March 7th stirred on the couch where she had fallen, one hand twitching as though reaching for a bow that was not there, lashes fluttering before her eyes cracked open to reveal pupils still dilated from whatever force had dragged her consciousness into oblivion.
Across the table, Dan Heng inhaled sharply and straightened in a single, controlled motion, years of discipline overriding disorientation as his gaze snapped into focus with predatory alertness, scanning the room for threats before memory reassembled itself enough to inform him that he was not under attack, merely waking in a place he did not recall falling asleep. The two of them stared at one another in mutual confusion, the quiet punctuated only by the distant hum of the train's systems and a far more immediate sound that did not belong to mechanical operation at all.
It was the delicate, rhythmic scrape of a fork against ceramic.
Their attention shifted in perfect synchrony.
Sunny sat at the central table as though he had always been there, posture relaxed, one ankle hooked over the opposite knee in a pose of outrageous domestic comfort that contrasted violently with his reputation, his coat draped across the back of the chair while he leaned forward over a plate stacked with golden pancakes glistening beneath an almost excessive layer of syrup. The scent of caramelized sugar hung in the air like a narcotic haze, and the expression on his face suggested nothing short of spiritual fulfillment, eyes half-lidded in bliss as he cut off another syrup-soaked portion and conveyed it to his mouth with reverence bordering on worship.
He noticed them watching.
"Yo."
That single syllable, delivered with all the casual indifference of someone greeting acquaintances rather than companions who had apparently been rendered unconscious by unknown means, hung in the air long enough for both March and Dan Heng to process it fully, then exchange a look whose meaning required no words whatsoever.
They lunged.
Chairs screeched, the couch protested, and two sets of hands shot forward with the singular objective of seizing the plate before the confectionary bounty could be annihilated entirely by one man's appetite, yet Sunny was already dissolving into shadow before their fingers could close, his form collapsing inward like a reflection disturbed by rippling water before reconstituting several meters away with the plate still perfectly level in his grasp.
He warned coldly, eyes narrowing in a glare that would have frozen lesser individuals in place:
"Watch out. You'll make me think you have chosen death."
March skidded to a halt, nearly colliding with Dan Heng, both of them pivoting slowly to face him as though he were a particularly volatile animal that might bolt or attack without warning. Their caution was not exaggerated paranoia but hard-earned experience, because the first time Sunny had encountered pancakes had resulted in behavior that defied every known metric of sanity, culminating in an episode of sugar intoxication so severe that he had passed out.
The same man who had been fighting a Supreme Titan just a few days ago had once passed out from pancakes.
They began circling.
Sunny tracked them with suspicious intensity, fork poised defensively over the plate as though anticipating a coordinated assault, while they moved with exaggerated slowness, testing his reactions with feints that caused him to Shadow Step short distances around the table in a series of silent, fluid relocations that made capturing the dish effectively impossible.
March complained, voice pitched halfway between pleading and accusation.
"You already had some! Sharing is a thing, you know."
"I'd rather die than give these up!"
Dan Heng rubbed his temple, exhaustion resurfacing now that immediate survival was no longer in question.
Sunny added casually between bites, as though discussing breakfast while evading a coordinated food heist were entirely normal.
"Oh, yeah. What was up with Himeko when you found her? It is not like she didn't question us not being on the Express while we were on the Xianzhou, right?"
Dan Heng lunged mid-sentence, a calculated attempt to exploit distraction, but Sunny blurred sideways again, reappearing atop a different chair with infuriating ease, syrup unspilled. He answered without missing a beat, straightening as though the failed grab had never occurred.
"Himeko said that, from her perspective, the three of us were still in our sleeping pods. As for Mr. Yang, she simply assumed he was nearby as usual."
Sunny paused, fork hovering halfway to his mouth.
"So the illusion ran both directions. We could not perceive her, and she couldn't notice any changes around her."
It made sense. Kafka had used a Supreme Memory that was able to fool March and Himself, two Masters. Himeko, a simple mundane, naturally couldn't notice any changes around her. That still left the question of where Pom-Pom had been at the time, as even the Stellaron Hunter didn't know where they were.
March tried another sudden snatch.
Sunny vanished again.
"Hey!"
He resumed eating as though teleporting during breakfast were a mundane habit.
Within minutes the plate was empty, the last syrup-saturated bite disappearing behind teeth that chewed with triumphant satisfaction, and March emitted a small, anguished sound that suggested betrayal on a personal level while Sunny laughed with unmistakable smugness radiating from every line of his body. He licked a drop of syrup on his thumb with ceremonial precision.
Dan Heng covered his face with one hand.
"When did we fall asleep?"
Sunny shrugged, unconcerned.
"Last night. A jolly old time, I heard."
The answer explained nothing and invited no further elaboration, yet Dan Heng did not press, instead turning toward the remaining sleepers whose continued unconsciousness had begun to feel ominous rather than inconvenient. He approached Welt first, placing a hand on the older man's shoulder and applying gentle pressure accompanied by his name spoken in a firm, clear tone.
No response.
Himeko fared no better, her breathing steady but unnaturally deep, lashes unmoving despite repeated attempts to rouse her, and a faint crease formed between Dan Heng's brows as unease supplanted patience.
Sunny clicked his tongue.
"Guess we have to go see King Yuan— I mean, General Jing Yuan by ourselves."
Dan Heng nodded once, already accepting the practical necessity.
Behind them, March had seized upon the verbal slip with predatory enthusiasm.
"King Yuan? Calling another man king is a bit weird, Sunny."
He coughed, a rare display of visible discomfort.
"Slip of the tongue."
"Uh-huh."
They approached the Space Anchor together, its crystalline core pulsing with familiar energy as it awaited activation.
Sunny and Dan Heng exchanged a glance, their voices simultaneous as they turned to March.
"Remember to milk them dry."
March blinked.
"What does that even mean?"
Neither elaborated.
Light swallowed them, the Anchor disassembling their forms into luminous fragments that streamed outward like constellations collapsing into singularities, depositing them moments later amid the vast, bustling architecture of the Xianzhou Luofu where banners rippled beneath an artificial sky and distant airships traced silent arcs above terraces of jade and gold.
March looked between them, still confused.
"Seriously, should I be worried?"
Sunny's innocent smile did not inspire confidence as he rubbed his hands like a money-grubbing bastard.
"Only if they are."
In a far corner of the Universe, a certain sea siren would one day refer to him as a dolphin. Friendly on the outside, a threat to both wallets and lives on the inside.