"So these morons are my friends, Thomas and Travis. Guys, this is Arata, the guy I told you about."

  He was speaking with his usual energetic and cheerful tone.

  "I told them I got you out of trouble when the crew member questioned you."

  ***

  (The day before)

  Arata was wandering around the ship, temporarily suspending his goal to find a place to rest. Even if his priority was to find Mika as soon as possible, he couldn't keep searching for her in his current state—it could compromise the whole operation. He'd accumulated so much fatigue, mental and physical, after days of working non-stop. His body was running on fumes, and his mind wasn't far behind.

  He had to rest, otherwise his body might crash on its own, eventually leaving him vulnerable. And being vulnerable on a ship infested by the Harbor Group was the same as being dead.

  He had to at least secure the place where he would rest while he still had enough energy. Maybe find something very hidden, like a corner of the library where no one would think to look, or set up traps in case anything happened. He could set tripwires made from curtain cords or position furniture to create noise if moved. Simple systems that would give him warning if someone approached while he slept.

  Besides, even if Mika was undeniably in a dangerous situation and needed to be rescued, she wasn't in immediate danger. If the Boss, or the Harbor Group, wanted to harm her in any way, they would have already done so.

  They needed her for something, and Arata needed to figure out what.

  The question was: what could Mika possibly offer that the Harbor Group couldn't acquire through other means? She wasn't wealthy or politically connected. She also wasn't a Candidate, nor did she have special abilities or unusual Aspects. She was just a normal high school girl who happened to be well liked by everyone around her.

  Well-liked by everyone.

  The thought stuck in his mind, refusing to leave. She had a natural charisma that made people trust her immediately. The kind of person who could bridge groups, bring people together, make them cooperate even when they had conflicting interests.

  In a system where votes determined power, someone who could influence large numbers of people to vote a specific way was incredibly valuable. Not as a Candidate themselves, but as a tool for manipulating vote distribution.

  Was that it? Are they planning to use Mika as some kind of social engineering asset?

  ***

  Arata was taking a piss in the bathroom.

  The fluorescent lighting was harsh, making everything look slightly sterile and wrong. The fixtures were gold-plated—because of course they were—and the marble floor was polished to a mirror finish.

  Even the bathrooms on this ship were obscenely expensive.

  Rich people really didn’t know restraint.

  Arata approached the sink.

  In wartime, the best tactical way to sleep was to guard the resting area turn by turn with a trusted ally. This ensured perpetual monitoring, and if danger was approaching, the ally could wake his comrade before the threat arrived. It was simple and effective; the foundation of every military operation that required rest in hostile territory.

  But where could he find an ally inside this ship?

  If he'd found a communication device, he could have given Kaito his location and his friend wouldn't hesitate to burst his way inside the ship. Probably literally—Kaito's solution to most problems involved breaking through whatever obstacle stood in his way without thinking.

  The mental image of Kaito smashing through the ship’s hull like some kind of human torpedo made Arata smile.

  But he didn't have a way to communicate with Kaito, and he didn't know the ship's location anyway. Judging by the sea view he'd seen looking outside the windows, they were clearly far away from any land. Nothing but open ocean in every direction. No landmarks. No reference points. Just endless blue water extending to the horizon.

  For all Arata knew, they could be anywhere in the Pacific. They could be heading toward international waters where laws become even more complicated, or, perhaps, they could be approaching some private island owned by whoever was hosting this gathering of the world's wealthy elite.

  Flush.

  The sound cut through his thoughts. A guy had finished taking a shit in one of the stalls and flushed his toilet. He exited and walked toward the sink, movements unsteady.

  Arata looked up from washing his hands and his mouth dropped.

  It was the golden-haired guy he'd met earlier. He was washing his hands messily, clearly dizzy from some substance he'd used at the party. His movements were uncoordinated, like his brain was sending signals to his body half a second too late.

  He was drunk. Possibly high on something else as well.

  Arata realized why the library was empty: he was the only nerd wandering in such a place while there was a party full of hot girls and unlimited food going on just a couple meters away. Everyone else with any social awareness was at the ballroom, networking or drinking or doing whatever wealthy people did to have fun.

  And here was Arata, searching through dusty books and crawling under furniture like some kind of paranoid detective.

  The guy was clearly not feeling well, despite his efforts to hide it. His face was flushed, eyes slightly unfocused and his breathing was a little bit too heavy for someone who was just washing their hands.

  "Oh hey, Japanese guy." He spoke perfect American English. If Arata remembered correctly, he'd spoken Japanese the first time they'd shared words. Fluently, too. Not the halting, textbook Japanese that most foreigners spoke, but natural conversation like he'd been studying for years.

  "Are you enjoying the party?"

  Arata couldn't tell him about his mission or any information about himself. He simply couldn't trust anyone inside this ship.

  For all he knew, the guy could be working with the Harbor Group. He could be another layer of the trap, gathering intelligence while pretending to be a friendly drunk American youngster.

  But Arata's instincts said otherwise. There was something genuine about his energy, something that felt too natural to be an act.

  And if there was one thing Arata had learned from years of observing people, it was that truly good actors were rare. Most people couldn't maintain a convincing persona when intoxicated.

  Time to test how drunk he really was.

  "Yeah. I hooked up with a girl, went to get drinks, and I didn't find her when I came back."

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Arata hoped that the guy's drunk state wouldn't make him realize the obvious lie: he'd told him beforehand that he didn't drink. The contradiction was right there, waiting to be noticed by anyone paying enough attention.

  The guy stared at him for a couple of seconds.

  "Man... that's so sad." Tears were actually rolling down his face now, his emotional state completely unguarded. "I really hope you find her. That's like... that's the worst feeling, you know? When you think you made a connection with someone and then they just... disappear."

  He was really emotional about it. Genuinely upset on Arata's behalf for a situation that didn't even exist.

  What was the deal with him?

  But all of this was part of Arata's mind game. One thing he knew for sure was that he was very good at manipulating people like Kaito—not that he was manipulating his friend in any way, but that naive trait in their personality left them pretty vulnerable to manipulation. They had this desire to help, to solve other people’s problems. They wanted to be the hero who saved the day.

  And that impulse could be exploited.

  "Yeah man. She also took my room card so I have nowhere to sleep." Arata let his voice crack slightly, adding just enough emotional weight to sell the story. He started crying—not real tears, but the kind of controlled emotional display that looked genuine to someone not fully aware.

  "I don't even know where I'm supposed to go. I can't ask the crew for a new card without explaining what happened, and that's embarrassing, and—"

  There was no way he would see past the lie in his current state, not that he would have been able to in his normal state anyway. The guy was clearly the type who took people at face value, who assumed good intentions until proven otherwise.

  Arata was betting everything on this stranger's decision.

  One thing he knew for sure was that being one of the few young people inside this ship wasn't a coincidence. The average age at that ballroom party was probably fifty, maybe sixty. Arata’s instincts were telling him that this guy's status couldn't be anything other than a Candidate, and a strong one at that. His confidence, the way he carried himself, the casual assumption that crew members would obey him without question.

  But even if he wasn’t, there was no way this guy wasn't at least the son of some millionaire aboard this ship. His parents were probably important enough that their children got brought along to these gatherings despite being too young to participate in whatever business was being conducted.

  His decision had been made.

  With this boy, he was guaranteed at least a better form of protection. His presence would serve as a shield, a barrier between Arata and the Harbor Group's more aggressive responses. If anything went south, he wouldn't hesitate to shelter behind this random guy. This would probably make the assailants think twice before attacking a member of a powerful family.

  Because even the Harbor Group had to respect certain boundaries. They had to maintain appearances when operating in spaces controlled by people with equal or greater influence. Starting a fight that endangered the children of wealthy elites would create complications they couldn't afford.

  At least, that was in theory.

  Takeda's death flashed before his eyes.

  The way his body separated into two uneven pieces, still smiling despite his horrible fate, his blood spraying across concrete. The sound of the scythe cutting through flesh and bone. The Reaper's cold voice reminded him that pieces of shit like himself existed in the world.

  And Arata had used him. Had brought him to that warehouse knowing there was a chance—a significant chance—that Takeda wouldn't make it out of there alive.

  Arata's gaze shifted. Sadness took him over, genuine this time.

  He was doing it again. He was trying once more to manipulate a naive person who just wanted to help, who saw someone in distress and immediately moved to fix the problem.

  Arata was used to using people, and discarding them when convenient. He justified it through “tactical necessity”.

  Pieces of shit like you.

  "You know what, nevermind I—"

  "YOU DON'T HAVE A ROOM ANYMORE?" His voice exploded at a volume completely inappropriate for a bathroom conversation, genuine distress radiating from every word. "DON'T WORRY BRO, I GOT THE WHOLE TOP FLOOR FOR MYSELF. MY FATHER IS THE OWNER OF THE LEVIATHAN! YOU CAN COME ANY TIME YOU'D LIKE!"

  Arata froze.

  Wait.

  What?

  "LET'S GO, ONE MORE FRIEND, IT'S GONNA BE SO LIIIIIIT!"

  Arata stared at him, eyes wide open, brain struggling to process what he'd just heard.

  How in the world?

  The guy had said too much, way too much. This was information that should have been kept private, that represented a massive security vulnerability, that could be exploited in countless ways by anyone with hostile intent.

  His father is the owner of the ship?

  Not just a wealthy passenger. Not just an important business figure attending the gathering. The actual owner of the LeVIATHAN. Which meant this boy had access to everything. Every compartment. Every restricted area. Every piece of information about the vessel's operations and passenger manifest.

  This was better than Arata could have possibly hoped for. Better than any outcome he'd planned for. He'd been trying to manipulate this guy into offering a place to sleep, and instead he'd stumbled into a connection that gave him way more than what he could ever dream of.

  The guy finished his business in the bathroom, still moving with that unsteady drunk-person rhythm. He walked to the door, staggering slightly, and opened it.

  He shouted before leaving, volume still completely uncontrolled.

  "BY THE WAY. MY NAME IS JACOB!"

  Didn't he realize he was shouting the whole time? The bathroom acoustics made it even worse, his voice echoing off marble and tile in ways that probably carried into the corridor beyond.

  Arata gave him his name as well, keeping his voice at a normal volume. Jacob smiled—a genuine, unguarded smile that people only showed when they were too drunk to maintain social masks—and left waving at him, full of energy despite the late hour and obvious intoxication.

  The door swung closed, leaving Arata alone in the bathroom.

  Silence, except for the subtle hum of ventilation and the distant sound of waves against the hull.

  ***

  After their quick interaction, Arata had too much to think about.

  First, he enjoyed confirming to himself again the reason why he didn't let Kaito know about plans until right before the mission was about to start. Guys like them couldn't hold it, no matter how many times you told them not to. They got excited, way too excited, which made them careless. They let information slip when they shouldn't because they fundamentally didn't understand operational security, or they simply didn’t care enough.

  Kaito would have done the exact same thing Jacob just did—blurted out critical intelligence to a near-stranger because he’d gotten himself a little too intoxicated, the perfect state for saying what shouldn’t be said.

  But more importantly, he finally had an opportunity to turn the tables.

  Before this moment, the Harbor Group had the absolute upper hand on him. Despite being the intruder, despite being the one who'd breached their security and infiltrated their operation, he was the one getting tracked. He was the one being monitored.

  They knew the ship's layout. They had numerical superiority. They controlled communications and could coordinate responses while Arata operated alone in unfamiliar territory.

  But now, he had an "ally"—the son of the owner of the ship.

  This would grant him absolute freedom inside the whole vessel if he played his cards well. He could access any compartment of the ship, restricted or not. He could move through areas that would normally trigger immediate security responses or use Jacob's authority as cover for actions that would otherwise be questioned.

  He remembered the crew member's reaction when Jacob told him that Arata was fine—he'd sighed in exasperation as if he'd witnessed such a scene a thousand times. Like Jacob made a habit of picking up random people and declaring them guests, forcing the crew to accommodate whoever he decided was interesting that day.

  That meant the crew wouldn't stop him if he was with him. They wouldn't ask uncomfortable questions about why he was accessing sensitive areas. They'd just assume he was another one of the owner's son's random friends, brought aboard for entertainment during what was probably a boring business trip for a teenager.

  Perfect.

  Arata smiled while staring at himself in the mirror. The reflection showed someone who looked tired—dark circles under his eyes, face slightly drawn from stress and lack of proper sleep, bandages visible beneath his stolen suit's sleeves. But the smile was genuine.

  For the first time since boarding this ship, he had an actual advantage.

  He elegantly splashed his face with water, the cold shocking his system slightly, helping clear the fog of exhaustion. Then he passed his hand through his hair, fixing it into something presentable. He had to maintain the appearance of someone who belonged here, who was just another wealthy young person attending this gathering.

  From now on, finding Mika was only a matter of time. He could take all the rest he needed without worrying about anyone, and be in perfect shape—excluding his freshly bruised arms—for what was coming next. He could search the ship methodically, without rushing, without the constant pressure of knowing the Harbor Group was hunting him.

  He left the bathroom and headed for the top floor of the ship, following the directions Jacob had shouted at him before disappearing.

  The LeVIATHAN, huh.

  Arata was very intrigued by the weird name of the ship.

  Leviathan was the sea monster from the Book of Job, the creature that represented chaos and untamable power. It was often depicted as a massive serpent or dragon that lived in the ocean depths.

  He wondered what such an appellation suggested.