The Kaikachu Express's wheels shifted nervously—mimicking the exact cadence of a sweating suspect under interrogation—as Karui Mori's gaze dissected Johnathan's rivet tattoos like a prosecutor reviewing forged documents. "These markings," she murmured, tracing one pulsating seam along his wrist, "are clearly Dwarvenkin boilerplate sigils."
Behind her, scribes gasped, their quills snapping mid-stroke as ink bled into miniature anvils that clattered mournfully onto parchment—proof positive of *Dwarvenkin corruption*. Johnathan's elongated ear twitched, steam venting in a perfect spiral that spelled *"Oh No"* before dissolving into the crisp station air.
The Kaikachu Express, ever the loyal accomplice, discreetly retracted its demonic tendrils and emitted a whistle so innocent it could've been forged in a choir of baby angels. **[DEMONIC INNOCENCE: NOW 15% CREDIBLE]** flickered above Johnathan's head—promptly ignored as Karui Mori's entourage unfurled a tapestry depicting *"The Tragic Abduction of Dark Elf Folk Youths by Cog-Wielding Dwarvenkin"* with alarming specificity.
One particularly zealous scribe dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief woven from what appeared to be miniature railway blueprints. "To think," he sniffed, "a young Dark Elf Folk soul shackled to such... *industrial drudgery*!" The handkerchief abruptly sprouted tiny piston legs and scurried away, squeaking indignantly—a detail the weeping scribe failed to notice as he gestured toward Johnathan's rivet-pulsing gloves.
Karui Mori's fingers twitched like a faulty signal lever as she studied Johnathan's forearm—her manicured nails tracing rivet seams that pulsed *too* rhythmically to be mere tattoos. "These are *brands*, aren't they?" she whispered, voice thick with the gravitas of uncovering a war crime. Behind her, an attendant fainted directly into a conveniently placed luggage trolley, which promptly rolled away squeaking *"Witness Protection Enabled"* in rusty wheel rotations.
Johnathan's elongated ears blasted steam in panicked Morse code—**[ABORT ABORT]**—as the Kaikachu Express's shadow detached itself to slap the fainted elf awake with a spectral rail spike. The SYSTEM helpfully projected **[CULTURAL MISAPPROPRIATION DETECTED: DWARVENKIN STYLE]** above Johnathan's head, the glyphs dissolving into tiny pickaxes that menaced the weeping scribes.
"You've been *indoctrinated*," Karui Mori declared, her robes fluttering despite the windless air—threads rearranging into microscopic *Free the Hybrid* protest banners. Johnathan's elongated ears vented steam shaped like a screaming face as her retinue surged forward with *"Rescue Protocol"* scrolls, quills spontaneously forging tear-stained custody documents.
The Kaikachu Express's buffer beam emitted a tactical *toot*—distracting no one—as Johnathan backpedaled directly through a porter's lunch cart, trailing sausage links like a panic-induced breadcrumb trail.
The High Elf Folk matriarch's grip tightened with aristocratic resolve—Johnathan's rivet-patterned sleeve creaking ominously—as her retinue unsheathed scrolls glowing with *Emancipation Glyphs*. Steam erupted from his ears in frantic kanji: *"EVASIVE MANEUVERS REQUIRED."* The Kaikachu Express responded by "accidentally" detaching its second tender, sending a tsunami of coal dust cascading over the elves' embroidered silks.
Karui Mori blinked, her flawless complexion now resembling a soot-stained timetable as coal granules settled into her meticulously braided platinum blond hair. The Kaikachu Express's detached tender rolled backward with exaggerated innocence—its rivets rearranging into **[WHOOP SIE]** glyphs—while Johnathan seized the distraction to phase halfway through a luggage cart, his elongated tusks snagging a passing sandwich trolley.
"You misunderstand, honored matriarch ma'am!" Johnathan backpedaled, steam from his ears spelling *"TACTICAL RETREAT"* before dissolving into sausage-scented panic. His elongated tusks snagged the sandwich trolley mid-flight—sending roast beef spirals airborne like edible shuriken—just as Inuka burst through the station doors with a stolen pastry clutched in her teeth.
Both Kengo and Dansei (who were running after Inuka)'s eyes looked up and down and then shot up in realization. "J-Johnathan Gr-resely-San?"
Johnathan instinctively adjusted his cap—rivet tattoos pulsing crimson along his knuckles—just as Inuka's pastry-stuffed cheeks bulged in recognition. "Choo-choo man!" she garbled through a mouthful of stolen jam tart, fox ears twitching toward the pursuing elves. The Kaikachu Express chose that moment to "accidentally" release its steam brakes with a theatrical *HISSSSS* that fogged the entire platform in a thick, sausage-scented smokescreen.
Kengo's nose wrinkled at the metallic reek clinging to Johnathan's sleeves—Dwarvenkin boiler oils and something darker, like charred demonic couplings. His hand twitched toward his sword hilt. "You... I didn't think you'd be an Elf Folk, much less a Dark Elf Folk," the swordswoman muttered, eyeing Johnathan's steam-venting ears with the suspicion of a commuter spotting a fare dodger.
Dansei's glyph-marked fingers twitched mid-air, his enchanted chalk hovering over an unfinished ward as he took in Johnathan's steam-venting ears as he continued being as hidden as a ten foot tall tusked Dark Elf Folk and Giant-Orckin hybrid with glowing rivet tattoos and a conductor cap could be.
"Nice to finally see you three faces to face but I'm currently hiding from this High Elf Folk lady!" Johnathan hissed, his elongated ears flattening against his cap like startled pistons. Steam curled from his cuffs in panicked spirals just as Inuka swallowed her stolen pastry whole—fox ears perking at the distant *clank* of Karui Mori's retinue stumbling through the coal smog.
Kengo's blade slid halfway from its sheath—steel hissing like an over-pressurized valve—as Johnathan's elongated ears pivoted toward the coal-choked station doors where Karui Mori's soot-streaked silhouette emerged, flanked by scroll-wielding scribes whose ink now spelled *"Pursue the Oppressed Hybrid"* in tragic Gothic fonts.
"Why," Kengo growled, nostrils flaring at the metallic tang radiating from Johnathan's rivet-patterned gloves, "do you smell like a Dwarvenkin smeltery?" Her sword hissed free—steel gleaming like a freshly polished rail spike—just as Dansei's chalk screeched across the cobblestones, glyphs flaring **[CONTAINMENT WARD: HALF-COG DESIGN]** in panicked arcs.
Johnathan backpedaled into a luggage trolley, his elongated ears venting steam shaped like *"NOT THE TIME"* before dissolving into sausage-scented panic as he kept slipping out of sight of Karui Mori as she ran into Inuka, Kengo, and Dansei.
"Oh! Young Furkin, Humankin, and Namuhkin, have you seen a traumatized Dark Elf Folk hybrid fleeing Dwarvenkin oppression?" Karui Mori gasped, her coal-dusted sleeve fluttering with embroidered rescue banners as she scanned the trio. Inuka's jam-smeared muzzle tilted—fox ears pivoting toward Johnathan's steam trail dissipating behind a sandwich trolley.
Kengo's sword wavered mid-draw, her nose wrinkling at the lingering scent of boiler oil and demonic coal clinging to the air where Johnathan had phased through the luggage cart. "Oppressed... *hybrid*?" Her blade twitched toward the suspiciously hissing trolley, its wheels squeaking *"Nothing Suspicious Here"* in perfect Morse code. Dansei's half-drawn containment glyph flared as his enchanted chalk combusted—sparking tiny, wailing anvil-shaped flames that spelled *"DWARVENKIN INFLUENCE DETECTED."*
The Kaikachu Express chose that moment to "accidentally" derail a decorative suit of armor onto the platform with a crash that sent pigeons exploding into the sky—each feather transforming midair into tiny scrolls reading *"DISTRACTION ACHIEVED."* Johnathan seized the chaos to backpedal into Dansei's unfinished ward, his elongated tusks snagging the mage's sash as steam vented from his ears in frantic kanji: *"PLAY ALONG."*
"Ah! My old friends!" Johnathan boomed with conductor-cap theatrics, steam-venting ears puffing "*DON'T BLOW MY COVER*" glyphs that dissolved into Dansei's bewildered face. The mage's enchanted chalk snapped mid-glyph, sketching "*Since when was our train a tusked steam-elf?!*" in sparking arcs across the cobblestones.
Kengo's blade twitched toward Johnathan's pulsating rivet tattoos—each seam hissing like a tiny boiler—as her nostrils flared at the coal-and-ozone stench rolling off his gloves. "You—" Her sword tip traced the suspiciously warm air around his cuffs, where stray embers danced in time with the Kaikachu Express's distant *chuff-chuff*. "—smell like a Dwarvenkin's workshop after a bender."
Behind her, Inuka's jam-stained fingers pried open Johnathan's coat pocket, fishing out a still-warm piston that pulsed rhythmically like a captured heartbeat.
The High Elf Folk matriarch's gasp cut through the coal-smudged air like a stationmaster's whistle. "You *know* this suffering soul?" Her embroidered sleeve fluttered—threads rearranging into microscopic *"Hybrid Rescue Task Force"* banners—as she scrutinized Kengo's sword tip hovering near Johnathan's throbbing rivet tattoos.
Dansei's half-completed ward flickered **[DWARVENKIN COLLUSION?]** between them, his enchanted chalk spontaneously combusting into tiny sobbing anvils. "We, uh—" The mage's Adam's apple bobbed like a faulty pressure gauge as Johnathan's steam-vented ears flared *"IMPROVISE DAMMIT"* in panicked Morse code behind Karui Mori's back.
Inuka chose that moment to sneeze—fox ears twitching—sending the stolen piston flying directly into Kengo's face with a resonant *clang*. The swordswoman's nose wrinkled as metallic aftertaste flooded her sinuses. "By the Kakureta Mori," she muttered, tongue probing for Dwarvenkin-grade steel flavors, "this tastes like a boilerplate confession."
Her blade's tip traced Johnathan's cufflinks—each engraved with miniature pistons that pulsed in sync with distant train whistles—as Kengo's squint deepened. "These aren't just Dwarvenkin sigils," she hissed, nose twitching at the scent of scorched coal embedded in the threads. "They're *maintenance logs.*"
Behind her, Dansei's ward collapsed into a puddle of molten chalk that spelled "WHY IS THIS OUR PROBLEM?" in sparking, erratic arcs. The mage's trembling fingers clutched his ruined spellbook—pages now transforming into tiny blueprints for *"Hybrid Containment Procedures"*—as Johnathan's steam-vented ears rotated like misaligned signal arms.
Karui Mori seized the moment, her laug-dusted sleeve unfurling with embroidered vines that snatched Kengo's wrist mid-sword-twitch. "You recognize these brands?" she whispered, voice thick with the gravitas of uncovering a war crime. Behind her, scribes' quills transformed into miniature crowbars prying at Johnathan's rivets, their ink splattering *"Free the Hybrid"* protest slogans across Dansei's now smoking spellbook.
Johnathan's elongated ears blasted steam shaped like screaming faces—**[ABORT MISSION, ABORT MISSION NOW!]**
The Kaikachu Express let out a strategic *chuff* from the tracks—its smokebox flexing into the approximate shape of a grinning skull before remembering it was supposed to be *incognito* and hastily rearranging into a benign train face. Johnathan's elongated ears twitched at the sound, steam venting in jagged kanji that read *"SHUT UP, YOU'RE MAKING IT WORSE"* before dissolving into the pastry-scented air.
Kengo's nostrils flared as she inhaled the distinct aroma of laug, demonic ichor, and—was that *jam*?—rolling off Johnathan's sleeves. Dansei's chalk snapped mid-air, sketching **[DWARVENKIN SYMPATHIZER?]** in sparking arcs before bursting into tiny, sobbing anvils.
The High Elf Folk matriarch clutched her large and embroidered chestcloth as she stared at Johnathan with tragic opera-house intensity. "Young hybrid," she murmured, her voice trembling like a derailed dining car, "you need not suffer this barbaric *Dwarvenkin drudgery* any longer!"
Her manicured fingers twitched toward his rivet-patterned gloves—each pulsing seam hissing like a tiny steam valve confessing under duress. "These *brands*," Karui Mori whispered, her pupils dilating into twin tunnel bores, "were they... *forced* upon you?" Behind her, scribes' quills splattered ink raindrops that transformed mid-fall into microscopic pickaxes menacing Johnathan's sleeve.
Johnathan's elongated ear vented a spiral of steam that briefly formed the kanji for *"ABSOLUTELY NOT"* before dissolving into the jam-scented chaos. Across the platform, the Kaikachu Express's buffer beam creaked ominously—its rivets rearranging into *[HELP ME]* glyphs that only Johnathan himself could decipher.