Chapter 225

Measuring over a kilometer in length, the Battleship Plum was a behemoth that boasted a labyrinth of rooms befitting its massive scale. The majority of its interior was dedicated to the cold, hard practicalities of space travel—engines, turrets, fuel tanks, and thrusters—but it was far from just a flying hunk of metal. From private crew quarters to meeting rooms, recreation halls, galleys, and reception suites, all the way to information management centers, massive warehouses, and specialized machine shops, the ship was a self-contained ecosystem designed to support both total war and daily life.

Currently, Taro and his companions were holed up in one such facility: the Integrated Operations Planning Room. Aside from the bridge, this was the most heavily fortified area on the ship in terms of BISHOP Intelligence Processing, boasting a direct link to the main computer where the ship's most sensitive data was stored.

"What if we just... whoosh, right through here?" Taro suggested, tracing an arc across the floor with his finger. "I think we could really catch 'em with their pants down."

As he spoke, a glowing curve appeared on the floor exactly where he had traced it, automatically converting into a tactical arrow pointing toward the markers representing the enemy fleet.

The floors and walls of the room were essentially giant interactive screens. Through the BISHOP interface and motion tracking, the occupants could doodle images anywhere they pleased, much like a toddler armed with a box of high-tech crayons. They could pull up any data they wanted; currently, the room was plastered with a dizzying array of footage from The Facility, enemy ship specs, friendly fleet positions, and star charts, all layered over one another in a chaotic mess of military intelligence.

"Not bad. But no, Boy," Bella countered, drawing her own curve on the floor. "The main objective of this operation is to pin the opponent down with raw pressure. It’ll be much more effective to show off our strength in a grand display rather than relying on cheap surprises."

Taro watched her curve, which indicated a direct frontal assault on the enemy fleet. He let out a thoughtful grunt, rubbing his chin.

"I see, I see. So we calculate based on their intrusion path and curve back this way... By the way, Bella, why are you in your underwear?"

Taro was indeed staring at the tactically significant curve on the floor, but he was also putting a great deal of effort into observing the curves of Bella’s impressive twin mounds. She was currently sporting what Taro knew to be a bikini-style set of lingerie, draped in her usual jacket—a truly surreal ensemble.

"Because it’s hot, obviously," Bella replied flatly. "That magnificent 'Gift' of yours is constantly spitting out hot pathos without a moment’s rest. My body can't take much more of this heat. Aren't you feeling it, Boy?"

Bella’s limbs shimmered suggestively with a fine sheen of sweat. As Taro juggled multiple tactical simulations for the upcoming decisive battle against the Mercenaries Main Force, he was also busy debating what to call the mysterious protrusions on her chest—which were far too alluring to simply dismiss as "extra fat"—and whether they were larger than Marl’s. He couldn't reach a definitive conclusion, but he decided that Bella likely won in terms of pure volume, while Marl took the prize for ratio.

"I mean, yeah, it’s hot," Taro said. "But could you maybe dial back the phrasing? It sounds like you’re describing something very different. There’s at least one person on this ship who’d go up in flames if they heard you talking like that."

The Plum’s cooling systems were currently cranked to the max, but the temperature inside remained stifling. Taro wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

The heat was the result of their proximity to the local star combined with the thermal output of continuous railgun fire. If left unchecked, the machinery would melt into slag, so the excess heat had to be circulated through the ship’s interior. Even though the vacuum of space was freezing, the lack of air meant there was nothing to carry the heat away—a classic engineering headache for any man-made object.

The Plum had its wing-shaped radiators fully extended in emergency mode, but even that wasn't enough to stop the internal temperature from skyrocketing.

"When you’re born on a space station, you rarely have the chance to feel real heat," Bella said, waving a hand in front of her face to create a pathetic little breeze. "It only happens during a total catastrophe. It’s not a pleasant feeling."

Taro did his best to burn the image of the swaying white masses into his retinas, timed perfectly with her movements.

"W-well, if that’s the case, I guess it can't be helped. I mean, look, as the guy in charge, I’m technically supposed to maintain public morals and whatnot, but I feel like it would be wrong of me to interfere with such a... deeply personal reason."

"Stop your grumbling and look as much as you want. I don't care," Bella said with a shrug. "But if your brain starts slowing down, I’m smacking you."

"Gah, understood! Don't worry, I’ve got enough processing margin for about two thousand more people. The rest of me is already staring with maximum intensity anyway."

"Two thousand? What are you talking about?"

"Nothing, just talking to myself... Anyway, Bella, things turned out a bit weird, but how do you think it would’ve gone if we’d actually traded blows with Admiral Sod?"

Taro asked the question while his eyes wandered toward her lace-trimmed panties, agonizing over the high-stakes internal debate of whether he could see something dark through the fabric or not.

Bella crossed her arms, her "live rounds" resting atop them as she pondered. "I don’t think we would have lost," she finally said. "But I don't think we would have won, either. Based on his record, he’s not the type to sit idly by and wait for a result. He’s a player."

"Yeah, that sounds about right. Is he really that good?"

"Of course. You don't become the security chief of a megacorp for nothing. He knows exactly when to push and when to fold. It sounds simple, but that’s the hardest part of the job. He’s cautious, but not passive. That’s the kind of opponent that keeps me up at night."

"I see... Glad I didn't lose my cool and ignore his call, then."

Based on Bella’s assessment, Taro realized that even if they had beaten the Sod Fleet, they likely would have taken a crippling blow in the process. For the Mercenaries, Sod’s fleet was just an advance unit; the main force was still out there. There was no way a wounded Plum could have survived the follow-up.

Hindsight really is 20/20, Taro thought, feeling a profound wave of relief that he’d accepted the ceasefire.

"But seriously, even if that scary guy had twice the ships, you still think it’d be a draw? That’s insane. Bella, you never actually commanded a fleet before joining us, right?"

As far as Taro knew, Bella was just the head of the Guns and Rules Mafia Corp back in the Alpha Star System—a HAD pilot, through and through. While HAD unit tactics and fleet maneuvers surely overlapped, her sheer competence was still a mystery.

"I hadn't," she admitted. "But since I joined you, I’ve been leading the main force and blowing things up non-stop. Is 'on-the-job experience' not a good enough answer for you?"

"I mean, I'm curious, but I’m not so boorish as to pry... A maiden’s secret, then?"

"Why are you the one blushing while saying that? Whatever. Just remember one number: five hundred."

Bella held up her palm, splaying five fingers.

"Five hundred?" Taro asked.

"That’s the maximum number of units I can manage if I really push myself. Anything beyond that gets messy. I spent my childhood traveling all over the place with the old man, and I learned the ropes back then. I ended up in the world of thugs and killers later on, but you never forget what you learn as a kid."

Bella flashed a smirk. Taro pictured the energetic Dr. Arzimof and gave a wry smile. Yeah, that sounds about right.

"My Collective Control Gift isn't like yours, Boy. I don't handle multiple things at once; I perceive multiple things as a single object. It’s got a fancy name, but the concept is simple. Apparently, it’s quite rare. I was actually a research subject for a while. The pay wasn't bad, at least."

Bella pulled a cigar from her jacket and lit it with practiced ease. she took a long, slow drag and exhaled a plume of smoke with a look of pure bliss.

"That’s how I figured out the 'five hundred' limit. They told me that managing a group that size was highly irregular... Hehe. Honestly, I might have the same kind of background as little Lady Etta. No parents, just like her."

Bella gave a mischievous grin.

"What about the Doctor?" Taro asked.

"I’m his son’s adopted kid," she replied.

"I see... No parents..." Taro trailed off, his voice hollow.

He thought about Etta, Bella, Marl, Phantom, and even the enemy sonarmen. When he considered the unnatural commonalities—orphans, Gifted, Boosted, and all of them inexplicably converging on the Alpha Star System Region Space—he felt a chill crawl down his spine. Bella might have been half-joking about their "backgrounds," but Taro didn't find it funny at all.

"Teiro! Bella! We’ve got a green light on the Area B Operation!"

Marl came charging into the planning room, shouting at the top of her lungs. Without waiting for a response, she scurried over to Taro and slapped a data chip onto his forehead.

"Oh, for real? I can't believe you got this ready so fast. Is Liza holding up?"

Taro checked the data on the chip. The Area B Operation—a name he’d chosen solely because he wanted to hear the girls say it—was critical for the next phase of the war, but the logistics required were staggering.

"Well, they managed it with a massive influx of labor, but it was pretty grim," Marl whispered, leaning in close. "Liza was down in the workshop helping out, but she was calling every single worker 'Takashi.' It was actually creepy. We should probably give her a long vacation before she completely snaps."

Taro winced. "Are you serious?" He gave a weak laugh and double-checked the report. "Wait... this is bad. The worker manifest is literally just the name 'Takashi' copied and pasted three thousand times. This isn't a joke, it's a cry for help. Should we call a doctor?"

As the man who had ordered the operation in the first place, Taro felt a crushing weight of guilt. He pressed his hands together in a prayer for Liza’s sanity. I’ll make it up to her after the war. I swear.

"Probably," Marl agreed. "I’m sure Dr. Arzimof knows a good therapist. Anyway, how’s it going on your end? The Delta Jungle Operation?"

"Falling behind, honestly. The heat is worse than I expected. We’re having to throttle the railguns to keep them from melting. I’m not sure we’ll make the window."

"What? Goodness, why didn't you just say so? If we hook up the spare radiators, we can fix that easily. We can just reroute the backup power for a bit. There’s no reason to sit here and sweat like this!"

"Whoa, really? God, I love your Mechanical Engineering Gift. You’re so depend...able..."

Taro’s voice trailed off as his earlier dark thoughts resurfaced. He tried to tell himself it was just a coincidence, but the logic wasn't sticking.

"Well, I’m not much help in a dogfight, so I have to make myself useful somehow... Wait, Bella! What the hell are you wearing?!"

Marl had finally noticed Bella’s attire. Bella, still staring at the tactical map, didn't even blink. "It’s basically the same thing you’re wearing," she said coolly.

"T-this is sportswear! Sportswear!" Marl shrieked. "Teiro told me this is formal attire for aquatic exercise! It’s called a 'school swimsuit'! What you’re wearing is just straight-up underwear! Hey, Teiro, tell her!"

Taro didn't respond, his mind elsewhere. Marl peered into his face with a worried expression.

"Ah, yeah, right," Taro muttered, forcing the dark thoughts into a corner of his mind. Thinking about it wouldn't change anything, and he had a war to win.

"Right! Enough gloom! Let’s get some energy back in here!"

With a burst of forced enthusiasm, Taro reached out and gave Marl’s breasts a firm, dual-handed squeeze. He took her follow-up right straight—which felt significantly more powerful than her usual punch—with a smile on his face as he slowly collapsed to the floor.

If it meant getting knocked out in a single blow, I’d take the chance, too, if only—