Work Text:
The Morning Dew Residence remained as peaceful and quiet as every day before, only Sunday's face looked thoughtful. Perhaps his sister would have asked what problem the Bronze Melodia was facing, but to the rest of the Oak Family, the young master always seemed immersed in something. His gait was usually leisurely, but now he walked so slowly, as if he were trying to slow down time itself.
Gopher Wood remained a mysterious figure to him—the clan leader liked to assign his successor various tasks that, at first glance, had little connection with caring for Penacony and its inhabitants. He never questioned his adoptive father's decisions.
'But isn't that too much?'
The Bronze Melodia paused at the carved door. Behind it was a meeting room, visited by representatives of the IPC and other factions, and now there... sat the head of one of the strangest organizations to collaborate with, La Mancha. But what made the situation even more absurd was that the man had come with a personal request, not on behalf of the Galaxy Rangers.
Sunday's heart was so broad that it accommodated the concerns of every afflicted person, so he didn't hesitate for a moment when Gopher Wood chose him to attune the head of the Galaxy Rangers. Only one doubt tormented him: whether he could handle this task, for it was different from his previous experience: listening and giving instructions.
...if the attunement truly could bring happiness to people, he would gladly use it on all those who sought a meeting with the Bronze Melodia and be heard.
"Good afternoon, Mr. La Mancha."
"Ah, it's time already."
The room was furnished with soft sofas, but the man consciously chose to remain standing, even though the cane in his hand, like an old man's, made one wonder if he had an injury. His tall stature gave him an imposing presence, but the cold expression frozen on his face was intimidating. Perhaps Sunday couldn't hide his disgust when the pungent scent of blood assaulted his nostrils, or perhaps the guest knew from the start that he might disturb the follower of Harmony who had come to him for attunement, so he managed an awkward smile and explained:
"I changed my clothes, but the smell might still linger. My apologies, I was informed of the free time immediately after the mission."
"You don't need to apologize to me. Here, on the Planet of Festivities, you can imagine anything and it will become reality."
In the realm of dreams, you don't need to worry about such trivial things as body odor or hunger. It was a pleasant dream, something people sometimes forgot and couldn't distinguish from reality. Apparently interpreting his words correctly, La Mancha thoughtfully lowered his gaze, and after a few moments, the suffocating metallic smell disappeared, leaving only the fragrant scent of flowers in the room.
After a few moments of silence, the man finally said, "How wonderful..."
"The family pledges to grant everyone a dream where they can forget about the problems of reality," Sunday pointed to the sofa, inviting his guest to sit. "Then shall we begin the tuning, Mr. La Mancha?"
"As you wish."
The leader of the Galaxy Rangers gave the impression of a well-mannered man with extensive life experience. The front strands of his hair were already touched with gray, but there wasn't a wrinkle on his face, only a shadow of grief darkened it. He had encountered people in such a state many times, and this only reinforced Sunday's conviction of the injustice of the world.
Even after he sank onto the sofa, La Mancha continued to lean on his cane. Perhaps it was important to him, or perhaps it was a psychological trick to keep himself under control.
"...has the tuning begun yet?" the man asked after a few moments of silence, betraying his impatience. "I don't sense any changes."
"There's a preliminary stage before that. Tuning is similar to suggestion, and if you use it blindly on someone... It can be a bit dangerous," Sunday explained, expecting such haste. "You don't need to reveal your innermost thoughts to me, a stranger. Just tell me, for instance, how you spent your day."
The Bronze Melodia had used the power of Harmony before, often for interrogation. He sometimes wondered what it would be like to instill "happiness" in anyone who desired it, but even Gopher Wood rejected the idea. Only the Aeons can do such things, while prolonged use of the tuning drives a person mad, creating dissonance in the soul.
This was another reason he had been uneasy on the way here. But since his adoptive father had accepted this request, it meant Sunday could handle it.
"A gifted tongue at such a young age. It's only worrying," but instead of introducing himself, the leader of the Galaxy Rangers sighed and shook his head. "If it helps buy us a little more time, you don't have to be so soft with me... What's your name?"
The Bronze Melodia, who had been listening attentively until then, seemed to flinch, but quickly recovered. No one had tried to talk about him before, only about themselves; perhaps it was because there was no partition separating him from La Mancha.
"You can call me Sunday."
"Hearing that name, all I can think about is rest. Oh, sorry. It just slipped out."
"...it's fine."
"No, I really feel a little awkward. Ah, what should I do?" The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. His attention was involuntarily drawn to his hand, which resembled an elaborate prosthesis made of an unknown black material, and the nails painfully embedded in his wrist. "Then how about calling me by my name? I'm just a traveler who's wandered here seeking help; there's no need to call me Mr.'"
Was this La Mancha's original goal—to downplay politeness? The Bronze Melodia had grown up in a culture where everyone clung to their status, so it was hard for him not to look for hidden meaning in this request. But the smile the leader of the Galaxy Rangers directed at him seemed genuine.
Remembering that the organization itself was composed of rather eccentric people, Sunday decided to follow the man's lead this time.
"As you wish, La Mancha."
"Ha-ha, and even so, I still have a perfectly polite young man sitting before me. Quite different from my wild wolf cubs." After he finished speaking, the smile on his full lips grew fainter with each passing moment until it vanished completely. "Since my request has been granted, I must do my part. It's only fair."
Typically, those who sought solace in the Bronze Melodia's words could be divided into three types: the first blamed others for their misfortunes, and Sunday felt little sympathy for them; the second sought the cause of their problems in divine will and felt sorry for themselves; and the third, too tired to look for someone to blame, quietly and emotionlessly recounted their lives to the stranger behind the partition, as if it were someone else's story.
But the leader of the Galaxy Rangers was none of them, for he was sharing a part of his life that should have been buried deep in his heart.
Throughout his entire story, he stared at one point—the center of the wooden table—but the reflection in his eyes seemed to freeze scenes from a not-so-distant past. Only when silence fell over the room did La Mancha look back at his loyal and only listener and smile apologetically.
"Stories like these aren't for young fledglings like you, but for campfire tales among old galaxy wolves."
Sunday didn't know what expression he had on his face when La Mancha decided to say that. Perhaps he always looked that way after a difficult story about yet another broken life, but this time there was no thick partition separating him from his interlocutor.
That day, the tuning was successfully completed.
***
As Sunday had said, the power of Harmony was like weaving a specific idea into the mind, in other words, a suggestion. If done carelessly or if the person being attuned to it wasn't checked periodically, they would begin to feel a dissonance between their feelings and the implanted thought.
For this reason, La Mancha became an integral part of the Bronze Melodia's life. At least once every couple of months, the head of the Galactic Rangers would visit the Morning Dew Residence and bring back gifts from various planets he'd visited, even if it wasn't absolutely necessary. Although herbal tea from Xianzhou was especially soothing to tense nerves and relaxing the body.
" ...and then Boothill, that mangy brat, peppered another IPC ship with bullets without warning. Their employees caught me at the next stop and shook down a huge compensation package," the man irritably twirled his cane in his hands, wistfully recalling the tidy sum of loans he'd given away.
"And if he'd warned you?"
"Of course I would have run away!"
Sunday hid his smile behind his mug of tea. Strictly speaking, the IPC weren't Penacony's sponsors, even if they were hanging around somewhere looking for a tasty morsel, but they had some sort of cooperation agreement. So Bronze Melodia allowed himself to enjoy this amusing tale without a twinge of conscience.
Watching the Halovian relax in his company, La Mancha smiled warmly.
"I never thought taming birds was so difficult," he murmured thoughtfully.
"Really? My sister and I once looked after Charmony Doves. Birds, in my opinion, are the least demanding to keep."
Leaving this without comment, La Mancha watched Sunday enthusiastically sample the desserts he'd brought from Xianzhou. No, Bronze Melodia's expression remained practically indifferent, but a keen interest gleamed in his honey-colored eyes as the sweetness spread across his tongue.
"I'm sure Robin will love these desserts. She just returned home." After a brief pause, he added, "Perhaps you'd be interested in meeting her. You told me you once tried to get her autograph at a fan meeting."
In fact, La Mancha didn't seem like a fan of the singer; at least, he could only vaguely recall a few songs that had once been a hit across the universe. But for some reason, he was willing to pay a large sum to a reseller for Robin's autograph—Bronze Melodia didn't ask too many questions about it, simply keeping his guesses to himself.
Momentarily surprised by the offer, La Mancha merely laughed and explained,
"I'm afraid I can't stay in the realm of dreams for long, and... Oh, if I say I don't need an autograph anymore, wouldn't that sound too rude?"
The man knew the Halovian was crazy about his younger sister, and when the conversation turned to her career, he could instantly name all her old and new singles and even sing a few lines. In fact, La Mancha thought Sunday's voice was perfect for lullabies; one could close one's eyes and relax, listening to the soft, calm melody.
"It's all right. But in exchange, let me know the reason why you can't stay here."
During their conversation, the Bronze Melodia had gotten to know the man in front of him a little. La Mancha was the leader of the Galaxy Rangers, renowned for their sense of justice, for good reason. He welcomed fair exchange, and once he'd asked a question in return, he couldn't ignore it.
"Well, it's not such a big secret... But I hope it stays between us." In other words, it was a big secret, one that outsiders weren't supposed to know. The man patted his hand, urging attention to it. "I need to keep an eye on a little animal sealed here. If I stay in the realm of dreams for too long, it will become tormented by loneliness and go completely wild."
"Your hand... I've been wondering about one question for a long time. May I ask it now?"
"I'm ready to satisfy any curiosity my savior may have."
"Does it hurt?"
"You've become so straightforward, it even makes my soul happy... It's just a shame the topic is so unpleasant."
A quiet laugh escaped La Mancha's lips. No matter how you looked at it, his hand was in terrible condition, even though the man had previously said it was just a prosthesis. The darkness covering the entire surface and the nails roughly driven into the hand couldn't have been a light intervention. And if something sealed there was preventing him from remaining in the realm of dreams, in his sleep, for long... Usually, people were quick to tell him about their experiences; even Robin shared her experiences with him, but the leader of the Galaxy Rangers was one of those who preferred to endure with a smile on his lips.
"I can't say I got used to it easily... Ah, don't look at me like that. Can you just touch my hand and make sure it's okay?"
"Touch it..?"
"Yes, yes, come here quickly. No, I'd rather go myself. Stay there."
Rising from the sofa, La Mancha strode across the short distance separating them and sat down right next to him. Clearing his throat and deliberately turning away, the man extended his hand to the now-sitting Halovian.
Resurrection initially considered refusing, as there was something odd about the idea of feeling another person's hand. But seeing it up close, his involuntary curiosity was piqued, prompting him to run his fingertips over the pitch-black surface, where mysterious gray stripes were visible. The nails piercing the prosthesis looked enormous up close; Bronze Melodia couldn't help but wince, imagining them piercing his skin.
Carefully taking the hand in his own, he thoughtfully ran his fingers over the cold metal. The row of nails resembled an intricate bracelet, and as soon as Sunday touched them, he felt the full weight of such "decoration" and almost let out a sigh.
"Ahem, ahem, if you continue, it will look even more awkward."
"Oh, my apologies. I was just lost in thought." Releasing the man's hand, the Bronze Melodia returned to his tea, but the chill imprinted on his fingers still lingered. Then he noticed the gaze directed at him. "Something wrong?"
"Well... It's..." La Mancha hesitated and scratched his cheek. Amusingly, his prominent long eyelashes fluttered, betraying his excitement. "Since you've examined my hand, may I ask you to touch your wings in return?"
"Cough."
This request was so sudden that Sunday almost choked on his tea. The Halovians treasured their halo, the pride of their race, and meticulously tended their snow-white wings. Perhaps the only person he would have allowed to touch them under normal circumstances was Robin.
"I wonder if those wings make your head feel heavy? Perhaps your neck hurts," La Mancha launched into a frantic rant, nearly shedding a tear as he imagined the suffering of all the Halovians. Sunday, who had never felt anything like it, could only blink in confusion. "They stand out so much, maybe someone in the crowd is taking advantage of the moment and tugging at them..."
"Sorry to interrupt, but I can always move them aside," the Bronze Melodia pointedly pulled his wings back a little. Astonished, as if he'd witnessed some kind of trick, La Mancha only stared at him with even greater interest, which was a little disconcerting. "Hm, I suppose there won't be a problem if you satisfy your curiosity."
Under normal circumstances, Sunday would have been more reserved about such requests from guests, and it was unlikely anyone would have been brave enough to voice such a desire. But the Galaxy Rangers valued fair deals, and since the man had agreed to meet him despite his reluctance, why not reciprocate? Their established personal relationship also weighed heavily in this decision.
Like a wild wolf intently examining a small bird perched nearby, La Mancha carefully touched the feathers and only then gently massaged them between his fingers, marveling at the softness. His hand moved slightly higher and touched the feathers at the very base; this awkward movement caused a slight tickling and goosebumps. The Bronze Melodia was about to suggest they finish when his fingers moved further.
"It's hard to see through the hair, but Halovians do have ears." "I thought they were wings," the man voiced his thoughts, rubbing his hidden ear. It was so neat and beautiful, it was strange that they were hiding it. "Oh, so this earring wasn't attached to wings..."
The earlobe was pinned between his index finger and thumb, the grip weak, but to Sunday, it felt more like a trap. His entire body tensed, but not from fear or disgust; the warmth that rushed to his face signaled that the situation was becoming very delicate.
The Bronze Melodia opened his mouth to stop this sweet torture, when La Mancha ran his hand over the entire surface of the ear from behind.
"Ah..."
Only a quiet, soft voice stopped these movements. It sounded simultaneously familiar and strangely unfamiliar. But before La Mancha could even offer a word of defense, a nearby wing slapped his hand and quickly hid its owner's flushed face. Only the red ear, still visible, betrayed the Bronze Melodia's true emotions.
Until that moment, the leader of the Galaxy Rangers had considered the Halovian merely a pleasant companion, but the sight that greeted him made his heart beat faster in an unfamiliar way. It wasn't from the bitterness of losing his comrades, but from a different, sweet and pleasant feeling, warming him from within.
"I think we can end the tuning here."
The Bronze Melodia's voice remained calm, but this very composure added fuel to the fire of the feeling budding in La Mancha's chest.
What was that?