Chapter 82

Inside his private quarters on the Plum II—which had long since been repurposed into a chaotic, chip-strewn workshop—Teiro slumped in his chair and emitted a groan that sounded like a dying engine. His desk was a graveyard of data chips, and his monitor screamed with the results of his latest deep-dive. Specifically, it was the curriculum for the Katsushika Defense School, the "educational facility" he’d basically willed into existence.

"Hey, Teiro. How about a radical new concept called 'sleep'? You’ve been awake for thirty hours, though I doubt your brain has registered that yet."

Teiro jumped, nearly rattling his teeth, as a voice drifted in from behind him. He spun around, rubbing eyes so bloodshot they looked like a roadmap of the galaxy, and accepted a cup of coffee from Marl.

"Ah, thanks... Yeah, just let me finish this one section. It’s a good stopping point, I swear."

The bitter, sweet aroma of the caffeine hit his senses like a physical slap. He decided to call a temporary truce with his workload, abandoning the desk to throw himself onto the two-seater sofa with a heavy thud.

"Don't kill yourself," Marl said, sipping her tea beside him. "As it stands, we haven't found a spare Teiro to replace you yet."

Teiro stole a glance at her as she lounged there, completely defenseless. Man, life is weird, he thought, exhaling a long breath.

He’d originally bought this sofa with the pathetic, hopeful fantasy of one day having a cute girl sit next to him, but he’d never actually expected it to happen. Marl was, even by the most objective standards, a stone-cold hottie. He certainly hadn't expected they’d end up this close.

"I hear you," Teiro muttered. "I’m trying to pace myself, but the stuff I’m working on now is the 'don't-get-us-killed' variety. It needs to be done yesterday."

"I get that the basics are important," Marl countered, "but shouldn't you just dump this on Alan or Phantom? They’re the professionals."

"If only it were that easy. See, Alan and Phantom are Imperial military to the bone. Their entire concept of ship operations and doctrine—their 'big book of rules'—is built on Imperial standards. But when you’re running a tiny fleet, those rules are basically a manual on how to go bankrupt or blow up."

Imperial Doctrine was simple: drown the enemy in a sea of ships and use hyper-specialized roles to delete anything in their path. That worked great when you had an endless budget and a million warships. It was hot garbage for a small-to-medium enterprise.

The difference bled into everything, from the ship types to the gear they bolted on. The Empire loved "frontal-assault-only" behemoths like the Thunderbolt. Civilians, however, had to use "do-everything" ships because they didn't have a giant wall of allies to protect their backs.

"Hmm... Strategy isn't really my thing," Marl admitted, "but if you say so, I'll take your word for it. Though, I have to say, it’s a surprise. Since when were you good at playing teacher?"

"Oh, I'm totally winging it," Teiro joked. "I’m just the ideas guy. I dump the knowledge into Phantom’s lap, and he’s the one who has to figure out how to actually drill it into people’s heads."

Thanks to the military knowledge that had been overridden into his brain, Teiro knew how to fight, but teaching it was a whole different headache. He figured he'd act as the chief architect of the syllabus, leaving the actual "screaming at recruits" part to a professional like Phantom.

With Phantom officially on the payroll and the facility construction underway, the only thing left on the to-do list was this massive mountain of instructional data. Between trading, kicking WIND butt, and doing 'President things,' Teiro had been chipping away at it. It was finally starting to look like a real plan.

But the sheer volume of info was staggering, and time was a luxury he didn't have.

"Once the foundation is set, it'll be smooth sailing... but honestly, I'm rushing. This is a five-year plan I’m trying to cram into a weekend."

"Your ideas are always like that—ridiculously over-ambitious," Marl sighed. "But... a 'school,' huh? A place where people actually get together to learn? I've never been. I bet it's actually fun."

"Wait, Marl-tan, you never went to school?"

"I did correspondence courses," she said with a shrug. "But sitting in a room with other people? Not really. Honestly, I don't think many people have done that. You’d have to travel to some massive, distant station just for a classroom. It’s horribly inefficient."

Space society is depressing, Teiro thought. "Whoa, that’s how it works out here? I feel like things like 'social skills' and 'playing well with others' are kind of a big deal."

"Maybe, but it's not like you can only learn that in a classroom."

"True. But I want this school to actually value that stuff. I mean, is it just me, or are Imperial citizens kind of... cold? Everyone feels so distant, like the whole concept of 'community' is a foreign language."

"Is it?" Marl tilted her head. "That's just normal to me. I wouldn't know any better."

She pulled out her handheld terminal and started swiping.

"Oh, look at Phantom. His face is different... a bit more rugged, isn't it?"

A bust-up shot of Phantom appeared on the screen. His personal data was listed next to it, though it was suspiciously brief.

"He said he was changing his look just in case," Marl said, peering at the screen. "Cyborgs are handy like that. But seriously, Teiro... can we actually trust this guy?"

Teiro leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "Who knows?"

"Optimistic as always."

"Look, if he wanted us dead, we’d have been ghosted a long time ago. He seems like a 'principled' hunter. For a guy who kills people for a living, he’s basically a saint."

Upon officially joining the crew, Phantom had come clean about his life as a Bounty Hunter. Teiro didn't really mind—Gon and the Cats were in the same line of work, after all. In the Empire, it was a standard career path, and it kept the real crazies in check.

Sure, there was the minor issue of whether the targets were actually criminals, but Phantom and the Cats seemed to have some standards. The real problem was the "corporate bounties"—illegal hits disguised as legal ones. Dr. Argimov was a prime example of that mess. There were plenty of hunters who would take a paycheck to disappear an innocent person and then flee to another star system before the heat arrived. The Empire didn't have a police force; if it didn't affect the Emperor's bottom line, they didn't care.

"I guess the results speak for themselves," Marl said. "Whatever. I helped build that translator of his, so I’d rather not see my hard work go to waste."

"Haha, you were a lifesaver back then. I can handle the software side of things, but hardware is basically black magic to me."

"You did come out of nowhere asking for a translator for some 'ancient, obscure' language. I thought you’d finally snapped. Make sure you thank the girls at Makina Corp, too... But hey, Teiro. That language... is it what I think it is?"

Teiro’s expression went uncharacteristically somber. "Probably. When I was writing the translation logic, the words just... fit. I could slide them into Imperial Standard without even thinking. It’s Japanese, or something so close it doesn't matter. My English grades were trash back in the day, so it’s the only language I’ve got left."

He remembered that day at the electronics shop when he’d heard that specific tongue. He had replied without even thinking. Even when he tried to listen to it normally, he couldn't "understand" it, yet there was this haunting sense of belonging.

He knew it was the Override. Koume had told him that translating a dead language was impossible without a native speaker, yet he’d done it with ease. There was only one logical explanation.

"I’ll get the full story out of her eventually," Teiro said. "Phantom says her home planet was 'razed' by the Empire, but maybe there are some clues left in the dirt."

According to the legend himself, her home world had been wiped clean. It was some backwater planet that got overrun by WIND, and the Empire decided that instead of a rescue mission, a total orbital cleansing was more efficient. Picturing a world crawling with those WIND monstrosities, Teiro could almost—almost—understand why the Empire did it.

"Hey, Teiro. Do you think... maybe... no, forget it."

Marl looked away, her eyes dropping to her feet. Teiro knew exactly what she was thinking, but he didn't say a word. He didn't want to voice the possibility that the "razed planet" was Earth.

"Oh! Teiro, message from Koume. The votes are in. Alex Silverman is the new Mayor. Big surprise there."

Marl tilted the terminal to show him the spreadsheet of doom. Teiro scanned the numbers and nodded.

"The former exec from that old-money corporation? Yeah, figures. The guy’s got deep roots in Katsushika. Everyone loves a 'local' success story. Well, I guess we better go say hi to the new boss."

Teiro had pushed through a bill to decide the system’s administration through a popular vote. Part of it was his lingering "Democracy is Non-Negotiable" Earthling sentiment, but the other part was pure survival. They couldn't run a whole star system from a spaceship, and they didn't have the staff to play bureaucrats. The company was just too small for the scale of the job.

"It’s our money funding the operations, so we need to make sure this guy isn't a total crook," Marl said, standing up. "Still, a 'popularity contest' to pick a leader? That’s wild. I’m a little worried, but... deciding things for ourselves feels right."

As they headed for the airlock, Teiro gave her a cocky grin.

"It’s called an 'election,' Marl. Welcome to the future."