The footfalls were quick—clearly, whoever it was was heading straight for her.
A comfortable day had dulled Lan Grace's vigilance.
The smoke from her fire had given her away.
If she doused it and left now—would there still be time?
As the thought flashed through her mind, two figures entered her view.
A tall, handsome youth in a white tailcoat, long gold hair, blue eyes.
Behind him, a short, big‑eyed boy with a head of black, curly, fluffy hair.
The two slipped through the jungle like night cats—swift and light—and in a blink stood before Lan Grace.
From detecting movement to being face‑to‑face, she had only managed to put down the half‑tin of mushroom soup and rise from the boulder she had used as a stool.
Facing the two, Lan Grace widened her eyes a touch—from their speed, the gap between her and them was enormous!
Cool, damp night air blew. The artificial moon hung big and bright, its light like a giant headlight, illuminating everything.
The three faced one another; the air fell into an awkward lull.
Lan Grace broke the discomfort first.
"Good evening, you two."
She raised a hand in greeting. "Have you eaten? Want some?"
Bending, she lifted the tin of mushroom soup in one smooth motion—then remembered it was half drunk already…
Just as she was about to put it away, the black‑curled boy beside the golden‑haired youth piped up, "Yes please."
Light on his feet, he took the few steps to Lan Grace and, before she could react, accepted the tin and "glug‑glug‑glug" downed it.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then beamed at her. "Thanks for the treat."
He left Lan Grace startled and awkward—and the long‑haired youth wore a look of sheer distaste.
"You're the Waste Star girl President Ferrero spoke of?"
The golden‑haired youth's voice was clear and pleasant—a standard broadcasting voice.
Pleasant, yes—but not entirely real.
It was as if he were putting on the voice deliberately; the dissonance was glaring.
Lan Grace blinked—at his words, and the odd voice.
"I am from a Waste Star," she replied.
You could tell that from her clothes; the question was almost pointless.
"Then I've got the right one." As he spoke, the golden‑haired youth's whole air changed!
From high‑cold beauty to something dangerous.
Lan Grace understood at once: he meant to strike.
"Wait." She knew she was no match for him; in her present state, she had no chance at all. But she would not simply give in.
She took a step back—adjusting her angle to "hide" behind the curly‑haired boy.
At least the curly‑haired one felt gentler than the golden‑haired peacock.
"Since the exam started, it's been four days. I've long been out of nutrient solution," Lan Grace said, meeting the youth's eye, pressing down her nerves and adopting a light tone.
"A fight with no gain is meaningless. We're all here for the entrance exam—why resort to violence? Eliminating me won't benefit you."
If you couldn't win, reason it out; a detour was still a way through—any way that worked.
"Keeping you won't benefit me either." The golden‑haired youth intoned in that jarringly "broadcast" voice.
"How… how could it not?" Lan Grace blurted. "One more person is one more strength. If we unite and help one another, passing the entrance exam together would be better, no?"
"Big sis, you want us to take along dead weight?" the black‑curled boy said bluntly.
Big sis???
She was only seventeen!
In an instant, the "gentle" image of the curly‑haired boy in her mind shattered.
"Dead… weight?" Lan Grace stared.
In their eyes, was she truly a useless burden?
She furrowed her brow and thought—perhaps… she was?
She had no ability, no strength—only… cookery?
Right!
"I can cook for you! Even if you have nutrient solution, it doesn't taste half as good as what I make." Lan Grace proposed eagerly.
"We're all sitting the exam—no need to be at each other's throats, is there? We'll be fellow students soon; why not be friendly? And now of all times, why not treat your stomach a little better?" She adopted a kindly, persuasive tone.
At her words, the curly‑haired boy instantly thought of that tasty soup.
He couldn't help licking his lips—savouring the umami.
He hesitated.
Before he could speak, the golden‑haired youth cut in, decisive. "No need."
His cool gaze held open disdain—even a touch of contempt—for her suggestion.
Lan Grace was not pleased.
Her temper rose.
Hmph!
To‑day you're cold to me; to‑morrow I'll be out of your reach!
"Less nonsense. Hand over your signal button. You can leave this planet."
The golden‑haired youth was set on eliminating Lan Grace.
Lan Grace had no idea that she had become the imagined "number one enemy" of most examinees.
In the desert, President Ferrero's words had not only scolded everyone, they had slapped a giant "hate" tag on the "Waste Star girl"—making her rank first as a potential rival in many minds.
If she had known, she would have wanted to argue.
She was just a little fledgling—how could she deserve such a label?
Still… to be so firmly remembered by all—it was… a bit of a thrill?
The curly‑haired boy saw his companion's resolve and sighed, regretful.
He looked at Lan Grace. "Sorry. I'd have liked to team up, but Kong Simon won't agree."