Inside the glass case, two small creatures drifted like pollen caught in sunlit air.

On the left hovered a cartoon-styled whale, so cartoony its model felt low-poly, smooth like river stones.

On the right bobbed a jellyfish, all lapis blue, a white halo circling its body like moonlight around clouds.

The plaque read “Wander-Whale” and “Mumuxiu,” names set like ink on rice paper.

Whale checks out; the jellyfish name felt like someone gave up and went with sound, a bell rung for syllables.

Together, two eyes and eight legs, a tiny parade marching through vacuum.

A space whale and a space jellyfish, sea-born silhouettes swimming in star-water.

Why would such similar species bloom across 550 light-years, like twin flowers on two far hills?

From evolution alone, it didn’t add up, like trying to count waves and call it fate.

But if the universe is a boundless sea, the metaphor fits like salt in wind, and floating in vacuum feels natural.

“These two are both Infinite Power lifeforms,” the shopkeeper cooed, her voice soft as drizzle. “Barring surprises, their theoretical lifespans are… infinite.”

“Uh, so, specifically, how do you raise them?” Anxiety prickled first, then the question slipped out like a fish.

I’d kept Rice Rice before—no, that was a dyed-in-the-wool alien, more tenant than pet, a breeze that never needed tending.

“They’re easy to keep! The Wander-Whale feeds on dark matter, so you don’t need to worry about diet, just keep it near, like a lamp by your bed.”

“Its size will grow with age, swelling like a tide, and at max it can be as big as an asteroid—some people ride it, like a crescent over dunes.”

“But it’s terribly afraid of loneliness. If it’s alone more than three standard cosmic days, it will—”

“Die?” The word came cold as a knife, then drifted like smoke.

“Its size will shrink fast, like a popped balloon, and you’ll have to raise it again.”

…So it is a balloon!

The snail shopkeeper opened the glass case, and the little Wander-Whale floated out like a soap bubble freed.

It went “woogu,” a note like a reed pipe, and Lu Yao shivered as if a winter brook ran through her bones.

Then it pressed its soft, NS-level low-poly body to her cheek, a gentle nudge like silk brushing skin.

“...!”

Beside her, Yekase lifted Mumuxiu out of the case, palms cupped like lotus leaves.

The small jellyfish spun and fluttered above her hand, its eight short, rounded tendrils swaying in perfect sync like tassels in wind.

“Mumuxiu’s slightly trickier,” the shopkeeper said, warmth like tea in her tone. “Its main diet is metal ores, with a fondness for aluminum.”

“For snacks, you can feed it radioactive elements, like pepper flakes for a fiery tongue.”

“Though simple in structure, it has a bit of intelligence, enough to understand simple commands, like a dog that knows your whistle.”

“It can grow up to 25 light-years across, and from far away it looks like an entire galaxy, a spiral bowl of stars.”

“If you don’t like it large, a bit of electrical stimulation will reset it to juvenile, a bud pruned back to spring.”

“Can I feed it Infinite Power?” Eagerness flashed first, then curiosity chased it like birds.

“Of course! But that’s a luxury, like pouring honey on snow.”

Yekase flipped her hand, kneading out a ball of Flash Energy, apple-red and crisp as autumn.

Mumuxiu unfurled its tendrils and revealed a round mouth at its center, ring upon ring of tiny teeth moving in rhythm, like gears humming.

“Feels a bit grotesque,” she murmured, fascination and unease braided like smoke and rain.

Yekase fed the Flash Energy into its mouth and tossed a polite smile at the shopkeeper, a lantern glow through mist…

Mumuxiu clamped down on her finger.

“Waaah?!” Surprise cracked like thunder, then wobbled like jelly.

The tough outer mouthpiece bit tight and wouldn’t let go; inside, those ore-chewing layers of teeth roared awake, a grinder spooling up.

“Waaah—my finger’s going to be ground to dust!” Panic surged like floodwater over a low wall.

“Customer?!” The shopkeeper’s calm rippled; she’d never seen blood in her own store, and worry thumped like a drum.

Her seasoned eye said these two species had never appeared around Cassiopeia, and their bright curiosity meant pioneers from a new cosmic civilization, like scouts riding comets.

That small detail—casually conjuring Infinite Power yet still modest—spoke of strength and reason, steel wrapped in velvet.

A bad review carried home would be the wind shutting a thousand doors, the loss of a whole civilization’s business, like a harbor drained at low tide.

She flung out her tendrils and wrapped Mumuxiu’s bell, yanking like a tug-of-war rope, pulling until the damp yellow body flushed red like dawn.

Yekase howled and yanked at her own hand, trying to pry free; Mumuxiu looked airy like a feather, but its body was springy like bamboo.

Even stretched to a new shape by force from both sides, it stubbornly bit down and refused to release, like a crab clinging to a rock.

Lu Yao stroked the Wander-Whale, eyes cool as winter moon, and watched.

She’d never heard of an Infinite Power Ascender unable to escape a mere jellyfish; knowing Yekase, she was improv-ing, angling for a declared free pet, like fishing with laughter.

When it’s charity, she pours out everything like rivers; turn your head, she snatches even tiny bargains with steady aim—consistent as the seasons!

—Thump!

Yekase finally tore free of Mumuxiu’s abyssal little mouth and flew back, theatrical as a wire-stunt, slamming into the curtain with a dull boom like a drum in fog.

She slowly slid down and lay there, mouth open, eyes closed, moaning twice, like a winded bell.

The shopkeeper didn’t notice that no matter how Yekase tumbled, that swollen belly always avoided the impact at the last moment, or was cushioned by a Levitation Spell like a hidden hand.

Spooked by her guest sprawled on the floor, the shopkeeper let go of Mumuxiu and lifted Yekase with her tendrils. “Are you all right, miss? I’m terribly sorry! It’s all my fault…”

Yekase raised her right hand—her index finger, blood-slick, was clearly shorter by a segment, and pale bone gleamed like chalk.

“!!”

“It’s fine. It’ll grow back in two years,” she said, climbing to her feet, conjuring a napkin from nowhere, wiping and wrapping the wound, a brave smile like a lantern in wind.

“This… this is a shame for my shop! Beautiful lady, what can I compensate you with?” The words fell like coins into a bowl.

There it was! Yekase had been waiting for that line, like a fisherman watching a float bob.

Seeing the shopkeeper drop into the snare, Lu Yao could only shake her head in regret, like a willow in rain.

“It’s fine, really, no big deal!” She brushed it off, retreat smooth as tide.

“No, no, I must compensate!” The shopkeeper insisted, voice firm as a gate bar.

“Well, since you insist, it’d be rude to refuse.” The acceptance smiled like spring opening a shutter.

Yekase finally took the apology, smile sweet as ripe pears.

“We Earthlings believe in fate,” she said, tone warm as tea. “I feel this little one and I are meant. Why not compensate me with it—”

Then she glanced at Lu Yao with a poised look, a fan half-raised.

The shopkeeper was quick and kind. “Then let me gift this Wander-Whale to your companion as well!”

“Really? Thank you so much! We’ll put in a good word for you back on Earth.”

“It’s only right, only right.” Gratitude flowed like a clear stream.

Still feeling that wasn’t enough, the shopkeeper added a soft-bristle brush for cleaning—usable for both—and a premium snack for each, generosity like fruit on a heavy branch.

A lump of antimatter water sealed in a luminous cube, shimmering like trapped moonlight.

And a cesium stick packaged like a cat treat, playful as ribbon on a kite.

Yekase courteously returned some Flash Energy, an ember passed back with a nod, and they ended a shopping trip that pleased both sides, stepping out of the store with smiles wide enough to reach their ears, like crescents over calm lakes.

“You…” Lu Yao sighed, hugging the Wander-Whale and refusing to let go, her stance clean as snow.

“This is called eating by skill!” Yekase chirped. “Didn’t expect naming time to arrive so fast.” She peeled off the napkin; her mangled finger had already grown back, slender and tender like a newborn shoot.

She tapped Mumuxiu in time, and the jellyfish’s tendrils swayed, beat for beat, like reeds in a steady breeze.

Blue jellyfish species… which ones are there? She squinted at the sky, then shrugged at the river of thoughts.

Mumuxiu sounds pretty good; let’s keep it, a name like a flute’s note.

Yekase still wanted to climb the mountain and see that massive topology tree, roots like braided rivers.

Her Southern Sky Cross staff was made by Sandryon from a topology tree inside the Cosmic Bubble, and the Cosmic Bubble held the information left behind when the last universe collapsed, fossils of stars.

So the Southern Sky Cross was like this tree’s ancestor by lineage, a thought that felt wondrous, like holding your grandmother’s jade.

Pity—she flexed her legs, ready to sprint, when a cylindrical officer glided up to them, a pillar in a sea of fog.

“We’ve discovered a suspicious craft on an unregistered route,” he said, voice steady as steel. “Ninety-nine percent probability it’s an Exterminator scout’s ride, but…”

“But what?” The question was sharp as flint, then calm as a lake.

“He activated a probability anti-detection system. If we try to pin its location, its linear speed shifts irregularly, like fish schooling away.”

“If we measure its speed, the exact position blurs, a mirage over hot sand. We can only narrow a rough area.”

“That’s enough. Take us there.” Resolve rose first, then the words landed like stones.

Whether it was enough, Yekase didn’t know; but with humanity’s fate on the line, not enough had to be enough, like a bridge thrown across a gorge.

They took an elevator with the officer back to the metallic outer surface of Cassiopeia 27, walls gleaming like dawn on steel.

At the gangway, the officer handed Yekase a thin tablet, light as a leaf. “This is a holographic map of the vicinity. Safe travels.”

Yekase eyed the tablet thoughtfully, storm and calm braided, then passed it to Lu Yao and offered the officer an apologetic smile, shy as a crescent. “…Sorry for the trouble.”

“It’s what we’re here to do.” Duty answered like a bell.

The windows clicked shut, and the Millennium Bug lifted off again, a dragonfly leaving the reed bed.

With cameras watching all the way, Lu Yao gave Richard the rough outline, a sketch on mist, then tossed the distraction aside and studied the holographic map with Yekase.

Yekase traced the smooth edge of the tablet, a finger on porcelain, and it sprang to life in a breath, stars blossoming above it like fireflies.

“How are you so familiar with this?” Suspicion flickered like a candle.

“I’ve used this type of holographic map before,” she said, voice flat as a river’s face.

“…?” The pause hung like a crane over water.

“City of Ivalice. When I first moved in, Mr. Burns gifted me a City of Ivalice holographic map device. Same model as this.”

Yekase’s expression didn’t ripple, casual as saying she’d had pepper steak for lunch.

But the weight inside those words froze Lu Yao, a winter gust that stilled the pine.

“The City Lord of Ivalice, Mr. Burns… that old man kept private ties with residents of the galaxy, even when humanity was almost locked on Earth?” Her voice was a whisper through bamboo.

“And very deep ties.” The answer was blunt as a stone.

The officer didn’t break away; he piloted his police cruiser alongside the Millennium Bug, a guardian lantern drifting with them, clearly intending to escort for a stretch.

Yekase waved to him through the window, a small fan flicked in greeting.

They flew past a flock of rubbernecking craft, past an expressway gate toward other spiral arms, the two vehicles accelerating together, slipping free of Cassiopeia 27’s gravity like seeds on wind.

They headed for the region the map indicated, a line drawn through a starfield.

“Estimated time… about an hour?” Yekase tilted her head, hawk-eyed. “Not far. We can talk about countering that uncertainty system.”

“You’re going to fight the enemy?” Richard asked, worry like rain. “Anything I can do?”

“We’ll park as far away as we can—” Strategy walked first, then the sentence stepped, cautious as a cat.

The universe-light pouring through the window suddenly vanished, like a curtain yanked down, and the room fell dark.

“What’s going on?” Surprise flashed, then steadied like a lantern.

Yekase went to the window and looked out—

…

She saw a whale blocking half the sky, a mountain of shadow across a field of stars.

The officer’s voice came over the general channel, warm as a hearth: [Don’t be afraid. This is a wild Wander-Whale living nearby, “R2D2.” Everyone likes her… Strange, where’s her husband, “C3P0”? They’re usually inseparable, glued like sap.]

“Woooo—”

A long, mournful whale song crossed the soundless vacuum, arrow-straight into everyone’s minds, and echoed on and on like a bell over snow.