 

The portal spat them out into a side alley, just off a bustling main street in Manhattan. The sharp scent of roasted nuts, car exhaust, and fresh bagels filled the air. Towering skyscrapers loomed above them, glass and steel gleaming in the sunlight. Yellow cabs honked. Music played from an open café nearby. People moved like rivers along the sidewalks, chatting, laughing, some shouting over the noise.

It was overwhelming, loud, alive.

The group stepped out of the alley, taking it all in.

Mei’s eyes widened. “Whoa... no wonder MK wanted to visit this place.”

The neon lights, the art murals on the buildings, the energy of the city—it was like chaos had built itself a home.

Wukong narrowed his eyes, already tense. “Okay, can we not get distracted? Stick to the plan, remember?”

Pigsy scratched his head, frowning. “But where do we even start? New York’s massive.”

“I know that,” Wukong snapped. “But we can’t afford to waste time. We focus. We split up, we check neighborhoods, we ask around.”

Mei crossed her arms. “So the plan is still: search for them everywhere, and if we find them—we bring them home to Megapolis.”

Tang looked uncertain. “But… what if they don’t want to come back? That letter MK left behind—it didn’t sound like they were planning to return any time soon.”

The group fell silent for a beat.

Mei sighed heavily. “Then… we better hope luck’s on our side.”

Red Son let out a breath through his nose and folded his arms. “And when we do bring them back—they’re going to therapy. Honestly, I think we all need it.”

Pigsy nodded solemnly. “Yeah. That’s settled. We find MK and Macaque, and we talk to Sandy about therapy. All of us could use some help after this mess.”

Wukong waved them off. “I don’t need therapy. I’m fine. I’m the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, remember?”

Red Son rolled his eyes with practiced ease. “Oh please. You’re the one who most needs therapy.”

Mei, Tang, and Pigsy all hummed in agreement.

Wukong groaned. “Oh, come on.”

“Denial is a classic symptom,” Pigsy added.

“Reckless impulsivity,” Tang chimed in.

“Self-isolation, short temper, delusions of grandeur,” Red Son counted off on his fingers.

“I hate all of you,” Wukong muttered under his breath, but it lacked heat.

Mei stepped forward, clapping her hands. “Alright, alright, enough roasting. Focus up. We’ve got a missing Monkie Kid and a broody bookworm to find. Let’s go.”

The group fanned out along the sidewalk, spreading into pairs as they began asking around. It wasn’t easy—New York was crawling with people of every size, color, and shape, and none of them batted an eye at a talking pig or a guy with flaming hair.

The group asked shopkeepers, baristas, taxi drivers.

“Have you seen a boy about yay tall, brown hair, way too energetic, talks a lot about K-pop?” Mei asked a tired waitress in a diner.

“Or a tall, grumpy-looking guy, lots of black fur, maroon scarf, might be reading Alice in Wonderland on a bench somewhere?” Red Son asked a food truck vendor.

No one had. Or at least, no one recognized the descriptions. A few people pointed toward nearby parks, or the subway, or a café district. But nothing solid.

The group reconvened later that afternoon at the edge of Central Park, gathering near a vendor cart selling soft pretzels.

“Any luck?” Mei asked.

“Nope,” Pigsy replied. “But I did find a place that makes pretty decent bao buns.”

“Focus, Pigsy,” Wukong muttered, though his stomach growled.

Mei turned away from the others and looked out at the busy park—people walking dogs, joggers weaving through the crowd, musicians playing guitar near a bench.

She clenched her fists quietly.

“MK… Macaque…” she thought.

“I hope you’re here. And maybe… maybe if you are, we can talk. Maybe we can sort things out.”

Her chest ached. They were out here somewhere—she felt it. The city was loud, chaotic, and impossible to navigate. But MK was here. He had to be.

And she wasn’t leaving without him.

[AQUA PARK — LATE MORNING] 

The late morning sun filtered through thin clouds, casting a soft light over the sprawling New York Aqua Park—a haven of calm and curiosity nestled between the city’s relentless noise and motion. Inside, beneath the tall glass domes and arching aquariums, the world was different. Calmer. Colored light shimmered from tanks filled with marine life. Children laughed, water burbled from decorative fountains, and calming ocean sounds played from hidden speakers.

In the middle of it all, MK stood near a large, crystal-clear tank where dolphins swam gracefully, their sleek bodies gliding through the water with joy and power. He wore a blue t-shirt, a grey zip-up jacket, and light black pants, his hair still a bit messy but his face bright with a smile. Beside him stood Macaque, hunched slightly in a purple hoodie and grey sweatpants, holding a small book titled Little Red Riding Hood in one hand, his scarf loosely wrapped around his neck as always.

They stood there for a moment, both gazing at the dolphins who leapt and twirled through the water like it was a game.

MK tilted his head, eyes wide and thoughtful. “You know, I always wondered… why are dolphins so energetic?”

Macaque didn’t look up right away, eyes still on his book. “They’re smart. Smarter than most people think.” He finally looked toward the tank, squinting a little at the dolphins' antics. “They’re playful because they can be. They’ve got brains to spare.”

MK snorted a little. “That kinda sounds like someone I know.”

Before Macaque could respond, MK suddenly reached out, grabbing him by the arm with both hands and dragging him away from the dolphin tank.

“Hey—!” Macaque grumbled as he stumbled slightly, holding onto his book. “Do you have to drag me everywhere like this?”

MK grinned as he pulled him toward the next exhibit. “You’re the one who said we needed fresh air! So—here we are. Air. Fresh. With fish.”

They came to a quieter section of the park, one bathed in gentle blue lighting, with wide tanks full of tiny sea turtles swimming slowly through coral reefs. The soft glow of the tank made the water seem almost dreamlike, and the turtles moved with sleepy grace.

Macaque stood beside MK, hands in his hoodie pockets, silently watching the little creatures flap their flippers and gently bump into one another.

“I said we needed fresh air,” Macaque muttered. “Not… chlorine and saltwater mist and screaming toddlers.”

MK leaned closer to the glass, his breath fogging it. “Too bad. We’re already here, and it’s awesome. So, why don’t we just… I don’t know—relax a little?”

Macaque sighed but didn’t argue. He watched the turtles for a long second before nodding slowly. “…Yeah. You’re right.”

MK hummed in satisfaction. “Of course I’m right. I’m always right.”

Macaque raised a brow and shot him a sideways look. “Don’t get sappy on me.”

“Too late!” MK chirped.

They walked on, following the gently curving path through the park. Brightly colored fish darted through massive floor-to-ceiling tanks to their left, while to the right, interactive stations let guests learn about coral reefs and tide pools. Children giggled as they reached out to touch the starfish under the supervision of staff members. A nearby waterfall feature bubbled soothingly into a koi pond.

As they moved through the crowd, Macaque visibly relaxed, his shoulders lowering a little. The ambient sound of water, the warm lighting, and MK’s constant low-level chatter seemed to chip away at his usual tension.

MK paused at a tank with glowing jellyfish and leaned against the glass, his eyes wide. “Whoa… these guys look like glowing noodles.”

Macaque smirked faintly, a rare expression. “Deadly glowing noodles.”

“Awesome,” MK whispered.

They continued like this for the next half hour—MK bouncing from exhibit to exhibit like a kid on a sugar rush, and Macaque following with the air of someone who was pretending to be annoyed, but didn’t actually mind.

At one point, MK bought them both drinks—lemonade for himself and iced tea for Macaque—from a snack kiosk. They sat down on a bench near a tank shaped like a tunnel, where stingrays glided over their heads through the curved glass.

Macaque sipped his tea in silence, occasionally glancing up at the stingrays. MK kicked his feet and let his gaze drift over the crowd.

“You know,” MK said after a moment, quieter now, “This... isn’t so bad. Being here. Just us.”

Macaque didn’t respond immediately. He looked at MK over the rim of his cup, then set it down between his legs and rested his elbows on his knees.

“It’s... peaceful,” he admitted. “That’s rare for me.”

MK leaned back on the bench, eyes on the ceiling-tank above. “Maybe we could make it less rare.”

Macaque didn’t say anything to that. But he didn’t disagree either.

They sat there for another few minutes in calm silence, surrounded by the soft glow of underwater life, the murmur of families passing by, and the distant sound of dolphins singing.

Then MK stood up suddenly and grinned. “Come on. We’ve got more to see.”

Macaque groaned as he stood. “You’re going to make me walk through every exhibit, aren’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” MK said cheerfully.

Macaque rolled his eyes but followed. “Fine. But next time, I pick where we go.”

“Deal.”

And with that, they disappeared around the corner of the glowing tank, stepping deeper into the maze of aquatic wonders.

The scene shifted to late afternoon, the golden glow of the sun bleeding through the dusty front windows of a cramped clothing store tucked between two larger buildings on a busy New York street. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, and the air was thick with the scent of fresh denim and commercial-grade lavender detergent.

Inside, five familiar faces trudged past a rack of discounted sweaters, their shoulders slumped and eyes heavy with defeat.

Mei let out a frustrated breath as she leaned against a shelf stacked with overpriced graphic tees. Her normally electric energy was nowhere to be found, replaced with something tight and tired in her chest.

“Now what?” she asked, arms crossed, gaze sweeping the racks without really seeing them.

Wukong, who stood a few feet away fiddling distractedly with a pair of sunglasses on display, shrugged. His tail flicked behind him, a nervous twitch. “I don’t know. We searched every place we could think they might’ve gone—parks, rooftops, comic stores, bookstores… nothing.”

Red Son, standing stiffly with his arms folded and his jaw clenched, exhaled through his nose. “Maybe we’re not looking hard enough.”

“Or maybe,” said Pigsy, voice low and tired, “we’ve looked everywhere they could reasonably go. And we still need to ask someone in this shop if they’ve seen them.”

Tang, hunched over and rubbing his sore feet, groaned. “Let’s just… let’s just pray someone knows something. Anything. I’m not sure my legs are gonna survive another wild goose chase.”

They slowly made their way up to the register, where a woman in her early thirties stood. She looked up from her phone as the group approached. Her long brown hair was tied into a loose bun, and she wore a lanyard with a pin that read “Retail Therapy Is Real”.

Mei stepped forward first. “Hi, sorry to bother you—but we’re looking for someone. Two people, actually. One has brown hair. Way too much energy. Kinda hard to miss.”

Wukong stepped in beside her, brow raised. “And the other one’s a tall, broody guy. Big emo energy. Always scowling, but secretly reads those cheesy books with tragic love stories.”

The woman blinked, then laughed under her breath. “Wow. Okay, uh… I have seen a lot of people come through here, but… yeah. That description actually rings a bell.”

Mei’s eyes snapped to her. “Wait—really? You’re sure?”

The woman tilted her head. “Well, I can’t say for sure, but there were two guys like that in here a few days ago. One of them was hyper, and the other looked like he wanted to disappear through the floor. Sound familiar?”

“Three days ago?” Red Son asked, stepping forward slightly.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “They were here for maybe two hours. Tried on a bunch of clothes. Seemed like they were having fun.”

“Do you know when they left?” Mei asked quickly.

The woman thought for a second. “Not the exact time, but it was mid-afternoon. Why?”

Tang leaned on the counter. “We’re their friends. They’ve been… off the radar for a few days. We’re just trying to track them down. Is there any way we could look at the store’s security footage?”

The woman looked uncertain for a moment. Then she saw the tired desperation in their faces and softened. “Sure. Come with me.”

She led them through a side door and into a small, cluttered office in the back. A single desk sat in the corner, crowded with receipts, half-finished inventory forms, and an old mug that said #1 Dog Mom. The woman pulled up a chair and sat at the computer, typing rapidly.

“Alright… let’s roll it back to three days ago…”

The screen buzzed to life. The group leaned in.

And there they were.

MK and Macaque walked into the store. MK was practically bouncing—his movements fast and excited, grabbing shirts, pajamas, even hats and holding them up to Macaque. He was talking constantly, eyes lit up like a kid at a festival.

Macaque trailed behind, hood up, arms crossed. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else… but he didn’t leave.

On-screen, MK picked up a Hello Kitty pajama set and held it out to Macaque with a grin that reached his ears.

Macaque raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. He reached behind him and picked out a shark-print pajama set, holding it up in mockery and shoving it into MK’s arms.

The group stared in stunned silence as the two bickered silently, the security cam playing back their one-sided conversation.

Then came the moment where MK held up a purple hoodie. “I think this will fit you perfectly,” Mei read his lips.

Macaque sighed, obviously mouthing, “I ain’t wearing that, kiddo.”

MK’s reply: “You will. You don’t have a choice.”

Red Son smirked slightly. “Bold.”

Macaque finally relented, walking off to browse again. The footage cut to them at the cashier, laughing about something. Then MK pulled out a golden credit card and paid.

Pigsy squinted. “Wait… is that… a credit card? Since when does MK have a credit card?!”

Wukong blinked. And then his eyes widened.

“Oh no…” he murmured, ears lowering. “Oh my gods. I’m so dumb.”

Mei turned to him. “What?”

“That card,” Wukong said, voice filled with disbelief. “That was mine. I—I didn’t know how to use it. I just gave it to MK.”

The room went silent.

Red Son slowly facepalmed. “Unbelievable…”

“You gave him a credit card?” Pigsy repeated, his voice climbing. “Without any idea what he’d use it for?”

“Pretty sure, yeah,” Wukong mumbled sheepishly.

Mei groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay… well at least now we know they’re in New York.”

“Wait,” Tang said, snapping his fingers. “If MK’s using the card, we can track the purchases, right? You’ve got the app on your phone?”

Wukong fumbled through his pockets. “Uh… yeah? I think this is it—”

Mei snatched the phone out of his hands. “Oh my gods, Wukong.” She tapped rapidly through the credit card app. “He bought—noise-canceling headphones… BTS-themed. A copy of Little Red Riding Hood? And… wow, a lot of snacks.”

Red Son blinked. “There’s a book version of Little Red Riding Hood? I thought it was just a movie.”

“Apparently not,” Mei deadpanned.

Pigsy waved a hand. “Can we please focus?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mei muttered, still scrolling. “Okay. Looks like their last purchase was just yesterday. A bookstore on 9th Avenue.”

She handed the phone back. “Here. Try not to lose it. And turn on your notifications, please.”

Wukong scratched his head. “I probably had them on mute. Or… turned them off. Or… I don’t know. Phones are weird.”

Mei sighed. “When this is over, I’m teaching you how to read, write, and use your phone like a civilized person.”

“What?! No you’re not!” Wukong squawked.

“Oh, you bet your peach chips I will,” she replied without looking at him.

Wukong gasped. “You take that back!”

“Guys,” Pigsy cut in sharply, “no more arguing. We’ve got a location. That’s enough for tonight.”

The group made their way out of the store, pausing to thank the cashier before stepping back into the city. By now, it was evening—traffic buzzed, neon lights flickered to life, and the energy of New York pulsed around them.

Too tired to keep searching, they checked into a hotel nearby. They booked three rooms:

One for Pigsy and Tang, who immediately collapsed onto their beds.

One for Red Son and Mei, who stayed up late discussing their next move.

And a single room for Wukong, who sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone in silence.

He looked out the window, watching the lights of the city. Somewhere out there, MK and Macaque were hiding. Living. Laughing. Just existing.

Wukong didn’t know what he was going to say to them yet. But he would find them. He had to.

With that final thought, he laid back, the ceiling light casting a dull glow across his face.

“I’m coming for you, bud,” he whispered. “We’re not done yet.”

And for the first time in days… he allowed himself to sleep.

[END] 

Chapter Text

It was late at night—well past midnight—when the city outside had begun to quiet down, leaving only the occasional wail of a distant siren or the soft hum of traffic far below the apartment window. A thin line of neon light bled in through the partially closed blinds, casting pale stripes across the floor and walls of the small apartment MK and Macaque had been calling home for the past few days.

Inside the modest one-bedroom apartment, MK was fast asleep on the only bed in the place, curled up in a mess of tangled sheets and a soft, secondhand comforter. His chest rose and fell with steady, shallow breaths. He wore a light T-shirt and pajama pants with little cartoon apples on them—something he’d picked out during their clothing run a few days ago. The bedside lamp was off, but the room wasn’t entirely dark thanks to the city lights and a small nightlight plugged into the wall near the floor.

Meanwhile, Macaque was wide awake, lying on the old, somewhat lumpy couch in the living room. He sat up, one leg bent, his elbow resting casually on his knee, his eyes fixed on the TV screen in front of him. The volume was turned low—almost inaudible. He wasn’t actually watching whatever late-night documentary or crime drama was on; his gaze was hollow, distant, and unfocused. The flickering light from the screen washed over his face in dull blues and greys.

Sleep had evaded him, as it often did these nights. The couch wasn’t the problem—it was old but soft, with a lumpy pillow and an extra blanket. No, the problem was inside his head. His thoughts wouldn’t stop circling. MK had taken the only bedroom, not out of selfishness but because Macaque insisted. He wouldn’t let the kid sleep on the couch. Not after everything. 

The minutes dragged.

Then… a sound.

Soft at first. Barely more than a murmur.

Macaque’s ears twitched, and his eyes shifted toward the bedroom door.

It came again—muffled, broken.

“…no… don’t… no…!”

The voice was faint but unmistakably MK’s.

Macaque was on his feet in an instant, moving toward the bedroom. His heart jumped in his chest, a quiet thrum of concern tightening in his chest. He opened the door swiftly but carefully, not slamming it, just enough to slip inside.

MK was still asleep—but not peacefully. He was twisted up in the sheets, limbs twitching, his face contorted with panic. Beads of sweat shone faintly on his brow. He whimpered again, eyes moving frantically beneath his lids. He was whispering something, breathless and broken.

Macaque didn’t hesitate. He rushed to his side, kneeling next to the bed. He reached out, placing a hand gently but firmly on MK’s shoulder and giving it a shake.

“Kid,” he said, voice low but urgent. “MK. Wake up. You’re dreaming.”

MK jolted awake with a gasp—no, a scream. He shot upright, eyes wide and wild, heart hammering so loudly that for a moment, Macaque could hear it pounding in the space between them. MK’s breath came fast and ragged, chest rising and falling like he’d just been pulled from underwater.

He looked around the room in a frenzy—then his eyes landed on Macaque.

“M-Macaque…?”

“Yeah, it’s me. You’re alright,” Macaque said quietly. “It was just a dream.”

MK blinked rapidly, the panic in his eyes slowly ebbing away as reality set back in. His breathing steadied little by little, and he leaned back slightly against the headboard.

Macaque was still beside him, one hand resting on his shoulder, the other slowly gripping MK’s trembling hand in a steady, grounding hold. His touch was warm, and his expression was—surprisingly—gentle, brows slightly furrowed in concern but not asking too much.

“Sorry I woke you,” MK mumbled once his voice returned, still slightly hoarse. “Didn’t mean to…”

“I was already awake,” Macaque replied. “Couldn’t sleep.”

There was a brief silence as both of them just sat there, the apartment once again filled with nothing but the sound of distant cars and the occasional drip of water in the kitchen sink.

MK glanced over at the clock on the wall. The red digital numbers glared back: 03:35.

He let out a tired breath. “I… I don’t want to go back to sleep.”

Macaque gave a quiet sigh through his nose. “Stay here. Don’t move.”

MK blinked, confused, as Macaque stood up and left the room. He could hear soft footsteps padding across the apartment and the click of a cupboard opening. The clink of a kettle being filled followed soon after, and the low whoosh of the stove lighting up.

While he waited, MK turned his head to the window. The night sky was a mess of stars and city glow. It was beautiful in a lonely kind of way. He reached for his phone on the nightstand, the screen lighting up and momentarily illuminating his tired face. There were several notifications—some missed calls, some texts. Mei’s name appeared at the top of the list.

He hovered his thumb over the contact for a few seconds… and then locked the screen again. He wasn’t ready.

Just then, Macaque returned, holding two mismatched mugs of tea. Steam curled lazily from the rims, the herbal scent immediately filling the room.

“Here,” he said, handing one to MK. “Drink this.”

MK took the mug, eyeing the light greenish liquid inside. “How’s tea gonna help?”

“It’s calming tea. Stuff I learned to brew during… camping trips. Helps with stress. Won’t knock you out, but it might make the noise in your head a little quieter.”

MK gave a small nod and took a sip. It was warm, slightly sweet, and earthy. He held the mug in both hands as if it were a lifeline.

After a few moments of silence, MK spoke, his voice softer. “Aren’t you gonna ask what I dreamed?”

“Only if you want to tell me.”

MK hesitated, staring into his tea. Then, with a breath, he nodded.

“It was LBD. She was there. Laughing. Mocking. She kept saying we couldn’t win. That it didn’t matter what we did… that it’d never be enough. I know she’s gone, but it felt… real.”

Macaque looked down into his own mug, his expression unreadable. Then he reached out again and gently ruffled MK’s hair, a rare gesture of comfort from the typically sarcastic shadow monkey.

“I know what you mean. I get nightmares too.”

MK looked up at him, surprised. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Macaque admitted, voice low. “Most nights, actually. She’s there too. But it’s not the same. For me, it’s her voice—telling me not to fail. That if I mess up, I disappear. Sometimes it’s like I’m back under her control. Like I never left.”

MK gave a small, sad chuckle. “We’re really messed up, huh?”

Macaque gave a lopsided smirk. “Maybe. But just because we’re broken doesn’t mean we can’t heal. It just takes time.”

MK smiled faintly. “That sounds… almost wise coming from you.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Macaque said with a small snort, finishing off his tea.

MK yawned and blinked slowly. “I think… the tea’s working.”

Macaque stood and gently pulled the blanket back over him. “Good. Go back to sleep, kid. I’ll be right outside. You’re safe here.”

MK nodded and settled back down. As Macaque turned to leave, he paused at the door when he heard MK whisper, half-asleep:

“…Thanks, Mama…”

Macaque froze.

He blinked.

Mama?

A second passed. Then two.

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He didn’t say anything. Just exhaled quietly, shook his head with a small huff of disbelief, and walked out.

He carried the mugs to the kitchen, rinsed them silently, and set them in the sink. Then he returned to the couch, shut off the TV, and finally lay down. For the first time in days, sleep found him easily. A small, genuine smile touched his face as he closed his eyes.

For now, things were calm. For now, it was enough.

Morning sun filtered through the tall buildings of New York, casting long golden streaks across the sidewalks. The city buzzed to life around them, honking taxis, murmuring crowds, and distant music creating the usual hum of chaos. But for Mei, Tang, Pigsy, Wukong, and Red Son, the city’s usual rhythm felt drowned beneath the weight of their search.

They stood clustered at a street corner, the sidewalk bustling with people passing around them. Red Son tapped his foot impatiently, arms crossed, while Pigsy adjusted the strap of his bag for the hundredth time. Tang slurped from a to-go cup of coffee, already halfway finished. Wukong stood still, unusually quiet, staring down the road. Mei, holding her phone with both hands, squinted at the screen as she traced something on a digital map.

“Alright,” Mei said suddenly, lifting her head. “I think we should go to the bookstore on 9th Avenue.”

Wukong blinked. “The one we passed on the way here?”

She nodded. “Yeah. It’s big enough, and if MK and Macaque were trying to blend in or pass time, a bookstore would be the perfect place. Maybe we could ask about footage from the security cams—see what they were doing and where they went next.”

Wukong gave her an approving look. “I think that’s a great idea.”

Red Son groaned, tossing his head back dramatically. “Ugh. Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go already.”

They made their way down the street. The closer they got to the bookstore, the more obvious it became why Mei had suggested it. The building was massive, almost three stories tall with wide glass windows and a tall red awning with bold letters spelling BOOK WORLD – 9th AVE across the front. Rows upon rows of books were visible from outside, neatly stacked shelves stretching all the way to the back. A small bell rang every time someone walked in or out.

Mei stopped dead in her tracks and gasped.

“This store is huge!” she said with awe, taking in the towering windows and wide doors like she’d just discovered a dragon lair filled with knowledge.

Red Son rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Can we please go inside and ask someone about the camera footage—like right now?”

“You’re no fun, you know that?” Mei muttered as she walked ahead of him.

Red Son scoffed and strode past her, pushing open the glass door. The others followed behind, the bell above the door jingling as they entered.

Inside, the smell of old paper, wood, and fresh coffee immediately hit them. The store was warmly lit with hanging lamps and natural sunlight pouring in through the skylights. There were books of every genre lining the walls and tables—fiction, fantasy, children’s, history, romance, horror, and even a corner dedicated to imported scrolls and folklore. A few scattered readers sat in plush chairs, flipping pages quietly.

They walked toward the register at the front, where a woman stood sorting a few paperback books. She looked to be in her early 40s with blonde hair tied in a neat bun, green eyes, and a soft cardigan layered over a plain white shirt. She gave them a pleasant but mildly curious smile as they approached.

“Good morning,” she greeted politely. “Can I help you?”

Mei stepped forward, her voice slightly hurried. “Yeah, uh—hi. We’re looking for two of our friends. They were here recently, we think.”

The woman tilted her head. “Could you describe them?”

“Well…” Mei began, thinking quickly. “One of them has brown hair, like, a lot of energy. You’d know if you saw him, trust me. The other is a little taller, kind of brooding, acts like he doesn’t care about anyone, but deep down he really does. And he likes to read. A lot.”

The woman let out a soft laugh. “Well, dear, that’s… quite the description. But yes, I believe I’ve seen them. They were here… maybe two days ago?”

Mei’s eyes lit up. “Great! Would you mind if we looked at the security footage? Just for a few minutes—it’s really important.”

“Not at all, dear,” the woman said kindly. “It’s in my office—just around the corner, past the New Releases section. You’ll see a glass door. Can’t miss it.”

“Thank you!” Mei said brightly, already heading in that direction with the others close behind.

They turned the corner and entered the small office. It was cluttered but cozy, with posters of classic book covers on the walls and a desk with a slightly outdated monitor. Mei took the lead, clicking around until she found the right date and camera feed.

“There—there they are,” she said, pointing at the screen.

The footage played: MK and Macaque walking into the store, MK’s eyes wide with wonder as he looked around.

“Whoa,” MK said, awe written all over his face. “This place is huge!”

Macaque smirked beside him. “Well, it’s a bookstore. They have every kind of book here.”

MK turned to him, bouncing slightly. “So what kind of book are you looking for?"

“I don’t know,” Macaque replied, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “I was thinking about Alice in Wonderland, but I already have that one. Back in Megapolis.” He paused, then added, “Now I’m thinking Little Red Riding Hood.”

“There’s a book about that movie?” MK asked with genuine curiosity.

Macaque scoffed. “Of course there is. Every movie made has its own book. Books came first, remember?”

The two wandered through the store, scanning shelves. A few minutes later, they found what they were looking for—Macaque holding a hardbound copy of Little Red Riding Hood, while MK clutched two books. One was a brightly colored storybook, the other titled Love Can Solve Everything.

They paid at the register, thanked the woman, and exited the store.

Mei quickly clicked to switch to the exterior camera. “Okay, let’s see where they went next…”

The outside footage began to play. MK and Macaque stepped out of the bookstore into the street light. They chatted briefly before Macaque placed a hand on MK’s shoulder. MK smiled, and they turned into a nearby alley, disappearing into the shadows.

The footage zoomed in slightly as they vanished into the alley. A few seconds passed—and then they reappeared just on the edge of the camera’s vision. Macaque enveloped them both in shadow and slipped into the dark. MK giggled as it happened.

“It’s tickling!” MK said, his voice echoing faintly.

“You’ll get used to it,” Macaque replied, his tone dry but fond.

Then—black. The footage ended.

“Okay,” Wukong said, stepping back from the monitor. “Let’s not work ourselves up. We still have hope. And actually… I think I have a plan.”

Pigsy let out a tired sigh. “Well, let’s hear it. Can’t get worse than it already is.”

Wukong glanced between them, his voice steady. “If Macaque took MK into the shadows, then they’re hiding somewhere with a lot of them. A place where shadow travel would be easier. Right?”

Red Son groaned, clearly unimpressed. “Wukong, the entire city has shadows. What makes you think that helps us narrow it down?”

“Well,” Wukong said, raising a brow. “What about hotels? They’re full of empty halls, underground garages, tight corridors. Dark places to slip through. If we check hotels nearby, maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Red Son threw up his hands. “So we’re just going to walk into every hotel and hope?”

Mei shrugged. “Actually… it’s not a bad idea. We could show the staff MK’s photo, see if anyone’s seen them. It might give us a lead.”

Wukong grinned. “See? Mei gets it.”

Tang stood from his chair, already looking exhausted. “Come on, then. Let’s get started. And after this, we really need to take a break.”

They filed out of the office, stepping back into the light of the bookstore and then out into the city once again—still chasing shadows, but now with a direction.

It was edging into the late afternoon, the golden haze of the New York sun slanting low through the alleys and casting long shadows over the cracked pavement. MK and Macaque were walking side by side, not speaking—just quietly existing together in the silence. It wasn’t awkward. In fact, it was peaceful. MK had a half-eaten burger in one hand, still warm and wrapped in slightly greasy paper, the smell of grilled meat and onions faint in the air. Macaque, on the other hand, was sipping from a cup of bubble tea, the straw poking through the plastic seal with a faint slurp as he drank. He would never admit it, but he actually found it delicious. The subtle sweetness, the chewiness of the tapioca pearls—it was better than he expected, and it made him feel, strangely, just a little more human.

They didn’t speak for a while. The sounds of the city were distant in this alley—distant enough that they could pretend they weren’t being hunted, that they were just two people trying to find peace.

Then Macaque stopped.

It was sudden—so abrupt that MK almost walked right into him. “Huh? What’s wrong?” MK asked, burger paused halfway to his mouth.

Macaque held up a hand without looking at him. “Shhh.”

MK blinked. “What—”

“I said shhh.” Macaque’s tone wasn’t harsh, but it was tight, focused. His ears perked slightly, twitching as he turned his head, trying to filter out the noise around them. His body stiffened.

In the distance—just faintly, like an echo caught on the wind—Macaque heard it. A voice. Familiar.

“Do you guys think we should take a break?” That was Wukong. His voice, relaxed but tired, floated through the air.

Then Mei: “I don’t know… I mean, we still have a lot of hotels to check.”

Pigsy’s grumbling followed soon after. “Well why don’t we take a break? I seriously, seriously, need to go to the toilet.”

And finally, Tang, sounding resigned. “Okay, okay—we take a break.”

Macaque’s eyes narrowed. The fur along his neck prickled, and his grip tightened on the bubble tea until the plastic cracked slightly. He took a single, careful breath, then turned toward MK with wide, warning eyes.

“They’re here,” he said sharply, voice low.

MK blinked again, confused. “Wait—what do you mean?”

Macaque looked around again, paranoia creeping in. “I mean they’re here. The dragon girl, Wukong, that red boy, the pig chef, Tang—all of them. They’re in New York. And worse—they’re nearby.”

MK’s face drained of color. “But—how? How did they find us?”

“I don’t know,” Macaque snapped, turning toward the nearest wall. “But we have to go. Right now.”

“Wait, what—?” MK began, taking a step back in alarm, still holding his burger.

Before he could finish his sentence, Macaque swiped a claw through the air, tearing open a swirling, shadowy portal. The air around it distorted, a cold breeze sweeping through the alley.

“No time, MK—move!” Macaque barked, and before MK could resist, he was shoved through the swirling darkness.

He stumbled out onto the creaky floorboards of their dingy apartment’s living room, almost dropping his burger as he caught his balance. The lights were off. The air was stuffy and still.

Seconds later, Macaque stepped through the portal after him, slamming it shut behind him with a flick of his wrist. The air snapped back into stillness. Silence returned.

“Okay…” MK panted, turning to him. “Where are we gonna go now?”

Macaque didn’t answer immediately. He looked around the apartment—cheap furniture, cracked walls, flickering overhead light. It was quiet again… too quiet. He exhaled sharply and muttered, “I have no idea. So you’d better come up with something.”

MK blinked, startled. “Me?”

“You’re the one who’s been doing all the talking lately,” Macaque grumbled, rubbing his temples as he sat down heavily on the worn-out couch.

MK looked down, thinking hard. And then—his eyes widened. A sudden thought clicked into place. “I think I know how they found us.”

Macaque looked up, one brow raised. “How?”

MK shifted nervously. “When I was a kid… I had this journal. I still have it, actually—but it’s back in my room in Megapolis.”

“Get to the point, kid,” Macaque muttered, eyes narrowing.

“I’m getting to it!” MK shot back. “I—I used to write about all the places I wanted to visit. And I remember writing, more than once, that I wanted to go to New York. Or Mexico. Someday.”

Macaque’s groan was long and deep. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“I didn’t know it would be a big deal!” MK said defensively, arms flailing a little. “I didn’t think they’d find it!”

Macaque sat back, dragging a hand down his face. He looked absolutely exhausted now, like the weight of everything had suddenly doubled. “Unbelievable…”

“I’m sorry,” MK muttered.

Silence again.

The quiet stretched between them until finally MK looked over, determined. “It’s not too late. We can still leave. Go somewhere else. We can make it work.”

Macaque didn’t say anything at first. His eyes drifted toward the floor. Then he said, voice low and worn, “And what then? We just keep running? You want to live like this—always looking over your shoulder?”

“Mama—Macaque, listen…” MK froze.

He’d said it. Or almost said it.

Macaque’s ears twitched. He turned his head slightly, but he didn’t comment. He didn’t make a joke. He didn’t scold him.

He just said, voice soft, “I might have an idea… but you’re not gonna like it.”

MK tilted his head, hopeful. “What is it?”

Macaque stood up slowly, his tail swaying behind him. “We go back to Megapolis.”

MK’s mouth fell open. “What? But—we can’t! We left for a reason!”

“I know that,” Macaque snapped. “But if we go back, we can hide in my old dojo. No one uses it anymore. That makes it safe.”

“I thought you didn’t go there anymore.”

“I don’t. Which means no one else does either. And trust me—it could use a cleaning.”

MK hesitated, then slowly nodded. “…Okay. If it’s the only place left.”

Macaque looked at him seriously. “Then pack what you need.”

MK looked around their tiny apartment, then back at Macaque. “I don’t think I need anything.”

“…Fair enough."

With that, Macaque opened another swirling portal. The room was dim now, the sun finally fading behind the buildings outside. MK stepped through first, leaving behind the echo of their rushed escape. Macaque lingered a second longer, glancing around the small apartment—their temporary shelter. The only place that had felt even a little like home in a while.

Then he stepped through, the portal closing behind him with a soft shudder of wind.

The apartment was left silent. Still. As if no one had ever lived there.

Just an empty, dusty space, lit only by the dying sunlight and the faint memory of two souls who had tried, just for a little while, to find peace.

The search party was back in motion.

After hours of wandering through unfamiliar streets, checking empty hotels, shadowed alleys, and dead ends, frustration had started to settle in the group's bones like dust. But they pressed on. The late afternoon sun had dipped even lower, casting elongated shadows over the streets of New York, where buildings loomed like watchful giants, silent and indifferent to their efforts.

Red Son adjusted the collar of his coat, visibly agitated, his fiery brows furrowed in thought. “I think we should split up. It’ll help us cover more ground,” he announced firmly.

Mei groaned quietly under her breath, clearly exhausted but nodding in reluctant agreement. “Alright… okay. Pigsy, Tang—you two go into every place that’s got shadows and is super quiet. Weird alleys, creepy corners, that sort of thing.”

Pigsy let out a huff, but Tang just nodded with a shrug, already pulling out his map again.

Mei turned to the others. “Wukong, Red—see that hotel over there?” She pointed to an old, five-story building across the street. Its facade was weather-stained and crumbling at the edges, with rusting fire escapes and flickering neon signage that buzzed tiredly. “That looks like the kind of place someone would hide in if they didn’t want to be found. You two check that.”

Wukong tilted his head toward her, crossing his arms. “What about you?”

“I’ll hit the rest of the parks around here,” Mei replied quickly. “There’s a bunch of them, and MK loves parks. If they’re laying low, maybe he convinced Macaque to rest there for a bit.”

Wukong sighed. “Be careful.”

“You too.” She gave a tired smile, then turned and vanished down the sidewalk.

As the others split into their assigned pairs and disappeared into the veins of the city, Wukong and Red Son stood alone for a moment on the curb.

“Well?” Red Son said sharply, his boots tapping impatiently against the sidewalk. “What are we waiting for? Come on. Let’s check that building.”

Wukong gave a long sigh, rubbing his temples. “Right, right… I’m coming.”

Together, the two crossed the street toward the hotel. Up close, the building looked even worse. The windows were stained with years of grime, and the signage above the front doors was hanging crookedly, one side held by a stubborn screw while the other drooped like a broken wing. They pushed through the glass doors, which creaked loudly on their hinges.

The lobby was musty, dimly lit by a couple of yellow ceiling bulbs, and filled with furniture that had seen better decades. An old radiator hissed near the entrance, and the wallpaper was peeling in long strips from the corners. At the check-in desk sat a man in his early forties, with messy dark-blond hair, tired brown eyes, and a half-finished crossword puzzle in front of him. He barely looked up as they approached.

Wukong leaned forward on the counter, trying to sound polite—but his exhaustion was obvious. “Hey, sorry to bother you. We’re looking for a couple of people who might’ve checked in here recently.”

The man gave a slow blink, uninterested. “Lotta people come through here.”

“One’s a boy,” Wukong continued. “Brown hair, hyperactive, talks a lot. The other’s a bit taller, but not by much. Always looks like he’s one dramatic monologue away from summoning a thunderstorm. Reads a lot of fantasy books. Total edge-lord.”

The man tilted his head. That sparked a vague memory. “Oh… yeah, I think I know who you’re talking about.” He tapped his pen on the counter. “Rented an apartment a few days ago. Fifth floor. Room 554.”

Red Son straightened. “Can we check if they’re still there?”

The man considered for a moment, eyeing them both, then shrugged. “Sure. Not my business. Fifth floor—room 554. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks,” Wukong said, already heading toward the stairwell with Red Son close behind.

The climb up the stairs was uneventful, but the creaking under their feet echoed through the narrow hallways. When they reached the fifth floor, the air smelled faintly of mold and something burned long ago. They stopped in front of room 554. The door was old, scuffed, and had a faint dark stain near the bottom. Red Son stepped forward and tried the knob.

It wasn’t locked.

He pushed the door open slowly.

The apartment was exactly what you’d expect from a place rented in secret in the crumbling heart of New York. The ceiling had a leak stain in the corner, the walls were cracked, and the furniture looked like it had been pulled from a dumpster and reluctantly dusted off. But there were traces of someone—two someones—having lived there. A half-crumpled blanket on the couch. An empty bubble tea cup. A few crumbs on the counter. And on the floor, a faded wrapper from MK’s favorite burger place.

Red Son stepped inside slowly, scanning the room. “Should we… wait here? In case they come back?”

Wukong didn’t answer right away. He stepped further into the apartment, his golden eyes half-lidded as he concentrated. He closed his hand, letting his fingers trace over the air as though sensing something invisible. Finally, he exhaled sharply.

“They won’t come back,” he said quietly.

Red Son blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I can feel Macaque’s magic here,” Wukong said, walking to the center of the room. “It’s strong. Stronger than it would be if they were still around. It means they were here… and they already left.”

Red Son groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “So we came all the way here for nothing?”

“It wasn’t nothing,” Wukong muttered, sighing. “But we’re done here. Call the others. We’ll head back to Megapolis. Take a break.”

Red Son turned to him, stunned. “We can’t do that. We still have to try. They’re still out there.”

“We’ve tried everything!” Wukong snapped. “We followed the journal. We searched the city. We found their hiding spot! And now? They’re gone again. What do you want me to do?"

Red Son’s fists clenched. His eyes glowed faintly, but his voice was steady. “I want you to not give up. MK needs us. He needs you. Are you really going to give up on him?”

Wukong stared at him for a long moment. Then he closed his eyes. “I’m not giving up,” he said softly. “I’m just taking a break. When we do find them, I swear I’ll give MK the lecture of a lifetime… and I’m going to punch Macaque straight in the face.”

Red Son blinked. “I thought Mei specifically told you not to punch him.”

Wukong opened one eye. “She doesn’t need to know that.”

Red Son rolled his eyes and sighed, but he pulled out his phone anyway. He opened the group chat and quickly typed:

We found the apartment MK and Macaque were hiding in.

It’s empty. They already left.

Still missing.

Wukong says we go back to Megapolis for a break.

Then we’ll continue the search for those two buffoons.

With a long sigh, he slipped the phone back into his pocket. The two of them left the apartment without another word and headed back down the stairs, the creaks behind them echoing like ghosts.

The others were already waiting in the park by the time they arrived. The setting sun painted the sky in streaks of deep orange and purple, casting shadows across the grass and benches.

Mei stood up from a bench the moment she saw them. “Well?”

“They’re gone,” Wukong said flatly. “But we found where they were.”

Mei’s eyes narrowed. “So what now? We can’t just give up.”

“We’re not giving up,” Wukong said. “We’re taking a break.”

Pigsy groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Even if we do, and start again later… what makes you think we’ll find them then?”

Mei looked at each of them, fire burning in her gaze. “Because we still have hope, Pigsy. We’ve come this far. If all we need is a break, then fine. We take the break.”

She turned to Red Son. “Red, get us out of here.”

Red Son gave a small smirk and cracked his knuckles. “With pleasure.”

With a swift motion, he summoned a swirling red portal in the air, the edges crackling with his unique energy. One by one, the group stepped through the portal, leaving behind the cold city streets.

And far above them, on a rooftop across the street, an old crow let out a low, knowing caw.

[END] 

Chapter Text

It was night in Megapolis.

The city outside still buzzed with the hum of lights, horns, and distant voices—but none of it touched the forgotten corners of the city, where a single building crouched in shadows like a memory no one wanted to remember.

Macaque’s old dojo.

Dust curled like smoke in the moonlight slipping through cracked windows. Faint creaks whispered through the wooden beams, as if the building itself was sighing after years of silence.

Inside, MK and Macaque stood just inside the entry hall. They hadn’t spoken since the portal dropped them there. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable—but charged. Like both were waiting to see if the other regretted coming back.

MK looked around, his brown eyes wide. “Wow,” he breathed, wrinkling his nose, “this place really does need a lot of cleaning.”

Cobwebs danced from every rafter. A few shadows shifted across the floor from MK’s movement, making him step back instinctively.

Macaque stood beside him, arms crossed, tail flicking. “Yeah. I know.” His voice echoed slightly in the hollow space. “Come on, I think I had a broom somewhere... unless the spiders ate it.”

They moved deeper into the dojo, boots tapping softly on the aged wooden floor. MK followed close behind, one hand still resting on the side of his satchel just in case something jumped out. They opened a closet door near the side hall and found an old wooden broom propped in the corner, but the handle snapped in half when Macaque touched it.

MK stared at it, deadpan. “Seriously?”

“How are we supposed to clean this place? It’s going to take forever.”

Macaque stared at the broken broom for one full beat. Then he muttered, “Oh, fuck this,” and snapped his fingers.

A swarm of tiny shadow monkeys burst into the room from all directions—tiny, fluid, and fast. They chittered like mischief incarnate and immediately zipped through the space, wiping surfaces, sweeping floors, untangling webs. Dust vanished in clouds. Curtains were pulled open. A long-lost fan even spun a little overhead.

MK watched them in shock, brow furrowed. “Wait—why didn’t you do this in the first place?”

Macaque shrugged, deadpan. “Because I like watching you suffer?”

MK just sighed and leaned back against the nearest wall... which moved.

“Wah—!” He yelped, stumbling forward as the wall creaked inward with a low grinding sound, revealing a dark passage behind it.

MK turned, blinking in disbelief. “You have a secret passage?”

Macaque stepped forward, peering into the narrow corridor now revealed. “Oh, right... yeah. I forgot about that.”

“You forgot about a secret room in your own dojo?”

“I don’t exactly give tours, kid.”

MK walked over, peering into the inky black space. “Where does it go?”

Macaque scratched behind his ear. “Pretty sure it leads to my apartment. I built it during... a paranoid phase.”

“You built a whole secret passage just to go to your apartment?” MK asked, raising an eyebrow. “Why not just teleport like usual? I mean, you can move through shadows!”

Macaque shrugged again, his tone dry. “You never know when you’ll need a cool emergency passage. And don’t act like it’s not cool. Secret passages are always cool.”

MK shook his head with a smirk and turned back toward the main hall. By now, the dojo looked almost unrecognizable—clean floors, dust-free shelves, shadows no longer writhing with ancient cobwebs. The air even smelled a little better.

“Wow,” MK said, looking around. “The shadows actually did a good job.”

The little shadow monkeys were gone, slipping back into the darkness with silent satisfaction.

“But now what?” MK asked, pacing slightly. “We can’t go out looking like us. People might recognize us, especially in the city. It’s Megapolis—we’re not exactly... subtle.”

Macaque leaned against a pillar, arms crossed again. “Well... you could change your appearance.”

MK blinked. “How? It’s not like I’ve ever done that before.”

Macaque raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? What the hell has Wukong been teaching you?”

MK scratched his neck sheepishly. “I mean, I can turn into a hawk. And sometimes a few different animals if I really concentrate. That counts, right?”

“Sure. If this was a nature documentary.” Macaque’s tone was sarcastic, but not cruel. “You really need to learn glamours, shapeshifting, the whole shebang. It’s useful.”

“Well... okay.” MK stepped closer. “So how do I do it?”

Macaque gave him a flat look. “No. I’m not teaching you.”

MK immediately clasped his hands together, eyes wide with exaggerated sparkle. “Pretty please? With a cherry on top?”

Macaque looked away. “Nope.”

“Pleeeease? I’ll stop leaving my socks in weird places.”

“Nope—”

MK pouted harder. “I’ll let you pick the TV channels. Even the boring ones!”

Macaque turned slightly, trying to resist... and then MK pulled out the ultimate weapon: the puppy-dog eyes.

“Oh come on,” Macaque groaned. “Not the eyes. I’m not falling for that again. Not this time.”

MK tilted his head slightly.

“Damnit,” Macaque muttered. “Fine! You win."

MK lit up. “Yes! So when do we start?”

Macaque smirked. “Later. Right now, I just want to sit and watch TV.”

He reached for the ancient box TV perched on a corner stand, slapping the top until the screen flickered to life in black-and-white static.

MK tilted his head skeptically. “That thing still works?”

Macaque twisted the antenna. “Hey. It’s not completely broken.”

“Sure,” MK muttered. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The two of them flopped onto the couch. It squeaked beneath their combined weight, but neither cared. The dojo hummed with quiet comfort. Outside, the world continued moving—but inside this old forgotten place, they were safe. For now.

Macaque stretched his arms above his head, yawning as the screen buzzed.

“Tomorrow,” he said, “we’ll work on the appearance thing.”

MK yawned too, eyes fluttering closed. “Cool…”

Silence settled in as the static faded into a grainy broadcast of a random old sitcom. Somewhere in the corner, a Little Shadow curled up like a cat.

They were back in the city. 

Still hidden.

Still hunted.

But, at least for tonight, not alone.

The neon glow of the city buzzed quietly outside the steamed windows of Pigsy’s Noodle Shop, casting long shadows across the floor. Inside, the small restaurant was dimly lit and full of the kind of silence that came after too many long, tiring hours.

Everyone was tired—beyond tired, really. Drained. Frustrated. The air hung thick with the weight of unanswered questions and dead-end searches.

Tang slumped forward on a stool by the counter, his chin barely resting on his hand. His eyes were half-lidded, glazed with exhaustion.

“I think I need more coffee,” he mumbled.

Pigsy shot him a look from behind the counter. “You already had two cups of coffee—with extra sugar.”

Tang blinked slowly and gave a tiny shrug. “What can I say? I need to stay awake... somehow.”

Across the counter, Mei leaned heavily against it, her head resting on her folded arms, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m so tired I could sleep anywhere,” she muttered.

Just then, the door opened with a soft chime. Sandy stepped in, a welcome but equally weary presence. His fur was dusted with a few leaves—he’d come as soon as he got Mei’s text that they were back. Without a word, he moved to the kitchen, already boiling water for tea with practiced ease.

Pigsy, meanwhile, handed out steaming bowls of noodles to the group. His voice was soft but firm, the way it always was when he worried but didn’t want to show it.

“Come on, now. You're never too tired for a hot bowl of noodles. It'll help. Eat.”

Wukong took his bowl with a soft “Thanks,” then immediately dug in. His golden eyes were dull with fatigue, and his fur looked a little ruffled, like he hadn’t rested properly in days. Still, he ate like he hadn’t had a real meal in a while.

Red Son sat at a table nearby, elegantly eating his own noodles despite the situation. But the exhaustion was in his posture too—his shoulders hunched slightly, his face more worn than usual. He sighed, setting his chopsticks down after a few bites.

“We still need a plan to find those two imbeciles,” he said, voice clipped.

Mei let out a long sigh, barely lifting her head from the counter. “Well someone better come up with something... because I’m out of ideas.”

Pigsy set his own bowl aside and leaned on the counter, rubbing a hand down his face. “Dammit. It’s like we’re trying to find a black cat in the dark. We have no clue where MK and Macaque could be.”

Wukong had finished his food and was leaning back now, arms crossed, head tilted toward the ceiling. “We tried everything,” he muttered. “What more do you want from us?”

Pigsy didn’t respond, just exhaled hard and sank into a chair, clearly feeling the same hopeless weight they all did.

At that moment, Sandy returned with a tray of teacups, the scent of calming herbs filling the air—lavender, honey, maybe a touch of chamomile. He handed them out one by one with his usual gentle warmth, even if his eyes looked just as tired.

“If they left New York,” he said softly, “that means they knew you were there. Right?”

Everyone paused.

Mei slowly lifted her head, blinking blearily. “Hey... that’s right. Maybe... maybe we were close. And I think—” She frowned in thought. “I think Macaque might’ve heard us. That would explain why Wukong and Red Son found the apartment empty.”

Wukong straightened slightly. “Okay, yeah. That makes sense. But... what does that have to do with us trying to find them? It’s still a dead end.”

Mei sighed, deflating again. “Yeah, okay. You’re right...”

The group fell into a heavy silence again, broken only by the gentle clink of teacups and the buzz of the sign outside.

Pigsy finally stood up and clapped his hands lightly. “Alright. I think we all need some sleep. We can talk more in the morning, when our brains aren’t leaking out our ears.”

Wukong yawned—long and loud, tail flicking lazily behind him. “You think? The moment my head hits the pillow, I’m gonna pass out and stay out.”

“Same,” Mei mumbled, half-humming in agreement, already drifting into something between sleep and consciousness.

After a few more slow sips of tea and murmured goodnights, they began to part ways.

Wukong stretched and stepped outside, summoning Nimbus with a wave. The cloud whooshed in from the sky and hovered beside him. He turned back and gave the others a nod.

“Goodnight, everyone.”

With a soft swish of air and a flash of gold, he rose into the night sky, disappearing in the direction of Flower Fruit Mountain.

Red Son stood, brushing imaginary dust from his jacket. He turned to Mei and opened a glowing portal with a sharp twist of his wrist. The green light shimmered like oil, casting a strange glow across their faces.

Mei stepped toward it, but paused.

“Thanks, Red,” she said quietly. “Goodnight.”

He gave her a small nod. “Get some rest.”

She stepped through the portal, vanishing from the shop.

Red Son opened another portal for himself. With one last glance around the dim noodle shop—his face unreadable, maybe thoughtful—he stepped inside and disappeared.

Sandy had already said his goodbyes and left a few minutes before, quietly heading back to his ship with a half-empty thermos of tea in hand.

Now, only Pigsy and Tang remained.

Tang was still at the counter, now completely asleep, head resting on his folded arms, mouth slightly open, glasses slipping down his nose.

Pigsy looked at him, then gave a soft sigh and shook his head fondly.

“Come on, sleepyhead,” he said, voice gentle. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He moved around the counter and carefully lifted Tang—no easy task, but he did it with practiced ease, like he’d done it a dozen times before.

Pigsy carried him to the back room and laid him down in one of the shop’s cots, pulling a blanket over him. Tang murmured something incoherent and snuggled deeper into the covers.

Pigsy stood there a moment longer, watching his friend sleep.

Then he rubbed the back of his neck, walked over to his own bed, and sat down heavily. The moment he lay back, his eyes slid shut—but his mind refused to rest.

Where are you, MK? What were you thinking, running off like that... with him?

He didn’t say it aloud.

But as sleep crept in around the edges of his thoughts, Pigsy made a silent promise to himself:

He would find MK.

And when he did, he was going to knock some damn sense into that kid’s head—whether he liked it or not.

The morning sun filtered through the long silk curtains of the Crimson Palace, casting a soft amber glow across the polished floor. The gentle clink of porcelain and silverware echoed faintly in the grand dining room, where breakfast had been laid out with meticulous care: a spread of spiced rice, golden-fried dumplings, seasonal fruits, and warm tea that sent steam curling into the air.

But Red Son wasn’t touching any of it.

He sat at the long table across from his mother, Princess Iron Fan, his posture slouched in an uncharacteristic way. His fingers loosely held a fork as he slowly pushed the food around on his plate, stirring the rice into aimless patterns without ever bringing a bite to his mouth.

Princess Iron Fan watched him quietly from her seat, an elegant figure in morning robes of red and gold. Her hair was perfectly pinned, and her demeanor graceful as always, but there was a softness in her eyes—a mother’s intuition sensing something wasn’t right.

After a few minutes of silence, she set her teacup down with a gentle clink and spoke in a low, warm voice.

“Dear… you seem upset. What’s wrong?”

Red Son didn’t look up at first. He sighed deeply, setting his fork down and staring at the intricate tablecloth as though the answers might be hidden in its embroidery.

“Well… many things happened in these past few days,” he said slowly. “And I don’t know what to do anymore.”

PIF tilted her head gently. “What do you mean?”

He finally met her eyes. “I told you that MK and Macaque left the city. And we still haven’t found them.”

She nodded. “Yes… you mentioned that. And?”

Red Son exhaled again, the weight of uncertainty in his shoulders. “I don’t know if we’re ever going to find them. It’s like… we were so close. We tracked them all the way to New York. But when Wukong and I finally got to their apartment, they were gone. Like shadows in smoke.”

PIF folded her hands in front of her plate, her voice calm and reassuring. “Don’t lose hope, honey. You will find them. But some things take time.”

He looked down again, fingers twitching lightly on the table. “Yeah… I know. It’s just… sometimes I wonder. We were right there. I could feel it. And Wukong said… said that they wouldn’t come back.” His voice was bitter at the end. “That they were gone.”

His mother’s eyes softened with compassion, and she spoke with careful understanding. “Maybe… they just need space, dear. A lot’s happened. Maybe time is all they need right now.”

Red Son frowned, his voice low. “MK might be stubborn, sure, but… leaving with Macaque? And just… leaving a note? That’s not like him. Not really.”

There was a pause.

Princess Iron Fan’s expression softened even more as she leaned forward just slightly, voice dipping into something more affectionate—sweet, but knowing.

“You have feelings for the boy, don’t you?”

Red Son blinked, startled. His cheeks flushed slightly, and he sat up straighter, defensively waving a hand.

“What? No! I don’t—I would never fall in love with him! That’s absurd!”

PIF giggled softly behind her hand, her laugh graceful and amused. “Oh, darling, I was only saying... But if you don’t know what you feel about him, then maybe... you should try listening to your heart.”

Red Son’s mouth opened, then closed. He looked away, jaw tight, unsure what to say. He hesitated, swirling the tea in his cup.

“It’s not just him, I think,” he admitted at last, his voice quiet.

PIF blinked once, her smile becoming more curious. “Oh? Then… who else, dear?”

Red Son looked down at his hands, then sighed. “It’s Mei. I don’t know what I feel for either of them. They’re both—important—but… in different ways. And I can’t tell where the line between friendship and... more even is.”

Princess Iron Fan reached across the table and laid a gentle hand on her son’s, her eyes calm and kind.

“Well, dear… it’s not my place to tell you how you feel. But I do think… if it’s in your heart, you should say it. Tell them both. Maybe they feel the same.” She gave him a knowing look. “You never know unless you try.”

Red Son finally smiled faintly—a rare thing when he was so deep in thought. He nodded, gripping her hand briefly in gratitude.

“I will. I’ll tell them… eventually. But first, we have to find MK. That’s the most important thing right now.”

PIF gave his hand a small squeeze and released it. “Then you’ll find him. I know you will.”

Outside the tall windows, the sun had fully risen, casting gold across the tiled rooftops of the city.

Inside, Red Son felt a little lighter.

The sky over the city was pale blue and cloudless, but it did nothing to lift Mei’s mood. The midday sun was warm on her back as she walked slowly down the sidewalk, hands stuffed in the pockets of her hoodie, sneakers dragging slightly with each step. The buzz of the city moved around her—cars passing, conversations floating from open cafes, a bird or two flitting across the street—but it all felt like background noise. Like her mind was tuned to a completely different frequency.

She hadn’t slept much. None of them had.

It had only been a few days since they’d confirmed it—MK and Macaque had left New York. The apartment they’d tracked down had been cleared out. Not even a spoon left behind. She was sure Macaque had heard them coming, and they’d vanished before anyone could reach them.

And now?

Now, they were back to square one.

Mei sighed through her nose and pulled out her phone again for what had to be the third time that day. Her thumb hovered over MK’s contact before tapping it with a practiced rhythm.

Ring.

Ring.

Straight to voicemail.

She didn’t even bother leaving a message anymore.

With a quiet grunt of frustration, she shoved the phone back into her pocket and kept walking.

When she finally reached Pigsy’s Noodle Shop, the familiar jingle of the little bell above the door greeted her. The comforting scent of broth and soy hit her nose instantly, and she was met with the quiet clatter of chopsticks and the low hum of a radio playing something soft and instrumental.

Pigsy stood behind the counter, drying a bowl with a towel. He glanced up as the door closed behind her, his face lined with the same tired look she saw in the mirror every morning.

Tang was seated at the counter, hunched over a half-empty bowl of noodles, absentmindedly poking them with his chopsticks like he wasn’t really hungry.

“Hey,” Mei said, her voice low and a little hoarse.

Pigsy gave her a nod. “Hey, kid. You look beat.”

“I feel it.” She pulled out a stool and sank into it with a quiet sigh, resting her elbows on the counter and slumping forward. “Any good news?”

Pigsy shook his head as he folded the towel over his arm. “Nope. Nothing new since yesterday. Wukong’s off meditating somewhere, Red Son’s doing his own thing, and Sandy’s out checking warehouses again. No word. No clue. No MK.”

Mei nodded slowly, her gaze falling to the counter. She reached out and absently traced the wood grain with her fingertip. “Feels like we’re just spinning in circles. No matter what we try, we keep ending up back at nothing.”

Tang looked up from his noodles and offered a tired smile. “Come on, Mei. It’s like you always say—don’t lose hope, remember?”

She let out a quiet laugh. “I know. It’s just… harder to believe it now. I keep thinking, what if they don’t want to be found?”

Tang hesitated. “You really think that?”

Mei shrugged and leaned back, letting her head fall against the wall behind her. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just know they’re not in New York anymore, and I have no idea where they are. And I hate it.”

There was a short silence between them. Pigsy finally broke it by sliding a fresh cup of hot tea across the counter toward her.

“Drink,” he said simply. “You’ll feel better.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, wrapping her hands around the cup and letting the warmth seep into her fingers.

For a while, no one said anything. The shop was mostly empty. The hum of the fridge and the soft clink of bowls being stacked were the only sounds. Outside, a couple walked by pushing a stroller. The world kept turning, even if theirs had ground to a halt.

Tang finally spoke again, his voice a little more thoughtful. “What if they are back in Megapolis?”

Mei’s eyes flicked toward him. “You think so?”

“It’s just a hunch,” Tang said. “But if Macaque heard us in New York, and they were already planning to disappear… maybe they came back. Maybe they’re somewhere familiar. Somewhere quiet.”

“Maybe,” Mei whispered, not sure if she dared to hope that was true.

Pigsy leaned on the counter, watching her. “You got any ideas where they’d go? If they are here?”

She thought about it. “No. Not yet. But I’ll think of something.”

“Good,” Pigsy said. “Because I’m not letting either of you give up. Not yet.”

Mei gave a tired but genuine smile. She took a slow sip of her tea.

“I’m not giving up,” she said. “I’m just… taking a break.”

“Fair enough,” Pigsy said.

The sky was dimming into a deep lavender as the sun dipped behind the buildings of Megapolis, painting the alleyways and rooftops in shadow. Streetlights blinked to life one by one, casting pools of amber light onto the sidewalks. The city had grown quieter—less hurried, less loud. The usual roar of buses and chatter of crowds was replaced by the soft hum of traffic in the distance, muffled and distant, like the city itself was winding down for the night.

Outside the weathered walls of the old dojo, MK stood in the middle of the courtyard, arms outstretched, brow furrowed in concentration. His form flickered—one moment he looked like himself, and then for a second his hair darkened, his height shifted slightly, and his eyes changed shape. But then the image cracked, shimmered, and snapped back to his usual self.

“Ughhh,” MK groaned, letting his arms fall limply to his sides. “This takes forever. And it’s already almost night.”

Across from him, Macaque stood with arms folded, leaning casually against the outer wall of the dojo. His posture was relaxed, but his sharp golden eyes tracked MK’s movements with quiet focus.

“Well,” he said, “shapeshifting’s not exactly a party trick. You’re not snapping your fingers and poofing into someone else. It takes control. Patience. A clear head.”

“I know that,” MK muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. “It’s just… a lot.”

Macaque sighed and pushed off the wall. His tone softened. “Why don’t we call it for the day? Take a break. Get something to eat.”

MK perked up a little at that. “That actually sounds good, mama—”

He froze, realizing what he said. “Ugh, sorry. I… I don’t know why I keep calling you that.”

To his surprise, Macaque chuckled as he walked over, placing a hand gently on MK’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s fine. Just… maybe don’t yell it in public, okay? I’ve got a reputation.”

MK snorted a little but then grew quiet. He looked down at the ground, his sneakers scuffing the worn stone tiles.

Macaque tilted his head. He knew that look. “What’s on your mind, kid?”

MK hesitated. “It’s just… you won’t get it.”

“Try me.”

There was a long pause before MK finally sat down on the edge of the courtyard. He hugged his knees to his chest and rested his chin there. “Every time I call you ‘mama,’ I think about… what it would’ve felt like to actually have one. A real mom. I never met her. Don’t even know what she looked like. She’s just… a blank space in my life.”

Macaque slowly lowered himself to sit beside him, his voice low. “That’s not a small thing to carry around.”

“It’s stupid,” MK said quickly, his voice tight. “I mean—I’m fine. I’m not saying I’m broken or anything. I just… wonder.”

“Doesn’t sound stupid to me,” Macaque said. He picked up a nearby twig and gently snapped it in half. “Maybe one day, who knows? You’ll meet her. Talk things out. Life’s weird like that.”

MK nodded slowly. He was quiet for a few seconds longer, then his eyes widened.

“Wait,” he said suddenly, turning to Macaque. “You can hear things, right? Like… the past, present, future, all that stuff?”

Macaque blinked at him, caught off guard. “Yeah? Why?”

MK leaned forward eagerly. “Could you try and hear the past? From, like, when Pigsy found me? Maybe… maybe you could hear her voice or something?”

Macaque stared at him for a moment, weighing it. “MK, that’s not something I can just snap into. It takes time. It’s tricky.”

“Please?” MK asked, eyes wide and hopeful.

Macaque exhaled through his nose. “Alright, alright. But I need something to lock onto. A moment. A detail. Do you know anything specific about the day you showed up?”

MK nodded. “Yeah. Pigsy said he found me on his doorstep. January 4th, 2002. Said I was just… there in a basket.”

“That’s specific enough,” Macaque said. “Alright, I’ll give it a try.”

He sat up straighter and closed his eyes. With a sweep of his hand, his illusion faded slightly to reveal his six mystical ears—each a different color. The top set shimmered a soft pink, the middle glowed a faint yellow, and the bottom pair, closest to his jawline, were a deep, luminous blue.

MK gasped. “You actually have six ears?!”

Macaque chuckled. “Well, duh. It’s kind of in the name, bud. Now shush—I need to focus.”

He closed his eyes fully. The blue ears began to glow brighter. The courtyard around them grew eerily silent as Macaque concentrated, drawing on the threads of time, stretching his perception backward to a cold morning nearly twenty-one years ago.

For a moment, he heard something—a soft whimper. The rustling of blankets. Baby MK snoring softly. But nothing else. No voice. No words.

He furrowed his brow, tried again. Reached deeper. Time twisted like water down a drain.

Still… nothing. Just the wind.

Finally, Macaque opened his eyes. His expression was apologetic, tinged with guilt.

“Sorry, bud. I tried twice. I can hear you, but… not her. It’s like she wasn’t even there.”

MK’s shoulders dropped. “Oh.”

“I really am sorry,” Macaque said. “Sometimes the past hides what it doesn’t want seen.”

MK nodded slowly. “It’s okay. Thanks for trying.”

Macaque stood up and stretched. “Come on. Let’s get some food. We both need it.”

He walked back toward the dojo’s back entrance, disappearing inside. MK stayed there for a moment, letting the silence stretch. The fading light turned the courtyard a soft blue.

Eventually, he reached down and picked up his phone. The screen lit up—three missed calls from Mei.

He bit his lip, then tapped to call her back.

She picked up instantly.

“MK?!” Her voice was breathless. “Are you okay?! Oh thank goodness—you actually called. Where are you?”

“I’m fine,” MK said softly. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Don’t need to worry? MK, I’ve been worrying this whole time! Where are you?”

“I can’t tell you that. I’m sorry.”

There was a pause. Then: “Is… is Macaque still with you?”

“Yeah,” MK said. “He’s here.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell me where you are?”

“I’m sure,” he said, more quietly. “But don’t worry. I’m safe.”

There was silence on the other end, long and heavy. Finally, MK broke it.

“I gotta go.”

“Wait, MK—”

But he ended the call before she could finish. The phone screen dimmed, then went black.

MK stared at it for a moment, then quietly turned it off and tucked it back into his hoodie. He stood up and made his way back into the dojo, following the scent of something… vaguely edible.

In the kitchen, Macaque was leaning against the fridge, holding a rusted can in one hand and a ladle in the other.

“What are you making?” MK asked.

“Soup,” Macaque said with a grin. “Expired canned soup. Found it in the back of the pantry. Might’ve expired a year ago. Still smells alright.”

MK grimaced. “Ugh. Maybe should eat something else."

Macaque raised a brow. “All I found in the fridge was expired lettuce, half a tomato, and something that may or may not have once been a chicken. We eat soup.”

MK sighed dramatically and flopped down at the small table. “Fine. But if I die, it’s your fault.”

After a few more minutes of bubbling and stirring, Macaque poured the soup into two chipped ceramic bowls. He handed one to MK and sat across from him with the other.

They ate in silence. Surprisingly, the soup wasn’t terrible. A little salty, maybe, but warm. Comforting.

Outside, the stars began to appear above Megapolis.

And for a little while, in the quiet glow of the dojo kitchen, neither of them said a word.

They didn’t need to.

[END] 

Chapter Text

The late morning sun filtered weakly through the thin clouds as MK and Macaque wandered the narrow aisles of a small, somewhat rundown grocery shop tucked away in the quieter side of the city. The place had flickering fluorescent lights, shelves stacked haphazardly, and a faint scent of old fruit lingering in the air. Still, it was better than nothing — and they needed food.

MK trailed beside Macaque, fidgeting with the edge of his new white jacket. His hair was now blonde — it had taken him two whole days to pull off the change, and all he managed was his hair. But at least it was something. The black shirt under his jacket, paired with grey jeans, made him look almost unrecognizable… hopefully.

Meanwhile, Macaque, in his human disguise, was a little shorter than usual — a wiry, street-tough kind of look. His long black hair hung loose with some white highlights streaking through it. A faded scar ran over his right eye, adding to the scruffy, dangerous aesthetic. His dark purple eyes flicked over the fruit and vegetable aisle as he tossed a bunch of bananas into their basket. He wore a black hoodie with a grinning skull printed on the front and light brown jeans that looked like they'd seen better days.

MK stood there doing nothing, awkwardly watching Macaque pick through the produce.

Macaque sighed, shifting the basket in his hand. "Why don’t you go find something sweet, huh?" His tone was casual, but his sharp eyes scanned the aisle for any signs of trouble.

"Like what?" MK asked, frowning slightly.

"I dunno, chocolate… gum… whatever rots your teeth," Macaque replied with a smirk.

MK shrugged, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. "K, I’ll be back in a minute."

Leaving Macaque behind, MK wandered toward the sweets aisle, weaving through shoppers. He rounded the corner when — WHAM — he bumped straight into someone. The impact sent both of them stumbling back and landing hard on the linoleum floor.

"Ow… sorry, I wasn’t looking—" MK began, rubbing his head. But when he looked up, his stomach flipped.

It was Mei.

Green streaks in her dark hair, signature jacket tied around her waist, a bag of chips clutched in one hand. She blinked down at him, brushing stray hair out of her face.

"Don’t worry, I wasn’t looking either. You okay?" she said, offering him a hand to help him up.

MK stared at her, frozen for a moment, panic twisting in his chest. His mind raced. Should he run? Say something? But her hand was still there — waiting.

He reluctantly took it, pulling himself to his feet. "Yeah… I’m fine. Don’t worry."

Mei tilted her head, eyes narrowing as she studied him. "You seem… familiar. Have we met before?"

MK tensed. His pulse thundered in his ears. "Huh? No, we haven’t."

She didn’t say anything at first, still peering at him with a suspicious look, but eventually shrugged. "Well, I’m Mei. And you are…?"

Oh no… oh no, think! Quick, quick… MK’s brain scrambled for a name — any name.

"I’m… Michael," he blurted. "Short for Mike."

"Michael, huh?" Mei smiled, stepping back. "Well, nice to meet you, Mike. But I gotta run — kinda busy."

MK exhaled in relief, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, me too. I… gotta go. Bye."

Grabbing the nearest chocolate bar, he pivoted out of the aisle, not daring to glance back. Mei lingered behind, muttering to herself as she looked after him, "He really seems familiar… but where have I seen him?"

Meanwhile, Macaque was waiting at the end of the vegetable aisle, holding the basket now filled with bananas, bread, and instant noodles. He spotted MK hurrying toward him.

"What took you so long?" Macaque asked under his breath, eyes sharp.

MK still looked rattled. "I just… bumped into Mei."

Macaque stiffened slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Did she recognize you?"

MK shook his head quickly. "No, but she said I looked familiar."

Macaque let out a slow sigh, shoulders relaxing only slightly. "Well… at least she didn’t figure it out. Come on — we need to get out of here."

"Right behind you," MK mumbled, falling into step beside him.

As they made their way to the cashier, MK’s breath caught in his throat. Standing at the checkout line just ahead was… Mei. She had a bag of chips in her hand, flipping them over to check the label. She looked up as they approached.

"Hey, Mike! Glad to see you again," Mei greeted cheerfully, her eyes drifting toward Macaque. "Who’s the guy?"

Panic surged through MK again. Think, think, THINK!

"Huh? Uh, this is my friend. His name’s… uhh… Roy," MK blurted out, heart pounding in his chest.

Macaque side-eyed him for a long moment but played along. His expression awkward, he looked at Mei and mumbled, "Hi…"

Mei grinned. "Nice to meet you, Roy. I like your hoodie — super cool."

Macaque relaxed just enough to smirk faintly. "Thanks… your jacket’s cool too."

They stood there for a few more tense moments in the line, casual conversation exchanged while MK’s mind raced. Finally, they paid for their groceries and slipped out the automatic doors, the warm afternoon air hitting them as they stepped onto the sidewalk.

Both let out synchronized sighs of relief.

"Wow… that was way too close," MK muttered, running a hand through his blonde hair.

Macaque shot him a look, the scar on his eye creasing faintly. "Roy? What kind of name is Roy?"

"I dunno! It’s what came to mind!" MK huffed defensively.

Macaque sighed and shook his head. "Come on, let’s get out of here before she catches us." 

They slipped around the side of the building, away from prying eyes. Behind the shop, the alley was quiet — just the hum of traffic in the distance. Macaque lifted his hand, a portal of deep purple swirling into existence in front of them.

MK followed him through — neither of them noticing the green eyes watching from the corner.

Mei peeked around the wall, eyes wide with shock as she witnessed the portal and both of them vanishing into thin air.

"What… the… heck…?" she whispered, gripping the corner tightly.

The quiet buzz of the city faded behind the grocery shop as Mei remained frozen in the shadowed alleyway, pressed against the same corner she'd hidden behind. Her mind was still racing, her heart thudding in her chest as she stared at the exact spot where MK and Macaque had disappeared into the swirling shadows.

She couldn't believe it.

It was him.

Her instincts had been screaming at her from the moment she bumped into that "Mike" guy. The blonde hair threw her off at first, sure, but the voice, the awkward smile, even the way he panicked under pressure—it all screamed MK.

And then, when she'd seen them slip behind the shop, groceries in hand, only for Macaque to open a shadow portal and both of them to vanish? That sealed it. MK and Macaque were right here in Megapolis.

She fumbled for her phone with slightly shaking fingers, pulling it from her jacket pocket. Her thumb hovered over the screen for a moment before she tapped Wukong’s contact and hit call.

It only took two rings.

"Hey Mei, what’s wrong?" Wukong’s familiar voice came through, casual at first—but with an underlying note of concern.

Mei kept her voice low, glancing around the alley to make sure she was still alone. "I… I found MK and Macaque."

There was a pause on the line, followed by Wukong’s sharp intake of breath. "Wait—what? Where are they? Are they with you?"

Mei shook her head, even though he couldn’t see. "No, they're gone now. They took a shadow portal, but I saw them. Wukong, you need to come here."

His voice grew more urgent. "I’ll be there in a second. Send me your location."

The line clicked off as he hung up without another word. Mei quickly pulled up her location and sent it to him, her fingers still trembling slightly from the adrenaline.

Now… all she could do was wait.

The minutes dragged by. The noise of the city hummed softly beyond the alley, cars passing in the distance, faint music from a nearby store. Mei tapped her foot impatiently, eyes locked on the dark corner where the portal had been.

And then, overhead, she heard the low hum of clouds parting.

A golden blur zipped across the sky before circling down toward her. The familiar shape of Wukong on his Nimbus cloud drifted to the ground, landing smoothly beside her. His eyes were sharp, golden irises gleaming with concern as he hopped off the Nimbus.

"So? What happened?" he asked, walking toward her.

Mei didn’t waste a second. "Okay, so I was in the shop—just getting some chips—and I bumped into this guy." She gestured animatedly as she spoke. "He had blonde hair, kinda familiar face… called himself Mike, short for Michael."

Wukong tilted his head, listening carefully.

"And then I saw him later by the register with this other guy. Shorter, human form, long black hair with white highlights, scar on his right eye. He called him Roy."

At the mention of the description, Wukong’s brow furrowed slightly. "Okay… so you're telling me MK was blonde… and that’s all?"

Mei nodded quickly. "Yeah—just the hair and clothes. He looked nervous, though. Like MK nervous."

Wukong exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "And Macaque… in his human form…"

"Yep," Mei confirmed. "Roy."

Wukong rolled his eyes faintly. "What kind of fake name is Roy…" He shook his head, straightening his posture. "Alright, give me a second."

He closed his eyes, his expression focusing as the air around him shifted. A faint golden glow rippled from his body as he concentrated, reaching out with his senses, trying to detect any lingering magic.

For a moment, it was quiet. Then, his eyes snapped open.

"Yeah," Wukong confirmed, his voice more serious now. "It was them. I can still sense Macaque's shadow magic. Faint, but it’s here."

Mei's heart gave a hopeful jolt. "So they really are in Megapolis."

"Yeah," Wukong nodded, his face darkening in thought. "Which means… now we need to figure out how to find them."

Mei frowned, crossing her arms. "We could… go to the apartment?"

Wukong gave her a skeptical look. "You really think they'd be that dumb? Go back to the apartment when they're trying to stay hidden?"

Mei groaned softly, realizing he was right. "Okay… yeah, you're right. That’s… kinda dumb, even for MK."

Wukong sighed, his tail flicking with frustration. "Maybe we should talk about this in the morning. Come up with a real plan when our heads aren’t spinning."

Mei considered it, then nodded reluctantly. "Yeah… okay. You're right. We’ve got enough to deal with tonight."

With that, they walked out of the alley, heading back toward the front of the shop. Mei's motorbike was parked by the curb, exactly where she'd left it, its green detailing faintly reflecting the city lights.

Wukong summoned the Nimbus again, the golden cloud forming beneath him. He floated just a few feet off the ground, looking down at her. His expression softened slightly. "Stay safe, okay?"

Mei smiled faintly, putting her helmet on. "I will."

The two exchanged a final nod before Wukong shot off into the sky, the Nimbus carrying him away. Mei lingered for a second longer, staring at the spot where MK and Macaque had vanished earlier.

We're gonna find you, she promised silently. One way or another.

With that, she revved her bike and sped off into the night.

The sun rose lazily over the city, its golden rays filtering through the wispy clouds that drifted above the harbor. The waters below sparkled softly, broken occasionally by the gentle rocking of a familiar large blue houseboat anchored near the dock — Sandy’s boat. On the top deck, the soft clinks of teacups and the rustling of paper filled the otherwise quiet morning air.

Mei leaned forward on the weathered wooden table, arms braced against the surface as she stared intently at the mess of maps, scribbled notes, and things they had gathered over the last few days. Her expression was pinched with frustration, brows drawn down in determination… and exhaustion.

Beside her, Red Son sat slumped in a folding chair, his red cloak lazily drooped over one shoulder as he listlessly stared at a small notepad that had nothing useful written on it. A few feet away, Tang reclined on a pile of soft cushions, half-wrapped in a blanket and cradling a steaming cup of jasmine tea in his hands, his expression somewhere between contemplative and resigned.

They had been at this for hours now. Still nothing.

Mei finally broke the silence with a growl of frustration. “We have to find them. There’s no way we just give up now. They’re here—I know they are.”

Red Son sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face. “If anyone has a plan, I’m listening,” he said in his usual theatrical tone, but it lacked its usual fiery edge. He was just as lost as the rest of them.

Silence.

Nothing.

Then came the soft creak of wood and the scent of herbs and cinnamon as Sandy emerged from below deck, his towering frame gentle and warm as ever. He carried a tray laden with small bowls of snacks — roasted peanuts, steamed buns, and sesame cakes — along with a pot of freshly steeped tea and delicate cups. He smiled softly as he set it down in the middle of the table.

“Thought you guys could use a little break,” Sandy said, his deep voice calm and soothing as usual. He passed around the cups, pouring with practiced grace.

“Thanks, Sandy,” Tang murmured, accepting a cup gratefully and wrapping his hands around it for warmth. He took a slow sip, then looked out at the water, the morning sunlight dancing in the ripples. “Even if they’re back in Megapolis…” he said slowly, “we don’t know where they’re hiding. They could be anywhere.”

Mei groaned, leaning back and pulling at her bangs in frustration. “Ughhh, why can’t this be over already? And where is Pigsy? And Monkey King? Shouldn’t they be here with us?”

Tang glanced over at her. “Pigsy said the shop is packed today. He couldn’t step away. And Monkey King—” he paused to sip again, “—said he was going to try sensing Macaque’s magic, see if he could track them down that way.”

Mei sighed and slumped in her chair. “Okay, fine. Then we need to focus. Let’s think. If you were a hyperactive monkie man and a grumpy, brooding shadow demon, where would you hide?”

Red Son snorted and crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Somewhere dramatic and dusty, I’d guess.”

Sandy chuckled quietly but then leaned forward, his tone a little more serious. “Should we search the apartment again? Just in case?”

Mei shook her head. “Nah. Monkey King said they’re not that dumb. If they’re in hiding, they won’t go back to a place were we already know they would go"

Tang perked up a little, snapping his fingers. “What about… the dojo?”

Red Son immediately scoffed, flipping his bangs out of his eyes. “Please. That place hasn’t been used in years. It’s abandoned, dusty, and falling apart. Why in the realms would they choose to hide there?”

Tang shrugged, holding his tea cup delicately between two fingers. “Because no one uses that place anymore. No one would think to look for them there. It's remote. Private. Safe. Makes sense to me.”

Mei made a face, conflicted. “Yeah, except… that place is a wreck. It would take days of cleaning just to make it livable. MK wouldn’t have the patience. He’d probably trip over a rotted floorboard and break his ankle in the first five minutes.”

Sandy smiled kindly, placing a snack plate in front of her. “Alright, alright. Enough stressing. Let’s just relax for a bit. Tea and snacks. Then we plan.”

Mei looked at the sesame cake, then to Sandy, then finally let out a long, slow exhale. “You’re right. No point burning ourselves out.”

Red Son, without hesitation, reached for a bun. “Finally. Something useful in this meeting.”

Tang raised his cup slightly in a mock toast. “To taking breaks and not falling apart.”

The group chuckled lightly as the morning sun continued to rise higher in the sky, warming the wooden deck as the soft clink of teacups and quiet, shared silence filled the space. For a brief moment, they allowed themselves to rest—because the search would continue soon enough.

And this time, they were closer than ever.

Sunlight streamed through the cracked windows of the old dojo, warm and slanted, painting long streaks of gold across the faded wooden floor. The place was still quiet, tucked away from the noise and pulse of the city, but it no longer felt so empty. Dust still clung to the corners, and the air still carried the scent of aged paper and incense, but now it buzzed faintly with life.

At the center of the main room, two mismatched floor cushions sat opposite each other around a small, scratched-up table. A half-eaten bag of chips leaned off to one side, along with two open soda cans — one mostly gone, the other untouched.

MK, his hair back to brown, grinned with smug satisfaction as he dropped his final UNO card onto the pile.

“UNO,” he declared. Then, almost lazily, “And… game.”

Macaque slumped back onto his cushion with an exaggerated groan, staring at his hand full of cards. “Again?! How are you this good at this game?”

“I’m not good,” MK said, stretching his arms overhead and giving a dramatic yawn. “You’re just bad.”

“That’s encouraging,” Macaque muttered sarcastically, flicking one of his cards toward MK like a throwing star — it bounced harmlessly off MK’s shoulder.

MK snorted and gathered the cards. “Fifth game in a row. You haven’t won once. Maybe you’re just cursed when it comes to card games.”

“I told you I’ve never played this before,” Macaque huffed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Why are there so many rules? What’s with the colors? And don’t even get me started on the ‘reverse’ cards.”

“It’s not that complicated,” MK said, already reshuffling the deck. “It’s mostly just vibes and betrayal.”

“That explains why you’re so good at it.”

MK grinned. “Thanks, I think.”

Macaque leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and eyeing the cards. “Alright, one more round.”

“Oh ho,” MK said dramatically. “You want to lose again?”

“I want revenge,” Macaque corrected. “One win. That’s all I need. After that, I’ll never play again.”

MK let out a laugh. “Deal. But you’re gonna regret challenging the UNO master.”

"You’re not the UNO master,” Macaque muttered. “You just have too much free time.”

“Says the guy who's played five rounds already.”

“Only because I’m not letting you walk away with a perfect record,” Macaque growled, snatching his cards when MK finished dealing. “I have pride.”

MK leaned over, grinning mischievously. “And soon, you’ll have six losses.”

They played on. The cards slapped against the table in a rhythm of mock-serious tension and childish competition. MK laughed at every combo he pulled. Macaque rolled his eyes at every draw-four he was forced to take. At one point, MK dropped a wild card, and Macaque shouted, “HOW IS THAT EVEN LEGAL?!” which only made MK laugh harder.

By the time the round ended — with MK’s triumphant shout of “UNO!” echoing through the dojo once again — Macaque had buried his face in his hoodie and was mumbling what sounded like ancient curses in Old Monkey Script.

MK leaned back, smiling, watching the sunlight stretch further across the floor as afternoon edged closer to evening. “Y’know,” he said, more softly now, “this is kinda nice.”

Macaque peeked out from under his hood, eyes narrowing. “You mean losing repeatedly?”

“No,” MK said, laughing lightly. “Just… this. Being at peace. Not running from anything. Playing dumb card games.”

Macaque was quiet for a second. Then, with a reluctant sigh and a small half-smile, he muttered, “Yeah. It is.”

Their laughter echoed again, light and easy — a temporary shield against the world outside.

And for now... it was enough

The moon hung high outside Mei’s window, casting a soft bluish glow across her bedroom floor. Her room, usually filled with neon lights and gadgets, was now dim and quiet, lit only by the faint flicker of a small desk lamp. Mei sat cross-legged on the floor, her back against her bed, surrounded by scattered objects — each one a clue, each one a thread in the tangled mystery she’d been chasing for days, almost weeks now. 

Two spoons and a single fork lay beside her in a neat row, their plain metal glinting faintly in the lamp’s light. The old, worn copy of Alice in Wonderland rested open on a page she’d read a dozen times, its spine cracked from years of handling. MK’s childhood journal, its cover frayed at the edges, lay in her lap — half-open, pages marked with sticky notes and folded corners. On a high shelf just above her bed, the box of letters they’d found in Macaque’s dojo sat in solemn silence. 

Mei stared at the mess of clues with a furrowed brow, her mind a storm of possibilities. Her fingers toyed absentmindedly with the corner of the journal’s page. She let out a tired sigh, her shoulders slumping forward.

She didn’t even hear the door open until a familiar voice gently broke the silence behind her.

“Mei?”

She turned quickly, startled, and looked up. Standing in the doorway was her mother — elegant and calm even in her robe, her long hair braided over one shoulder.

Mei blinked. “I know it’s late,” she said hurriedly, wiping under her eyes as if to hide how tired she looked. “Just give me a few more minutes to clean this up and I’ll go to bed, I promise.”

Mrs. Dragon stepped into the room, but didn’t move to help her clean. Instead, she watched her daughter carefully, her gaze soft.

“Mei.”

There was something in the way she said it — quiet, patient, knowing.

Mei hesitated, her hand still hovering near the pile of scattered objects. Slowly, she sat back down, her legs folding beneath her again. She glanced up at her mother and sighed.

“Everything’s fine,” she mumbled. “I just… have a lot to do.”

Mrs. Dragon crossed the room and lowered herself onto the floor beside her daughter. The plush carpet sank beneath them as she settled in.

“Is it about the monkey shadow and the boy?” she asked gently.

Mei’s hands stilled in her lap.

“Yeah…” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… we’re so close. I know we’re close to finding them. But every time we get a lead, every time we think we’ve finally got them—they just vanish again. And I don’t know how to keep going. I’m tired.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and her fingers curled around the edge of MK’s journal. The frustration, the exhaustion, the ache of missing her best friend — it all came rushing in at once.

“I just…” she continued, her throat tightening. “I miss MK. I really miss him. I miss the times we used to hang out at the arcade… I miss playing games all night and laughing until we couldn’t breathe. I miss having him here. Everything’s different now, and I hate it.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and though she tried to blink them away, they slipped down her cheeks in warm, quiet trails. She turned her head slightly, but not fast enough to hide it. Her mother saw.

Mrs. Dragon didn’t say anything right away. Instead, she opened her arms, and Mei leaned into her without hesitation. She buried her face in her mother’s shoulder, her body trembling with quiet sobs.

“Oh, honey…” her mother whispered, holding her tightly. “It’s okay. Let it out. You’re doing everything you can. You’re smart, brave, and full of heart. You’ll find a way. I know you will.”

Mei sobbed harder, her voice shaking. “I just want everything to go back to normal. I want MK back. I want things to be like they used to be…”

Mrs. Dragon rubbed her back gently, her voice soothing. “I know, dear. I know. Just breathe. Let it out.”

And Mei did. She let the weight she’d been carrying spill out with her tears, clutching her mother like a lifeline. The storm inside her eased with each breath, with each wordless moment of comfort. Eventually, the tears slowed, and all that was left were soft sniffs and the echo of everything she hadn’t said aloud in days.

After a few minutes, Mrs. Dragon tilted her head and spoke gently. “Do you want to go to bed now? Or… we could stay here for a while longer.”

Mei sniffled, her voice hoarse but calmer now. “We can stay here. Just for a few more minutes.”

Mrs. Dragon smiled, brushing some of Mei’s hair from her face. “Whatever you want, my little dragonfly.”

They sat together on the floor, surrounded by spoons, storybooks, and scattered hope — the world still broken, but a little less lonely.

[END] 

Chapter Text

The dojo stood still in the dead of night, the old wooden walls creaking now and then with the cool breeze outside. The faint silver light of the moon slipped through the gaps in the windows, casting pale stripes on the floorboards. In the living room, a fort of pillows and blankets was piled together in a comfortable heap, and right in the middle of it, MK slept soundly. He was sprawled across the softness, one arm dangling off the side, snoring softly with every breath. His hair was messy, his face peaceful, caught in the embrace of deep, dreamless sleep.

Not far from him, however, Macaque sat upright on the floor, his back leaning against the couch. Sleep never came easily to him — and tonight was no different.

His six ears flicked every so often, catching every little creak, every whisper of the wind outside. But inside, it was quiet. Peaceful, even. He could hear MK’s soft snores, and that was… strangely comforting. For some reason, having MK here, made Macaque feel less compelled to hide his ears or his nature.

Still, he was tired. He could feel it in his bones, in his eyelids that drooped but refused to shut fully, in his muscles that ached from fatigue but wouldn’t relax enough to let him drift off.

He sighed, low and quiet. He knew what was waiting for him if he tried to sleep: the nightmares. The same ones that had haunted him since everything happened. Sleep had become a gamble, and more often than not, he didn’t even try anymore.

With another heavy sigh, Macaque pushed himself up from the floor. His steps were light as he walked to the small kitchen area, careful not to wake MK.

He opened the fridge and grabbed the carton of milk inside. Milk is supposed to help with sleep, he reminded himself, a bit skeptical but willing to try anything. He unscrewed the cap and took a few long sips, the cool liquid sliding down his throat. It wasn’t particularly satisfying, but it was better than doing nothing.

Screwing the cap back on, he returned to the living room and sat down exactly where he had been moments before. MK stirred slightly but didn’t wake, a little snort escaping his nose as he adjusted himself in his sleep.

Macaque watched him for a second, just quietly observing the rise and fall of MK’s breathing. The kid looked so relaxed, completely unbothered by everything happening around them — at least for now. A small part of Macaque envied that. He sighed again and closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep.

Nothing.

His mind remained too awake, too cluttered, too noisy.

Fine, he thought bitterly. Meditation, then.

It wasn’t his favorite thing to do anymore — not since the visions started — but if he was going to sit awake all night, he might as well do something to calm his nerves.

He shifted into a meditative pose, legs crossed, hands resting on his knees, palms up. His back straightened, and his six ears flicked once more before settling. He took a deep breath in through his nose, exhaled slowly through his mouth, and let the darkness behind his closed eyes swallow his vision.

He started to feel… slightly relaxed. His mind didn’t wander as much, his thoughts quieted. But then — it started.

A sudden warmth prickled at the tips of his pink upper ears, a sensation he recognized all too well by now.

They were glowing.

And then — the voices.

At first, it was just a hum, like distant murmuring. Then the words became clear.

“It’s too late.”

The phrase sent a shiver down Macaque’s spine. But he couldn’t pull himself out of it. He was stuck in the stream of sounds.

“I never left…” another voice hissed.

The voices were layered, tangled, but still distinct. Then he heard something else — cold, clipped words:

“The only way to kill me is by destroying the key.”

A sharp scream pierced through the noise — a scream Macaque recognized. He didn’t know how, but he knew that voice. Familiar. Pained.

Then another voice, not his own:

“You can’t get out. I tried.”

And then — his own voice. Confident but desperate:

“Then I have to try harder.”

There was a pause — a silence filled with tension — and then a mocking reply:

“Good luck then.”

As abruptly as it started, the glow faded from his ears. The sensation vanished, and his eyes snapped open, his breath coming out in harsh, rapid pants.

The dojo was still dark, still quiet. MK was still snoring softly, wrapped up in his fortress of pillows. But Macaque’s heart was racing, his chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon.

He clutched his knees, trying to keep himself grounded. He counted in his mind. One… two… three… four… trying to slow his breathing.

Don’t scream. Don’t wake him up, he told himself. MK didn’t need to see this. He didn’t need to know.

Macaque swallowed thickly and tried to breathe deeper — in, out. In, out.

Finally, his breath evened out, and he slumped forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice was a raspy whisper.

“So much for meditating,” he muttered bitterly to himself.

Still, the words from the vision clung to him like frost: “The key.” What key? “I never left.” Who? What did that mean? The scream — who was that? 

He didn’t have answers. But he knew one thing for certain — that had been a glimpse of the future. His ears, his powers — they’d shown him future echoes before, and it was never meaningless.

He let out a long, tired sigh and lifted his gaze to the window. The moon hung there, pale and watchful.

Then he turned his head, looking at MK. The his kid was still deep asleep, face peaceful, breathing steady. Good. He needed his rest.

Macaque lay down among the scattered pillows, pulling one of the blankets over himself. He knew the vision needed thinking about — needed answers. But not now. Right now, it could wait.

He let his head fall back on the cushion, staring up at the dark ceiling, letting the night hold its silence again. Slowly, with heavy eyelids, he finally let himself drift closer to sleep — hoping, just for a few hours, to find some peace.

The morning sun barely peeked over the horizon, but the Red Keep was already bathed in a warm orange glow. In his grand room, Red Son stirred awake with a groggy grunt. His head felt... heavy, but not in a way that suggested sickness. More like something new, something different. He rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed, his red hair sticking out in all directions like a wild mane.

He squinted blearily at his surroundings, stretching his limbs with a tired groan, and then dragged himself toward his private bathroom, rubbing his head absently as he went.

When he flicked the light on and stood before the mirror, he froze.

There, poking out proudly from the mess of his hair, were two small, black horns — each about the size of his thumb, curving just slightly. They gleamed faintly in the bathroom light, almost glossy.

Red Son blinked once, leaned in closer, and then slowly raised a hand to touch them. The sensation was strange — sensitive, yet natural, like they had always been there, just waiting to surface.

Then, suddenly, a grin split across his face. A low chuckle bubbled in his throat, building higher and higher until he burst into loud, unabashed laughter.

“They’re finally here!” he declared to himself, his voice echoing off the tiles. “YES!”

Without thinking, he darted out of the bathroom, his bare feet thumping against the floor. He bolted straight for his parents' bedroom down the hall, not caring about etiquette or the early hour.

He shoved open the grand double doors with a loud bang and yelled, “MOTHER! FATHER! WAKE UP! YOU’RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS!”

DBK, the Demon Bull King himself, shot upright in bed, his booming voice filling the chamber. “ARE WE UNDER ATTACK?!”

Princess Iron Fan, startled but more composed, sat up and rubbed her eyes. “What is going on—?”

Red Son practically bounced in place, pointing both hands at his head. “LOOK! My horns! They’ve come out! LOOK!”

DBK and PIF both squinted in the morning light, and then they saw them — two tiny, proud black horns poking through his hair.

DBK let out a deep, hearty laugh. “That’s fantastic, my son! About time!”

PIF chuckled, her tiredness washing away in her pride. “I’m so happy to see that, dear,” she said, her eyes soft with affection.

“We need to celebrate!” Red Son exclaimed, beaming. “This is the BEST morning! I’m going to call Mei — she has to see this!”

Without waiting for their reply, he zipped out of the room, leaving his parents sitting in bed — one delighted, the other… slightly puzzled.

DBK rubbed his eyes and then glanced at PIF, who was giggling into her hand.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, tilting his head.

PIF shook her head with an amused smile. “Oh dear… maybe I should tell you later,” she teased, resting her head back on her pillow.

Meanwhile, Red Son was back in his room, shuffling through his nightstand clutter in search of his phone. “Come on, where is it—? Aha!” He grabbed the device and immediately opened his contacts, tapping Mei’s name.

The call rang three times before the screen lit up with Mei’s sleepy face. Her hair was tousled, and her eyes were barely open.

Before she could reply, Red Son bimed. "Mei you're not goona belive it!" 

"Did you find a way to find MK and Macaque…?” she mumbled, her voice heavy with sleep. 

Red Son shook his head quickly. “No, no — not that! Just look!” He angled the camera up to his head.

Mei squinted blearily at the screen, her tired brain taking a second to register what she was seeing. Then her eyes widened, and she leaned in closer to the screen.

“No way — are those horns?!” she gasped, perking up. “Red, that’s awesome! They’re tiny, but they look so cool!”

Red Son grinned, puffing his chest. “I know, right? We’re going to have a celebration for this — there’s no way we’re skipping that.”

Before Mei could reply, another voice chimed in through the phone speaker — her mother’s, soft and groggy.

“That’s fantastic, dear,” Mrs. Dragon’s voice said, with a hint of a yawn, “but why did you call at this hour?”

Red Son flushed slightly, adjusting his hair. “Oh — uh, sorry, Mrs. Dragon. I just really wanted Mei to see them.”

There was a pause, then the sound of Mrs. Dragon chuckling warmly. “Well, they may be tiny, but they’re adorable.”

Mei giggled and waved a hand through her messy hair. “Okay, Red — see you later, and text me when the celebration is. I’ll definitely be there.”

“I will!” Red Son promised proudly.

They ended the call, and Red Son sat back on his bed with a happy sigh. He reached up, feeling the little horns again, still in awe that they were finally showing.

Then his smile faded slightly as he looked out his window, the early morning sky pale and quiet.

He whispered under his breath, “MK… I don’t know where you are… but you’re really missing something crazy.”

With that, Red Son flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression, his fingers idly touching his new horns, wondering what would come next — both for himself… and for his missing friends.

By the time the sun climbed near its peak, Flower Fruit Mountain was buzzing with life. A soft breeze carried the scents of freshly made noodles and grilled snacks. Long tables had been set up across the mountain’s natural terraces, laid with an impressive spread of food — particularly Pigsy’s finest noodle dishes, which drew a steady crowd.

Wukong stood near the edge of one of the higher platforms, a tall cup of fruit punch in hand, his tail lazily swaying behind him. He gazed out over the gathering, a faint smile tugging his lips as he watched his friends enjoy themselves. Not far away, Tang and Sandy were engaged in an animated game of Guess the Animal.

Sandy was pantomiming something, his large hands forming horns atop his head as he stretched his neck and legs dramatically.

Tang furrowed his brow, squinting in concentration. “Uh… is it a... gazelle?”

Sandy shook his head with a grin, stamping his foot like an impatient teacher.

Tang snapped his fingers. “Giraffe!”

“YES!” Sandy roared with delight, the sound rumbling like a soft earthquake, and they both laughed.

At Wukong’s side, Princess Iron Fan stood with her hands delicately clasped, watching the scene below with a gentle smile. She glanced at Wukong.

“You know,” she said softly, “I can’t thank you enough for this.”

Wukong waved a dismissive hand but smiled. “Don’t mention it. I told Red Flame he could have the party here.” He sipped his drink, his golden eyes watching the crowd. “Besides, he really deserved this.”

Iron Fan nodded, her expression growing thoughtful. “Thank you all the same. He… really needed this, more than he lets on.”

Wukong’s eyes softened. “Yeah, well… not just him. I think we all needed a little something to take our minds off things.”

They stood together in companionable silence, watching Tang try and fail to guess Sandy’s next animal — apparently a crocodile, but Tang kept guessing “weasel.”

Away from the laughter and bustle, under the shade of a large, gnarled tree overlooking the orange-streaked sky, Red Son stood leaning against the bark. His gaze was fixed on the sunset — the world bathed in hues of gold and crimson. His new tiny black horns caught the fading light, but his expression was far away, clouded with thoughts.

So deep was he in contemplation that he didn’t hear footsteps approaching.

“Shouldn’t you be at the party, showing off those horns?” a voice teased.

Red Son jumped, his hair flaring into small flames for a split second before he caught himself. He twisted around to see Mei grinning at him.

“JESUS, Mei! Learn to make some noise when you sneak up on people!” he huffed, patting his hair to snuff out the small fires.

Mei chuckled and raised her hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, sorry. But seriously, what’s wrong? You’re moping at your own celebration.”

Red Son sighed heavily and slid down the tree until he was sitting on the ground, his knees drawn up.

“Yeah, well… I was thinking.”

He hesitated, watching the horizon, the words thick in his throat. “Do you think we’ll ever find those two idiots?”

Mei’s playful grin faded. She sat down next to him, crossing her legs. “Hey,” she said firmly, nudging his arm with her elbow, “you don’t get to be sad at your own party. Besides, we will find them. No matter what, okay?”

Red Son chuckled under his breath, the sound weak but grateful. “Yeah… yeah, we will.”

They sat together, watching the sun inch closer to the horizon, the sky slowly burning deeper orange. The quiet was comfortable, the wind rustling the leaves above.

Then Red Son broke it with a hesitant voice.

“Mei?”

“Hm?” she hummed, still watching the sky.

“I know it’s a bad time,” he muttered, “but… I need to tell you something.”

Mei turned her head to him. “What is it?”

Red Son took a deep breath, fiddling with a blade of grass between his fingers. “I… like you.”

Mei blinked, brows knitting. “Well, I like you too, Red. Duh.”

He groaned and shook his head. “No, no — I mean I like you like… I kinda love you.”

That caught Mei off guard. She stared at him, mouth slightly open, her mind spinning for a response.

“Oh, Red Son… I’m sorry, but… I don’t like you that way,” she admitted gently. “In fact, I see you more like… a brother.”

Red Son exhaled, shoulders sinking. “Oh.”

“But hey!” Mei added quickly, her hand pressing his arm, “I’m still your friend — nothing’s gonna change that, okay?”

Red Son smiled faintly, his eyes still downcast. “It’s okay. I get it. Besides… you weren’t the only one I had feelings for.”

That made Mei perk up immediately. She sat straighter, eyes glinting with curiosity. “Wait — is it MK? Tell me it’s him! Is it?!”

Red Son’s cheeks burned with a slight blush. “How did you know that?”

Mei laughed, pleased with herself. “Just a hunch! I mean, when you two first met, I saw how you looked at each other. And let me tell you — that was love at first sight.”

Red Son snorted, shaking his head, but the tension between them melted into shared giggles that echoed softly under the tree.

After their laughter died down, Red Son looked sideways at her. “We’re still good, right?”

“Of course we are, dummy,” Mei said with a grin.

They sat in another stretch of peace, the air cooler as the sun dipped lower.

Then, Red Son spoke up again, quieter this time. “Do you… still think we’re going to find MK?”

Mei’s gaze stayed on the horizon. “No,” she answered honestly. Then she glanced at him, her smile soft. “I hope so.”

She stood up, brushing dirt from her pants, and then extended a hand down to him.

“Now, come on. There’s a party waiting for you right now.”

Red Son huffed lightly but smiled, taking her hand. She helped him to his feet, and together they started walking back towards the sound of laughter, music, and the scent of warm noodles.

The sun was setting, but the party was far from over. 

The afternoon light filtering softly through the dojo's windows, casting golden beams across the wooden floors and walls. In the living room, MK lounged on the old couch, a fluffy blanket thrown haphazardly over his legs. His eyes were glued to a comic book spread open in his hands, completely absorbed in the colorful pages. The TV was on but playing some random talk show neither of them cared about — just background noise to fill the space.

From the kitchen, the faint sound of water bubbling could be heard. Macaque stood by the stove, arms crossed, watching the kettle with an almost impatient stare. He had been in the mood for tea all afternoon, and finally the water was just about ready. The kettle began to whistle, and Macaque, with a satisfied grunt, grabbed it, pouring the steaming water into two cups that already held tea bags — one green tea for MK, and a darker, spiced tea for himself.

He picked up both mugs carefully, their warmth seeping through the ceramic. With steady steps, he carried them to the living room. The TV continued its idle chatter, some overly cheerful host announcing the next segment. As Macaque approached, the tone of the broadcast shifted, catching his ear.

“And in other news,” the TV host said brightly, “we have some delightful updates from the Celestial Realms! Red Son, the son of the Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan, has finally sprouted his horns! A celebration is currently underway at the famous Flower Fruit Mountain, and sources say the festivities are lively with plenty of food, laughter, and even a few games.”

MK’s head snapped up at that. His eyes widened in surprise, and he sat up straighter. “No way!”

Macaque chuckled as he set the mugs down on the coffee table in front of them, the steam swirling gently above the cups.

“So,” Macaque mused with a grin, sinking down onto the couch beside MK, “the little devil finally got his horns, huh?”

MK grabbed his mug with both hands, the warmth of the tea spreading through his fingers. He blew lightly on it, smiling softly. “I wish I could see those little horns. I really wanna touch them,” he admitted, chuckling to himself at the thought of poking Red Son’s new horns just to see his reaction.

Macaque let out a dry laugh, leaning back against the couch cushions.Without warning, he reached for the remote on the armrest and flipped through the channels, not even hesitating before changing it.

“Hey, what was that for?” MK protested lightly, glancing at Macaque with a raised brow.

Macaque didn’t even look apologetic. “As much as I want to hear about Red Son’s cute little milestone,” he said, “I’m in the mood for Scream 5.”

Sure enough, after a few more clicks, he landed on a channel showing Scream 5. The screen flickered, the familiar eerie music playing as the film started, the title card appearing in a dramatic slash of white letters.

MK huffed, blowing on his tea again. “Fine,” he muttered, but his tone was more amused than annoyed.

They settled in together, the dojo’s living room bathed in the flickering light of the television. The rich aroma of tea filled the air, mingling with the scent of the old wood that made up the dojo walls. MK sipped his tea, his body finally relaxing after being tense from the sudden news.

Macaque, content, stretched his arms along the back of the couch, his eyes flicking between the movie and the soft expressions that played on MK’s face — thoughtful, a little wistful. But for now, neither of them said anything else. The tea was delicious, the movie a familiar comfort, and for a while, it was enough.

Outside, the sun continued its slow descent, the world beyond the dojo quiet — but inside, the strange, peaceful life they had made continued, moment by moment.

[END] 

Chapter Text

The morning sun streamed gently through the windows of Pigsy’s shop, casting a warm glow over the tables and counters. The shop wasn’t open to customers yet — this gathering was private. Despite that, the smell of fresh broth and tea still lingered in the air.

Everyone had gathered, seated around the tables or leaning casually in their spots. Mei sat sideways on a chair near the counter, lazily munching on a granola bar. Red Son sat beside her, arms crossed, looking mildly impatient but curious. Tang, naturally, was seated with a steaming bowl of noodles he was slurping through enthusiastically, while Sandy sat peacefully with his oversized mug of tea, Mo curled up at his side. Pigsy stood behind the counter, drying his hands with a towel, his expression expectant and a little annoyed.

“Alright,” Pigsy grunted, looking directly at Wukong, who stood in front of everyone. “We’re all here, now mind telling us why you dragged us all here this early?”

Wukong, hands on his hips and tail swishing lazily behind him, looked over the group. His face, while usually playful, was tinged with a rare seriousness.

“As you may be wondering why I brought us all here,” he began, voice firm, “this is also about finding MK and Macaque.”

Everyone’s attention sharpened at that.

Tang looked up from his noodles, strands of it still dangling from his chopsticks. “So… you already tracked Macaque’s magic?”

Wukong exhaled sharply, ears twitching in frustration. “As much as I tried — and it took me hours — no, I couldn’t track him without knowing where to look. He’s gotten good at hiding.”

Mei, finishing the last bite of her granola bar, frowned. “Then what did you do?”

Wukong smirked faintly. “I brought some reinforcements.”

As he said that, a shimmering lotus-shaped portal spiraled open beside him, petals of light rotating as it formed. Out of it stepped Nezha, his arms folded, eyes narrowed with clear irritation.

“Wukong,” Nezha said curtly, “you better have a good reason for dragging me here. And make it quick.”

Wukong raised both hands defensively. “Okay, okay! So… see, MK and Macaque are kind of… missing.”

Nezha’s brows pulled together. “What do you mean ‘missing’?”

Wukong scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and began explaining, “When they first left, they left only a note. We tracked them down to New York, but when we got close, Macaque heard us. They vanished again — they’re back, but we have no clue where. So now we need your help to find them.”

Nezha facepalmed hard, dragging his hand down his face with a long-suffering sigh. “Let me get this straight. They’ve been gone for I don't know how long, and you’re only asking for help now?”

Wukong grimaced. “Sort of… yeah.”

Mei piped up, turning to Nezha. “But how are you gonna help us?”

Wukong nodded. “Right. If we’ve got more people on it, we can cover more ground, search different places. That was my thinking.”

Pigsy sighed deeply, crossing his arms. “Honestly, that might actually work.”

Red Son leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. “Okay then. What’s the plan?”

Nezha groaned, clearly unimpressed. “You idiots are never going to find them just by stumbling around.”

Mei raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. “And what would you suggest?”

Nezha exhaled, reluctantly digging into the pocket of his robe. “I didn’t want to do this, but... I might have a way.”

He pulled out a small bracelet. It was simple but elegant — a dark purple band with a tiny moon charm hanging from it. The moon shimmered faintly in the light.

Pigsy squinted. “How’s a bracelet supposed to help us find MK?”

Nezha rolled his eyes with exasperation. “Listen. A long time ago, Macaque made two bracelets. One with a purple moon — that’s this one — and one with a pink lotus. He gave me the moon one. He said if he or I were ever in danger or badly hurt, I could activate this, and it would detect the other bracelet.”

Wukong tilted his head, suspicious. “Wait a second. Why’d he give you one of those?”

Nezha scoffed. “Because if he gave it to you, you’d either lose it or toss it in that junk pile you call a treasure hoard.”

Wukong huffed, crossing his arms. “I would never!”

Mei sighed loudly, waving a hand. “Guys. Focus.”

Red Son leaned forward, squinting at the bracelet. “But how does that thing work, exactly?”

Nezha held up the bracelet, letting the small moon charm sway slightly. “When Macaque made these, he infused a small trace of his magic into them. I added a bit of mine into his. They’re connected, but the catch is: it only works when activated manually. Once I do that, it’ll start searching for its pair.”

Mei squinted suspiciously. “Now I’m curious… why did Macaque make that for you specifically?”

Nezha frowned deeply, lips pressing into a flat line. “It was a long time ago. I’m not telling you.”

Wukong’s eyes lit up with mischievous delight. “Ohhh, don’t tell me! That was back when you were just a little thing, wasn’t it? And Macaque was babysitting you.”

Nezha snapped his gaze to Wukong, glaring. “Don’t bring that up.”

Mei’s eyes widened with glee. “Wait — Macaque babysat Nezha?”

Wukong grinned broadly. “Yup! That was back when his dad was too busy with celestial duties, ignoring him. So, guess who had to babysit the little fiery brat?”

Nezha’s face was beginning to flush with embarrassment. “Okay — it was a long time ago. He just babysat me — that’s it!”

Wukong snorted, grinning wider. “Pfft, you called him Mama once.”

Nezha immediately slapped a hand over his face, groaning into his palm. His ears burned red.

Mei nearly fell off her chair laughing. “You called Macaque Mama? Oh my gods.”

Wukong nodded with gleeful pride. “More than once, too.”

Red Son threw his head back, laughing loudly. Tang joined in, slapping the table, nearly choking on his noodles. Even Pigsy chuckled, shaking his head, and Sandy let out a quiet giggle, trying not to encourage Wukong too much.

Nezha muttered through his hand, “Can we please change the subject? Aren’t we supposed to be finding those two idiots?”

Mei, still giggling, wiped her eyes. “Right, right. But — how does the bracelet work, exactly?”

Nezha cleared his throat, grateful for the shift. “Once I activate it with my magic, the bracelet starts seeking out the other one. But since it’s never actually been used before, I have no idea how long it’ll take. Could be a few hours. Who knows.”

Tang swallowed a bite of noodles and frowned. “So… we just wait?”

Nezha nodded. “Basically. But in the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt to start preparing or looking in areas we haven’t checked.”

Mei stood, dusting crumbs off her lap. “Okay. Then we’ve got time to work. Let’s get to it.”

With a soft glow of energy, Nezha held the bracelet carefully between both hands, channeling a pulse of his magic into it. The charm sparkled gently, the small moon lighting up like a tiny candle flame, casting a soft purple glow.

Mei watched closely, eyes wide. “So… now what?”

Nezha looked down at the bracelet, watching the glow stabilize. “Now… we wait.”

Everyone exchanged looks, a new thread of hope weaving through the room. For the first time in weeks, they had something — a real lead.

The sun hung high and warm in the clear midday sky, casting a golden glow over the quiet forest clearing. A light breeze stirred the leaves, rustling them gently, as birds chirped and insects buzzed in the undergrowth. MK trailed behind Macaque, his steps crunching against twigs and fallen leaves, before finally stopping with an exasperated huff.

"Okay... what are we doing here again?" MK asked, his voice carrying a mix of boredom and curiosity as he glanced around at the towering trees and thickets surrounding them.

Macaque, a few steps ahead, sighed deeply without turning around. "We’re looking for mushrooms," he replied matter-of-factly, scanning the ground with a sharp, practiced eye. "I want to make a dish with them tonight. Something fresh."

MK blinked, raising a brow. "Yeah, but... why not just hit a supermarket? I mean, they’ve got mushrooms — tons of 'em!"

That made Macaque scoff aloud, rolling his eyes slightly as he crouched down to inspect the forest floor more closely. "You seriously think I trust whatever over-processed, half-flavored junk they throw on supermarket shelves? No. The best mushrooms grow wild, in nature. If you know what you’re looking for."

"Okay, okay, have it your way," MK muttered with a shrug, scanning around half-heartedly. His eyes darted from moss-covered rocks to the roots of trees, trying to spot anything resembling a mushroom.

For a while, the forest was filled with the occasional thump of footsteps and rustling as the two searched separately. Macaque’s golden eyes eventually spotted something promising a few meters away: a patch of mushrooms clustered near the base of a large oak tree. He moved toward them swiftly, crouching down to inspect them. He brushed the dirt lightly, his hand careful and experienced as he plucked a few, confirming their quality.

But just as he stood up with the mushrooms in hand, his gaze inadvertently lifted — and then froze.

Across the clearing, half-shrouded between two trees, stood a wolf.

But not just any wolf.

Its fur was stark white, so pure it almost shimmered under the daylight, contrasting eerily with the dark woods. Its eyes — solid black, like twin pits of ink — watched Macaque silently. On its cheeks were faint, natural red markings that almost looked painted, sharp and clean like deliberate strokes. Stranger still, the creature had two tails, both swaying slowly behind it, each moving as though with a mind of its own.

Macaque stood stiff, narrowing his eyes and staring at the creature, his body tense but unmoving. The wolf made no noise. It just stood there, as if observing him in return — an unspoken challenge or curiosity hanging between them.

Then, cutting through the tension, a familiar voice called out from behind him:

"Ma! Look! I found more mushrooms!"

Macaque flinched at the sound, turning his head briefly to glance over his shoulder at MK, who was beaming proudly a few meters away, holding something in his hands.

"One second, kid," Macaque muttered, his tone distracted. He turned his head back toward where the wolf had stood — but it was gone.

Vanished. No sound of retreat, no trace of it stepping away. As though it had never been there in the first place. Only swaying leaves and a slight chill in the air remained, making Macaque frown deeply.

He stood there a moment longer, trying to process it. His mind raced — had he imagined it? A trick of the light? No... he was sure he saw it. That creature was real.

MK called again, his voice a little more impatient this time. "Come onnn, Mama!"

Macaque shook his head, brushing it off for now. "I’m coming, I’m coming," he muttered, making his way back to MK, who was crouched near the base of a tree with a bunch of mushrooms gathered beside him.

"Look, look," MK said eagerly, holding one up for inspection. "These look pretty good, right?"

Macaque took the mushroom, inspecting it with a critical eye. His expression turned unimpressed. "No good. These aren’t edible — well, unless you want to spend the rest of the day throwing up." He tossed it gently back onto the ground. "We’re looking for ones that are brown and tiny, remember? Not these big, colorful ones. Most of the bright ones are poisonous."

MK groaned dramatically, flopping backward onto the grass. "Ugh, this is harder than it looks."

"You’ll get the hang of it," Macaque replied, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. "We’ve got all day. Let’s keep looking — patience is key with this stuff."

MK stood up with a huff, dusting off his clothes. "Fine, fine. Guess I’ll be the apprentice mushroom hunter for today." He wandered off to another tree, starting his search anew with exaggerated determination.

Macaque paused and glanced once more over his shoulder, back to the spot where the white wolf had been. The shadows under the trees remained undisturbed. Still, a quiet unease settled in his chest.

Maybe he hadn’t seen it properly... or maybe it was something more.

But for now, he pushed the thought aside, taking a breath and returning to the task at hand, combing the forest floor for the perfect mushrooms, with the occasional sound of MK muttering to himself nearby as he searched.

At Flower Fruit Mountain, the afternoon sun cast lazy beams of light through the wooden windows of the hut, dust particles floating visibly in the air. The TV in the corner was on, some mindless infomercial playing, but no one paid it any mind. The room was steeped in a heavy, impatient silence.

Nezha sat on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, staring down with intense focus at the bracelet that sat in the middle of the coffee table. Its purple band and tiny moon charm glinted faintly in the sunlight. He’d been watching it for hours now, his eyes occasionally flicking to check for any hint of movement — nothing yet.

Mei sat beside him, also hunched forward, chin resting on her fist, her gaze equally locked onto the bracelet. Red Son sat cross-legged on the floor near the coffee table, also watching with narrowed eyes, though he didn’t look particularly convinced anything would happen.

From the kitchen came the soft crinkling of a plastic bag. Wukong emerged, lazily striding into the living room, holding a shiny bag of peach-flavored chips in one hand. He looked at the trio crowded around the table and deadpanned, “Are y’all seriously just gonna sit there staring at that thing all day?”

Mei didn’t even look up. “What else would you do?”

Wukong paused halfway to the armchair, shrugged with a smirk, and said, “Fair.”

Without further comment, he plopped himself down in the battered old armchair, its springs squeaking under his weight. He tore open the chip bag with his teeth, then started munching, eyes inevitably drifting toward the bracelet just like the others.

For a while, the only sounds in the hut were the soft drone of the TV, the occasional crunch from Wukong’s chips, and the wind outside rattling the window shutters.

The minutes dragged.

Red Son let out an impatient huff, arms crossed tightly. “This is stupid.”

Nezha sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We have to wait as long as it takes. That’s how it works.”

“But how long is that exactly?” Mei asked, voice flat, her eyes still on the bracelet.

Nezha shrugged helplessly, exhaling through his nose. “I don’t know.”

Wukong scoffed between bites. “Probably doesn’t even work.”

Nezha shot him a glare. “It works. We just have to wait.”

“Guys,” Mei said softly, her voice strained, but the others didn’t hear.

Wukong leaned forward slightly, pointing a chip at Nezha. “Oh yeah? And how would you know? You’ve never even used it!”

Nezha’s nostrils flared. “Just because I haven’t used it yet doesn’t mean—”

“Guys,” Mei repeated, a little louder this time.

Red Son sat up straighter, his tone cutting through their bickering. “You idiots—look! The bracelet is floating.”

That made everyone freeze.

“What?” Nezha blurted, twisting sharply toward the bracelet. Sure enough, it was hovering just a few inches above the surface of the coffee table, slowly rotating in midair. A faint shimmer of magic crackled around it like static electricity.

Nezha blinked, dumbfounded for a moment, before straightening with renewed pride. “See? I told you it would work.”

Wukong frowned, sitting up properly in his chair. “Huh. Well, ain’t that a thing.”

They all watched as the bracelet pulsed faintly with light. Then, abruptly, it let out a series of soft, rhythmic beeps—like a heartbeat. And then, to everyone’s further surprise, a gentle, artificial yet melodic voice emanated from the charm itself:

“The other pair is localized... in the forest.”

Nezha nearly dropped the bracelet in shock, catching it with both hands as his eyes widened. “It talks?!”

Wukong let out a short laugh, waving a hand. “Now that’s a twist. Little shadow bracelet with a GPS built in.”

Mei stood up suddenly, her eyes wide. “Wait—the forest? What would MK and Macaque even be doing out there? That doesn’t make sense.”

Nezha shook his head, staring at the bracelet like it might offer more answers. “I don’t know. But now we’ve got something.”

Wukong stood up from his chair, stretching his arms. “Well, took you long enough, bracelet. About time you pulled your weight.”

Mei sprang to her feet, pulling her phone from her pocket. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go! We’ve got a monkie man and a brooding shadow to catch.”

She quickly thumbed out a message in the group chat, her fingers flying across the screen:

Update: MK & Macaque are in the forest. Meet us there. ASAP.

Red Son stood up, cracking his knuckles. “Finally. Something to actually do.”

Nezha pocketed the bracelet carefully, its glow still faintly visible through the fabric. He glanced at everyone. “We’d better hurry before they move again.”

Together, they headed for the door, the air outside cooler and fresher than the heavy mood of the hut. The sun was sliding toward the western horizon, casting the mountain in golden light. The monkeys up in the trees watched curiously as the group stepped out, purposeful and energized.

As the door creaked shut behind them, the TV inside kept playing to no one, its heroic theme music echoing faintly as they made their way down the mountain path—toward the forest, and hopefully, toward their missing friends.

Back in the forest, the sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long golden shadows through the trees. The once bright, warm light of midday had turned into the softer glow of late afternoon. The forest was quiet now, aside from the rustle of leaves in the gentle wind and the occasional chirp of distant birds.

MK held up the cloth bag in both hands, full of small brown mushrooms, a grin on his face. “Okay, I think we’ve got enough of these things to make whatever fancy dish you wanted.”

Macaque nodded, crouched beside him with his sleeves rolled up, checking the last patch of dirt where a few tiny caps peeked through the moss. “Yep. These’ll do. Good color, no spots. That’s the kind we want.”

MK dusted his hands off on his pants. “Cool. So… now what? Head back to the dojo?”

Macaque stood, brushing the dirt off his knees. “Exactly. Before it gets dark. The forest changes at night.”

MK made a face. “Creepy.”

Macaque smirked and turned toward the narrow path they came from. “Come on.”

They started walking through the underbrush, the canopy filtering the sunlight into shifting golden patterns around them. The mood was calm — until a strange rustling sound cut through the forest behind them.

Macaque stopped dead in his tracks, eyes narrowing. “Did you hear that?”

Before MK could answer, there was a sudden burst of movement, and Nezha appeared out of thin air, standing directly in front of them on the trail. His arms were crossed, expression sharp and unreadable.

Macaque swore under his breath. “Oh, shit.”

MK blinked. “Nezha?! What are you—?”

Nezha didn’t give him time to finish. “Cut the small talk. Either you both come with me, now, or I use force.”

Macaque tilted his head. “Well, guess we gotta do what he says.”

MK’s shoulders tensed. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” Macaque said calmly — then snarled, “Run!”

MK’s instincts kicked in, and he bolted forward, ducking under Nezha’s arm before he could react.

Macaque then turned to flee, but something slammed into him from the side, knocking him flat onto the forest floor with a surprised grunt.

Wukong grinned wickedly from above him. “Gotcha, asshole.”

Macaque tried to summon his shadows—but Wukong shifted, pinning one of his arms down with surprising strength.

“Oh no you don’t,” Wukong said with a grin. “You’re not shadow-slipping your way out of this one.”

Macaque snarled. “Get off me, you shitface.”

Wukong only tightened his grip. “Nah. I think I’ll stay right here.”

Meanwhile, deeper in the forest, MK was running full speed, leaves slapping at his arms and twigs cracking under his feet. His mind was racing. How the hell did Nezha find us? How did he know where to look?

As he came around a bend in the trees, a figure emerged from the underbrush ahead—Mei.

She stepped into the clearing slowly, blocking his path, her expression unreadable.

MK skidded to a stop, panting, staring at her.

“Mei,” he said breathlessly. “I—I know you probably have questions, but I—”

Before he could finish, she surged forward and tackled him into a tight hug, sending both of them tumbling to the ground in the dirt and leaves.

“You idiot,” Mei said, voice trembling with emotion. “You absolute idiot. You could’ve talked to us. We would’ve listened. None of this had to happen.”

MK’s mouth opened, but no words came. He felt frozen. After a moment, he slowly returned the hug, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

They stayed like that for a minute, wrapped up in silence and all the things they hadn’t said. Finally, Mei pulled back, standing and offering him a hand.

MK took it, letting her pull him to his feet.

“You can tell us everything later,” she said softly. “But… come back. Please.”

MK hesitated for just a second, then nodded. “Okay.”

There was a pause. Then he added, “I missed you.”

Mei smiled. “Missed you too.”

Just then, more rustling came from behind the bushes, and the rest of the gang stepped out — Pigsy, Tang, Red Son, and Sandy, all looking tired and relieved.

Tang fanned himself. “Phew. That was way less dramatic than I expected.”

Red Son huffed. “I was anticipating a battle, not a reunion hug.”

MK blinked. “Wait—you’re all here?!”

Sandy gave a little wave. “Of course we are. We’re your family, buddy.”

MK rubbed the back of his neck. “So… this was a whole rescue mission, huh?”

Mei smirked. “You didn’t exactly make it hard to figure out something was wrong. You could’ve just told us how you were feeling.”

MK sighed. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry, guys.”

Pigsy, who’d been quiet up until then, stepped forward with arms crossed. “You’re grounded.”

MK blinked. “Wait, what?”

“One. You ran off with an emo monkey. Two, you left behind nothing but a letter. Three—do I even need to say three?!”

MK looked down at his shoes. “...Yeah, okay. I guess I deserve that.”

Mei nudged him. “Come on. Let’s go make sure Wukong haven’t strangled Macaque.”

Back at the other clearing, Wukong was still crouched on top of Macaque, one knee digging into his back, one hand pinning his arm to the dirt. Nezha stood nearby, brushing off his armor with a scowl.

“Wukong,” Mei called as they emerged. “You can let him up now.”

Wukong groaned dramatically. “Ugh. But he’s such a runner.”

“Let him go,” Mei repeated

Reluctantly, Wukong got off him. Macaque grunted and pushed himself up, brushing leaves and dirt off his coat.

When he looked up and saw MK standing with the others, his expression shifted. “Didn’t I tell you to run?”

MK shrugged sheepishly. “Yeah. I did. Then they found me.”

Mei crossed her arms. “We can talk later. Let’s just get back to the noodle shop.”

Macaque rolled his eyes, scoffing. “Great.”

MK tilted his head. “Wait. How did you guys find us anyway?”

Mei stepped over to Nezha, stuck a hand in his coat pocket, and triumphantly held up a familiar object — a purple bracelet with a tiny moon on the band.

“With this beauty, of course.”

Macaque’s eyes widened. “You little shit. You used the bracelet?!”

Nezha lifted a brow. “What was I supposed to do? These idiots had zero better ideas.”

“Hey!” Mei, Red Son, and Wukong shouted in unison.

Macaque pointed at him. “I told you that was for emergencies only.”

Nezha looked exhausted. “I’m tired. Let’s just go.”

MK frowned. “Wait, how does that even work? Finding someone with a bracelet?”

Mei winked. “I’ll tell you later. Trust me — it’s a good story.”

Red Son opened a portal nearby, swirling red and gold magic into a vertical oval in the air.

“Come on, idiots,” he said flatly. “It’s almost dark.”

One by one, they stepped into the portal — leaving the forest behind… and, unnoticed, the bag of mushrooms still lying on the mossy ground.

Night had fully settled over the city by the time everyone returned to Pigsy’s noodle shop. The neon sign outside buzzed softly, casting a warm glow through the front windows. Inside, the atmosphere was quieter than usual. The group had eaten in relative silence for a while, each of them still processing the unexpected reunion and everything that had happened earlier in the forest.

Tang sat at one of the tables near the counter, happily slurping down a steaming bowl of noodles, while Pigsy stood behind the counter, arms crossed as he wiped down the surface with a rag. Macaque was seated as far away from everyone as possible. He had a half-finished bowl of noodles in front of him, but he didn’t seem particularly interested in eating. His posture was closed off—shoulders hunched, tail curling faintly around the legs of his chair, his gaze fixed on his food rather than on anyone else.

Sandy and Nezha had already left a few minutes ago. Sandy had given MK a big, reassuring hug before heading out with Mo perched on his shoulder, and Nezha, as usual, had left with little more than a curt nod. 

Mei, who had been leaning on the table next to MK, finally broke the silence. “So…” she said, tilting her head slightly and fixing MK with an expectant look, “while you two were gone, where exactly have you been hiding?”

MK, who had been poking at the last few noodles in his bowl, looked up. “Oh, uh, we were at the dojo.”

Tang immediately leaned forward from his seat, pointing a chopstick at Mei with a triumphant grin. “Ha! I told you I was right! This is what happens when you don’t listen to Tang!”

Mei rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. “Yeah, yeah, congratulations, Tang. Want a medal or something?” She ignored his smug grin and turned back to MK, curiosity piqued. “But wait—the dojo? That place hasn’t been used in years. How did you even clean it? It was probably covered in dust and spiderwebs!”

MK chuckled a little nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… it was actually pretty easy. Macaque used his shadows to clean it. Like, all the dust just sort of—poof—gone in a second. It was kinda cool, honestly.”

At that, Macaque glanced up from his bowl with a faint smirk, as if to silently confirm MK’s words, before returning to eating in quiet disinterest.

They chatted idly for a few more minutes, the conversation circling around everything from how they found MK to Mei hugging him and telling him hes an idiot. The air was still a little tense, but it was better than the silence from earlier.

Finally, Pigsy clapped his hands once and said, “Alright, that’s enough. It’s late, and we all need some sleep.”

“Finally,” Red Son muttered under his breath, standing up with a dramatic flair. He flicked his wrist, summoning one of his glowing portals. Mei stepped through it, giving MK one last look that was equal parts fond and exasperated. The portal snapped shut behind her.

Red Son opened another portal for himself, smirking. “Try not to do anything too stupid without me,” he quipped before stepping through. The portal closed with a faint ripple of light, leaving the shop noticeably quieter.

Macaque was still seated in the far corner, his bowl of noodles barely half-finished. He pushed his chair back with a faint creak, clearly intending to leave. But before he could get up, Pigsy’s voice cut through the room.

“Not you,” Pigsy said firmly, pointing a finger at Macaque. “You and I need to talk.”

Macaque froze mid-motion, a faint flicker of annoyance crossing his face. He sat back slowly, arms crossing. “Oh, great,” he muttered under his breath.

Wukong, who had been lounging by the door, straightened with a grin. “Well, this is my cue to leave.” Without another word, he strolled out of the shop and closed the door behind him, leaving Pigsy, Tang, MK, and Macaque.

MK glanced between the two of them nervously. “Maybe you should do that later, Pigsy. It’s pretty late…”

“MK,” Pigsy said with a tone that brooked no argument, “go to your room.”

MK blinked. “What? But—”

“No ‘but.’ Go to your room. Now.”

MK groaned, slumping like a scolded child. “Ugh, fine…” He grabbed his bowl, dumped the leftover noodles in the bin, and trudged upstairs with heavy footsteps. “Good luck,” he mumbled as he disappeared into his room.

Silence settled in the shop. Macaque leaned back slightly in his chair, resting one arm over the backrest. “So… what do you want to talk about?”

Pigsy walked around the counter, wiping his hands on his apron as he approached. “Maybe we should talk in four eyes,” he said, glancing pointedly at Tang.

“Oh, right,” Tang said, standing up quickly. “Yeah, it’s late, and I, uh… I’m just gonna head to bed.” He gave Macaque a nervous smile and shuffled toward the stairs, leaving the two of them alone.

Once Tang was gone, Macaque let out a low sigh and raised an eyebrow at Pigsy. “Well?”

Pigsy crossed his arms, his expression firm. “Why?”

Macaque blinked. “Why… what?”

“Why did you agree to take MK with you?” Pigsy asked, his voice low but laced with frustration.

Macaque opened his mouth to answer, but Pigsy cut him off, stepping closer. “No, seriously—why? I get that he wanted to come. I read that letter. But why did you agree?”

Macaque paused. The real reason—those damn puppy dog eyes MK had used on him—was way too embarrassing to admit. No way was he telling Pigsy that. Instead, he shrugged slightly, trying to sound casual. “He’s… very convincing.”

Pigsy raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying the vague answer. “You could’ve just said no.”

Macaque’s tail flicked slightly. “Look, I tried to reason with him, alright? I told him he should stay here, that it would be safer. But did he listen? No. He wanted to leave, and eventually, I agreed.”

Pigsy stared at him for a long moment, then sighed heavily. “He’s just a kid, Macaque. You should’ve never agreed.”

Macaque’s gaze softened slightly, his voice lowering. “We both know he stopped being a kid the moment he picked up that staff.”

Pigsy fell silent. That truth weighed on both of them. After a long pause, Pigsy sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Finish your noodles and go.”

He turned and disappeared into the back of the shop, leaving Macaque alone in the dim light. Macaque looked down at his half-finished noodles, his ears twitching faintly. After a moment of thought, he sighed, picked up his chopsticks, and finished the bowl in silence.

When he was done, he stood, stretched slightly, and with a flick of his hand, opened a swirling shadow portal. Without another word, he stepped through, vanishing into the dark mist.

When Pigsy returned a few minutes later, the chair was empty, and the bowl was sitting neatly on the table. Pigsy sighed, picked up the bowl, and carried it to the back to wash it.

As he returned to the counter, wiping it down again, Tang reappeared at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing his eyes. “So… how did it go?”

Pigsy looked over at him with a tired expression. “We talked. Nothing much.”

Tang nodded slowly. “Right… so, uh, you good?”

“Yeah,” Pigsy said, turning back to the counter. “Why don’t you go to bed? I’ll finish here in a minute.”

Tang hesitated, then nodded and headed upstairs, leaving Pigsy alone in the quiet shop. Pigsy sighed, his mind still turning over the conversation, as he finished cleaning the counter.

[END] 

Chapter Text

It had been several days since MK and Macaque were found in the forest and brought back. Things had slowly started settling again—no more running off, no more dramatic reunions. The group was finally beginning to heal.

Therapy, surprisingly, had become a regular thing.

Sandy, ever the emotional rock, had taken the role of support leader. His calm presence made the sessions feel less clinical and more like sitting around a warm campfire with friends. He didn’t say much unless needed—but he listened. Really listened.

MK had gone first. It was messy at the start—sitting with his foot bouncing nonstop, eyes flicking to the corners of the room, not wanting to look anyone in the eye. But when he finally opened up, the words tumbled out in a flood: the fear, the weight of being the Monkie Kid, the confusion of losing control, and the guilt of leaving without a word. 

Mei went after. She had her walls up, but they came down quick when she started venting about the pressure of always being “the reliable one,” the sword she carried, the legacy she was constantly reminded of. She admitted that when MK vanished, a part of her cracked. She thought she could handle anything—but she couldn’t handle losing her best friend.

Red Son followed, almost reluctantly, until he realized therapy wasn’t some joke or a trap. It was a place to speak and not be interrupted, where his ego could finally breathe. He didn’t shout or insult. Instead, he admitted how much it burned when MK left without saying goodbye. How he’d felt useless in the face of real, emotional problems he couldn’t fix with tech and explosions.

And then there was Wukong.

He didn’t show up at first. But when he finally did, he sat at the edge of the couch, arms folded, and talked for a total of five minutes. Five minutes was all he could handle—but even that felt like an earthquake. He mentioned the past, briefly. How long he’d run from everything. His voice cracked once, and no one pointed it out.

Only Macaque hadn’t gone.

Every time the subject was brought up, he’d deflect, scoff, or vanish into shadows. “I don’t need therapy,” he said. “I’m fine.”

He wasn’t fine.

Which is why MK, sitting at the counter of the noodle shop one warm, quiet morning, was currently trying his best to break Pigsy’s resolve.

“Come on, Pigsy,” MK pleaded, his arms stretched across the counter. “Just let me talk to him. Just a quick visit.”

Pigsy’s large hands didn’t stop chopping vegetables. “I said no. You’re still grounded, remember?”

MK groaned, thudding his forehead against the counter. “But this is important! I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”

“You snuck off with a centuries-old shadow demon to who-knows-where without telling anyone and only left a crumpled note,” Pigsy said flatly. “You're lucky I didn’t chain you to the wok.”

MK lifted his head, eyes wide and sincere. “But... Macaque hasn’t talked to anyone. Not Sandy. He’s just... pretending everything’s fine, but it’s not.”

Pigsy stopped chopping.

“He said he didn’t need it, but he does. I know he does. Please,” MK said, voice softer now. “Let me try.”

Pigsy let out a long, groaning sigh, setting the cleaver down. “You’re not gonna give this up, are you?”

MK shook his head.

There was a pause. Pigsy pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ve got three hours. And if you’re not back, I’m dragging Sandy to fish you out of whatever hole you end up in.”

MK lit up, grinning. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Go before I change my mind,” Pigsy muttered, already picking up the cleaver again.

MK turned on his heel, darting for the door. As he stepped outside, he summoned the Golden Staff in his hand, spun it once, and transformed with a shimmer into a sleek golden hawk. With one powerful beat of his wings, he soared upward, rising into the open skies above the city.

His destination was clear.

He was heading for the dojo.

To find Macaque—and make him face what he’d been running from.

The dojo was quiet.

Dust motes drifted lazily in the golden rays of late morning light that spilled in through the windows. The place had seen better days—even after being cleaned, it still had that worn, slightly haunted atmosphere, like the shadows had soaked too deep into the walls to fully scrub away.

Macaque sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the ancient, boxy television. It was stubbornly refusing to cooperate, buzzing with static no matter how many times he smacked the side or fiddled with the wiring behind it. A few tools were scattered beside him—mostly old screwdrivers and bent wires, and his tail flicked in irritation every time the screen refused to respond.

“Stupid piece of junk,” he muttered, yanking a cord and plugging it back in.

The front door creaked open.

Without looking away from the back panel of the TV, Macaque spoke in a dry tone, “Well, that’s surprising. Shouldn’t you be in your room, grounded?”

MK’s voice piped up from the entrance, sheepish but determined. “I know. But Pigsy let me come here. Just for three hours.”

Macaque snorted. “Well. Isn’t that convenient.”

MK stepped further inside, looking around. The dojo was dim, quiet, and smelled faintly of incense and wood polish. It had become something of a second home lately, and despite its gloom, MK didn’t feel unwelcome.

He walked over and plopped himself on the floor beside Macaque, peering over at the TV. “What are you doing?”

“Fixing this outdated trash heap,” Macaque grumbled, gently tapping the panel. The screen buzzed again, then died with a pathetic pop.

“You know,” MK said, eyebrows raised, “you could just… buy a new one.”

Macaque gave him a sidelong look. “With what money, genius? I barely have enough for essentials. And no—I’m not using that card.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few seconds.

Then Macaque paused in his work, sensing MK’s gaze lingering.

Without looking, he asked, “Alright, what do you want?”

MK let out a quiet sigh. “I wanted to ask you something. And you have to promise you won’t vanish into the shadows the second I bring it up.”

“That depends,” Macaque muttered suspiciously.

“Why don’t you want to go to therapy?”

There it was.

The question hung in the air like a dropped blade.

Macaque tensed slightly. He set the screwdriver down and leaned back, letting out a long breath. “Look, kid. Therapy isn’t my thing. Sitting in a room and talking about my feelings, opening up to strangers… that’s not me. Never has been.”

“But you could try,” MK pressed gently.

“I don’t want to.”

“But you should.”

Macaque groaned.

“Please, Mama,” MK said softly. “We both know you need it.”

And then—there it was.

The Puppy Dog Eyes. 

MK deployed them like a master tactician. Eyes wide. Lips slightly parted. Face tilted just enough to show his sincerity.

Macaque sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “You little manipulative gremlin…”

“Insufferable idiot,” MK corrected with a cheeky grin.

Macaque gave him a dry look, then let his head drop back with a grunt. “Fine. Fine. You win.”

MK lit up, nearly bouncing in place. “Yes! I knew you’d say yes!”

“Don’t get too smug,” Macaque grumbled, but his voice was soft. “You’re lucky I like you.”

MK leaned against him, shoulder bumping his. “Oh, but you love it.”

Macaque huffed, wrapping one arm lazily around MK and pulling him closer as he gently started grooming the boy’s messy hair with his claws. “What can I say? You’re... very convincing.”

MK hummed happily under the attention, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“So,” Macaque murmured between grooming strokes, “when’s this horrifying ordeal of emotional vulnerability happening?”

“One sec,” MK said, pulling out his phone.

He opened the group chat—well, the therapy sub-chat—and quickly typed:

Hey Sandy, Macaque’s willing to go to therapy. Can you schedule a session?

The reply came in less than a minute.

Sandy: That's great! What about this evening?🧘‍♂️

Macaque paused in his grooming to peek at the screen. “This evening? Hm. Don’t have anything planned besides fighting with this ancient TV.”

MK grinned. “Perfect.”

He typed back:

This afternoon works! Thanks, Sandy!

Sandy replied with a big 👍 and a sparkly “Proud of you both!” sticker.

Macaque leaned back again and muttered, “Can’t believe what I’m getting myself into…”

MK bumped his shoulder playfully. “Yeah, well, too late to back out now.”

Macaque let out a groan of reluctant acceptance.

MK stretched his arms and settled against him again. “Well, now that everything’s settled… I still have like, two hours left before Pigsy comes looking for me. So… wanna just stay like this for a while?”

Macaque didn’t say anything at first.

But he didn’t pull away, either.

His hand rested gently on MK’s head, claws idly tracing calming little spirals in his hair. “Yeah… sure.”

The room settled into warm silence again.

Eventually, MK moved to the couch, stretched out with a blanket he’d pulled from the corner. He watched as Macaque continued fiddling with the TV, his muttering getting progressively more aggressive as wires snapped out of place. But eventually, with a dramatic flick of the switch and a triumphant grunt, the screen finally blinked to life.

“Ha!” Macaque shouted, pointing at the glowing screen. “There! Who needs money when you’ve got stubbornness and spite?”

MK snorted from the couch. “Yeah, yeah. You’re a regular repair wizard.”

Macaque smirked, proud of himself. He flopped down on the floor again, stretching his legs out.

MK checked the time on his phone and shot up with a yelp. “Oh crap! I gotta go!”

He jumped off the couch, stuffing his phone into his jacket . “Three hours almost up! Pigsy’s probably already sharpening a cleaver!”

Macaque watched with amusement as the boy bolted for the door, waving one hand as he ran.

“Bye! See you later!” MK called, already transforming into a hawk mid-leap and soaring out the door.

The dojo was quiet again.

Macaque chuckled softly, shaking his head. He looked at the newly-fixed TV and reached for the remote.

“Well,” he muttered, “guess I’ve got just a few hours before I bare my soul to a giant cat therapist. Wonderful.”

But a small smile tugged at the edge of his mouth.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe.

It was the beautiflu day at Pigsy’s Noodles, that quiet space of time after the breakfast crowd had left but before the lunchtime wave rolled in. Sunlight streamed through the large front windows, striping the floorboards in warm gold and catching the faint steam that curled up from the soup pots in the kitchen. The air was thick with the savory scent of broth, garlic, and soy, the kind of smell that clung to the walls of the shop no matter how much cleaning was done.

Mei sat at the counter, slouched comfortably in her seat with one elbow propped against the worn wooden surface. In front of her was a big, generous bowl of Pigsy’s signature noodles, the broth still piping hot and flecked with bits of fresh green onion. She twirled a thick bundle of noodles around her chopsticks, leaning forward to slurp them up before pausing to take a long drink of her chilled water.

Her hair fell loosely over one shoulder, and she absentmindedly tapped the ends of her chopsticks against the edge of the bowl. Her gaze kept flicking toward the door, but her tone was relaxed when she finally spoke.

“You’re checking that clock a lot, Pigsy,” she said, without looking away from her noodles.

Behind the counter, Pigsy stood with his arms crossed, his broad shoulders blocking part of the shelf where bowls were stacked in neat piles. His brow furrowed in that particular way it always did when he was waiting for something—impatient, but not quite ready to explode about it. He adjusted his apron, took another glance toward the door, then rolled his wrist to check his watch.

“He’s late,” Pigsy grumbled, tapping the watch face for emphasis, as if that would change what it was telling him.

Mei shrugged, pulling another mouthful of noodles into her mouth before speaking around them. “Maybe he just lost track of time,” she said after swallowing. “I mean, it’s MK we’re talking about. Give him a distraction and three hours can turn into five before you even blink.”

Pigsy shook his head with a low snort. “No. I gave him three hours. Exactly three hours.” He pointed a thick finger at the clock on the wall. “He should’ve been here by now.”

As if on cue, the front door burst open so hard that the little bell above it let out a startled, metallic trill. The warm street air rushed in, carrying the faint smell of distant food carts and the rumble of passing scooters.

MK darted inside, hair slightly wind-ruffled from the flight back, cheeks pink from the effort. His jacket was half-zipped and his satchel bounced against his hip as he skidded to a stop just inside the doorway. He immediately lifted his hands in mock surrender before Pigsy could launch into him.

“I’m here!” MK declared with exaggerated cheer. “No need to call Sandy to fish me out of a hole or something.”

Pigsy’s eyes narrowed, one ear flicking. “What took you so long?”

MK hesitated. He had absolutely no intention of telling them that he’d spent the last hours sitting on the floor while Macaque fixed a busted old TV, casually grooming MK’s hair like they had nothing better to do. The image was far too embarrassing—especially with Mei in the room.

So instead, he straightened up and answered casually, “Well, it took a lot of time convincing Macaque to go to therapy.” He grinned, a note of pride creeping into his voice. “But he finally agreed.”

That made Mei pause mid-slurp, blinking at him like he’d just claimed to tame a wild dragon. “Wait. You convinced Macaque to go to therapy?”

“Yep,” MK replied, popping the ‘p’ with deliberate smugness.

Mei tilted her head, suspicion written all over her face. “How? That guy would literally flee the moment therapy is brought up. Like, vanish into thin air, poof, gone.”

MK smirked faintly. “I have my methods.” He gave a little shrug, trying to look casual even though a small, proud glint lit up his eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m still grounded, and I should probably go to my room.”

He made for the stairs quickly, his pace just shy of an outright retreat. No way was he letting them corner him into explaining what had actually happened. The thought of Mei’s expression if she found out Macaque had been running clawed fingers through MK’s hair made him cringe.

Mei and Pigsy both watched him go, their eyes following him until the sound of his footsteps faded upstairs.

The shop fell into a quiet pause.

Mei reached for her chopsticks again, swirling them lazily in her broth before muttering, “He’s acting weird.”

She slurped another mouthful of noodles, eyes flicking briefly toward the stairs again.

Pigsy just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand that smelled faintly of ginger and soy sauce. “Yeah,” he muttered. His voice carried both worry and resignation, as if he’d accepted that MK was going to keep his secrets—at least for now.

Then he turned toward the kitchen, resuming his work, the soft clatter of bowls and the hiss of simmering broth filling the air again.

It was evening now, the sky outside painted in deep purples and fading streaks of orange as the last traces of daylight bled into the horizon. The city was quieter than usual; the hum of traffic seemed far away, replaced by the gentle lapping of water against the hull of Sandy’s boat.

Macaque stood on the dock just a few feet from the door, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his purple hoodie, his tail flicking behind him in a restless rhythm. He stared at the door for what felt like an eternity, his mind at war with itself.

This is stupid.

I could just leave. Slip back into the shadows. Pretend I forgot.

But then MK’s voice drifted back into his memory—earnest, stubborn, and far too persuasive for his own  good.

“Please, Mama. We both know you need it.”

Macaque let out a long, frustrated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. He’d promised. And, for reasons he didn’t want to examine too closely, breaking a promise to MK felt… wrong.

So he stepped forward and knocked. Three short, hesitant raps against the wood.

There was a pause—long enough for him to almost convince himself to bolt—before the door swung open.

Sandy stood there, broad frame filling the doorway, his usual warm smile in place. The soft light from inside spilled out onto the dock, casting a golden glow over Macaque’s sharp features.

“I’m glad you decided to come, Mister Macaque,” Sandy said, his voice deep but gentle, as if speaking to a skittish animal. “Come in.”

Macaque gave a small sigh, muttering under his breath, “Let’s get this over with.” Still, he stepped inside, his eyes flicking around the cozy interior of the boat.

The space smelled faintly of incense and warm tea. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books, scrolls, and odd little trinkets from Sandy’s travels. A couch sat near the center of the room, soft cushions inviting but not overbearing.

Without waiting for further prompting, Macaque crossed the room and dropped onto the couch, leaning back with his arms crossed. Mo was already there, lounging on the cushion beside him, the big cat’s half-lidded eyes giving him an expression of bored tolerance.

From the small kitchen area, Sandy called out, “Want some tea?”

Macaque hesitated, glancing toward the exit for half a second, before replying with a reluctant, “...Sure.”

A minute later, Sandy was back, carrying two steaming cups. He handed one to Macaque, who accepted it with a slight nod, then settled into the armchair opposite with his own cup in hand.

For a while, neither of them spoke. They simply sat there, sipping their tea, the only sounds the occasional creak of the boat and the soft thump of Mo’s tail against the cushion.

Eventually, Sandy leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “So,” he began, “what would you like to start with?”

Macaque stared into his tea as if the swirling steam might offer him an answer. “I… actually don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low.

“That’s okay,” Sandy replied with an easy smile. “There’s no rush. We have all evening.”

Macaque sighed again and reached over to scratch Mo behind the ears. The big cat closed his eyes, leaning into the touch with a rumbling purr that filled the quiet room.

Minutes passed before Macaque finally spoke again. His voice was hesitant at first, almost guarded, but once he started, the words came more steadily.

He talked a little about his insecurities—things he usually buried under sarcasm and shadow. About the moments he doubted himself, even when everyone else thought he was confident. He spoke, haltingly, about the time under her control, his tone darkening as he admitted how it felt to have his will overridden, his actions twisted against his nature.

It wasn’t much—ten minutes, maybe—but for Macaque, it was more than he’d shared in years.

Sandy listened without interruption, his expression calm but intent. He didn’t prod, didn’t fill the silences with unnecessary words. He simply let Macaque talk, nodding now and then to show he was following every word.

When Macaque finally stopped, leaning back with his arms folded again, Sandy gave him a small, sincere smile. “I’m glad you decided to talk it out. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”

Macaque huffed, glancing away. “Yeah.”

“How are you feeling now?” Sandy asked.

Macaque considered the question, still absently running his fingers through Mo’s fur. “...Somehow better, if I’m honest.”

At some point during the conversation, Mo had shifted and curled up fully in Macaque’s lap, tail draped lazily over his legs. The purring had deepened, steady and soothing.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Sandy said warmly. He took another sip of tea, then added, “If you want—or don’t want—it’s up to you, but we can have another session Sunday evening. Would you like that?”

Macaque was quiet for a long moment, his hand moving in slow, absent strokes over Mo’s head. Finally, he said, “...I would like it.”

Sandy’s smile widened slightly. “Then it’s settled. Sunday evening.”

Macaque carefully lifted Mo from his lap, earning a grumpy, half-awake glare from the big cat. Standing, he cast one last glance toward Sandy, shadows already gathering at his feet.

“...Thanks,” he said, the word low but sincere.

Before Sandy could respond, Macaque stepped back into the darkness and vanished.

Sandy sat there for a moment, tea in hand, feeling an unexpected swell of pride. Beside him, Mo let out a long, disgruntled sigh, clearly unhappy at having his nap interrupted.

[END] 

Chapter Text

Tuesday morning arrived with the kind of sluggish quiet that usually promised nothing exciting. The sky outside Mei’s window was a clear, bright blue, sunlight streaming across her room in long golden bars. She was sprawled across her bed, lying on her stomach, legs bent upward as she lazily scrolled through her phone.

A collection of toy weapons sat in the corner, alongside her gaming console still flashing with the remnants of her last play session. Despite all the color and energy of her space, Mei herself looked bored out of her mind.

She flicked through app after app, waiting for something interesting to catch her attention. Nothing. No new videos that grabbed her, no funny memes worth sharing.

“Ughhh…” Mei groaned into her pillow, rolling over onto her back dramatically. “This is going to be the most boring day ever.”

She thought briefly of MK, but immediately shook her head. He was still grounded, trapped under Pigsy’s watchful eye, and she knew he had another therapy session scheduled later that evening. That was off the table.

Red Son, maybe? But then she remembered he was away on some sort of “family trip.” Mei couldn’t help but grin a little, imagining how much Red must have complained about being dragged along with his parents. Still, that option was gone too.

Her phone dropped onto her chest, the screen going dark. “Seriously… nothing fun.”

Then, like a spark in her mind, an idea lit up. Her eyes widened and glimmered with excitement.

“Ohhhh… wait a minute…” she said to herself, sitting upright so fast her phone slid onto the blanket.

She knew exactly who she could go to. Someone who didn’t have therapy until Sunday. Someone who wasn’t locked away by Pigsy or dragged off by family.

Macaque.

A mischievous grin spread across her face. She jumped up from the bed and quickly slipped into her boots, grabbing her jacket on the way out.

Minutes later, Mei was outside beside her bike, the engine rumbling to life with a cheerful growl. She strapped on her helmet, adjusted her gloves, and revved the throttle. “Alright, let’s do this,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

The streets blurred past as she drove, wind whipping through her hair where her helmet didn’t cover. The morning bustle of the city hummed around her, but Mei’s focus was on her destination. Before long, she pulled up in front of the dojo.

She killed the engine, kicked down the stand, and pulled off her helmet. Standing in front of the door, she already knew he was inside. She could feel it somehow, the same way one feels a storm before it comes.

Marching right up to the door, she knocked confidently, then leaned against the frame with a smirk. “Come on, Macky, I know you’re in there. Open the door!”

For a moment, there was nothing. Silence, except for the faint sounds of the city in the distance. Then, from behind the door, a gruff voice called out:

“Go away.”

Mei folded her arms, not discouraged in the slightest. “I’m not going until you open the door!”

Minutes dragged by. Mei tapped her foot against the wooden porch, humming loudly and purposefully out of tune just to be annoying. She was almost ready to throw in the towel when she finally heard the click of a lock.

The door creaked open, and there stood Macaque, framed in the dim light of the dojo interior. His hair was slightly messy, his sharp eyes narrowed in irritation, and his posture screamed I’d rather be anywhere else right now.

“What do you want?” he asked flatly.

Mei threw her hands on her hips. “Well, hello to you too, grumpy cat.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Macaque replied with a scowl. “Now, what do you want?”

“I was kinda bored,” Mei began with a shrug, “and I was thinking… wanna hang out?”

The look Macaque gave her was answer enough. He started to close the door right then and there.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up!” Mei said quickly, pressing a hand against the door to stop it from shutting. “I know you don’t want to, but… please?”

Macaque sighed heavily, rubbing his temple. “Why don’t you ask MK? Or that Red boy?”

“MK’s still grounded, and Red Son is away on a trip with his parents,” Mei explained, tilting her head innocently.

“Well, that’s not my problem,” Macaque shot back, already starting to push the door closed again.

Mei stopped him a second time, giving him her best wide-eyed, pleading look. “Come on, pleeease. It could be so fun! And also…” she poked him lightly in the chest, “you need to socialize more.”

Macaque scoffed. “Why would I do that?”

“Didn’t Sandy mention that in your last therapy session?” Mei countered quickly, raising a knowing brow.

Macaque froze for a second, eyes narrowing. “…Yes. He said that.”

“Then come on!” Mei pressed, her voice bright with enthusiasm. “It’ll be fun. And if you don’t like it, you can just leave. Easy.”

Macaque studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he muttered, “…Fine. Have it your way.”

“Yes!” Mei pumped her fist in victory.

“So where are we going?” Macaque asked dryly, clearly already regretting agreeing.

“I was thinking… the arcade,” Mei said, her grin widening.

“The arcade,” Macaque repeated, his tone laced with disdain. “That loud place?” He let out a resigned sigh. “Mhm. Okay.”

With a flick of his wrist, shadows swirled at his feet, stretching upward into the shape of a dark portal. He stepped aside and gestured. “Come on then.”

Mei didn’t hesitate, bouncing forward eagerly into the portal.

Macaque lingered at the edge for a second, casting one last look back at his empty dojo. “What am I doing…” he muttered under his breath before stepping into the shadows after her.

And just like that, the portal closed, leaving the dojo quiet and still.

The hours dragged painfully slow for MK. His room was filled with an air of restless energy, the kind that made every second feel heavier than it should. Books and comics sat stacked on the shelf, video game cases scattered across the floor. None of it appealed to him right now. 

He was sprawled across his bed, legs dangling off the edge, staring at the ceiling as if it would suddenly present him with a miracle of entertainment. Pigsy had made it very clear: "No going out, no exceptions." It was part of his grounding. Between the constant lectures and therapy sessions, MK felt like the walls of his room were closing in on him.

He let out a loud sigh, rolling over onto his side. His hair was a little messy, his expression one of pure, dramatic suffering.

“Booooring…” he muttered to himself, pressing his cheek into the pillow. “This is torture. Actual torture.”

Eventually, he reached for his phone, hoping maybe—just maybe—something interesting had happened in the world of his friends. Unlocking it, he began to scroll. Notifications, memes, random updates… nothing grabbed him.

Then, he stopped.

It was a photo. A recent one, clearly, because Red Son was in it alongside his parents. MK frowned a little, studying the image. Red Son looked as smug as ever, standing between his elegantly dressed parents, who both radiated an aura of power and authority. Clearly, this was their family trip. MK chuckled to himself, imagining just how much Red Son must’ve complained during the travel part.

“Yeah, poor guy probably had to sit through hours of listening to his parents brag,” MK muttered, shaking his head. Still, it only reminded him how everyone else seemed to be doing something while he was stuck here.

With another sigh, he scrolled further. That’s when he came across Mei’s media posts.

His thumb hovered over one in particular. He tapped it open.

His eyes widened.

It was a selfie of Mei, grinning ear to ear, holding up an ice cream cone. But it wasn’t just Mei in the picture. Standing beside her, with the most unamused expression imaginable, was Macaque.

And in his hand? An ice cream cone as well.

MK stared at the photo, his jaw almost dropping. Mei had managed to convince Macaque—the grumpiest, most closed-off person MK knew—to not only hang out with her but also to eat ice cream? At the arcade, no less?

Macaque’s face said it all: he was clearly regretting every decision that led him to that moment. But still… he was there. He had agreed.

MK sat up straighter, blinking at the photo again, as if maybe he was imagining it.

“…What the—How did she even—?!” he mumbled. His mind spun with questions. What did Mei say to him? How did she get him to agree? Did she blackmail him? Bribe him? Trick him? Or did she just… ask, and somehow succeed?

The more MK thought about it, the funnier the whole thing became. His lips twitched into a grin. But the questions could wait. He was too locked down right now to do any detective work.

With a sigh, he put his phone back down on the bedside table and flopped backward onto the bed, staring at the ceiling again.

His gaze shifted to the TV across the room. Slowly, a thought began to form in his head. If he couldn’t go out, if he couldn’t join Mei and Red Son on their adventures, then maybe… maybe he’d just indulge himself.

A mischievous smile crept across his face as he grabbed the remote.

“Alright,” he said to himself, clicking the power button. The screen flickered to life, bright colors spilling across his room.

He navigated through the channels until he found what he was looking for.

My Little Pony.

The theme song started up, cheery and familiar. MK settled back on his bed, pulling the blanket up as if preparing for a marathon.

“If I can’t go out,” he muttered with a resigned chuckle, “I might as well catch up on the next seasons.”

The ponies filled the screen with their adventures, and for the first time all day, MK felt a little less bored.

The arcade was alive with flashing neon lights and the constant hum of games, music, and chatter. The smell of buttered popcorn and sweet cotton candy clung to the air, blending with the faint tang of machine oil from the rows of blinking consoles. Kids and teens darted from one machine to another, laughter and shouts rising above the steady thrum of electronic beeps.

Mei was in her element. She had claimed the dance floor, hopping from one lit-up square to the next, her hair bouncing as the music pounded through the speakers. She moved with energy and confidence, spinning once dramatically before breaking into laughter. The flashing lights reflected in her eyes as she stomped the last beat and threw her hands in the air, absolutely loving the moment.

Macaque, on the other hand, had chosen a quieter corner of the arcade. He sat hunched over in a racing seat, gripping the plastic steering wheel of a car game. Compared to the thumping bass of the dance machine, this spot was… tolerable. Not silent, but at least not headache-inducing.

His golden eyes narrowed at the glowing screen in front of him. A digital racetrack stretched out, the little pixelated car under his control swerving clumsily around corners. Macaque’s tail flicked in irritation as his vehicle slammed headfirst into a wall for the fourth time. The words “YOU LOSE” flashed across the screen in big, mocking letters.

Macaque let out a low growl.

“Stupid game,” he muttered under his breath, glaring at the wheel like it had personally wronged him.

“Having fun, Mac?”

Mei’s cheerful voice rang out, approaching from behind. Macaque stiffened slightly, his ears twitching, before he shot a sideways glance at her. She was grinning ear to ear, still slightly out of breath from dancing, a sheen of sweat on her forehead that did nothing to dampen her enthusiasm.

“You could say that,” Macaque scoffed, leaning back in the seat. “Every time I make a move, I lose. This thing’s clearly broken.” He jabbed an accusing finger at the arcade machine.

Mei crossed her arms and huffed dramatically. “It’s not broken. You just don’t know how to play.”

Macaque arched a brow, his mouth twitching into the faintest of smirks. “Oh, really? And you’re such an expert?”

“Yes,” Mei declared with absolute confidence.

“Then by all means,” Macaque said, standing up and gesturing toward the seat with mock formality, “show me how it’s done.”

Mei’s grin widened. “Well, if you insist.”

Sliding into the seat, she grabbed the steering wheel with ease. Her foot tapped the pedal, and within seconds she was zipping down the racetrack, weaving between obstacles like she had been born for this game. Macaque leaned against the machine with his arms crossed, watching carefully, though his expression grew increasingly sour when Mei’s car crossed the finish line.

“First place!” she announced proudly, pointing to the bright gold trophy icon on the screen.

“Pure luck,” Macaque muttered.

Mei shot him a look. “Oh yeah? Let’s see if it was luck.”

One round became two. Two became three. And each time, Mei won effortlessly. She even started adding playful commentary, tilting the wheel dramatically, leaning left and right like she was on an actual racetrack.

When the fifth victory screen popped up, Mei turned in the seat with a smug smile. “What was that about luck?”

Macaque narrowed his eyes, his tail flicking again. “Shut up.”

Mei giggled, hopping out of the seat and bouncing on her heels. “Oh, this is so going on my highlight reel. C’mon, grumpy cat, admit it—I’m just better at this.”

Instead of replying, Macaque rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. He was just about to slip into the shadows when Mei suddenly grabbed his wrist.

“Wait! Come on, let’s hit the dance ring next!” she said, tugging him toward the glowing floor she’d been on earlier.

Macaque dug his heels into the ground, glaring. “I’m not going to do that.”

“And why not?” Mei asked, raising a brow.

“Because I don’t want to,” Macaque replied flatly, folding his arms across his chest.

Mei tilted her head, smirking slyly. “Ohhh, I get it. You don’t know how to dance, do you?”

Macaque’s ears twitched, and he scoffed. “For your information, I can dance. Very well, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” Mei’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “I don’t think so. Why don’t you prove it?”

His tail flicked again, a sure sign she was starting to get under his skin. “And what’s the catch?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Mei grinned, crossing her arms with mock seriousness. “If you win, you get to pick what we do next time we hang out. Anywhere, anything. Your choice.”

For a moment, Macaque didn’t answer. His gaze drifted to the flashing dance floor, the crowd cheering for two kids currently stomping to the beat. Then back to Mei, who was clearly enjoying herself.

Finally, with a sigh that carried all the weight of reluctant acceptance, he said, “Fine. Deal.”

“Yes!” Mei pumped her fist in victory.

Together, they stepped onto the dance ring. The lights flared up beneath their feet, and the screen in front of them loaded the next song. Mei was practically bouncing with excitement, while Macaque stood still, hands in his pockets, sizing up the game like a battlefield.

The music kicked in.

To Mei’s surprise, Macaque moved with precision. His steps were sharp and fluid, his timing almost flawless as he followed the glowing arrows. He didn’t just hit the moves—he owned them, turning each step into a performance. His long tail swished with the beat, his body twisting and flowing like water.

Mei, meanwhile, found herself scrambling to keep up. Her usual energetic style suddenly looked clumsy next to Macaque’s controlled grace. She stumbled once, caught herself, and laughed breathlessly, determined not to lose.

By the time the song ended, a small crowd had gathered around to watch. The scoreboard popped up, Macaque’s name flashing in first place while Mei trailed behind.

“Ha,” Macaque said smugly, shooting her a sideways glance. “Told you I could dance.”

Mei was panting but grinning ear to ear. “Okay, okay, I’ll admit—you’ve got moves. But I’m not giving up yet. Rematch!”

Macaque smirked faintly, rolling his shoulders like this was no big deal. But Mei could see it—just barely—the hint of satisfaction in his eyes.

The arcade had gone dark hours ago, its neon signs flickering off one by one as the last of the kids were ushered home. Now the streets were quieter, painted silver-blue under the glow of the moon. The hum of the city never really disappeared—there was still the occasional car rolling by, the far-off wail of a siren, or the faint buzz of a streetlamp—but compared to the chaos of the arcade, it felt like another world.

On a park bench near the edge of the plaza, Mei sat with her legs crossed, a soda can in her hand. She popped it open with a hiss, and the carbonation fizzed up the rim before she took a long, satisfied sip. A small giggle slipped out of her, bubbling with leftover energy from the day. She tilted her head back, letting out another burst of laughter that made her shoulders shake.

This was the best day ever,” she said, still grinning like the night hadn’t worn her down at all. “I mean—did you see the look on your face when I beat you five times in a row on the racing game? Priceless.” She giggled again, holding the soda against her cheek like it was something precious.

Beside her, Macaque sat in silence, sipping slowly on a vanilla milkshake he’d picked up before the arcade closed. The cool sweetness lingered on his tongue, and while he’d never admit it aloud, it was oddly refreshing after everything. His tail curled lazily behind the bench, twitching every so often when Mei’s laughter got too loud.

He kept his eyes on the quiet street, the rhythm of Mei’s voice filling the spaces between. He’d scoff if anyone asked, but… he couldn’t deny that he didn’t hate it. That gnawing emptiness that usually haunted the quiet hours wasn’t there tonight. Instead, there was… something else. A lightness he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Mei yawned suddenly, stifling it behind her soda can. Her shoulders slumped slightly, and she leaned back against the bench. She turned her head toward him, her green eyes still bright even though sleep was beginning to creep in.

“So…” she asked, her tone teasing but a little softer now, “what do you have to say about today? It was fun, wasn’t it?”

Macaque huffed, lowering his milkshake. “Fun isn’t exactly the word I’d use.” He let the silence hang for a moment, his expression unreadable. But then, with a reluctant sigh, he added, “I’ll admit… it was a little fun.”

Mei’s grin spread wider, even through her sleepiness.

“And,” Macaque continued, his voice lowering a fraction, “you’re… not a bad presence to have around. When you want to be.”

Mei’s eyes softened at that, a genuine smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll take that as a win.” She yawned again, longer this time, her soda slipping down to rest against her knee.

Macaque straightened, brushing a hand against his temple as he glanced up at the moon. “It’s late,” he said. “We should get going.”

But when he turned back to her, ready to nudge her into moving, he froze. Mei hadn’t heard him. Somewhere between her yawn and his words, she had fallen asleep, her head gently slumped against his shoulder.

Her breathing was steady, soft. The soda can tilted slightly in her loose grip, though not enough to spill. Strands of green hair brushed against his arm as she shifted ever so slightly in her sleep.

Macaque stared at her for a moment, ears flicking in uncertainty. He huffed quietly, rolling his eyes. “Figures,” he muttered.

But he didn’t push her away. He didn’t even move. Instead, he finished the last sip of his milkshake in silence, then carefully set the empty cup aside on the ground. With a resigned sigh, he slipped one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders, lifting her with effortless strength.

She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her head nestling lightly against his chest.

“Unbelievable,” he whispered under his breath, though the sharpness in his tone had dulled.

In the next instant, his form blurred into the darkness. Shadows stretched and swallowed them whole, carrying him across the city in moments. When he stepped back into the light, they were in Mei’s room.

The place smelled faintly of lavender and paper, the glow of her computer screen casting a soft light across the posters plastered on her walls. Macaque glanced around briefly before moving toward the bed.

He laid her down gently, making sure her head rested against the pillow. She shifted once, curling up on her side, a faint smile tugging at her lips even in sleep.

Macaque straightened, brushing his hands off as if to shake away the moment. He didn’t say anything—didn’t let himself linger longer than necessary. With one last look at her peaceful face, he vanished into the shadows again.

The dojo greeted him with silence. The air was cooler here, filled with the faint scent of old wood and dust. Macaque emerged from the shadows by the couch, his shoulders sagging now that the night’s weight caught up with him.

He dropped onto the cushions with a grunt, sinking back into the worn fabric. His mind flickered briefly to Mei’s bike that is still outside. He could teleport it back for her later, he decided, when he had the energy.

For now, though, exhaustion pressed down on him. He closed his eyes, his tail curling protectively around him, and let the quiet wash over him. Sleep claimed him quickly, carrying him into dreams he never had.

[THE END]