Though he did not express it outwardly, he was grateful that the spacecraft remained landed on the front lines where the fighting had been most intense. He believed that its continued presence alone, without disappearing, would serve as a powerful war deterrent.
To be honest, he had secretly hoped the war would stop at this point. He wished for no more coffins stained with the blood of soldiers to be sent back to their hometowns.
The massive starship cutting through the sky was clearly on their side. Even in the silence of the battlefield, the landed ship exuded an overwhelming presence. It was not merely a weapon, but a symbol that had completely overturned the course of the war.
And the people knew it too. From the street vendors and the students headed to school to the elderly gathered in front of their televisions—they all felt a quiet sense of relief blooming deep within their hearts. The war was not over yet, but at the very least, it was no longer a state of despair.
This is a fascinating continuation of the story. The contrast between the cold geopolitical tension and the sudden arrival of the "neo-hippies" creates a very cinematic atmosphere. Here is the faithful English translation:
People wanted to see the starship for themselves. Not as a faint dot in the distance, but at a range where they could confirm it with their own eyes. They wanted to truly feel the reality that this thing was on their side.
When the report arrived stating that "the people wish to draw closer," Kerensky remained silent for a moment. Then, he nodded slowly.
He might not be able to completely erase the atrocities of the battlefield, but he could overwrite them with a different scene. Wonder instead of terror; certainty instead of despair.
He gave a low command.
"Open the roads leading to the villages near the border."
The staff held their breath.
"Reporters, our citizens, even foreigners. If they are not carrying firearms, authorize their passage."
The command echoed clearly through the cold air of the office.
Standing at the entrance of a village near the border, one could see the silver craft floating like a speck at the far edge of the sky. At first, it looked like a mirage, but as the sun dipped lower, it became increasingly distinct.
That scene spread across the globe in an instant. Not only journalists, but countless people who had been watching the war began to flock to the borders of Country U. The fact that it was the middle of a war zone seemed, if anything, to quicken their pace.
However, the villages near the border were already mostly in ruins from the bombings. Walls were collapsed, and broken windows rattled in the wind. The roads were cracked, and the scent of smoke still lingered in places.
Despite this, requests to open the access roads poured in from all over the world. Embassies of various nations, international media, and even private organizations—petitions to "let us see the spacecraft in person" arrived constantly through diplomatic channels.
Kerensky hesitated for a moment but made his decision.
Disclose the locations of the minefields. Mark the danger zones clearly. And ensure the spacecraft is viewed only within the permitted areas.
His reasoning was simple: The more you hide, the greater the suspicion grows. The more you show, the more the myth becomes reality.
While the air in the office settled heavily, Yevgeny, the Chief of Staff, spoke up cautiously.
"However, there is a problem."
Kerensky looked up.
"The United States is very uncomfortable with our relationship with the extraterrestrial entities we’ve labeled as 'mercenaries'."
"Uncomfortable?"
Yevgeny nodded.
"Yes. Ultimately, the appearance of the starship is what brought the war to a halt. It appears the U.S. intended to demand significant compensation once the war ended, given the extensive aid they provided to U. Now, they judge that this calculation is likely to be disrupted by the emergence of these extraterrestrials."
He paused for a moment before adding in a low voice:
"Furthermore, the U.S. is conducting a massive investigation into the intentions of these beings. They are suspicious of what kind of agreement we made with them and how deeply we are involved."
A faint smile brushed Kerensky’s lips.
"I expected as much."
After a brief silence, he spoke firmly.
"Ignore it. For now, open the border villages and make sure the starship is clearly visible to the whole world."
Journalists from around the world swarmed into the small, ruined village. The winter cold was fierce, biting into the skin. The press corps found empty buildings to set up their equipment, and the sounds of construction to block out the wind and cold brought a sense of vitality back to the village.
But it wasn't just the press who were flocking there.
At some point, groups of people armed with a very particular ideology began to appear. They looked like people who had been born into the wrong era, a crowd dressed as if they had just stepped out of the 1960s.
Worn-out cars and old vans lined the outskirts of the ruined village, and the newcomers naturally huddled together like a single community. The weather was freezing, yet they wore thin, cheap-looking sweaters and frayed jeans. Their clothes were covered in a jumble of multi-colored spray-painted graffiti.
The women wore maxi skirts that reached their ankles and headbands around their hair. With "PEACE" written in large letters across their backs, they cleared a small vacant lot in the middle of the ruins and lit a bonfire.
Music blared from massive speakers. In particular, R.E.M.’s "Walk Unafraid" echoed on a loop all day long.
“Walk unafraid…”
They danced around the bonfires. Sometimes they held hands; sometimes they stretched their arms toward the sky with eyes tightly shut.
“Let us walk our path!” “Without fear!”
On the ground where the soot of war had yet to fade, they cried out for peace.
But they were not the only ones.
Religious figures from all corners of the world also converged on the border. Carrying their respective flags and symbols, they formed groups by faith and began their assemblies.
To them, the appearance of the starship was not an object of terror.
“This is a test.” “A trial sent to us by the Divine.”
Inside a church where the roof had half-collapsed from shelling, they lit candles and offered prayers. Though the cold wind seeped through the shattered stained glass, the interior remained relatively warm with the collective heat of human bodies.
Their belief in God grew even firmer. In the face of crisis, faith did not fracture; it bound them together.
However, on the opposite side of the village, another group had taken root.
These were the self-proclaimed "non-religious."
They accepted the appearance of the starship as a new revelation. “A new existence to rule over us.” “A new God.”
Their rituals were bizarre.
Lined up at the entrance of the village, they gazed at the silver craft and simultaneously stripped off their shirts. There was no distinction between men and women.
With their bare bodies exposed to the biting air, they spread their arms wide toward the sky—like people waiting for some invisible energy to pour into them.
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Before long, they all fell to their knees at once. And they began to weep.
“Forgive us.” “Accept us.”
Prayers, ambiguous in their direction, scattered into the air.
Eventually, they dressed again and retreated into a large tent, where a leader began to deliver a quiet sermon.
The ruined border village had transformed. It was no longer a mere outpost of war, but a massive plaza where ideologies, beliefs, fear, and hope were inextricably intertwined.
The bombed-out apartment buildings stood shattered, looking like the jagged jaws of a toothless beast.
Concrete had been torn away, leaving rebar protruding toward the void like skeletal fingers. Every window was smashed, and whenever the wind rushed through the hollow shells of the buildings, it made a sound like a low, mournful wail.
The roads were gouged with craters. The scorched asphalt was upturned in places, shell marks marring the face of the city like miniature volcanoes.
It certainly looked like a dead city.
Yet, strangely, it felt as though the city had begun to breathe again.
People gathered. In the heart of the ruins, someone pitched a tent; someone else brewed coffee. The laughter of children began to stir the air with cautious ripples.
It was as if someone had pried open the chest of this city and was slowly breathing life back into it.
Even the cats, which had been hidden for so long, began to reappear. They walked carefully along the crumbled walls, brushing past the crowds. It was a sight unseen on land where life had completely departed.
The ruins were still ruins, but a new warmth was being layered over them.
It all began with the small ripple caused by the landing of the starship.
A single massive entity from the heavens had frozen the front lines, drawn the people together, and created a faint, rhythmic tremor in the heart of a city once thought dead.
The narrative tension is ramping up beautifully—the contrast between the global spectacle at the border and the claustrophobic interrogation room is very effective. Here is the faithful English translation:
A sudden stir broke out among the people gathered at the village entrance, looking up at the starship.
A man pointed toward the sky and shouted, "Look over there! I see small planes near the ship!" They were aircraft that had crossed over from the R-side.
All eyes shifted in unison to the same direction.
"Ah… I see them over there, too!" another person added breathlessly.
Around the silver hull, what had looked like mere specks became increasingly distinct. A group of light aircraft—about three or four—were circling the starship.
The sight of the small, light planes hovering near the massive metallic structure looked like a flock of seagulls circling a whale.
Instinctively, the crowd tried to surge forward. They wanted to see it closer, more clearly.
However, the soldiers standing guard on the outskirts of the village immediately spread their arms to block them.
"No further approach allowed!" Their cold voices pushed the crowd back.
Tension rippled through the air.
The light aircraft circled the starship a few more times. It was an ambiguous flight—it was impossible to tell if it was a provocation, reconnaissance, or a test.
Yet, the starship showed no reaction.
There was no light, no sound, and no warning. It simply remained suspended in the sky amidst a profound silence.
After a moment, the light aircraft turned away. They crossed back over the R-border and disappeared.
The entire scene was being broadcast live to the world. Cameras zoomed in, drones adjusted their angles in mid-air, and anchors explained the situation with bated breath.
Some reporters tilted their heads in confusion.
"The starship isn't responding at all." "Does it not consider them a threat?" "Or… is it already in total control of everything?"
The village was filled with murmurs once again.
The giant entity in the sky remained motionless. Yet, that very silence felt like the most intimidating response of all.
Vadim still couldn't shake the events of a few days ago.
The moment he sat across from Natasha under the dim lights of the Cosmos Hotel kept flickering in his mind. The city lights outside the window, her low breath, the warmth of her touch—it was all so surreal, like a scene from a world entirely separate from the war.
And today, he sat under cold fluorescent lights.
The interrogation room of the Defense Intelligence Agency.
Grey walls, a recording device, and a thick file lying on the table.
Vadim sat upright in his chair in his military uniform, but his gaze was somewhat blurred. Even as the government agent fired questions at him, the scenes from that night flashed through his head.
To be honest, it was the first time he had held a woman so close. Her body heat was surprisingly warm, and his heart had pounded uncontrollably.
"Vadim."
The sharp voice snapped him back to reality. The government agent across the table leaned forward.
"Tell me. Why did that extraterrestrial woman designate you as the liaison?"
Vadim’s fingers twitched minutely on his lap.
"I truly don't know."
His voice was steadier than expected.
"I was simply pulled from the front lines to serve as a guard for the plaza that day."
The agent stared intensely at his face, eyes searching for any sign of a lie.
"It’s too precise to be a coincidence. Out of all those soldiers, why you?"
Vadim couldn't answer.
He wanted to know the reason himself. He remembered the look in her eyes the moment she saw him—a gaze that seemed to suggest it wasn't a simple choice.
Sitting here being interrogated by the national intelligence agency, he felt as if he were standing between two different worlds.
"Vadim, your comrade Maksim, who was with you on the front lines—he was killed by a combat drone, wasn't he?"
The cold question cut through the air of the interrogation room.
"Yes. We were searching an enemy building at the time."
"How did you survive then?"
Vadim caught his breath and answered. "The enemy drone spotted Maksim first and attacked. I recognized the situation and took cover in the basement."
The agent’s eyes narrowed.
"Is that so? You’re saying you suffered no damage at all from the combat drone?"
A brief silence followed.
"I… fortunately, did not."
It was a lie. However, he maintained as calm a face as possible. He calculated even the intervals of his breathing so that his pupils wouldn't flicker.
The agent nudged his glasses up and said, "But there is testimony that your trousers were heavily stained with blood at the time."
Vadim’s heart sank.
"Ah… when Maksim fell, metal fragments grazed my leg. There was bleeding, but it wasn't serious."
The words flowed out, but his fingertips were damp with cold sweat. He could feel a small bead of sweat forming just below his right ear.
What if they told him to roll up his pants?
His wound had already vanished. That day, the NK soldier had taken out a silver sphere and held it against his leg. There was a flash of light, and the torn flesh had sealed as if nothing had ever happened. Not even a scar remained.
The moment that fact was discovered, everything would be over.
In an instant, an unexpected request blurted out of his mouth.
"Excuse me… could I have a cigarette?"
The agent arched an eyebrow.
"What?"
After glaring at Vadim for a moment, he spoke coldly.
"This is a non-smoking area."
Fortunately, the agent did not press further about checking his leg. Instead, he shifted the topic and threw out one last question.
"Has there been any contact from the starship?"
"None."
A short, firm answer.
After two hours of interrogation, the high command reached a decision: Vadim would be sent back to the front lines.
The reasoning was simple. They judged that if he were stationed near the starship, there might be another contact.
The agent spoke one last time in a low, hard voice.
"You are a soldier of R. You must never betray your motherland. If you make contact with the extraterrestrial entities, report any and all information immediately."
"Understood."
As he stepped out of the building, the winter air pierced deep into his lungs. His cold breath scattered into white mist.
Vadim pulled out his phone.
There was a message from Natasha.
[ Where are you? I’m at the newspaper office now. Everything okay? :_) ]
That one small emoticon strangely made his heart pound.
[ Hi, Natasha. I’m being deployed back to the front lines. Don’t worry. I’ll contact you later. ?? ]
A reply came in less than a few seconds.
[ Oh… how… why so soon… D; ]
Vadim stared at the screen for a long time before sliding the phone back into his pocket.
===================
Natasha was staring down at her phone at her desk when the editor-in-chief’s urgent summons made her look up.
“Everyone, in my office. Now.”
The reporters gathered one by one. The editor spoke in a hushed, heavy tone.
“We aren't being granted permission to cover the starship. Access to the front lines is strictly forbidden for us. However, we’ve received intel that Country U has authorized full filming and reporting.”
A stir went through the room.
“And… this is news I just received from a government official today. There is a high probability that the war will not end here.”
“What does that mean?” Natasha countered. “The fighting has stopped.”
The editor spoke slowly.
“Our digital weapon systems have begun to function again. There are reports that control over our nuclear arsenal has been restored.”
Silence.
“Since the intentions of the starship remain unknown, there is information that mechanical aircraft are being deployed for reconnaissance. And… reports that the shield has vanished.”
“Then, if a weakness is found, an attack is possible.”
“…Perhaps.”
With those words, the air in the room froze.
Natasha felt an inexplicable surge of rage. Why were they trying to restart a war that had finally stopped? Naturally, Vadim’s face came to mind—his message saying he was being deployed back to the front.
Leaving the editor’s office, she sat at her desk and opened her laptop.
Slowly, but with firm resolve, she typed the headline:
"We Must End This War Now."
It was a dangerous sentence. The moment this piece was deemed anti-government, she could lose her title as a journalist—or worse.
But her hands did not stop.
Because somewhere, someone had to say it.