Fresh from the Guild Training Camps, rookie recruits are little more than stardust on the cosmic winds—novices unfit for the rigors of the frontier.

To begin with, they’re hopeless for security duties. These are just kids from the outlying colonies, rough-edged and green, with no elder’s blessing or influential connections to their name.

If they had ties to a planetary councilor or some revered guildmaster, perhaps they’d manage to secure a formal introduction—maybe even snag a job worth its weight in Nova Credits. But reality is cruel, and no one entrusts vital tasks to a nameless whelp.

Resource gathering? A fool’s errand for them. The fertile worlds near trade routes have long since been stripped of their treasures. Any flora or mineral worth trading has already been harvested down to the last root. If they’re desperate to gather, they’ll have to venture deep into the asteroid belts or further into uncharted nebulae.

Even the grunt work—laboring on neglected space station repairs—becomes cutthroat this time of cycle. It’s the easiest kind of day job, and every rookie floods to claim it during the hiring rush. But even those contracts are finite.

And what remains? The dregs of the job board: waste processing, soul-crushing construction work, or, if they’re brave—or foolish—enough, extermination missions in the void.

The so-called "3K jobs"—killing, cleaning, and Havoc. They’re always grueling.

Always dangerous. And yet, for some reason, extermination requests are wildly popular among the wide-eyed recruits.

Is it arrogance? That frontier-born confidence that comes from surviving the harsh colonies? Or is it blind ambition—dreams of becoming celebrated guild hunters? Whatever the reason, there’s no shortage of rookies signing up for missions far beyond their capabilities.

As you might guess, the result is the same every year: a grim tally of the fallen.

They lack caution, experience, and the instincts to survive in the void.

The guild tries to teach them—basic survival lectures, tactical briefings—but the moment they’re let loose, it’s all forgotten. "Let’s go hunting!" they shout. And off they charge into the asteroid fields, armed with nothing but overconfidence and subpar gear.

Every year, it’s the same tragic comedy: naive rookies taking on two-star extermination requests without ever encountering a Xeno beast before. They wander the fields like lost drones, attracting trouble. And when they fail? Sentinel droids sweep in to clean up the mess.

It’s exhausting.

"It's too crowded. There's no decent work left for me,"

my junior, Aioi, muttered as she stared at the flickering holo-display of the guild job board. Her frustration was palpable.

Her crew, *Diana*, specializes in extermination missions, but when the asteroid fields are overrun with clueless amateurs, it throws everything out of balance.

Even the Xeno habitats shift as the ecosystem reacts to the influx of blundering humans.

"I'm out of work too," I admitted. "Even the maintenance gigs on Baldr Station have all been snatched up."

"Not like we’d take those from the beginners anyway," she said, folding her arms.

"Relax, I wouldn’t let those kids starve. I was actually thinking of camping out in the deeper asteroid zones, but that’s impossible with this year’s crowd."

"Baldr’s been booming lately. It’s not just locals anymore—there are people coming from colonies light-years away to set up here. No wonder it’s so busy."

Baldr Station’s sudden prosperity

A peculiar phenomenon, born from the widespread success of the Commander Havoc (me) ingenious inventions, now defines the station's rapid rise.

And, truth be told, it’s all my doing.

I set it in motion.

"There are urgent recruitment signals from all kinds of workshops. Not guild commissions, but the pay’s decent. Could be worth it when the mission board dries up."

"Workshops, huh? They're expanding like warp gates out here."

"Endless construction, never enough hands to keep up. Busy times, though—I suppose that’s a good problem to have."

Baldr is transforming into a bustling nexus of interstellar trade.

Once dismissed as a backwater station adrift in an unremarkable sector, it served only as a minor waypoint for cargo haulers. But now, with its newfound industries flourishing like hypernova blooms, the station hums with life. Starships from distant colonies converge here, eager to barter goods and tech.

The Ruler of Baldr’s unsuspecting steward, never planned for this surge in activity. By all accounts, he’s floundering in the Havoc. It’s amusing, really.

"Hey, Aioi," I said, a sudden thought striking me. "If you’re free, want to head to the moon?"

"The moon? What for? There’s nothing out there."

"There’s a frozen lake out there, untouched by the amateurs. Better to go in pairs for this one. Meet me at the east gate with your gear if you’re interested."

She gave me a skeptical look before finally shrugging. "Fine, I’ll bite."

After a bit of preparation, we set off.

The moon’s surface stretched before us, a desolate expanse of frozen ice and jagged rock. I adjusted my suit’s thermal controls, my breath fogging the visor for a moment before the internal systems compensated. The only sounds were the distant hum of Baldr Station through my helmet’s comms and the occasional rumble of asteroid collisions echoing through the moon’s thin atmosphere.

"Alright," I said, grinning as I unpacked my gear. "Let’s catch some cosmic shrimp."

Aioi blinked, staring at me as if I’d gone mad. "Wait—shrimp? You brought me out here to fish!?"

From my bag, I pulled out a handmade fishing rod, its sleek design a patchwork of scavenged materials. Meanwhile, Aioi clutched her blaster, utterly baffled.

"I thought we were hunting Xeno beasts!" she exclaimed.

"Void shrimp are in season. This lake’s teeming with them right now," I explained, unbothered by her outburst.

"You seriously couldn’t do this alone?"

"Fishing solo is boring. Besides, you were free, weren’t you?"

No signal in this part of the moon. I’m sure some people can while away hours in solitude, but that’s not for me. I need someone nearby to keep the silence at bay—it’s tough out here without a conversation to anchor me.

"Ughhh... oh, is this one for me?"

"Naturally. Behold, my handcrafted, ultra-high-performance fishing rods. Planning to sell these galaxy-class beauties soon."

"They look like... sticks with string tied on. But hey, thanks. I’ll give it a shot."

In Baldr, fresh fish or shellfish is a rare delicacy. Most of what you find has been dried or smoked, the kind of thing only food enthusiasts bother with. Every now and then, some hobbyist will haul in a strange catch and cook it up at the guild, but that’s about it.

These frozen lunar lakes, though? They’re teeming with fish and void shrimp—a prime spot for an angler like me.

"Are these bugs in the container good for bait?"

"Yeah, drop them near a spot where the current’s gentle, and you’ll have bites in no time."

"Ohhh, got it."

Bait fishing here is all about patience.

If I had proper lures, I’d be twitching the rod around like some hyperdrive tech working overtime. But these rods—well, let’s just say reels aren’t part of the package. One day, I’d like to try a high-tech setup, but for now, I’ll stick with good old-fashioned still fishing.

The two of us lower our lines into the icy depths, side by side, waiting in silence for a tug. No rush, no frantic movement, just the quiet rhythm of anticipation.

The fish we’re after are wily—they’ll nibble and flee if you’re too quick to react. That’s why the moments stretch out, unhurried and calm, as time flows like the gentle current beneath the ice.

"Aioi, didn’t you fish back on your homeworld?"

"Never. We used traps and plasma blasters instead. Some uncles did it for fun, but I didn’t care for it."

"You’ve never tasted void shrimp!?"

"Nope."

"No way, seriously?"

"Seriously. Some people had it, but there was never enough to go around for me. I have had crab, though—love crab."

"You’re missing out on half of life."

"You think life is half shrimp?"

"Exactly. Half shrimp-dish."

"I don’t get it."

"You will today."

"I’d rather not..."

"Oh?"

As we bantered, Aioi’s fishing rod gave the first twitch. Before mine.

"Hold up. Give it another ten seconds."

"It’s pulling, though!"

"Relax. It hasn’t swallowed the bait yet."

Beginner’s luck? I hadn’t even shown her the proper technique yet, and she gets a bite first?

"Okay, it’s been fifteen seconds. Can I pull now?"

"Alright, slowly lift it up."

"Suuu..."

With an almost lazy motion, Aioi raised her rod. At the end of the line hung a small silhouette: a void shrimp, its shimmering carapace glinting faintly under the moonlight.

"Nice! Standard size. A bit smaller than a void crayfish, but solid catch."

"Ohh!"

"Drop it in the containment pot and seal the lid quickly."

Clink. "That was easy," Aioi remarked, her tone casual.

"Right? You’re a natural. Didn’t expect it to go so smoothly on your first try."

"Hmm."

What was that "hmm"?

Watch me demonstrate the power of real experience.

"Oh, another one!"

Her rod bent again. A second bite. Well, guess a good spot works wonders.

"Whoa, it’s tugging hard!"

Where there’s two, there’s three, they say.

"And... got another as soon as I dropped the line back in! No, calm down... wait patiently... then carefully..."

Hey, hold on a minute!

"Aioi!"

"Yes? Something wrong?"

"How many do you have now!?"

"Uh... around ten?"

"Switch spots!"

"Eh... fine, I guess."

Something was off. My line wasn’t even getting nibbles, and we were only meters apart.

So it's the spot. If I drop my line where Aioi is, there's surely some mysterious power at work...

"Mr. Narwhal, look over there... "

As I prepared to move, Aioi suddenly froze.