Dust was the dominant hue in the abandoned warehouse.
And in its center, Hoshigaki Sora stood bare-chested.
"Ow—ow ow ow ow!!"
He couldn't help but cry out as the medicinal powder stung his open wound.
A vicious gash stretched across his torso, from his left chest to his right lower abdomen, still oozing blood. It was the scar left by the Voidranger Trampler's arrow, which had pierced through the G3X Armor in their earlier encounter.
"This powder does sting quite a bit," Robin said, watching his pain-contorted expression with concern. "But it works fast. Your wound should be mostly healed by tomorrow."
She added comfortingly, "This is the best medicine we have on this planet, Sora-san. Hang in there. If it's too painful, I can sing you a song—maybe it'll help take the edge off."
"N-No need. I'm a tough guy, after all. No way a little pain would—ghhh!"
It took a long moment for the sting to fade, long enough for the worst of the grimace to soften from his face.
Robin sat beside him, her tone laced with quiet worry.
"Sora-san… what do you think they'll do to us?"
They weren't in a shelter anymore. After being guided here, they'd arrived at what was apparently a gathering place for survivors on Planet Camille.
The medicine in Robin's hands had been given to them by that person—who had promptly vanished afterward, without so much as a word since.
"Relax. It's not like we're in trouble or anything."
At his casual reassurance, Robin finally allowed herself to exhale a little.
Still, deep in her heart, the unease hadn't fully dispersed.
Sora, on the other hand, was steadily growing more at ease—his system's refresh timer now down to mere hours.
No matter what came out of the next roll, there was no way it'd be weaker than the G3X.
Honestly, if he drew something like Kamen Rider Ouja, he could ditch this place on the spot.
Just thinking about escape made his mind start spinning again.
"How about this—once we get off this planet, you grant me a little wish. Deal?"
"Hm? A wish of yours, Sora-san?"
Robin's curiosity was piqued.
Seeing his chance, Sora didn't hesitate to pitch his dream:
He wanted to join the Interastral Peace Corporation—yes, the IPC itself—and land a cushy job as an interstellar business traveler.
Just imagine: getting paid to lie around on distant planets while racking up travel stipends. That was the life.
"Don't judge me by appearances! I've actually mastered every major galactic lingua franca."
"Really?"
"Absolutely. Test me if you don't believe me!"
Robin didn't hesitate. She rattled off phrases in several different standard galactic tongues, watching him closely.
Though he couldn't actually understand the words directly, his system translated them effortlessly—so to her, it seemed like he was comprehending them perfectly and replying without missing a beat.
Robin was genuinely impressed.
"Sora-san, I never would've guessed you'd studied intergalactic communication so deeply. That's incredible."
"Heh. Of course." Sora puffed his chest, pleased with his own performance. With skills like this, that IPC job was practically guaranteed.
"Too bad," Robin said lightly, "ever since the Synesthesia Beacon came into common use, knowing galactic languages isn't really necessary anymore."
Dun dun DONG!
Sora froze.
Then he remembered where he was.
Right—dammit! This world has the Genius Society!
For a group like that, building a universal translator would be child's play. He'd sunk so deep into this place, he'd actually forgotten.
In his mind, the vision of his dream future slowly grew wings and waved goodbye.
His perfect life of lying on alien beaches while racking up travel expenses whispered farewell:
"Goodbye, Sora. Be happy, future you!"
"No! Don't go!!"
The vision of his dream boarded a taxi and sped away, while Sora ran after it shouting—only to be left behind.
He slumped down, color draining from his face like a man utterly defeated.
"Sora-san? Sora-san?"
"…Give me a second. Let me mourn the death of my dream."
"No, I mean—someone's coming."
That snapped him out of it. He immediately turned toward the entrance of the warehouse.
There, a woman was approaching them at a steady pace.
"Well, looks like you two are recovering nicely," she said with a casual wave. "Come with me—someone wants to see you."
But Sora wasn't focused on her words. He was staring at her face, frowning.
Not because she looked familiar… but because there was a strange, almost mystical pattern etched into her features.
Where had he seen that before?
"Where exactly are you staring?" she asked sharply, clearly catching his gaze. Even Robin turned to look at him, curious.
"It's nothing," Sora replied. "I was just wondering about the pattern on your face."
Pattern?
Robin squinted at the woman's face for a moment, and something seemed to click.
"…Sora-san, I don't think that's a pattern. I think it's your palm print."
She whispered it discreetly into his ear.
What?!
Sora's eyes darted between Robin and the woman in front of them.
A palm print?!
Suddenly, an image popped into his head: the cloth-wrapped alien he'd slammed to the ground with a single strike.
"You're that Cloth-Wrapped Survivor?!"
"'Cloth-Wrapped'?" The woman blinked. "Oh—you mean my sandstorm gear? Pretty cool, right?"
She grinned. "Custom mod job. No one could recognize me in it!"
"It is you…"
"Who else would it be but me—Ouja?" She folded her arms and gave a haughty little huff, clearly quite pleased with herself.
Sora noticed she wasn't angry, which meant she either didn't remember or didn't care what he'd done.
Better not press his luck.
"Oh, by the way," she said suddenly, making his stomach clench, "after all this, I still don't know either of your names."
He blurted them out quickly—his and Robin's—before she could decide to get even.
This was her turf, after all. And his G3X was still under repair.
Ouja nodded, apparently satisfied, and led them onward.
They weaved through hallways, taking so many turns that Sora and Robin both started to lose their sense of direction.
Eventually, Ouja stopped in front of a door.
"We're here. This is the First Seat's office."
The First Seat? Sounded like the person in charge of this whole survivor enclave.
Ouja gave the door a few knocks. A voice called from inside:
"Come in."
Sora and Robin stepped through the doorway. Ouja remained outside, quietly closing the door behind them.
Inside, both of them froze.
At the far end of the room stood the so-called "First Seat," smiling warmly at them.
"Though we remain caught in the middle of a survival crisis," she said, "please allow me to extend a belated welcome:
Welcome to the Star of the Life Goddess's Blessing—Kaemomiar."
Sora was stunned speechless. Robin, too.
Because standing in front of them wasn't some dignified older woman…
…but a girl who looked no older than eleven or twelve.
A child… is the First Seat?!