Chapter 241

“...Perfect.”

Ortega Niven, the Special Equipment Section Manager for the galaxy-spanning Gigantech Corp, couldn't stop shaking. He stared at the monitor, mesmerized by the impossible conclusion playing out in the live feed.

“Did you see that? Despite that swarm of WIND, he’s playing them like a fiddle! And look at that other fleet—what a pathetic mess. This is the real deal. It’s hard to believe, but it’s real!”

Ortega shouted at the empty air, his voice cracking with manic energy. Sitting right in front of him was the magic box that had performed the miracle: the Enigma. It was a device capable of predicting WIND behavior and even intercepting their communications. It was a gold mine with buttons.

“Shall we initiate the plan, then?” his secretary asked from behind.

“Absolutely,” Ortega chirped. He immediately fired off a status report to headquarters. “And tell the fleet not to fire! Not a single shot. We haven't officially declared war yet, remember? This is just our usual ‘pest control’ routine. Make sure the Security Manager understands that, or I'll have his head.”

The secretary nodded. “Understood. Accelerating the fleet now.”

A moment later, a pleasant weight pressed Ortega back into his seat as the ship surged forward.

Maybe I oversold the presentation a bit... Ortega thought, checking the fleet’s disposition on BISHOP. Eh, whatever. It turned out to be true anyway.

Just in case the Enigma had been a total dud, Gigantech Corp had sent an absurdly large fleet of Anti-WIND Specialized Ships. It was exactly double the size of the combined Mercenaries and Rising Sun forces. It was a massive investment, but Ortega’s silver tongue had convinced his bosses that the Enigma was worth the risk. Clearly, the higher-ups were expecting a show.

“We can use this footage for the marketing campaign as-is. We won't even have to pitch it! Once our Security Department makes its move, the galactic news media will do the legwork for us. I can’t even imagine how many orders we’ll get. A hundred million? Hah! We’re just getting started.”

Once his excitement cooled to a simmer, Ortega picked up his communicator. He hailed the invisible ships currently tailing his fleet.

“We are commencing the operation. For the record, this is a rescue mission for WIND victims. We’ll be exterminating pests and dispersing Drive Particles. It’s definitely not an act of war. We aren't taking sides. For now, anyway. No problems with that, right?”

A voice crackled back over the comms.

“None at all, Mr. Ortega. Honestly, we don’t plan on keeping detailed records of this anyway. Go nuts. Our ‘surveillance’ is purely a formality.”

“Much appreciated, Colonel Dean. But man, the Imperial Military has it rough. Coming all the way out to the boonies? You must be homesick for the Central Worlds.”

“Haha! If you really feel that way, then stay put in the Central Worlds next time. You giants are too big to leave unsupervised.”

“Fair point. Terribly sorry for the trouble. But hey, I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here.”

Ortega smirked and cut the connection. Gigantech Corp, the biggest titan in the galaxy, only feared two things. This man belonged to one of them.

Actually, with this device... maybe we only have to fear one, Ortega thought. He reached out and stroked the Enigma. The era is about to change.

He couldn't sit still a moment longer. He bolted toward the Bridge. The Security Department captain would probably give him a dirty look for intruding, but Ortega didn't care. He wanted a front-row seat to history.

“The Great Frontier Era starts today!” he screamed, sprinting down the hallway.

The staff he passed stared at him like he’d finally lost his mind.

---

“Hey there, you two. Finally taking a lunch break?”

Taro, currently lugging a stack of Pulse Chip Storage Cases through the corridor of the Battleship Plum, heard a low, calm voice. He looked up and gave Phantom a tired, wry grin.

“We’ve got a mountain of work left. I only managed to squeeze out a fifteen-minute break just now.”

It was already five hours past the usual lunch hour. Taro and his crew were currently busier than they had been during the actual war, fueled by nothing but spite and minimal sleep.

“I’m starting to think eating is optional,” Marl sighed from beside him, looking completely drained. “Once you get past a certain level of hunger, you just stop feeling things.”

Phantom let out a mischievous chuckle. “Is that right? Then explain the sesame seed on your lip, Miss Marl.”

“No way!” Marl squeaked, clapping a hand over her mouth. A second later, she realized she’d been caught red-handed. Her face turned bright red as she looked at the floor.

“Hehe, you got played... wait, you little brat!” Taro gave her a flat look. “When I asked if you had any snacks earlier, you told me we were totally out!”

Marl stared at a random spot on the wall, stuck out her tongue, and shrugged.

“Haha, well, go get some real food in the cafeteria,” Phantom said, gesturing down the hall. “But listen while we walk. The Doctor used the Ray Tracing Method and caught a few suspicious ship-shaped shadows. They’re verifying them now. Alan wanted me to tell you it looks very promising.”

Taro pumped his fist. “Yes! That’ll make things way easier. I mean, Ortega said Gigantech would force a solution as long as we had proof of the enemy shelling The Facility, but solid evidence is always better.”

“We need that physical evidence,” Marl added, her business instincts overriding her embarrassment. “It’ll make a massive difference in how much we can bill them.”

Taro nodded. God help the Mercenaries’ accountants, he thought. Marl was terrifyingly strict when it came to money.

“By the way, how’s Etta doing? Still catatonic?”

The captured enemy commander was exactly as Taro described. Phantom was handling the interrogation—apparently, he had the ‘required skills’ for it—but he’d warned them it would take time.

“It’s only been a few days. But BISHOP being offline is hitting her hard. When she’s conscious, she’s in a state of constant terror. I might not even need to use torture.”

Taro winced at the casual mention of the T-word. “Uh, don't go overboard, okay?”

“Haha, of course. Oh, one more thing. In light of this battle, the Naraza Association has decided to award you a medal. It’ll be official soon. The Medal of Freedom—given to those who liberate the oppressed. You’ve earned it, Teiro.”

Taro froze. “A medal? Me?!”

He opened his mouth to refuse. In his mind, he’d just done what any decent person would do. Besides, he considered himself a bit of a scoundrel. Medals were for noble heroes, not guys like him.

But before he could argue, he reached a fork in the hallway and stopped dead.

“Hey! Teiro! Don't just stop!” Marl slammed into his back. Taro felt something suspiciously soft press against him, but he just mumbled a quick “Sorry” and turned toward the side passage.

“......”

Taro stared down the dark hallway. Marl peered over his shoulder. “Is someone there? I don't see anyone... oh.”

She went quiet. Taro didn't say a word as he walked to the very end of the hall and stood before the heavy door.

Beyond that door lay the devil’s machine—the device that could grant any knowledge for a price.

“......”

The hallway was silent, save for Marl’s breathing and the faint scent of coffee wafting off Phantom.

“...We did it,” Marl whispered. “We did it without using that thing.”

Taro took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. It was rough... and we lost so much...”

He closed his eyes, offering a silent prayer to those who hadn't made it. He still wondered if he should have used the machine, but he knew he’d be asking himself that for the rest of his life. Once you knew the taste of a shortcut like that, you never truly forgot it.

“A man has done enough if he can protect those within his reach,” Phantom said, ruffling Taro’s hair. Taro didn't pull away. It felt strangely nostalgic. “And usually, even that is a miracle. You did well.”

“There are no guarantees with that machine, Mr. Teiro,” Koume’s voice drifted from behind them. “Even if it gave you the knowledge you wanted, it might have overwritten something vital. Not just memories, but practical things. You might have forgotten how to fly a ship. Or how to use a toilet.”

Taro laughed. “Yeah, that would’ve been a problem.” He turned to look at them all. “Thanks, everyone.”

He looked them straight in the eye. He felt a bit cheesy, but his heart was full.

“Save the mushy stuff for the general meeting tomorrow,” Marl said, giving him a thumbs-up. “We all survived this together.”

Taro raised his own thumb, bringing it close to hers.

“I feel like... I’m finally standing on equal footing with you guys.”

An outsider. Taro had always felt like one. Not because of where or when he was born, but because of that device. It felt like he was cheating at the game of life while everyone else was playing fair.

“Phantom-san... I’ll accept the medal. Humbly.”

He’d finally achieved something without the device. He could finally stand tall and say I did this.

“With this, I’m finally—”

He tightened his fist, gritting his teeth into a smile to keep from tearing up.

“—a Galactic Imperial Citizen, just like the rest of—”

Their fists were inches apart.

Then—

“Gah?!”

A massive shock tore through his body. His legs turned to jelly, and he hit the floor. His vision bled into a horrific crimson. He could see Marl and Phantom rushing toward him, but they looked like blurry ghosts.

[WRONG. YOU’LL NEVER BE ONE.]

A voice boomed inside his skull. It wasn't male or female; it was a raw concept, a jagged thought echoing in the void.

[YOU ARE AN EARTHLING.]

The voices multiplied, roaring like a tectonic shift. A soul-deep chill seized him. He clutched his own arms, but he couldn't feel his skin.

[THE EARTH.]

Through the red haze of his vision, countless silhouettes flickered into existence. They stood on a vast, infinite crimson floor, surrounding him, looking down with cold, silent eyes.

[FIND EARTH.]

Taro screamed with everything he had, but in the silence of the corridor, not a single sound escaped his lips.