One month had passed since I nearly died.
About eight months had passed since my first encounter with the Zork.
Wifey was getting everything ready to hold the New Year's Ritual online.
Now that the mourning period was over, the ritual had to be a grand affair.
A Gaming Monk and some Shinto priests arrived on the planet.
They’d brought a crew of construction workers to build a temple and shrine at breakneck speed.
The design competition was already over; the winning plans were for a lavish, money-is-no-object masterpiece.
Since the gold Sariel had been manipulating was safe to use, they were already talking about casting Buddhist statues.
And not just some tacky, solid-gold display of wealth, either.
They were flying in Living National Treasures to create something that would serve as a symbol of unity for the entire Imperial citizenry.
I wondered if they'd finish it in time.
Apparently, the plan was to build the basic structures first and then spend the next fifty years refining them.
Then, yesterday, the Bonsho—the massive temple bell—arrived.
Bonsho are rare in this world; even my family home didn't have one.
This one had been heavily customized.
It was made of an alloy designed to never decay, no matter how much it rusted. There was gold in the mix, too.
Beyond that, they were supposedly building a Great Buddha outside using scrap metal from wrecked battleships.
That one seemed close to completion.
Honestly, it was probably just a public works project to combat unemployment.
Migrant workers from all the surrounding planets were flocking here.
It would probably work. Maybe.
Having zero faith myself, my only reaction was a lukewarm, "Huh, cool."
Tatiana, equally devoid of religious fervor, shared my sentiment: "Huh, is that so?"
On the other hand, those raised in stricter households—like Claire—showed at least a baseline of respect.
"It’s the sentiment that counts," she said.
Right.
They were even using GPS coordinates to restore damaged graves.
They couldn't exactly recover the ashes, but there wasn't much they could do about that.
Both the temple and the shrine would be managed by the Empire, with high-ranking monks and priests overseeing them.
Add to that a monument commemorating humanity’s victory, a museum...
Count Shinagawa, who’d lost his eldest son, was so swamped with work that he didn’t even have time to grieve.
Maybe being that busy was actually better for his mental health.
As for us, we were stuck... or rather, there were so many troops on the ground that mobilizing took forever.
Still, without this many hands, the initial reconstruction would have dragged on much longer.
By now, sixty percent of the troops had obtained their heavy machinery licenses using the simulator developed by my company—well, by Fairy-san.
As far as forklifts went, everyone was basically an expert.
With the lords and officers personally operating heavy machinery, there was no way the subordinates could get away with being unskilled.
Actually, since a Grand Duke and Major was out there driving the things, the soldiers felt they had no choice but to get certified.
My subordinates weren't incompetent to begin with, but they were being forced to work to the same standards as Officer Academy students.
The regulars were snatching up every qualification they could find.
The engineers and medics were pushing for advanced certifications.
Even we spent our downtime hitting the books.
I found myself needing to re-read Specialized Military Strategy.
I leafed through the pages.
The book was covered in highlighter and scribbled notes, yet I was still miles away from understanding it. I mean, it was a university-level textbook.
Claire found me groaning in the dining cottage.
"Something the matter, Leo?"
"I've been reading this text, but I just can't see the big picture. The scope is so narrow."
"That's because it's specialized. Have you read through General Military Strategy?"
"I've practically memorized it."
For some reason, university classes had started up as if it were perfectly natural, despite us being on the front lines.
"You boys graduated early, and since you're the future of the military leadership, you'd better finish your university course"—that was the "parental concern" we’d been given. I was going to die. Seriously, I was going to die.
I'd put in a request for the Faculty of Law like I'd originally planned, but it was shot down instantly.
Instead, thanks to a healthy dose of "persuasion"—read: pressure and coercion—from Piggett, the usual crew, the high-ranking officers on the comms, and even Mr. Raymond, I was railroaded into the Faculty of General Strategy.
Why?! I just wanted a desk job!
But here I was. Such is the impermanence of all things.
To make matters worse, we’d been admitted to the university division without so much as an entrance exam.
I'd argued that skipping the exam was a bad idea, but...
Apparently, we had recommendation letters from Their Excellencies the General, Lieutenant General, and Major General—not to mention one from His Majesty the Emperor himself!
There was no way out.
I’d have to have a long talk with Wifey about this...
Wait, what? "No need for a test"? Why, Wifey?!
"Think carefully! Does the strongest unit in the Empire, the one that has mastered the newest machines, really need an exam?"
Right. Understood.
Besides, the university division hadn't even started its new year yet; in fact, it was currently on hiatus.
They hadn't even scheduled the entrance exams for this year, let alone next year when we were actually supposed to take them.
We were the only ones getting this special treatment.
I was stuck attending lectures from professors who were unnervingly motivated.
So, through an awkward bit of grade-skipping, we had become university students. My classmates were just the usual guys. It made no sense at all.
What surprised me was that the philosophy and constitutional law the graduate students had hammered into me—while telling me to "shut up and listen"—were actually proving useful.
Honestly, if I hadn't taken those lessons, I'd be in deep trouble right now.
If those grad students hadn't taught me the basics of governance, I would've been lost and kicked out of the very first lecture.
Crisis averted.
And since even I, a high-ranking officer, was studying with a face like I was at death's door, there was no way the subordinates could slack off.
It was the same for Thomas and his lot.
Since he wasn't a student, Thomas had brought along an Imperial Swordsmanship master.
He was an old guy with a tattered dogi who looked like a hidden boss from some fighting game. I halfway expected the character for "Heaven" to manifest on his back.
They were training like demons in full-contact sparring.
We'd joined in with the casual thought of, "Hey, as long as we're moving our bodies, it's all good."
I regretted it immediately.
I managed to hold my own against the master on the first day using my Satsuma Martial Arts, but from the second day onward, he figured out my moves and beat me to a pulp.
Or maybe he just stopped holding back.
He’d apparently thought, "They might be strong, but they’re just students, right? There’s no way they—oh, hey! They’re actually good! (Bestial delight)."
We were now being treated as opponents who didn't need any mercy. That went double for us guys and Melissa.
Whenever the master had a free moment, he’d come over with a massive grin, shouting, "Le-o-kuoon! Let’s plaaaay!"
He broke several wooden swords every single session, to the point where even Thomas’s squad was weirded out. It was terrifying!
"...So this is Leo Kamishiro’s ascetic training. The guy's a monster."
"How are we supposed to keep up with that?"
"No way... even the girls are doing it."
It seemed a massive misunderstanding was spreading among the troops.
I only adapted! It’s not like I wanted to be this way!
And hey, war correspondent big sister! Don't look at me like you just landed the scoop of a lifetime!