Episode 84

The Katsushika Station Public Hall had pulled a quick-change act, transitioning from a formal speech venue into a full-blown party. Teiro stood with Marl, clutching a metal glass that had been—strangely enough—diamond-coated. They wandered the perimeter with a relative amount of freedom.

"Well, I guess real glass is a liability in a place like this," Teiro muttered.

When he thought of "standing buffet parties," his brain immediately went to fancy cocktail glasses. He flicked his fingernail against the blue cup in his hand, letting out a dull ting.

"Glass isn't exactly popular on space stations," Marl replied, looking quite pleased with herself. "If the Gravity Generation Device hits a snag, you’d have razor-sharp shards zip-zooming through the air. If you’re dying for a transparent look, I can find you an acrylic one?"

"No, this is fine," Teiro said, hoisting the metal cup before draining it in one go. A service robot immediately swooped in. "How about another?" it asked. He swapped the empty for a fresh one and began drifting toward the wall. The crowd was dense, but not suffocating. More importantly, people practically parted like the Red Sea whenever he approached.

To be honest, he’d expected to be tackled by a literal horde of reporters and sycophants, but it seemed the attendees were actually being considerate. If their eyes met, they’d offer a polite nod, but only a brave few actually dared to initiate a conversation.

"Seriously though, Marl-tan, you’re a lifesaver. Back there on stage, I thought for sure I was dead meat. That silence was so heavy it’s gonna give me PTSD."

Teiro shivered at the memory of the dead air during his speech. Marl gave him a look that was equal parts smug and maternal.

"If you thought you could do everything by yourself, you were dead wrong. I’ll admit you’ve leveled up since we met, but your basic foundation is 'Backwater Planet,' not 'Imperial Elite.' There are some things you just can't fake."

Teiro scratched his head. "Yeah, fair point."

"I could have just pinged you via BISHOP, but you looked like you were about to have a total meltdown, so I stepped in... By the way, who wrote that script? Did you actually come up with those lines?"

"Nah, it was a collab with Alan. Bella-san did the final polish. Though, I ended up ad-libbing about half of it anyway. Tehe!"

Marl looked genuinely impressed. "Huh." She plucked a piece of unrecognizable fruit from a nearby table and popped it into her mouth. "To think that when we met, you were just a bumbling mess who didn't even know how to walk in zero-G... you’ve really come a long way. Honestly? I think it’s amazing."

She leaned in, a soft, genuine smile playing on her lips. Teiro found himself staring, captivated by her expression for a heartbeat too long, before his internal "Awkward Alarm" blared. He jerked his head away, blushing furiously.

"H-hmph! I can be a real stud when the situation calls for it, you know."

What am I even saying? he screamed internally. It was a pathetic, tough-guy line, but Marl just chuckled.

"I know," she said simply.

Teiro was left speechless. He wasn't built to handle sincere praise; it was his one true weakness.

[MR. TEIRO, I HAVE A REPORT. A GUEST HAS ARRIVED. COULD YOU PLEASE REPORT TO THE WAITING ROOM?]

Koume’s voice echoed through the BISHOP link. Teiro, who had been frantically trying to formulate a smooth follow-up line for Marl, clicked his tongue and decided to cut his losses by heading to the waiting room.

"Congratulations on your appointment, Lord Teiro. That was a magnificent performance... although, I don’t appreciate you using me as a prop to flaunt your Imperial connections. I’d prefer you didn’t take such liberties."

Waiting in the room was Dean, looking sharp in his white Imperial Military formal-wear. He dropped that icy opening line and then immediately followed up with, "May I sit?"

"Whoa, hey, we’re practically best buds, aren’t we, Dean-san? It’s been a while! Please, take a load off. So... uh, what brings you to my neck of the woods today?"

Teiro ushered Dean toward a plush sofa and plopped down across from him. Koume and Marl flanked Teiro like elite bodyguards, while a woman he didn't recognize stood perfectly still behind Dean.

"Um, your friend can sit too, if she wants?" Teiro pointed to a round stool meant for attendants.

The woman looked like a Cyborg; her pupils were dilated to an unnatural degree as she stared through Teiro. Dean dismissed the offer with a cold wave of his hand.

"She’s fine. It’s a mechanical body anyway; she doesn’t know the meaning of 'tired.' She’s just a guard. Ignore her. More importantly, Lord Teiro, it seems your career hasn't lost any momentum. Lyza’s letters are filled with nothing but glowing reports about your exploits."

Dean’s face was surprisingly gentle, a far cry from his usual "hard-boiled soldier" persona. Teiro stayed on guard, refusing to be charmed, but he couldn't help wondering if the guy was just a massive pushover for his little sister.

"Yeah, well, between the war and everything else, it’s been pretty chaotic. How about your side? Not that you look like you're hurting for work, but I doubt spying on us is very entertaining."

"On the contrary, I’ve never had a more entertaining assignment. Oops, did I let that slip? Perhaps I’ve had one too many drinks. Then again, if I keep drinking, I might let even more secrets slide."

Dean gave a deliberate shrug, his eyes narrowing playfully. Teiro hesitated, then decided to play along with the "clueless friend" routine.

"Koume, grab 'the thing' for me... Thanks. Dean-san, do you have a thing for booze? This is a pretty rare vintage, so please, accept it as a gift."

Teiro handed over a package Koume had produced, watching Dean’s face for the slightest twitch of disapproval. If the man looked even slightly offended, Teiro was ready to pivot to a backup bribe—er, gift.

"I assume I’m accepting this as a friend?" Dean asked, his voice probing. His expression was a stone wall. Teiro’s brain started spinning at overclocked speeds, searching for the hidden trap.

"...Yeah, exactly. As a friend. It’s definitely not a bri—"

Before Teiro could finish the word, Dean’s hand shot out, palm flat in front of Teiro’s face.

"Do not finish that sentence. At least not right now. The network’s AUTOMATIC VOICE ACCUMULATION PROGRAM would flag that keyword, and then both of us would be under surveillance by a completely different agency."

Dean looked down, gesturing to a device on his belt. Teiro swallowed hard, eyeing the gadget that was clearly a SOUND COLLECTION DEVICE. Dean lowered his hand.

"Besides, I’m not looking for that. I was just testing your character. I’m glad it wasn't cash... I’d hate to have to throw you in prison. Still, I’ll take the drink."

Dean smirked. Teiro shuddered, wondering where the jokes ended and the threats began. He might not have made the "perfect" move, but he felt like giving himself a gold star for avoiding the "get thrown in a black site" option.

"Now, let's stop playing and get down to business. I didn't come here just for the party; I have a business proposal for you."

Play? Was that all play? Teiro was exasperated—the line between "friendly banter" and "interrogator" was way too thin with this guy. But at the word "business," his brain snapped back into professional mode.

"A proposal? From the Imperial Military!!?"

Teiro’s voice was way too loud. Dean winced.

"Keep it down... You aren't technically wrong, but it’s not what you’re imagining. For starters, your company is way too small to handle our actual logistics. Come back and talk to me when your employee count has another two or three zeros at the end."

Teiro gave a weak laugh. He’s not wrong.

If I had to supply, say, metal eyelets for shoelaces to a billion soldiers... if they replaced them every two years and each shoe had twenty holes... I’d have to crank out 15 billion rings a year. That’s 40 million a day. Rising Sun couldn't even handle the 'tiny metal bits' contract. That was, of course, assuming shoelaces were even still a thing in the future.

"Haha, yeah. But come on, if someone says they have a deal with the Imperial Military, anybody would get their hopes up."

"I suppose I can't blame you... Anyway, the details. The client is a specific department within the Military, led by one of my subordinates. I don't want to do a direct transaction, so you’ll need to run this through a dummy company. Are you familiar with those kinds of 'creative' arrangements?"

"Not a clue."

"Your honesty is refreshing. A bit shocking, but refreshing... No matter, it's just a paperwork headache. Tell Alan; he’s clever enough to handle the red tape. What I want is that 'interesting weapon' you’ve got mounted on your ship. Interested?"

Dean’s eyes glinted with a "gotcha" look.

"Oh, the Railgun? Sure. I mean, go for it... but our production capacity is pretty pathetic, you know?"

Teiro’s casual response caught Dean off guard. His pupils flickered for a fraction of a second.

"You’re being awfully open about it... Hmm. So there’s nothing top-secret about the projectile itself?"

Dean rubbed his chin, deep in thought. Teiro just shrugged.

"Nah, nothing to hide. It’s just that my Gift happens to have great synergy with that kind of attack. If you were looking for some kind of miracle super-weapon, you’re barking up the wrong tree."

Teiro tried to look apologetic. It was a bit of an act, but also the truth. He’d really wanted this deal to work out; you couldn't find a more stable client than the Empire.

"I see. Perhaps it’s because I spend too much time in intelligence, but your transparency is baffling... Regardless, I still want to place a standard order for Railguns. As many as you can possibly manufacture."

Teiro’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Wait, really?"

Dean had likely mentioned the intelligence agency bit on purpose, which meant he definitely knew the factory’s exact output. He was prepared to buy every single unit they could squeeze out.

Up until now, the Railgun had been a niche project developed specifically for the Plum. It hadn't made a cent of profit, and Teiro never thought it would. For a normal pilot, the benefits compared to a Beam Weapon were basically zero.

"I mean, we’ll sell 'em to you until the cows come home, but... can I ask why?"

This sounds too good to be true. Where’s the catch? Teiro wondered. Dean just arched an eyebrow.

"It’s simple math. We’re running out of everything. Cannons, ships, modules—the supply chain is screaming. Specifically, anything involving Beam Weapons and Razor Metal is in a state of total collapse. Railguns are a decent stopgap since they don't require those specific strategic resources. Demand is about to skyrocket."

Teiro nodded. He’d seen it in his own fleet; the cost of conventional cannons was getting ridiculous, making it impossible to scale up.

"I get that. But are they actually going to help? They’ll just get melted by Beams, right?"

Teiro knew there was a tactical workaround, but he wanted to hear the "official" version. Dean gave him a response that was pure, terrifying Imperial logic.

"You simply fire more slugs than the enemy’s Debris Incineration Beam can track. You saturate the sector. If you throw a few thousand rounds at them all at once, there isn't a computer in the galaxy that can intercept them all. It’s not rocket science; it's just math."