Chapter Text
Schlatt stopped walking the moment the land came into full view.
So this was it.
Quesadilla Island had been nothing more than a passing rumor at first—some distant place untouched by the weight of the world. Now, it stood right in front of him. Quiet. Isolated. Exactly what he had been looking for.
The land he purchased sat in the middle of a river, cut off just enough to keep people out. Trees grew thick and unbothered, grass reaching up to his knees in uneven patches. Untouched. Unclaimed.
Perfect.
It needed work—clearing, building, shaping—but that didn’t bother him. It never had. He was built for this kind of labor.
He was a ram for a reason.
And if there was one thing he understood, it was how to break through anything that stood in his way. Still, even as he stood there, taking it all in, something in his chest refused to settle.
His past had a way of doing that.
It lingered. Followed. Clawed its way back no matter how far he walked.
Not that it scared him.
Schlatt wasn’t the one who feared.
He was the one people learned to fear.
With a quiet exhale, he adjusted the strap of his bag and stepped forward. The river wasn’t wide, but it was deep enough to be a nuisance. At least he had the foresight to wrap his belongings in waterproof material.
Not that he carried much.
Just what mattered.
The water was cold when he dove in, biting against his skin, but he pushed through it without hesitation. By the time he reached the other side, the island felt even quieter than before.
No voices nor movement.
Good.
By nightfall, he had a fire going and a tent set up—temporary, but enough. The crackle of burning wood filled the silence as he sat beside it, staring into the flames longer than necessary.
It had been a while since things were this… still.
The next morning, Schlatt changed into something lighter—his suspenders and a worn sando that left his arms and chest exposed. The air clung to him easily, brushing over muscle built from years of something far from honest work.
His horns curved proudly from his head.
Strong. Unbroken.
They had seen more than they should have—had done more than most would dare admit. There was a time when those horns alone were enough to make a room go silent.
A time when people didn’t question him.
A time when they didn’t survive if they did.
He pushed the thought away and got to work.
Trees fell under the force of his ramming, wood splitting and cracking as he gathered materials. By the end of the day, he had crafted a few large chests—something sturdy enough to hold everything he would probably get.
Something where he can organized.
Unlike everything he left behind.
He already had a vision for the house. Simple. Clean. Elegant.
Nothing excessive. Nothing that would remind him of power.
By the second day, the foundation of his plans began to take shape. Bricks were made and laid out to dry, painted a deep red that stood out against the green of the island. While waiting, he cleared the land—pulling weeds, leveling the ground, making space for something new.
Something better.
On the third day, he woke with a dull ache in his body.
The good kind.
The kind that came from honest work. It had been a long time since he’d used his strength for anything other than being in control.
The bricks were ready. The cement set. The foundation was solid—he had checked it more than once. Nothing would bring it down easily.
He made his way toward the chest, chewing on a handful of wild berries he’d gathered the day before. The taste was sharp, grounding enough to keep his thoughts quiet.
For once.
He flipped the lid open and froze. A pair of black eyes stared back at him.
Schlatt slammed the chest shut immediately, the sound echoing louder than it should have.
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
“…What the—” Silence answered him.
For a moment, he stood there, staring at the closed lid as if it might move on its own. As if it might explain itself. Then, slowly, he opened it again.
The eyes were still there.
Staring.
Unblinking.
“What the fuck?” The reaction was immediate.
The child flinched hard, gripping a diamond knife with both hands and pointing it straight at him. The weapon looked almost too large for them—too heavy for fingers that small.
Schlatt didn’t move. Didn’t reach for anything. Didn’t even flinch.
There was fear in the child’s eyes. Raw. Unfiltered. The kind that didn’t come from simple accidents or childish imagination. Their lips trembled, teeth pressing into them like they were trying to hold something back.
Schlatt exhaled slowly and lowered himself, kneeling in front of the chest.
“Alright,” he said, voice steadier than the situation deserved. “Who are you, and why are you in my chest?” No answer.
Up close, the kid looked even worse.
Small. Too small. Eight, maybe younger. Their ginger hair was matted and uneven, falling into their face in tangled strands. Scratches and scabs marked their skin—arms, face, anywhere visible.
Not recent. Not old enough, either.
Schlatt had seen this before. Not like this—but enough to recognize it. He wasn’t a stranger to fear. He was the reason for it, once.
But even then—He didn’t hurt kids. Didn’t hurt women. Not unless—He cut the thought off before it could finish.
“I’m asking nicely,” he repeated, tone sharpening just slightly. “Who are you?”
The child’s gaze shifted. Not to his face but to his horns. Something flickered in their expression—something close to awe.
That was new.
The knife lowered. And before he could react, the kid leaned on his back and wrapped their arms around it.
Schlatt tensed immediately, instinct flaring. For a split second, he almost grabbed the weapon. Almost ripped it away.
Instead, he forced himself still and raised his hands slowly.
“Don’t hug it,” he muttered. “It’s dangerous.” The child frowned slightly, as if processing the words, then carefully lowered the knife to their side.
Progress.
Schlatt watched them just as closely. “Again,” he said, softer this time, “I’m not here to hurt you. Do you understand me?”
A nod.
Good.
“Then tell me your name. And why you’re here.” Silence. The kid’s attention drifted back to his horns. Something about that was starting to annoy him.
His hand came up, gripping their shoulders—not harsh, but firm enough to ground them.
“I’m patient,” he said, voice dropping. “But not that patient. Who are you?” For a moment, their eyes met his.
Black.
Not black.
Like something deeper sat behind them. It felt wrong to look at. Like staring too long would pull you in. Schlatt blinked hard, the feeling snapping the moment the child spoke.
“…Subject B.” The words landed flat.
Confusing.
“What kind of name is that?”
He grabbed the fabric of their clothing, lifting them slightly without thinking—then immediately regretted it.
Damp and cold. It feels filthy.
Still, he didn’t let go. The child’s hands clasped together, shaking.
“Sir—no, no, please!” they rushed out. “Let me stay in the chest. I won’t ask for anything, I promise. Just—just let me stay there.” The kid stayed on Schlatt’s hands like a cat being scruffed.
Schlatt frowned.
“How did you even get here?” he asked. “This island’s surrounded by water.”
“I swam.”
“…That explains why you’re damped.”
“No,” the child said quickly, shaking their head. “I escaped. I wasn’t dumped.”
His brows furrowed. “I said damp, not dump.” he corrected automatically. Then paused.
“…Wait. You escaped?” A beat.
“From where?” The kid hesitated.
Schlatt’s grip didn’t tighten—but it didn’t loosen either.
“Your parents?” he pressed. “You can’t just run off like that. You won’t last out here on your own.”
And for a moment—Just a moment—The island didn’t feel as empty as it did before.
Schlatt kept what he has to do, it just feels strange that someone was watching him build his house.
The kid was already change in his clothes which is much more strange in feels. Especially, the kid was still not washed when it wears his clothes.
The child looks more smaller in his clothes and his thin arms, his hands now supporting his chin while sitting on a log he prepared for it.
From his peripheral vision, the sun is shining. The child is like a sunshine, how the sunlight reflects on his ginger hair making it radiant.
It already noon so he stop stacking bricks and tried to pull up his pants.
“Do you eat fish?” Schlatt looks at the kid who looks confused towards him. When the kid just stared at him, he raised his eyebrows indicating he needs answers.
“Kid, stop making me repeat myself.” He thought that this day is now getting worse. He don’t want to deal children for Prime’s sake.
“I do.” The kid replied.
“Answer when you’re spoken then we’ll get along.” Schlatt walked towards the kid and extended his hands.
“Give me your knife. I’ll make a use of that.” The kid clutch his hands towards its diamond knife but when Schlatt patiently expose his palm, the child put the knife on his.
“I’ll bring it back.”
Schlatt waded back into the river without hesitation.
The current pushed against him, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He had done worse than this—far worse—than standing waist-deep in cold water with his hands ready.
The moment a shadow flickered beneath the surface, he moved.
Fast.
His grip snapped shut around a salmon, fingers digging in just enough to keep it from slipping away. The fish thrashed violently, scales slick and body twisting, but it didn’t stand a chance.
Not against him.
One after another, he caught them—efficient, precise, practiced. By the time he stepped back onto land, water dripping from his clothes and horns, he had more than enough.
Too much, even.
He dropped the fish into one of his chests with a dull thud, exhaling as he rolled his shoulders. He was soaked, cold clinging to his skin, but it was worth it.
It always was.
He glanced at the pile briefly.
“…Yeah. That’s too much for one day.”
There was no way to preserve them yet. No salt, no ice, nothing but what he could cook and eat before it went bad. The past few days had been simple—packed food, wild berries, whatever he could manage.
But today—
He let out a quiet huff.
“Yeah,” he muttered to himself. “We’re eating good today.”
“I’ll definitely get a fridge after building this house.”
The words came absentmindedly as he worked.
Rice simmered steadily over the fire, the faint bubbling sound filling the air. With a flat stone he had found earlier, Schlatt cleaned the salmon, blade sliding cleanly through flesh with practiced ease. Each cut was careful, deliberate.
Controlled.
He didn’t need to turn around to know the kid was behind him. He could feel it watching.
“We’re eating sushi,” he said, tone dry. “What a luxury.”
Still, he didn’t look back. Just continued slicing, cleaning, arranging.
There was a time when this kind of meal was normal—when his people usually visits because they know he loves it. But after years of travelling, it’s hard to enjoy what you used to love.
That time was gone.
“You’re good at it, sir!” Schlatt flinched. Actually flinched.
The voice came out of nowhere—bright, high, and full of energy. Completely different from the quiet, hesitant child from before. For a split second, his grip tightened on the knife.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, exhaling sharply. “You scared me.”
He clicked his tongue, but there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite himself. The kid was staring at him like he was doing something incredible. It wasn’t anything special.
Just cutting fish.
Still—He didn’t hate the look.
The rice finished cooking, steam rising into the air as he moved to prepare everything else. Salmon skewers were set over the fire, the faint sizzle starting almost immediately. Packets of soy sauce and wasabi—saved from who knows when—were placed beside large, clean leaves he used as makeshift plates.
He arranged the sushi neatly. One portion for himself. One for the kid.
When he placed the food in front of them, the child didn’t move. Just stared with wide eyes. Like they didn’t understand what they were looking at.
Schlatt didn’t to talk or wait so he starts eating his fill. He picked one up and took a bite. Slowly, cautiously, the kid reached forward and grabbed one too.
Schlatt watched without meaning to. The moment the child bit into it—the way their eyes widened—Something in his chest shifted.
“What’s this?!” the kid blurted, voice climbing higher in excitement. Schlatt let out a quiet breath through his nose.
“It’s salmon nigiri.” The reaction was immediate. A squeal, followed by the kid stuffing another piece into their mouth, eating with their hands like it might disappear if they didn’t.
“Oh my Prime, this was delicious!”
Schlatt grimaced instinctively. Those hands were still dirty. He stopped himself from worrying.
“Is that good? I put wasabi under it, and I put a little bit of soy sauce on top of the fish.”
His expression softened before he could think too much about it, his gaze lingering just a second longer than it should have before he looked away and continued eating.
It didn’t take long before the sushi was gone. Too fast.
Schlatt shifted his attention to the skewered salmon, checking if they were cooking evenly. The fire crackled softly, filling the silence. Behind him, the kid just watched.
Quiet again. Curious.
While waiting, Schlatt rinsed the knife briefly, then turned, holding it out—handle first. The kid’s eyes lit up immediately, hands moving to take it—And Schlatt pulled it back.
“Hold on.” The kid paused, confused. Schlatt tilted his head slightly, studying them.
“First of all,” he said, voice flat, “why do you have a diamond knife?” The answer came without hesitation.
“Oh! I wished for it!” Schlatt stared at them.
“…You what?” The kid beamed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“I wished for it! And then—bam! It appeared!” There was a pause.
A long one.
Schlatt’s expression went completely blank. “You mean your parents bought it for you,” he said slowly. The kid shook their head immediately.
“No! I wished for it. It just came.” Silence settled between them again. Schlatt held their gaze for a moment longer before giving a small, dismissive nod.
“Right,” he said. “Sure.” Kids.
They said anything. Made up anything. And sometimes—You just must believe them to stop yourself on being annoyed.
He handed the knife over properly this time, handle first.
“After you eat,” he added, tone shifting back to something firmer, “you should go home.”
The kid stilled. Schlatt didn’t look at them as he continued, eyes back on the fire. “This place isn’t for kids like you.”
“I’m not a kid! I’m a grown, fine lady, sir!” Schlatt blinked. Then actually looked at the child again—properly this time. From head to toe, slow and deliberate, like maybe he had missed something the first time around.
“You’re a girl?” The kid nodded immediately, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Schlatt leaned back slightly, squinting. “…Nah. You don’t look like one.”
The reaction was instant. The girl gasped, eyes wide with pure offense, like he had just committed something unforgivable. For a second, Schlatt held it in.
Then he broke.
A low laugh slipped out of him—short at first, then growing, shoulders shaking slightly as he tried and failed to contain it. There was something about the way she looked at him, completely betrayed, that made it worse.
In his mind, she still looked like some scrappy kid who had clawed her way into survival. And also a ‘chad’.
And yet here she was, so insistent. It was… funny.
He didn’t notice the way she stared at him. Didn’t catch the shift in her expression—the quiet awe settling in her eyes as she watched him laugh. The way her shoulders loosened just slightly.
The way something small and fragile in her chest warmed at the sound. It had been a while since she had seen someone laugh like that.
Because of her.
That was her purpose, wasn’t it?
“You know what I’m gonna call you, sir?” Schlatt’s laughter died down as he glanced back at her, brows knitting together.
“…Call me?” The girl grinned, wide and bright.
“Mr. Giggles.” She giggled immediately after saying it, clearly pleased with herself.
Schlatt stared at her flatly. “Don’t call me Mr. Giggles. That’s not funny.”
That only made her laugh harder. It echoed strangely in the quiet of the island—light, unrestrained. A genuine and real laugh.
“Please don’t call me that,” he added, but there was no real bite to it. No irritation behind the words. If anything, it sounded closer to reluctant amusement.
“Okay, okay,” she said between giggles. “I won’t call you that.”
A pause.
Then, softer—“So… may I know your name, sir?” That made him stop.
Truly stop.
His expression shifted, just slightly, as he looked at her again. Not the surface-level glance from before—but something more observant. Careful. He had been watching her since he found her in the chest.
Every movement. Every reaction. Nothing about her screamed threat.
Just neglect.
Her hair—matted, uneven, in desperate need of being cut or at least cleaned. Her skin—marked with scratches, bruises that hadn’t healed properly. The way she ate—like she didn’t know when her next meal would come.
And then—“I escaped. I wasn’t dumped.”
The words from earlier echoed in his head. His jaw tightened faintly. He would have to look into that.
But not now. Not yet.
Right now—He exhaled quietly.
“I’m JSchlatt.” The reaction was immediate. A small, excited sound left her, something bright and genuine—and it made his eyes narrow just slightly.
That was… a strange response.
Why did she make noise like that?
“I’m B!” she said happily. “I don’t think ‘Subject B’ is a very good full name, but B is fine!” Schlatt froze for half a second. Then frowned.
“What kind of fucking name is that?” There was an edge to his voice now—subtle, but there. The girl didn’t flinch. Didn’t shrink.
If anything, she straightened just a little, still smiling.
“Well, that’s what they called me,” she said, almost proudly. “I don’t really like the ‘Subject’ part, but B sounds nice.” The words sat wrong. Everything about them sat wrong.
Subject. ‘They called her that?’ That was in Schlatt’s mind.
Like—Schlatt dragged a hand down his face, exhaling sharply.
“…Yeah, no. That sounds like nonsense.” He shook his head slightly.
“I’m not calling you that.” The decision came easily. Too easily. He didn’t want to think about why.
“I’ll just call you… Kitty. Or something.” It slipped out before he could stop it. He didn’t care much for what her real situation was. She’d leave after today anyway. He’d clean her up, maybe fix that hair—Get her out of here.
Back to wherever she came from. When she didn’t respond, he glanced back at her. She had gone still.
“I don’t like Kitty,” she said quietly. The shift in her voice was immediate—soft, almost fragile in a way it hadn’t been before.
“It reminds me of someone.”Schlatt blinked.
“…How did you even think of naming me that?” she continued, a bit more bite returning to her tone. “There’s so many names, and you picked Kitty?” He huffed lightly.
“I scruffed you like a cat earlier,” he said, matter-of-fact. “And you were damp. Felt like I picked up a stray off my land.”
A pause.
“…And I like cats.” That seemed to be enough. She processed it slowly, then gave a small nod, like she had accepted the explanation. Schlatt watched her for a second longer before speaking again.
“…How about Katie?” The name came out quieter. Less careless.
“You look like one,” he added after a moment. “Not like Kitty. Katie. Sounds better. Prettier.” The reaction was immediate. Her face lit up—soft pink dusting her cheeks as she smiled, wide and genuine.
For a second, Schlatt almost looked caught off guard by it. He hadn’t expected that kind of reaction.
Hadn’t expected it to feel—Anything.
“Well,” she said, voice lighter now, “if you really want to name me… I’m honored, Mr. J.” Schlatt frowned instantly from the kid calling him with the fucking nickname.
“I don’t even like that one either.” She giggled. Of course she did. But there was something different now. Something steadier.
She wasn’t watching him like she was waiting to be hurt anymore. And for reasons he didn’t feel like examining—That sat easier with him.
“Thanks for my name, Mr. J,” she added, softer this time. “That’s the first name I’ve ever had that I actually like.” She fiddled with her fingers slightly, almost shy. Schlatt didn’t respond right away. Just watched her for a moment.
Then turned back to the fire, pulling the cooked fish away from the flames.
“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “Don’t get used to it.” But he didn’t take it back.
And he didn’t ask any more questions.
Whatever was going on with her—He’d leave it alone. It was… quieter this way.
And, whether he liked it or not—He didn’t mind the company.
The island is quite displeasingly at peace.