The next morning, shipments of scavenged parts began arriving one after another. Repair crews swarmed the Grim Reaper, welding, bolting, rewiring—piece by piece, her battered frame came back to life. Naomi had planned to spend the day reconnecting the new fusion core with the magical tank. But before she could even pick up a tool, Baroque showed up and hauled her away.
They walked together toward the colony's central sector. Outwardly, the place looked abandoned—pitted hull plating, jagged holes everywhere. But the heart of the colony still functioned, artificial gravity and all. For the first time in what felt like forever, Naomi felt her own weight on her legs as she walked.
"So," Naomi asked, glancing up at the towering pirate captain beside her, "what's this about?"
"There's a council today," Baroque said. "Captains' meeting. Pirate ship leaders. Feels like it's gonna get ugly. I want you there."
Naomi blinked. "Wait, what? Why me? That's pirate business. I'm not one of you—I don't belong in their little mafia get-together."
Baroque snorted. "Hate to break it to ya, but you ain't as much of an outsider as you think. Word is, the Imperial Army's finally putting serious weight behind a pirate crackdown."
Naomi frowned. "...Which means they're after the Grim Reaper, right?"
"Not the ship," Baroque corrected. "They're after the pirates who snatched a royal passenger on the Grim Reaper. Namely Serena."
Naomi groaned. "Great. So I am involved whether I like it or not. But seriously, won't I just look out of place? I'm not exactly a hardened buccaneer."
"Don't matter," Baroque shrugged. "Pirates don't care about age or pedigree. Just put on a face like you belong and nobody'll call you out."
Naomi let out a sigh. "So that's it then. I'm officially a pirate now, huh?"
She tried to laugh it off, but the truth stung. She was technically a captain, yes—but beyond that? She had no title, no trade, no identity here. Not "Naomi the merchant." Not "Naomi the pilot." Just... Naomi. The realization made her chest feel strangely hollow.
Before she could stew on it further, they reached their destination—a squat concrete building, once painted white, now cracked and flaking. It looked like an old community center, something pulled out of a forgotten town.
Inside, the halls were bare and dim, the lightbulbs buzzing weakly. Baroque climbed the stairs without hesitation. Naomi followed quickly, not wanting to get left behind.
He pushed open a pair of double doors. Inside, tables were arranged in a U-shape. Around them sat five men and one woman, all seasoned and scarred in their own ways.
"Well, well," grunted a bearded man near the door, squinting at Naomi. "Baroque, what's this? Snatched yourself a girl? Ain't worth the trouble, mate. Kidnappin' don't pay."
"Shut it, Carcylis," Baroque shot back. "She ain't cargo. She's new blood. I'm looking after her."
Another voice piped up, this one from a leathery-skinned man who looked more fisherman than raider. His narrow eyes didn't smile. "Bringing children into this? What's next, dollhouses? Go home, little lady. Play pretend somewhere else."
Naomi stiffened, but Baroque barked a laugh. "Old fools. Since when did we start carding people at the door? This kid tangled with the First Space Fleet and left the Deathcallion half-crippled. Maybe you're the ones who should stick to dollhouses."
"What did you say?!" Carcylis roared, shoving back his chair. He grabbed Baroque by the collar.
"Careful," a woman's voice cut in smoothly. "Keep that up, and she'll put a hole in you."
Carcylis froze, turned—and found Naomi standing behind him, hands steady on her laser pistol.
"...I-I'm Naomi," she said quickly, lowering the weapon. "Captain of the light cruiser Grim Reaper. Pleased to meet you." She gave a stiff bow.
Carcylis muttered something under his breath, released Baroque, and slumped back into his seat.
"So it's true, then?" the fisherman asked, puffing on a cigarette. "You really took on the Deathcallion?"
"Yes," Naomi answered. "Fleet composition was one super-class battleship, three cruisers, seven destroyers. Commander Yug himself was aboard the Deathcallion. We destroyed two destroyers, heavily damaged one cruiser, and crippled another destroyer. Finally, I rammed an asteroid into the Deathcallion to shake her off."
The fisherman whistled low. "And all that with a single light cruiser? Baroque, is she feeding us fairy tales?"
"No lies," Baroque said firmly. "By the time I got there, the big bastard already had a rock lodged in its gut and flames pouring out. I've seen the logs myself. This girl and her ship gave the Imperial fleet hell."
"...Heh." The lone female captain leaned back, lips curling into a smile. "A girl who teaches persistence a lesson. I like it."
Another pirate, an old man with a booming laugh, slapped the table. "Gahaha! Served that pompous battleship right, eh? Wish I'd been young enough to join the scrap myself. Well then! The newbie's introduced herself. Let's get names out of the way—so she knows who she's drinkin' with. I'm Jenga. That's Anne next to me. The slick one's Leclerc. Dark-skinned one's Roland. Fox-eyes over there's Girard. Beard here's Carcylis."
Anne shot him a glare at the word "old lady," but Jenga ignored it and waved the meeting onward. His eyes flicked to Girard—clearly, the man who'd called them all here.
Girard folded his hands. "I've brought intelligence on the Angersia. You've all heard the rumors: a clash near the Ursa Minor Dwarf Nebula. A convoy passing through reported seeing Imperial fire, but afterward... nothing. No wreckage, no distress beacons. Junk collectors went sniffing and found zilch. Which means one thing—the Angersia wasn't destroyed. She was captured."
The room fell still. Girard's gaze swept the table, measuring reactions before he continued.
"Since then, the Imperials have pushed scouts into this sector. Even dispatched a picket ship in our direction. That means one thing—the luminous chart to this hideout leaked. If that's true, it's only a matter of time before this colony's found. I say we pack up and move to the outpost now. But before that—I want to hear where the rest of you stand."
He sat back, words hanging heavy in the stale air.
"...Wait. Did you say picket ship?"
Naomi had only whispered it under her breath, but the entire room turned their eyes on her.