How Maskmana Became Pops

by Forestfire_flower

Summary:

When Pian answered a distress call, he didn't think he would save two children who got powers from the Power Sphere EnerBot and start mentoring them. Even more surprising was that he would start seeing them as his own children.

Chapter 1: Fang

Pian could still remember the day he met Kaizo and Fang like it was yesterday—though “remember” felt too weak a word. The memory lived in him, etched as sharply as blaster scars in metal, surfacing in quiet moments when he least expected it.

The alarms had already been screaming when he’d cut through the bruised clouds over Planet GogoBugi, the TAPOPS crest gleaming faintly on his shoulder. Back then, he was a newly appointed Admiral—Maskmana, an officer defined by precision, duty, and a mask that kept the galaxy at arm’s length. 

The air above the capital shimmered with heat and acrid smoke. What had once been a skyline of sapphire towers and golden light bridges was fractured into jagged shadows, beautiful even in ruin. Debris floated in the smog where the bridges had collapsed, their warm glow extinguished.

Every distant explosion from the Tengkotak Gang’s weapons shook the ground so hard he felt it through his seat restraints, the vibrations traveling up his spine until his teeth hummed.

His visor’s HUD pinged frantically as it swept the streets—red markers of movement weaving through the chaos. Most were scattered civilians.

Then one cluster caught his eye—small, moving fast, purposeful. He adjusted the scanner’s focus and saw them.

A boy, tall for his age but lean, no older than fifteen, sprinting over broken stone and twisted metal. His chest heaved with the effort, but his grip never faltered.

In one arm, he cradled the glow of a Power Sphere, its light steady and defiant against the gloom. In the other, he held a small girl so close it was as though she were the last tether keeping him grounded. Her fists tangled in his jacket, her face buried into the crook of his neck, shutting out the carnage.

Even from a distance, Pian caught the unmistakable set of the boy’s jaw—steel, stubbornness, and something that looked far too much like a soldier’s resolve for someone so young. It made something twist inside him, a half-buried memory of his own reflection in a cracked mirror long ago, just before he’d put on the mask for the first time.

The ground quivered beneath them. Shadows shifted unnaturally in the smoke.

Bora Ra emerged, his insectoid form blotting out the streetlight. His antennae twitched in slow, menacing arcs, like a predator’s whiskers sensing fear. The gang leader’s voice rumbled low, garbled into static in Pian’s comm filter, but the intent was clear: the hunt was almost over.

Pian didn’t think. He moved.

One second, he was just beyond the street; the next, his boots struck the cracked pavement in a controlled drop. The heat from the burning skyline pressed against his back as he drove forward. His fist connected with the alien’s antenna, a strike that resonated up his arm with a sickeningly satisfying crack. Bora Ra’s snarl pitched into a screech as he staggered back, clutching at the damaged stalk.

“Move!” Pian barked, stepping into the space between predator and prey. His cape snapped in the wake of a passing gunship, its wash stirring ash into the air. A blaster bolt scorched the pavement where the girl’s head had been moments before. He didn’t wait for thanks—just herded them into a narrow service alley, every stride measured, every glance over his shoulder calculating angles of pursuit.

The alley spat them out into a half-collapsed maintenance dock, the air thick with the reek of coolant leaks and the copper tang of scorched metal. A battered transport sat slouched in the shadows, hull pitted and dented like it had survived more battles than it should have. Pian hit the hatch release, the metal shuddering before yielding.

“Inside,” he ordered, sealing the door behind them with a decisive clank that dulled the outside chaos to a low, distant thunder. The relief was brief.

Almost immediately, the ship shuddered under a glancing hit from a Tengkotak fighter. Lights flickered. Through the cockpit glass, he saw their formation closing in—three attack craft, weapons hot. He slammed the throttle forward, and the engines roared, forcing them up and away from the dock.

The boy didn’t move far from the threshold, still holding the girl like she was both shield and lifeline. His shoulders stayed squared, breaths short and sharp. Pian saw the way the boy bent himself around her without even thinking—a living barrier. He remembered doing the same once, for someone whose face still haunted the quieter hours.

Another blast grazed their flank, and the ship lurched violently, the inertial dampeners whining in protest.

Fang let out a sharp, terrified cry that sliced straight through Pian’s battle-trained focus.

For a heartbeat, the calculated escape vectors and threat assessments faded, replaced by the raw, human sound of fear. His grip on the controls tightened—not just to evade, but to shield.

'Not on my watch,' he thought.

Kaizo’s arms locked around her, his jaw set in that same stubborn way Pian had once seen in his own reflection. The boy’s body absorbed the tilt of the ship, his stance wide and steady, as if sheer willpower alone could keep her safe.

“They’re not letting go,” Pian muttered under his breath, jaw tight as he spun the ship into a spiral climb, the hull groaning under the strain.

When they finally punched through the last wisps of atmosphere, the black of space rushed up to meet them—still pursued, but gaining distance. Pian risked a glance back; Kaizo was already focused on him, eyes sharp despite the chaos.

“Who... are you?” the boy asked. His voice wasn’t trembling. It wasn’t afraid. It was measured, cautious, testing the weight of the man in front of him.

“My name is Maskmana,” Pian answered, straightening, though his gaze softened. “I am an admiral from TAPOPS. I was sent here to stop the Tengkotak Gang before they caused more damage.”

The boy’s grip tightened around the girl. His eyes flicked to the sealed hatch, calculating options even now. “And you just… happened to be here?”

“I was tracking Bora Ra and his crew,” Pian said, the truth stripped bare. “Your planet was their latest target.” He studied the boy’s posture, the way his body was angled like a living wall between him and the girl. “What are your names?”

A beat of hesitation, as though names were currency he wasn’t ready to trade. Then: “Kaizo… and this is my little sister, Fang.”

Almost on cue, Fang exhaled a small, feather-light sigh against his shoulder. They both looked down. She had fallen asleep—lashes resting against her smoke-smudged cheeks, her tiny hands still knotted into Kaizo’s jacket. The weight of the day had finally pulled her under.

Pian’s voice instinctively dropped. “There,” he said, tilting his head toward a padded chair bolted to the deck wall. “Let her rest.”

Kaizo’s eyes lingered on her sleeping face, then on the chair. The muscle in his jaw twitched. Reluctance radiated from him in the way his arms stayed locked, but slowly, he bent and lowered her into the seat. She murmured faintly, and he adjusted her until her head rested safely against the padding, his fingers lingering at her sleeve for an extra second before letting go.

When he straightened, the guard in his eyes hadn’t vanished, but something else had joined it—resolve.

“If you're an Admiral, then Maskmana,” he said, voice low but clear. “Please train me.”

Pian studied him in silence, the boy’s request echoing in the space between them. Outside, the faint glow of weapons fire still chased them, but the worst had passed.

“You wish to learn the Way of the Mask?”

“I want to protect her,” Kaizo said simply, glancing at Fang. “And… I want to be strong enough so this never happens again.”

Pian let the weight of that answer settle. He remembered his own vows, made in different fires, for different people.

“Then protect your sister,” he told him, his voice carrying the command of an admiral but the intent of something gentler. “About this day, let Fang forget… she is still a child.”

He gave a single, decisive nod. “And when the time comes, when you’re ready. I’ll see to it.”

It was the day they first crossed paths—rescuer, brother, and sister—drawn together by fire and smoke, bound by survival and the first, unspoken threads of a bond none of them yet understood.

Pian leaned back in his office chair, eyes fixed on the streaking stars outside the viewport.

But his mind wasn’t on the present—it drifted back, unbidden, to those first six months.

Six months that had started with an order to deliver two rescued civilians to a TAPOPS safehouse… and somehow ended with them sleeping under the roof of his personal ship for the past four months.

He hadn’t planned for it. He never planned for it. His life after his parents' disappearance ran on discipline and duty—feed them, keep them safe, drop them somewhere far from the chaos of his work, and even train the boy as he promised.

That was the extent of his responsibility. Or so he told himself. But distance is hard to keep when you share walls, meals, and the quiet moments between missions and training.

The boy—Kaizo—had been all sharp edges at first.

Every word clipped short, every movement guarded. Pian had seen soldiers with that kind of wariness in their eyes, but rarely someone so young. It was a look that spoke of watching too much, losing too much, too soon. Yet, despite his defenses, Kaizo never complained in training, followed him everywhere, asking questions about ships, weapons, TAPOPS procedures… always watching, always learning.

The girl—Fang—was different. Shy, curious, and just a little too brave for her own good.

She’d perch on the edge of the table while Pian filed mission reports, legs swinging as she tried to sneak peeks at classified holo-maps. Sometimes she’d ask about planets she’d never seen; other times she’d fall asleep halfway through his answers, her head pillowed on her arms, soft breaths muffling the sound of the ship’s hum. She was six, full of questions that darted in unexpected directions, and had a smile that could melt reinforced bulkhead doors.

It was subtle, how they wormed their way in. Kaizo started waiting for him to return from patrol before eating dinner. Fang began leaving little doodles on his desk—scribbles of a masked figure that looked suspiciously like him. One night, after a late mission, Pian had come back to find both of them curled up on the couch, the holoscreen paused mid-frame on some ancient animated film.

And then there was Kaizo’s… thing about his sister.

Pian had spotted it early, though Kaizo clearly thought he had hidden it well.

The way he’d subtly angle himself between Fang and any stranger, the near-imperceptible glance he’d shoot her every few minutes, the microsecond delay before answering a question because he was making sure she was still in the room.

If Fang so much as scraped her knee, Kaizo’s voice dropped into a low, dangerous tone that didn’t belong on a boy his age. He didn’t talk about it, and he covered it with the same stoic mask he wore everywhere else—but it leaked through, in the smallest, most telling ways.

The moment that shifted something deep inside Pian happened on a quieter day, with no battles, no alarms—just a rare, still afternoon.

He’d been in the kitchen, methodically making tea, when Kaizo padded in without a word, carrying a broken comm-link in both hands. He set it on the counter, his voice hesitant but steady.
“Can you… show me how to fix it?”

Pian didn’t answer right away. He could have just repaired it himself, but instead, he pulled up a chair.

For the next hour, they worked side by side, Kaizo’s small fingers fumbling with tools too big for them, his brows furrowed in concentration. Fang wandered in halfway through, quietly setting a cup of tea beside Pian before leaning on the counter to watch. She didn’t say a word either—just hummed softly under her breath, content, occasionally gasping at Kaizo’s progress like each step was a thrilling plot twist.

It was nothing special. No grand gesture. But when Kaizo managed to reattach the last panel and the comm-link flickered to life, the boy’s grin was quick and unguarded—pure, uncalculated joy. Fang clapped once, proud, eyes shining like he’d just rebuilt an entire starship. And in that moment, Pian felt… something crack.

They weren’t just two civilians under his protection or guidance. Not anymore. Somewhere between “just keeping them safe” and “I’ll drop them off when I can,” they had become something else entirely. His.

It scared him more than any battle ever had.

Pian blinked, snapping himself out of the memory as the low hum of TAPOPS HQ’s systems came back into focus. The clock on his desk told him it had been over an hour since he last saw Fang heading toward her quarters.

Too long.

He leaned back in his chair for half a second, debating whether he was overreacting… and immediately shoved the thought away. Silence and kids never went together—especially these kids. Trouble followed quietly like a shadow.

Pushing away from the desk, he grabbed his coat and strode into the hallway, boots ringing against the metal floor. The tension in his shoulders only grew as he checked the obvious places first: the cafeteria—empty. The lounge is empty. Even the rec room, usually a mess of half-finished games and snack wrappers, sat untouched.

Kaizo’s quarters were next. The bed was neatly made, the desk bare. Pian’s jaw tightened. Fang wasn’t the type to vanish without a word, not unless she was deliberately trying to avoid being found.

He muttered under his breath, “Kid, if you’re hiding from me, you’d better have a good reason…”

A muffled thunk echoed faintly down the corridor. His head snapped toward the sound. Training hall.

His pace quickened. Pushing the doors open, he stopped short.

There she was—small, stubborn, and clutching a wooden sword almost as tall as she was. Her brows were knit in fierce determination, her tiny hands clenched so tight her knuckles were pale. She lifted the weapon overhead, arms shaking, and brought it down—only for the tip to slam into the mat with a heavy thunk. The hilt bounced, catching her in the forehead.

Pian crossed the space in three long strides, boots thudding heavily against the mats. He dropped to a crouch beside her, the shadows under his brow deepening as he reached out and gently brushed her hair aside.

His eyes locked on the angry red spot blooming on her forehead, and something sharp and unpleasant twisted in his chest. “Fang—hold still.” His gloved fingers lightly probed the area, careful not to press too hard. “Does it hurt? Any dizziness? Blurry vision?” His voice was quieter now, but tight—like he was keeping the worry from spilling out too much.

She gave a small shake of her head, though her eyes darted away, shoulders curling in. “It’s fine…”

“That’s not fine.” He frowned, thumb lingering just above the bruise, as if checking it again without touching. Only when he was certain she wasn’t going to keel over did he lean back, his gaze flicking to the oversized wooden sword lying beside her. “Care to explain what exactly you think you’re doing?”

Fang’s head dipped lower, her fingers knotting in the hem of her shirt. “…I don’t want to be a burden to Abang or you. I want to be strong. Like both of you.”

The words landed heavier than he liked to admit, pulling at something deep inside him. He let out a slow breath, his voice softening but steady. “Fang… listen to me. You’re not a burden. Not to him, not to me, not to anyone here. You’re his little sister, yeah? And you’re under my watch too. That means you’re family. You don’t have to prove you deserve to be here—we already know you do.”

Her hands stilled, but her eyes lifted, wide and uncertain.

Pian glanced at the sword again and shook his head. “This thing’s too heavy for you right now. You want to get strong? You start with the basics—balance, footwork, control. You don’t just grab the biggest stick you can find and hope for the best.”

The moment the words left his mouth, her expression lit up. Her back straightened, her eyes went bright, and she leaned forward like a spring coiling. “Will you teach me?” she blurted, the words tumbling over each other so quickly they almost tangled.

Before he could answer, she bounced onto her feet, practically vibrating. “Please? Please, Maskmana? I’ll listen! I’ll train every day! I’ll even eat all my veggies! Please?” She took a quick step toward him, rocked back, then forward again—too giddy to stay still—her gaze locked on him like her entire future depended on his next word.

Pian tipped his head, lips pressed into a thin line as if he were weighing the idea with grave seriousness. He tapped his chin. “Hmm… teaching you would mean extra work for me. And I’m not sure you can even—”

She cut him off with an exaggerated groan. “Maaaskmanaaa, come on!” She half-whined, half-laughed, bouncing in place like a kid trying to see over a fence.

He leaned back slightly, drawing the pause out, just to watch her nearly combust from anticipation. “I don’t know… I might need convincing.”

She immediately scrambled for ideas, throwing her hands up in the air. “I can make you tea! I can polish your mask! I can—uh—carry your sword for you! Or—or—wash your boots! Just say yes already!”

Finally, the corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk, and a warm chuckle escaped him. “Alright, kid. I’ll teach you.”

Her delighted squeal could have rattled the rafters. She spun in a little hop of victory, pumping her fists before practically lunging forward to throw her arms around him.

Pian gave her a brief pat on the back before adding in a dry tone, “But next time you disappear without telling me where you’re going? We’ll be having a much longer talk.”

“Okay!” she chirped, already too wrapped up in imagining her glorious training future to think about the warning.

He stayed crouched for a moment after she pulled back, watching her bounce in place like the energy might spill out of her if she didn’t keep moving. And somewhere in the middle of that grin and all that endless enthusiasm, it hit him—this wasn’t about training another recruit. It wasn’t even about keeping her out of trouble.

This was his daughter. Not by blood, not on any piece of paper—but in the way that counted. The way that made the knot in his chest ease when she laughed. The way that made every scuff, bruise, or tear in her eyes feel like a crack in his own armor. He’d teach her balance, control, footwork… but he’d also teach her how to get back up after every fall.

Because that’s what a father did. And somewhere along the way, he’d stopped trying not to be one.

Pian straightened and jerked his chin toward the door. “Come on. If I’m going to start training you, we’re doing it on a full stomach.”

“Food first?” Fang perked up immediately.

“Food first,” he confirmed. “And before you get ideas—no, lunch is not an excuse to stuff yourself with carrot donuts.”

She groaned dramatically, muttering something about “unfair rules,” but she still followed him out.

This time, Pian didn’t just walk ahead—he crouched slightly, holding his hand out to her without a word. Fang took it instantly, her fingers small but warm in his. He kept his grip firm enough so she wouldn’t get separated in the HQ’s busier corridors, the memory of almost losing her once still sharp in his mind.

They moved through the main walkway, Fang skipping to keep up with his longer strides. Her voice filled the air in a steady stream, hopping from questions about training, to stories about her morning, to an oddly detailed explanation about how she’d once convinced Kaizo to eat something he didn’t like by pretending it was “pirate rations.”

Pian let her go on, offering the occasional grunt or quiet “hm,” his head tilted just enough to catch her words.

It didn’t escape the notice of the people around them. Agents glanced their way, some doing double takes at the sight of the normally unflinching, sharp-tongued admiral crouched slightly, moving at a child’s pace, hand in hers as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

And, truth be told… after six months, it was.

As they made their way toward the cafeteria, the din of voices seemed harmless at first—just the usual chatter of agents on break. But Pian’s ears, trained to pick out whispers in the chaos, caught them easily.

“She’s just a tag-along,” someone muttered, standing nearby.

“Only here ‘cause of Kaizo. She’ll never keep up,” another voice added.

A snicker followed. “Probably slowing them both down already.”

Fang skipped ahead a step, still in her own little bubble of excitement, completely unaware. She was humming under her breath, swinging her arm in his hand like they were just out for a stroll.

Pian’s head turned, slow and deliberate, his gaze cutting toward them like a blade. The agents who’d been whispering froze mid-sip, their smug expressions draining into wide-eyed panic when they met his eyes.

Cold fury slid through his chest like ice over steel. He’d heard worse insults in his life—but never directed at her. And now, the pieces clicked into place.

'Is this what she’s been hearing? Is that why she said she didn’t want to be a burden?'

The thought settled deep, sour and heavy. Every clipped remark she’d made about “pulling her weight,” every quiet moment where she’d try to do more chores or work—it wasn’t just his imagination. Someone had been planting those seeds.

'They’re lucky she didn’t hear you.' His jaw flexed. 'Because if she had, I wouldn’t just be looking at you.'

His glare sharpened, enough to pin them in place. Shoulders stiffened, and the air between them seemed to drop several degrees. For a moment, he almost stepped forward, almost let the simmering rage push him over the edge.

Then Fang tugged his hand.

The scent of warm rice and spiced broth hit them, making Fang’s steps quicken until she was nearly pulling him along.

“Come on, Maskmana,” she urged, still beaming. “We’ll be late!”

He inhaled slowly, reining it back in. The agents got the message—he didn’t have to say a word. They shrank into their seats, eyes down. Pian gave them one last look, the kind that promised I heard you, before turning his head back to Fang.

By the time they reached the cafeteria hall, Pian’s expression was calm again—cold, almost unreadable—except for the faint, protective squeeze of his hand around hers, the only trace of what had just passed in the hallway.

The air was warm with the mingled scents of freshly baked bread, roasted meat, and a faint sweetness from the dessert counter. The clatter of trays and the steady hum of conversation filled the room. Pian grabbed a tray first, his movements practiced and efficient. He slid it along the line, loading it with a neat portion of white rice, a small plate of grilled chicken glazed in honey-lemon, a side of steamed greens, and a bowl of tomato soup.

When they reached the dessert section, Fang’s eyes lit up at the sight of a plate piled high with golden-brown red carrot donuts—the kind glazed in a shiny sugar syrup, still faintly warm from the fryer.

“I want it,” she said, pointing decisively.

“No,” Pian said without looking at her, already sliding the tray forward.

“But—” She straightened her back and tried to make her voice stern, chin tilted up. It might have worked if her cheeks hadn’t puffed slightly, making her look like a pouting kitten without ears or tail.

He glanced at her, one brow raised. “…You’re not making that face at me.”

“I’m not making a face,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not—”

“You are, and you’re not getting two.”

“Then… one?” she bargained, eyes sparkling with the beginnings of victory.

Pian stared at her for a long moment, as though weighing the fate of the galaxy in his mind. Finally, he sighed. “Fine. One. And if I catch you leaving the vegetables, I’m taking the donut.”

Her grin was instant, and she pouted again, saying, “Fine, deal.”

By the time they sat down at a quiet corner table, the tray between them looked like a mix of discipline and small indulgence—her plate mirroring his with rice, chicken, greens, and soup… and the single red carrot donut placed neatly to the side.

For the first few minutes, they ate in relative quiet. Fang filled the silence here and there with small chatter—wondering aloud what she might learn first, if she could kick like Kaizo, if hand-to-hand was harder than swordplay—while Pian offered only the occasional “we’ll see” or a noncommittal “hm.”

But every time she beamed at him, his eyes softened briefly, a crack in his usual steel mask.

Halfway through the meal, Pian set down his spoon. “Alright,” he said, tone casual but his gaze sharp, “why did you really want to train today?”

Her spoon paused over the soup bowl. “I told you. I just didn't want to be a burden.”

“That’s the surface answer.” His voice stayed even, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. “I want the truth. And I want it now.”

Fang’s gaze flickered to her plate, then back to him. “It’s not—”

“Fang,” he said, softer now, leaning just slightly closer. “You know you could tell me anything, right?”

The words seemed to unhook something in her. She toyed with a piece of chicken, voice small. “…I’ve been hearing people say… that I’m… dragging you and Abang down.”

Pian’s jaw tightened.

“They said I’m always in the way. And I thought… if I got stronger… maybe…” She trailed off, the words fading into the hum of the cafeteria.

The hum did not stay the same.

Something shifted—like the air itself was pressing in. Pian didn’t speak, didn’t move, but every other table felt it. The heavy, suffocating aura rolled out from him in a cold, deliberate wave. Conversations faltered mid-sentence. Forks paused halfway to mouths. The agents who had been talking earlier stiffened, their faces draining of color.

Some exchanged sharp looks that said without words: Who was stupid enough to summon an admiral’s rage?

Others followed the thread, eyes flicking to the corner table—where Maskmana himself sat across from the small, red-eyed girl. The rumors that had been circulating suddenly felt like a death sentence for whoever had started them.

And a few, realizing exactly what must have been said to spark this, found themselves silently praying for the culprits, pity mixing with the tension in their chests.

But Fang, oblivious, kept her eyes on her plate. “It’s okay now, though,” she said suddenly, looking up at him with that same spark she’d had in the training hall. “You’re gonna teach me. So I’ll get stronger. And then they’ll see.”

The pressure in the air eased slightly—only slightly—as her voice cut through his fury like sunlight through a storm cloud. He let out a slow breath, reining it in, though the fire still burned quietly beneath his ribs.

“…Eat your donut, Cap trainee,” he said, his voice low but steadier now. “Then we’ll start.”

“Cap trainee?” she echoed, eyes sparkling.

“Better than ‘rookie,’” he said with a faint smirk.

But the smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Inside, his thoughts were anything but casual. Whoever had the gall to speak about his girl—his daughter, whether she knew it yet or not—like that… they had no idea what they’d just done. He’d been lenient before, writing off the occasional mutter or careless glance from the other agents. But this? This was different. This was venom aimed at someone who hadn’t done a damn thing to deserve it.

In his mind, the promise took shape, sharp and cold. 'I’ll find out who said it. And when I do, they’ll wish they’d kept their mouths shut.'

He’d been feared before—by enemies, by rivals, even by his own subordinates. But for this? For her? He’d make sure his name carved itself into their memories in a way they’d never forget. Not because she needed him to fight her battles—she was going to learn to fight her own—but because no one, no one, hurt his daughter and walked away untouched.

Fang, blissfully unaware of the storm raging behind his steady gaze, tore off another piece of her donut and popped it into her mouth with a grin.

“Mm. Best food ever,” she declared.

He almost laughed—almost. Instead, he leaned back, keeping his tone calm, fatherly, but still just a shade too low for comfort.

“Eat up, Cap trainee,” he said, the faintest glint in his eye. “We’ve got work to do. And trust me—after today, no one’s gonna think you’re dragging anyone down.”

 

---

 

The training hall was quiet except for the soft thud of Fang’s sneakers on the mat. Pian stood across from her, arms folded loosely, watching her stance.

'Breathe. Keep your voice even. She’s not the one you’re angry at.'

“Feet wider,” he instructed, stepping forward to nudge her ankle with the toe of his boot. “Balance comes from the ground up. You lose your base, you lose the fight.”

Fang adjusted immediately, brow furrowed in focus.

'She’s six. She doesn’t understand much of what they said. She doesn’t need to see you like this.'

“Good,” he said, circling her slowly. His gaze sharpened when her guard dipped a fraction. “Hands up. You think an opponent’s gonna wait for you to fix your posture?”

She huffed but lifted them again. “I’m trying!”

“I know you are.” He crouched slightly, meeting her eyes. “That’s why I’m here—to make sure you get it right.”

'Not to scare her. Not to vent. This is for her, not you.'

But the fire inside him still simmered. Every time she stumbled, his mind flashed back to those words, to the sneering tone he’d overheard. The image of her hearing something like that to her face… it made his jaw clench so tight it hurt.

He forced himself to exhale through his nose. “Again. Jab, cross, hook. Focus.”

She moved through the combo—awkward, but determined. When she glanced up for approval, he made himself nod, letting warmth break through the steel in his voice.

“That’s my Cap trainee,” he said, and this time, the smirk almost reached his eyes.

'One day, you’ll be strong enough that no one will ever dare to speak like that again. And until then… I’ll make sure they regret it.'

Fang reset her stance without being told—shoulders squared, fists tight. She didn’t even wait for him to call the next move. She just launched straight into the jab-cross-hook combo again, faster this time, her small frame snapping through each punch with stubborn precision.

Pian blinked. 'Huh.'

“Not bad,” he said, voice even.

“Again,” she replied, bouncing lightly on her feet, eyes locked on him like he was the only thing in the room that mattered.

There was something in that gaze—steady, fierce—that made his chest tighten in a way he wasn’t ready for. Most kids her age would’ve been exhausted, maybe whining by now. Fang? She was chewing through the training like it was fuel.

'She’s got fight. Real fight.'

They went through another set. Then another. Until she was panting, hair sticking to her forehead, her faint lavender-and-carrot scent drifting every time she moved. But she still didn’t complain. Didn’t ask to stop.

Pian almost smiled—not his usual cocky grin, but something smaller. Quieter. Something warmer.

“Alright, break,” he said, tossing her a water bottle. She caught it without missing a beat.

As she drank, he leaned against the wall, arms folded, thinking. She’d always called him “Maskmana” since they met—formal, distant. The kind of name you give someone you’re not sure about yet.

But now?

'Maybe “Old Man.” That had bite. Or “Cap.” Short for captain—easy, sharp. “Chief” felt too heavy, “Mask” too plain. He needed something that balanced respect with a little teasing… something that felt hers.'

She’d barely caught her breath before he pushed off the wall and stepped closer.

“Alright, you’re dropping your elbow just a bit on the hook,” he said, tapping the side of her arm lightly with two fingers. “Keep it up here—think of it like you’re trying to protect your head and hit me at the same time. And with the cross, lean into the punch. Not too much—you don’t wanna overextend. Just enough to put your weight behind it.”

He crouched a little, meeting her eye level, his tone softening. “Like riding a bike—you keep your balance, but you still have to push forward.”

Without thinking, he reached over and ruffled her hair. This time, he didn’t pull back immediately—just let his hand rest there a moment longer. Something about the warmth of her head under his palm made his chest ache, and for half a heartbeat, a thought slipped in—unwelcome, yet stubborn.

'If she were mine…'
He could see it—her darting around a backyard, scrapes on her knees, running back to him for bandages. Her voice calling “Pops” like it was the safest word she knew. Him making sure no one ever laid a hand on her.

“You sound like my dad,” she said suddenly, breaking through his thoughts.

Her voice was light, but there was no mockery in it—just truth. And maybe… a little hope.

He froze mid-motion. “…I’m not your dad. Or your uncle. You could call me… Cap. Or Old Man. Or just Mask.”

She tilted her head. “Why, Cap? Aren’t you an admiral?”

He scratched his neck, suddenly warm. “I just think Cap sounds cooler.”

No way he was telling her it meant captain of the family. She’d never let him live that down.

Fang grinned like she’d just cracked a secret code. “Okay, Cap.”

And just like that, the name was hers.

She stepped closer to hand him back the empty bottle, brushing past him just enough to catch that scent of coffee, cardamom, leather, and iron. It wrapped around her like a blanket she hadn’t known she needed, and for reasons she couldn’t name, it made her shoulders loosen. Safe.

He tried to hide the way his chest eased at hearing her say it, but the truth was, it felt right. Too right.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself back into coach mode—though it came out softer now. “Alright, Cap trainee—think you’ve got one more round in you?”

Her fierce nod was answer enough. She moved back to the center of the mat, stance ready.

And for once, she wasn’t taking his time— she was leaning into it, soaking it in like she’d been starved for it.

That determination—like she wasn’t just training to be strong, but to stand beside the people she cared about—made something in his chest unclench.

'Yeah, you’ll be ready,' he thought. 'And until then… I’ll make sure you stay standing.'

 

---

 

Over the course of the week, small moments began to catch Pian’s attention.

It started on Monday morning, just after training. Pian was tightening the straps on his boots in the hallway when he felt a tiny shadow fall beside him. Fang was crouched down, trying to mimic his movements, tugging on the laces of her own shoes with fierce concentration.

“You’re really trying, huh?” he said, half amused.

She looked up, flushed but proud, then nodded seriously.

“Like you said—gotta get the basics right.”

Pian smirked and nudged her with his elbow. “Careful, kid. If you keep copying me, you might end up with my bad habits.”

Fang grinned. “So what, you want me to learn the good ones?”

He chuckled, ruffling her hair. That small gesture made him feel a quiet warmth spreading in his chest.

Tuesday, Pian was in the armory, carefully cleaning his sword. The quiet scrape of cloth filled the room. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Fang sitting cross-legged on the floor, poking at a wooden practice sword with a makeshift cloth, trying to clean it the same way.

“You’re gonna wear that out,” he teased.

She looked up, sheepish but determined. “I want to keep it nice. Like yours.”

“Look at you, trying to be just like your old man,” he said with mock exasperation, giving her a light wink.

Fang’s smile was bright. “I admit it—I do.”

Pian sighed but smiled—this kid was relentless.

By Wednesday, the mimicry became more obvious. Pian caught Fang folding her arms the exact way he did when thinking hard, wiping sweat from her brow the same way, and even sighing with a mix of frustration and stubbornness when a move didn’t land right.

In the afternoon, he caught her watching him intently and whispered with a smirk, “Stop stealing my moves, kid. At this rate, you’ll be running the station before I know it.”

Fang grinned. “Good. You’ll have to keep up.”

Her growing confidence made something inside him swell with pride. He had to remind himself not to get too carried away—he was supposed to be her teacher, not her biggest fan.

But Pian also noticed the other side of things. Whispers in the halls, sideways glances from a few agents. Some grumbled that Fang was a burden, that she was slowing things down, dragging down the reputations of those around her.

Pian’s jaw tightened whenever he heard it, his protective instincts flaring beneath his calm surface. He made sure those voices never reached Fang’s ears.

One afternoon, a particularly sharp remark about her reached his ears. Later that day, Pian didn’t just confront the source—he summoned the agent to his office.

The door closed behind them, and Pian’s voice was low, hard as steel. “You think it’s funny, tearing down a six-year-old who’s working harder than half the squad? You think jealousy makes you better? I don’t tolerate that nonsense. One more word, and you’ll be cleaning equipment with no leave for a month. Consider this your final warning.”

The agent’s smirk faltered, replaced by something like shame, or maybe fear. The message was clear: Fang wasn’t just some kid. She had Pian’s full backing—and he was a man who delivered consequences.

By Thursday morning, word had spread. The whispers faded, replaced by cautious respect. Fang’s presence no longer inspired sneers but quiet nods.

That morning, Pian was heading toward the command meeting, dossier in hand, when he spotted Fang trailing behind him again, trying to stay quiet but clearly determined not to be left behind.

He glanced back, caught her hopeful eyes, and smiled. “You really don’t want to miss these grown-up meetings, huh?”

She nodded eagerly. “I want to see what real decisions look like.”

Pian crouched down slowly, giving her a moment to say no if she wanted, but Fang just climbed into his arms without hesitation, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Alright then,” he murmured, lifting her carefully. “Let’s go, Cap trainee.”

The pair walked through the hallway side by side—him carrying her like a prized cargo, her face lit with wide-eyed wonder.

When they stepped into the meeting room, a few of the higher-ups paused their conversation, eyebrows rising at the unexpected guest.

One of the senior agents smirked and said, “Well, Pian, looks like you’ve got a permanent wingman now.”

Another chuckled, “Yeah, taking ‘Maskmana’s little shadow’ to a whole new level.”

Pian set Fang down gently, then turned to face them, a slow grin curling at his lips. “Hey, if she starts making better decisions than me, I’m just going to blame the training.”

He winked, the kind of dad-joke delivery that made a few of the older agents laugh. Fang blinked, completely missing the humor but grinning anyway, clearly soaking in the gravity of the “grown-up meeting.”

The teasing died down, and Pian shot Fang a look that said, You’re part of this now.

Throughout the meeting, Fang sat quietly beside him, eyes flicking between the serious faces and papers like a sponge. Pian caught her small hand occasionally and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Then, midway through a particularly tense discussion about resource allocation, a senior agent was struggling to explain a complicated logistics issue. Fang suddenly tugged at Pian’s sleeve and whispered loudly enough for a few to hear, “Why don’t we just share the stuff with everyone first, and then get more if it runs out?”

A few heads turned, eyebrows raised. Pian’s eyes twinkled, surprised by the simplicity but undeniable logic of the idea.

Encouraged, Fang added, “Because if you wait until everything’s empty, people might get upset. But if you give a little first, they’ll be happy and help each other.”

The room fell quiet for a moment—then a senior strategist nodded thoughtfully.

“That’s… actually not a bad point,” they admitted, jotting down notes.

Pian’s chest swelled with quiet pride. He glanced down at Fang, whose face was alight with the thrill of being heard.

Later, when the meeting ended, one of the agents nudged Pian with a smirk, “Don’t worry, admiral, you’re not losing your touch… but you’re definitely softening.”

Pian just shook his head, eyes warm. “Soft? Nah. I’m just getting better at multitasking.”

Then a couple of senior agents exchanged glances and approached Pian quietly.

One of them, a sharp-eyed woman with silver streaks in her hair, gave a small smile. “Pian, you planning on bringing your little ‘Cap trainee’ to the next meeting as well? We might need a fresh eye like hers.”

Another, a gruff but fair man, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, if she’s picking up on your ways that quickly, having her around might keep us all on our toes.”

Pian raised an eyebrow, feigning contemplation. “Well, she is learning from the best.”

He glanced down at Fang, who was tugging eagerly at his sleeve. “What do you think, kiddo? Want to come back next time and keep schooling the grown-ups?”

Fang’s eyes lit up like stars. “Yes! I want to see everything and help!”

Her cheerful shout drew a few chuckles from the room.

Pian ruffled her hair fondly. “Looks like you’re officially part of the team now.”

The agents shared amused looks, some shaking their heads but smiling. Fang’s enthusiasm was infectious—maybe this little “fresh eye” was exactly what they needed.

Friday came with a rare quiet moment in the lounge of his ship. Pian sat there, sipping his coffee, the warm aroma mingling with the faint hum of the engines. Fang plopped down beside him, mimicking exactly how he held his cup—careful, deliberate, like she was trying not to break the fragile balance of the moment.

“You like copying me this much?” he asked softly, watching her carefully.

She nodded without hesitation, eyes locked on her juice like it was a secret treasure. “You’re my… Cap now.”

That simple phrase struck deeper than he expected. It wasn’t just words—it was a claim, a trust, a quiet promise.

For a long moment, Pian’s gaze softened, something inside him loosening—the weight of command, the armor he wore for the world.

Without thinking, he pulled her into a tight hug, wrapping his arms protectively around her small frame, as if he could shield her from every hardship just by holding her close.

“Come here, you,” he murmured low, his voice rough and thick with emotion; he barely understood himself.

Fang squealed, a burst of surprise that quickly gave way to joyful giggles, her arms curling around him just as fiercely.

The sound of her laughter was like a balm to his soul, stitching together cracks he hadn’t realized were there. Pian chuckled softly, the rare, easy sound filling the quiet room—a sound reserved only for moments like this.

They stayed like that, suspended in time, the world beyond the ship’s walls fading to nothing. Just the two of them—safe, seen, and unguarded.

As he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, his heart clenched. She was so small, so fierce, carrying more strength than many twice her age. “You’re tougher than you look, Cap trainee. And I’m damn proud of you.”

Inside, his thoughts spun. 'This little firecracker, this stubborn shadow of mine… She’s my daughter. And I’m going to make sure to always support her.'

Her eyes glittered with that mischievous spark he knew so well as she leaned in close, whispering, “Don’t forget to teach me all your best moves.”

A slow smile spread over his face as he ruffled her hair gently. “Deal. But no stealing all of them, alright?”

Her laughter bubbled up again, bright and full of life, filling the space between them with warmth and hope. And in that moment, Pian found a new nickname curling on his tongue—soft but proud, personal and full of affection.

“From now on… you’re ‘Firefly.’ Because even in the darkest places, you light the way.”

She looked up, eyes wide with surprise and delight, the name sticking immediately like it was always meant to be.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the truest victory he could ever hope for.

 

---

 

The starlight of early morning filtered softly through the training hall’s tall observation windows, casting pale beams over Fang’s swift, deliberate footwork.

Pian stood nearby, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on her with a quiet pride that settled deep in his chest—warm, steady, and utterly new.

This moment, this peaceful rhythm, felt like a sanctuary. A fragile bubble he wasn’t ready to shatter.

Then, piercing the silence, his comm beeped sharply.

Pian stepped aside, flipping it open with a practiced flick, eyes scanning the message. His breath caught. A two-day mission. Urgent. Information extraction. Non-negotiable.

Panic coiled tight inside him, choking off his breath. Two days. Two days apart from Fang. Time that suddenly felt like an unbearable eternity.

His thoughts spiraled. 'Why now? Why the mission when I was just beginning to build this fragile bond? When the walls I had built finally lowered and let someone in?'

He wasn’t ready to leave her—not yet. Not when she started to let him in. Kaizo was still out, another week at least before he returned. Fang had clung to her brother like a lifeline, but now… now, she trusted him. And there was only he in the station now.

He glanced back toward the training mats. Fang’s eyes met his—usually fierce and unyielding, but now dimmed with quiet worry.

“Cap, is something wrong?” Her voice was small, steady, but laced with unspoken fear.

At six years old, Fang’s world was still simple but intense—her emotions sharp and immediate, like a kitten’s quick flinches and sudden bursts of energy. She hadn’t yet learned to mask the way her small hands trembled slightly as she tugged at the hem of her shirt, or how her feet shuffled in nervous circles as she tried to seem brave.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and asked again, trying to steady her voice. “What’s wrong, Cap?”

Pian knelt slowly to her level, forcing calm into his voice. “I’ve got a mission.”

Fang’s bottom lip trembled for just a moment before she pressed it firmly shut. Sadness flickered like a shadow behind her bright eyes, but she blinked it away, pushing down the hurt with practiced resolve. I understand, her nod said, but inside, her heart screamed otherwise.

'He’s leaving me. I’m not ready. Not yet. I can’t lose him, too,' she thought, memories of her mother and father flooding her young mind—the way they had been before the bad men came. Before she and her Abang had to leave home, before they met Cap.

Her fingers twitched, curling lightly into a fist at her side, and she cast a quick glance around, half-expecting to curl up somewhere safe like a kitten hiding from a storm.

'Maybe… maybe Cap could be my Pops,' she thought quietly, the name forming like a soft hope in her heart during their long hours training side by side. 'He’s the closest thing to family I have now, besides Abang.'

She wanted to hold him here, in this moment, but she wouldn’t trap him. She promised herself she’d be strong. She’d wait.

Pian reached out gently, pulling Fang into a tight hug, his arms wrapping protectively around her small frame. He held her close, the warmth of the moment grounding him amid the storm of worry inside.

“Hey… I’ll be back by evening. Promise.”

Inside, his mind raced—plotting, planning, desperate for any angle to cut the mission short. 'Fast and clean. Quick enough that she won’t feel the distance. Even if it means pushing myself too hard. Not fatal—never that.'

His heart ached at the thought of leaving her, the helpless worry of a father who didn’t want to be gone, who felt the weight of every second apart pressing down on him.

Fang’s happiness blossomed in the safety of his arms. She squeezed back eagerly, her restless energy momentarily stilling as hope sparked bright in her mind. 'If the mission won’t take too long, then it’s easy. Pops will be okay.'

Her small hands fidgeted with his shirt as she pulled back just enough to grin up at him, eyes shining with determination and trust.

“I’ll help you get ready!” she said, her voice light and eager.

Pian chuckled softly, a rare warmth flooding through his chest. “Alright, Firefly. Let’s make sure I’m ready to come home fast.”

In that quiet embrace, both of them clung to hope—fragile but unyielding—that whatever lay ahead, they’d face it together.

Pian lifted Fang effortlessly into his arms, cradling her close.

The training hall fell silent, save for the soft shuffle of their footsteps as they made their way toward his ship, nestled just beyond the HQ like a guardian tethered to home.

Fang’s small arms wrapped securely around his neck, her face bright with excitement.

As they reached the ship’s entrance, Pian settled her down carefully, the metal floor cool beneath her feet. She immediately sprang into motion, her restless energy bubbling over as she bounced from foot to foot, eager to help.

“Okay, Cap,” she chirped, excited. “What do you need? I’m ready!”

Pian smiled, a flicker of warmth breaking through his usual calm. “Alright, Firefly, first things first—armor check. Grab my mask.”

Fang dashed ahead, her small frame nimble as she pulled the heavy pieces from their racks. She grunted with effort but never complained, eyes shining with determination.

“Got it!” she called, holding the mask out like a trophy.

Pian reached for his weapon belt, checking the weight and balance as Fang flitted around him, collecting his gear with unbridled enthusiasm.

“Don’t forget the comm unit,” he reminded gently.

Fang’s hands darted to the console, pulling it free and handing it over carefully. “Mission ready in three, two, one!”

Her grin was infectious, and despite the knot of worry tightening in his chest, Pian couldn’t help but laugh.

But beneath the laughter, a flicker of guilt gnawed at him. He’d told her he’d be back by evening—an optimistic promise to keep her spirits up. The truth was, he wasn’t sure how he’d make it quick enough. Still, he crushed the doubt deep down, gripping resolve tightly. 'I’ll make it. I have to. For her.'

With Fang by his side, acting like an excited daughter finally helping her dad in his work, even a looming mission felt a little less daunting.

As they finished, Pian carried Fang in his arms again, then headed to the stealth spaceships' hangar.

His mind was set.

If he was going to leave Fang, even for a short while, it wouldn’t be with just anyone.

He shifted her more comfortably in his arms, one arm hooked beneath her knees, the other holding his comm. With a practiced flick, he sent a short, clipped message to Commander Kokoci:

“Meet me at the hangar. Now.”

No further details.

He could practically picture the commander’s frown at the other end of the line. Good. The less Kokoci knew before he arrived, the less time he’d have to make excuses. Pian didn’t care if the man showed up confused, irritated, or half-asleep—he needed someone competent, trustworthy, and too smart to do anything reckless around Fang.

Fang tilted her head against his shoulder, her voice light but tinged with curiosity. “Why are you calling a commander to the ships, Cap? Are you meeting them for the mission?”

Her question was innocent, but Pian caught it—the faint crease between her brows, the one he started noticing she does, that tiny shadow of hesitation she always got when she suspected she might be in the way.

He smoothed his expression instantly, hiding the fierce protectiveness bubbling under his skin.

“Something like that, Firefly,” he said, his tone warm and casual. “We’re just making sure things are set up right for later. Besides…” He gave her a crooked, teasing smirk. “Commanders are good at following orders, and I might need one to help us out before I go.”

She giggled, the crease fading, but her curious glance lingered. “Help us with what?”

“You’ll see,” he replied smoothly, as if this had been a planned surprise she’d been included in from the start.

Internally, Pian had no shame—none whatsoever—in pulling every ounce of Admiral’s authority to get this done. If anyone even thought of questioning him about it, he’d laugh in their face. He’d station the entire TAPOPS fleet outside HQ if that’s what it took to keep his little Firefly safe while he was gone.

The sliding doors to the mission hangar hissed open ahead. Rows of sleek, compact spacecraft gleamed under the overhead lights, a silent promise of speed and precision.

Right on cue, Commander Kokoci strode in from the far side, posture rigid, eyes sharp and expectant. He saluted, scanning the hangar for signs of whatever “urgent” matter the Admiral had summoned him for.

Then his gaze landed on Fang in Pian’s arms.

His salute faltered just slightly. His eyes flicked from Fang’s wide, curious smile to Pian’s utterly relaxed—too relaxed—expression.

And in that instant, Kokoci knew.

'Oh no.'

He had been volunteered.

Every officer in the station knew the unspoken truth by now: if anything happened to Fang under your watch, Admiral Maskmana wouldn’t just be displeased—he would personally make your life a waking nightmare. The kind of nightmare no one survived with their dignity intact.

Kokoci’s stomach sank. Why him? Out of every capable person in the station… why him?

'Because,' he realized grimly, 'Admiral Pian trusted him enough to keep her safe.'

Which, unfortunately, also meant he trusted Kokoci enough to know exactly how serious the consequences would be if he didn’t.

The commander straightened under that invisible weight, shoving down a shudder.

Pian’s lips quirked in satisfaction. Everything was going exactly as planned.

He set Fang down gently, the hangar’s polished floor cold under her boots. “Alright, Firefly,” he said, straightening to his full height, “you’re in charge of picking my ship for the mission.”

Fang’s eyes lit up instantly, pupils widening like she’d just been handed the keys to the galaxy.

'Pops is letting me pick?' Her chest bubbled with excitement, and even though she still stubbornly called him “Cap,” moments like this felt like… something else. Something warmer. Like maybe she was part of the decision-making—even if she wasn't tagging along.

“Really?!” She bounced on her toes, her gaze sweeping over the sleek lines and gleaming paint jobs of the parked crafts like a treasure hunter in a room full of gold.

Pian gave her a slow nod, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Really. Go wild.”

She didn’t need telling twice. Fang bolted forward, weaving between ships like an excited starbird. She’d stop at one, press both hands reverently to the smooth hull, squint like she was “analyzing,” then dash off to the next with an audible gasp of admiration. She was already imagining each one in the middle of a dogfight, picturing Pops yelling coordinates into comms, him winning the fight. She was helping, in her own way—right?

Pian trailed her with an unhurried gaze, arms folded loosely, a faint smile hidden in the lines of his face. The truth was, every ship here had the same specs—same speed, same shields, same nav-systems. But this wasn’t about ships. This was about letting her feel like her choice mattered, because to him, it did. And if letting her “choose” made her happy, then this was time well spent.

Beside him, Kokoci shifted uneasily, his shoulders rigid. “Sir, if I might—”

“Commander,” Pian cut in without looking away from Fang, his tone carrying that slow, measured weight that made most soldiers rethink their life choices. “While I’m gone, you will: keep her fed every three hours—snacks in between if she asks. Make sure she gets eight hours of sleep—no less. She likes warm drinks before bed, no sugar after nineteen-hundred unless you want her bouncing off the walls. And if she so much as frowns—” his voice dipped into something sharper, more dangerous “—you will fix it. Immediately.”

Kokoci blinked, already hearing the sound of his career groaning under the weight of this new assignment. “Sir, I—”

“No,” Pian said flatly, holding up a hand. “Admiral’s orders. Consider it your mission.”

Kokoci’s jaw worked soundlessly. 'Why me?'

His knowledge of children was… limited, to put it mildly. He could dismantle a blaster rifle in thirty seconds blindfolded, but he couldn’t even tell you what temperature “warm drinks” meant for a kid. And if he failed? Pian hadn’t said the punishment, but the man new growing reputation for creative, slow-burn consequences was enough to make Kokoci’s stomach tighten.

Fang’s voice broke the tension, high and bright. “Cap! I think I found the one!” She was halfway down the hangar, both arms waving above her head, practically vibrating with pride.

Pian’s expression softened instantly, like someone had flipped a switch. “Then it’s the one,” he said, already walking toward her with the quiet gravity of a man who believed she’d just made the most important tactical choice of the mission.

Fang’s grin faltered the instant Pian started toward the ship’s ramp. The realization hit her like a cold draft creeping under a door—he was leaving now. Not in an hour. Not after eating lunch with her. Now.

Her steps slowed, boots scuffing against the polished floor, and she caught herself fidgeting with the loose cuff of her sleeve. “You’re… heading out already?” she asked, forcing her tone into something she hoped sounded casual. Inside, though, there was a tiny, selfish ache pressing against her ribs.

Pian caught the shift instantly—her voice, her shoulders, the way her fingers twitched against the fabric. He hated that look in her eye. Oh, how he wanted to stay and not leave her.

Still, he kept his voice easy. “Mhm. And while I’m gone…” His gaze flicked sideways to Kokoci, who straightened like he’d just been called to the front lines, “…the Commander here will be training you. Bigger tasks this time. None of the small stuff.”

That got her attention. The sadness slipped for a moment, replaced by intrigue. “Bigger tasks? Like… fixing the big scanners? Or giving missions? Or—”

“You’ll find out,” Pian interrupted with a smirk, letting the faintest note of mischief into his tone. 'Better to give her something to look forward to than to let her stew on my absence.'

“Careful, Firefly… at this rate, you’ll be running this station before I know it.”

Her mouth opened in surprise before she laughed, that small, bright laugh that always managed to knock the edges off his mood. “Me? Running HQ?”

“Why not?” Pian leaned in slightly. “You’d do a better job than most of the clowns I have to work with.” He angled his chin toward Kokoci with mock gravity. “Including your trainer for the day.”

Kokoci made a sound somewhere between a cough and a protest, staring with deep concentration at a completely unremarkable section of wall. He felt as if he’d wandered into a kitchen during a family breakfast—too intimate, too domestic, and far from the sharp professionalism HQ usually demanded.

Pian crouched a little, enough to meet Fang’s eyes directly. “Evening, Firefly. I’ll be back before you know it.” 

'And I will,' he added silently. 'No matter what’s out there.'

She tried to mask the tiny knot of disappointment winding itself in her chest. “Promise?”

“Promise.” His answer came without hesitation, and that steadiness in his voice was enough to make her believe him—mostly.

He opened his arms in a simple gesture, but Fang didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward quickly, wrapping her arms tight around his middle. For just a moment, she buried her face against the rough fabric of his coat, memorizing the scent of warm coffee and something faintly metallic.

Pian’s hand rested gently against the back of her head, fingers curling slightly as if he could shield her from the whole galaxy for those few seconds.

Pulling back was harder than it should’ve been. He gave her one last look—a quick salute that felt almost playful—before heading up the ramp.

She grinned and waved until the hatch closed, and even then, she stayed rooted to the spot for a heartbeat longer, as if willing the ship not to vanish just yet.

Beside her, Kokoci shifted awkwardly again, his hands clasping behind his back. He wasn’t sure what kind of bond he’d just witnessed, but it was sharp enough, real enough, that it made his usual detached professionalism feel… clumsy. If this was the standard Pian set for the people he cared about, then failing his “mission” today wasn’t an option. Not unless he wanted to be the man who broke that look in her eyes.

 

---

 

Kokoci’s office felt far too small for his liking.

Or maybe it wasn’t the room itself — though the walls were lined with shelves stacked with reports, datapads, and half-disassembled bits of tech, all crammed in with military neatness — maybe it was the fact that Pian’s shadow was sitting here.

A shadow in the form of an excitable, wide-eyed, six-year-old girl with purple hair, perched in the visitor’s chair like she owned it.

Her legs didn’t even touch the floor, but she swung them back and forth in a steady rhythm, the faint thump-thump-thump of her shoes hitting the chair’s base filling the otherwise still air.

Kokoci sat behind his desk, posture as crisp as the lines of his uniform, hands folded neatly on the surface. To an outsider, he probably looked composed. Commanding. In control.

In reality, his mind was doing laps.

'Training… training… what in all stars am I supposed to train her in? Maskmana hadn’t sent him any kind of manual for “child apprentice of an Admiral.” There was no checklist, no protocol. Do I start with…? No, she’s too young for weapons drills. Tech maintenance? She could short out the grid by accident. Basic discipline? She’d probably see that as a game. Stars above, why me?'

Across from him, Fang’s humming picked up, tuneless but oddly steady, like she was waiting for something to happen. Her gaze roamed over the room — the cluttered desk, the uneven stacks of mission folders, the hum of the wall panels. She was taking it all in like it was some exotic place she’d never seen before, not just a plain, stuffy office.

Before he could piece together even the first sentence of a “lesson plan,” the door hissed open.

A young cadet stepped in, straight-backed but tense, as if every muscle in his body was resisting being here. “Sir, the—uh—the updated mission logs for your signature.”

He held out a heavy stack of paperwork and a datapad, but his eyes kept flicking toward Fang. Not subtly, either — they lingered on her for a beat too long, his brow faintly furrowing, as though trying to make sense of why there was a child in a Commander’s office.

Then something clicked. Recognition bled into his expression. 'Oh stars…'

Purple hair. Young. Sitting here like she belonged.

The stories whispered through the lower ranks about Admiral Maskmana’s “shadow” — the girl who followed him, whom he guarded like a vault’s heart.

Half the station thinks she was a niece. Others swore she was some kind of adopted daughter. Whatever the truth, the rumors about what happened to those who insulted or threatened her were crystal clear: your life becomes a living nightmare that you wish for death. Sometimes in ways that didn’t leave a record, only a very loud absence.

The cadet’s throat tightened. 'And she’s here. In Commander Kokoci’s office.'

Fear prickled along his spine — not of her, but for Kokoci. Poor man’s been dropped into the Admiral’s personal blast radius.

Kokoci felt his irritation prickling immediately. His tone came out clipped enough to cut steel. “Yes, thank you, Cadet. That will be all.”

The cadet didn’t move right away. His gaze darted back to Fang, as if debating whether to ask — or whether he’d regret the question for the rest of his career.

Kokoci’s stare sharpened, wordless but unmistakable. Leave.

The young man flinched almost imperceptibly, muttered, “Yes, sir,” and all but fled the room. The door slid shut behind him, leaving a cocoon of quiet.

Kokoci let out a slow exhale through his nose. 'Wonderful. Two minutes gone, and I’m still no closer to figuring out what to do with her.'

He picked up the datapad and started scanning the logs, eyes darting over lines of operational updates and incident notes. Out of the corner of his eye, movement caught his attention — Fang had leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her expression bright and unbothered.

“You look busy,” she observed, voice lilting with casual certainty.

“I am busy,” he muttered, not even glancing up; the words meant more for himself than for her. Busy trying to make sense of the chaos Pian had dumped in his lap before it swallowed him whole.

“I could help,” she said suddenly.

His head jerked up before he could stop it. “…You could what?”

“Help,” Fang repeated with unshakable confidence, as though this was the most obvious offer in the galaxy.

He raised an eyebrow, letting disbelief drip from every syllable. “You… know how to do mission log paperwork?”

Fang puffed her chest, posture straightening with quiet pride. “Yup! Cap always lets me help with his. I just have to show him if I’m not sure I’m doing it right.”

For a moment, Kokoci just… stared at her. 'She’s joking. She has to be joking. No officer in their right mind — much less Pian, whose paranoia was practically an art form — would let a child anywhere near official reports.'

“…And he trusts you with that?” His tone carried equal parts disbelief and a hint of accusation.

Her grin was immediate, unshaken. “Of course. He says I’ve got an eye for the details.”

Kokoci leaned back slightly, regarding her in silence. On the surface, it was ridiculous. But somewhere in the back of his mind, a small flicker of curiosity sparked. Pian didn’t hand over his tasks lightly, and if he truly had let her work on logs — even with supervision — that meant something.

Maybe this wouldn’t be a total disaster.

Maybe.

Kokoci exhaled slowly through his nose, dropping the heavy stack of paperwork onto the corner of his desk with a dull thud.

“Alright, kid—since you’re so confident, let’s see what you can do.” He slid the pile toward Fang, trying to keep his tone neutral, though part of him was already bracing for the inevitable headache of double-checking a six-year-old’s scribbles.

Fang hopped into the chair across from him, her legs swinging idly as she pulled the first set of forms closer. The chair was too big for her, but she didn’t seem to notice—or care. Her eyes flicked over the first page with a focus that surprised him.

Kokoci turned his attention to his datapad, skimming incoming reports while occasionally glancing at the room’s perimeter screens. He figured he’d hear her sighing in confusion any minute now, or maybe whining about the small print.

But… it didn’t happen.

Instead, there was the faint scritch scritch of pen on paper. Then, in a small but steady voice:

“Do I check this box or leave it blank?”

He barely glanced up. “Check it.”

A pause. More writing. Then, “Is this the right code for the incident type?”

He frowned slightly—most kids her age wouldn’t even remember the word incident, let alone what a code for it was. “Yeah, that’s right.”

It kept going like that—no guessing, no skipping ahead, just a steady rhythm:

Read. Process. Fill in. Confirm.

Read. Process. Fill in. Confirm.

By the third form, Kokoci realized his datapad had drifted to his lap, forgotten. His eyes kept getting pulled back to the desk. The way she scanned the page reminded him of a junior lance corporal triple-checking mission orders—not perfect, but precise. She took the time to clarify every point before committing to it. There wasn’t a single “uhhh… maybe this?” guess in the mix.

Her concentration was almost unnerving. Brow furrowed, lips pressed together in thought, tongue just barely peeking out at the corner when she hit a tricky section. He’d seen seasoned officers drag their feet more on paperwork.

When she finally slid the last form onto the completed stack, she sat back with a triumphant little done! And a grin that lit up her whole face.

Kokoci leaned back in his chair, letting out a low whistle. “That’s… all of it,” he muttered, flipping through the pile. He was fully expecting at least one form to have an empty field or an obvious mistake.

But no—every line was filled in neatly, every code correct, every date and time in place. The handwriting was still very much a child’s—rounded letters and uneven spacing—but the information was spot on.

He glanced at her, skeptical but, he had to admit, more than a little impressed. “For a six-year-old, you’re… alarmingly good at this. You weren’t kidding about Admiral letting you do his paperwork?”

“Yup,” Fang said, beaming with the same pride as if she’d just been promoted. “He always lets me help. But I have to check with him if I’m doing it right. That’s the rule.”

Kokoci sat back, crossing his arms, watching her with new eyes.

Bigger tasks, Pian had said. He’d assumed that meant light chores, maybe assisting with tools or learning basic comms etiquette—not actual station administration work. But if she could handle this kind of accuracy and focus now… what would she be capable of in a few years?

He found himself reconsidering the day’s plan. Maybe teaching her to handle heavier equipment wasn’t the only kind of training she should get. She had an instinct for organization—efficiency without cutting corners—and an ability to stick to a process. Those were skills that plenty of officers struggled to master even after years of service.

A strange thought crossed his mind—one he’d never expected to have about a child this small. 'If she keeps this up, she could probably run half this station by the time she’s ten.'

Not that he’d say it out loud, of course. He had a reputation to keep.

Kokoci tapped a finger against the edge of the now neatly stacked paperwork, his mind ticking over. Simple forms were one thing—rote, structured, predictable. But this wasn’t just “good for her age.” This was sharp. Too sharp to ignore.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Pian had mentioned she picked things up quickly, but Kokoci had chalked that up to the kind of parental pride people got when they thought their kid was the smartest in the galaxy. Now? He wasn’t so sure.

“Alright,” he said slowly, pulling a slim datapad from the corner of his desk. “If you’re really this good, let’s see how you handle something more complicated.”

Fang perked up instantly, her grin wide and eager. “Like what?”

“Like—” he flicked through files until he found what he wanted, “—incident analysis.”

Her eyes went round. “Ooh.”

Kokoci smirked faintly. Most rookies groaned at the word. Fang looked like he’d just handed her a bag of candy. He slid the datapad across the desk, the display showing a tangled web of ship schematics, patrol logs, and half-redacted witness statements.

“This is from an actual case we handled last month. I want you to look it over and tell me what happened.”

She didn’t hesitate. Pulling the pad closer, she swung her legs up to sit cross-legged in the chair and began reading, her small fingers flicking between pages. At first, Kokoci expected her to stall—maybe skim a few lines, then give up. Instead, she leaned in closer, muttering under her breath as she connected details.

“The damage report says this vent was melted from the outside, not the inside,” she said after a few minutes. “So it wasn’t a power failure. And these crew logs… see? The shift change happened earlier than usual that day. Maybe so, no one saw who did it.”

Kokoci’s brows rose slightly. She was building a chain of reasoning without being prompted. No wandering off-topic, no distracted glances around the room—just laser focus.

By the time she finished, Fang handed the datapad back to him with a crisp, “It was sabotage. From someone who knew the patrol schedule.”

He skimmed her notes. Concise. Logical. She’d even caught a discrepancy in the witness statement he hadn’t noticed until weeks into the investigation.

Kokoci found himself letting out a low chuckle. “Alright, kid. You’ve got my attention.”

Her grin widened, but there was a spark in her eyes now—something hungry. Not just for praise, but for the next challenge.

He leaned forward slightly, studying her with new interest. “You might be a lot more dangerous—” he caught himself and rephrased, “—useful than Maskmana realizes. Let’s see just how far you can go.”

Kokoci pushed himself to his feet, his chair sliding back with a muted scrape. “Alright. Desk work’s one thing. Let’s see how you handle something that moves.”

Fang hopped down from her chair, already buzzing with anticipation. “What kind of test?”

He stepped over to a recessed panel on the wall and keyed in a sequence. With a hiss, a section of the floor of his office retracted, revealing a compact training grid suitable in height for Fang. Modular panels shifted, assembling an obstacle course of half-height barricades, holo-target emitters, and simulated hazards.

“Scenario-based drills,” Kokoci said, picking up a slim remote. “You adapt as the environment changes. Fast. I’m not going to tell you the sequence—because in the field, no one tells you when things go sideways.”

Fang’s grin only widened. “Okay.”

The first simulation booted up with a flash. Targets appeared at random points, some stationary, some weaving between barricades. Without hesitation, Fang darted forward, weaving around cover, tagging each target in turn.

Her movements were clumsy at first—but by the third wave, she’d already adjusted her stance, shifting her weight like she’d been doing this for weeks.

Kokoci increased the pace. Hazards popped up. Moving panels closed in to block her path. Instead of freezing, she used the barricades to her advantage, sliding under one panel and using its momentum to launch herself toward a target on the far side.

Kokoci’s brows knit together. Most recruits took at least a few rounds to stop tripping over themselves when the terrain changed. Fang adapted between breaths.

By the time the simulation shut down, Fang was panting but grinning ear to ear.

Kokoci didn’t give her a chance to recover. He fired off rapid questions, his voice sharp and quick. “Weakest point on a Class-3 patrol drone?”

“Underside joint, just behind the sensor array.”

“How do you break a chokehold without using your arms?”

“Drop weight, twist hips, drive shoulder into their centerline.”

“What’s the fastest way to breach a locked maintenance hatch without explosives?”

“Override panel—unless there’s an emergency bypass hidden under the frame, then that’s faster.”

She never took more than fifteen seconds to answer, eyes darting up only to confirm the next question.

Kokoci finally lowered the remote, studying her like she was a puzzle piece that had suddenly fallen into place. His curiosity got the better of him. “Alright, kid. No way you just… picked this up in casual conversation. How do you know all this?”

Fang’s grin faltered, replaced by a small, almost sheepish smile. She rocked back on her heels, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve.

“I… uh… listened,” she admitted. “When my Abang was training with Cap. A lot. And… well… when I first got here, I had a lot of free time, so… I studied. Stuff I found in the archives. Manuals. Training footage.”

Kokoci blinked at her, then let out a low, incredulous laugh. “You studied for fun?”

Fang shrugged. “Better than being bored.”

For the first time, Kokoci wasn’t just impressed—he was intrigued. This wasn’t just talent. This was intentional.

Kokoci had been halfway through mentally mapping out a possible training plan—nothing too intense, just enough to channel all that raw, self-taught talent—when Fang casually mentioned, “I’m still not good with weapons. Cap says I’m too young for them. That’s why he has been teaching me how to fight instead this past week.”

Kokoci’s stylus froze mid-note.

Wait. Just this week.

Teaching been herself?

No formal instructor? And still moving like she did earlier?

He had to pause, recalibrating the mental chart he’d just made for her. Her “potential” suddenly looked a lot less like an interesting footnote and a lot more like a tactical asset—one that might turn dangerous to herself and others without guidance.

A mentor was suddenly less “nice to have” and more “priority before the child learns to improvise explosives out of boredom.”

He was about to gently probe for more details when an unexpected sound interrupted his thoughts.

Grrrrowl.

The noise was loud enough in the quiet office to make them both freeze. Fang blinked down at her stomach, then looked back up at him with an expression so guilty it was almost comical—ears drooping if she’d had them, eyes wide like a kitten expecting a scolding.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, voice tiny.

For a moment, Kokoci was certain he was losing his mind. No—he was losing his mind. Because the part of him that handled military logistics and threat assessment was screaming at him that this child could probably dismantle a grown soldier in under a minute… yet here she was, apologizing to him for being hungry.

And then, horror struck him in full.

Kokoci’s mind went white-noise for a second before slamming into overdrive.

Right. Lunch.

He’d been so focused on running her through forms, testing footwork, jotting mental notes about training arcs, that he’d forgotten the one thing you never forget when dealing with Admiral Maskmana’s precious Fang: keep her fed, hydrated, and unharmed.

Every second she stayed hungry was another nail in Kokoci’s hypothetical coffin. And oh, Pian wouldn’t just bury him—he’d make sure Kokoci filed his own burial orders first, in triplicate, while starving him out in some cursed admin office.

He forced his features into something neutral, steady—the picture of a man completely in control of the situation and not at all imagining his own gruesome paperwork-based execution.

“Alright—uh—lunch,” he said, tone deliberately even. “Yes. We’ll fix that. Immediately.”

Kokoci stood so quickly the chair skidded back, then he smoothed the motion into something casual, as if that had been totally intentional. His steps toward the door started measured, but by the time he hit the hallway, the “measured” part had crumbled into a brisk, almost military march.

Unfortunately for him, the hallway wasn’t empty.

The cadet who’d dropped in earlier—sharp-eyed, too nosy for their own good—had clearly wasted no time spreading the news that the Fang, Admiral Maskmana’s “shadow,” was currently under Commander Kokoci’s direct care. By the time they emerged, word had rippled through the building like wildfire.

Now, every pair of eyes turned as they passed. Captains, Lance corporals, Cadets—they all subtly stepped aside, pressing themselves against the wall as if physical proximity might get them caught in some collateral wrath. The braver ones cast sidelong glances; the wiser ones didn’t look at all.

They saw the slight tension in Kokoci’s shoulders, the unusual quickness in his stride, and the guarded calm on his face. They didn’t know the details, but they knew enough: the commander was moving with urgency. And if the commander was worried while escorting the Admiral’s most protected person?

Pity. And fear.

Fang padded along silently behind him, her gaze calm, the smallest curl of amusement in her expression as though she were quietly watching an unfamiliar game play out. Her presence alone parted the crowd, like a shadow slipping between them, and the unspoken rule was clear—no one got in her or Kokoci’s way.

Kokoci ignored the staring, keeping his focus forward, mentally rattling off options—canteen, mess hall, the Admiral’s private stash—no, absolutely not, touching Pian’s rations was an express ticket to an unmarked grave. He’d grab something fresh. Something good. Something Admiral-safe.

He just had to get there before she got any hungrier… and before anyone thought to mention this little “incident” to Pian first.

 

---

 

With Pian

 

Pian moved like a shadow through the narrow service corridors of the outpost, every step a calculated ghosting of sound.

The walls here were a patchwork of dented alloy panels and exposed piping, painted in a dull green that had long since faded to the color of rotting moss. The air was stale, tinged with the metallic bite of recycled oxygen, the steady whump-whump of the ventilation fans overhead masking the faint rasp of his boots against the grated flooring.

He hugged the shadows, slipping past flickering strip-lights that struggled to hold a charge. Every few meters, a wall-mounted sensor drone rotated lazily, scanning with a thin, pale beam of light. Pian timed each movement to the drone’s sweep, ducking under the arc just as it passed, never more than a whisper of motion.

The data siphon clipped to his wrist hummed softly, a thin cable running from it into an access port hidden behind a cracked maintenance hatch. His visor displayed a slow trickle of intercepted packets—enemy supply routes, troop rotations, and a name in the database that should not exist. The siphon was halfway through the download, the progress bar a creeping blue snake he willed to move faster.

Every second here was a second Fang was out of his sight.

He’d left her with Kokoci because the man was mostly competent—capable of operating without tripping over his own feet—but still the kind who could forget the one thing that mattered. Pian had spelled it out, word for word: Feed her on schedule. Keep her busy. Don’t let her wander. Don’t let her get bored. And above all—don’t screw this up.

Halfway through syncing the last encrypted burst, something twisted deep in his chest. Not pain—never pain—but the cold, razor-sure instinct that something wasn’t right.

He froze mid-step, every sense narrowing to a fine edge. The air felt heavier, the low rumble of the ventilation suddenly too loud.

His mind jumped, unbidden, back to Kokoci.

And then he saw it—the exact mistake Kokoci would make if he got too focused on impressing her or proving himself: an omission so obvious it made Pian’s jaw tighten. One he had explicitly warned against.

Heat rose behind his eyes, not the panicked burn of fear but the sharp, molten flare of anger. Rage curled in his gut, thick and black, but he pressed it down hard, locking it under a layer of iron control. This mission had to end now. If his instincts were right, every extra minute here was a risk he couldn’t stomach.

One thought kept hammering against his skull, steady and cold as a heartbeat:

'If anything happened to Fang—if she was hungry, hurt, or even the slightest bit unhappy—Kokoci would be begging for death by the time I'm done with him.'

A faint click behind him broke the air. Pian didn’t turn—just shifted his stance a fraction. The reflection in the metal panel ahead showed a soldier rounding the corner, alien rifle already rising to his shoulder.

The man’s eyes widened. “Intruder—!”

The alarm blared instantly, a bone-deep whaaaang that shook the floor. Red lights strobed overhead, painting the corridor in pulsing blood-light. Doors hissed open along the passage as boots thundered in from all directions.

Pian exhaled slowly through his nose. The fight would take time. Time he didn’t have.

And every one of them would keep him from getting back to his little firefly.

He drew his blade.

Then he moved—fast, silent, and deadly.

 

---

 

The cafeteria’s sliding doors hissed open, letting in a swirl of cooler, recycled air tinged with the smell of sterilized metal and something fried. The hum of conversations dipped just a fraction as Commander Kokoci stepped through with Fang in tow.

Every eye seemed to flick toward him—quick glances, some furtive, others openly pitying. The pity stung more than the fear. Soldiers shifted out of their path with subtle urgency, like the commander was a walking bad omen you didn’t want to brush against.

Kokoci kept his stride measured, his expression neutral, but his stomach had already knotted itself into something ugly.

And then—
A shiver snapped down his spine, cold as vacuum.

No reason. No warning. But he knew. Somehow—somehow, Admiral Maskmana knew. Not just that Kokoci had slipped up, but exactly what he’d done. Or rather, failed to do.

He’d been too caught up testing Fang’s reflexes, pushing her through agility drills, trying to impress her with his “training regimen.” He’d forgotten the first thing Pian had hammered into him: feed her every three hours with snacks in between.

If he didn’t fix this right now, Pian wouldn’t just chew him out—he’d serve Kokoci a personal death sentence. The kind you didn’t walk away from.

They reached the food line, trays in hand, and Kokoci forced his brain into survival mode. Hot trays of alien rations hissed and steamed behind glass. Portions of glossy noodles shimmered faintly from protein enhancers. Synthetic fruit glistened in unnaturally vibrant colors. And then—

He caught it.

Fang’s eyes—big, bright, and sparkling—locked onto a tray in the corner. Rows of brownish-red carrot donuts dusted in crystallized syrup. Her entire body leaned toward them without taking a step. Six-year-old awe radiated from her like a beacon.

Kokoci’s survival instincts kicked in.

He leaned down, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Tell you what. I’ll get you some carrot donuts… if you don’t tell Admiral Maskmana what happened earlier.”

Her head snapped to him, eyes narrowing in instant suspicion. “Some? No. All of them.”

Kokoci almost choked. “What—no, that’s ridiculous! Do you have any idea how much those cost?!”

Fang’s face turned innocent, her tone sweet enough to rot teeth. “You said some. I’m saying all. You want my silence or not?”

“This isn’t a negotiation!” Kokoci hissed.

“Oh, it is,” she said, folding her arms like a tiny mob boss. “Because if I tell him, you’ll wish you had just given me the donuts. And…” Her gaze slid toward the serving staff. “I bet he’d believe me before he believed you.”

Kokoci’s throat went dry. 'Where is the scared kitten who was apologizing for her stomach earlier? Who is this little businesswoman running a shakedown operation in the middle of a cafeteria?'

“Half,” he tried again, steadying his voice. “That’s fair.”

“Half,” Fang repeated, as if tasting the word. “Half… is what I’d give you if you were hungry and I didn’t feel like sharing.”

Kokoci blinked. “That’s not—”

“Three-quarters,” Fang continued mercilessly, “is what you deserve for making me wait this long for lunch. But I’m being generous. I’ll take two-thirds.”

He could only stare for a second. 'She’s six. Six. And she’s negotiating like she’s buying out a shipping fleet.'

“You drive a hard bargain,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“Two-thirds, or I sneeze really loud at the table and tell everyone it’s because you forgot to feed me,” she said sweetly. “And then Cap will hear about it.”

Kokoci imagined Pian’s face. The glare. The slow, terrible silence before the verdict. His wallet whimpered in his pocket.

“…Done.”

He slapped a credit chip down for far more than he’d planned to spend, trying not to watch the number drain. The serving staff packed her prize in a special insulated box, as if sealing a treasure chest.

Fang, on the other hand, skipped away with her tray of sweet-smelling spoils, a victorious grin firmly in place.

Kokoci trailed behind, impressed and horrified in equal measure. Inside, he was already lighting a candle for his poor, doomed wallet.

 

---

 

Back to Pian

 

The air inside the dimly lit hall reeked of ozone and scorched metal, a tang of ionized air left in the wake of too many discharges. Somewhere above, the hum of faulty lighting cast a sickly strobe over the blood-slick deck, turning every movement into jagged flashes of shadow and steel.

Pian’s boots slid, not from clumsiness but from the sheer slickness of the floor, his balance shifting seamlessly as he pivoted.

His blade rose—not hurried, not desperate, but precise—catching the descending axe of a guard and twisting it away before the man could even finish his war cry. The counter was immediate, a single horizontal slash that left the attacker crumpling silently to the deck.

More voices thundered from the side corridors. Heavy boots pounded in uneven rhythm, the metallic rattle of cheap armor accompanying the surge of another wave. Pistols were raised, rifles slung forward, a few charging with jagged vibroblades. Orders were barked—"Flank him!"—"Don’t let him reach the control hub!"—but they already rang hollow, drowned under the sound of their own fear.

Pian exhaled through his nose, the breath short and sharp.

So this was the “two-day mission window” he’d been given. Day one wasn’t for intelligence work—it was to sit here and wait for the pirates’ reinforcements to leave, to have an opportunity to move without much fight.

Not that he gave a damn about it.

A bayonet came for his ribs. Pian stepped aside, letting the thrust glide past his coat before his blade dipped and slid upward in a smooth, surgical cut that separated armor from flesh.

The man fell without a sound, and before his body hit the ground, Pian was already moving.

He fought like a storm with a clockwork heart—cold, unhurried, yet merciless. Each movement was efficient to the point of insult, every strike placed exactly where it needed to be. His eyes didn’t dart about; they tracked threats with slow certainty, the way a predator marked its prey. He let their momentum feed into his own, turning lunges into open flanks, over-swings into exposed throats.

Blaster fire streaked toward him; he moved through it, weaving with minimal motion, letting shots pass close enough to heat the air by his cheek. One unlucky gunman found his firing arm severed at the elbow, the weapon clattering uselessly to the floor before Pian’s boot sent him sprawling into two others.

Another dozen poured in from the far door. The line hesitated when they saw the floor strewn with bodies, some twitching, others still, before their commander roared and drove them forward.

Pian’s chest tightened, not from exertion, but from the sharp gnawing thought that Kokoci was alone with her. He had given clear, explicit instructions. And yet… the pit in his gut told him something had gone wrong. Kokoci was the type to let "tests" outweigh common sense, and Fang—

The blade rose again, cutting that thought in half alongside the man in front of him.

If anything happened to her—if she was hungry, hurt, or even frightened—Kokoci wouldn’t have to worry about pirates. Pian would make him beg for the mercy of death. And he wouldn’t grant it quickly.

Three more tried to rush him together—one high, one low, one from the side. Pian shifted his stance, his coat swirling as he spun once, the blade moving in a gleaming crescent. When the turn ended, all three were already collapsing, their weapons clattering to the deck in a discordant chorus.

He didn’t slow. Couldn’t slow down. Not until the path home was carved open and clear.

Then slow, deliberate clapping echoed across the ruined hall, slicing through the fading clash of steel and the groans of the dying.

Pian didn’t have to look to know the source. Still, his gaze slid toward the blasted archway, where five figures stood silhouetted against the pale light beyond.

Each one was dressed in the mismatched finery of the Outer Rim’s most dangerous—the kind of outlaw whose armor was pieced together from kills, not purchases. Coats torn from defeated captains, weapons gleaming with alien craftsmanship, power spheres pulsing faintly like stolen hearts in the dark.

High-bounty power sphere hunters. Pirate captains. Each one is worth more than some planets are worth whole. The kind of names smugglers whispered only after checking every shadow twice.

And somehow, of course, all the pirates that decided to gather here were part of the strong ones.

The leader of the clap—a tall woman with a crescent scar splitting her cheek from ear to lip—wore a long black duster lined with crimson scales. The electro-whip at her side was coiled like a sleeping serpent, its tip still faintly smoking from its last victim. She had the lazy smile of someone who enjoyed the killing far more than the pay.

Next to her stood a brute whose sheer bulk made the halberd in his hands look almost delicate. His armor was a patchwork of looted plates, each one etched with the marks of previous battles. The edges of his teeth were jagged and chipped, giving his grin the feel of broken glass under moonlight.

On the brute’s other side lingered a wiry man in lightweight combat mesh, both arms encased in mechanical gauntlets studded with pressure spikes and hidden injectors. His fingers twitched constantly, flexing with the impatience of someone who’d rather be breaking bones than talking.

The fourth was a woman half-hidden beneath a veil of black synthsilk, the fabric clinging faintly to her skin where sweat met the ambient heat. Beneath it, glimpses of her expression showed nothing but disinterest—yet the twin curved blades on her hips were polished so meticulously they almost glowed. Every movement she made was deliberate, like a predator deciding whether to strike now or later.

And the last—the smallest of them all—looked almost unarmed. A slender, shadow-like man whose loose clothing concealed any weapons, though the glint in his unblinking eyes suggested he didn’t need one. His boots made no sound on the scorched deck, and his smile was the kind that didn’t quite touch his face—thin, sharp, and cruel.

Pian’s head tilted back slightly, eyes closing for a single slow breath. The sound he made wasn’t quite a sigh—it was an irritated, bone-deep groan. The kind that told the galaxy he was already past his tolerance for nonsense.

The clapping stopped.

“Oh? That sound… was that pain I hear?” the scarred woman drawled, her whip uncoiling an inch with a lazy hiss. “Maybe the great Admiral Maskmana of TAPOPS isn’t as untouchable as the stories say.”

The brute leaned forward, resting his serrated halberd against one shoulder. “Look at you. Alone. No fleet, no squadron, no backup. You must’ve been in a real hurry to throw your life away.”

The wiry man chuckled low, flexing his gauntlets until the servos clicked. “Reckless, isn’t it? Chasing something so far out here, you didn’t even notice us moving in.”

The veiled woman tilted her head, the motion elegant and somehow mocking. “Do you know how many crews have dreamed of being the ones to take your head? How many legends start and end with your name?”

The smallest of them, still as stone, let a thin smile curl across his lips. “And here we are. Five of the most feared hunters in the galaxy… and you, alone. The universe will remember our names as the ones who ended the great Maskmana legacy.”

The scarred woman laughed softly. “You should’ve stayed in your command chair, Admiral. You should’ve stayed home. Now? Now we get to be the story parents tell their brats about the day the ‘unstoppable’ fell.”

The brute leaned more of his weight onto his halberd, grinning. “But by all means—keep standing there. We’re enjoying the view of TAPOPS’ finest looking so… small.”

The wiry man added, “Or are you stalling? Waiting for help that’ll never come?”

The veiled woman’s voice turned mocking, almost sing-song. “Poor, reckless little Maskmana, thinking he can keep running across the galaxy and win.”

Each word ticked at Pian’s patience—

a metronome counting down his tolerance,

stealing seconds he could not afford to lose.

For a long, razor-edged moment, he said nothing.

Just stood there—silent, motionless—like a statue carved from something older than stone, older than fear itself.

Their voices buzzed on, meaningless, like flies crawling across a predator’s back.

Then—

He laughed.

It began low and cold, the sound of ice cracking over an endless, black lake.

Then it rose—sharp, hollow, threaded with something cruel and merciless.

The echo rolled along the scorched walls, fracturing the air until it didn’t sound like one man laughing anymore,

but like something ancient and starless was breathing through him.

The hunters faltered. One shifted his grip. Another’s smile wavered.

That laughter did not belong to prey.

'What the hell is this—'

'That’s… not—'

'It’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong—'

'—kill him now—no, move—no, no—'

'run—'

The youngest hunter swallowed hard, every instinct screaming, Run.

The laughter stopped—sliced off clean, like a blade drawn from flesh.

Pian lifted his head, eyes glinting—not with rage, but with the quiet, certain malice of someone who had already decided the outcome.

The space between them thickened, the air sharpening until it felt like breathing glass.

“You,” he said, voice low, smooth, and so final it felt like a gravestone being lowered into place,

“Just walked into your death.”

He stepped forward.

The impact of his presence was a collision—like a wall of knives slamming into their minds.

Thoughts splintered. Breaths caught mid-draw. Muscles locked as though their bodies had been claimed by something older than fear.

'Move—'

'Why can’t—'

'Don’t breathe, he’ll hear you, he’ll—'

'STOP thinking STOP STOP STOP—'

One hunter’s heartbeat battered at his ribs, each pulse louder than thought.

Another felt the edges of her vision darken, as though the world itself were retreating from him.

“If this had been any other time…” Pian’s tone shifted, conversational—offhand—

—and that was somehow worse, like death dressed in silk.

“…I might have let you crawl away with your lives.

But you caught me on the wrong day.

The very wrong day.”

The leader’s knuckles whitened around his weapon, but his thoughts were dissolving into static—

'Don’t—look—eyes—cut—me—apart—'

“There is no escape.

Not for any of you.

Not now.”

His gaze sharpened, cold enough to burn.

“I’ve got a little firefly to return to,” Pian added, almost tenderly.

“And I will make you regret delaying me.”

The bloodlust deepened—an invisible weight grinding against their throats, sliding down their spines, seizing their hearts.

One’s stomach turned to ice.

Another’s knees buckled, her mind filling with white noise and the simple, animal certainty: death death death death—

And for the first time, the five hunters realized they weren’t the predators here.

They were already corpses.

None of them noticed the tiny, embedded lens in the far wall—its faint red light blinking.

The feed was live.

Every second of Pian’s quiet, surgical annihilation of their willpower was spilling into the void,

streaming to a universe that, at this very moment, was learning the name Pian in the language of fear.

 

---

 

TAPOPS HQ – Cafeteria & Remote Locations

 

The live feed wasn’t supposed to be public.

Yet it bled across every active monitor in TAPOPS HQ like a spreading flame—audio and video spilling into break rooms, control stations, even the cafeteria.

The agents froze mid-bite, mid-sentence, mid-step.

Pian’s voice—calm, lethal, and dripping with finality—slid through the speakers, coiling around them like a cold chain.

It was the kind of tone you only heard in classified debriefs, the kind that left you with sleepless nights and an unshakable feeling that you’d been staring too long into something that didn’t belong to your world.

A silence settled over the cafeteria so thick you could hear the hum of the refrigeration units and the faint, muffled thud of footsteps in the hallway beyond.

No one blinked. No one chewed. They just… stared.

Then—almost unanimously—they sat a little straighter.

Some with fear knotting their shoulders until they looked carved from stone.

Some with a strange, grudging respect, the kind reserved for natural disasters—things you didn’t have to like to know they were beyond you.

Kokoci’s fork slipped from his hand and clattered against the tray.

His eyes widened—not at the killing promise in Pian’s tone, but at one particular word.

Firefly.

His head snapped toward Fang.

She was happily demolishing her third red carrot donut, sugar dusting her fingers, the faintest smear of frosting on her cheek.

She was humming—actually humming—between bites, completely oblivious to the fact that the most terrifying man in TAPOPS history had just threatened to wipe out a squad over her.

Kokoci felt his pulse spike, each beat a pounding drum in his skull.

He had read Pian’s classified files, seen the mission reports that never made it past Level 8 clearance.

He’d seen the aftermath photos—burned-out structures, battlefields turned graveyards, teams that never came home.

He’d always told himself those stories were exaggerations.

But this wasn’t a story. This was live.

And the way Pian said that word—like it was the single bright point in a world he was willing to burn—told Kokoci exactly why his bloodlust was so sharp right now.

He leaned slightly toward her, voice low and tight.

“Fang…”

She looked up just long enough to nod absently, still chewing, still oblivious.

Kokoci’s hands clenched under the table.

She had no idea what kind of firestorm had just been set in motion.

Somewhere across the galaxy, mid-mission, Kaizo caught the feed on his wrist comm.

He stopped dead in the middle of an alien marketplace, the chaotic crowd rushing around him, a crate of contraband halfway in his hands.

“What the hell…”

The audio replayed, forcing him to stand there in the press of bodies as Pian’s voice washed over him again.

The old man was laughing—sharp, hollow, and far too entertained for the situation.

That alone was bad enough. Maskmana had always been… strange.

But this? This wasn’t strange.

This was unhinged.

Kaizo’s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing until the faces in the feed blurred at the edges.

He didn’t know who “Firefly” was, but his gut twisted with unease.

If Fang was anywhere near Maskmana while he was in this state—while he was radiating that kind of killing intent—she could be in more danger than she’d ever faced before.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face.

And he still had another week before his mission wrapped.

Perfect. Just perfect.

Meanwhile, far from HQ, Amato sat under a wide parasol on a sunlit beach.

The soft crash of waves mingled with the shrieks of seagull-analogues, while his six-year-old son Boboiboy crouched in the sand, painstakingly constructing an elaborate fortress.

Suraiya knelt beside him, patiently shaping the towers with her hands while Mechabot—half-buried—watched with an expression caught between mechanical pride and mild irritation as Boboiboy decorated him with seashells.

Amato had just lifted his drink to his lips when the feed appeared on his portable.

He froze.

Not because he doubted Pian’s capability—he knew exactly what the man could do.

But this wasn’t Pian.

Not the Pian who had been his closest friend for years.

Not the man who would swipe food off his plate just to make him argue, or lean back in a chair during briefings, pretending to be bored while catching every word.

This Pian was cold, stripped down to something Amato hadn’t seen in a long time.

Something that was never meant to be broadcast to the whole galaxy.

Suraiya noticed the change instantly.

“Amato?” she asked softly, touching his arm.

He didn’t look at her—his eyes were locked on the screen, jaw tightening.

“What the heck happened in the week I was gone?” he muttered under his breath.

Back in HQ, the feed continued to play.

And across the building, in the cafeteria, in the mission rooms, and in distant corners of the galaxy—people watched.

Some with the stiff, brittle posture of those afraid to move.

Some with the rigid stillness of soldiers watching a predator work.

Some with faces tight with worry, wondering who the hell “Firefly” was and how many bodies would be left when Pian was done.

Because Admiral Maskmana wasn’t just fighting.

He was promising.

And promises like that… Maskmana always kept.

 

---

 

With Pian

 

Steel screamed against steel, the first clash sparking like lightning in the gloom.

They came at him in a tight formation—five killers, each a predator in their own right. But even before the first strike, there was hesitation in their eyes. Pian’s presence wasn’t loud—it was heavy. The kind of weight that settled

over a battlefield like a storm front, pressing on lungs, crawling into bones.

The leader’s gaze flicked between her people.

“Keep him off balance. Fast, hard—don’t give him space,” she ordered, her voice tight.

The brute snorted, rolling his shoulders. “He bleeds like anyone else.”

From behind him, the wiry man muttered, “Then why’s it feel like we’re the ones in his sights?”

Pian said nothing. He just tilted his head slightly, eyes half-lidded, and started walking toward them with the slow certainty of someone who knew how this would end.

The leader moved first, uncoiling her electro-whip, the crimson-scaled duster flaring behind her like the wings of some infernal bird. She tried to mask her unease with a smirk.

“Let’s see if you dance, old man.”

The whip snapped forward with a sound like tearing lightning, its smoking tip aimed for his throat.

Pian stepped into the strike instead of away. His blade caught the whip mid-lash, steel ringing as the energy crawled up the weapon. His wrist twisted, coiling the whip around his sword and yanking her forward with bone-jarring force. She gasped as his hand shot up, catching her collar and driving a knee into her sternum with a crack.

The smirk faltered. Pian spun behind her, his sword sweeping in a crescent that mirrored her scar. Spine and windpipe parted under the stroke. Hot blood sprayed across his cheek. He didn’t blink. Her body hit the ground, the whip falling limp beside it.

The brute’s grin died.

“Two on him. Now!”

He roared, halberd spinning, looted plates of armor clattering like the march of a dozen warriors. He came down with a cleave meant to split the deck. Pian sidestepped, letting the halberd bury itself in the floor. His left hand flared with kinetic energy, slamming into the brute’s chest. The dented armor folded inward with a sickening crunch. The man gasped, ribs snapping.

“You’re wasting my time,” Pian muttered, voice like ice.

A slash tore into the brute’s weapon arm, severing muscle. The halberd clanged to the ground. Pian’s sword rose, punching under the jaw and out through the skull. The brute collapsed with a grin that would never fade.

The wiry man darted in with a hiss, mechanical gauntlets priming with spikes and injectors.

“Keep him moving—” he started, before lunging.

Pian deflected one strike, took the second to the ribs, metal slamming bone. His eyes narrowed. He pivoted low, sweeping the man’s legs out from under him. The hunter stumbled, and Pian’s blade flashed upward, carving a deep diagonal through his torso. The man coughed, staring down at the wound in shock.

Pian stepped close, reversing his grip and driving the blade up beneath his chin.

“Three.”

The word was flat. Almost bored.

The veiled woman had gone pale beneath the synthsilk.

“Fall back, regroup—”

“No,” the shadow whispered from the rear. “He’ll only chase. Best we try now.”

She moved without sound, twin curved blades a blur. Every strike was clean, precise—until Pian blocked them all, irritation now etched into his features. She slipped inside his guard, steel biting his forearm. Blood welled in thin crimson lines.

Their blades locked. Pian’s voice was low.

“You’ve already lost.”

He slid his blade down hers, opening her centerline, then thrust into her gut. She gasped—but her blade found his shoulder, biting deep.

Pain flared. He clicked his tongue.

“You shouldn’t have done that. Now my firefly’s going to get worried.”

Her head fell before the shock reached her eyes.

The shadow was already gone from sight, reappearing behind Pian in utter silence. His strike was a whisper. Pian’s parry was a thunderclap.

The shadow’s eyes widened—not at being blocked, but at the sheer force in the old man’s counter. Every feint was met, every angle read. Pian caught his wrist, dragging him forward into a knee that emptied the man’s lungs.

Two rapid slashes—one from shoulder to hip, the other across the ribs—split him open.

The shadow hit the ground without a sound.

Silence returned, broken only by Pian’s slow, deliberate breathing. Blood dripped from his shoulder and scratches, pooling with the rest. His gaze swept the room, finding no more threats.

Inside, a quiet relief swelled. It was over. Finally.

No more interruptions, no more delays—just the straight path back to his firefly.

His expression didn’t change, still carved in its usual calm lines, but his steps carried the unspoken weight of a man bone-deep tired of the fight, eager in that quiet, unshakable way only a father could be when the thought of home—and the waiting child—pulled him forward.

Pian stepped over the splintered remains of a chair, the crunch of broken glass under his boots carrying in the dead silence.

Blood—some his, most not—slid lazily from the wound on his shoulder, dotting the ground in uneven patterns. The air clung heavy, thick with the metallic tang of violence, but his pace never faltered.

Inside, he felt the pull—warm, eager, almost giddy in its own quiet way. It was done. Finally, he could go back.

He pushed the bent metal door open with one hand. The hinges screamed in protest before giving way. Sunset poured in, painting the edges of his silhouette in gold. His boots struck the pavement, leaving faint bloody prints that stretched out behind him like a breadcrumb trail of the dead.

The street ahead was empty, bathed in the amber haze of fading light. Pian’s shadow stretched long and sharp across the cracked asphalt. His face betrayed nothing, but his shoulders had eased, just barely—like a man finally setting down a weight he’d been carrying for far too long.

He didn’t spare the battlefield behind him so much as a glance. His focus was already ahead, drawn like gravity to the one place—and the one person—he wanted to be. His daughter was waiting. And that was all that mattered.

 

---

 

TAPOPS HQ – Cafeteria & Remote Locations

 

The feed did not cut when the last body fell.

It lingered.

Long enough for the silence to set in—not the kind that follows a clean victory, but the kind that feels like the air itself has been wrung out and left brittle.

Pian stood in the wreckage he’d made, blood slick across his shoulder, scratches painting his face and arms. His expression never shifted, but something in his posture—just a fraction looser—told those watching that, for him, it was over.

Not because the threat was gone.

Because he could finally go back to her.

In the cafeteria, no one spoke. Some agents hadn’t moved since the fight began, their knuckles pale from gripping their trays too tightly. Others sat frozen mid-bite, the food in their mouths tasting like nothing.

Kokoci’s eyes tracked Pian on the screen, hearing none of the cafeteria noise, seeing only the way the man’s breathing slowed as if the storm inside him had finally burned itself out.

And then Kokoci saw it—subtle, but unmistakable—the reason.

The relief of a man who’d just torn through five elite hunters without hesitation… simply because it meant he could go home to his “firefly” sooner.

His stomach churned.

It wasn’t victory that softened Pian’s stance—it was Fang.

And she was still at the same table, wiping sugar from her hands, utterly oblivious.

The agents shifted in their seats, the spell breaking only when the feed finally cut.

But the images stayed.

The sound of steel in silence.

The measured breathing of a man who had just kept a promise the galaxy didn’t even understand.

And across every corner of TAPOPS, one unspoken thought lingered—

If Admiral Maskmana could unleash that kind of storm for his “firefly,” what would he do to anyone who tried to take her away?

Across the galaxy, Kaizo replayed the final moments. Pian cutting down the last shadow, standing over the corpses without even glancing at them. That same cold focus… but now quiet, controlled.

“Damn it,” Kaizo muttered, pulling his hood up as if it would block out the image. He’d seen that look before—on people who didn’t just win fights, they ended them for good.

If Pian was smiling inside, Kaizo knew why.

And it made his chest tighten.

“Hold on, Fang…”

On the beach, Amato set the tablet down, screen going black against the table. His drink sat untouched. Boboiboy and Suraiya’s voices seemed distant, muffled under the weight of what he’d just seen.

He’d watched Pian at his most dangerous before.

He’d watched him come back from the brink.

But he’d never seen him like this—not fighting for a mission, not for orders, but for something personal. Something untouchable.

Suraiya glanced at him. “It’s over?”

He nodded slowly. “For them, yeah.” He paused, eyes on the horizon. “For everyone else… I’m not so sure.”

Amato’s hand hovered over the tablet for a moment longer before he finally pushed it aside. The salt wind brushed past him, but it didn’t cool the tight pull in his chest.

His wife, sitting beside him, noticed. “You’re thinking about him.”

“Yeah.” His voice was low, almost swallowed by the waves. “I think… I want to go see Pian. I need to know what happened.”

From a few meters away, Boboiboy’s ears perked. He was pretending to build a sand tower with MechaBot, but his head shot up at the familiar name.

“Aiyah’s going to see Uncle Pian?!” the boy blurted out, eyes wide with sudden excitement. “Then I wanna go too!”

Before Amato could answer, Suraiya stood quickly, brushing sand from her dress. “Alright, alright—this is a talk for home. We still have to pack, remember?” Her tone was light but final, her gaze telling Amato this wasn’t the place for that discussion.

Boboiboy opened his mouth to argue, but Suraiya was already herding him toward the car. “Come on, champ. You can tell Uncle Pian all about your sandcastle if we get going now.”

Amato lingered a moment longer, watching the horizon, before following them inside—carrying the decision in his chest like a sealed envelope.

 

---

 

TAPOPS HQ

 

Fang giggled happily at eating her favorite food, powdered sugar falling onto her lap, utterly oblivious to the chaos that had unfolded in her name. 

She reached for another donut, her small fingers sinking into the paper bag—only to pause when Kokoci suddenly spoke. 

“Fang,” Kokoci said quietly, a stiffness in his voice. “Come with me.”

She blinked, confused but obedient, sliding off the chair with her bag of donuts in hand. But as they walked past the other TAPOPS agents, she felt the shift—the air thickening, conversations stuttering into silence.

Eyes followed her. Not the usual curious glances she got as a new recruit’s sister—but sharper, searching, connecting invisible dots. Whispers hissed between agents.

“Is that…?” one voice murmured somewhere near a dining table.

“She’s the one.”

“You mean his?”

“Maskmana’s little shadow…” another agent whispered, the words almost reverent—almost afraid.

The murmurs spread like wildfire, traveling faster than any official memo. Everyone had heard stories—how far Maskmana would go for those he claimed as his. Protective wasn’t the right word; it was something sharper, something territorial.

And now, that child—the one sitting in the corner eating donuts just a minute ago—was walking right past them.

For a few agents who had quietly wished Kokoci would just send her away for “safety reasons,” the realization landed like a cold blade. Those thoughts suddenly seemed like the fastest way to a very short, unpleasant life. They swallowed hard, shoving the notion deep where it could never be voiced again.

Fang’s small steps slowed under the weight of the stares. She didn’t understand why the air felt so heavy now, why the smiles from earlier had vanished, replaced by stiff, unreadable expressions. The whispers weren’t clear, but the way people leaned back, giving her and Kokoci a wide berth, made her clutch the paper bag tighter against her chest.

The agents stepped aside without a word as Kokoci guided her forward, his hand lightly pressing her shoulder. The path to his office felt longer than usual, every bootstep echoing in the sudden hush.

Inwardly, Kokoci’s jaw was set. He could read the room without looking—every pair of eyes, every hushed breath. He’d have to keep her busy, keep her from asking too many questions before he arrived.

'Donuts wouldn’t hold her attention forever. Maybe let her doodle on the holo-board, or give her one of those encrypted puzzles. Something harmless, something that would make her feel normal until Admiral Maskmana walked through the door.'

He glanced back at her for a second. Fang’s brow was furrowed just a little, her lips pressed together.

“Don’t mind them,” Kokoci said softly, opening the office door for her. “They’re just… curious.”

She didn’t answer, just shuffled inside, the bag of donuts rustling in her grip like it was the only anchor she had.

 

---

 

Kokoci’s office door clicked shut behind them, muting the buzz of the TAPOPS floor.

Fang plopped into the chair across from his desk, swinging her legs and fishing another donut from her bag. Kokoci watched her for a moment, then deliberately reached for the drawer beside him and pulled out a stack of small puzzles and odd trinkets—one of many “emergency distraction kits” he kept for when he was bored.

“Ever tried this one?” he asked, holding up a mechanical puzzle cube.

Fang’s eyes lit up. “Oooh, is that the one that turns into a star?”

“Only if you’re clever enough,” Kokoci replied, setting it in front of her. While she poked at it, he slid a datapad closer, queuing up a harmless holo-documentary about rare starship creatures.

The minutes bled into hours. When she got bored with the puzzle after she learned its trick, he handed her a sketchpad. When she got restless, he let her help him “sort” a drawer full of mission badges—carefully keeping anything sharp or classified out of reach. Through it all, he kept the air light, never once mentioning the way the station had looked at her earlier. 

Two hours later, a sharp knock broke the quiet.

“Enter,” Kokoci called.

A captain stepped in, tablet in hand. “Commander, Admiral Maskmana is in the infirmary—” The man stopped mid-sentence as his eyes fell on Fang. 

She’d gone still, powdered sugar clinging to her fingers, a flicker of horror crossing her face at the words Admiral Maskmana and infirmary.

The captain visibly blanched. “Ah—uh—” A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. “My apologies, sir, didn’t realize—” He backpedaled so quickly he nearly tripped over his own boots. “I’ll… I’ll report back later.”

The door closed in a rush, leaving Kokoci and Fang in a bubble of tense silence.

Fang set the mission badges down with a quiet click.

“Commander…” Her voice was soft, but there was a brittle edge to it. “Can I go there? To see Cap?”

Kokoci leaned back in his chair, studying her. Every protocol in his head screamed that Maskmana would want her kept far away from the infirmary right now—for her sake, for everyone’s sake. But something in her face, that stubborn spark under the worry, told him she’d go whether he said yes or not.

He sighed, pushing himself to his feet. “Alright. But we’re going together.”

Her relief was almost imperceptible, just a quick loosening of her shoulders before she grabbed her bag and followed him to the door.

Out in the corridor, TAPOPS officers stepped aside without a word, eyes flicking between the two of them. Kokoci didn’t miss the subtle hush that followed them as they walked, nor the way Fang’s pace quickened the closer they got to the infirmary wing.

The faint antiseptic tang of the medbay hit before they even reached the door, mingling with the muted sounds of medics at work. Kokoci glanced at her once more before swiping his clearance card.

Inside, the lighting was soft and clinical, monitors humming quietly.

The moment Fang stepped through the threshold, heads turned. The two guards stationed inside stiffened, their gazes snapping to her like they’d just seen an armed bomb roll into the room. Without a word, they moved aside, practically flattening themselves against the wall to give her an unobstructed path.

One of the medics froze mid-instruction, then subtly nudged the others away from the center aisle. A hush rippled through the space, the usual chatter replaced by a tense, watchful silence. No one dared block her way.

At the far end, Pian sat on a medbed, his undersuit rolled down to the waist, his shoulder and face wrapped in fresh white bandages.

The faint scent of burnt plating still lingered around him—remnants of his armor, now lying dented and scorched on a nearby cart. His mask was set on the bed beside him, streaked but intact, and for once, his hair was perfectly clean—thankfully spared any blood.

He sat with a rigid patience, watching the medics finish their work with all the tolerance of a man whose mind was anywhere but here. Inwardly, though, a flicker of relief threaded through his irritation; at least Fang wasn’t here to see him like this. Not now.

One of the medics lingered by the tray, fidgeting as if weighing whether to speak. Pian’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“…What is it?” he asked, voice low.

The medic hesitated, avoiding his gaze. “Sir… I—uh… It’s probably nothing.”

“Spit it out,” Pian pressed.

A nervous swallow. “Your fight with the five hunters—it was broadcast. All TAPOPS feeds. Even the outer stations picked it up.”

Pian’s blood ran cold. He could feel his chest tighten—not from the injury. No. No, no, no. If she saw that—if she saw him like that—tearing through five armed hunters like they were nothing, blood in the air, eyes cold—she’d never look at him the same way again. She’d be afraid.

In his mind, the thought spiraled with the grim, helpless energy of a father bracing to lose his daughter.

'Idiot. You should’ve been more careful. Should’ve kept it contained. Should’ve made sure she never saw that side of you.'

He barely registered the medics stepping back until a shadow crossed the doorway.

He looked up.

And froze.

Fang stood there, framed by the light from the hall, Kokoci lingering just behind her. Her gaze swept over the room before finding him, landing squarely on his face.

His pulse stuttered.

For a breath, Pian didn’t move—didn’t dare to. He half-expected her to flinch, to turn, to bolt.

Instead, she ran.

Her footsteps hit the floor in quick, uneven bursts, and before he could even open his mouth, she barreled straight into him—arms wrapping around his leg with all the desperate force of someone afraid he might vanish if she let go.

The jolt rattled his injured shoulder, but it didn’t matter.

“Fang…” His voice came out rough, stunned, and—though he’d never admit it—just a little shaky.

She was crying, her small frame trembling against him. The tears soaked his undersuit, warm and urgent, carrying the full weight of a six-year-old’s pure, raw fear.

Something in his chest cracked wide open at the sound, and before reason could argue, he was bending down, ignoring the sharp pull in his side.

He scooped her up, holding her tight against him. Bandages and pain be damned. His good arm locked securely around her back, his other bracing her legs. Her face pressed against his neck, warm and damp from tears.

Fang’s breath hitched as she buried her face in his neck, her little hands clutching desperately, as if holding on to him was the only way to keep the world from breaking apart.

'Pops, don’t go away. Please don’t leave me.'

Her wide eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, had caught the scratches lining his face—thin, angry lines tracing his skin—and the fresh bandages wrapped tight around his shoulder. A panic like a storm swirled inside her chest.

'How could he be hurt like this? The mission was supposed to be easy. I thought Pops would be okay.'

Her mind was a jumble of worry and helplessness, but the biggest, loudest thought screamed in her heart. 'I can’t lose him. Not now. Not ever.'

Her fingers tightened their grip, trembling as if she could physically stop time by holding on.

One of the medics stepped forward, brows knitting in concern. “Sir, your shoulder—”

“Out,” Kokoci’s voice cut in, sharp and low. He didn’t even raise it, but the authority in his tone was enough to still the room. “Everyone out. Now.”

There was a flicker of hesitation—just long enough for Kokoci’s gaze to sweep over them with that cold precision that made people rethink their life choices—before the medics quickly gathered their tools and filed out.

Even the guards by the door exchanged glances before slipping away.

Kokoci lingered a moment longer, his eyes softening just a fraction as they flicked between the two of them. Then, without a word, he stepped back and closed the door behind him.

The infirmary was quiet now. Just the low hum of monitors and the faint sound of Fang’s uneven, shaky breathing—slowly calming—and Pian’s steady heartbeat beneath her ear.

Inside, Pian felt a flood of relief wash through him, like a dam breaking after a long, brutal siege. He’d thought he was going to lose her—the daughter who was more precious to him than any mission or victory.

He tightened his hold, careful despite the sharp pain flaring in his shoulder. Every tremble of her small body pressed against him was a reminder of what mattered most.

For the first time since the fight, Pian let out a long, unguarded breath. His hold didn’t loosen. Not even a little.

Fang’s cries trembled at first—raw and desperate—but slowly, beneath the steady beat of Pian’s heartbeat against her cheek, they began to soften. Her breath evened out, ragged sobs fading into quiet hiccups.

Pian’s voice was low and steady, a quiet anchor in the sterile infirmary air.

“Hey… It’s okay now. I’m here. You’re safe.”

He brushed a trembling hand gently along her hair, careful not to jar his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She sniffled, pulling back just enough to peer up at him with watery eyes—still red-rimmed, but calmer now.

“Pops…” Her voice was tentative, a whisper that caught him like a sudden warmth in the cold.

Pian froze, the word hanging in the air between them like something sacred.

His mind staggered— 'Did she just call me Pops?'

His heart clenched and soared all at once, a fierce swell of something so deep it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. It was more than a name. It was trust. It was belonging. It was the fragile joy of being needed beyond the battlefield, beyond the title, beyond everything he’d fought to protect.

Her gaze dropped for a moment, cheeks flushed, but the word had slipped out, unguarded and real.

“Why… why are you hurt?” she asked, her small fingers brushing the bandages on his shoulder, tracing the scratches on his face. “The mission was supposed to be easy. Why… why did you get hurt, Pops?”

The word echoed in his chest, filling a hollow space he hadn’t known was empty until now.

He swallowed hard, struggling to keep his voice steady. “Sometimes… even easy missions don’t go the way we expect.”

Her brows furrowed, confusion knitting her small face. “But… I thought you were strong. You always are.”

Pian let out a short, dry laugh, the kind that carries both pride and a pinch of pain. “I’m strong because I have to be—for you.”

She blinked up at him, a soft smile breaking through the lingering tears, fragile but real.

Inside him, emotions were roiling beneath the surface. Then, voice soft but teasing, he asked, “Pops, huh? What happened to ‘Cap’? Is it not good enough for you?”

Fang’s cheeks flushed pink, and she looked down shyly, fiddling with the bandages on his shoulder. “Do you… Do you hate it?” she asked quietly, eyes flicking up.

“Of course not,” Pian said immediately, voice warm and full of something tender that rarely broke through his usual stoicism.

She hesitated, then shrugged, a small smile teasing the edges of her lips. “It just… felt right.”

He laughed softly, the sound rough but genuine. Holding her closer, he whispered, “It suits you. And it suits me.”

And in that moment, hearing his firefly call him “Pops” for the first time, Pian felt something shift deep inside. 

A fierce, overwhelming joy that no battle scar could ever dull.

He tightened his hold around her, voice thick but full of warmth.

“Thank you for calling me that.”

Fang giggled quietly, snuggling closer, blissfully unaware of the flood of emotion her simple word had unleashed in the man who would move mountains—no, entire galaxies—to keep her safe.

The infirmary had grown quiet—only the faint hum of the ship’s systems and the soft, rhythmic sound of Fang’s breathing filled the space.

Pian let himself sink into the moment, the kind of fragile peace that felt like it could shatter if he moved too quickly.

His hand absently traced small circles along her back, mind drifting—not to the mission, not to the pain in his shoulder, but to the warmth of the small figure curled against him.

It wasn’t until Fang shifted slightly, her sharp gaze catching the faint wince he tried to hide, that she frowned.

“Your shoulder…” she murmured. “It’s hurting you.”

Pian blinked down at her, startled. “It’s fine, Firefly. Don’t—”

“Put me beside you,” she interrupted, firm in a way that made her sound older than she was.

That caught him off guard. “What? Why?”

“Just do it,” she insisted.

He hesitated, then sighed in defeat—because really, when had he ever been able to say no to her? Carefully, he set her beside him on the bed, expecting she’d want to give him space.

Instead, she surprised him again—pressing a small hand to his chest and nudging until he eased down onto his uninjured shoulder. Before he could even protest, she curled herself right back into his arms, tucking her head under his chin as though she’d never left.

For a moment, he could only stare at her in quiet wonder before a slow, warm smile spread across his face.

“Well,” he murmured, voice low with amusement, “looks like I’ve got myself a little nurse.”

Fang’s cheeks flushed a soft pink at the teasing, and she glanced up shyly, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Maybe I’m just practicing,” she whispered, her voice playful but gentle. “So I can take care of you when you’re really old.”

Pian laughed quietly, the sound warm and full of affection.

“Well, if that’s the case, Nurse Fang, I think I’m in good hands.”

The quiet returned, settling over them like a soft cloak. Fang’s breathing slowed, her eyelids fluttering shut as sleep gently claimed her. Pian watched her, every rise and fall of her chest a steady rhythm that grounded him.

He felt himself beginning to drift toward the same peaceful rest—until a sharp knock echoed softly on the infirmary door, pulling him back to the moment.

“This is Commander Kokoci,” came the quiet voice from outside. “Admiral, I would like to talk to you.”

Pian’s arm tightened slightly around Fang as he sat up slowly, reluctant to break the fragile calm but ready to face whatever was coming next.

His voice came low and steady, barely more than a whisper.

“Come in, Commander. But be quiet… Fang’s asleep.”

The door eased open with a soft creak, and Kokoci stepped inside, closing it carefully behind him. His eyes flicked immediately to Fang, curled against Pian, her chest rising and falling in peaceful slumber.

He nodded silently, lowering his voice even further.

“Understood, Admiral.”

Kokoci moved with practiced caution, settling into a chair a respectful distance away. His gaze was sharp but gentle as he met Pian’s.

“What is it you wanted to talk about?” Pian asked quietly, still careful not to shift too much.

Kokoci took a slow breath, weighing his words.

“It’s about the fallout from the fight—the broadcast, the attention it’s drawn. Things are… changing, and fast. There are questions you’ll need to answer, decisions you’ll have to make.”

He paused, glancing once more at Fang before returning his focus to Pian.

“I wanted to warn you—before the rest of TAPOPS catches up.”

Pian’s jaw tightened, the weight of it settling over him like a second injury. Yet beneath it all, the steady presence of Fang at his side gave him strength.

“I appreciate the warning, Commander,” he said quietly. “We’ll face it… together.”

Kokoci shifted slightly, lowering his voice even further, careful not to disturb the quiet rhythm of Fang’s breathing.

“You know, Admiral, Fang’s been training with me for a while now. Her strategic skills are almost at the level of a lance corporal. She’s not just picking this up—she’s mastering it.”

He glanced at Pian with a knowing look.

“She’s even handling some high-level paperwork these days. I suspect a certain influence.”

Pian’s lips curled into a cheeky grin, eyes twinkling despite the tension.

“That sounds about right. She won’t stop until she gets what she wants.”

Kokoci offered a silent nod, holding up a battered wallet as unspoken proof.

“Maybe it’s time,” Kokoci continued, “we give her a proper training for her age. Before she starts experimenting with explosives just to kill her boredom.”

Pian chuckled softly, the image somehow both alarming and endearing.

“Honestly, I think that’s adorable.”

He glanced down at Fang, still peacefully asleep, and felt a fierce protectiveness settle over him once more.

“We’ll keep her safe. And maybe give her a little more responsibility before she blows us all up.”

Kokoci sees the little shadow of worry in Pian, understanding where it is from, and tells him.

“You’re lucky, Admiral. Fang never saw the fight broadcast.”

Pian’s chest tightened, a surge of overwhelming relief washing over him like a wave.

“Thank the stars,” he breathed, voice thick with gratitude. “She doesn’t need to carry that fear.”

Kokoci nodded, eyes shadowed but steady.

“She’s sharp, but still just a kid. Let her keep some of that innocence a little longer.”

Pian’s gaze softened as he looked down at Fang’s sleeping form, the weight of the battle outside this room slipping away—if only for now.

Kokoci glanced at Pian and noticed the heavy lids and the slow, steady breathing that came with exhaustion. He straightened up and gave a small, understanding nod.

“You look like you could use some rest, Admiral. I’ll leave you to it. Get some sleep—you and Fang both deserve it.”

Pian managed a tired smile, voice soft but sincere.

“Thank you, Commander. For everything.”

With a quiet click, Kokoci slipped toward the door, pausing briefly to glance back at the sleeping pair.

“Goodnight, both of you.”

As the door closed gently behind him, Pian settled deeper into the infirmary bed, careful not to disturb Fang as she remained curled in his arms. The quiet hum of the ship enveloped them, and before long, his own breathing slowed and evened out, drifting into the peaceful rest he hadn’t allowed himself in too long.

 

---

 

In Amato's Household

 

Suraiya leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Mechabot playfully chase after Boboiboy, who was giggling as he dodged his uncle Mimi’s gentle attempts to tag him. The soft clatter of their laughter filled the cozy space, a stark contrast to the heaviness that had settled over the rest of the galaxy.

Amato rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze distant. “I want to go see Pian,” he said quietly, voice low so it wouldn’t carry into the living room. “But I’m worried about taking Boboiboy with me. Pian’s in a rough state, and I’m not sure how he’d handle having the boy around.”

Suraiya’s eyes softened as she looked at her husband. “He’s not going to be alone, Amato. Boboiboy and Mechabot are coming with us. We’ll keep him safe, and having them there might help more than you think.”

Amato shook his head, conflicted. “I get that, but Boboiboy gets restless, loud. And Pian… he’s barely holding it together. I don’t want to add to his burden.”

Suraiya frowned, crossing her arms. “But what exactly happened to Pian? You haven’t told me much. How bad is it?”

Amato sighed, hesitating. “It was a fight. Five hunters. Elite. He took them all on alone. Came back injured—bandages, scratches. But there’s something more… something in how he’s carrying it. Like it’s not just the fight that’s weighing on him.”

Suraiya’s brow furrowed deeper. “And we don’t know why? No one’s said anything?”

“Nothing concrete,” Amato admitted. “Just that it’s personal. That this isn’t some mission gone wrong.”

A tense silence stretched between them, broken only by Boboiboy’s joyful yells and Mechabot’s soft beeps.

Suraiya softened again, her voice dropping low so their son wouldn’t overhear. “Then we’ll all go together. Boboiboy, Mechabot—none of us will leave him alone. Pian needs us, and we’ll be there.”

Amato looked at her, surprised, then tried to protest, “Suraiya, it’s not—”

She cut him off with a small, determined smile. “We can keep it quiet. Just between us. He needs all the support we can give.”

He sighed, the weight of his worries easing just a bit. “Alright,” he finally said, a hint of gratitude in his voice. “We go together.”

Suraiya smiled warmly, squeezing his hand. “Together.”

She glanced toward the living room, where Boboiboy and Mechabot were still playfully chasing each other. Her voice carried a warm authority as she called out, “Boboiboy! Mechabot! Get ready—we’re going to see Uncle Pian!”

Boboiboy’s eyes immediately lit up, his grin spreading wide as he jumped to his feet. “Really? We’re going to see Uncle Pian? Yay!” He spun around excitedly, nearly knocking into Mechabot, who cheered as well, twirling in a little circle.

Suraiya smiled and headed over to Boboiboy, gently taking his hand. “Come on, little explorer, we need to get you changed for the trip.” She led him to the bedroom, helping him swap his comfortable play clothes for something a bit more practical for travel—soft pants and a warm jacket. Boboiboy chatted nonstop about what he wanted to tell Uncle Pian, his excitement bubbling over.

Meanwhile, Mechabot zipped around the room, efficiently gathering small bags and supplies. Amato stood nearby, methodically packing essentials for the long trip—medical kits, snacks, communication devices—making sure nothing was forgotten.

“Got the emergency kit, snacks, and extra batteries,” Amato said, checking items off on a small handheld device.

Suraiya returned with Boboiboy, who was now fully ready, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “All set!” he declared proudly.

Outside, the sleek spaceship landed softly nearby, its engines humming steadily.

Amato moved to the console, tapping a few commands to finalize the ship’s readiness. “Alright, team,” Suraiya said with a wink, her hand resting on Boboiboy’s shoulder. “Let’s bring some light to Uncle Pian’s day.”

Boboiboy and Mechabot cheered again, excitedly, ready for the journey ahead.

 

---

 

The sleek ship touched down smoothly at TAPOPS HQ, its engines humming low as the ramp lowered. Suraiya helped Boboiboy and Mechabot step out first, their eager chatter filling the sterile air—Boboiboy excitedly recounting stories of their trip, Mechabot hummed softly as it listened attentively.

But as the adults followed behind, the mood shifted sharply. The usual bustle of the base felt heavier, charged with a quiet tension that even Boboiboy’s lively voice couldn’t break.

Amato’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the faces of the passing agents—tight lips, wary glances, purposeful avoidance. He stopped one agent, voice steady but probing. “What’s going on here? I thought it was just an info extraction mission.”

The agent’s expression tightened. “Sorry, Admiral MechAmato, Commander Kokoci issued a direct order: no one is to discuss the situation openly.”

Amato frowned, not satisfied. He approached another nearby agent, repeating his question. The answer was the same, firm and unwavering.

“Not even with me?” Amato pressed again to a third agent, who avoided his gaze and simply said, “If you want answers, you’ll have to ask Admiral Maskmana himself. He’s in the infirmary now.”

Suraiya’s eyes flickered with concern. She leaned toward Amato and murmured, “Sounds like it’s worse than we thought.”

Mechabot’s red light dimmed for a moment before it spoke softly, voice calm but serious. “This tension… It’s not just protocol. Something’s deeply wrong. We should prepare for whatever we find.”

Boboiboy’s chatter slowed, sensing the change in atmosphere as the adults exchanged heavy looks. The excitement of the journey gave way to the gravity of what awaited them inside TAPOPS HQ.

The group moved through the corridors of TAPOPS HQ, the usual hum of activity muted beneath an undercurrent of tension that grew heavier with every step.

Even seasoned agents cast furtive glances, their movements hurried but subdued—like shadows trying not to disturb a fragile calm. Amato’s jaw clenched slightly as the weight pressed in on him, a silent reminder that whatever had happened to Pian was far more serious than any of them wanted to admit.

As they reached the infirmary entrance, Amato stepped forward, voice calm but edged with urgency. “Where is Pian?” The question felt simple, but the answer carried the weight of the moment, as if the whole place was holding its breath.

A medic nearby pointed wordlessly down the hall. “This way,” she said softly, eyes flickering with respect and something heavier—worry.

Behind his parents, Boboiboy’s small hand tightened around Mechabot’s arm.

His chest pounded, thoughts swirling, 'Is Uncle okay? Is he hurt badly?' Without waiting for permission, propelled by a fearless urgency only a child possessed, he bolted ahead.

“Boboiboy, wait!” Suraiya’s voice cracked with concern, while Mechabot’s mechanical tones rose in worried protest.

But the six-year-old was already at the door. With a bold push, he swung it open and shouted, “Uncle Pian!” The innocence and hope in his voice sliced through the thick tension like a beam of light.

Inside, the sudden noise shattered the fragile stillness. Pian, half-asleep and still cradling Fang in his arms, jerked awake. His eyes fluttered open, bleary and confused, before landing on Boboiboy’s eager face.

“Hey, Boya,” Pian murmured, voice hoarse and thick with exhaustion, yet carrying a warmth that belied the pain beneath. But beneath that warmth, a sharp panic flared up inside him—the instinct to protect. His arms instinctively tightened around Fang, pulling her closer as his gaze flicked anxiously between her and the boy.

Boboiboy stepped closer, eyes wide as they fell on Fang—rubbing her eyes, yawning softly, nestling deeper into Pian’s embrace. Questions tumbled through the boy’s mind in a rush, 'Why is Uncle hurt? Who is this girl? Why does she and Uncle look close?'

Before Boboiboy could voice any of his swirling questions, the door swung open again with a rush as Amato, Suraiya, and Mechabot hurried in, faces etched with relief and lingering worry.

Amato’s gaze locked onto Pian and Fang, a flicker of recognition flashing through his tired eyes. 'Is this the girl Pian mentioned? The one he is training her brother?' He folded the thought away, knowing now was not the time for questions.

“Boboiboy!” Suraiya’s voice softened as she stepped forward to scoop him into a gentle hug, her heart aching at his boldness but grateful he was safe. “You scared us.”

Yet her gaze shifted to Fang, her concern growing. 'Huh? Who is this kid that Pian is holding so protectively?'

Mechabot’s voice cut through the silence, calm but firm. “Everyone needs to calm down.” Behind the measured tone, his internal systems scanned Pian’s injuries and state— 'Bandaged shoulder, scratched face, labored breaths—and concluded the obvious: Pian was barely holding on.'

The room settled again into fragile quiet, the fragile reunion steeped in unspoken fears and hope. But beneath the surface, tension still coiled like a sleeping beast neither dared wake.

Boboiboy’s curiosity spilled over, bright and unfiltered. Before Amato could even open his mouth, the boy blurted out, “Uncle Pian, who’s this you’re holding?”

Meanwhile, Fang’s thoughts churned quietly beneath her shy exterior. 'Who are these people? How do they know Pops?' The strange faces, their hurried steps, the worried looks—it all made her clutch Pian tighter, seeking shelter in the only safe place she knew.

When all eyes turned to Fang. Her cheeks flamed a deep pink, and instinctively, she buried her face deeper into Pian’s neck, seeking refuge in his embrace.

Pian’s heart clenched fiercely at the question. A surge of protectiveness flooded him, the quiet panic from moments before sharpening. His arms tightened, shielding Fang instinctively.

But beneath that fierce guard, an unexpected swell of pride rose. 'This is one hell of an introduction to my best friend and his family,' he thought, forcing a weary smile. His little shadow—his firefly—was more than just family. She was his anchor, his hope.

As the room held its breath, caught between unspoken fears and the fragile bonds of love, Pian silently vowed to protect this fragile light—no matter the cost.

Pian shifted slightly, cradling Fang a little more securely as he cleared his throat. “This here,” he began softly, “is Fang.”

The girl peeked out from behind his shoulder, cheeks still pink, and gave a shy wave—small fingers trembling slightly in the unfamiliar presence of strangers.

Before anyone could stop him, Boboiboy’s eyes sparkled with bold excitement. With a burst of energy, he climbed onto the bed and stretched out his hand toward Fang. “Hi! I’m Boboiboy,” he said proudly. 

Fang hesitated for a heartbeat, then slowly turned in Pian’s arms, reaching out to shake Boboiboy’s hand. Her voice was quiet but steady. “Nice to meet you.”

Boboiboy’s eyes shone bright with curiosity as he grinned and leaned closer to Fang, still perched in Pian’s arms. “So, Fang, what’s your favorite color? Do you like space adventures? I have a mech that can do flips!”

Fang blinked, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her shyness. “I like purple,” she murmured, her fingers fidgeting slightly. “And I like quiet places… but flips sound fun.”

Boboiboy beamed, clearly delighted. “Me too! Maybe we can go on an adventure together someday!”

She gave a tiny nod, warmth spreading through her chest at the boy’s infectious enthusiasm.

Pian chuckled softly, gently settling Fang more comfortably. “This little guy’s my nephew—always full of questions and energy.”

He gestured toward the others still lingering in the room. “That’s Amato, Suraiya, and Mechabot.”

The adults smiled, easing into the quieter rhythm of the room as they took their seats, the earlier tension softening with each small connection.

Amato shook his head with a smirk and then playfully smacked Pian lightly on the top of his head—not enough to hurt, but loud enough to make Pian flinch and exclaim, “Ow!”

“Really, Pian? How the heck did you manage to scare us like that?” Amato teased, voice dripping with mock frustration but warm beneath it. “After that show, there you are, out there looking like you just wrestled a cyclone and lost. You could’ve given me a heart attack! You owe me at least three counseling sessions for the stress, you know that?”

Pian rubbed the spot Amato had tapped, shooting him a sheepish grin. “Yeah, well… maybe I like keeping things interesting.”

Amato rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his lips. “Interesting? More like reckless. You’re supposed to be the tough, invincible uncle, not the drama magnet. How am I supposed to brag about you now without sounding like I’m talking about a disaster zone, from the broadcast?”

Pian’s eyes widened, realization dawning. “Oh... so you saw it.”

He sheepishly chuckled. “Sorry about that.”

Before Amato could respond, Fang slipped out of Pian’s arms with surprising quickness, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes with a playful but firm resolve.

'No matter who these people are,' she thought fiercely, 'no one yells at Pops.'

Her voice, steady and clear, cut through the tension. “Stop yelling at my Pops.”

The room fell silent, the words landing like a spark that ignited realization.

Both Amato and Suraiya’s eyes locked and widened, their minds racing — Fang had just called Pian “Pops.”

They exchanged a knowing look, the gears turning rapidly as they absorbed the weight of that small, intimate title.

Meanwhile, Pian’s cheeks flushed, a faint glow creeping across his face. The word settled warmly in his chest — a quiet but powerful confirmation of the bond they all felt but hadn’t yet dared to say aloud.

Fang, unaware of the ripples her words had caused, felt a quiet satisfaction bloom inside. To her, it was simple and clear: no matter who these strangers were, Pops was hers, and she would stand by him.

The room held its breath again, but this time, the air was softer — filled with a fragile, growing hope.

Pian reached out with a mischievous grin and ruffled Fang’s hair gently, his fingers messing up her already tousled locks. “Thanks, Firefly. But I think it’s about time we head to eat. You and I haven’t had dinner yet.”

Almost on cue, both Fang and Boboiboy’s stomachs let out embarrassingly loud growls, echoing through the quiet infirmary like an overenthusiastic alarm. The sudden chorus of hunger drew amused chuckles from the adults.

Meanwhile, Mechabot had taken it upon himself to embark on a one-robot mission: find a shirt for Pian. The red power sphere zipped to the infirmary closet and immediately began what could only be described as a miniature tornado of chaos.

Hangers clanged, clothes flew, and the sound of frantic rustling filled the room. A shirt sleeve suddenly whipped out, smacking Amato squarely in the face like an unexpected slap from a ghost. Before he could react, a neatly folded stack of linens bounced off Pian’s cheek, making him blink in surprise.

Suraiya, quick as a cat, dodged a flying sock that zoomed past her head and narrowed her eyes. Her temper flared instantly. “Mechabot!” she snapped in that unmistakable motherly tone — the one that instantly says, You’re in so much trouble right now.

Mechabot froze mid-rummage, then shuddered dramatically as it let out a high-pitched squeal of "I'm sorry", almost like a puppy caught chewing on the couch. Fang and Boboiboy couldn’t help but burst into laughter, their amusement ringing through the room.

Suraiya shook her head, half amused, half exasperated. “Honestly, you’re lucky you’re cute.”

After regaining some semblance of order, Suraiya pulled out a crisp, clean shirt from the chaos and handed it to Amato, who carefully helped Pian slip into it. Every careful movement was a small battle, trying not to irritate the injured shoulder.

Amato tugged the sleeve over Pian’s injured arm, his fingers pressing just a bit too hard. Pian flinched, a sharp wince cutting through his usually calm demeanor.

“Amato!” he snapped, eyes narrowing with mock accusation. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to kill me. Are you sure you’re not secretly auditioning for ‘Best Villain’?”

Amato grinned mischievously, not missing a beat. “Oh, come on, Pian. You love the attention. Admit it—you’re just enjoying the chance to be pampered.”

Pian shot him a glare that was more playful than angry. “Pampered? I’m a battle-hardened veteran, not some royal spoiled brat.”

Amato chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Sure, sure. Next thing you’ll tell me is that you don’t like being waited on hand and foot.”

The kids giggled, Suraiya rolled her eyes with a smile, and Mechabot’s mechanical laughter burst out loud and clear, his red body shaking as it pointed animatedly between the two friends like a referee in a friendly sparring match.

“Perhaps,” Mechabot beeped in amusement, “Admiral Pian secretly enjoys being the center of attention… even if he won’t admit it.”

Pian threw Amato a mock glare but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Fine, maybe I do like it a little. But only because you make a terrible nurse.”

Amato feigned offense. “Terrible nurse? I’ll have you know I’m excellent at this—just ask my extensive fan club.” He gestured dramatically at the kids, who burst into laughter once more.

The teasing camaraderie filled the room, chasing away the heaviness that had settled over them all.

Pian sighed, shaking his head with fondness. “Thanks, you two. You’re lifesavers.”

Amato grinned. “Anytime, Pops. Just don’t make me do it again without proper hazard pay.”

Once dressed, Pian crouched down and gently steadied Boboiboy and Fang with one hand as they clumsily climbed off the bed, making sure neither of the two little bundles of energy took a tumble.

“It’s best if we head to my ship,” Pian said softly, his voice dropping to a tone that only the adults and Mechabot fully understood — equal parts command and quiet concern. “I’ll have food delivered there.”

Boboiboy’s eyes lit up, and Fang nodded eagerly, their earlier hunger forgotten in the excitement of the plan.

The adults exchanged knowing glances, the weight behind Pian’s words hanging in the air. This wasn’t just about grabbing a meal—it was about finding a place of peace and quiet, away from the sterile tension of the base.

Mechabot, seemingly sensing the gravity, gave a solemn nod as if to say, Understood.

And with that, the little group began making their way out, the promise of food—and maybe a bit of comfort—leading the way.

 

---

 

The group stepped aboard Pian’s personal ship, a sleek, well-used vessel that bore the marks of countless battles yet was maintained with quiet care. The familiar hum of the ship’s engines wrapped around them like a shield as they sat in the living area, the faint scent of electronics and oil offered a small comfort—a refuge from the heaviness they’d left behind.

Fang and Boboiboy quickly found a corner to play, their laughter and excited chatter weaving fragile threads of lightness through the ship’s metallic walls. They chased each other around, exchanged stories in bursts of giggles, and occasionally peeked at the adults with bright, curious eyes—unaware of the deeper storm that swirled beneath the surface.

Meanwhile, the adults settled near Pian, who sat with a quiet weariness but an intensity in his gaze that refused to waver. Suraiya, Amato, and Mechabot leaned in as Pian began to explain, his voice low and steady, but laced with an emotion none of them could ignore.

“It wasn’t just the fight,” Pian said, eyes shadowed by the memory. “During the mission, something felt... wrong with Fang. I couldn’t shake it. My gut was screaming at me to get us out of there fast.”

He ran a hand through his hair, the ache behind his calm exterior flickering through. “I tried to leave, but the pirates kept coming—waves of them. It was like they knew I was trying to return to her. I didn’t want to fight, not like that, but they left me no choice.”

Suraiya’s brow furrowed, her voice quiet but firm. “And the last five pirate captains?”

Pian nodded slowly, the weight of the memory evident. “They were the last straw. That’s when I snapped. I fought harder than I should have, because I had to. For Fang.”

Amato let out a slow breath, his chest tightening. No wonder the broadcast was so intense, so desperate. Watching Pian’s eyes darken with protective fire made him realize just how deep the bond ran—and how much Pian had changed. This was no longer just a comrade or friend. This was a father, fierce and unyielding in his defense.

Suraiya exchanged a glance with Amato, the same thought unspoken between them: Pian was becoming a full-on protective father. It was written in the way his voice faltered with worry, the way his body seemed to carry not just injuries but the weight of constant vigilance.

Mechabot’s tone was quieter but no less certain. “His reaction wasn’t reckless. It was protective. Calculated in its own way.” The sphere’s mechanical eyes flickered thoughtfully, analyzing the data with care. “Pian is adapting to a new role—one that demands more than just strength.”

The soft chime of the food call interrupted the heavy silence, a welcome reminder of simpler needs. A small smile flickered across Pian’s face as he glanced toward the kids, now tangled in a playful pile on the floor.

“Looks like it’s time to refuel all of us—not just the ship,” he said gently.

As the group relaxed just a bit, the heaviness softened, replaced by the fragile comfort of shared food and quiet bonds—a moment of peace carved out amid the chaos.

For Amato and Suraiya, it was a bittersweet reassurance that while the battles outside raged on, inside this ship, family was fiercely protecting each other—sometimes in ways words couldn’t fully capture.

Amato and Mechabot moved toward the small galley, ready to retrieve the food that had been ordered. The scent of warm meals soon filled the ship’s cabin, a comforting contrast to the sterile tension they’d left behind.

Back in the main area, Suraiya was already setting the table with quiet determination. Pian, still seated but restless, tried to shift uncomfortably, the injured shoulder protesting every move.

“I’m fine,” Pian muttered, attempting to rise, but Suraiya was having none of it.

“No, you’re not,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Sit down and stay put.”

Pian opened his mouth to protest again, but Suraiya cut him off with a sharp look and a knowing smile. “Fang! Boboiboy! Come here.”

The two kids immediately scampered over, curious and eager. Suraiya’s voice softened but remained firm. “Sit on Uncle Pian’s lap—and don’t let him move.”

Pian’s eyes widened, half-amused, half-exasperated. 'Great,' he thought, 'now I’m a human throne.'

Suraiya’s internal logic was clear: she knew Pian couldn’t comfortably carry both kids with his injury, but the kids insisted, and she wanted to make sure Pian rested. She wasn’t about to argue with them—or with him.

As Fang and Boboiboy settled onto his lap, giggling and jostling gently, Pian sighed, leaning back into the seat with a resigned smile.

“Well,” he said softly, “I guess this is where I stay for now.”

Boboiboy looked up at him with wide, earnest eyes. “Uncle Pian, you must rest, okay?”

Fang nodded eagerly beside him. “Yeah, Pops, listen to Oboi!”

Pian raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “Oboi, huh? That’s a new one.”

Fang puffed out her chest proudly. “I made it up! Since all of you call me ‘Boya’ or ‘Boi,’ I wanted a special nickname for him.”

Boboiboy grinned and nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! Because I’m her very first friend, so I deserve something special!”

Pian chuckled softly, the warmth in his eyes deepening. “Alright then, Oboi, it is. Just promise me you two won’t make it any harder to rest, okay?”

The kids giggled, settling in tighter as the soft hum of the ship wrapped around them all.

And Pian just wanted to stay in this very moment.

Notes:

Okay folks, this dragged out longer than I thought hope this answers people's thoughts on why Fang calls Pian, 'Pops'. This honestly came in a drunk moment of inspiration, took me two whole days without drafts to finish part one, so I hope you all liked Fang's part. The rest of the Amato's household visit will be done in Kaizo's part since my mother is literally going to kill me for how long I spend writing, locked in my room. Please tell me what you think in the comments. I really appreciate it.