Yulian’s eyes bore into Michelle’s. "Elliot doesn’t have that burden in the first place, and we’ve made sure that he wouldn’t have any in the future. That’s how we’ve kept him safe."

Michelle’s hands clenched into fists on the table. "That’s just—that’s just sophistry, big brother! I can’t believe you’re all in on this. You’re supposed to be the reasonable one!"

Christian, who had been silent throughout the exchange, set down his glass with enough force to make it click against the table. He looked at everyone as if making his statement.

He firmly said, "We have let Elliot live as he pleased. We’ve given him freedom, opportunities, and a normal life. This and only this is the only thing we will keep from him. And that’s final."

"I don’t understand you people!" Michelle’s chair scraped back violently as she stood. Her silver hair swirled around her as she spun on her heel. "I don’t understand any of you!"

She stormed away from the table, her footsteps heavy on the stairs as she retreated to her room. The sound of her throwing furniture nearby echoed through the house.

For a moment, silence reigned.

Then Michael snorted again, stabbing at his food with perhaps more force than necessary.

"Just let her be," Yustina said quietly, though her shoulders sagged slightly. "She’s already old enough to know these things. She should know better by now."

"Right, just let her throw a tantrum," Michael muttered, his tone acidic. "It’s not like we don’t know she likes Elliot more than her own blood family. Sometimes I really don’t understand why you don’t just kick her out and be done with it."

"Michael." Yulian’s voice carried a warning note.

"What? It’s true."

"That’s not helping anyone." Yulian pushed his own plate away, clearly losing his appetite. "You’d better focus on your studies instead of starting more arguments. There are only three days left before you return to the Military Academy. Three days to get your wits in order."

Michael shrugged with indifference. "Whatever. I’m done anyway."

He stood, threw his dishes into the sink, and headed up towards his room.

The dining room felt empty with only three of them remaining. Yulian rubbed his temples, feeling the start of a headache.

"I should take my leave too," he said, checking his light brain. "I don’t want to be late for Dr. Chen’s lecture. He’s already strict enough without giving him reason."

Christian’s expression changed to concern.

"Stop by your uncle’s on the way. Get another dose of those special inhibitors. You can’t let anyone at the university know you’re an alpha." His voice dropped lower, more serious. "You know what would happen if they found out. Especially now."

"I know, Dad." Yulian pulled up his messaging interface right there at the table, his fingers moving quickly across the holographic keyboard.

"I’m messaging Uncle and Thiago now. See?" He flipped his light brain’s holographic screen display so his parents could see. "I’ll pick up the inhibitors before I head to campus."

Christian and Yustina both visibly relaxed, though the tension never fully left their shoulders.

It was always there, Yulian thought to himself.

"Be careful," Yustina said softly, reaching out to squeeze her son’s hand. "Please."

"Always am." Yulian squeezed back, then stood, gathering his things.

As he headed toward the door, he paused, looking back at his parents sitting together in the now-too-empty dining room.

"We’ll find him," Yulian said quietly. "I promise."

Christian’s smile was sad. "Don’t make promises you can’t keep, son."

Yulian didn’t respond to that. He simply nodded once and left, the door sealing shut behind him with a soft hiss.

In the sudden silence, Christian and Yustina sat together, hands clasped across the table.

...

Night settled over Planet Xylos, marking the sixth night. Neville sprawled across his bed, face buried in his pillow, his silver hair sticking up at odd angles.

Grayson sat in the chair by the small desk, Neville’s laptop open before him. The pale light from the screen reflected in his silver eyes as his fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard. The soft clacking sound wasn’t something he was used to, but he didn’t mind. He only cared whether it would disturb Neville’s sleep.

"I can’t believe you still haven’t figured out the clues I left," he murmured, his voice barely louder than a breath.

His gaze moved toward the bed. Neville had kicked half the blanket away and curled on his side, one arm tucked beneath the pillow.

Grayson exhaled through his nose; the sound was somewhere between a sigh and a quiet laugh. "If you’re this slow, how can you protect your mate?"

The words hung in the air, unheard.

He turned back to the laptop, his fingers flying faster than before as he compiled data, encrypted files, and arranged the information in a specific order—nonsensical to most, but meaningful to the one he intended to send it to.

Minutes passed before he finally pressed the send button. The file vanished instantly into the network.

"Julius should know what to do with this," he said with a hint of satisfaction in his tone. "This should be enough."

He closed the laptop and wiped away any trace of his activity, placing it back exactly where he had found it—down to the millimeter. Neville wouldn’t notice anything amiss.

Rising to his feet, Grayson approached the bed. The moonlight streaming through the window painted Neville’s face in a soft glow.

"You’re still as defenseless as ever," Grayson whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from Neville’s forehead. He hesitated, then added quietly, "I’ll see you again next time."

He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Neville’s forehead. The touch was so light it didn’t even stir him.

Then, without another word, Grayson turned and slipped out of the room, the faint hiss of the door the only sign he had ever passed by there.

...

Neville woke to sunlight streaming through his windows and a hollow feeling in his chest that made him want to punch something.

He sat up too fast, head spinning slightly as he blinked away sleep. His hands patted the bed around him, searching, searching—

Nothing.

"No," he muttered, throwing off the blanket completely and checking the floor, under the pillow, between the sheets. "No, no, no—"

His snake was gone.

Still in pajamas, Neville went and turned the whole house upside down, searching outside, checking the home system—but there was still nothing.

Lucky was gone!

Usually, when he woke up, Lucky would curl up next to him and watch him. Lucky had been accompanying him when he fell asleep. There was no way he would just be gone like that.

Neville’s ocean-blue eyes narrowed. His hands clenched into fists against his thighs. The emotion that surged through him wasn’t just disappointment—it was anger, sharp and hot.

But it wasn’t really about the snake, was it?

It was about waking up alone again. It was about the constant cycle of being left behind, of never being enough for anyone to stay.

"Stupid," he hissed at himself, scrubbing his hands over his face. "It was just a snake. Just a random snake that showed up. Of course, it left."

[Host?] She popped out and asked gently and carefully. [Are you okay?]

"I’m fine," Neville snapped, then immediately felt guilty. "Sorry. I’m—I’m fine."

[You don’t sound fine. You sound like you want to murder someone.]

"Maybe I do." He stood, yanking open his closet with more force than necessary. "Stupid snake. Stupid. Stupid—everything."

[Host, I’m detecting elevated stress levels and—]

"Shelly."

[Yes, host?]

"How long can I stay in the virtual pod again?"

There was a pause.

Then, Shelly carefully asked. [Host, you still have one more day of vacation. Are you sure you want to spend it in a virtual pod?]

Neville pulled out clothes, his movements sharp and precise. "I’m sure. Very sure."

[Alright, host!] Shelly said as she prepared the virtual pod and the system to go on full immersion for a full day. [All set!]

Neville entered the virtual pod resolutely. As soon as he entered the familiar personal space, he cracked his knuckles and entered the waiting area for the match queue.

MATCH FOUND.

OPPONENT: [PeekingYouOut]

RANK: Bronze II

PREPARING BATTLEFIELD.

The waiting area dissolved, reforming into a ruined cityscape. It was one of the standard arena maps. The buildings collapsed into rubble, smoke rising from invisible fires, and the ground was cracked and unstable. It was designed to test both piloting skill and tactical thinking.

Neville’s mecha on the battlefield and its color scheme just made him remember the stupid runaway snake. Now, his belly was full of anger, and he had no qualms about giving in to pretenses.

He quickly assessed the battlefield—he was faster than before. Across the battlefield, a heavy-class mecha appeared, bristling with weapons—another pilot who favored overwhelming firepower.

BEGIN.

As soon as the game began, [PeekingYouOut]’s mecha immediately shot artillery launchers. Energy bolts rained down on his position. Neville dodged left, thrusters firing with fluid motion.

[PeekingYouOut] was aggressive and confident.

But Neville wasn’t someone who folded with just a show of power.

He made a calculated retreat as he wove through the ruined city, reading his opponent, making it harder for his opponent to aim.

Waste their ammunition.

Waste their effort.

Waste their time!