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[Prologue]

It was the age of zero gravity. An age where a myriad of people lived their lives in the heavens, high above the numerous worlds they usually inhabit.

The year of the old calendar recently reached five digits, another hallmark in the long history of mankind. And inside a certain hunk of rock floating in the void of space... His story finally began.

"I would say that I am not in any way sympathizing with you, Captain. I will prepare for the ship's launch."

"Wait, what?! You're abandoning me?! What kind of helmswoman are you?! Abort, abort!"

A young man was running and weaving through the mess of buildings in Runanthor Colony City, his white coat fluttering rapidly behind him.

Trying to shake off his persistent pursuers, he left the main streets behind and entered the less prosperous part of the city. The buildings he saw gradually change into older, rundown, and rustic kinds.

The people he passed by deftly avoided him as he hurtled down the narrow street, trying to avoid any trouble. Though they seemed a bit surprised, they were shockingly calm overall, even after they saw dozens of rough-looking thugs who followed him as if they were in his thrall.

"Mama, are they playing tag?" a nearby little girl asked a woman who was probably her mother. "Yes. The winners will get a fleshy pinata that's filled with lots of credit chits," the mom answered.

Another pair of bystanders chimed in, this time a young boy and a man. "Mister, humans truly are foolish creatures. They willingly inflict on themselves and each other violence simply for money and pleasure," the kid said grandiosely. The man readily replied, "Don't get philosophical on me, kid. And by the way, hasn't anyone told you to 'beware of strangers?' We literally just met and I'm not your freaking uncle."

It was surreal. The spectacle had seemingly become entertainment.

"They looked like, hop! this is some normal Tuesday," the young man quipped while jumping over a low wall to make a shortcut.

"It is just you who grew too complacent staying so long in the inner worlds, Captain. I would say the fault still lies mostly with you. Also, today is Monday."

Without getting distracted from his flight, he conversed with his Personal Assistant Wristband (PAW) device, strapped snugly on his left wrist. The young woman's voice coming from the communicator feature was from his biological android (bioroid) maid, Miledi, currently waiting inside their starship Helios.

After falling into the gambler's deathtrap commonly called the casino, the young man, freelancer captain Milanor Milestone, had run away at full speed out of the building.

Never mind winning any credits, he was losing so much that he would have no way to pay the debt. A Class-C colony like Runanthor had enough lawlessness that was in no way safe for a debtor with no rep. And so with that said, in a move one could call either extremely cowardly or dastardly brave (depending on the person who judged), he chose to sprint back into his ship as fast as possible.

"I can't believe they would guard the dock entrance like that. I underestimated them."

The casino thugs had camped right beside the dockyard's tower entrance, checking every person coming into it. Milanor had considered blasting his way through them anyway, but if he did that he would also have to deal with the security. And if there was one thing Milanor disliked as much as getting chased by big brawny men hounding his wallet, it was dealing with his nemesis, the Port Authority.

Using a perfect 180° reversal wall-kicking maneuver, Milanor skillfully backpedaled like some sort of parkour meister. Nonetheless, he still couldn't manage to lose the gangsters.

"I want to remind you of the 27 times I humbly tri—"

"Look, maid, I'm sorry alright! I regretted it! Can you please help your master and find a way out of this hellhole instead!?" Milanor tried to interject.

To which Miledi dutifully responded with, "Captain, you are lacking in dignity again. I wonder what kind of censure from Milady you would have to consign."

"Ah, no! Keep it to yourself, that's an order! If she hears how lame I'm being right now, that'll be the end of me! I'll be in serious danger of mutiny!"

"Worry not," she said in a cold, monotone voice. Her default one. "No amount of shame would be left in your bones when I pick it up after this is all over."

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"That's horrible!" he shivered. "How could you say that in a voice that rang like a TTS software?"

Milanor continued to run while they bantered, but he abruptly stopped when he sensed an ambush ahead of him.

"I'm screwed," he muttered while leaning against a wall. "They know this area well, while I'm running blindly everywhere. Why did I think this would work out?"

"Should you not surrender yourself to the authorities instead? You would keep your life intact that way, at least."

"You have no intention of helping me in the slightest, do you?!"

Milanor wondered why and how his beautiful but deadpan maid cultivated this kind of personality, and he began to suspect that there was a bug somewhere in her programming.

While he was thinking such unnecessary things, the thugs had shown themselves. They were rough-looking brutes with dirty clothes and shabby metal rods in their hands. Clearly, they were just lowlifes hired by casinos for dirty jobs.

Should I engage? he considered.

Milanor wasn't such a weak fighter that he would have any trouble with them, yet if he engage one, it would slow him down and the other thugs pursuing him would catch up.

He reached his hand into the holster beside his hips and gripped his trusty Noctilucent. A spiced-up, customized ionic gun.

It would be quick and easy if he used heavy firepower in the fight, but he felt uncomfortable going so far because he knew he was in the wrong. Of course, in accordance with the local law or its lack thereof.

Still gripping his gun, Milanor dashed through the street toward the men. They seemed surprised by his boldness and clumsily advanced.

"Hands up!"

Milanor quickly pulled his gun out and aimed at the thug to his right. Looking flustered at a gun suddenly aimed at him, the man stumbled.

Milanor used the opportunity to slip past him and tackled the thug to his left. His momentum caused the man to topple backward.

"Gaah!!"

"What?!"

Unconcerned for them, Milanor smoothly got himself up and continued running again. He successfully ran past them, and now the chase began anew.

I need to find a place to hide. With that thought in his mind, he scoured the area ahead of him.

He noticed that residents had shut themselves inside their houses because of the commotions. The uncanny lack of panic unnerved him. Violence seemed to be a daily occurrence.

Milanor thought that a Class-C colony would have better security, but then justified that because he was in the slums. By the virtue of his self-learned knowledge regarding interstellar criminology, he judged a separate Class-D classification would be appropriate.

After running for a while, Milanor noticed a small alleyway ahead of him, to his right. Glancing behind him, he peeked to see that the thug he startled with his gun before hadn't caught up to him.

Sensing the opportunity, he kicked off the ground hard and turned into the alley.

"Alright. Seems I can lose them here."

"Yet as if fortune had betrayed him, the path he took would lead to a dead end."

"Stop jinxing me!"

Milanor chided the stupid maid and hurried along the alley. He moved slower than before but still quite fast.

The path seemed to wind down left and right, but that was more advantageous for Milanor. Moreover, it began to tunnel under the residential district not long after, so it even protected him from above.

The situation he found himself in spurred something inside his mind.

"Huh, this reminds me of that time with Monoceros, hunting that Pirate Lord who lost his armada to a Centurion sweeper raid."

"Pirate Lord? Is this before you returned to Sir Luka, Captain?"

"Yeah, that bastard Razonar had escaped into the ruin of Charlotte."

Milanor had a reminiscent of the time he explored the abandoned First-Founder colony. He rarely had such a dangerous job again after he returned 'home' and captained Helios, or in other words, after he met Miledi.

"Well, I wasn't alone that time, and nobody chased me around either, so it was still a different experience."

"It was a shame that I was not around when the name Minor Streak was reverberating through the known galaxy."

"Hey, cut that out. I don't want to hear that ridiculous nickname."

If you were to ask people how would they describe Milanor, you would get a lot of variations in their answers. For most of his acquaintances, they would probably describe him as an arrogant brat. For those who only knew his accomplishment or history, maybe they would tell you he was a prodigy. And for those deeply affiliated with him, they might snidely call him a lucky boy favored by destiny.

In the present, it was hard to say whether the last description would hold well, considering he went bankrupt after a single visit to a gambling den.

Milanor started freelancing at a very young age, around 13 years old. Born to renowned spacefarers, he spent almost all of his childhood in starships. He had no need to learn how to travel the stars, since he had lived that way even before he was aware of the universe around him. And by that age, he was already far more capable than any adults who had only recently launched.

However, it also meant he still had the immaturity that was natural at that age. Being the legacy of the "White Streak," a popular nickname of his father, he soon received a brand of his own. "Minor Streak," they called him. And by golly did he embrace that name.

As someone who inherited White Streak's conspicuous streaks of white in an otherwise smooth and thick black hair. As a son who was White Streak's junior. And as a play on his real name, Milanor.

It was a nickname that referenced many things.

Those supposed "fans" of his had a lot of fun creating this name for him.

Anyway, he was still cringing to this day when he remembered how proud he was of that nickname. His edgy early-teen self was pitifully ignorant of the meaning of the word, something that ordinarily had connotation with inferiority. And since he was now very-very much a non-Minor, he felt the urgent need for a label change.

Milanor already had an idea for his new brand. A word that encapsulated his current enormity, which could describe various aspects of him in many, many ways.

"Guh," he shivered. "Alright, forget about that. I need to focus on getting out here." Chiding himself for ruminating absolutely dumb thoughts, Milanor shook his head.

"Wise words, Captain. I, being your diligent servant as always, already finished the preparation in the event you wished to write your will. Now bequest to me all of your glory."

"Will you quit it with that morbidity?! It's several centuries way too early!"

So the banter continued as Milanor ran along the paths laid out before him. Maybe those who said that thing about destiny were actually on to something, as unbeknownst to him, an encounter within the depth of these tunnels would lead Milanor to a journey he would never have imagined.