Professor Darnell said, “You know, Hajime, with all that Personal Artificial Intelligence of yours, I bet you could compute the exact probability of you and me making magic together.”

Hajime, blinking twice, replied, “Probability? I don’t compute social variables. They’re chaotic.”

Crash and burn. Huis had sensed the man’s growing restlessness since the ship had bypassed Neptune, putting them out of reach of System-Mundo, and depriving him of his holographic entourage.

From his vantage point in the corner of the lounge, Huis Hohenzollern observed the scene playing out between Hajime and Professor Darnell with a mixture of amusement and intrigue. Defeated, Professor Darnell suddenly spied Shephatiah lounging a few feet away. With his typical swagger, he sauntered over to her.

Shephatiah was sprawled on one of the plush lounge chairs, lazily scrolling through her flexipad, as though she couldn’t be less interested in the people around her. But Huis knew better. Shephatiah never missed an opportunity to assert control, always making sure everyone knew she was the center of attention—even if she pretended otherwise.

Darnell, always the spotlight chaser, approached with that cocky confidence of his, ready to stir up trouble or charm, whichever came first.

“You really don’t remember me, Shephatiah? Not even a little?” Professor Darnell asked, his grin wide, waiting for her to catch up. “The rooftop party… the wild night... I thought for sure the Oscar statue would ring a bell.”

Déjà vu. Huis knew for a fact he’d seen this pair have this exact conversation before.

Shephatiah’s eyes narrowed slightly behind her onyx-tinted glasses as she glanced up. There was a flicker of recognition, followed by her familiar, dismissive smirk. “Oh, baby, you’re that dude,” she drawled. “You stole Paris Hilton’s Oscar from my hotel room!”

Huis had to stifle a laugh. That incident had caused quite a scandal in the tabloids for weeks. Shephatiah had been furious. But now, she seemed more amused than angry.

Professor Darnell, clearly proud of himself, gestured to the gold chains around his neck. “Yeah, that’s right. I did you a favor, though. Melted it down and turned it into these bad boys.”

Shephatiah sat up slightly, her interest piqued. “You melted down the Oscar into those chains? Oh, baby, no way! That was real as fuck. I had to pay for that thing, you jackass!”

Huis watched as Professor Darnell’s grin widened. He never passed up a chance to gloat, especially over something as absurd as this.

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“Hey, that statue wasn’t doing you any favors. Now it’s part of the culture,” Professor Darnell said, shaking the chains for emphasis.

Shephatiah’s amusement quickly turned into something more dangerous—a playful but determined glint in her eye. “Culture, huh? Well, in that case, give ‘em here, fucko. You owe us guys.”

Without warning, she reached out and grabbed the chains, tugging on them with surprising force. Professor Darnell, still laughing, tried to hold on, but Shephatiah wasn’t playing. She half-climbed onto him, pulling at the chains like they were hers by right.

“Come on, baby, gimme those fucking chains!” she demanded, her voice a mix of laughter and threat.

Darnell, his arms flailing to keep the chains on, laughed nervously. “Yo, hold up! You really want ‘em? I worked hard for these!”

“Hard?” Shephatiah scoffed. “You didn’t work for shit! You melted down shit I paid for. Hand ‘em over or I’ll just take ‘em myself.”

Huis caught the moment when the shirtless muscular Martin clone Shephatiah had been cuddling shifted awkwardly. The clone’s genetically conditioned instincts were kicking in—he was programmed to obey and protect. Yet, he hesitated, unsure of what to do as he processed Shephatiah’s behavior. His eyes flickered with discomfort, betraying his normally calm, passive demeanor.

“Miss Shephatiah, do you require my assistance?” the clone asked, his tone polite but uneasy.

Shephatiah barely spared him a glance as she continued tugging at Darnell’s chains. “Oh, baby, no! Fuck off, Martin. Go, like, I don’t know—jump into space or whatever. I’m busy.”

The Martin clone hesitated, his body language stiff and uncertain. For a moment, he seemed caught between his genetic conditioning and the bizarre spectacle in front of him. Finally, he took a step back, his face expressionless.

“I shall retire then, Miss Shephatiah,” the clone said with an obedient bow before turning smoothly and walking away, his movements unnervingly perfect, as always.

Huis watched the exchange, impressed by how quickly Shephatiah dismissed the android and shifted her focus back to Professor Darnell, who was still laughing but clearly struggling to keep his chains.

“Damn, girl, you’re gonna break ‘em!” Professor Darnell said, his laughter turning into a breathless pant. “I’ll tell you what, you let me keep these, and I’ll owe you one. How’s that sound?”

Shephatiah, still grinning, finally let go of the chains and slumped back into her seat. “Fine, baby. But you still fucking owe me, bitch. And I’m gonna collect.”

Professor Darnell adjusted his chains, still laughing as he slouched into a nearby chair, trying to catch his breath. “Yeah, yeah. I bet you will.”

Huis couldn’t help but smirk as he watched the scene play out. The tension between Shephatiah and Darnell crackled with energy, and he knew he’d caught every moment. This was the kind of raw, chaotic vibe he thrived on—the perfect mix of flirtation, ego, and just a little bit of danger.

As the Martin clone disappeared from view, Shephatiah shook her head in mild amusement, her eyes already drifting back to her flexipad. Darnell, grinning like a fool, slumped back into his chair, clearly feeling like he’d come out on top—if only for the moment.

Huis leaned back in his own chair, satisfied. This was good. This was very good. And none of them had even died yet.