Chapter 5 part 1

###Misunderstood Bathhouse Blues

###Yunikon's Perspective

"...I want to go home."

Hearing Narwhal's voice drift from the other side of the warm bath chamber door, I froze.

I had only stopped by to put away the cleaning cloth, yet those words caught me off guard.

Quietly, I stepped out of the changing area and closed the door behind me.

A pang of guilt crept up my spine.

Narwhal, you once said at the cantina that you weren't caught up in your past. That you didn't dwell on it.

But it was a lie, wasn't it? A strong front to hide your vulnerability. You don't want anyone to know how much you miss your home.

And yet, your homeworld... it's already gone.

"Sigh... there I go, prying into someone else's life again."

I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but now I couldn't unhear it. Of course, I'd never spread what I'd overheard, but pretending I didn't hear anything? That's not my style either.

"If I could just cheer Narwhal up somehow..."

To Narwhal, I'm probably just another face in the crowd. Another spacer passing through his orbital path. But I want him to know he doesn't have to feel alone in this Baldr sector.

What must it be like, I wondered, to have your entire world reduced to nothing but memories? To navigate the void knowing there's no familiar home to return to?

I've been homesick before—everyone in Diana has. Spacers know the feeling well. But to be permanently untethered? That's a different kind of emptiness altogether.

"You're late, Yunikon... Narwhal didn't pull anything weird, right? You good?"

"I-I'm fine. And weird stuff? Honestly, Boss."

Returning to the plasma fireplace, I found Lunar immersed in the Diana crew's stellar ledger, illuminated by the soft glow of a quantum lamplight. Ever diligent, that one.

Her eyes never left the holographic display, but somehow, she always knew when someone entered the room. A captain's sixth sense, perhaps. Or maybe just Lunar being Lunar.

The others were already gathered around the round holographic table, their laughter and conversation filling the space.

Mamu's dinner was waiting, too. I should grab some before it gets cold. The nutrient bread she makes has this way of tasting like actual food rather than the processed space rations most crews subsist on. It's a small miracle, really.

"What'll happen to Miss Stella, I wonder," Aioi mused, absentmindedly stirring her protein soup.

"Oh, you're still worried about her?" I asked, sliding into my usual spot at the table.

"Of course. Do you think she'll be okay taking that royal capital starship job?"

"It's a prestigious position for a female pilot. If she turns that down, sympathy's a bit hard to muster."

"Yeah, I get that, but... after talking with her, she seemed so different from the usual nobles. She felt... normal. Kind, even. It made me feel bad for her situation."

Mamu said softly from across the table. "Normal? A noble? That's a first."

"I understand. I almost said something to her a few times too. She's nothing like the other nobles who come to us with their high-and-mighty requests," I said, ignoring Mamu's comment.

It wasn't unheard of for nobles like Stella to aspire to become free spacers.

But more often than not, they came with an air of arrogance that made them difficult to deal with. As if the cosmic dust we all eventually become somehow sparkles more if you're born with a title.

Stella was an exception. She had that curious blend of refined etiquette and genuine interest in the common folk. The kind of noble who might actually remember your name after meeting you once.

"With her attitude, I think she'll do just fine in the royal capital," Lunar said confidently, finally looking up from her ledger.

"You really think so, Senior?" Aioi asked, her voice carrying that trademark innocent concern.

"Have I ever lied to you, Aioi?"

"...Um, maybe just a few times," Aioi muttered with a nervous laugh, twirling a strand of her hair.

"Ahahaha."

"Like when you told her that cosmic jellyfish were harmless?" Mamu chimed in, eyebrows raised.

"Or that time you convinced her the gravity generator malfunction was actually a 'surprise training exercise'?" Moona added.

"Alright, alright," Lunar conceded with a wave of her hand. "But on important matters, I'm trustworthy. And I genuinely believe Stella has what it takes."

As we chatted, the door from the decontamination area slid open with a soft pneumatic hiss, and Narwhal stepped out.

His damp hair clung to his forehead, and there was something softer about his usual stern expression. For a moment, he looked almost peaceful.

"Looks like he's finished," Lunar noted.

"Feels odd having gruff man here at our home base," Moona added, suddenly finding her soup extremely interesting.

"I know, right? Even my husband barely visits," Mamu added, wiping her hands on her apron. "Says it's too intimidating being surrounded by 'Baldr's finest female spacers.'"

"...But Boss, aren't you planning to start letting more men join Diana bit by bit?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Yes, eventually," Lunar replied, her tone carefully neutral. "Times are changing. We need to adapt."

For Diana to continue being active, we likely can't avoid reforms like that.

But if it were someone like Narwhal--kind, unassuming, and oddly charming in his gruff way--well, maybe that wouldn't be so bad. There was something reassuring about his presence, like the steady pulse of a well-maintained engine.

"Yo. Water temp was great. Thanks," Narwhal said as he appeared in the hall, looking refreshed.

He never struck me as messy, but after the bath, he seemed even more put together. Cleaner. Or maybe that was just my imagination playing tricks, conjuring little details to focus on instead of remembering those four painfully honest words I'd overheard.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Moona said, "You've got one more bath on the books, but no rush. Just let us know when."

"Got it. I'll pick a time that doesn't inconvenience you," Narwhal replied with a nod, adjusting the collar of his jacket.

"Dutiful as always," Lunar smirked. "Careful, or we might start thinking you actually like us."

"Oh, by the way, Mr. Narwhal, want some dinner? Mamu made nutrient bread," Aioi offered, already half-rising to fetch a plate. "It's got real synthesized spices and everything!"

"Nah, I shouldn't impose. Besides, I'm not really hungry."

"I see..."

He declined so casually, but I could sense a hint of guardedness.

There was still a distance between him and us--a wariness that wasn't easy to bridge. Like a small cruiser maintaining safe orbit around a larger vessel, close enough for communication but ready to disengage at a moment's notice.

"See ya," Narwhal said as he turned to leave, adjusting his utility belt.

"Yes, do visit again if anything comes up," Lunar called after him.

"Just no more troublesome jobs, please," he quipped over his shoulder. "Bad for my heart."

And with that, he was gone, the automatic door sliding shut behind him with a soft metallic whisper.

"...Bad for his heart? What's that supposed to mean?" Mamu asked, puzzled, pausing in her cleanup routine.

"Ahaha. Mister Narwhal really doesn't like nobles, huh?" Aioi chuckled.

"I think he's more scared of them," Moona suggested, leaning back in her chair until it creaked in protest. "Did you see how he flinched when Stella's shuttle docked? Like he was bracing for impact."

Dislikes nobles, huh. ...He's probably had it rough in the past.

Considering Narwhal's history it's no wonder he'd harbor such resentment toward nobles. When you've seen your world burn from orbit, it's hard to look kindly upon those who gave the command.

But if he knew about Lunar's and Moona's noble ties, would he distance himself from Diana? 

I wouldn't like that. Aioi would feel awful, too. She's already grown attached to him, in that puppy-like way she has with people she admires.

Somehow, I hope we can close the gap between us. Build a bridge across that starry chasm of distrust.

"Oh, right! Boss, about that rookie you were thinking of scouting during the winter promotion exam--any updates?" I asked, deliberately changing the subject.

"Ah, the exam. I'll be watching, at least. With so many Iron ranks this year, there's bound to be a few promising recruits I haven't met yet."

The promotion exam, huh? I hadn't thought about it lately with all of Aioi's training taking up my focus. The days blend together in space, one cosmic shift flowing into the next until suddenly, you're preparing for an event you could have sworn was months away.

Maybe it's time for Aioi to have juniors of her own calling her Senior. The thought brought a smile to my face. She'd probably blush and stammer through her first day of mentoring.

Since we're short on melee fighters, it'd be great if we could hire a newbie specializing in that. Someone who could keep the enemies at bay while the rest of us picked them off from a distance. We won't know until we actually see them in action, though. Recruitment isn't an exact science—more like intuition mixed with necessity.

"Looking forward to having a junior, Aioi?" I teased, nudging her gently with my elbow.

"No way! I've still got a long way to go. I only have one bow skill. I want to learn something strong, like Senior Yunikon's techniques!" she protested, nearly knocking over her drink in her emphatic denial.

"Hehe. My skills might take some time, but something like Power Shot? You could learn that with practice and real combat."

"Really? I'll try my best!" Her eyes lit up with that characteristic enthusiasm that makes even the most cynical spacers soften.

"What if your junior ends up having more skills than you?" Mamu interjected with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"That'd be... humiliating," she admitted with a sheepish laugh, slumping dramatically in her chair.

"Ahaha."

The cycle where the station farthest from the sun loomed ahead. The cold was unavoidable, but the thought of meeting new faces and making new connections filled me with quiet excitement.

Yet, as the conversation drifted on to schedules and maintenance tasks, my thoughts kept returning to that lone figure walking away from our warmth and laughter. To those four simple words that carried a universe of longing.

"I want to go home."

Perhaps, in our own small way, we could help Narwhal find a new one.