Still, somehow, it had been transformed into a “game night” arena.

You sat cross-legged between Firefly and Silver Wolf on the low table, eyes wide at the rainbow of digital lights flickering from the holographic projector. The rules of the game? …Well, that part wasn’t entirely clear.

“Okay, little noob,” Silver Wolf said, tossing you a controller about half your size. “Tonight’s quest: beat me. Spoiler alert—you won’t.”

You grinned, squaring your small shoulders. “You said that last time and I got second place!”

“That was because Kafka distracted me with her coat collection,” Silver Wolf replied, shooting a glance at the woman lounging behind you on the couch.

Kafka didn’t even look up from her cup of tea. “I didn’t distract you, I simply mentioned I found a limited-edition wool trench. Your competitive streak is not my responsibility, dear.”

“Mmhm.” Silver Wolf smirked. “We’ll see.”

Firefly, sitting patiently at your other side, leaned down so you could hear her over the start-up chime. “Don’t worry about winning,” she whispered. “Just have fun. Silver Wolf takes games too seriously.”

“I heard that,” Silver Wolf muttered, not looking up from her screen.

Blade had chosen a seat in the farthest armchair, leaning forward slightly with arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes followed the game’s flickers with unsettling precision.

“You’re not even playing?” you asked him, craning your neck.

“Games like this… are a distraction,” Blade replied, voice low. “But someone has to ensure you don’t injure yourself flailing around.”

“That’s called ‘being a spectator,’” Silver Wolf said, clicking through menus. “You could just say you don’t know how to play.”

Blade’s eyes narrowed faintly. “…I could still win.”

“Uh-huh.” Silver Wolf’s smirk widened. “Sure.”

The first match began in a blur of sound effects and colorful explosions. Your little fingers mashed buttons as your on-screen character stumbled across the map, accidentally picking up a ridiculously oversized laser cannon. Firefly chuckled softly, helping you aim without outright playing for you.

“Careful—there’s one behind you,” she warned, pointing at the hologram.

Too late. Silver Wolf’s character swooped in and eliminated you with surgical precision.

“Seriously?!” you gasped, spinning to glare at her.

Silver Wolf feigned innocence. “Hey, don’t look at me. The game just… made that happen.”

“Uh-huh,” you grumbled, respawning with determination.

From the couch, Kafka commented idly, “You know, in some circles, that’s called ‘targeting.’”

Silver Wolf glanced at her. “In my circle, it’s called ‘winning.’”

Round after round flew by, the room filled with bursts of laughter, occasional groans, and one particularly loud cheer when you managed to take out Silver Wolf by pure luck.

“That—” Silver Wolf pointed at the hologram, eyebrows raised “—was RNG. Don’t get used to it.”

“I’m putting that in my memory forever,” you declared proudly.

“Good,” Firefly said with a small smile. “You should. It’s a victory.”

Kafka, ever composed, occasionally sipped her tea and offered the driest commentary possible:

“Bladie, your watching is more intense than the game itself.”

“Silver Wolf, I think you’ve met your match in a nine-year-old.”

“[Name], if you win twice, you’re officially in my top ten favorite people.”

The night wore on. Somewhere between Silver Wolf’s rematch demands and Firefly trying to teach you the difference between defensive and offensive play, your blinks grew heavier.

You didn’t notice it at first—you were too busy clutching your controller and giggling at the chaos onscreen—but your hands began to slow. The buttons weren’t being pressed quite as frantically. Your head tilted once… twice…

“Hey, kiddo—” Silver Wolf’s voice blurred into the background.

Firefly glanced at you, noticing the way your chin dipped toward your chest. “Silver Wolf. Pause.”

Silver Wolf froze the match just as your controller slipped from your hands with a quiet thud onto the carpet. Your breathing had already evened out.

“…Guess they hit sleep mode,” Silver Wolf murmured.

Firefly reached to gently support your head so it didn’t loll to the side. “They should be in bed, not here.”

“Should I carry them?” Blade’s voice came unexpectedly from the armchair.

The three women turned toward him. Silver Wolf grinned. “What, the scary immortal swordsman offering to do bedtime duty? This I gotta see.”

Blade ignored her, standing smoothly and moving to your side. He scooped you up effortlessly, your small form resting against the cool fabric of his coat. Despite his stoic demeanor, his hold was steady and careful, as if you might break.

Kafka’s lips curved faintly as she set down her cup. “How domestic of you, Bladie.”

“Quiet,” Blade said simply, already heading toward the ship’s small quarters.

Silver Wolf shook her head, smiling just a little despite herself. “They didn’t even get to finish the match.”

Firefly began tidying the table, her movements unhurried. “They had enough fun. That’s the point.”

Kafka leaned back, watching the game screen flicker idly in standby mode. “Mm. Sometimes victory isn’t about winning.” She gave Silver Wolf a knowing look.

Silver Wolf rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. “Fine. Next game night, though, I’m not going easy on them.”

Firefly glanced at her. “You weren’t going easy this time.”

“…Exactly.”

From down the hall, Blade’s voice carried faintly: “They’re asleep.”

The three remaining Hunters exchanged brief glances. The chaos of earlier had faded, replaced by a rare, quiet warmth.

In their own strange way, they’d become something resembling a family—one that could fight across galaxies, dodge the IPC, and still pause for a night of games… even if their newest, smallest member didn’t quite make it to the final round.