Chapter 1

Qikeliyah, my dear friend, thank you for your message—you are the only one who still believes in my professional integrity after all these days, and the only one who still cares about me as a person.

My situation isn’t too bad. Being expelled from the Starfarers Association by The Alliance has had much less impact on me than I imagined. To be honest, at first, I thought I’d be hunted down or, at the very least, blacklisted from docking at Starports. But The Alliance’s punishment this time was surprisingly lenient—so lenient that it makes one suspect the silicon-based brains in the Department of Legal Affairs have been hacked again.

Of course, it could also be because they don’t want me to steal another planet.

Are you still on that beautiful planet in the third spiral arm of the Milky Way? If you heard about my exploits there, I suppose my “reputation” must have spread throughout The Alliance by now.

“The one who stole a planet”—that title sounds quite intimidating, doesn’t it?

But as you said, I never had any intention of violating the Starfarer’s Code, nor could I have possibly conceived of stealing that planet when I first discovered it—after all, it was a planet larger than our homeworld, not some pebble you could casually slip into your pocket.

Hmm, let me think about how to recount the whole incident to you properly…

Do you remember the last time we drank together at the Yog Bubble Bar? You had just returned from an unmarked planet, and I was preparing for a new journey. Right after we parted ways that day, I went to the black market—you know how it is, interstellar exploration requires some self-defense gear—and there, I obtained a tattered star map from a dark-hided male who claimed to be a former space pirate.

I know it sounds a bit foolish—runaway space pirates and ancient star maps, no scam is more clichéd than that combination—but the star map did look authentic, and I was admittedly a little drunk that day.

In any case, I bought the star map and input the coordinates into my beloved Cupid’s Arrow. And at the end of a long, uneventful journey, I truly arrived at a star sector that hadn’t been disclosed by The Alliance.

A massive, middle-aged yellow dwarf star and its seven lovely planets—it was very similar to our homeworld’s system, so I had high hopes for the fourth rocky planet from the main-sequence star. That planet had an atmosphere, and from space, I could observe thunderstorm activity—neither frequent nor intense, making it seem like a gentle world. As Cupid’s Arrow approached, it captured vast expanses of liquid water and predominantly green vegetation on the planet’s surface, along with traces of what appeared to be biological settlements.

You know, since becoming a Starfarer, I’d never discovered an unmarked planet with intelligent life before—so, I admit, I recklessly landed on that planet.

It truly was a gentle planet—from its atmospheric composition to its temperature and gravitational coefficient, everything was perfectly suited for nurturing life, and the planet itself was indeed teeming with vitality. The higher oxygen levels and lower gravity compared to our homeworld made everything grow tall and large, and many aquatic organisms and fungi even glowed in the dark, making the nights breathtakingly beautiful—but it also left me somewhat disheartened.

You understand, right? I had initially assumed those colorful lights I saw from space were the nighttime illumination of intelligent lifeforms.

After searching several land-based settlements along one of the planet’s major rivers—where biological activity was intense—and finding nothing, that disappointment grew overwhelming. Every trace I had pinned my hopes on turned out to be nothing more than the mindless actions of primitive giants.

There was no civilization on land, so the ocean became my last hope.

The planet’s ocean was a bit strange. Instruments detected no abnormalities, but once submerged, my communication with the biocomputer would be disrupted. Magnetic fields, sound waves, weather conditions—all were ruled out one by one, and the composition of the seawater itself was completely normal.

“The anomalous interference phenomenon is likely the work of some intelligent lifeform.” With that thought in mind, I ventured into the ocean.

And then, I “encountered” him in the ocean.

Looking back, I should have realized something was off immediately: his size was far too small compared to the other creatures on that planet. But at the time, I wasn’t in my true form—I had chosen to mimic a local species of giant jellyfish (though not exactly like the ones on our homeworld, their biological structure was very similar). Compared to my size at the time, most creatures on that planet were small.

The unfamiliarity of the mimicked form skewed my judgment, and my reliance on the Mimetic Camouflage module dulled my alertness. When I noticed a creature approaching, I didn’t move—instead, I stayed in place, pretending to be a native jellyfish, even feeling excited about the prospect of a close-up observation.

So, as the distance rapidly closed, I got a clear look at him.

His appearance was strikingly similar to ours—torso, limbs, facial features—all the traits of a terrestrial lifeform, yet he swam and flipped effortlessly underwater.

A strange new star, a strange sea, and I—in the form of a jellyfish—encountered someone who looked almost identical to our species.

How do I describe that sense of disorientation? Astonishing, yet terrifying.

His swimming path was a straight line, seemingly purposeful. I couldn’t tell whether he harbored any ill intent toward my mimetic form, nor did I have time to ponder whether his physical traits made sense in an aquatic environment. Starfarer’s Code: survival comes first. I fled, and once I took action, he increased his speed as well.

The movement of a giant jellyfish was more efficient in low gravity than I’d imagined, but he was faster than my mimetic form, and the difference in size made him far more agile in this chase.

The outcome was inevitable—he caught me, in every sense of the word: he grabbed the edge of my mimicked bell and pressed down on my head.

“Caught you.” That was the first thing he said to me.

No, perhaps I shouldn’t use the word “said,” because his voice resonated directly in my mind.

The electromagnetic stimulation acting directly on my brain’s language center was eerily similar to the signal feedback from my biocomputer. Before I realized that what I was receiving wasn’t a translation from the computer, I heard his second sentence: “Did you come from outside?”

As a lone Starfarer, being instantly recognized as an outsider while exploring a new planet—you can imagine the fear I felt, right?

To be honest, at that moment, I thought I wouldn’t make it out alive. But then he spoke a third sentence: “Did you come here looking for me?”

—The beginning of all misunderstandings.

His phrasing led me to believe he was an Alliance citizen who had accidentally ended up stranded on that planet.

I must say, his performance was impeccable: every question he couldn’t answer was deftly evaded, and the ones he could answer were cleverly woven with truths and deliberate omissions that left room for my imagination to fill in the gaps.

The misunderstanding deepened. When I left that planet, I brought this “castaway” aboard Cupid’s Arrow.

And then came what you’ve heard: the planet disappeared—I stole him.

As I type this message, the planetary gentleman I “stole” is sitting not far behind me, watching a children’s show. He’s practicing using our species’ vocal organs to speak, so these days he’s been watching Curious Baby Learns to Talk—oh, and he’s also conjured up the colorful gummy candies used as rewards in the show.

I have to admit, watching gummy candies materialize out of thin air is quite amusing—certainly more palatable than watching him disassemble parts of his own body.

I had never imagined that lifeforms like him existed in the universe—not silicon-based or carbon-based, but some kind of spiritual entity, or perhaps a magnetic field. He can manipulate matter around him at will, assembling it into desired forms or reducing it to its smallest particles. He can be the rocky planet I once set foot on, or the handsome man now sitting aboard my ship.

Speaking of “handsome”… Qikeliyah, my friend, I think I’ll never again consider appearance as a criterion for choosing a partner. In the days since he finally revealed his true nature, our Mr. Planet has been restructuring his appearance almost daily—often right in front of me: disassembling, reassembling, from internal skeleton to skin, from organs to hair. I tried refusing to watch, but his reasoning was sound: he wasn’t familiar with our species’ physiology and was merely imitating my appearance. Many of his internal organs and skeletal structures were incorrectly assembled, causing him discomfort, and my guidance was necessary.

“I can’t very well dissect you for observation, can I?” That’s what he said.

I was thoroughly convinced.

This physiology lesson only ended when I bought an anatomy textbook during a Starport stopover.

It was also during that stopover that I received The Alliance’s detailed punishment.

The penalty wasn’t as bad as you might think. Aside from my expulsion, they only asked me to persuade Mr. Planet and return him to where he belonged. Clearly, The Alliance is aware of lifeforms like him—perhaps other Starfarers had visited that undisclosed star sector before me, though they were far more cautious than I was.

Mistakes are disheartening. You know, becoming a Starfarer was my lifelong dream, and my entry evaluations and subsequent performance were nowhere near as stellar as yours. This time, mistakenly bringing a planetary lifeform aboard my ship and causing an inhabited planet to vanish—well, I suppose it’s time I faced reality.

As for the planet I “stole,” he seems quite content with his current life. I’ve tried bringing up sending him home, but he feigns ignorance. I know he understands me, but every time I broach the subject, he puts on an expression of “You’re speaking too fast” or “Your sentences are too difficult.” Perhaps from watching too many children’s shows, he’s become adept at pulling off that childlike innocence—bafflingly, his fully adult, handsome face somehow makes the expression work without the slightest hint of incongruity. The result is that every conversation ends with me backing down.

I have a feeling it’s unlikely I’ll be able to return him before other planets start shifting orbits due to gravitational changes.

Let’s hope The Alliance tolerates my procrastination.

Once this mess is resolved, I’m heading straight to the Yog Bubble Bar for a proper bender. I hope to see you then, my friend. Oh, and feel free to bring your partner along—anyone who’s bonded with you must be a decent person.

Looking forward to our reunion.