The Familiar Nothingness

When they entered, the establishment was packed. A thick cloud of cigarette smoke hung in the air, making the place feel stuffy despite its high ceiling. Most tables were occupied by humans, but there were also many half-humans—some with spider eyes, pointed ears, or scaly skin. The blend of conversations, laughter, and clinking glasses created an indistinguishable murmur.

They made their way to the bar. As they approached, the man carefully examined his surroundings. Though the place was full of suspicious characters, no one seemed overtly dangerous or ready for a fight. Still, he remained alert.

"Could I have a beer?" he asked, settling onto an empty bar stool while scanning the crowd. Meanwhile, Ran tucked her notebook into her bag and meticulously cleaned the road dust from her orange and white clothing.

"Beera? Which variety would you prefer?" asked the woman with short black hair falling to her shoulders, pausing from polishing glasses.

"I trust your recommendation." said the man with a wink and slight smirk. An inner voice remarked, "This behavior is so unlike me." He barely recognized himself.

"The finest beera coming right up for the handsome gentleman!" said the woman with a flirtatious wink. Her figure in the tight-fitting long dress awakened long-forgotten feelings within him.

"Wow! We haven't had an opportunity like this in ages! Come on, don't stop—" echoed an unfamiliar, husky male voice inside him before falling silent.

"What's that voice about?" asked Geminga, surprised by this strange new voice.

"I'm hearing it for the first time too. Who knows how many different personalities are sleeping inside me?" the man thought.

"Here's your beera, sir." said the woman, her yellow eyes gleaming as she set a large glass before him.

He took a careful sip. Instead of the expected mediocre taste, he found a pleasant sweetness. His muscles relaxed instantly, and he felt at ease.

"This is truly amazing!" he said sincerely, then added after a pause: "I'd like to ask you something. I'm looking for someone named Ainsley. I need some information."

"You're not from around here, are you?" asked the woman, resting her elbow on the counter and cupping her chin.

The words irritated him. It was the second time he'd heard this. Yes, he was a stranger—and it irked him how everyone seemed to treat him as if they knew he'd been dead for thousands of years.

"That doesn't matter, darling." said the woman, running her fingertips from his hand up his arm. She leaned forward, her deep cleavage fully visible. She was clearly trying to distract him, and due to his newly awakened impulses, he fell easily into her trap.

As her soft fingers climbed toward his neck, her expression suddenly changed. Her seductive warmth vanished, replaced by icy seriousness. Then he felt cold metal against his throat—she had pressed a sharp dagger there so skillfully that no one had noticed.

"Now tell me the truth." she said, still smiling but with a dangerous glint in her eyes. "What's a Pedal doing here?"

"Just for information... I have no other purpose..." he stammered, feeling the sharp metal against his throat.

"Who from the kingdom sent you here? Tell the truth, or I'll slit your throat!" she said, her voice low but threatening.

Just as he was about to say 'Zeta,' that familiar, terrible pain seized him. Though not severe enough to make him collapse, merely thinking of Zeta's name triggered it. This terrified him. Even with his life at stake, some invisible force within wouldn't let him reveal anyone from the kingdom.

"Just... just want to know where the crown is." he whispered, barely audible. Meanwhile, Ran observed their surroundings, unaware of his deadly predicament.

"What crown? Choose your words carefully—they could be your last." said the woman, pressing the dagger harder until its tip nearly pierced his skin.

"The Crown of Cintara! I'm looking for it. I have no other business with you!" said the man, panic rising in his voice.

"So you have no other business here? You came just for the crown?" she questioned, eyes fixed on his face.

"A woman I met on the road said Ainsley was the most reliable person to buy information from. That's why we came! I swear we have no other purpose!" he said, trembling as sweat beaded on his forehead.

The woman slowly withdrew the dagger but kept it ready. After studying him intently, she spoke.

"I am Ainsley. I can sell you the information you want." she said, a mysterious smile returning to her face, the dagger still hidden from others' view.

"I don't mean to push, but why spare my life? You must have thought me dangerous, yet you let me go. There must be a reason." he asked, voice still trembling.

"Your eagerness to die worries me." she said, eyes narrowing with an icy warning.

"No, no! I'm sorry!" he said hastily, raising his hands.

She heaved a tired sigh, her shoulders dropping.

"Because you're a coward. They wouldn't send someone this cowardly. You killed a Pedal and stole their uniform, didn't you? A real Pedal wouldn't surrender so easily." she said, looking him over.

Though she had completely misunderstood, it was his only way out alive. He simply nodded, eyes downcast.

"Good work. The beera's on me. I admire your courage." she said, pushing his glass forward. "But information isn't free! What do you want to know about the crown? Choose your questions carefully."

"First... shouldn't we discuss the price?" he asked timidly.

"Why waste my time if you don't have money?" she snapped.

"We have money! Would a hundred astralis be enough?" he asked anxiously.

"That buys you two pieces of information. Not a word more." she said firmly.

He thought carefully, wiping sweat from his brow. He needed to choose his questions well—this chance might not come again.

"Who stole the crown?" he asked, holding his breath.

"I don't know." she said simply, her expression unchanged.

He waited silently for more, but she just shook her head, eyes steady on him.

"Is that all?" he asked, unable to hide his disappointment.

"Yes, I don't know who stole the crown. However, I do know that they are in Hatrugar. That should be enough." said the woman, taking a small sip from the man's glass.

At least I've confirmed they're in this city, he thought gratefully before carefully choosing his next question.

"Where is the crown now?" he asked, leaning forward.

"It's with the Mist Thieves—a dangerous group operating in the city's shadows." she said quietly.

"Tell me about these Mist Thieves—I've heard of them twice now. I need more infor—" he began eagerly.

"Sorry, your two questions are up." she said firmly.

He nodded in resignation. Noticing Ran's prolonged silence, he turned to find her anxiously watching a crowd. Though they weren't looking their way, their loud, threatening talk filled the air.

"Ran?" he said worriedly, touching the unscaled part of her shoulder.

She jumped with a small scream, then relaxed slightly upon recognizing his touch, though tension remained.

"What's wrong?" he asked, noting her worried expression.

"Nothing's wrong, sir." she said shakily, eyes downcast.

Her fear was obvious, but he decided not to press the issue. First, they needed to leave.

"I learned something. Can you give me a hundred astralis?" he asked quietly.

"Of course, sir." she replied monotonously, still worried.

With trembling hands, she retrieved the money and gave it to him, which he quickly passed to the woman.

"Nice doing business. Come again." said the woman, taking the money. "Some advice—lose the Pedal uniform if you want to live. It's dangerous around here."

They left nervously, the cold night air hitting their faces. The man quickly sought a safe place to talk, spotting a bench in the dark street. Two harmless-looking drunks had passed out at one end. They quietly sat down.

"I learned Cintara's Crown is definitely in Hatrugar, held by a dangerous group called the Mist Thieves. We need to find them." he said softly.

"Where should we start looking, sir?" Ran asked anxiously.

He pondered, gazing at the dark sky. They were out of money and in dangerous waters. Zeta had made a grave mistake trusting him while explaining so little.

Before he could answer, figures wielding metal rods emerged from the darkness, their weapons glinting in the planet's bright light overhead. They attempted to flee but found themselves surrounded.

"What do you want?" he demanded, pushing Ran behind him.

"We have business with your little fish." said a man in his forties, menacingly swinging his rod. "Hand her over, and no one gets hurt."

Ran trembled behind him, clutching his jacket. Though scared himself, he had to protect her. He could do this—he had to.

"Be a good Pedal and don't interfere like you always do." the man warned.

"Geminga! We could die here—this isn't time for disagreement!" the inner voice cried in panic. "Stop being childish and help!"

"Listen to him, let the girl go. We can't die so foolishly!" Geminga shouted, angry and afraid.

"No, I won't sacrifice her to save ourselves!" the man mentally declared.

"Move, Pedal!" a man in his thirties shouted, advancing with his club raised.

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to move me by force..." the man said, fighting to keep his voice steady.

The attacker roared and swung his club full force at his head. As the metal cut through the air, the man instinctively raised his left hand. The club struck and unexpectedly warped as if hitting soft metal. He felt only a slight tingle. Surprised, he reflexively countered with his right fist. Though unplanned, his punch carried overwhelming power. The attacker staggered back and crumpled like a puppet.

The man stared at his hands in amazement. Without full effort, he'd floored his large opponent as if he weighed nothing. This display of strength shocked even him—the power coursing through him exceeded his wildest dreams. His normal-looking hands held incredible force. This newfound strength filled him with sweet confidence. Now he knew—he could and would protect Ran at any cost.

The other men exchanged shocked, fearful glances, some backing away. They'd expected a Pedal to flee or barely resist before surrendering. But this display—the bent metal, their friend felled by one punch—had left them stunned.

"What are you waiting for? Kill him!" roared their leader, face crimson with rage.

Three men charged, swinging clubs and trying to surround him. Their weapons bent uselessly against him, becoming soft as rubber. He struck back with his new power, landing precise punches—chin, chest, abdomen. Each attacker fell heavily, incapacitated.

"Keep going! They'll run soon, I'm sure!" Geminga cheered.

He felt invincible. Even against the whole group, he could prevail—his power seemed limitless. Energy surged through his veins, growing stronger with each breath. This incredible force had no apparent bounds. His confidence peaked, eyes bright with determination. Yes, he would succeed. He would protect Ran, no matter what.

Then came the sharp sting in his back. Pain like a hot iron spread through his body. His knees buckled, and he collapsed helplessly forward. That immense power vanished instantly. He tried desperately to rise, pressing against the ground, but couldn't. Every slight movement sent waves of agony through him, as if an invisible nail pinned him down.

Warmth flowed down his back, spreading with each passing moment. This familiar sensation triggered a distant memory. As he struggled to place it, his eyes widened in recognition. "They'd pranked me for falling asleep during watch." he whispered tremulously. He'd felt this wetness then—but now it was more intense, more real. A terrible realization struck. This was real. Was he dying?

His body grew lighter, seeming to float in endless void. He tried moving his fingers, but control slipped away. His vision blurred, the world spinning faster and faster. As everything merged into chaos, Ran's heart-wrenching scream pierced the silence. Then came an inhuman sound—a shrill, soul-piercing laugh too high for any human throat.

His consciousness guttered like a candle flame. The world plunged into absolute darkness, beyond color or light. He surrendered to that familiar void's cold embrace, deeper and more welcoming than ever before.

***"***After some time, sensation returned. I felt the cold, ice-cold air on my skin. And when I opened my eyes, I was here. That's everything I remember. Can you tell me what's happening? How did I get here? How am I alive?"

The white-coated, blonde, bespectacled woman sat at her desk, filling out a paper with her hand on her chin…