Hope Hall, resplendent in its gloomy grandeur, perched high in the craggy peaks of Ukiyo’s Ghostly Howl District.
Despite its name, the sprawling estate emanated a menacing charm, with its turrets and arches jutting out like skeletal fingers toward an ominous sky perpetually shrouded in a heavy mist. Fitting, as the rest of the district was as hauntingly gothic as its name suggested.
Outside, the storm raged. Forks of lightning streaked across the sky, briefly illuminating the tall, leaded windows of the villa’s great hall. The sound of rain pattering against the glass was a constant rhythm, muffled and eerie, as if it came from the other divide separating the world of the living and the dead.
Inside the villa, the near-complete darkness made it no less gloomy than the world outside its walls. But for the faint, flickering glow of countless holographic screens that floated in midair and illuminated the cavernous yet intimate setting within. These displays projected vibrant images of the floating city of Ukiyo and the five shimmering districts that currently made up this hub of entertainment. Interspersed among them were news feeds from Ukiyo's ten other neighboring floating cities, suspended like celestial islands over the barren earth below.
At the center of this dimly lit cross between a great hall, theater room and a stately study, seated on an aged leather Chesterfield loveseat, was a solitary figure.
The man—or boy, for his age seemed as inscrutable as his demeanor—sat at ease, draped in a black knit hoodie pulled low over his head. Pointed ears like that of a cat's protruded from the top of the hood, a whimsical detail that seemed somehow not out of place in the ominous atmosphere of the room. His legs, clad in black silk pajama pants, were crossed casually, exuding a detached elegance.
The light from the holographic screens carved shadows across his pale face, but it did little to throw it in into relief but for his most striking features: a razor-sharp jawline, skin as pale as the moon, and pomegranate stained red lips that formed its faint, habitual pout. He was still, save for the subtle motion of his fingers tapping on the armrest of the loveseat—a rhythmic beat, like a conductor signaling the tempo of an unseen orchestra. And indeed, faint classical music could be heard playing from somewhere in the villa, combining with the muffled pattering of rain to create a unique symphony.
Looking almost out of place in the univiting surroundings was a table standing before him, ornate and low, bearing a three-tiered cake stand laden with colorful confections. Next to it was a porcelain tea set, steam rising languidly from the spout of the teapot. The faint sweetness wafting from this delicate, almost childlike spread was practically lost to the musty, storm laden air thick with the scent of polished mahogany and aged leather.
Likewise, standing a respectful distance to his right, Rabbit, Mi Sha’s automaton assistant, provided a stark contrast to her cold and contemplative master. With long blonde hair tied back in a pale blue bow and a matching lacy skirt that swayed gently as she moved, Rabbit was the embodiment of sweetness. Her soft, mechanical voice carried a cheerfulness that seemed almost misplaced amidst the foreboding ambience of the villa.
Her mechanical joints also moved with fluid grace as if no different from a flesh and blood human, though her glowing sapphire eyes often stared ahead unblinkingly which gave the illusion away. White mechanical rabbit ears protruded from her head, twitching faintly as if to punctuate her words. In her delicate hands, she held a crystal holocom tablet, which projected a hologram of the conference call with the Starbound Express production team.
The tablet glowed with the image of a brightly lit conference room where the production team bustled about, their faces a mixture of excitement, curiosity, and thinly veiled anxiety. The contrast between their vibrant space and the shadowy villa was almost jarring.
“Good evening, everyone!” Rabbit chirped, her voice lilting. “The Director is ready to hear your report. Please proceed.”
The team sat straighter, adjusting their headsets and data tablets, their faces lit with excitement—and a touch of apprehension. At the head of the table was the leader of the production team, a man with graying temples and a warm yet frazzled demeanor. He pushed up his glasses and addressed the screen, his voice caught somewhere between respect and trepidation.
“Good evening, Sir,” the team leader began, his voice steady but tinged with a tremor. “Thank you for taking the time to join us. We’ve finalized the contestant roster for Starbound Express: Season 3 as per your guidelines.”
He pulled up a holographic file that expanded into a list of names and images. “As last season was for female idols, this season will return to training male idols. The participants are all young men with exceptional talent and unique backstories.”
The screen expanded to reveal headshots and biographical snippets, faces frozen mid-smile or mid-pose. Rabbit nodded, causing the blue bow and long ears on her blonde head to bounce. Delicate hands also clapped excitedly. In contrast, her master still did not move, his eyes—hidden beneath the hood—fixed on the screen.
“Two hundred participants,” the team leader continued. “We believe we’ve curated a group diverse and talented enough to meet the rigorous standards of Starbound Express. Of course...” His voice faltered briefly, “...your participation, Sir, as one of the 200 contestants, will undoubtedly cause a stir if it is made known.”
A ripple of murmurs passed through the room, barely audible but unmistakably laced with curiosity. The staff whispered to each other about what it might mean to have Director Loveless—the enigmatic founder of Ukiyo—compete alongside the very idols whose fate he had personally overseen for years.
Rabbit’s rabbit ears twitched, and she giggled softly, a sound like the chime of a silver bell. “Oh, Director Loveless will certainly cause a stir,” she said, tilting her head with an air of playfulness. “He’s quite looking forward to it, you know! Isn’t that right, Director?”
The young man remained silent, lounging on the loveseat with one arm draped lazily over the backrest. His pomegranate red lips barely twitched, but his hand moved for the first time. Slender fingers reached out, picking up the peculiar Rubik’s cube that had been resting casually on the seat beside him. Its surface shimmered with a surreal quality, each square reflecting not colors but constellations, galaxies, and the shifting cosmos.
“Of course,” Rabbit continued, her tone effortlessly filling the silence. “The Director prefers actions over words, as you all know. But he did say something quite poetic about it earlier! Let me think... Ah, yes: ‘Even shadows will one day yearn for the light.’ Isn’t that lovely?”
The team leader forced a smile, his brow glistening faintly with perspiration. “Yes, lovely indeed. Still, if I may, Sir...” He hesitated, then plunged forward. “Your decision to compete has sparked... considerable speculation among the staff. With respect, some of us wonder if this is to test the format? Or to express… dissatisfaction with us?”
Rabbit’s sapphire-like eyes blinked once, then sparkled with mirth. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know!” she teased, clasping her hands behind her back. “But the Director doesn’t reveal his motives so easily. We wouldn't want to ruin the plot by giving spoilers!”
After another round of confused exchanging of looks, the team leader ventured cautiously one last time, “Sir, forgive my boldness, but... are you certain about your decision to participate?” His words were chosen with the delicacy of someone approaching a dangerous precipice. “Even if it's under an alias—”
It was understandable. After all, Director B.E. Loveless had always eschewed the limelight even as his name and deeds resounded across the world and all its 11 floating cities. This would be the first time he would be stepping out into the public gaze—something which he never did even when directing his many brainchilds, preferring to interact with the production teams and cast like he did now with Starbound Express's staff. Remotely and complete with an automaton assistant who did the talking as if he was too lazy to even deign granting the ordinary peons his true presence and voice.
As he turned the cube in his hands, the young man finally looked up, but not at the hologram of the conference call but at a small picture frame facing his way on the table. Within it was an old photograph of a boy in a school uniform. The image was faded, the boy’s face obscured by shadows. But one detail was clear: the name tag stitched onto the uniform. Mi Sha.
The tension broke as the faintest hint of a smile tugged at Mi Sha’s pomegranate red lips. “Yes,” he said, his voice low and smooth, yet measured, deliberate, and carried an undeniable weight that subdued any more questioning from his subordinates.
Rabbit beamed, her rabbit ears perking up. “There you have it!” she said brightly, as if Mi Sha had just delivered a rousing speech. “Now, shall we move on? The Director has a busy evening ahead—very stormy tonight, you know!”
When the holographic feed cut off, Hope Hall fell back into near silence but for the faint melodic strains of a cello. Mi Sha leaned into the loveseat, his fingers twisting the shimmering Rubik’s cube with idle precision. Rabbit returned to his side, her mechanical limbs moving gracefully as she set the holocom tablet on the table.
“Such an excitable group,” she mused, her tone light but thoughtful. “Do you think they’re ready for what’s coming, Director?”
The Rubik’s cube continued turning in his hand, reflecting cosmic patterns onto the walls and his own inscrutable face. His gaze drifted lazily back to the smaller holographic displays showing the evening news. The Kornukopias family saga dominated the headlines, with images of Pureland’s gold-and-diamonds decadence and its bitter heirs vying for power.
He seemed to both answer and not answer Rabbit’s question, his lips curling slightly as the Rubik’s cube clicked on untiringly. “No,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But they’ll learn.”
It was unclear who he was referring to but what was apparent was that everything was going as planned. Plans years in the making finally falling into place.
“...In breaking news tonight, the patriarch of the Kornukopias family, Primo Kornukopias, has passed away after a week-long struggle with sustained injuries. Sources confirm his death has sparked a fierce succession dispute among his heirs. Control of Pureland, the notorious hub of decadence, now hangs in the balance.”
Images of Pureland filled the screen: chandelier lit casinos, luxurious but secretive clubs, and hedonistic parties that never seemed to end. The anchor continued, recounting the sordid tales of the Kornukopias heirs, each vying for their grandfather or father's coveted Key to Heaven, an artifact that granted its holder control over the city. An image of Pureland's Key to Heaven, a highly publicized golden wine goblet was shown resting on a jewel entrusted pedestal.
Mi Sha watched in silence, his expression unchanging. But as PR pictures of the heirs flashed by—figures clad in opulent attire, their faces masks of arrogance and greed—a cold snort resounded softly in the otherwise quiet room.
The Rubik’s cube in his hand clicked sharply, the motion coming faster and faster, more deliberate now. His pale fingers blurred as they twisted the object, constellations shifting and aligning in patterns too complex to comprehend.
As the news report ended, replaced by an image of Pureland’s shimmering skyline, Mi Sha set the Rubik’s cube down with a final decisive click. His gaze lingered on the image for a moment longer before he rose from the loveseat, his movements graceful and almost feline.
The storm outside intensified, lightning illuminating the room in brief, blinding flashes. Mi Sha walked to one of the tall windows, his silhouette framed against the tempest.
“Like snakes feeding on snakes,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the thunder. Whether it was contempt, amusement, or something darker, it was impossible to say.
Behind him, Rabbit tilted her head, her synthetic smile unwavering.
*
AN: The first chapter is so important, at least for me, not being satisfied with it really kills the momentum before it even started. Doesn't matter if you've got the rest of the story outlined and each chapter planned. It just puts a stopper on things in a way advice like "just keep writing" doesn't help. At all.
Though it's the third time I am reposting this, it was actually rewritten at least 5 times before I am finally, (hopefully) satisfied with this version. Now I can finally get this story moving. Apologies to all of my confused readers. Please bear with this author and her perfectionist ways. Thank you ?✨️
