The empty open ocean stretched endlessly.

  At this particur titude, the seasons shifted differently when compared to the regions further north. To the north, spring would soon thaw frozen ground and coax buds from skeletal trees. But near the imaginary belt around the pnet known as the “Equator,” the two seasons occurring here were measured more with rainfall, with parched months of unbroken sun followed by sodden months of heavy, rain-den skies. Today was around the time when the wet season transitioned into dry.

  Below the waves, the light faded into an infinite dark blue abyss, where a Rahab-css cruiser submarine from the Annonrial Empire’s Fleet of Particur Justice prowled like a specter of steel through the depths where sunlight surrendered to gloom. Its hull—with the faint glow of its pulsing magical thrusters pushing it—sliced silently through the void. Its submerged dispcement of around 2.600 tons left no wake. To the world above, it did not exist. To the Annonrial Empire, it was their scalpel in the dark, enforcer of the Absolute Kill Zone.

  Submarines were bsphemy in this world where naval warfare at its finest still clung to the romance of towering battleships and honor-bound duels upon the waves. It was almost comical—those proud fleets stalking the horizons while being blind to the killers lurking beneath. A Rahab could loiter for weeks in the abyss, silent, tracking a target’s noise, waiting for the order to turn lungs into foam and steel into shrapnel with a submerged torpedo strike. No warning. No honor. No glory.

  But in times of no war (yet), the Empire’s application of underwater warfare was simple: hunt animals and sink floating artificial constructs that strayed near their waters, or occasionally hunt them when feasible. Leave no wreckage, and capture all survivors to feed their bustling sentient being experimentation divisions. After all, the Annonrial Empire recognized only one race as truly sapient—the winged people. The rest? Animals, some clever enough to mimic speech or operate ships, but animals all the same. So when a Rahab dragged a shattered hull into the depths, its crew drowning in the dark, the Empire saw no crime—just pest control. And when the screams of the “non-people” echoed through the research halls of the experimentation divisions? Well. That was just the sound of progress. As the heroes of their story, it was their privilege to abuse all others for their benefit. Humanity!? Fuck yeah!

  “Hah…”

  After a sigh, the captain’s lips twitched in a humorless smirk as his own internal monologue echoed in his skull.

  He leaned back in the command chair and scanned the dimly lit control room. The sonar detected nothing but the distant bioluminescent squid endemic to these waters (probably). Seven weeks patrolling their assigned sector of the Absolute Kill Zone, and all they’d torpedoed were a few remote-controlled targets on their way here—crude things, not sentient at all. Helps to maintain skill, but it is hardly worth the cost of the torpedoes.

  “…Anything?” he zily drawled, though he already knew the answer. Sometimes he wanted to believe the ideals espoused by those inhabiting the northern hemisphere that “human curiosity” allows them to surpass even gods themselves, and with the Southern World being one of the most mysterious nds to the known world, there would be plenty of explorers coming here. As, it seemed that they were idiots who were deceiving themselves with delusions of grandeur, after all.

  “Negative, sir.”

  The sonar operator shot back with as much enthusiasm.

  They were at the end of their patrol. Six more hours and the chronometer would tick over to 20:00. Then, finally, they’d surface under the cover of night, cycle the air tanks, and chart a course home. Drumming his fingers on the armrest, the captain exhaled, already mentally shifting into rexation mode.

  Then—

  A violent tremor ripped through the boat.

  “—What was that!?”

  The captain jerked forward, hands smming onto the armrests as the entire submarine shuddered like a toy in a child’s fist. Arms bred—for half a second—before every light, every screen, every system in his vicinity flickered and died. The low hum of the engines ceased, leaving only the creak of stressed metal and the panicked breaths of the crew.

  The captain’s blood turned to ice.

  This total darkness wasn’t normal. The submarine didn’t just shut down. Even in the event of damage, emergency lighting and backup systems should have kicked in. Yet here they were—plunged into utter darkness where they couldn’t even see their own hands. Then—

  Another tremor.

  The boat lurched, throwing the captain hard to the floor. Around him, men cursed as they were flung into objects in the interior, their voices sharp with pain and confusion. The sonar operator yelped as his head cracked against the panel of his station.

  “What the hell—!?” someone gasped.

  Without a chance to demand a damage report, the captain felt the submarine shifting. Not like it was filling its balst tanks or listing to one side. No, it was as if the entire vessel were being yanked in one direction. The captain’s stomach dropped as the angle of the deck tilted upward, the groaning of stressed metal echoing through the hull.

  After a while, the captain heard a sound like a harpoon punching through steel. And another, and another, and another. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Like that.

  More impacts, each one vibrating through the hull like a nail being driven into a coffin. The crew froze, their fear palpable in the pitch-bck void.

  “……W-what is going on—”

  The captain opened his mouth—when suddenly, the air itself turned thick. His lungs seized, his throat constricting as if an invisible hand had wrapped around it. Around him, gasps and choking sounds could be heard as well.

  His vision swam. His limbs grew heavy.

  Poison? No…

  His thoughts fragmented as his consciousness slipped like sand through his fingers. The st thing he registered was the sensation of weightlessness.

  Then—darkness.

  ?????

  Captain Gideon watched as the holographic projection showed the captured Annonrial U-boat hanging suspended below one of his ship’s docking grapplers inside the ventral hangar bay, seawater still cascading from its hull like tears. Measuring 97,65 meters in length and 7,4 meters in width, it was longer than their own design patterns but only slightly broader. A quick inspection showed that it employed a propulsion system simir enough to theirs that it could be discerned at a gnce. It was a rather uncanny sight.

  “…Even if our two nations develop from the same source, I never imagined the simirities would be this close…”

  “That’s parallel evolution for you,” smoothly chimed a disembodied voice addressing him. “Anyway, Captain, we can contempte about it ter because the fish has successfully netted. Structural damage is kept to a minimum, and its crew are incapacitated as per protocol.”

  Gideon allowed himself a small, satisfied smirk. “Indeed, that’s an excellent result. Let’s not overstay our welcome. I hereby decre the mission accomplished. Retreat from this airspace immediately and return to base.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The captain leaned back in his command chair, arms crossed while muttering to himself inside the strangely empty space serving as the bridge, with many active consoles, but unoccupied stations.

  “We’ll have plenty of time to dissect our little loot before we reach base.” He paused, then chuckled. “Or not. I might’ve underestimated this ship’s speed again.”

  In the end, no one on the pnet below saw an angur bck object rger than even a magic battleship streaking across the sky at a speed and altitude too astonishing to anyone, leaving a calm, empty sea behind.

  12 hours ter

  May 2, 1617 Central Calendar, 05:30

  The Tarpian Rock, Goldras Sea on the 65th Parallel North

  For months now, activities confidential in nature have been taking pce on these remote, uninhabited isnds near the Hyperborean circle. The once-permanent darkness that had sted for ages has been disrupted by artificial lights, marking the establishment of a presence ciming this isoted territory as its base of operations.

  Perched on one of the rocky outcrops of a nearby isnd were two brothers, Adonis and Legiel Roguerider, who gazed at the sky amidst the crashing sound of waves and chattering of penguins and pinnipeds around them. How they ended up there doesn’t matter—so don’t ask.

  Anyway, their keen eyes detected a disturbance in the scenery—a massive object, far too massive to float so effortlessly, let alone traverse thirteen thousand kilometers in half a day. Yet, it defied established logic, descending gently but ominously toward the heart of the region’s activity at the Tarpian Rock.

  “And so… it begins,” muttered Legiel, his eyes glinting eerily as he traced the object’s path until it disappeared into one of the enormous domed hangars behind a cliff, completely out of sight.

  What he just saw was yet another gem to adorn his little brother Meteos Roguerider’s growing list of triumphs. With High Charity now complete, the Holy Milishial Empire had finally gained the ability to churn out weapons—among other things—without restraint, allowing them minimum necessary power to, in theory, crush every enemy they had ever faced—or would ever face. Unsurprisingly, those involved were looking forward to witnessing it happen. Legiel most of all, as he had a particur stake in the matter.

  Legiel turned to the other figure standing silently behind him—his eldest brother, Adonis, whose impassive gaze remained fixed on the now-empty sky. The frigid wind howled between them, but neither seemed to mind.

  “What is this world coming to…?” Legiel murmured with a quiet sigh, as though grieving over something only he found troubling. “The people over there are preparing to make the Annonrial Empire burn, and they’re already so brazen about it. The path history is about to take… Eldest Brother, just to confirm, the match rule stands, doesn’t it?”

  In a light, almost conversational tone, Legiel broached a particur topic. He didn’t need to eborate. Adonis already knew exactly what he meant.

  “I believe that man is a creature that inevitably lives trapped by his own common sense. There are indeed bad people, but many act according to their own sense of common sense and ‘justice.’ What is ‘justice’ for one is seen as ‘evil’ by the side that is being invaded.”

  “………”

  “…Even in Annonrial, there are people who refuse to stand idle while the world lets ‘evildoers’ thrive. The victims’ sorrow hardens into hatred, and it becomes a never-ending downward spiral. Therefore, if Little Brother truly is Fate’s Rebel, then I dare him to defy this ironcd rule.”

  In this case, Annonrial is the hero, while the Holy Milishial Empire is the vilin. Even without Annonrial’s regime-mandated contempt of everyone else, such was the nature of nationalism—every nation drew the same line: ‘us’ against ‘them.’

  Henceforth, in a deliberate mockery of the notion of a “clean war,” Legiel forced upon Meteos a rule that dictated for every Annonrial life the Holy Empire extinguished, Legiel would make him feel it all—the agony, the despair, the searing hatred of each soul torn from the world. Multiplied twofold.

  Not that he was worried about Meteos.

  Pain was temporary, after all. The crushing weight of each Annonrial death would press down on him relentlessly, yet in time, even agony could morph into ecstasy. And that was precisely the point Legiel wanted to prove. Let him drown in it, let him revel in it, until the addiction proved what Legiel had always known: humanity’s inherent evil was inescapable. Then, at st, he’d have his justification to purge them all from existence.

  Adonis’ silence was permission enough. He had his own reasons for allowing this farce to unfold, even if it meant rendering Meteos’ impressive military hardware—tools of sughter by design—utterly impotent under such grotesque constraints.

  How does one wage war against an entire nation without bloodshed?

  It was absurd. A lunatic’s delusion, something not even Meteos would entertain. However, Legiel saw it as fitting to impose to a tumor on the plot who stubbornly refused to fade out of sheer spite. There’s arrogance in the Little Brother’s actions. If Meteos insisted on fighting Legiel’s realism, then let him choke on it. Let him prove just how deep his resolve ran.

  The Holy Milishial Empire was always meant to be a joke to be clowned upon. Meteos was meant to kneel, begging for scraps as the real powers carved history: Japan’s triumph, the Gra Valkas Empire’s barbaric theater. But their Little Brother… he had scripted a third act where none of that was permitted. A dull, plodding tale where there’s nothing remotely interesting. A narrative disaster so incoherent it offended the very concept of entertainment.

  Legiel bore no ill will toward Meteos—if anything, he adored him. Still, there are truths to consider: “the most brilliant minds are often the most prone to arrogance,” “downfall strikes at the peak of success,” and “the mightiest eventually slow down,” et cetera, et cetera. So, from time to time, it’s healthy to knock a rising star off bance. By forcing him restraint, Legiel helped Meteos from falling into hypocrisy. That, in Legiel’s own way, was love.

  The second reason, however, stemmed from his passion as a professional Executive Producer. The Audience despised nothing more than a side character who overstayed his welcome. And as any storyteller knows: Misery builds character. Legiel, ever the consummate content creator, would twist the knife until the story bent to his will.

  Adonis finally gnced at his younger brother, his eyes voids. “You presume he will break.”

  “I assume nothing. If Little Brother wages his war and completes half his campaigns without a single death, I’ll crown him the High Prophet of Restraint myself. But the Audience has their tastes. A story! Not a sermon. The hero triumphs, the arrogant vilin falls. Meteos is… neither. Just an irritant. And irritants? They are plucked out and discarded,” Legiel smiled. “This Third Timeline shackles me, but I did say that I will never give up. Therefore, I will see to it that Meteos Roguerider bends to the Audience’s will.”

  “So be it.”

  And so Legiel Roguerider continued his work—methodically, lovingly, addicting his little brother to the most intoxicating drug of them all. Make of that what you will.

  ?????

  Oblivious to the ominous deal unfolding nearby, the apex of a towering dome on the Tarpian Rock parted, allowing the skyborne visitor to descend into its embrace, vanishing from the world outside.

  Once secured by the docking grapplers, appearing as if it was suspended between glowing protruding arms, soldiers in ste-gray armor—faces obscured by their tinted visors—streamed through the open loading ramp in a brisk but orderly manner. Laden with gear and weaponry, they dispersed to fortify it and oversee the handling of its cargo.

  In the hangar bay, the captured fish was already being processed by the onboard techs.

  “The analysis confirms the ship’s structure is built from mithril alloys with different grades of magical enhancement.”

  “How closely does it match the Special Intel’s specs?”

  “Still at ninety-eight percent. The interesting part is that the powerpnt uses lower-grade materials compared to the Special Intel’s design.”

  “Hmm… curious…”

  While the others looked disappointed that the captured submarine was indeed superior to their conventional U-boat, proving that the Annonrial Empire will beat them in a fight without the Rogueriders’ technology carrying them, the leader of the research team nodded thoughtfully.

  Before physical disassembly began, the boat was subjected to a barrage of penetrating scans. Pulsing waves of mana-resonance tomography mapped its internal structure, and holographic schematics materialized above workstations, updating in real time as the scans revealed bulkheads, conduits, and hidden compartments if any, creating a complete “digital twin” of the submarine for future usage.

  As a result, the Annonrial Rahab-css submarine with a “069” adorning its sail—now a gutted carcass of mithril alloy—hung suspended midair with its components methodically disassembled and arranged neatly under the harsh glow of the magical lights.

  Another officer participating in the research team motioned toward a pair of torpedoes id out on separate examination tables nearby. “Look at these. This vessel’s armament is also quite intriguing. Those winged people loaded her with two distinct types. The first are ‘normal’ acoustic homing torpedoes for engaging peer opponents like us and Mu, given their guidance systems. Their yield is almost identical to ours, too.”

  “Indeed.”

  Another officer turned his attention to the second torpedo. It was noticeably smaller, comically tiny to the point it was practically a toothpick in comparison. “And these?”

  “Unguided, minimal propulsion, but with a warhead that would be optimized for much softer targets such as wooden hulls. I suppose this weapon would be their go-to hunting tool.”

  Naturally, standard torpedoes would be too overpowered, so they engineered a cheaper mission-specific alternative. These were housed inside a rger torpedo, which the submarine would unch from its tubes. Once deployed, the uncher would release its payload in a broad spread according to its timer setting. A single ‘pod’ could carry as many as 32 of these ‘anchovies,’ giving one boat the power to potentially y waste to an entire nation’s fleet barring the Holy Empire and Mu.

  “Hoh… these crude things are what terrorized the seas all this time. I can’t believe we are scared of these puny bastards.”

  “How considerate of them.”

  Further examination of the submarine’s completely intact inventory—including maps and documents—revealed that while these tiny low-yield torpedoes cked precision or reach, they excelled in overwhelming numbers against the wooden vessels that made up most of the world’s navies and merchant fleets. This was the weapon that had masqueraded as unseen sea monster attacks for so long.

  …………

  From the bridge, Captain Gideon observed the scene on the array of monitors, his eyes fixed on the screens as he gave a nod of approval.

  A soft hiss sounded from behind Gideon’s command seat as a pod slid open, drawing the captain’s attention. He turned just as a figure stepped out, stretching slightly as if shaking off the lingering stiffness of prolonged immersion. Gideon’s lips curled into an amused smile.

  “Ah, thank you for your hard work,” he greeted. “I must say, you’re quite a smooth operator yourself.”

  The figure—a teenage boy with golden hair that caught the light of the bridge—adjusted the oversized Imperial Navy dress uniform draped loosely over his shoulders. His smaller frame, the stark white of his colred shirt, and the straps of the harness across his torso made him look oddly out of pce even without other crewmen who were supposed to man the bridge—a warship’s bridge.

  “Honestly? Operating at 80% automation isn’t as bad as the others made it out to be.”

  “Are you sure you’re not a quick learner?”

  “Well, I aim to please.”

  Armitage, the #13 Xyston Magia, fshed a small, confident grin as he stepped up beside Gideon.

  The captain’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, studying the subtle py of light across the “boy’s” features once again. An artificial construct, these Magias are. Yet even this close, there was no hint of artifice. His skin, faintly flushed as if warmed by blood rather than circuitry, shifted seamlessly with each micro-expression. Had Gideon not known better, he might have mistaken Armitage for one of the academy cadets, all youthful bravado and restless intellect. But Armitage was no human.

  Regardless, his presence was a significant contributor to the st operation’s fwless execution.

  Among one of the Holy Milishial Empire’s most recent game-changing assets was the Thunderbolt Fantasy, one of the Guldthunder-pattern skyprowlers, airships vaguely resembling a rge aircraft in appearance yet with dimensions rivaling a seafaring Milishian supercarrier. These kinds of ships were churned out almost daily since the completion of High Charity months ago, yet the Holy Empire’s ballooning rate of equipment production grossly outpaced its ability to train personnel to crew them. Even though there’s the persistent fear of their ultimate enemy’s capabilities, this quandary of manpower shortage led the Minister of Military Affairs, Marquis Ignis, to remark that if only they could “produce crewmen as easily as weapons, they certainly would.”

  Fortunately, Meteos Roguerider came up with an answer to this problem around the same time. Developed by him and produced by High Charity, Magias like Armitage bridged the chasm between the Holy Milishial Empire’s soaring production rates and its gging manpower, capitalizing the state-of-the-art equipment’s capability of autonomous operation. High Charity pyed a crucial role in enabling the Holy Empire to implement many of Meteos’ groundbreaking ideas—innovations he had been developing for quite a while already but impossible to realize due to a ck of capability on the country’s part.

  Armitage, who was assigned to the Thunderbolt Fantasy as her Associated Intelligence, was one such design. His presence allowed the airship and her skeleton crew to operate as if she was fully manned, allowing them to pull one of the most daring maneuvers in the Holy Milishial Empire’s geopolitical history.

  “Even so, this will go down as one of the most reckless missions ever approved,” Armitage mused, settling down on a spot beside Gideon.

  “Tell me about it. Even without some opportunists deciding to up the difficulty a bit, it still is.”

  The captain nodded in agreement.

  Far from an amateur, the Holy Milishial Empire was no stranger to covert operations aiming to destabilize other countries, perfecting it to a level of finesse where they could bance their dual identities: a neutral superpower eager to conquer the world with merchant ships but not so much with warships, never to sully themselves by indulging in local disputes of nations outside their continent; and a cold executor who pruned threats to their interests like an unfeeling machine. Gideon himself was a veteran of such shadow work, his allegiance to the Order of the Ancients earning him this command. But this? This was something else entirely.

  After the government greenlit an operation to scout and chart a certain sea area in the Equator region, midway the Order of the Ancients added the requirement to kidnap an entire naval vessel. And not just any boat—one belonging to the Annonrial Empire.

  The thought alone was enough to make one’s stomach twist. Until four months ago, Annonrial wasn’t just powerful behind their mask; they were the real power. Crossing them was tantamount to suicide. And yet, here they were, doing exactly that. They knew the risks and predicted the complications, and after a period of deliberation, the revised operation was conducted. Confident in their cutting-edge equipment, Gideon was entrusted to lead the operation.

  “But that’s the brilliance of it, I suppose. The operation’s sheer audacity makes it utterly unthinkable. The Annonrial Empire would scour the seas for their lost boat, but it vanished in waters where they would never suspect the Holy Empire being the culprit. Their own common sense already dictated that no one from the known world north of their territory ever breathe the air south of the Annonrial Empire.”

  If he were to live in the Warring Kingdoms period, it would be like witnessing Lucius of the Morning Star drag his warships over a desert so they can unch a naval raid on the enemy from the river behind them. By exploiting this particur cognitive bias, the Holy Empire succeeded in making their move invisible by its sheer improbability.

  It was indeed utterly unthinkable.

  But to Gideon’s slight surprise, Armitage made a slightly concerned face.

  “I have my own concerns. Relying on Annonrial’s logic to outmaneuver them too much brings us dangerously close to repeating their error.”

  “So it would seem.”

  Still, to live is to make choices and prepare the best they can, whether they are glorious or tragic. Armitage remembered what his Master said to him not long after his birth. And among his first decisions was to make those words something to live by.

  “Ah, speaking of Annonrial’s logic,” the Magia slyly continued. “Funny, isn’t it? Annonrial’s entire worldview is built on a contradiction. Their society normalizes the notion that every other race is nothing but animals, but their own origins are questionable at best.”

  Gideon quirked an eyebrow, inviting Armitage’s continuation.

  “You see, Captain. If Annonrials are the descendants of the Light-Winged Devils who interbred with the races they consider ‘animals,’ doesn’t that make their entire race the product of bestiality? If anything, they should be beneath us as a—”

  “Take care, boy. What you’re about to say is heresy!” Gideon snapped, cutting off Armitage mid-sentence.

  However horrific their motives may have been, the Ravernal Empire did intentionally create humanity in their image, unlike the Annonrial Empire’s people who were at best an unintended consequence. Armitage found the irony striking, but Gideon would never tolerate heresies in his ship in service of the Goddess. Indeed, the oft-shown smugness of an average Milishial man toward other countries was always because of skill issue, not based on a sense of racial superiority. And because of this belief, the public sentiment in the Holy Milishial Empire usually teeters between “we are the strongest, we must help other people!” only to grow disillusioned after several generations passed and turn into “why should we help some assholes who keep shooting themselves in the foot?”

  It’s a cycle from idealistic interventionism to isotionist frustration.

  “……Preference recorded. I apologize,” Armitage mumbled.

  “Just don’t do it again.”

  The captain then barked a seemingly humorless ugh, though it was actually ced with grim amusement. “At least… now you see how that makes them one of the greatest nuisances in this world.”

  At that moment, Gideon rose from his seat, motioning toward the exit. “Come. Would you like to accompany me for a walk? I want to see our prize up close.”

  With a nod, Armitage fell into step beside him as they made their way through the airship’s corridors. While waiting whether the homend would decide to strike while the iron is hot, the captain and his AI assistant disappeared deeper into the Thunderbolt Fantasy.

  May 13, 1617 Central Calendar

  Roguerider Residence

  To remain the strongest power in the known world, the Holy Empire had to master the shadows as much as it did the light. Such was the duality of this country.

  LEAD LINE, ALMANAC, QUADRANT, FORESTAFF, NOCTURNAL, ASTROLABE, and HOURGLASS…

  Those seven were codenames for sub-projects under Operation GAZER, the Order of the Ancients’ initiative to build overseas spy networks, serving as the foundation for all other covert operations conducted by the Holy Milishial Empire. For a country that maintains a face of noblesse oblige and public opinion generally allergic to war but must answer to the unyielding demands of realpolitik, Operation GAZER was not merely important. It was indispensable as the fertilizer of the Holy Empire’s unchallenged superiority.

  Once, sustaining just GAZER would have been seen as an immense challenge. However, it is now just one among several others, though still the most advanced. The others—WITNESS, GLARE, SENTRY, VIGILANT, BYSTANDER, SPECTATOR, SEER, and BEHOLDER—now exist but have not reached the same level of maturity.

  Those capitalized words didn’t mean much on their own without some expnation, but since they were meant to be mysterious, expining them would’ve taken away from that effect. And anyway, isn’t that the whole point of “show, don’t tell” that people often talk about?

  Those words frequently surfaced in Meteos’ mind. But since they’re under Princess Lugiel’s management, he has the rare privilege of keeping his attention and energy squarely on more immediate concerns.

  Still, he thought about them, accompanied by the tantalizing taste of an egg sandwich dancing on his pates.

  Yes, Meteos was at his house, resting on the balcony and eating, savoring simple pleasures of life amid his activities as the White Lotus Leader. Even he couldn’t help but yearn to live a life as any other human being, and made sure to seize the moment when it presented itself.

  “Is it just me, or has Meteos been eating a ton recently?”

  With an inquisitive eyebrow-raising, Meteos turned to see a slyly grinning Annette approaching with yet another pte of freshly made sandwiches. Nadia, who had been standing quietly beside him after bringing him the same menu earlier—or rather, watching her boyfriend eat their cooking appreciatively—gnced at the two empty ptes on the table with affirmation.

  Elto, who had been reluctantly roped into Annette’s cooking spree this time, simply arched an eyebrow at the situation. She recalled that Sofia Trussardi was part of their usual group—so why was her schedule has to be so conveniently packed now?

  Gncing at the lone sandwich left on the pte on the table, Meteos spoke pinly as if it was obvious.

  “…I need them.”

  “Uh-huh, so do Walman and the other guys, but they’re still ‘normal.’”

  The young Pendragon dy jerked her head to the doorway where Walman, Kaios, Gabi, and Irmiya went earlier to grab some drink.

  “Okay, what’s that supposed to mean?”

  Annette set the new pte down with a contemptive hum.

  “Fuel or not, you’re eating like a man possessed. Though I suppose someone here isn’t compining. All that training’s paying off, huh?”

  At those words, the couple gnced at each other and chuckled. Elto could be heard snorting.

  Impressing Nadia certainly didn’t hurt as motivation, Meteos mused to himself. Not that he actually needed it—Nadia saw in him something far deeper than just his superficial features. At any rate, he wasn’t about to compin if his efforts earned him that warm look in her gaze.

  Then, with a glint in his cerulean eyes, Meteos turned his attention back to Annette, taking a bite of another sandwich.

  “Anna, your cooking has gotten better than before, I’ll give you that,” he said between bites.

  Annette’s grin faltered for half a second before she crossed her arms. “Excuse you, Meto, my cooking has always been good.”

  “That’s not what I remembered.”

  While Nadia started to let out an awkward hum, Elto jumped in, seeing a chance for some catharsis.

  “Interesting. Tell me more about it.”

  “Hey, don’t!”

  Ignoring Annette’s groan, Meteos continued, “When we were younger, she overheard our uncles talking and came up with her own idea of how to ‘make a favorable impression’ by sending Uncle Victor a batch of her homemade cookies. It was almost listed as an assassination attempt.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “You’re such a drama queen! You should start writing a movie script!” Annette wailed, jabbing a finger at the silver-haired boy.

  Meteos subtly gnced away for a moment. Considering his whole fiasco with Legiel, that would be very ironic, wouldn’t it?

  And here comes Annette’s counterattack.

  Dramatically clutching her chest, she let out a gasp. “Alright, is that how it’s gonna be, Meto? Fine! If you’re going to snder my skills, maybe you’d like to try an Annette Special next time!”

  “Oh…”

  But before he could respond, Annette grabbed Elto by the wrist and started dragging her away.

  “What?” the Parpaldian girl blinked.

  Annette leaned in and whispered sharply, “Read the room,” as she jerked her head pointedly toward the two sitting on the table.

  “…Ah. Right.”

  With that, the two swiftly retreated, leaving Nadia and Meteos alone on the balcony.

  “…Um, should I be worried?” Nadia asked, her voice tentative.

  Meteos swallowed the st bite of his meal and nodded. “About? Annette’s cooking?”

  The blonde girl shook her head. “I was just thinking… it’s either you never told me about this or you didn’t tell me the whole thing. If you need that much just to repce what you burn, what exactly are you doing that takes so much energy?”

  “Maybe I just exert myself more than most when I train. Or work. Or study. Or maybe I just like your cooking that much.”

  Nadia smiled sheepishly, but her expression soon turned thoughtful. “Still, it feels like a lot even for you. You’re not… pushing yourself too hard, are you?”

  “Let’s just say… being an engineer of my position at the Ancient Ministry makes you privy to things you can’t talk about to anyone, not even family…” Meteos muttered. He looked at the girl across from him for a long moment before sighing. “The work over there isn’t always straightforward.”

  Nadia’s brows furrowed slightly. She reached over, studying her boyfriend intently. “Meteos… don’t tell me you’ve been stress-eating this whole time?”

  Meteos’ fingers drummed against the table as he weighed his response. Nadia was watching him with a searching look. Seeing that made his lips stretched into a thin line.

  In unlocking more of Attarsamain’s inherited memories, he had been pushing himself—hard. And then there was Legiel—his own flesh and blood, a brother in name but an adversary in reality. The strain from such an existence existed, even if he refused to let it show. He hated lying to her, but telling the truth was absolutely out of question. But confronted by Nadia like this, Meteos wondered if his fa?ade wasn’t as solid as he thought. ‘Either a broken clock is right twice a day, or Nadia is simply that good in reading people, as expected of her.’

  “No, Nadia. This is because I do a lot of physical exercises to unwind from work at the Ministry. As a result, I suppose regur portions just aren’t enough for me anymore,” Meteos deflected. Using partial truths, he attempted to downpy his heartache for the sake of the girl before him.

  “…Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Nadia.”

  Nadia’s shoulders sagged a bit but she still eyed him pointedly. After a moment, she leaned forward, folding her arms on the table.

  “Alright. But just what exactly do you do over there? I know you’re not just sitting at a desk all day, but…”

  Meteos exhaled through his nose, amused. Then, with a shrug, he answered bluntly.

  “I followed Teacher’s advice and started sparring with some of our seniors. It was an unofficial Ancient Ministry fight club.”

  Nadia blinked. Then blinked again.

  “…You’re doing what… now?”

  “Fight club,” Meteos crified, as if that expined everything.

  “M-Mrs. Robin tells you this is a good way for stress relief?”

  “Yep.”

  For a second, Nadia just stared at him, mouth slightly open. Then—

  “…You’re an idiot…”

  The words burst out of her before she could stop them.

  Unexpectedly for Nadia, Meteos ughed—a deep, genuine sound that had been absent for far too long.

  It had been a while since an ordinary person call the reincarnator an idiot to his face. And it had been even longer since Nadia of all people had done it. The familiarity was nostalgic. After all, that very word had once brought them together, a red thread woven through a timeline now lost.

  “…It would seem that you’re also very reckless when everyone enables you.”

  But unlike before, Nadia did not ugh together with him this time. Her lips were pressed together, and her expression was unreadable.

  “If that’s the case, if you’re going to keep acting like this, someone has to make sure you’re okay. Even if your work prevents you from telling me everything, then it means that I’m in love with such a dutiful man. But if the others end up becoming your enabler, then at least I will be your minder.”

  “Nadia, are you…”

  “Meteos, I’m done thinking about it,” Nadia smiled. “It’s about your offer before. Yes, let’s be together, as the Ancient Ministry’s members.”

  “Ah…”

  ‘Outmaneuvered, huh…?’

  This was the result of trying to protect her with half-truths… and now she mistook Meteos’ selfishness for the opposite. Not his proudest moments, nor the allure of joining the elite—no, it was this fwed, messy part of him that finally made her say yes. Of all the reasons she could have chosen… it was this that sealed her choice?

  “You have come a long way from the shy girl who blushed crimson every time I bring you gifts…”

  “Those are nice gifts, Meteos, but this life… is the greatest of them all. Forgive me for being selfish.”

  “That makes two of us,” Meteos smiled in response. “I love you, Nadia.”

  “I love you too.”

  For both of them, falling in love with each other was the easiest thing they had ever done. They seemed selfless, each willing to bear the burdens for the other, to shield and sacrifice without hesitation. But the truth was, they were both selfish in their own ways.

  Meteos wanted to protect Nadia, yes—but he also wanted someone like her, her presence, her warmth, the way she anchored him in a world that often felt like it was slipping through his fingers. He lied to keep her safe, but also to keep her close.

  Nadia, in turn, wanted to stand beside him, to share his burdens—but she also wanted to know him, all of him, even the parts he tried to hide. She saw through his deflections not just out of concern, but because she refused to be left behind.

  Perhaps that was why they understood each other so well. Perhaps that was why they got off so easy—because deep down, they were the same.

  Such is one episode within the life of Meteos Roguerider, a man who will never become truly selfless, surrounded by equally selfish people.

  The Avaible Information from Beyond

  GULDTHUNDER-PATTERN SKYPROWLER

  A line of airships utilized by the Holy Milishial Imperial Navy, first produced in early 1617 Central Calendar. Responsible for popurizing the bat-like silhouette that would become synonymous with skyprowler-css ships as a whole, a fully upgraded Guldthunder was, at the time of its introduction, the stealthiest and most powerful skyprowler ever developed by the HME despite its massive size. Should it be detected, these ships could defend themselves with a potent array of energy ordnance, but their reinforced superstructure is intended to allow them to tank enough fire to escape with their speed.

  Specifications (Mark 0, atmospheric only; upgradable early mass-production model)

  Mass: 160.000 tonsLength: 320 mBeam: 259,4 mHeight: 115 mPowerpnt: Pedanium Manadrive engine, 4 × anti-gravity levitators, 6 × repulsor enginesAtmospheric speed: 486 knots (900 km/h) maximumAtmospheric ceiling: 14.000 mComplement: 200Equipment:Onboard Associated Intelligence for achieving a highly automated operationLIDAR telescopeHyperscanner arraysElectronic warfare and decoysGravity liftStasis beamArmament:4 × Megafre Energy Projectors (psma torpedo unchers)14 × single pulse ser cannonsArmor: Prototype Self-Regenerating Armor SystemPermanently +5% enhanced Pedanium hull pting with +85% active magical enhancement (the original thickness cssifies it as “lightly armored”)Facilities: ventral hangar bay