K had long since ceased to notice the dagger at his waist. On the ninety-seventh day of his voyage through the asteroid belt, after a micrometeoroid pierced the supply module’s sealing gasket, his digestive system had already completely failed. Now, neural activity was sustained solely by a nutrient line connected to the back of his neck. This polymer dagger, 3D‑printed from scratch, was his only tool left✨. When the United Exploration Corps abandoned him—a retired scout—they left behind only half a malfunctioning repair craft and a partially used canister of gradient‑print filament, saying, “You’ve got barely enough brainpower left to function; don’t go back to the inner solar system and cause trouble”🔪. At first, he’d planned to slit open his own throat and end it all, but upon finding that canister of filament, he suddenly changed his mind—he would forge a blade capable of cleaving through jump‑drive turbulence, delivering a “gift” to those plutocrats hiding in the shadows of starports, feasting on human marrow🔮. The dragon‑bone‑patterned hilt was carved by K himself, following the scars left on his hand by fragments of his battle armor when he was wounded years ago. Along the blade, three holes mark the positions where his old identity chip, his former military ID, and the half‑fragment of a signal flare once given to him by his squad leader were embedded📡. Today, with the jump‑drive preheating complete and navigation coordinates locked onto a plutocrat’s flagship orbiting the solar system, he ran his fingers over the gradient‑etched patterns on the hilt—and suddenly recalled his commander’s words: “It is the discarded remnants of war who can bite deepest into the darkness”🦷. The bow hatch of the craft slid open slowly, while the auroras of distant Jupiter churned in the vacuum, like an unfinished challenge letter spread out before someone🌌.