Dawn broke, but Kuraf Rumena's chest remained restless. Last night, the jewel glowing softly on the observation lounge floor. Those footsteps. The gaze toward the door. The moment she thought someone was coming, Kuraf had fled back to her room like a coward. She didn't know who was about to arrive. Didn't want to know. Absolutely not. The corridors of the Parnes were quiet even in daylight. Wood-grain walls and brass railings stretched endlessly. Kuraf retied her boot laces tightly and headed toward the helm. She needed to verify that yesterday's course input to Beryl Star had been properly confirmed. That was all. That was the only reason she was walking to Car 1 first thing in the morning. When she opened the helm door, a star chart hologram spread across the entire room. Countless points of pale blue light floated, connected by thin orbital lines. Current position—midway through the Yarulo Sector. Four days and change until Beryl Star. The course was entered correctly. Kuraf stood before the console and began checking the hologram's readings. Energy density of the interstellar orbit. Thrust output. Estimated arrival time. Everything was fine. She bit into bread she'd brought from the auto-kitchen, checking each screen one by one. Then. The helm door opened. Kuraf turned around. And froze. Silver hair reaching to the waist. Eyes a reddish-purple hue. The same 172-centimeter height, but the body's lines had changed. The stance was exactly as always—arms loosely crossed, weight shifted to one leg. It was Dan Hen's usual posture, the one Kuraf had seen countless times. "[serious] I'll handle navigation." The voice was high. The usual calm, low tone had vanished somewhere, replaced by a clear, high-pitched voice that echoed through the helm. Dan Hen didn't seem to notice at all, walking toward the console with a composed expression. Kuraf pressed her lips together. Don't laugh. This wasn't a laughing moment. She had to keep a serious face. "[serious] Have you finished checking the course?" Another high-pitched statement. It was impossible. "Huh—" She burst out. The sound escaped her. Kuraf covered her mouth with her hand, but her shoulders wouldn't stop shaking. Dan Hen's eyes narrowed. "[cold] …What's so funny?" High voice again. Kuraf's shoulders trembled once more. "[sarcastic] No, it's just… your voice…" "[cold] My voice, what?" "[sarcastic] …Nothing, really." Dan Hen's cheeks flushed—just barely, barely noticeably. Her gaze shifted from Kuraf to the console. Her arm-crossing posture stiffened slightly. "[cold] Don't laugh." "[laughing] I'm not laughing." "[cold] You are." "[laughing] I'm not!" Dan Hen sighed and stood before the console. She began checking the star chart hologram. Her profile was exactly as always—calm, quiet, slightly displeased. Only her appearance had changed; her essence remained completely unchanged. Kuraf swallowed the last bite of bread and turned back to her own console. For a while, they both checked the instruments in silence. The energy flow in the interstellar orbit was fluctuating slightly. It might be because a rail worm—an orbital creature—was nearby. When Kuraf placed her finger on that reading, Dan Hen leaned in from the side to look at the screen. The distance was close. Kuraf pretended not to notice. "[serious] Rumena." "[serious] What?" "[serious] You know the nature of Harmony of the Spheres, don't you?" Kuraf's finger stopped. "[serious] It's an amulet that reacts and glows to the person most on the mind of whoever touches it—that's what it is." "…I know." "[serious] It glowed when you touched it. Which means—" "[angry] That's not it!" The words came out. Louder than expected. Kuraf cleared her throat and said it again. "[angry] That's not it. It was… just a coincidence, and I think it was broken anyway, and besides the sensitivity was just too high—!" "[sarcastic] Three reasons came out." "[angry] N-not like that—! That's not what I meant!" She was speaking faster. Dan Hen was looking at her. Those violet-tinged eyes observed Kuraf quietly. Kuraf turned her gaze back to the screen, but the numbers wouldn't register in her mind at all. Dan Hen didn't press further. She just said "I see" and turned back to the console. That should have been the end of it. Dan Hen was leaving the helm when she turned back. A hand rested on Kuraf's shoulder. "[gentle] Don't push yourself." Short words. Said in that high voice, they carried no weight at all. Rather, something about the cute-sounding voice saying "don't push yourself" made Kuraf's chest throb heavily. (It's the voice. Completely the voice's fault. That's the only reason it felt strange. There's no other reason at all.) "[serious] …Understood." She answered without turning around. Dan Hen's footsteps faded away. --- The dining car became slightly busier around noon. The aroma of bread and soup from the auto-kitchen drifted through the car, and outside the window, the white light of the interstellar orbit flowed in thin streams. Of the twenty seats, several were occupied today. When Kuraf sat at an end seat and took a sip of soup, someone sat down beside her. Silver hair entered her field of vision. It was Dan Hen. A tray with two pieces of bread and soup, sitting deliberately beside Kuraf. Even though there were other empty seats in the dining car. Kuraf said nothing. Dan Hen said nothing either. They ate in silence. When Kuraf picked up her spoon, she noticed something. Dan Hen was carefully adjusting the spoon on her tray, making sure the handle faced right. It had shifted slightly, so she adjusted it again. (…Come to think of it, she always does that.) Every time, aligning the spoon's position. Straightening the tray's angle. Even though her appearance had changed, that habit remained completely unchanged. Kuraf returned her spoon to the edge of her tray. Just placed it there. "[cold] …You always put things in random places." "[sarcastic] It's not a problem." "[cold] If the position is off, the next person has trouble reaching it." "[sarcastic] There's no next person since it's an auto-kitchen!" Dan Hen said nothing and reached over to Kuraf's tray, straightening the spoon to its proper position. Kuraf didn't stop her. She bit into her bread and looked out the window. The light of the interstellar orbit swayed gently. After watching it for a while, Kuraf thought vaguely: Dan Hen's tone from earlier. The way she spoke. The way she complained. Everything was exactly as always. Only the pitch of her voice was different, but the word choice, the pacing—completely unchanged. "[serious] …Nothing's changed." Dan Hen said quietly. Kuraf turned to look at her. Dan Hen's gaze was on Kuraf's spoon. "[serious] You either." That was all she returned. Dan Hen fell silent for a moment. The auto-kitchen in the dining car hummed faintly. "[serious] Changed… what do you mean?" She regretted asking the moment the words left her mouth. Maybe she shouldn't have asked. Dan Hen took a sip of soup before answering. "[serious] Everything except your appearance." She quickly returned her dishes to the tray and stood up. She said she'd take them back, brief and clipped, and left the dining car. Kuraf remained seated, unable to move. The bread in her hand crumpled slightly when she gripped it. (Everything except your appearance…) What did she mean by that? How could she say something like that so casually? Dan Hen was always like that. She said important things as if they were nothing and left quickly. Kuraf looked at the crumpled bread. She ate all of it. --- The Parnes was quiet at night. Only the low vibration from the engine room transmitted through the floor, and no one walked the corridors. When Kuraf entered the observation lounge in Car 10, stars spread across the sky beyond the glass ceiling. The stars in the Yarulo Sector were numerous. White and blue light mixed together, creating something dreamlike. Kuraf sank into the sofa at the far end and rested her head against the back. (Beryl Star is coming soon. Vestel Grand Library in Rilkenote. If I ask the amulet specialist there, I'll understand something. It should go back to normal.) If she just thought about that, she didn't have to think about anything else. Or so it should have been. "[serious] Are you awake?" A voice sounded, and Kuraf lifted her head. Dan Hen stood at the lounge entrance. Her silver hair caught the starlight and seemed to glow softly. When Kuraf said nothing, Dan Hen entered with a matter-of-fact expression and sat down on the adjacent sofa. Even though there were other sofas available, she chose the one next to Kuraf again. For a while, neither spoke. Kuraf noticed Dan Hen turning something over in her hand. The jewel. Harmony of the Spheres—a sphere with star chart-like patterns floating on its surface. Kuraf didn't know why Dan Hen had it, but that jewel often rolled out of the impact-resistant case in the cargo car. It rotated slowly between Dan Hen's fingers. And then—it began to glow faintly. Kuraf saw it. Dan Hen saw it too. "[sarcastic] …So you have someone on your mind too." She regretted it the moment she said it. But she couldn't take it back. Dan Hen's eyes met Kuraf's for just an instant. Then—she looked away, toward the window. "[cold] …Who knows." "Who knows" didn't mean "no" or "yes." Kuraf wanted to press Dan Hen for what that meant. But if she did, she'd have to admit something about herself, so she stayed silent. The jewel's light grew gradually brighter. Kuraf watched it. The glow was clearly stronger than before. It had never shone this brightly—maybe never. Then. A strand of her own hair came into view. Black hair. Her usual black hair was slowly returning. Kuraf held her breath. The sensation in her fingertips changed. The feeling in her throat became different. "[serious] Kuraf." Dan Hen's voice was lower than before. A bit of her original voice had slipped through. She didn't seem to notice, her eyes on the jewel. The moment Kuraf saw her changing hand—she understood. She understood, even though she didn't want to. She was becoming honest. She had been thinking about someone. She had been thinking about them. That's why the jewel glowed. That's why her hair was returning. That was all. Just that simple, just— "[angry] I don't like anyone! It doesn't matter!" She shouted. The jewel's light vanished instantly. Her black hair returned to normal. The sensation in her hand, her voice—everything went back. Silence fell over the observation lounge. Kuraf sat motionless, staring at her hand. Beyond the glass ceiling, stars streamed past. The orbital light flickered white and thin. Nothing had changed, yet something felt like it had ended. Dan Hen stood up. She closed the jewel in her hand—and without blaming Kuraf, without laughing, without saying anything, she simply stood and left. Kuraf watched her profile as she went. The footsteps faded away. Kuraf remained on the sofa, unable to move. The ceiling stars flowed slowly past. She had denied it. She had pushed back again. She had forced the honest part of herself back down with her own hands. (That was right. This is fine. I don't like anyone.) She tried to believe that—and couldn't. Her chest ached, deep inside. Kuraf hugged her knees and watched the stars. Meanwhile, back in the helm, Dan Hen began her routine checks. Orbital status, energy density, surrounding heat signature maps—the usual verification. Her eyes stopped on the edge of the screen. A dark corner of the Yarulo Sector. Outside the interstellar orbit. There, a faint heat signature registered. It could be instrument error. But it didn't disappear. Dan Hen stared at that point quietly.