Chapter 1 part 2

Four Idiots Meet One Hybrid Narwhal 

Four Idiots Meet One Hybrid Narwhal 

Like I might’ve said before, I’m a hybrid—born from two worlds that can’t stand each other. One parent came from the Lunatran Empire, the other from the Holy Solar Commonwealth of Solflare. A space traveler and a priest from opposing sides got a little too friendly one night on a neutral trade station, and well… here I am.

Lunatrans and Solflarians might not look that different, but you can still tell them apart if you know what to look for. Lunatrans sometimes some parts of their body so dark they seem to swallow light. Solflarians, on the other hand, are known for glowing hair that pulses with energy. Not everyone has these traits, but when they show up, you can’t miss them.

Me? I’ve got both. My hair glows silver with streaks of pure black woven through. It screams “mixed-blood” in a galaxy where the two empires have been at war for over 300 years.

In case you didn’t catch it: yeah, people treat me like trash.

“Why’s a Solflare half-breed on the Mercenary Guild station, huh?”

The guy didn’t just say it—he broadcasted it to the whole room through his comms. He wanted everyone to hear.

“Probably the kid of some Solflare pleasure-slave,” another one laughed.

“Walking around like he’s some ancient hero,” a third snorted.

"Hahaha!"

I looked up. Four of them, all wearing heavy armor. Not the kind rookies wear for show—this was real, worn-in, ex-military gear. These weren’t your usual loudmouths. They were trained, confident, and new to the station.

Normally, I ignore that kind of talk. I’ve been hearing it since I was a kid. Half-breed, void-rat, glow-hair—nothing new. My appearance gives it away, and I’ve gotten used to the stares. But shouting slurs inside a guild station? That’s reckless. Even in a rough place like this.They weren’t just being rude. They were looking for a fight.

“Oh, some fresh faces, huh?” I said with a forced smile. “Too bad guild sign-ups aren’t today. Come back with credits next time.”

Some battles are worth picking. In space, your name is everything. Act like a pushover, and your rep crumbles. Let every insult slide, and people think you’re weak. I wasn’t about to let that happen.

I quickly ran a systems check on my combat suit—just in case. Around here, talking only gets you so far. Respect is earned, and sometimes the only way to get it is to throw a punch.

Earlier, I’d been in a great mood. Finished clearing debris from the station’s lanes and treated myself to some decent synthesized oatmeal. Then these guys showed up and ruined it.

I stood up and glanced at the holo-counter. The receptionist’s hologram flickered faintly, her face clearly annoyed but not surprised. She wasn’t going to stop this.

Her eyes said it all: “Do what you want. Just don’t wreck the place.”

The guild has rules—no fighting in the main hall unless it’s absolutely necessary. I wasn’t going to be the one to break them. But if these clowns wanted to move things elsewhere, I’d be happy to show them why you don’t mess with the Galaxy A Narwhal.

“Don’t act tough, hybrid trash,” one of them growled. “You’re holding a cheap half spec blaster.”

“I’ve spaced fifty-six Solflare scum like you in the Twice Nebula!” another shouted.

“Maybe I’ll cut those glowing streaks out of your head,” the leader said with a smirk.

Right. Fifty-six kills. Sure. If he really had that many, he wouldn’t be wearing discount gear.

I activated the magnetic grips on my boots and stood up straight. “You’re bothering people trying to eat. If you want a fight, let’s take it to the cargo bay.”

The leader grinned under his helmet. “Gladly.”

The airlock hissed open, and I stepped out onto the station’s dimly lit docking platform—but then—

"Die!"

Someone lunged at me from the shadows before I could even take a step. A fist flew at my face like a rocket.

A cheap ambush? Really? Guess they weren’t confident in a fair fight. I still couldn’t help but chuckle.

"Figures."

The punch hit hard—like being rammed by a ship’s engine. My equipment absorbed most of it, but I still tasted blood. My vision swam for a second.

Great. Busted lip.

"What the...?"

“Damn it... no effect?! That all you’ve got!?”

That arrogance lit a fire in me.

“Idiots! Take him down!”

“Yeah!”

They closed in—four against one—circling like hungry drones around a broken shuttle. They thought they could overwhelm me.

They had no idea what they were doing.

“You picked the wrong guy, small fry! Hrah!”

“Geh!”

I struck fast. One blow to the gut, and the first guy dropped to his knees. His suit’s shield fizzled out like a candle in vacuum. The others didn’t back down, though. They rushed in, swinging wildly. I dodged their attacks like I’d been doing it my whole life. For a few seconds, I was pure motion—slipping between fists, weaving like a ship dodging debris.

But dodging only goes so far.

I stopped holding back. Let them hit. Then hit back harder.

“Take this!”

“What the hell?! He’s strong—?!”

“You really think you can take on me, the Narwhal!?”

“Ugh!”

They landed some hits, sure. But I used the momentum. My suit redirected the impact, letting me strike with twice the power. One blow and another one dropped, groaning on the ground.

“S-Stop! I give! I’m sorry!”

“Too late, worm! You mocked me. You mocked my trusty half-spec blaster! No mercy.”

“Gyaaa!?”

I grabbed his helmet, slammed my head into his. The echo rang out as he dropped like dead weight.

“I didn’t do anything, I swear!”

“Fifty-six kills, huh? Try fifty-six lies.”

Smack!

I hit him with an open palm. His helmet cracked like glass. He hit the floor hard.

“Help me…”

“Help? You tried to jump me. You don’t get help.”

Finally, the leader stepped forward, gun raised. His hands were shaking.

“Eat thi—!”

Too slow. I grabbed his wrist and twisted. Snap. He screamed and dropped his weapon.

“S-Sorry! Please! I won’t ever mess with you again!”

“You mocked me, didn’t you? Called my gear cheap?”

“N-No! I didn’t mean—!”

“Then take this—Half-Spec Blaster Kick!”

“Guohhh!”

My boot slammed into his stomach. He flew backward, hit the ground, and didn’t move.

Idiots. All of them.

“Next time, don’t insult me—or my Half-Spec Blaster—again.”

I spat on the floor beside them, wiped the blood from my face, and headed back to the guildhall. A small crowd had gathered, whispering behind me.

“Damn Narwhal,” someone muttered. “Took on four guys. Not bad.”

“Ow... dirty ambush...” I groaned, limping past.

Mirai, the guild clerk, waited at the desk, smirking. “Nice work, Narwhal. Those four already had complaints on file. This won’t help their record.”

“Good,” I said, holding my lip. “Can I hit the medbay now?”

“You’ll have to pay, of course,” she teased.

“I’ll pay later. Just let me lie down.”

As I stumbled toward the medical room, every bruise reminded me that being strong didn’t mean fighting like a brute. Next time, I’d fight smarter—and cleaner.

“Not going to rank up from this, Narwhal?” someone called out.

“He never takes the risky missions,” Mirai answered for me. “Doesn’t want the attention from the Core Worlds.”

“Too bad. He’s strong,” another voice said.

I sighed and pressed a cold pack to my face. Strong? Maybe. But if this was the price, I wasn’t sure it was worth it.

Author's Note:

Ah, welcome back, dear reader, to another thrilling episode of "Why Can't We All Just Get Along in Space?" If you thought our protagonist's life was all about mopping floors and avoiding trouble, think again. This time, we dive into the delightful world of intergalactic bigotry and good old-fashioned fisticuffs.

Yes, you read that right. Our hybrid hero, with his glowing hair and dark streaks, is back, and this time, he's not just cleaning up messes—he's making them. Four idiots with more arrogance than brain cells decide to pick a fight with the wrong guy. Spoiler alert: it doesn't end well for them.

Now, you might be thinking, "But why would anyone be so stupid as to pick a fight with a guy who clearly knows how to handle himself?" Oh, dear reader, you underestimate the power of stupidity. These four clowns thought they could take on our hero, mock his gear, and walk away unscathed. Newsflash: they couldn't.

And let's talk about that gear. Our protagonist's "half-spec blaster" might not appear to be top-of-the-line, but it gets the job done. Just like our hero. He might not be the flashiest or the most powerful, but he knows how to handle himself in a fight. And when push comes to shove, he's not afraid to throw a punch—or a headbutt.

So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.  And remember, dear reader: when the stars are full of danger, it's better to be overlooked than overestimated. But if you do find yourself in a fight, make sure you're the one throwing the last punch.