Chapter Text

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

“Astropolis . . .” Stelle said as the Astral Express doors opened. “We’re here!”

She stepped onto the platform with Sunday in tow—more precisely, with one end of his neck wrap caught around her arm.

“Ms. Stelle,” Sunday said evenly, though the faint tension in his voice betrayed him, “I would appreciate it if you released me.”

Stelle looked at him. “No.”

Sunday paused. “No?”

“The second I do, you’ll rush back inside the Express.”

“I would not—”

“You would,” March cut in, hopping down beside them with her camera already raised. She turned toward the beach, practically glowing at the sight of the clear water and bright sand. “Come on, Sunday! You can’t hide on the train forever.”

“Ms. March, I am not attempting to ‘hide.’” Sunday gently tried to loosen the fabric from Stelle’s arm. “I am simply exercising reasonable caution.”

March lowered her camera and gave him a knowing look. “You’re a fugitive. That counts as hiding.”

“It counts as avoiding unnecessary attention,” Sunday corrected, maintaining his polite tone. “Astropolis is the IPC’s Headquater.”

“But you disguised yourself on Penacony and Planarcadia,” March said. “You could do it again.”

“That situation was rather different.”

Stelle nodded solemnly. “You had fewer people dragging you to a beach.”

“I was not being dragged.” Sunday took one step backward.

Stelle tightened her hold on the scarf.

Sunday stopped.

March laughed, nearly dropping her camera. “See? You were going to run!”

“I was going to assess the surroundings,” Sunday replied, clearly choosing patience over honesty.

A few steps away, Dan Heng sat beneath the shade of a palm tree, a book from the databank open in his hands. He had apparently found the quietest spot on the beach within seconds of arriving.

Stelle pointed at him. “Dan Heng understands.”

Dan Heng did not look up from his book. “I understand that drawing attention to yourself is unwise.”

Sunday gave him a small, grateful nod. “Precisely.”

Dan Heng turned a page. “Which is why I would advise against arguing with them in public.”

March grinned. “Too late for that.”

Stelle finally unwound Sunday’s scarf from her arm, though she remained directly in front of the path back to the Express.

“There,” she said. “You’re free.”

Sunday adjusted the fabric around his neck with careful dignity. “How generous.”

“But,” Stelle continued, “you have to stay with us.”

Sunday stared at her for a moment.

March held up her camera. “Group beach photo?”

Dan Heng’s page-turning stopped.

Sunday closed his eyes briefly, as if gathering the strength to accept an unavoidable trial. “…Very well,” he said.

March beamed. “Great! Dan Heng, get over here!”

“No.”

“Please?”

Dan Heng looked from March to Stelle, to Sunday—who stood with the weary resignation of someone who had already lost this battle.

With a quiet sigh, Dan Heng shut his book and stood.

Stelle gave Sunday a small, satisfied nod. “See? You’re fitting in.”

Sunday glanced over the promenade, where locals wore light linen shirts, flowing cover-ups, and beachwear suited to Astropolis’s heat.

“I believe it would be prudent to acquire clothing more appropriate for the local climate,” he said. “Our current attire is hardly practical in this weather.”

March’s eyes lit up. “Now you’re talking! I’ve wanted to get a swimsuit ever since we arrived!”

Stelle considered the beach, then looked at Dan Heng. “We might overheat in these clothes.”

Dan Heng immediately looked wary.

“Do you think they sell shirts for Dan Heng?” Stelle asked March, entirely serious.

March covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. “Stelle! He can pick his own clothes.”

“I intend to,” Dan Heng said flatly.

Stelle nodded. “Then shirtless is still an option.”

“It is not.”

Sunday turned away for a moment, pressing two fingers to his temple. “Ms. Stelle, perhaps it would be best not to make Mr. Dan Heng the subject of public discussion.”

March snapped a photo of the beach. “Okay, okay. But Pom-Pom definitely needs something, too!”

Stelle tilted her head. “A swimsuit?”

“A tiny beach outfit!” March said. “Maybe a little sunhat. Or sunglasses!”

Dan Heng glanced toward the Express, where Pom-Pom was staying. “Why would Pompom need sunglasses?

March crossed her arms. “It’s for sun protection.”

“But the conductor is always inside the Express.” Sunday tilted his head. “That can provide all the sun protection.” 

March looked toward a nearby clothing shop. “We may need a truckload of clothes for Pom-Pom.”

Stelle blinked. “A truckload? Pom Pom is tiny.”

“Pom Pom has standards,” Stelle said.

Dan Heng exhaled quietly. “And limited storage space.”

“Then we buy fewer things,” Sunday jokingly suggested.

March gasped. “Sunday, we’re going shopping. You can’t say that before we even enter the first store.”

Sunday’s expression remained composed, but his eyes briefly shifted toward the crowded area ahead. “I see,” he said. “This may prove more difficult than avoiding detection.”

Everyone entered a nearby mall, grateful for the cool air after the bright heat of Astropolis. Before they could go farther than the entrance, a security guard raised a hand to stop them.

“The Astral Express crew?” he asked.

Stelle nodded. “Yes?”

“Please come with me.”

March blinked. “Oh, come on—we just got here!”

Sunday’s expression remained calm. His disguise as a male foxian, formed with the power of Harmony and refined through Tianyun’s patient coaching, hid his identity well enough from casual passersby. Still, being singled out so quickly was not reassuring.

“I would advise caution,” he said quietly. “We have no reason to assume this is harmless.”

Dan Heng studied the guard for a moment. “We should hear him out.”

The guard led them through the mall to a discreet reception desk. A receptionist stood and greeted them with a professional smile.

“Welcome to Astropolis, Astral Express crew. We’ve been expecting you.”

March leaned closer to Stelle. “That is somehow less comforting.”

The receptionist placed a sleek black card on the counter. “Mr. Diamond has instructed us to provide this to you for the duration of your stay. Please consider it a token of appreciation for your efforts concerning Irontomb.”

For a moment, no one moved. Then Stelle reached for the card. Dan Heng took it first.

“Hey!” Stelle protested, reaching toward him. “That was for us!”

“Exactly,” Dan Heng said, holding it out of her reach. “Which is why you should not be responsible for it.”

Stelle frowned. “I am responsible.”

“You collect garbage,” Dan Heng replied.

“Useful garbage.”

March raised a finger. “In Stelle’s defense, sometimes it is useful.”

Dan Heng looked at her.

March slowly lowered her hand. “...Very rarely.”

Stelle folded her arms. “And you can’t keep it either.”

“Why not?”

“Because March might be able to steal it from you.”

March gasped. “Excuse me? I’m not a thief!”

“You wanted to buy Pom-Pom an entire truckload of beach clothes,” Stelle said.

“It was a joke!” March paused. “Mostly.”

Dan Heng sighed and looked toward Sunday. “That leaves you.”

Sunday’s gaze settled on the black card in Dan Heng’s hand. He did not take it.

“I would prefer that we return it,” Sunday said. “The IPC seldom offers generosity without expecting something in return. A reward from Diamond, in particular, deserves careful scrutiny.”

The receptionist’s smile did not change, though it became slightly more practiced.

Before anyone could respond, every Trailblazer’s phone chimed at once.

Stelle checked hers first. A new message had appeared on the group chat.

“Then it’s decided,” Stelle said, nodding toward Sunday with complete seriousness. “Sunday is our bank.”

“I still propose that we return it,” Sunday replied.

March glanced at the receptionist, who remained patiently behind the counter. “But Himeko can’t hand it back to Diamond either.” She lowered her voice. “And if we refuse it, won’t the receptionist get blamed for not doing her job?”

Sunday’s eyes shifted briefly toward the receptionist. The woman’s polite expression did not falter, but he understood March’s concern.

Dan Heng held out the card. “We can accept it for now. That doesn’t mean we trust Diamond—or that we owe the IPC anything beyond what we agree to.”

Sunday considered this. His expression remained reserved, though some of the tension left his shoulders. “Very well,” he said at last, taking the card from Dan Heng. “We will treat it as temporary hospitality, nothing more. Keep your purchases reasonable, and tell me before you intend to buy anything.”

March clasped her hands together. “You mean we can actually go shopping now?”

“Within reason, Ms.March.”

Stelle gave Sunday an approving nod. “Our bank has rules.”

“I am not your bank,” Sunday said flatly.

March and Stelle cheered anyway. Dan Heng’s mouth curved into the smallest, nearly invisible smile before he turned toward the stores ahead.

“Thank you for your assistance,” Sunday told the receptionist, offering a polite nod. “We appreciate the welcome.”

“Enjoy your stay in Astropolis,” she replied.

The group left the reception area and entered the mall proper, where sunlight streamed through the glass ceiling and colorful storefronts stretched out in every direction.

March immediately pointed toward a beachwear shop. “That one first!”

Stelle pointed at a vending machine shaped like a trash can. “No. That one.”

Dan Heng stopped between them and slowly closed his eyes. He shook his head, visibly disappointed in his two fellow Trailblazers. “We have been here for less than one minute,” he said.

“It could have rare items,” Stelle argued.

“It’s a vending machine.”

“Exactly.”

March placed her hands on her hips. “Stelle, we came here for beach clothes. You can investigate the suspicious trash-can machine afterward.”

Stelle looked between the shop and the vending machine, clearly weighing an important decision.

Nearby, Sunday watched the exchange in silence. His gaze moved from March’s determined expression to Stelle’s intense focus on the vending machine, then to Dan Heng’s quiet resignation.

For the first time since accepting the card, he seemed to understand exactly what his role in this trip would be. Sunday tightened his hold on the black card. “I am beginning to regret this decision.”