It was 4 AM. Jacques was clinging to the back of a cargo truck. The night was dark and cold, and he was a little tired—he had just returned from his flying course. But the glittering stars in the sky above never failed to bring joy to his mind. He couldn't wait to discover what lay beyond those twinkling lights.
A motorcycle zipped past the cargo truck, gliding fast—like an eel cutting through a river. Jacques smiled bitterly and wondered: if he asked his mother, would she buy one for him?
He had lived with Marie Durant for four years. She was a very independent woman, a professor of astroanthropology. She wasn't the one who found him on the street—she discovered him in an orphanage. That day, he had been wearing a sleeveless shirt, and part of the dragon tattoo across his chest was visible, its head resting on his right shoulder.
That's when she spotted it. Jacques remembered how she pulled out a device with a small light, scanned the tattoo, and then smiled. Without hesitation or second thought, she agreed to adopt him.
Back then, they called him "Rod." But after the adoption, Marie renamed him Rene-Jacques Durant. Marie was an Earthling of French descent—one of the dominant populations on Planet Alayan.
She was strong, self-sufficient, and used to doing everything on her own. It was rare to see her desperate. Emotional, yes—but she always came up with solutions. She once told Jacques that her father had never been there for her. It forced her to wipe her own tears and stop waiting for someone to come and save her. "No one will," she said. "You have to rely on yourself."
She taught Jacques how to read, write, and behave. She taught him that it was okay to feel, okay to dream, okay to cry. But she also taught him that he had to take responsibility for everything he did.
Even during meals, Marie made sure he finished his plate. "No leftovers," she would say—one of the simplest lessons in responsibility: finish what you start. If you don't like the food you've taken, take less next time.
When it was time for him to attend the academy, she offered him many choices.
Jacques chose to become a policeman, inspired by Marie's teachings: to be good, to do good, to contribute to society. Had he been allowed to choose a year or two later, he might have picked engineering. But he was already here—and it was better to finish what he had started.
Maybe after he graduates, he'll just take the certificate with him and set off on a voyage. At least he'll have finished it.
Jacques feels a little sleepy, so he jumps into the truck's cargo box to make himself comfortable. There's a tarpaulin folded in the middle of the empty bed—it looks like the truck just returned from delivering chickens. He lies down on the tarpaulin and relaxes.
The slight tremor of the road feels like a cradle, and the clear sky above brings him peace. Jacques closes his eyes and lets go.
At the same time, a few hoverbikes zip through the air, a hundred meters above ground—space pirates, racing through the clouds. It's a good thing they're doing it up there and not on the roads. These people are the reason buildings nowadays are built so sturdy—so they don't collapse when punks like that crash into them.
The plan was to sleep for five minutes, but when Jacques opens his eyes, the sky has already begun to turn blue. He jolts upright in shock. The truck is still moving, but he finds himself on an unfamiliar road.
He checks his GPS and realizes he's far off course from the academy. It's already 6 AM, so there's a good chance he'll miss the first class.
Jacques puts his phone back in his pocket and jumps off the moving truck, landing safely by the roadside.
Checking his phone again, he smacks his lips. As much as he hates it, he'll have to walk his way back to the right direction.
But then, his stomach growls.
He needs to eat something, and that's when he spots Marry's Breakfast & Diner.
The name feels oddly inviting—his mother's name is Marie. The similarity amuses him. Let's go in.
As he enters, it's clear the diner has just opened. One of the crew members is still mopping the floor. The smell of brewed vegetables and protein fills the air—warm and comforting. From the pictures on the wall, Jacques can tell the diner serves local breakfast foods like toast and drinks inspired by regional culture. One dish stands out: a wrapped food similar to a kebab, but original to Alayan's indigenous people. The bread is called rica, and it's filled only with vegetables.
It's not Jacques's favorite, but today—since he got lost—why not try something new?
When he enters the diner, a cute teenage boy with bronze hair, who's mopping the floor, looks up and greets him.
"Hey, I'm sorry—we're still getting ready," he says.
"Okay." Jacques takes a step back, about to leave, when suddenly the black rain begins to fall. It comes without warning. If it touches your skin, it sticks for three days.
"Well... fine. You can stay," the boy says, stopping Jacques from leaving.
"Thanks. What do you have?" Jacques glances up at the menu on the wall. The prices are cheap—perfect for the monthly allowance his mom sends him.
"We've got rica... If you're not familiar with it, we have burgers too. Or stew, if you want something hot," the boy offers with easy hospitality.
"Sure. I'll have some rica. Which one's your favorite?" Jacques looks directly into the boy's eyes. The boy glances down shyly and adjusts his glasses.
"I like the cabbage rica," he says. Despite the shyness, he isn't hard to talk to.
Jacques isn't exactly a fan of vegetables, but he adds to the order anyway.
"Let me have that—with mozzarella, ham, salami, and eggs." Jacques finishes with a smile, one that says I know what I'm doing. The boy, being Chungwa—the tribe who invented rica—would probably take it as hard as an Italian watching someone break spaghetti.
But unlike most Chungwas, the boy doesn't flinch. He returns the challenge."Rica is vegan food. I'll give you a burger instead."
"No, I want to try the rica. But life's boring without meat," Jacques smirks. "Just add some—I'll pay extra." He doesn't usually tease strangers, but something about this boy makes him want to.
"No. I'll give you a burger." The boy turns toward the kitchen, but before disappearing behind the door, he tosses a subtle, flirtatious glance over his shoulder.
He gives off a nagging type vibe, Jacques thinks. And of course, Jacques catches the flirt.
"Why not combine them instead?" Jacques calls after him.
When the burger arrives, Jacques finally notices the boy is wearing a nursing student uniform under his apron, with a name tag embroidered on his chest: Ethan Shaw.
With his brown, freckled skin, the boy is clearly from Planet Alayan's indigenous culture—Chungwa. They're rare and exotic. Their skin ranges from dark brown to a yellowish tone, which is considered light in their community, and freckles scatter across their bodies—everywhere except the palms. But what stands out most are their bright yellow-greenish eyes.
"Are you in nursing?" Jacques starts the conversation.
"Yeah. It's in demand, well-paid, and promising for stability," Ethan answers politely while continuing to mop the floor. "Are you in engineering?"
Jacques smirks. Something about being seen through makes him happy. It means he doesn't have to explain much or waste his breath. This guy just gets him. The connection is easy.
"No."
"Oh, I thought—"
"What gave it away?" Jacques asks, still chewing his burger.
"You've got dirty oil on your cheek... and under your nails," Ethan says, his voice a bit slow and clearly shy.
Jacques pauses and checks his nails, raising his eyebrows when he realizes how dirty his fingers are.
"Good observation. I'm in the police academy, but I've studied engineering in... alternative ways," Jacques explains.
Ethan narrows his eyes as he suddenly looks more interested.
"Oh, that's good... Why the police academy?"
"Back then, I didn't know what I was going to do with my life. Only later did I realize how much I wanted to be a voyager," Jacques smiles as he continues eating.
Ethan smiles too—just a small one, like he's thinking of something funny.
"What's so funny?" Jacques catches the subtle expression, sensing that Ethan's making fun of him a little.
"Oh, no, don't get me wrong, I— I just remembered someone I used to know," Ethan politely apologizes.
"Your dad? Brother?" Jacques guesses. He doesn't want to kill the conversation.
"My ex-boyfriend," the boy with freckled skin admits, without hesitation.
"Wait, how old are you?"
"I'm seventeen," Ethan chuckles. He knows his small frame and cute face often make him seem younger—but he doesn't mind.
"I thought you were younger than me," Jacques laughs.
Now it's Ethan who looks confused. He stops mopping and looks at Jacques carefully, with a serious face. He adjusts his glasses and asks with disbelief, "You're younger than seventeen?"
"Yeah. I'm about to be sixteen in a few months," Jacques says, finishing his burger.
"Oh—" Ethan raises his eyebrows, then quietly continues mopping the floor. Suddenly, he becomes cold and distant, slowly working his way further from Jacques without saying anything else.
That felt like a polite turn-off. He probably thinks getting close to an underage guy will put him in trouble. Jacques looks outside through the glossy windows and notices the black rain has stopped. It's time to go back to the academy and attend class. He leaves the diner, placing the bill on the counter with a few coins as a tip.
When he reaches the glass door, Jacques takes one last glance at Ethan. But the boy is already in the kitchen, giving Jacques nothing but a cold shoulder.
Rejected—without a single word. How's that for an answer?
Maybe he should come back in two years. Maybe then, Ethan will reconsider.
Right after Jacques leaves, a group of bikers enters the place. Their dirty boots ruin the freshly cleaned floor, undoing all of Ethan's work. But as a teenage waiter, he can't get angry. He just does his job. As long as he stays obedient and doesn't ask too many questions, he'll be safe.
The riders quickly fill the place and make themselves at home. And it doesn't take a genius to see how their version of "home" looks.
Mud everywhere. Boots on tables. One guy even sits on a table and props his feet on the sofa. Another chews on something, then tosses the trash at the window. Someone spits on the floor. Someone else pees in the corner.
Laughter and rude jokes flood the air.
Ethan is terrified, but his uncle made him take this shift—offering a raise in return.
"Kid, bring me the burgers. Your rica sucks!"
"What do you mean sucks? It's garbage food from the kookoo tribe!"
They burst out laughing. The sound is so loud it nearly drowns out Ethan's thoughts. He feels drained already and wishes he weren't alone.
After scribbling down their orders, Ethan heads toward the kitchen—only for one of them to stretch his foot in the way. Ethan slips and falls hard to the floor.
They laugh harder.
Ethan hurriedly grabs his glasses and puts them back on. Without saying a word, he gets up and walks into the kitchen.
Shit! I got robbed!