Celador left his office after a quiet day and headed 10 forward. The soft hum of the ship’s environmental systems was the only sound besides the occasional hiss of the air‑circulation vents. He carried a battered notebook of 19th‑century railway schematics under one arm and a steaming cup of green tea with honey in the other—his small ritual for grounding himself after a long shift.

He settled into an empty corner booth, laid the notebook on the table, and spread a few loose sheets of paper across the surface. “Anyone interested in a little… track‑laying?” he said, his voice flat but edged with a faint, dry humor. “I’m trying to finish a prototype layout for a mid‑western depot. It’s a long way from tactical analysis, but the precision feels… familiar.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he glanced around. “If you’re looking for a quiet spot to sketch, discuss a tactical problem, or just share a cup of tea, feel free to join. I’ll be here for the next hour.”

‘Don’t let them think you’re just playing with toys. Show them the mind of a strategist, even in a model‑train.’ Squared warned to Celador as he adjusted the papers

-Cel