Episode 81

"Asking me to believe that is a bit of a stretch... no, I suppose I can’t rule it out. It’s not mathematically impossible."

Phantom whispered the words, his face a mask of deep, agonizing contemplation. He was currently processing the bombshell Teiro had dropped: that he’d woken up in the middle of the Galactic Empire after originating from a place called Earth.

"Earth... I’d always assumed that was just some archaic word for the era predating Recorded Imperial History. You’re telling me it was the name of the planet itself? That’s a fact that would flip the history books on their heads. Honestly, I’m floored... but don't worry, I’ve got no intention of going public with this."

With his hood pulled back, Phantom’s face was surprisingly serene. He didn’t look like a man dubbed the Reaper at all. He had chiseled features, strong brows, and a mouth that seemed perpetually fixed in a gentle, pleasant curve. His eyes, however, told a different story. They were sharp—abnormally, terrifyingly sharp.

"You’re actually buying this?" Alan asked, lounging on the sofa with a newfound air of relaxation. Something in his demeanor had clearly shifted. He didn't even turn his head, merely shifting his gaze toward the legendary assassin. "I’m the one who believes him, and even I think it sounds like a load of tripe."

"The reaction to the Antique is the clincher," Phantom replied, his eyes never leaving Teiro. "A collector or an intellectual might recognize the design, but no one would actually be scared of it. Nobody expects an ancient relic to be functional. Even a cautious man would, at most, give it a wry smile."

With a dull clunk, Phantom set the handgun down on the table. Alan snatched it up with immediate, professional interest, inspecting the hardware with the intensity of a jeweler.

"Chemical propellant... Hmph. This is a shockingly primitive piece of kit. It’s just a trigger linked to a hammer. Not a single electronic component in sight. Hmm. It’s got rifling, but I don’t see a port to inject the powder. Is it a cartridge type? Must be a massive pain to reload."

Alan’s former-soldier blood was clearly pumping. Despite his dismissive tone, he looked like a kid with a new toy as he toyed with the revolver.

"I think they used these things called... uh, Speedloaders? You could set six bullets at once. I’m pretty sure I saw them used in some old movies," Teiro chimed in, miming the motion of reloading.

"You mean this?" Phantom asked, handing Teiro the exact device he’d just described.

"Yeah, exactly! That’s the... wait. Are handgun bullets usually this freaking huge?"

Six massive slugs protruded from the cylindrical metal frame. Each one was thicker than Teiro’s thumb.

"I told you, it’s a replica," Phantom explained. "The real ones are worth hundreds of millions of Credits; their only job is to sleep in some collector's vault. This one is made of Ivory Metal, and the warheads are a tungsten alloy. It doesn't use gunpowder either—it uses a Plasma Expansion Body. Same principle, though."

Whoa, Teiro thought, letting out a low whistle of admiration. Most of the technical jargon went right over his head, but he could easily imagine the sheer, bone-shattering violence packed into those oversized bullets.

One thing’s for sure: if that hits me, I’m a goner. It doesn't matter where it hits; it's going to be messy. "Wait, Alan? What the heck are you doing?"

Alan snatched the bullets from Teiro’s hand and began loading the revolver with a terrifyingly blank expression. He moved with the fluid, practiced ease of a man handling a familiar tool. Once the cylinder clicked into place, he slowly raised the barrel and aimed it directly at the center of Phantom’s forehead.

"I wouldn’t do that if I were you," Phantom said, his face remains perfectly cool despite the barrel between his eyes. "The recoil is heavier than a large-caliber rifle. You’ll do a lot more than just break your wrist."

"I figured as much," Alan said. "By the way, would this warhead be enough to give you a fatal wound?"

"Hard to say. It would be difficult, but I’d personally rather not find out. My Reinforced Skeleton might deflect the slug, but pain is still pain. Plus, skin regeneration is a hassle."

"Fine then. Suit yourself. Here."

Alan tossed the gun back to Phantom as if it were a piece of trash. Phantom caught it and emptied the chamber with a flick of his wrist. Teiro, meanwhile, was vibrating with anxiety, being the only person in the room who had no idea what the hell was happening.

"It’s fine, Teiro. I’ve got it out of my system. Sorry about that... technically, this guy was the one who killed my old unit."

Alan offered a weak, troubled smile. Teiro could only mutter a "Right..." in response. He couldn't find the words. He just took solace in the fact that Alan had used the past tense.

"Besides, even if I pulled the trigger, I wouldn't hit him," Alan added, sinking back into the sofa with an air of total defeat. "He 'dodges' bullets. The moment I even think about twitching my finger, I’d be saying goodbye to my hand. That’s how it was back then. I doubt it's changed."

"It's not exactly dodging," Phantom corrected. "I just move to a safe position in advance based on the future I see through BISHOP. Anyway, I think we’re done for today. Let’s call it a night. The important business is over."

"Wait, hang on! I haven't gotten an answer yet—"

"The answer is no, kid. As an Antique collector, I’m fascinated by you, but I have zero interest in your company."

Phantom pointed a firm finger toward the exit. Teiro opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it. Pushing a man like the Reaper was a one-way ticket to a bad time.

"Understood. We’ll get out of your hair for today... but, uh, you seem to know a lot about Earth stuff. I’d love to chat more. Can I come back?"

"I’d love to say you’re always welcome... but you’d better stay away. If the Empire finds out you’re associating with me, 'person of interest' will be the least of your problems."

"Ah, good point. They’d probably think I’m plotting a coup or something. One last question before I go?"

Teiro paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder. Phantom remained nonchalant. "What is it?"

"Why did you actually help me?"

"...Go on."

"I mean, you said you were after my life, but that was a total bluff, right? It doesn't make sense for a newcomer to be cozying up to the local mobs. And if I were some kind of tyrant, you could have just snuffed me out without the theatrical threats, couldn't you?"

"...Because you seemed like a decent person," Phantom said, raising a single finger as he leaned in closer. "As a citizen, I’m rooting for you."

His tone shifted, becoming low and serious.

"They’re officially neutral, but certain corporations with backroom ties to the Enzio Alliance have been making moves lately. The hunters, too. We have to assume there’s been a leak. You’re likely going to have a Bounty on your head soon. Funded by Enzio."

"Oh. Well. That explains a lot," Teiro said, the pieces clicking into place. "So the whole 'threatening' thing was just to get me to stay on guard? Thanks, I guess."

"I couldn't exactly introduce myself, and I doubt you would have believed a random warning. Unfortunately, they’ve already caught your scent. I didn't expect you to have a connection to a survivor from seven years ago, though."

"Yeah, me neither. But hey, in a galaxy this big, a coincidence like that... it’s gotta be fate, right?"

"The God of Probability likes to pull some nasty pranks from time to time," Phantom said, his face going blank as he began physically ushering Teiro out. Resisting this guy is like trying to stop a tank with a wet noodle, Teiro thought as he was pushed toward the hallway.

"Wait! Here, take this! Give it to your sister! It’s a souvenir!"

At the very last second, Teiro shoved a small box through the closing door. Phantom caught it through the crack.

"Thank you. Now, for the last time—goodbye."

The door slammed shut with a finality that shook the floorboards.

"Look, Teiro. I’m... I’m really sorry about today."

They were back in the car, speeding away from the mysterious address. Alan was sitting across from Teiro, looking like a man who had just accidentally kicked a puppy.

"For what?" Teiro asked.

"For what?! I had a golden opportunity and I blew it! I’m a failure as an executive. You can fire me, demote me—whatever you want."

Alan’s expression was hollow. Teiro stared at him for a long beat before speaking.

"If you had actually pulled the trigger, I might’ve considered it. But the result probably would've been the same anyway. Besides, I screw things up constantly. Let’s call it even."

Teiro put as much "I mean it" energy into his voice as possible. Alan just stared at the floor. "I’m sorry."

"He’s probably gone for good now," Alan sighed. "He shared too much about himself. He’ll move his nest."

"Eh, it was a long shot from the start. We’ll just find someone else. Next! Anyway..." Teiro thought back to the box he’d handed over. He remembered the grueling week of work it had taken to make that souvenir—the sleepless nights involving both Marl and Koume. "I have a feeling we’ll hear from him. That guy is a softie deep down."

Three days passed. The team at Rising Sun was back to the grind, planning new station defenses and drafting concepts for a new fleet. The educational organization project had been shelved, but there was still a mountain of paperwork to climb.

"Fleshing out a plan that’s probably going to get axed is a real drain on the soul," Marl complained, resting her cheek on her hand. Teiro nodded in solemn agreement.

"Maybe we just wait for some legendary Imperial veteran to wander into the office and ask for a job?" Teiro suggested.

"In your dreams. We can’t compete with the salaries other firms offer. Everyone is desperate for talent... Speaking of which, what happened with that?"

She was referring to the gift for Leila.

"I gave it to him, but I haven't heard a peep since—"

Teiro was interrupted by the office door bursting open. Alan sprinted in, looking like he’d seen a ghost.

"Teiro! What kind of voodoo did you pull?! Phantom just reached out—he wants to 'positively consider' our proposal!"

Teiro let out a victory screech and jumped into the air, fist-pumping the ceiling. Alan marched over and handed him a data chip. "This is for you."

Teiro pressed the chip to his forehead, and the message pulsed directly into his mind.

“I’ve seen your sincerity. Thank you for the wonderful souvenir; my sister is absolutely thrilled. I won’t ask how you manufactured this, but I can only imagine the effort it took. At my age, I never thought I’d be able to have a real conversation with her. I didn’t realize she was such a chatterbox. It seems the vocabulary on this translator is expandable—I’ve taken that as a sign of your intent. I look forward to the next version.”