As soon as those words fell, even the music at the bar paused intelligently for a moment. Everyone’s gaze gathered strangely on the girl. The red-haired biker in the “Traffic Light Trio” spat out his drink in one explosive spray, coughing up a storm. Next to him, the green-haired guy shakily raised his sleeve to wipe his face, now splattered, turned his head and asked, “What did you say you are?”

As everyone knows, the barely functioning democratic government of the Eighth Star System is like a disposable lunchbox. By extension, the governments of the various planets are not even as good as toilet paper, and the police stations are little more than signposts—nobody takes them seriously. Since the government doesn’t call the shots, someone else has to, and over time, this has led to gangs running rampant. The Eighth Star System has many gangs, each with its own turf, acting as the “invisible governments” of the major planets.

The “invisible government” entrenched on Beijing Beta Star is called “Black Hole.” Its income comes from protection fees, and occasionally, it dabbles in murder and arson.

Black Hole has a mysterious leader named Clark. Whether it’s “Lin” or “Lynn” is unclear, but everyone calls him “Fourth Brother.” There are many rumors about Fourth Brother’s origins—some say he’s a wanted criminal, others that he’s a reformed interstellar pirate. In just a few years, this person made a name for himself in Black Hole, first becoming the right-hand man of the previous boss, then the current one.

How did Fourth Brother climb to the top of this food chain? There are plenty of stories full of intrigue and bloodshed circulating among the people—no one knows if they’re true, but such tales have a vast audience in the Eighth Star System, enjoyed by young and old, highbrow and lowbrow alike.

Every little punk and delinquent girl on Beijing Beta Star wants to be the next Fourth Brother. Their longing for Black Hole is as devout as the children of Votto’s elite are for Ulan Academy.

The girl, Emily Harris, boasted shamelessly, “Black Hole—you mean you’ve never heard of Black Hole on Beijing Star?”

The female biker, hearing her nonsense and seeing the girl’s face—still childish beneath the heavy makeup—laughed. “Fourth Brother must be broke, recruiting child labor now?”

The girl’s brows shot up, ready to retort, but before she could open her mouth to spit out a string of curses, the boss wiped his hands and told the mechanical hand beside him, “Call Benjamin Foster.”

The mechanical hand made an “ok” gesture and said in a flat voice, “Calling Principal Foster—”

The girl was utterly shocked. “You…”

“How do I know which school you’re from?” the boss finished her question for her, then answered himself, “Every underage kid in the Eighth Star System pretending to be from Black Hole is that bastard’s student.”

As soon as he finished, the mechanical hand trembled—the call to “that bastard” had gone through.

The mechanical hand’s previously flat, cold electronic voice suddenly changed, becoming a man’s voice. A deep, gentle tone flowed from the palm of the mechanical hand: “Well, this is rare. What made you think of me?”

The boss answered briefly, “Come over, lost and found.”

“Hm?” Principal Foster asked with a hint of a smile, “What did I lose?”

He spoke lazily, almost singing, but his words were clear, the endings tinged with a nasal sound, making him sound especially languid—not at all like a proper principal.

“A troublemaker named Emily Harris. Check if she’s from your school.”

The mechanical hand paused, then the “late-night show host” voice instantly jumped up three octaves, switching at lightspeed to “news anchor” mode: “What happened? Where are you?”

Before the boss could answer, a flash of silver—a small sword—appeared at the mechanical hand’s wrist. The boss’s eyes narrowed; he immediately stood up and threw on a coat. At the same time, he told the mechanical hand, “At the ‘Broken Tavern.’ Cut the chatter, hurry up and come get her.”

With that, he ended the call without further ado. As he reached out, the mechanical hand behind the bar detached from its base, shrank automatically, and snapped onto the boss’s arm like a bracelet—like a well-trained living parrot!

The girl, Emily Harris, who had grown up in this backwater of the Eighth Star System and had never seen the world, stared in shock.

The boss tossed out, “Penny, you all watch the place,” and hurried out the back door.

He had barely left when there was a “ding-dong” sound. A sleepy-looking middle-aged man in a police uniform poked his head in, politely smiling at the biker gang that looked like a bunch of monsters. “So, I heard there’s a little matter for me to handle?”

“That one,” the female biker named Penny jerked her chin at the little boy in the corner, “Lost child. You take him.”

“Alright, no problem, Miss Penny.” The policeman, as friendly as a little brother, scooped up the boy, expertly patted his back, and quickly soothed the frightened child. Then, with shifty eyes, he glanced around and asked with a smile, “So… was Fourth Brother here just now?”

The delinquent girl Emily Harris stifled a yawn so hard her jaw nearly dislocated.

Penny glanced at her with a half-smile.

“No such luck,” she pulled the toothpick from her mouth, her crimson lips curling as she pointed to the not-quite-closed back door, “Just left.”

Chapter 4