TrafalgarLog

Consciousness is eternal, religious figures once unilaterally declared. The truth of this matters not. However, when we can shed our physical bodies sending our consciousness alone light-years away, in an era where man lives its life adrift in the sea of stars, those who dwell there are aware that their consciousness is virtual. Thus, they cling to anything that will give a sense of reality. That is why people yearn for music.

With the shine of rainbow spotlights and ten spheres connected by trails of light behind her, a fourteen-year-old Chelsea Scarlett leapt onto the holo-stage.

Her silver hair fluttered along with the wind’s melody, which blended with the ten thousand singing voices packed into the Atlantis Dome into a singular glow.

As she sang, glowsticks turned into stars, sending energy rippling throughout the world. The song was swallowed up by the infinite galaxy, shining on without end.

Her consciousness expanded, became one with the song, intermingled with the consciousnesses of the crowd, became a star, melted away, soaring upward. It was a rising voltage. It was ecstasy.

At the time, she did not realize that it was an illusion.

No—

Even now, as she piloted a humanoid Variable Fighter through information projected on the Cyber Electronics holo-monitor—

She might have still been within that illusion.

The navigation method known as the “Fold.”

Named for the way it seemed to “fold” space itself, the people of Earth still did not truly understand what the technology entailed. Not even the Zentradi fully understood it.

It transported an object through space from one set of defined coordinates to another. Though, if one were to ask what actually occurred over the course of this process, the fact of the matter was that nobody could answer. Some theorized that objects are simply swapped between the coordinate systems, others proposed that there was a sub-space that they travelled through.

You could accuse this explanation of being overly vague, but this is the same mankind that roasted meat over campfires before knowing what fire was, that caught air in its sails before it knew what wind was. Gravity, light, electromagnetic energy; mankind has played with and utilized powers beyond its understanding since time immemorial.

The Fold is one such phenomenon. As long as people understood that by using a Fold device—powered by special mediums known as Fold Coal or Fold Carbon—they could leap tens of light-years across time and space, they would use it.

In other words, it was kind of like love.

Love has no form. It’s vague, and yet we still live our lives with belief in it.

Perhaps that was why the dreams of people passing through Fold Space were the way they were.

✥✥✥

“Mm… hahh…”

A sigh escaped Chelsea Scarlett’s rose-colored lips.

She slowly sat up from her bed in the second-class cabin of the Vistula & Oder Company’s “Twardowski” space freighter.

The Fold Space lights had turned off, the normal lights switching back on. The phenomenon that was making her cramped, ivory-colored cabin look like a double-exposure photograph was caused by the Fold. Her soul had melted into an ethereal realm.

Chelsea took a sip of the carbonated mineral water at her bedside as she wondered why she’d dreamed of standing on a stage rather than her usual dream of an icy coffin. She couldn’t find an answer.

“Oh, right, it’s been a while since I’ve Folded outside of warship or a Valkyrie…”

The Fold transcended space and time, making human consciousness “shake” under its influence. The experience was as intoxicating as its name, “Fold Trip,” implied. Some felt a high, others felt down. On commercial ships, it was standard procedure for passengers to be asleep when they entered Fold Space to bridge that gap in perception.

Those who do get high on the Fold get so thoroughly high that many spaceship crews had people addicted to so-called “Fold Love,” making love to their partners during a Fold Trip. In fact, statistics showed that on large-scale emigration fleets, there was usually a spike in the birth rate about ten months after each Fold.

Of course, it wasn’t simply that Fold Sex felt better. As mentioned, the principles of the Fold and the true nature of its subspace were still unexplained, so passengers had some level of fear that the entire fleet might plunge into it forever. That fact likely contributed to this phenomenon. In fact, there had already been too many emigration fleets that vanished as a result of Fold accidents to count them on one's fingers and toes.

Well, none of that was of much concern to Chelsea, though. Both because she didn’t have a romantic partner and because she was physically incapable of getting high.

Still, she was glad that she hadn’t had the icy coffin dream, so she made a big, groaning stretch and picked up the mobile device in front of her.

“Huh? An e-mail?”

Judging by the time stamp, it must have arrived before she entered the Fold. She must’ve been too nervous to check it.

“My manager…?”

It was an e-mail from her manager, who used to look out for her at the production company she belonged to. Ever since she’d turned tail and joined a private military provider, she hadn’t made contact even once. Her manager was the sort of person who’d handled even tedious contract negotiations via text message.

After a moment of hesitation, Chelsea opened the e-mail.

Not long ago, just seeing that name would’ve thrown her into a panic, likely sending the e-mail straight into the trash folder. She wasn’t like that anymore, though, even if she didn’t notice the change.

“Dear Chelsea. I saw your Vanquish concert on a video site.”

As abrupt of an opening line as ever.

Nothing had changed, it seemed.

But she had changed.

“To put it mildly, the sound quality wasn’t great, but your singing was wonderful. I still believe that your songs have the power to touch people’s hearts.”

“...”

Was that so?

What frightened the silver-haired girl was the simple fact that her desire to help Hakuna was the sole reason that she’d chosen to sing. She no longer knew how much power her song held.

“Your chair is still open, if you ever need a place to go back to. If you ever feel like coming back to us, please do so.”

That was the end of the e-mail.

Chelsea tried to visualize the data that made up the e-mail so that she could crush it in her hand, but she couldn’t even bring herself to do that.

✥✥✥

Of course, she wasn’t aboard the ship for the entertainment. She was working.

She had come to take part in the high-grade Vanquish “Star of Heaven Cup” being held by the fleet closest to the Macross Frontier fleet, Macross Galaxy. She wasn’t the only one there, either. Hakuna and several other racers, including Lena, were supposedly on board as well.

As she stepped out of the shower and into the hallway, a boy ran toward her with an excited look on his face, panting as he went.

“...Takeru? What’s up? We just came out of the Fold…”

“Hehe!” With a look that said I’m glad you asked, Takeru puffed out his chest. “I got to check out the Fold engine. The Colonel’s friends with the chief engineer. I’ve never seen Fold Coal light up like that before!”

“Katori sure has a lot of connections…”

“Well, they do call her the God of Spaceship Maintenance, apparently! Just the other day, one of the Battle Frontier’s technical officers came by to ask her for advice. But, anyway…” He looked like all this gossip about personal ties was just a preamble he had to rush through to get to the spaceship talk. “...It’s so awesome! When the engines of a top-of-the-line cargo-passenger ship like this plunge into a Fold Fault, they deploy a reaction cooling system and go in full throttle! Then, the Fold waves interfere with interstellar matter and glow like a rainbow! Whoosh! I guess you’ve gotta know how to tinker with this stuff if you’re born as a boy.”

“Come to think of it, haven’t we already passed through the fault?”

“What?” Takeru deflated.

“C’mon, Chelsea… I guess you’re just not really interested in this stuff…”

“...Sorry.”

Fold Faults were barriers in outer space that blocked Fold navigation and technology. Ubiquitous throughout the cosmos, the barriers interfered with the spacetime of passing Fold objects—namely, spaceships and communications waves—causing, at best, a significant time lag and, at worst, complete annihilation. As mankind entered the Age of Exploration in outer space, they came upon something which could be called the Sargasso Sea of the cosmos.

“Well, even with the latest engines, all we can do is lower the rate that we fall into Fold Faults, but we can’t change the fact that using the Fold still takes time and energy… Oh, but the Colonel tells me there’s something called Fold Quartz that could change all that.”

“Fold Quartz?”

The term was unfamiliar to her.

“Yeah… apparently, it’s a Fold substance so pure that it can’t even be compared to the stuff we know, like Fold Coal and Carbon. We don’t know where it comes from, but apparently LAI and Shinsei are researching it.”

Takeru peered out into space through one of the cargo-passenger ship’s portholes. His eyes shimmered. As a former stowaway, the sea of stars must have been a rare and dazzling sight.

“I hear that S.M.S.’s new model uses it… the VF-25, I mean. Have you seen it?”

“I heard it was going through combat tests, but I haven’t flown it myself. Apparently, the inertia store converter uses a black box that’s nothing like the VF-22’s, and they tell me that LAI maintains that part, not S.M.S.”

“Ah, so it really is that one. I was looking at the YF-24’s specs in an aviation magazine, and it doesn’t seem all that revolutionary. Obviously, you could ignore all the limiters that previous AVFs had and fly crazy fast if you use an EX-Gear, though. But then you might as well just use an EX-Gear with a conventional plane like your Nothung at that point.”

“Yeah, the VF-19ACTIVE is pretty great.”

It was her honest opinion.

It had been nearly fifty years since Variable Fighters, commonly called “Valkyries,” had come into practical use. Engine output, onboard weapons, high-mobility thrusters, all of them had advanced dramatically. The Advanced Variable Fighter, or AVF for short, was the pinnacle of that evolution.

Shinsei Industries’ VF-19 Excalibur and General Galaxy’s VF-22 Sturmvogel II. These two machines were developed with the intention of creating the pinnacle of manned fighters. This brought about its own, unexpected problem, though. Human pilots couldn’t keep up with their machines.

The AVF’s three-dimensional maneuvering ended up becoming lethal in a literal sense, with a string of accidents caused by blackouts, redouts, or the complete loss of spatial awareness. It was to be expected, though, given that these units could reach 25Gs, a force equivalent to 2 tons of weight crushing down on an 80 kilogram person. The reality was that only a very limited number of test pilots could hope to fly the prototypes under the specifications set for them. In fact, whether it was true or not, rumor had it that there was one pilot who deliberately removed the limiter during AVF testing and ended up crushed to death by the acceleration G-forces alone.

Because of this, nearly all AVFs in circulation were equipped with maneuverability limiters. The only exceptions were the VF-19EF and the VF-19ACTIVE, because they were equipped with highly effective G-resistant Powered Suits called the EX-Gear, and models designed for special forces units.

Even Brauhitsch’s VF-19A probably had a limiter installed.

In other words, it was only through the EX-Gear that pilots could finally harness the AVF’s capabilities. There was no need to force models which exceeded those specs into development. VF-19EFs, along with updated VF-171s—which were the mainstay model that had become more manageable and powerful as a result of spin-off AVF technology—were more than capable of handling rebellious Zentradi and other threats.

But now here they are, taking such a mysterious technology and just developing a new model with it…?

But then, that lingering question was drowned out by Hakuna’s voice, inviting her to come get breakfast. Chelsea found herself being dragged along by the ravenously hungry boy as he rushed to the restaurant.

That question wouldn’t be answered for a little while, but that is not the subject of this story.

✥✥✥

“C’mon, everybody! Let’s get this party started!”

President Yuein was in high spirits.

The bottle of Shaoxing wine that she’d been gripping since morning—relative ship time—was the greatest evidence of this.

Chelsea’s “incident” during the recent Reno Cup had gone totally viral on video-sharing sites, thanks in part to the fact that she was a former pop diva; she had become popular to the point that one could call her a sensation, even if only a local one. Naturally, this sent the profile of her exclusive sponsor, Yuein’s company, flying. Riding that high, she offered Chelsea a sponsorship deal with a higher signing bonus and full support for her entire crew to compete in the Macross Galaxy’s Star of Heaven Cup.

“Are you sure about this… Hakuna? Is this okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Chelsea’s whisper of protest was ignored. Hakuna had a mug of beer in his hand as well.

This isn’t good, Chelsea thought, deciding to make herself as small as she could be in a corner of the restaurant that had been transformed into a makeshift beer hall. Of course, Yuein was already tipsy by then, as were Katori’s rowdy crew of mechanics. The only ones fully sober were Chelsea, who hated these kinds of drinking parties, and Takeru, who was underage.

It’s like a group trip to the countryside…

Chelsea had attended many gatherings like these as part of entertainment agency client events. She was annoyed, but not so annoyed that she’d rain on anybody’s parade.

“Cut ‘em some slack. None of ‘em imagined they’d get to compete in the Star of Heaven.”

“...Is it that big of an event?”

“Yep. Even the Reno Cup where we faced off against Berthier was basically just a qualifier for this. Only the top racers from each fleet get invited. It’s sorta like a World Series. A racer gains prestige just by taking part in it at all.”

“I see.”

“Thanks to that, we even got to bring Anri along as medical staff. We’re fully prepared. Well, as prepared as privateers can be, anyway.”

She couldn’t quite wrap her head around this high-stakes arena she’d been dragged into all of a sudden, but the atmosphere around Hakuna and Katori made her feel that that was just how things were.

In that way, the sense of exhilaration was familiar to her. Back when she was first making a name for herself, then when she was at the peak of her career; at both of those times her agency and crew had radiated with this same fervor. She’d been a part of this energy before. Even now, it didn’t bring her any discomfort.

“Well, the Colonel’s got her own agenda.”

“Agenda…?”

Chelsea caught a fleeting glimpse of Katori, downing Shaoxing wine like it was oolong tea. She didn’t seem the least bit drunk, but bottles were lining up around her like the foundations of a wall.

“The prize for the Star of Heaven Cup. Apparently, she wants some vintage parts that the Galaxy owns.”

“They have something that valuable?”

“General Galaxy was founded by a U.N. public corporation that did OTEC technical analysis… Macross tech. Rumor has it that they’ve got Valkyrie parts that predate the VF-1 itself.”

“So, she gives full cooperation in exchange for those parts?”

“That’s the idea. Reassuring, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

She really thought so. For a pilot, nothing was more terrifying than flying with a maintenance crew that wasn’t on top of things. A broken Valkyrie wasn't like a broken radio; it couldn't just be fixed with a wrench mid-flight.

“I’ve got someone more important to be grateful for.”

“Huh? Um, you mean… me?”

“Who else?”

With a wry smile, Hakuna popped a french fry into his mouth.

“If it weren’t for you, we never would’ve beat Berthier. We definitely wouldn’t have made it all the way here… I really am grateful. I’ll be counting on you, partner.”

“...Okay, okay!”

She felt glad.

Like she belonged there.

That was why…

She silently vowed that she would do anything to maintain this.

✥✥✥

“Hey, what’re you—!?”

Just as she said goodbye to Yuein, Hakuna, and the others and turned to head back to her room, Chelsea was careless enough to bump into a man walking down from the other end of the hall.

“S-Sorry…”

“Oh.”

The man looked down at her as she tried to apologize with a gaze like he was training a poorly behaved stray cat.

“A Zentra, huh? Guess there’s no helping it.”

“—!”

“People like you don’t belong in a place like this. Don’t you get that? If you can’t understand our pure culture…”

The young—likely wealthy, judging by how well his suit fit him—man’s words held no malice.

There was even a certain gentleness to them, like someone softly scolding a dog for sitting in a human’s chair. If they’re dealing with something on unequal footing from them, an intelligent being can be as gentle as they’d like. That was the tone he spoke with.

The exact tone that she had grown accustomed to hearing as someone who had been “produced” as a Zentradi.

So, even after that, she said nothing. She simply stepped aside to let him pass. Or rather, that was what she planned to do.

But when the man’s faint smirk was washed away by a slap from the red-haired girl who’d appeared from down the hallway, her resolve shifted.

“...Shut your filthy mouth! Boasting about being pure just because you’re a Homosapien? How pathetic!”

Lena Zielonaska.

Standing in the hall like a queen, the fierce woman wore an expression that betrayed a rage which Chelsea had never seen before.

The man mumbled something she couldn’t make out as he walked down the hallway, some stammering apology, or a sneer, or a final petty shot from the back of his throat. Lena let out a deep sigh.

“...Pardon me, would you mind joining me for a moment?”

✥✥✥

“A-Are you sure this is alright!? This area is reserved for first-class passengers, isn’t it!?”

“Fret not. I’ve been meaning to have a proper, relaxed chat with you anyway.”

In a restaurant where each table had an overwhelmingly vast space around it, Chelsea looked restlessly around. Lena, on the other hand, just sat and calmly drank her tea.

The ceiling was a transparent dome, making it feel like they were enveloped by the vastness of space outside. The air was crisp. The sound of a piano filled the space.

“But…”

Chelsea’s confusion had no effect on the service; the atmosphere was one in which everything felt perfectly natural.

“This ship belongs to me.”

“Oh… I see.”

After a sip of chamomile tea, Chelsea’s eyes widened with realization. She jumped to her feet.

“Whaaaaa!?”

“Quiet, please.”

With an exasperated glare, Lena silenced her. Noticing that the polite gazes of the waitstaff and the pianist had all turned toward her, the silver-haired girl shrunk.

“It’s… your ship…?”

A spaceship wasn’t cheap. In fact, even someone who worked a regular job could never hope to afford one. Even used VF-1s and VF-11s sold off at bargain prices were far more costly when compared to used cars. And this was an interstellar vessel with a Fold engine. The cost had to be beyond anything Chelsea could imagine.

“My grandfather owns Vistula & Oder, after all.”

“…I, I see…”

Chelsea knew that Vistula & Oder—a major interstellar cargo-passenger shipping conglomerate—was backing Lena’s team, but she never imagined that Lena herself was affiliated with them. She was pretty taken aback. Of course, it wouldn’t be strange for the daughter of that company’s owner to own a cargo-passenger ship. Plus, that would certainly explain how she was affording to pour money into her ultra-rare, customized SV-52 like it was water.

“My grandfather defected from the old OTEC to the Anti-UN Alliance, becoming a pioneer researcher in Fold technology. After the war, he entered the shipbuilding and interstellar transport industries to spearhead planetary colonization and trade independent from the UN Government… Well, feel free to read more about it on the company’s official website.”

“Uh… Uh-huh.”

Chelsea simply couldn’t grasp the concept of it. Not just because of their wealth disparity. She just didn’t have an ancestral history or culture the way Lena did.

“Please relax. Should you not be used to places like this by now?”

“W-Well… actually, I don’t go to them very often…”

“That’s quite a surprise. Is Chelsea Scarlett not a pop star whose popularity stretches across the galaxy? I assumed that you would frequent high-end restaurants.”

“I was too busy keeping up with all my work. Even when I was invited to places like these, it was usually for business… anyway, you knew about my past?”

“N-Not really.”

For some reason, Lena’s cheeks flushed as she denied it.

“You’re a racer that I’ve recognized. Of course I would look into you. That is how a warrior who engages in battle conducts herself. But, nevermind that…” Maybe it was a force of habit, but Lena slapped her cheeks a few times to psych herself up before looking at Chelsea once more. “...What about that guy?”

“That guy…?”

“That shameless man before! Why would you allow him to insult you that way?”

“Huh? Him…? Well, it did piss me off, but it’d only make things more complicated if I made a scene…”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

Wham! Lena slammed her fist against the table.

“If you turn a blind eye to this, you turn a blind eye to insults against Zentradi everywhere, do you not!? People like him fail to realize that they’re perpetrators unless someone calls them out on it; you ought to understand that!”

“I-I’m sorry…”

Lena slumped her shoulders with an exasperated sigh, probably realizing that she’d gone a bit too far.

“It’s not something you have to apologize for, geez… I don’t know if you’re just too nice, or what…”

“Why are you so angry about it, though?”

Chelsea was genuinely wondering. Whether she was in the entertainment industry or S.M.S., she made it a point not to get involved in other people’s business. Everyone had their own circumstances and values. She couldn’t imagine that meddling in them would lead to anything good, so she had—or thought she had—lived her life in a way that prevented anyone from meddling in hers… “thought she had,” because she now recognized that the people she met through the Vanquish—Hakuna, Katori, Takeru, and Lena—were different.

“My home country, Poland…”

Home countries, as she’d explained them to Chelsea, were administrative units from long ago, when humans on Earth drew lines called borders across the planet. Chelsea couldn’t grasp the concept. Still, she knew that Lena lived by the concept, so she wouldn’t fuss about it.

“We’d lived under occupation on Earth for a long time. Just as we were about to take back our independence and break free, the ASS-1, the Macross, landed, sparking the Unification Wars. My grandfather and great grandfather disapproved of it. Why, you ask? Naturally, they believed that being absorbed into the United Nations government meant losing their own independence and respect as a nation. They argued that there was no need for Earthlings to become a single homogenous group just to fight some alien invasion.”

She didn’t speak self-indulgently. If anything, it was matter-of-factly. She did no more than state the truth of the situation. 

It was an expression of the values and memories of people who had been buried in the shadows of history. A generation ago, when the term “New United Nations” was regarded as a beacon of absolute justice, it wouldn’t have been a shock if her way of thinking had her executed as an Anti-UN traitor. It was only now, after the structure of the NUN had changed, that people felt comfortable speaking openly about the records of the Unification Wars and the Anti-UN Alliance.

“So, no matter what the world becomes, I will remain a lady of Polish nobility. I stand by the history of our democratic monarchy and its spirit of independence and self-reliance—because if we let such things slide, we may be the next target, or maybe it would be someone else.”

This woman…

Chelsea could hear genuine anger in her tone.

It was the voice of a woman who didn’t doubt her own sense of justice in the slightest, who lived a life where good was good and evil was evil, and who would never be ashamed of it. Coming from the gray world of private military contractors, Chelsea had a hard time getting ahold of the emotion.

Though, since she could recognize her sincerity—her rage on someone else’s behalf—Chelsea decided to humbly bow her head. She had a creed that if someone did something for her, she would express her gratitude. After all, she never would have been able to survive, either on the battlefield or in the entertainment industry, if she didn’t.

“Thanks, Lena. For you to be angry on my behalf is…”

“What…? No, that’s not…!”

Lena lost all of her edge, her eyes widened in shock.

“I’m telling you, this isn’t something to thank me for! I’m just as upset as you and your people, so it’s not something to be thanking me for… goodness!”

She seemed to be at a total loss, unable to hide the chaos in her mind. Eventually, though, she seemed to have chosen to change the subject.

“May I ask you something? About why you couldn’t sing during your Galactic Tour.”

“Huh…!?”

An unexpected question. Though it wasn’t strange that she knew. No, she probably should have known the question would arise. Even so, Chelsea couldn’t help but feel her body stiffen up.

“Does it have something to do with the Chromlech Incident?”

“—!”

Chelsea’s face dropped. Lena poured herself another cup of tea, waited until the cream had swirled around twice, then decided to continue, realizing that a reply wouldn’t come.

“The Chromlech Incident. In the midpoint of Chelsea Scarlett’s Galactic Tour, over a hundred audience members lost consciousness during a concert at Macross 9’s Chromlech Dome. After that, your singing clearly lost its shine. Am I wrong?”

“...”

Her silence was the most eloquent answer of all.

“Of course, it wasn’t your song that made them faint. The official explanation was ‘hysteria caused by extreme excitement,’ and I do think that speaks to your popularity…”

“...Sorry, I don’t remember. That incident might have been part of it, but I don’t think that’s the whole reason.”

“Is that so? I was certain that it must have been the shock from that event…”

“Mm… but that wasn’t the first time an audience member fainted at my show… and what really frightened me was the feeling of other people's emotions seeping into me…”

“Fair point.”

Lena took a bite of a small fried donut. The jam-filled treat was called a “ponchiki,” and was said to be a memory from her long-perished country.

“Something in your song just drew me in. The power of it was even able to swallow the Tyrant Berthier; I cannot help but acknowledge it. But, that is why I must know. Why would you, someone whose voice held such power, choose to abandon singing? Now that I’ve heard it, that desire has grown even stronger.”

“...I’ve talked about this with Hakuna, too. I just got scared, that’s all.”

“And now you’re scared to fire your gun, too.” She took another bite of her ponchiki. “I see, it must be sad to have lost your place in the world.”

“...Maybe. But right now, I have Hakuna and the others. Someday, I’m sure I’ll be able to go back to S.M.S.”

“You fly to protect your place in the world, is that it?”

“Yeah.”

No hesitation. For the time being, at least, she had Hakuna, Takeru, and a place to call home, however small that may have been. She believed that someday, this would lead her back to where she belonged.

“Very well. Then there’s no need for me to pry any further.”

Lena gave a gentle smile.

She never touched on the subject again.

✥✥✥

“But, what brings you all the way here, anyway?”

“Hm?”

Everyone knows that commercial ship voyages are boring. From Hakuna’s perspective, even if Anri Mahlberg had come to check out the VF-1X++ in storage, he wouldn’t have found anything out of the ordinary. His plane had been securely fastened to prevent it getting damaged during Fold or normal flight, but its wings were still just as beautiful.

“To me, the astonishing thing is that you’d come all the way to the Galaxy just to watch a Vanquish race, Anri.”

“It’s not just races. Any large-scale event makes for the perfect cover for crimes.”

The young man with meshed hair replied without a hint of remorse, filing his well-shaped nails.

“Seemingly unrelated people can all travel long distances, meet up, transport goods, and exchange money with a large-scale event as a cover to fool the authorities with. Even more so when interstellar borders can be crossed, right? Of course, the biggest part is the sort of passion that it takes to pull it off…”

“I appreciate it, but I’m not interested in that right now. What do you wanna know, Anri?”

“...Her. Chelsea Scartlett. A guy like you with a young woman like her at your side. Even if she isn’t Lena Zielonaska, I have to be a little jealous. I understand there’s an S.M.S. evaluation test, but if that was all, then you could just take it yourself.”

The back-alley doctor had no intention of hiding his feelings. He followed a creed that since one never knows when they’ll die, they ought to say whatever they feel.

Hakuna thought for two seconds, but didn’t answer directly.

“...Do you like Fire Bomber?”

“Of course. I have all of their albums, including the Zola-language cover versions.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

With a smirk, Hakuna returned to his wordless dialogue with his VF-1.

Anri seemed taken aback for a moment, adopted an expression like he’d realized something, then decided to keep on staring at Hakuna’s back.

That was how it went with these two men.

✥✥✥

The Galaxy Fleet was the 21st New Macross-class fleet. Commonly known as the advanced science fleet, this Macross was lavishly equipped, with the latest high-class technology and OTM from its parent company—General Galaxy—and the government. This was a stark contrast from the anachronistic, naturally harmonious Frontier Fleet.

“Pretty bleak place, don’t you think?”

Likely in high spirits after successfully passing through the immigration gate using an ID card forged by Katori, Takeru looked nervously around.

“They call this the Galaxy’s sight-seeing spaceship, so I thought it’d be way livelier… this just looks like a warship.”

The corridor’s ivory walls were marked only with bare-minimum numbers and serial codes. It reminded Chelsea far more of a hospital than a tourist attraction, and she thought the walls looked more like whitewashed tombstones than anything.

“She told us to put these on.”

Hakuna tossed some goggles he’d received from President Yuein Lau—who was walking slightly ahead—over to her.

“These?” As soon as she put them on, the world around her totally transformed.

“Woah! This is amazing!”

Takeru let out a cry of amazement, literally jumping with joy.

No wonder.

In an instant, the drab hallway was awash with a whirlwind of holographic advertisements. Beauty salons, massages, desserts, fashion. The content of the ads was constantly updating, but they shifted position every time Chelsea moved her line of sight, never obstructing her view.

That wasn’t all, though. There was not a single advertisement in the bunch that didn’t interest her. They were filtered to focus solely on categories that appealed to her on some level, and any that didn’t vanished a moment later.

On top of all of that, the navigation system carefully displayed the route to their hotel, including taxi transfer locations and their costs, as well as which alternative routes they should take if they chose not to use a taxi. All of it was projected into her field of view like a car’s navigational system.

“What the hell?”

“Augmented reality… that’s what they call it. The goggles automatically figure out our gender, age and preferences, then project any necessary information into our field of view. I dunno what Chelsea’s seeing, but my ads have narrowed themselves down to bars and motorcycle shops.”

“Mine are arcades and electronics stores. Hey, do people on the Galaxy live their whole lives seeing this stuff?”

“With implants.”

Walking slightly ahead, Dr. Anri volunteered to explain.

“Most Galaxy citizens have implants… a system that connects their brains directly to a computer network. Think of it like this: search engines, microblogs, messaging apps, GPS, all running in the background all at once.”

“Amazing! That’s so cool! …But wait, isn’t that illegal on the Frontier?”

“There are still health concerns about implanting devices that send electromagnetic waves into the brain, as well as some concern that cybercriminals could target the implant network and cause some kind of catastrophe. Of course, as a medical professional, I can’t overlook the way that cyberware helps people with disabilities or illnesses. Even for organs that have been difficult to develop artificial versions of, they say that implant support to the brain can mechanize just about everything aside from the cerebrum.”

“The Six Million Dollar Man?”

Hakuna mentioned some old TV show, but the reference was so archaic that nobody had anything to say in response.

“Wow, how cool is that?”

“Yeah, the Galaxy has been sending a steady transfer of their technology to the other fleets, but…”

“What’s up, Anri?”

Sensing a note of pain in Anri’s voice, Chelsea leaned in to look at his face.

“As you saw when we entered this augmented reality, life on the Galaxy depends entirely on this implant network. We can’t really use most of the functions since we’re only wearing goggles. Those who can’t undergo implant surgery— whether that’s because of their financial circumstances or who they are as people—it’s questionable if they can actually live on the Galaxy.”

For a moment, silence enveloped the whole group.

The Frontier had diversity.

Earthlings, Zentradi, Zola, and all kinds of other intelligent species were all able to live as they pleased. On some islands, giants even lived at their original size. The implant worked on the exact opposite philosophy. It viewed people as consumable units, trying to incorporate them into the machine of capitalism regardless of their species.

Of course, under the lens of diversity, to simply write this off as entirely unjust would be a mistake. If, somewhere in the galaxy, there were people who chose to live this way and were denied that way of life under some noble banner of diversity, that would be nothing more than fascism.

Regardless…

“Hey, what’re you guys doing!? I arranged this whole sightseeing adventure for you today! Let’s go!”

Totally oblivious to their mood, President Yuein’s loud voice boomed out, bringing their moment of reflection to an end.

✥✥✥

“Wowwww! Awesome!”

The venue for the Star of Heaven Cup, the Galaxy’s Riviera-class oceanic vessel “Evna,” had white sandy beaches and blue seas that were every bit as beautiful as those on the Frontier’s Environment Ships.

Unlike the Frontier’s approach of using meticulously calibrated environmental technology to recreate the ocean itself, the Galaxy apparently used its science to merely ‘imitate’ the ocean. The sky was a hologram, with wind generated by atmospheric control technology. The tides of the sea were created by artificial gravity. In essence, it was a giant pool.

And yet, the warmth of the artificial sun on the sandy beach was ever so pleasant beneath her feet. The coolness of the ocean water elicited cheers.

Since racers gathered from all across the galaxy, there was still a full week before the main event. Yuein and Katori argued that putting the crew—exhausted from their long journey there—to work preparing immediately would be unwise, so they decided to at least treat the day they arrived as a vacation.

“This is really something. They’ve imitated it so well…”

“Well, that’s great and all, but…”

Chelsea spotted a red-haired girl in a flashy swimsuit mingling with their group.

“What are you doing here, Lena Zielonaska?”

“What a foolish question, Zentra Girl.”

Lena swept her hair back with a flourish, sending droplets of seawater flying, emphasizing her slender figure to the men gathered on the beach. A rainbow arched across the sky behind her.

“It’s because Hakuna is here,” she answered, with the gaze of a girl in love.

Was Hakuna, lounging under a beach parasol reading a collection of Lakota proverbs, really so attractive? Chelsea wondered if Lena didn’t have any real friends, but concluded that she was in a similar situation herself, so she put those thoughts aside.

I can’t say I’m much worse off than her, though.

Comparing herself to Lena, Chelsea checked out her own, fairly ample, breasts. If they grew any larger, her proportions might have been thrown off. She’d always secretly enjoyed the line from her sides to her hips.

Even after she quit singing, she never slacked off on the exercises she used to maintain her figure. It was a matter of her pride as a woman, regardless of whether she sang or not.

“Gyah!” 

Splash—large hands gripped both of their shoulders.

“Katori…!?”

“The Star of Heaven Cup starts next week. The schedule’s packed full of events, and the main tournament won’t be like anything we’ve seen in the Fleet Cup-class tourneys so far. Since you’re both from the Frontier faction, be sure to get along!”

Also in a swimsuit, Katori exuded an alluring charm that defied her age. Her well-toned physique and the mature confidence that radiated from within her made Chelsea wonder: Will I be able to be like her, someday?

A robotic dolphin leapt into the air, creating a huge wave.

It was like they were in a plastic goldfish bowl, but beyond that, it was like they were in an era Chelsea had never known. A peaceful time where they could frolic without a care for who was watching them.

Splashing each other with seawater, drinking juice, burying Hakuna in the sand.

A time like that.

A new song by the Galaxy’s diva, Sheryl Nome, the biggest star in the galaxy, flowed between the girls.

A singer who’d retired three years ago had no room to break through it.

✥✥✥

“Woaaahh! Awesome! So many new models! Ah! That one there is only for pilots with implants! Damn, this is so sweet! I guess it’s true, I was hearing rumors that the next generation of Valkyries would be powered by implants… even the arcades are implant-compatible…!”

The moment he stepped into the amusement center attached to their hotel, Takeru became like a pirate captain who’d just docked at Treasure Island. Clutching his wallet, he plunged headfirst into a sea of high-tech wonders.

“Well, who would have thought you’d be staying at the same hotel as me?”

Lena shrugged her shoulders dramatically. Her gaze was still fixed on Hakuna, who was too focused on his silent conversation with the stuffed animals in the bio-plush claw machine to notice.

Anri had vanished to attend to some “business negotiations,” while Katori and President Yuein had gone to discuss the upcoming race. Since pilots had no role in either of these tasks, Hakuna, Chelsea and Lena had naturally formed into a group.

“That’s my line, Lena… I guess there aren’t very many hotels for people who don’t have implants, though.”

“I caught the news on the TV for a minute, and they make it sound like people from the Frontier are all savages terrified of technology.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Smallpox vaccination turns you into a cow, acupuncture and other Chinese medicines are ineffective, the theory of relativity can never be surpassed… They say that in the Frontier Fleet, we live in a sad world where these baseless delusions that hinder human progress still run rampant. God, they’re like those missionaries who came to teach ‘primitive people’ the ‘truth.’”

“Right. Meanwhile, we’re getting by just fine.”

For once, Chelsea and Lena were on the same page.

It was easy to imagine that life on the Galaxy might have been more convenient than life on the Frontier. Even in these past few hours, they’d been able to enjoy its benefits everywhere they went. Smoother transportation, attentive service, clean dining halls. That didn’t mean they’d dismiss their own way of life, though.

“Come to think of it, I hear that S.M.S.’s Macross Quarter is making a goodwill port call.”

“The Quarter!?”

Chelsea’s eyes went wide.

“Yeah. Apparently, they’re here to interact with the Galaxy Fleet and do a demo flight of the new YF-25.”

“The Prophecy…? For real!?”

“You know about it?”

“It’s not like our platoon used it, but Skull Platoon was running combat tests on it. The pre-production VF-25s should be deployed by now, but they’re probably doing a demo of the YF-25s that they use to gather data since they can’t show those off.”

“Hmph. Regardless, they’re no more than knock-offs compared to my SV-52! Knock-offs!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Apparently, Lena viewed the entire VF series all the way back to the VF-1 as knock-offs, direct copies of the data from the Anti-UN Alliance’s SV series. Chelsea and Hakuna made no attempt to argue, which the self-proclaimed noblewoman must have noticed, since she didn’t press the point either.

“Oh…? What’s this…?”

Lena’s gaze fell on a large cabinet in the center of the amusement building. Several capsule-shaped cockpit units were arranged around a massive holo-monitor server.

“A Valkyrie simulator,” Hakuna stepped between them. “They guzzle so much power that you don’t really see them in the Frontier anymore. Let’s see here…”

He fiddled with his goggles, checking how it was operated by the looks of it.

“Amazing. They’re way better than the ones we used back in the day in NUNS. Alrighty, I’ll give it a go.”

“Huh? You play games, Hakuna?”

“Y’know the old saying? Even a coyote can crawl into a raccoon’s hole. If there’s a chance for me to prove myself as a Valkyrie pilot, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

He strode toward the cabinet. Lena didn’t hesitate to follow.

After five full seconds of hesitation, Chelsea followed suit.

✥✥✥

“Hakuna here! Target’s splashing down!”

“Good kill, Hakuna!”

The sky she gazed upon from her capsule-shaped cockpit wasn’t as blue or clear as the real thing. It wouldn’t have been difficult for the simulator to render a scene that perfectly mirrored reality, but doing so might have caused players to confuse the game with reality and panic. Thus, the developers intentionally left the game with some of its own visual flair.

Gunfire from the upper left.

Chelsea sent her VF-1J banking sharply downward, then applied the brake in GERWALK Mode. The enemy VF-3000 Crusader had an opaque cockpit; no pilot could be seen inside. Grateful that the graphics would be so considerate, she pulled the trigger on her gunpod.

Downed.

With an explosion more spectacular than would be logical in reality, the VF-3000 was blown to pieces.

I guess I can do it if it’s virtual…!

After some training sessions, she knew she could pull the trigger when facing unmanned drones or missiles. Her problem was exclusively living targets. A psychological analyst back at S.M.S. had even told her: “I can’t help but assume you must be using some sort of supernatural ability to distinguish whether or not your opponent is a living being.”

“That makes nineteen. We’re about to break the team score record.”

“But is this really okay, Hakuna? I’m not sure professionals are supposed to be playing this…”

“What are you saying, Chelsea!? No matter what battle we face, we fight with all that we have! That is what a knight does!”

Lena, who cursed under her breath in a language Chelsea couldn’t understand when she saw that only VF-1 series planes were available, was now as ferocious as she could be. In this fictional sky with neither rules nor loss of life, she and her VF-1 had become a demon.

“Enemy detected! 15,000 nautical miles, dead ahead! A VF-1, just like us!”

The display indicated that the intruder was coming from the same amusement center that they had. Flying solo, without a team, it charged straight into the combat zone. Was it extreme confidence? Or extreme recklessness? 

“This is nothing! I’ll go on ahead!”

The thermonuclear jets of Lena’s VF-1 spewed flames, sending her surging forth.

The head-on maneuver—in which both planes head down a collision course and brush past one another at the last possible moment—might have seemed like a simple aerial combat maneuver, but in reality it required highly delicate technique.

If they didn’t change course, they’d both be destroyed. If they panicked and shifted into Battroid Mode, they’d lose kinetic energy. If they tried to make a breakaway, they’d leave their vulnerable underside or backside exposed. A single misstep risked a head-on collision, and so this maneuver was almost never seen in ordinary aerial combat.

Nice one!

Lena seemed like some sort of daredevil at first glance, but her maneuver was actually highly calculated. No matter where her opponent chose to flee to, she would be in a good position to take them down with her lasers or gunpod. It was the kind of move one would expect from her, one which even factored in the possibility that her enemy might transform.

But, the red—blood-red—VF-1 was different.

It sped up.

Accelerating straight toward Lena.

Lena opened fire on the VF-1 with both missiles and her gunpod.

They can see it.

Chelsea sensed it instinctively. A Zentradi with an enhanced nervous system, or a cyborg of the same calibre, could pull it off. If they could see the trajectory, they would simply fly out of the way. It was theoretically possible. No, Chelsea had actually seen it before.

“Lena! Break formation!”

By the time she could shout, a burst of fire from a gunpod had already blown Lena’s plane to pieces as they passed by one another.

“Interesting!”

Adrenaline-fueled excitement laced Hakuna’s voice.

“Two against one, Chelsea! Don’t break formation! A Thach Weave should take this guy down for sure!”

“Got it!”

Flying in a two-man formation, they covered each other’s backs. When one of them made contact with the enemy, the other would fire while gliding past. It was simple, but required tight coordination. The tactic was developed by United States Air Force Commander John Smith Thach to combat the Zero Fighters. The ‘weave’ part of its name came from its intricate, interlocking maneuvers.

The two VF-1s enveloped the red VF-1, attacking it.

“They’re on my ass! Can you deal with it, Chelsea!?”

“Yes!”

She had missiles to spare. Seizing the opportunity, she fired a volley of underwing air-to-air missiles. She could be certain of one thing: this wasn’t the sort of enemy she could afford to hold back against. Virtual missiles glinted against virtual clouds.

But they never could’ve expected what the red VF-1 would do next.

Embroiled in high-altitude, supersonic combat, it transformed into Battroid Mode.

The entire machine became one giant air brake, decelerating to a crawl. Its massive body floated gently in the air. The missiles, now left without a target, were sucked into flares and chaff ejected from the red VF-1’s legs.

No!

From the very start, the enemy wasn’t targeting Hakuna. They were aiming for his wingman. In other words, Chelsea—

There’s no doubt, this maneuver is…!

Just as she’d realized it, the red VF-1’s sniper shot sent Chelsea’s plane plummeting into the darkness of a Game Over screen.

✥✥✥

“So it really was you!”

With a smile more carefree than ever, Chelsea threw her arms around the woman who came out of the pod.

She was around the same age as Chelsea and Katori’s crew, probably not far in age from Hakuna. She wore almost no make-up, but wasn’t entirely bare-faced either. Her spiffy men’s suit gave off more of a cool look than a pretty one.

“Chelsea!? It’s you! Haha, I was just thinking you were skilled!”

With a carefree smile, she stroked Chelsea’s face.

“Umm, who are you?”

Seeing Hakuna and Lena’s shock, Chelsea hurried to introduce her.

“Oh, m-my bad! Um, this is Angers, my senior from back at S.M.S…”

“I’m Angers 672. It’s nice to meet you.”

Gently prying herself out of Chelsea’s embrace, the woman who called herself Angers gave a clean salute.

Having a serial number at the end of one’s name was a Zentradi custom. Some, like the Kridanik and the Farina, chose to use their identification codes as surnames, but there were still many Zentradi who chose not to.

“When you suddenly left S.M.S. last year, I didn’t know what to do with myself!”

“Ohh… Sorry.”

S.M.S. wasn’t the military. Its soldiers could resign at any time, unless there was an emergency. With such a high turnover, it wasn’t uncommon for people to up and leave.

“Angers has been looking out for me since the day I was assigned to her platoon at S.M.S. When it comes to close-quarters Battroid combat, she’s the first—or second—best on the whole Macross Quarter. She always ranks near the top of the ship’s skills competition…”

“Don’t flatter me.”

Angers stroked her chin, causing her earring to glint.

“Right now, I’m just a journalist.”

“Here to cover the Star of Heaven cup?”

“No… I’m here to cover the Zentradi human rights issue. I want to investigate the different aspects of Zentradi human rights throughout the Galaxy Fleet. Though, I do plan to watch the match while I’m here. I look forward to seeing you in action, Chelsea.”

“Right! Oh, um, would you mind getting some tea?”

“Yes… Is that okay with the two of you? It should only be a moment.”

Of course, neither Hakuna nor Lena had any reason to stop her, so they settled on simply watching Chelsea and Angers vanish into the tea room with bewildered expressions on their faces.

✥✥✥

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Since I saw you and since I last saw Valkyries like these.”

“Yes… I remember how you used to love gazing at the Valkyries like this.”

In front of Chelsea and Angers, or, more precisely, in the vast plaza beyond the observation deck, a row of Valkyrie wings stretched out in a line.

It wasn’t just the planes competing in the upcoming Vanquish race. There were demonstration flight units belonging to the New UN Forces on the Galaxy, vintage and hobby machines brought in by enthusiasts, exhibits from a variety of manufacturers, et cetera, et cetera.

“Wait, that’s… the YF-25?”

Among them, a Battroid painted in orange and silver seemed to be drawing a particularly large crowd. It was sharper and slimmer than the VF-19, and yet exuded a feeling of overwhelming resolve.

“I see… so they’ve brought it here. That takes me back.”

“Come to think of it, you were part of the test flight on planet Messiah 025 last year, weren’t you? It’s a shame I couldn’t ask you for more details, since you left soon after.”

Chelsea was chattier than usual. Rather, she was more like her true self. S.M.S. had been her home, and within it, Angers was an older sister who had taught her to fly from scratch as a complete novice.

“Ah, yes. They’re peaky wings with reckless settings, but it’s a plane with responsive controls and a powerful engine once you get used to its quirks. It combines all the best features of the Valkyrie and the Queadluun. I guess the tests must’ve continued after I left, didn’t they?”

“Yes. I’m not directly involved, but about 20 units are undergoing combat testing, led by Skull Platoon.”

This is needless to say, but they’d already confirmed that nobody was around. She was a former diva, so of course she carried a scrambler with her to jam eavesdropping devices. Small enough to fit in a handbag, the unit not only jammed radio waves, it also emitted random, inaudible noise to disrupt vibration and directional microphones.

“Wanna try flying it?”

“...Huh?”

Chelsea could only give a slight embarrassed chuckle in reply to Angers’ sudden, smiling offer.

“It’s all over your face, Chelsea.”

“N-Not really! I have the Nothung to worry about right now and…”

“Hah! What does that have to do with this? If a pilot sees a new model sitting right before their eyes, it’s their nature to want to give it a try. Besides, when it comes to actual combat experience with an EX-Gear, you’re way ahead of me. You could handle the YF-25.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. As long as you know the basics of piloting with an EX-Gear… to put it bluntly, it’d only take a little familiarization training for even an EX-Gear amateur to fly it. All that matters is that they’re accustomed to how flying feels. That was the whole point of overhauling our control systems to suit the EX-Gear. It wasn’t just about getting the best anti-G specs possible. That’s why we ran all these tests.”

Narrowing her eyes, Angers gazed toward the distant giant called the YF-25. Its armor glistened brilliantly under the light of the artificial sun.

“You and I are both Zentradi. We can do it. We aren’t like those people who go on and on about being ‘pure’ and act like they’re the one true successor to the Protoculture. Our bodies are built to withstand G-forces, block cosmic radiation, and bounce back from any kind of stress. You could even say that the EX-Gears which trace movements and the YF-25 and Nothung that they operate were made just for us.”

“—Well, right now I’m just… a Zentradi who can’t kill.”

“Haha.”

With an expression like what’re you talking about? Angers ruffled Chelsea’s hair.

“You’ll be able to do it again eventually.”

A carefree smile.

“—An… gers!?”

For a split second, Chelsea gazed into the eyes of her trusted senior.

The YF-25 should’ve been right there in her line of sight, but it wasn’t reflected there in her eyes.

She saw nothing—

Or perhaps, she saw something that wasn’t there—

That was the look she had.

That was the voice she had.

“Ah, I’m sorry.”

But that empty feeling vanished in an instant, and the gentle eyes of her senior were there once more.

“I shouldn’t do that. When you’ve been in the military for so long, your way of speaking gets so rough. It’s hard to talk like a civilian again. I just wanted to say… you’ll be able to fly again, so don’t put so much pressure on yourself… that’s what I meant, Chelsea.”

“Right!”

Chelsea was ashamed to have misunderstood.

Though, at the same time, she had enough faith in her ears that she couldn’t shake the feeling that, somewhere in Angers’ words, there was a certain emptiness.

Even so, her new life in the Vanquish was stressful in its own way, so Chelsea got so engrossed in talking with this familiar face that she forgot all about it.

✥✥✥

“You look kinda down.”

She was happy that he was concerned for her, but the last thing Lena wanted was for Hakuna to think that she was sulking because she’d finally found some alone time with him.

“It’s nothing.”

She sank into the incredibly soft sofa, a copy of the one at the hotel. The sofa had a computer built into it, apparently scanning each sitter’s body shape to adjust itself to the most optimal form.

“Are you upset that Chelsea was taken from you?”

“A-As if! Listen, it’s you that I want as my teammate, Hakuna Aoba! Th-That woman is irrelevant…! It’s just that…”

“It’s just that…?”

“It’s just…”

She was about to mention that when they passed that ‘journalist’ earlier, she’d smelled gunpowder, but Lena held her tongue.

She was afraid that if she said it, she’d come across as petty or jealous, and that would force her to waste the precious time that she’d finally managed to get alone with Hakuna talking about Chelsea.

So, Lena changed the subject to their time at the beach earlier and made it a point to act cheery. It was, in fact, fun, so Hakuna didn’t press the issue.

And so, night—or rather, the time designated by the ship to be night—fell upon the girls.

Time marched on.

For everyone.

✥✥✥

On the Galaxy Fleet, there were surprisingly few physical spaces that were designated as command rooms or conference rooms. Setting aside places like the CDC, where people had to be gathered in one location, most meetings were conducted via the implant network.

It was in such a place that this meeting was held. As far as outsiders were concerned, the meeting did not exist.

The woman, rather, the consciousness with a woman’s voice that they called Colonel Godunwa, seated at the “center” of the “room,” opened her “mouth.”

“N’s project proposal is approved. It will be a useful rehearsal for Operation Sacrifice.”

“Would it be sensible to combine this with the activation test for ‘Stella Maris?’”

Another consciousness, a staff officer, gave a counterpoint. Lively debate would stimulate logical leaps in their consciousnesses. Godunwa considered it a meaningful development.

“That is true. Even mechanized soldiers are sentient beings; it is best that we verify how they react to extreme conditions. That is why we chose to accept S.M.S’s port call.”

“It’s clear that this is being done for intelligence-gathering purposes.”

“Naturally. You could not find a military that doesn’t assume its hypothetical enemies, nor a goodwill port call that is not intended for intelligence gathering. It’s fine. We also owe LAI a favor from development on the VF-27. We’ll need to verify the data on their VF-25 as well. Especially if Operation Cannibal is to be carried out.”

“And what about Chelsea Scarlett?”

“Her power is intriguing, but she has no connection to the Q1 that we seek, at least for the time being. However, data on her would certainly be useful to headquarters. The situation remains as it has been. Anything else?”

“No, nothing.”

“Very well. Then, we continue our collaboration with N.”

Knowing that her staff accepted her decision, Godunwa severed her connection.

Her consciousness returned to reality, and in her field of view, the sleeping figure of a beautiful, flaxen-haired girl reappeared. A terribly fragile, terribly beautiful girl, hooked up to cables and medical equipment.

Sheryl Nome, the Galactic Fairy who had erased Chelsea Scarlett from the people’s memory.

Godunwa had resolved to endure the annoyance of being continually exposed to the foolish pursuits of ordinary folk until the true meaning of this girl’s existence could be understood by the people.

Until the day that the False Songstress would awaken.

✥✥✥

“What the…!?”

When the heat hit his body, a pilot patrolling the venue in his VF-17D named Glenn Cage found his consciousness scattering into space.

Clad in Preview Active Stealth technology, several purple Valkyries approached the Riviera-class vessel Evna.

“...Major. We’ve taken control of this sector. The Galaxy’s badge system was silenced by the synchronizer’s decoy data.”

The pilot of a purple Valkyrie sent a transmission to their commander, who had presumably already infiltrated the ship.

“Well done.”

The voice of the woman they’d addressed as “Major” was caked in the characteristic static of a battle suit’s comms system. As planned, the battle suit smuggled into the ship using the Star of Heaven Cup event as cover was likely waiting to be activated from within a container.

“We’ll make the money-grubbing fools on the Galaxy pay for their foolishness sooner or later. Now, let’s deliver the shockwave as planned.”

“...Really? On your own? Given the current situation, we should join the operation as well.”

“This is only a show of force. Our goal is to demonstrate the power of Sophia Spiritia. There’s no need for you to involve yourselves. Why would we need to show our entire hand here? All you need to do is provide cover for our retreat.”

There was an unmistakable contempt in her voice.

“Ha! Apologies!”

“All for the sake of our planet, for the Earth.”

The woman’s resentful voice rang out.

The men echoed her words.

Maybe they were no more than propaganda.

But once they were spoken aloud, they became a curse, binding, darkening the souls of those people.

That’s just how it was.

✥✥✥

A week flew by.

Fireworks lit up the sky, and a squadron of VF-19s with the markings of the old UN forces were on a commemorative flight, performing a spectacular aerobatic display. It was what they called a “historical flight.” Leading the formation was Brauhitsch’s VF-19A, since he’d traveled to the Galaxy like Chelsea and the others.

The military was an organization that existed as a result of history.

Past traditions, past military exploits. To ensure that these things would not be reduced to mere numbers but elevated to a raison d’etre, it became necessary to extoll that history. That was why special planes painted in historical paintjobs performing event flights became common practice in militaries everywhere.

Thus, it could be said that demonstrating one’s history and displaying it as a point of pride became one of NUN Spacy’s indispensable duties, as a relatively new group of Variable Fighter pilots.

Following that formation was a platoon of Queadluun-Rau battle suits, designed for the Zentradi giants from Planet Eden. Adorned with flash event-use paintjobs, they were met with applause from the citizens of the Galaxy, where giants were prohibited to live.

Joining the flight slightly behind the Queadlunns, the VF-1 formation was a wonderful sight, showcasing to all the new world where mankind and the Zentradi lived in harmony, as well as the ideals of the New United Nations.

✥✥✥

A literal sea of enthusiasts was gathered at the Star of Heaven Cup, brimming with anticipation for the incoming festivities.

Facing the vast expanse of the oceanic vessel’s waters, the wind carried the smell of the sea. It came with the realization of just how different it was from the dry, desert winds of Reno.

“Chelsea! If it isn’t Chelsea!”

“Commander José!”

Spotting her former superior officer known for the length and grandiosity of his name—Don José Javier Rojo Schreier—and her other comrades, Chelsea raised the hand of her EX-Gear with a slight look of embarrassment.

“The main competition hasn't started yet! Why are you in your EX-Gear already?”

“We’re about to do an exhibition flight. The sponsors really liked my flying back on the Frontier.”

“I see. Shall we go see Catarina, Monica and the others when you’re done?”

“Yeah, we totally should! Speaking of, I ran into a certain senior of mine!”

Still in her EX-Gear, Chelsea did a small hop as she spoke.

“Senior? You mean Angers?”

“Yep! Apparently she’s a journalist now, but she still flies a Valkyrie.”

“I see. She seemed a bit sad to quit, so I’m glad she’s settled down somewhe—huh?”

“What?”

A flash of light streaked across the sky.

It was the glow of a ground-assault missile. Unfortunately for them, they realized that it wasn’t part of the event.

✥✥✥

A ball of fire erupted. A moment later came the shockwave, then the sound.

A single ground-assault missile had blown away the symbol of the Star of Heaven Cup.

“Commander!”

On instinct, Chelsea used the armor of her EX-Gear to shield José from a collapsing pillar, but a piece of flying debris still struck his leg.

The shockwave came right over their heads.

A red—blood-red—battle suit. A high-mobility power suit developed by the Zentradi called the Queadluun-Rau. Though it had the same paint job as the historic flight version earlier, its wicked intentions were plain to see.

The reason wasn’t clear, but it was clearly some kind of terrorist attack. Or maybe an attack from a rogue Zentradi faction? People from the Anti-UN Alliance, anarchists, dissidents dissatisfied with the Galaxy, anti-implant activists, anti-navigationalists, the list of motives could stretch on forever, but the result would still be the same. That was the nature of an airstrike.

Emergency channels were filled with anguished cries.

No, they weren’t just cries of grief and shrieks of terror. Chelsea’s ears caught a message in the static. The pinpoint barrier gate had been hit by a special EMP missile fired by the Queadluun and forced into a state of malfunction. None could enter or escape the Evna. 

People fled in a panic, falling over each other in a mad dash to escape first.

So far, only the monument had collapsed, and there were no direct fatalities, but it was likely only a matter of time until there were.

A beam from the red Queadluun struck another Queadluun from the acrobat unit, sending it crashing into the sea. No wonder. It wasn’t properly equipped to defend itself. The battle suit had enough firepower to wipe out everyone there by the time reinforcements could arrive.

She looked up.

There stood an orange, breathtakingly beautiful Valkyrie.

“...Commander. You haven’t deleted my S.M.S. registration yet, have you?”

“Chelsea!?”

They’d known each other a long time. José immediately understood what she was intending.

“Wait! You’re planning to use this thing!?”

“It’s faster to take this one right in front of us than to go start up the Nothung.”

“Just wait until we can summon one of the certified pilots from the Quarter!”

“Reinforcements can’t make it in here unless we blow a hole in the ship! They’ll all be wiped out before then! And as for finding Catarina…”

“...”

For a split second, José hesitated.

But only a split second.

They knew good and well that hesitation could kill. If people were going to die anyway, there were some things that simply had to be done. Even if it was tantamount to dousing oneself in gasoline and jumping into the fire.

“Alright. I’ll take responsibility. I entrust the YF-25 to you.”

Chelsea gave a brief nod, then used the EX-Gear’s power assist to kick off of the ground. Breaking free from the shackles of artificial gravity, she used the emergency deployment boosters to accelerate forth.

Ahead of her, indeed, stood a towering orange and silver giant.

A giant called Prophecy.

The heralded coming of a savior.

She connected to it.

Her EX-Gear linked to the cockpit and a soul took residence within the lifeless giant.

Any second now, a missile could strike, wiping the Commander and everyone else here from existence…!

With that in her thoughts, she couldn’t afford to be afraid.

Even if it was the first time she’d ever piloted this machine.

She was certain she could fly it.

She believed in that.

After all, she belonged to a warrior race called the Zentradi.

✥✥✥

The sky projected onto the Macross Galaxy’s holo-dome was impossible to distinguish from a real sky, a fact that perplexed Chelsea.

Regardless of if the sky was real or virtual, the fact remained that the Vanquish staff and spectators all stood defenselessly at the Valkyrie’s feet. She had no choice but to fight.

Typical of a prototype, the YF-25 Prophecy’s AI was more rigid than Brünhilde. She tapped the keyboard, inputting the holo-dome’s latest flight data. She couldn’t allow herself to be drawn into the illusion of a vast sky and end up punching a hole in the ship.

“One enemy…!”

This pilot had to have been highly confident if they’d chosen to charge into this Riviera-class oceanic vessel with just a single unit. Now that the pinpoint barrier gate which should have been allowing entry and exit was destroyed from being overloaded, the vessel had become no more than a massive cage. To protect the people trapped inside, the best option was for Chelsea to act as a shield.

“I need to stand out…! Draw their attention!”

She sent a spectacular plume of smoke meant for the event flying out of the chaff pods on the YF-25’s legs. Leaving a rainbow trail behind her, she soared through the artificial sky.

Likely lured by her flashy display, the Queadluun opened the armored missile hatch protruding from its rear.

They’re here…!?

Maybe they were waiting. The fact that they didn’t immediately take down the YF-25, which would have been a prime target, or the other parked Valkyries, made it seem like they were waiting for someone to intercept. No, they were waiting for her to rise.

She couldn’t know what the pilot was thinking.

But she could feel a real bloodlust.

Sixty-four shots.

Each and every shot was a torrent of ultra-maneuverable missiles, each powerful enough to reduce a Regult-class combat pod to dust.

The pilot’s boldness in firing more missiles at a single Valkyrie than could be counted on both hands and feet was terrifying. If they had underestimated her, she could’ve overwhelmed them with the YF-25’s performance alone, but an enemy who doesn’t underestimate you is the most frightening kind of all.

Chelsea Scarlett wasn’t just some idol who would stand there trembling, though.

Leaving interception duty to the AI, she turned one missile after another into a ball of fire with a full-force barrage from her GERWALK Mode’s anti-air laser cannon, her built-in 25mm beam machine gun, and her 58mm gunpod’s Vanquish-use shock rounds.

“With just this much left, my energy-conversion armor should take care of it…!”

Chelsea’s piloting was masterful.

She controlled her craft with her right hand and both legs, leaving her left hand open to pound the keyboard, managing her Preview Active Stealth system in real time. Her own safety wasn’t her priority. She was using the YF-25’s Fold Stealth device to hack the missiles, dropping them into uninhabited areas of the ship.

The reason she could fly through the narrow confines of the ship, intercepting missiles and hacking them at the same time, was due to the fact that she was a musician before becoming a pilot. Any musician would be capable of handling an instrument as if it were a part of their own body. It was merely that her instrument was now a system designed for hacking missiles. Just as she could simultaneously sing and play a guitar, she could simultaneously fly and type on a keyboard. That was all there was to it.

Ironically, it was her Zentradi blood that made such a thing possible. Specifically, the biological optic-fiber nerves she’d genetically inherited, which were far more swift and precise than an Earthling’s, along with her body that was built to withstand intense G-forces. Without all of that, she never could have carried out such precise electronic combat from inside of a machine at the mercy of such high G-forces no matter how much support the EX-Gear could provide.

This machine… It’s so responsive…!!

One step—no, even half a step—out of place, and she would inevitably crash.

It was like the YF-25 had glass wings. So distant, so delicate, like it would shatter at the slightest touch. It was only because Chelsea had already flown several EX-Gear-equipped models—the VF-19EF and the VF-19ACTIVE—that she was just barely able to maintain her control of it.

“I won’t let you take me down! I won’t even let you land a shot!”

She kept deflecting the barrage of missiles, orange and silver wings slicing through an illusory cloud. Missiles lost control and struck the side of the ship, becoming pillars of bursting flame. Wherever they struck, the hologram vanished and left the bare metal beneath exposed.

!!

As soon as she thought she’d heard the sound of the Queadluun’s engines, Chelsea sent her plane into a steep dive, then transformed into Battroid Mode.

A discordant noise, like a broken drum struck at full strength, rang out. Gunfire came from exactly where she’d expected.

Chelsea’s YF-25 deflected the Queadluun’s laser pulse gunfire with a shield formed from a pinpoint barrier.

That was close…! If this were my Caliburn, I wouldn’t have been able to transform in time!

In air combat between Variable Fighters, differences in transformation speed could come down to a few tenths of a second. During transformation, the craft became defenseless and couldn’t make use of its aerodynamic capabilities, so the timing of the transformation and the extent to which this vulnerability could be mitigated would determine the outcome of the battle. In that regard, the YF-25’s new linear actuators gave it an impeccable transformation speed.

She used the main wings and the surfaces of its tail—now at the rear of the fuselage—as air brakes to control her plane’s attitude. The YF-25 felt much closer to the physical sensation of her EX-Gear than the VF-19, responding to her movements perfectly.

“What a ferocious pilot…! Even if I try to evade, they’ll just aim at the people below! Okay, okay…!”

She couldn’t allow that.

That should go without saying. Her duty as a soldier was to be torn to ribbons before anyone else got hurt. She wanted to believe that, at the very least, she was still a soldier.

“Even if I can’t fire my gun, I can still fight!”

Shimmering in the rainbow light of lasers, pinpoint barriers and energy conversion armor interfering with one another, the YF-25 shifted diagonally upward, away from the Queadluun with its leg thrusters at full throttle.

On instinct, the Queadluun made a sharp turn. Counteracting inertia with the inertia vector control system was a maneuver unique to the Queadluun series. This striking movement demonstrated that the Queadluun was a battle suit that still retained its original performance as a “run-of-the-mill” model, still composed of technology from the Galactic Empire era.

Though, the Queadluun wasn’t the only machine capable of inertia vector control.

“ISC maneuver! Prophecy, gimme a downburst maneuver!”

Calling out maneuvers not covered by standard doctrine was a strange habit that Chelsea had picked up from S.M.S., but she didn’t mind it. Crying out gave her courage. Words had that sort of power.

The YF-25, forced into a sharp turn with the inertia store converter like the vertex of a set square, slammed its entire mass into the Queadluun. An extremely risky technique that she’d picked up from the Vanquish.

“Ghuhh!”

Even if it was called an inertia buffer, it couldn’t eliminate inertia entirely. All it could do was harness the power of Fold Quartz—a mysterious mineral of unknown origin installed in this machine—to postpone the effects of the impact.

She felt the effects as soon as she entered a steep dive. The combined force of current and prior G-forces tore at her internal organs; her bones creaked. Even so, Chelsea refused to lose control.

Hakuna and the others are down there… I can’t crash, no matter what it takes…!

She gripped the Queadluun’s joints with the YF-25’s hands and accelerated toward the ground below. She wanted to smash them both down into it, but couldn’t.

Just as she skimmed the surface, she released the Queadluun. An ordinary pilot would have been sent plummeting headfirst, but neither of them were ordinary, so that didn’t happen.

The orange Valkyrie and crimson Queadluun each did a somersault, then planted their feet firmly on the ferrocrete ground and faced one another. At their feet lay an array of Variable Fighters, unable to launch without their pilots.

It was a curious thing. Even though she couldn’t bring herself to pull the trigger against another person, she still pulled stunts that pushed them both beyond dangerous limits. Surely, it must have been that seeing this opponent’s skill was enough to assure her that they wouldn’t die. Perhaps it was just a pilot’s inescapable nature.

She could certainly believe that the pilot behind the expressionless face of this Queadluun had skills worthy of her respect.

“Get back! I’ll handle this!”

Shouting into her speaker, Chelsea dashed forth. She focused a pinpoint barrier onto her right fist.

I’ll stop this guy… no matter what it takes! To save everyone! I don’t care what happens to me!

This was her resolve.

A resolve which sliced through the air, riding the YF-25’s fist as it slammed into the Queadluun.

✥✥✥

“It can activate, can it not!? My Oryol was designed to launch on forced sorties from strategic nuclear submarines! There is simply no way that it should be unable to make an emergency takeoff at a time like this! I don’t care if it’s only equipped for an exhibition flight! Get it moving!”

The wind whipping her scarlet hair, Lena berated the loyal flight engineer blocking her path from the cockpit of the SV-52 Oryol.

Not far from them, the YF-25 and the Queadluun were locked in a fierce, colossal brawl. At any moment, their fight could spill over to her and she wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest. The staff, continuing their maintenance duties despite the situation, must have been truly loyal.

“It’s no use, Milady! The seal on your reaction engine hasn’t been released! If you take off now, you’ll be unable to increase your output or use your energy shield. Worse yet, your frame would be unable to hold for a transformation! It’s practically suicide!”

But the middle-aged mechanic refused to budge an inch. If she tried to force a takeoff, she would have to drag him and his entire staff into it. She was reckless, but not even she could bring herself to do something like that.

“…Tch…!”

No pilot would dare to defy their assigned mechanic. They’d be out of their mind if they tried.

Gritting her teeth, twisting her shapely lips, she looked up at the YF-25. It was acting as a shield to protect Lena’s people, taking a barrage of machine-gun fire as it did.

Each second felt so incredibly long that it seemed like minutes—hours, even.

✥✥✥

Energy-conversion armor was a lost technology invented by the prehistoric civilization known as the Protoculture.

This technology, which channeled energy directly from the reaction engine into the armor to enhance its strength as an additional energy shield, was so powerful that a Valkyrie in Fighter Mode could penetrate multiple reinforced concrete buildings before it took any damage. When fully energized, its defensive capabilities could rival or even surpass a Destroid’s.

Though, it couldn’t be used much during high-speed flight, since it was costly for the reaction engine’s output. For proper usage, Battroid Mode—the humanoid form that could maneuver with minimal energy consumption through leg movements—was required. That was why it was used as a close-quarters combat mode.

Combined with the pinpoint barrier shield—which converted the output of the reaction engine into spatial-fracture energy, functioning as a barrier field—the latest Variable Fighter had overwhelming close-quarters combat capabilities.

“Did you think I’d let you get away with this!? Someone like you!?”

Kicking off the ground, the YF-25 accelerated forth. The laser pulse gunfire from both of the Queadluun’s arms was systematically deflected by the pinpoint barrier and state-of-the-art anti-optical vaporization coating applied to the frame of her machine. With each impact, the vaporization coating emitted a flash of brilliant light, dampening the laser’s energy.

The crimson battle suit made a sharp turn, a movement backed by precise inertial control. At its feet, a parked VF-19 was sent flying into the air with a crash.

“Trying to blind me!?”

She deflected the flying VF-19 with the pinpoint barrier on her left arm. She uttered an apology in her mind. All she could do was pray that nobody else had been standing there.

The wings on the YF-25’s back unfurled like an angel’s. True to its name as a heralding apostle, it caught the wind.

The composite sensors on its head glowed with Fold light. The ISC maneuver. Controlling her own inertia, she leaped at super-speed from right to left like a bolt of lightning. A roar filled the air, color filled the world.

The YF-25 spun itself around with the high-mobility thrusters mounted all over its body. Fragmentation rounds from the Queadluun's chest-mounted Impact Cannon exploded at close range, sending the sensor unit flying spectacularly away. After all, this unit was only designated for data collection. There was no reason for its head to have armor.

By then, Chelsea had already plunged herself into the wrecked Queadluun. At that point, the sensors wouldn’t serve any purpose anyway.

The orange and crimson units intertwined, shooting out over the false sea.

White waves were churned, wind was torn through.

The shockwave tearing through the sea was like a scar upon the world itself, born from the tangling struggle of two machines built for combat.

“You’re going down! There’s nobody in the water!”

A pinpoint barrier-infused kick struck the Queadluun’s knee. Energy from the spatial rupture shattered it along with its missile pod.

“One more strike!”

The YF-25 had formidable maneuverability. She’d never imagined that a machine could pull off aerial combat like this while remaining in Battroid mode. It was fast, powerful, and sharp.

They flipped over. Kicking off of the artificial sun in the virtual sky, she performed a crescent somersault.

Now upside down, the toes of the YF-25 closed in on the Queadluun, its right leg now blown away. With a pinpoint barrier kick, the Queadluun’s left forearm was blown away. It went plummeting into the ocean.

The YF-25 shifted into GERWALK Mode just above the surface of the water. She aimed her gunpod, loaded with shock rounds, at the Queadluun-Rau. Even if she couldn’t fire, it would still act as a warning. Or, at least it should have.

“Surrender! You shouldn’t have any missiles left!”

Chelsea cried out over all frequencies.

“I’m disappointed in you, Chelsea. That word isn’t even included in the Zentradi dictionary!”

“!?”

A familiar voice. One she’d never forget.

It came in on a channel exclusive to members of S.M.S.

Indeed, it was the voice of the woman named Angers.

The voice of the woman who had given her wings when she was lost in the darkness.

“An…gers…!?”

“You still act like an idol!”

Still missing an arm and a leg, the Queadluun accelerated and took flight.

The Queadluun-Rau wasn’t a suit of enhanced armor like the Nousjadeul-Ger, it was an aerial combat pod—the equivalent to a fighter jet, in Earthling terms—with limbs attached. Thus, no part of the giant’s body was housed in the arms or legs. She could use aerial combat maneuvers even without arms or legs. The fact that Chelsea had forgotten this could only be described as naivete.

The maneuver felt familiar. The way she twisted her craft into a blind spot with minimal movement, exploiting a lapse in concentration.

The Impact Cannon exploded at point-blank.

This wasn’t the fragmentation rounds she’d taken on earlier. Her machine shook violently. Its upper armor was blown to pieces. Alarms began to blare.

Anti-energy-conversion armor rounds!

There was no way an ordinary guerrilla or terrorist would have such a thing. They were the latest model of highly explosive armor-piercing rounds, which synchronized with the pulses of an energy shield to neutralize energy-conversion armor. Even within S.M.S., they were only utilized for relatively large-scale operations.

Frantically, she maneuvered her GERWALK’s leg nozzles to stabilize her position.

By then, the Queadluun had already completed its turn.

In its path lay the—square where civilians had gathered to evacuate!

“Surely you can see it—!? The fate that awaits these little Debran who think they can rule over us…! This is what lies at the edge of your world!”

Angers’ voice echoed out like a curse.

✥✥✥

“This is bad!”

Hakuna, watching the deadly battle unfold from the sea alongside the people he had guided to safety, knew full well what it meant that the Queadluun was beginning to close in on them. It was trying to get within striking distance and blow them all away with highly explosive shells.

The most straightforward, most gruesome method of terrorism he could imagine. Assuring that all of the evacuees were gathered in one spot so that they could be killed in a single spectacular demonstration. He’d seen the tactic all too often during his time in the special forces. The most despicable tactic of all, which solidified control by instilling terror in the people.

Hakuna had no intention of blaming Chelsea for failing to stop it, though. She’d done her best, within the limits of what she was capable of. Even without a gun, she’d fought well.

Alright—what do I do?

He knew there wasn’t much he could do, but Hakuna still felt that he had to stand tall and keep up appearances, at least in front of the children cowering behind him. He let out a self-deprecating chuckle when he realized that it was no more than a man’s pride.

Well, sometimes a man’s just gotta leave things to fate… well, calling her “fate” might be a little disrespectful—

✥✥✥

Hakuna’s gonna die!

That was the first thought that entered Chelsea’s mind, but it was soon followed by the faces of Takeru, Katori, Yuein and so many more.

No matter what happened, she couldn’t afford to lose them.

If it were just a Vanquish flag, there would always be another one.

But these were their lives, not a flag; she could never hand those over.

So, what would she do?

What was she supposed to do now?

I’m a pilot. That’s why I’m here. As a Zentradi, all I can do is fight.

She resolved herself.

Her place, where she belonged. It only existed because they were there for her.

She didn’t want to lose anything else. She didn’t want to let go.

Like when she stopped being a singer. Like when she stopped being a soldier.

With that in mind, before it was gone, she would give her own life to protect it as long as possible. Even if it was protected at the cost of her life, it would still be kept safe.

If I do that, nobody can say they don’t need me…!

“Compared to all that, my life is nothing!”

She pushed her throttle to the max.

Shifted into Fighter Mode.

Her FF-3001A Stage II Thermonuclear Turbine Engine roared to life.

“Active Stealth, off! Set heat dissipation to its limit! Focus the pinpoint barrier on the nose’s radome!”

Her wings began to glow red-hot, their heat dissipation units unable to withstand the immense output. It was like daybreak rising from the sea, or a bird heralding the break of dawn.

Her gaze was locked onto the Queadluun.

Intense G-forces crushed her body. Without the EX-Gear’s muscle enhancement, even a Zentradi would fail to endure it.

“Inertia buffer! ISC at full capacity! Gravitational contraction energy, cone convergence! Charge!!”

None of her operations were covered by standard protocol, so she vocalized each step. Plus, her fingers and eye tracking alone could no longer keep up with the commands. More than anything, speaking the commands aloud sharpened Chelsea’s concentration to an astonishing degree.

Her machine transformed into an arrow of light and closed in on the Queadluun.

“What!?”

Shock filled Angers’ expression. Before she could hope to dodge, the barrier-covered YF-25 pierced the Queadluun nose-first.

“Angers! No matter what you’re thinking! I… I can’t let you hurt Hakuna or anyone else!”

They shot straight up.

Like a bird sinking its claws into its prey, the YF-25 pierced the Queadluun and soared away.

“...Damn you!”

Smashing through the holographic sky, the Queadluun’s back was slammed against the exposed ceiling.

“I… I…!”

Pierced by structural beams, explosions erupted around the Queadluun.

“You intend to become a puppet!? To be used by these Debran scum!?”

“Angers…!”

She couldn’t bring herself to say anything more. She didn’t know what Angers was doing there, but nothing she could do would pull her back.

They punched a hole in the outer hull of the oceanic vessel. The Queadluun and YF-25 were swept away into the depths of outer space alongside the debris. Emergency deployment gel got to work plugging the hole immediately.

The YF-25 shook violently, even though it should have been hurled into the void after the Queadluun.

In a blaze, the YF-25 plummeted as if it was flung away.

She spun wildly. Her controls refused to respond.

The ISC’s inertial buffer was running amok. Even though it could control inertia, it could not eliminate it. A system that deferred inertia into space-time was, in essence, a debt of consequences. The more one used it, the more it would come crashing down later on. This was the price that she paid for operating at maximum output beyond the specifications of the design. Inertia had accumulated in every possible direction, raging wildly, tossing the YF-25 about like a leaf in a storm with Chelsea trapped inside.

Irregular G-forces surged. Chelsea’s consciousness threatened to escape her.

She reached for the ejection handle. S.M.S. had enough good taste to value life over machines. But, she couldn’t pull it. She just couldn’t.

“No way…!?”

Directly below her…

Were the people she’d been trying to protect.

What would happen if a fighter robbed of its inertial control were to crash onto them?

The outcome was as clear as day.

So, what would she do?

She didn’t even need to think.

Chelsea slammed her foot on the pedal. Even with her inertial store converter running amok, her standard flight controls would operate just fine.

The ocean!

She desperately shifted the trajectory of her descent. Her rudders and ailerons cut through the wind. In the turbulent vortex of spacetime energy, she simply maneuvered her machine with a singular thought in mind.

She had no choice but to crash into the uninhabited ocean.

To maintain control of her ISC, she had to divert all of her reaction engine’s excess output. She couldn’t use her energy-conversion armor on splashdown and there was no way her craft would survive it. On top of that, she’d taken fire from Angers’ Queadluun.

The surface of the sea was closing in.

At the very least, she could feel that she’d done all that she could.

If she had one regret—

No, two regrets—

“!?”

Kchnk, her craft came to a halt.

A few meters above the water’s surface, the YF-25’s descent had stopped.

“Is that…!?”

An enormous shadow blocked the light of the artificial sun.

It was a giant, humanoid figure with crimson wings on its back. Its massive arms cradled the YF-25.

It was without a doubt Lena Zielonaska’s SV-52.

✥✥✥

“You idiot!!”

She never expected that Lena would slap her the second she set foot on the runway, but Chelsea made no attempt to evade it.

There was a crisp sound, then a stinging pain on her skin, followed by the realization: Oh, I’m still alive.

“Lena…”

“What the hell were you thinking, ramming them in Fighter Mode!?”

Tears welled up in the young lady’s eyes.

It was the gaze of someone furious at something she could not forgive. It was a pure gaze.

“You have something I could never obtain no matter how deeply I long for it! And you’d throw such a precious life away!? I can never forgive such a thing, Zentra Girl!!”

Lena chided Chelsea through clenched teeth.

For some reason, she couldn’t seem to meet her gaze.

No, perhaps it was the pure fact that even if she’d understood the logic, she couldn’t bring herself to admit to it. Sometimes, one fears nothing more than being forced to confront something that they already understood deep down.

I couldn’t do it. No, I didn’t even try…

She couldn’t save Angers nor herself. She couldn’t do anything.

She was a failure. She couldn’t live as a Zentradi nor as an Earthling.

Understanding that, all she could do was tremble.

A gust of wind swirled up around her. 

✥✥✥

“...What happened, Major Angers? What about Sophia Spiritia?”

After being cast out into the void in her spacesuit, the voice of the Variable Fighter pilot who’d recovered her pulled Angers’ mind back from the world of dreams and into reality.

Or, perhaps, back to the dream of her beloved war.

“Hm… her mentality makes me want to vomit. But, feeling that power up close did give me faith that it does exist.”

“Then, the power that Commander Naresuan spoke of, it’s…!?”

“Yes. We were correct to assume that it holds a direct link to Chelsea’s emotions and the vibrations of the Spiritia. That girl is the key to its legacy.”

Angers’ expression was one of ecstasy as she gazed out into the sea of stars. The spread at the center of the galaxy was undimmed by any atmosphere. She saw each and every intelligent species that inhabited those stars as being one and the same.

“—The key to Gelepnitchi’s legacy—”

The cosmos is filled with stillness. And yet, despite that fact, there was once a miraculous song which resonated through it. Rising above inescapable death, an absolute annihilation that most of the galaxy never knew existed, there was a song which pounded like a passionate heart. Now, that song has become legendary, sleeping in the deep recesses of people’s memory.

Hakuna’s life was turned upside down when he took in a freeloader named Chelsea Scarlett.

The key reason for this was that Chelsea was, to put it mildly, a neat freak. She spent basically all of her spare time cleaning. Hakuna’s room, which was once a realm of pure chaos and entropy, had been conquered by law and order. The floors and walls that were once so covered in soot that their original colors could barely be recognized, had regained the luster their architect had intended.

But that wasn’t what put Hakuna in his current poor mood.

“Did I… do something wrong?”

“Define wrong.” With a deep sigh, Hakuna slammed a stack of papers onto the living room table. “There are a variety of objective evaluations. We can’t determine if events that have occurred are entirely good or evil. History, economics, morality, personal preference. There’re all kinds of viewpoints to consider.”

“—So, goodness or badness, success or failure, all depends on the viewer’s standpoint?”

Chelsea had shrunk into herself.

She could read the atmosphere around her all too well. Hakuna guessed that her overly sensitive hearing was the root of it. She could pick up on the stress and irritation of others, even just subconsciously. At worst, she could hear emotions that another person wasn’t even aware of themselves. This made her life incredibly difficult at times.

“So, I’m grateful that you put your life on the line to stop Lena. It sure gave our rankings a good boost. But… this mountain of bills would make anybody turn pale.”

“—Right.”

In this world, there were things that could be destroyed and things that couldn’t.

The knee of the Nothung, which Chelsea had snapped during her fit of rage, fell into the latter category. It was a complex, intricate bundle of actuators that even Robbins Family couldn’t take care of, which meant that they had to take it to an LAI factory.

“The silver lining here is that you didn’t break the engine, but most of the Nothung’s parts are one-of-a-kind.”

“Can’t we just… have S.M.S. fix it?”

“On paper, it’s borrowed equipment.”

Unusually for him, Hakuna grumbled: Dammit, José. Could’ve at least lent us a machine that was easy to deal with.

Of course, he’d heard that S.M.S.’s plan was to send both Chelsea and the Nothung to join the Vanquish, so he didn’t have much ground to stand on.

“If we give it enough time, José might work something out, but that leaves the question of making it in time for the next race.”

“...The one Nicolas Berthier is taking part in, right? The last Reno Cup of the season?”

“Yep. In two weeks.”

Hakuna’s hard training had all been to reach that race.

Knowing this, Chelsea lowered her eyes apologetically.

Yeesh. She doesn’t gotta get all worked up about it.

That said, they couldn’t just let that race slip by them, and going to take on Berthier alone was just as unrealistic. Berthier’s teammate, Anthony “The Guardian” Clemens, may not have been on Berthier’s level, but he was still a formidable opponent in his own right, certainly not someone to be challenging one-on-one. It was ridiculous that he and Lena had ever considered doing so.

“If we’re gonna get express delivery to make it in time, we’ll have to find some more sponsors somehow.”

“...Other than S.M.S. and Robbins Family? Can we do that?”

“We’re privateers; we participate as individuals. We’re not like the Shinsei guys, who operate as part of a corporation, or Vistula & Oder, who fly as an exclusive satellite team. If we could find TV stations or advertisers on a race-by-race basis, we could pull some money from that.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask…”

Chelsea quietly sipped her lukewarm cocoa.

“Is the Vanquish really that profitable? Flying vintage planes and fully customized Valkyries must break the bank. I can tell by the zeroes on the bill.”

“Hmm.. Well, profitable, huh? It’s a mixed bag, I’d say.”

Hakuna reached up to scratch his head, but stopped when Chelsea shot him a glare.

“Most of the money that comes in flows right out. All the teams are struggling just to keep their machines running. There are exceptions, like Lena, who runs her own company, but otherwise we’re all in dire straits. People as famous as Berthier probably have other sources of income, though…”

“But money does come in?”

“‘Cause of the advertising value. The Vanquish is a cash cow on the Galactic Network. Amateur races are one thing, but there aren’t many fleets or planets with enough cash to run an event like the Vanquish, with all the gunfights and urban warfare. What I’m saying is, the broadcasting rights fees from planets that don’t host the event bring us substantial profit. That profit gets distributed to us registered teams. Well, but then—”

“But then?”

“There are bookmakers… the gambling profits are crazy. After all, the Frontier Fleet is the biggest tourist destination in the outer reaches. For the rich folks who come to spend their money on Reno, the Vanquish is the best entertainment you could ask for. Since the fleet’s government acts as the bookie, racers who reach the finals get subsidies from it. It’d be a real problem for us if the betting system fell apart or some down-on-his-luck racer took a bribe.”

“I see…”

She’s so sheltered…

When there’s light, there’s shadow. That’s true of all things.

The fact that the Frontier Fleet was full of greenery and blue skies, that the people there lived lives of pure enjoyment wasn't some anachronism. It was a product designed to attract foreign currency. The free-spirited atmosphere was meant to make people from planets with stricter laws feel comfortable enough to spend their money.

Even if their official line was self-sufficiency, it was just ordinary common sense for people who had to obtain goods via various forms of trade. The lax gambling regulations, especially for casinos and bookies on islands that were special economic zones like Mayan and Reno, were just enough sweet nectar to lure people in.

“So that’s the deal. Luckily, thanks to the big show you put on with Lena last race, our popularity’s actually gone way up. If we can land a sponsor, we should be able to pull off the repairs for the Nothung’s crash.”

✥✥✥

“What the? Isn’t this way too expensive!?”

Wearing the uniform of the private Mihoshi Academy, a boy far too beautiful to be called an ordinary high school student—Saotome Alto—widened his perfectly formed eyes in shock, plastic bottle of soy sauce in hand.

For a struggling student determined to maintain his Japanese ethnic identity, the soy sauce at the supermarket near the school was practically a lifeline. If the price went up, he was prepared to wail in despair.

“What’s the matter, Princess Alto?”

“Geh… Michael!?”

“Come on, don’t be so cold.”

He was shocked to see the blonde womanizer Michael Blanc, his classmate that he’d secretly considered to be his rival, peeking out from behind the shelf of canned soups.

It wouldn’t have been a surprise to run into Michael at school, but bumping into him at an ordinary place like the supermarket felt embarrassing somehow. A trick played on him by the self-consciousness of a teenage boy.

“...Look, it’s this soy sauce. It was at least 30% cheaper than this last month!”

“Oh, you’re right. It’s getting pretty pricey.”

“And it’s not just the soy sauce, either.”

The boy scanned the supermarket shelves with an utterly exasperated look.

“Kitchen paper, soumen noodles, oil, even dish soap! It’s all getting way more expensive! What in the world is…”

“That’s simple.”

With a glint in his eyes that said Alto was missing something, Michael grabbed a can of soup and pushed his glasses further up his nose.

“There’s been a disruption of interstellar trade.”

“Intarsteller trayed? What’s that?”

With a heavy sigh, his bespectacled pal adopted the expression of someone helping a slow-witted classmate catch up.

“The Frontier Fleet isn’t a self-sufficient economic system. You do know that, right?”

“Of course I do. In exchange for exporting mineral resources and agricultural products, we import rare metals and industrial goods we can’t produce here, right?”

“Exactly. And there’s a wide variety of those industrial goods. This can, for example. It’s pineapple from the planet Vulcan, right?”

“Ohh.”

With a flick of his wrist, Michael tossed the pineapple can into his basket. His movement was so uncannily precise that for a split second, Alto wondered: Has he been through some other kind of special training besides flight training? He dismissed the idea pretty quickly, though.

“So, there are distribution costs in transporting it from Vulcan. Those costs are being factored into the price.”

“But why would that mean the prices have to go up this sharply?”

“Apparently, transport ships have been getting attacked by armed groups in the outer reaches lately. There have been lots of Fold faults around here, so the New United Nations Spacy have been slow to respond. I’m assuming that stuff is what's impacting the products. Even though we make soy sauce on our fleet, the price of the raw materials is affected by the interstellar economy. I’m sure the Administration is trying to control the prices, but even they have their limits.”

“You sure know a lot. Was that on the news or something?”

Alto tilted his head a bit. He did even that beautifully.

“Oh, uh, no…”

For a moment, there was a hint of evasion and obfuscation in Michael’s voice.

“I heard it from a girl I’m seeing. She works for the Administration.”

“Another new girl?”

“There are just so many beautiful flowers in this world. It’s hard not to admire all of them.”

“Right…”

His world was far too distant, so Alto looked away.

His gaze fell on Michael’s basket, full of canned goods and instant food.

“Hey, Michael.”

“Hm?”

“You aren’t seriously planning on eating that, are you?”

“If you have another suggestion on what to do with instant noodles, other than eating them, I’d love to hear it—don’t worry, I’m taking my supplements.”

“Just…”

With a deep sigh, Alto pressed his temples and said:

“Come over to my place, Michael. I’ll feed you some proper human food.”

“...Are you sure?”

“You bought me yakisoba the other day. Call it my way of returning the favor—Besides, buying the ingredients in bulk is cheaper. Is there a problem?”

“No, actually, I have a policy of never turning down a free meal from a beauty—or any other invitation, for that matter.”

“Who are you calling a beauty!?”

“Haha, I’m kidding! Just kidding, Alto!”

The playfully bickering boys didn’t have the imagination to connect their trivial, loveless conversation to the greater workings of the vast galaxy. It was just a memory they’d recall as adults, with a tinge of bittersweetness and a touch of nostalgia.

✥✥✥

As they left the food company’s warehouse and stepped out onto the harbor block at the base of Island One, Chelsea decided to let her pent-up rage explode outward.

“You've gotta be kidding me! Are we seriously gonna do something like this, Hakuna!?”

Sitting on the back of an old motorcycle, clinging to Hakuna’s waist, Chelsea let out a cry of protest loud enough to drown out even the wind.

“What can ‘ya do? It’s capitalism, after all.”

Since the motorcycle was Hakuna’s hobby project—a handmade, electric conversion of a large scooter from about fifty years ago—it seemed a bit odd to mention capitalism.

“But… still! Riding a Valkyrie in a maid outfit… that’s just pure spectacle! Just because the sponsor happens to own some chain store…”

She protested, her face bright red. Not just her face, even her long, slender Zentradi ears had turned as red as beets.

“If we do it, they’ll cover the Nothung’s repair costs. What a Prez we’ve got, eh…?”

“I’m the one who has to wear the maid outfit here, not you!!”

“I swear on the eye of a jaybird, I’d wear it myself if it’d help.”

Hakuna was completely deadpan as he said this, which made Chelsea look as if someone was pressing a live sea cucumber against her face. No matter how long they lived under the same roof, there were some things she just couldn’t tolerate.

“I’m begging you. Please stop.”

“...Aw, is it that bad of an idea? I don’t think I’m completely hopeless just yet.”

“I don’t really care what you think, at this point. Anyway, we wouldn’t get our investment if you wore it.”

“You’ve got me there.”

Hakuna flashed his teeth and gave a hearty laugh.

“But, you didn’t oppose it too hard either, Chelsea.”

“...As long as I get to fly.”

Saying that, Chelsea pressed her lips together.

She hadn’t realized that her desire to fly was strong enough to outweigh her long-held convictions—her desire to never step onto a stage as a singer again.

“True enough. We’re the sorts of creatures who feel an unbearable anxiety when we’re stuck on the ground. We can’t go on living if we’re suppressing our true nature.”

“...Yeah.”

She was glad that he didn’t laugh at her.

“S-still, I’m not confident about this! It’s one thing if I’m just in the cockpit, but if they make me go on stage or something, I might have another flashback and snap…”

“Well, if that happens, we can just make a run for it. Your contract doesn’t say you have to keep doing it. If we win, we can find a better sponsor.”

“...Yeesh, you’re seriously laid-back.”

“For most stuff, that’s fine. Life doesn’t need to be so stuffy. It’s best just to go with the flow and not get too hung up on big principles. If you get too stuck on that stuff, it’ll be the end of you.”

“Who’s that from, some philosopher?”

“Nope, just talking off the cuff.”

Jeez! As Chelsea puffed out her cheeks in exasperation, Hakuna suddenly, without warning, pulled the bike over and peered into the shadows behind a stack of containers in the port. The rhythm of his breathing matched what she’d heard when he was tense, so Chelsea’s expression got serious.

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone’s here.”

“...Huh?”

The movement was more precise and fluid than anything Chelsea had ever seen.

Crouching, almost silent, they peered between the containers. The movement was so practiced that anyone other than Chelsea wouldn’t have been able to hear the sound of it.

“Is… somebody there?”

“—”

No reply.

Even so, Chelsea was certain that she heard a faint breath react to Hakuna’s voice.

“Someone’s there, Hakuna… probably a boy. Terribly weak.”

“Gotcha.”

With a single word, Hakuna stepped into the darkness.

There was the sound of something being lifted.

A moment later, Hakuna emerged, cradling a boy in his arms.

He seemed to be in his early teens, with an androgynous profile whose gendered characteristics were still undifferentiated. His face was pale.

It was frostbite. Chelsea could tell immediately.

“We need to get him to a hospital right away…”

Hakuna’s hand pressed down on Chelsea’s as she reached for her mobile device.

“Wha!?”

“No.”

He was unusually stern.

“What do you mean, no…!?”

“He’s a stowaway.”

“—!”

✥✥✥

Stowaway travel had been a capital offense since ancient times, ever since Earthlings first began to set sail on ships.

Ships are confined spaces—food, water and supplies are finite and must be managed with their intended crew in mind. Therefore, it is no exaggeration to say that the presence of a single stowaway disrupts those calculations to the point of putting the entire crew’s lives in jeopardy.

Thus, since long, long ago, sailors have followed an unspoken rule—an unwritten law, so to speak—that stowaways ought to be thrown overboard. Even now, in what had come to be known as an age of grand voyages through space, that had not changed.

No, in fact, the problem had become even more severe.

Outer space didn’t have the air that Earthlings took for granted. Even on a massive fleet of spaceships like the Frontier Fleet, the atmosphere wasn’t inexhaustible by any means. The taxes that people like Chelsea paid included the costs of maintaining the atmosphere, and those who considered them to be exploitation were thought of as madmen.

Coined by an ancient science fiction novel, the “Cold Equations” dilemma had been a constant struggle for spaceship crews. Of course, many ships carried a certain amount in reserve, but merchant and military vessels often found themselves in circumstances where they were forced to abandon that reserve. Any member of a spaceship’s crew, even a three year old, knew that immeasurable tragedy could come about in such a situation.

“...Are you sure about this? Aiding and abetting stowaways is a serious crime.”

“Are you suggesting we turn a kid like this over to the police?”

“Yeah, I guess not…”

With her right arm wrapped around Hakuna’s waist, Chelsea held the unconscious boy close in the rear seat. A thermal pad would’ve been ideal, but military training had taught her that warming him with her bare skin would be the most effective method in its absence. The bike didn’t lose its balance even with two extra passengers in the back, which was an undeniable testament to Hakuna’s driving skill.

The boy’s green hair rose slightly with each breath. Proof that he was alive. His skin was cool as ice.

The color of his hair made it clear that the blood of a giant ran through his veins, just like Chelsea’s. With the lack of the other distinctive physical traits, he was most likely half- or quarter-Zentran, someone they called a “peace child.”

“As soon as we get home, give him a bath to warm him up.”

“Me…?”

Chelsea’s cheeks went slightly flush, but she realized that this wasn’t the time for that. Hakuna’s usual composure was missing.

“Yeah. I’m gonna try contacting a back-alley doctor I know. There are doctors like that on Island One’s illegal settlements.”

“...You know someone like that?”

“A thirty-year-old man makes all kinds of connections.”

Hakuna stopped there, so Chelsea didn’t ask any more questions.

The sensation of her body heat being drawn out of her and into the trembling boy in her arms gave her a certain deja vu, but she decided not to dwell on that.

✥✥✥

Hearing the phrase “back-alley doctor” brought the image of a shadowy man with pirate-like scars to Chelsea’s mind, so she was a little shocked to see a man in a nice suit.

He seemed about the same age as Hakuna, maybe a little older. His narrow shoulders and lean, sharp physique were accentuated by a form-fitting, stylish Napoli suit.

“Anri Mahlberg. Pleased to meet you.”

His pointy ears and his hair color—with distinct reds and oranges neatly parted in the front and back—made it clear that he belonged to a minority ethnic group that hailed from the planet Zola. There were some people with Zolan ancestry in S.M.S., but this was the first time she’d seen a native Zolan in person.

Hakuna had explained that Anri’s day job was as an investor, but that he used to be a doctor. Apparently, he couldn’t stand the overwhelming workload, so he quit his job at the university hospital to make time for his hobbies. Since he was still quite skilled, he made a living as a fixer of sorts. He would be asked to handle medical procedures that couldn’t be done through normal channels and resolve them. Then, he’d use that “favor” as highly valuable currency in other circles.

“Hakuna and I have been friends for quite a long time.”

Anri gave a gentle smile, deftly treating the boy’s frostbite. He had a light, airy smile, with no hint of an ulterior motive.

“He’s quite a man, isn’t he?”

“Uh, sure…”

Unsure of his intentions, Chelsea stammered. He may have seen her as ‘the woman living with Hakuna,’ which could cause some misunderstanding.

“He’s a bit of a grump, which makes him tough to read, but he’s a good guy. I quite like him. A shame he has no intention of marrying me.”

So Hakuna’s popular with men, too…?

Holding back that out-of-place thought, Chelsea dammed the river of her curiosity. This wasn’t the time for that, and prying into her roommate’s sexuality could only make things worse.

“So, how’s the kid doing?”

“Well, I’d say we’re lucky he’s got Zentradi in him. If he were pure Earthling or Zolan, this would’ve had permanent aftereffects. It doesn’t look like he was exposed to any radiation, so please give him something to eat once he wakes up. Getting his basic physical strength back is our top priority.”

“Thank goodness…”

Chelsea breathed a sigh of relief.

“Alright, Hakuna. I’m off. You can repay this little favor on your next run.”

“Yup, got it.”

With that, Anri left the lab. Chelsea thought he felt about as real as a mirage.

“...Hey, Hakuna. What does he mean by ‘next run?’”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you about that?”

Brewing a cup of strong coffee from the lab’s coffee maker, Hakuna continued speaking, as nonchalant as could be. 

“Smuggling.”

“Smuggling?”

In her panic, Chelsea knocked her chair over.

“Officially, it’s a private transport business that I run with my Valkyrie, and… well, that’s not exactly a lie, but every now and then… I transport some lightweight, strictly regulated goods to immigrant convoys and frontier planets. Vials of chemicals, pharmaceuticals, bio-seeds, stuff like that. We sell it for prices way below the ridiculous tariffs the local government slaps on it, which makes us a small profit.”

“Huh… First we’re aiding illegal immigrants, now we’re smuggling… I hope I don’t find some skeletons in our basement next.”

“Hah. That wouldn’t be so bad—Cut me some slack, alright? I don’t haul drugs or endangered animals or anything. I just keep things moving smoothly in places where the law is too rigid to work.”

“The general public calls that ‘committing crimes.’”

Oh, I see. With a cash cow like that, it’s no wonder Hakuna can pour so much money into restoring old machines and can set up an office in a place like this.

“As far as I’m concerned, I didn’t hear or see anything today.”

Saying that, Chelsea headed into the kitchen.

She thought that she’d make some pancakes. It’d been a while.

✥✥✥

“I can’t believe you could eat this much.”

As soon as he woke up, the boy started devouring one of Chelsea’s pancakes after the next. He ate with such voracity that one could be convinced that his stomach was a black hole.

“...I haven’t had a real meal in a week…”

He replied, still munching pancakes to shreds. He probably talked with his mouth full because he thought he’d die if he let go of the food set out in front of him.

“Come on, kid, you’re gonna choke!”

He drank the water Chelsea passed to him and went right back to eating. In a long-gone Eastern civilization, children like this were called “gaki,” or “little devils.” Watching him eat, he seemed to embody the term.

“So, what’s your name? I’m Hakuna. This is Chelsea.”

“...”

“Don’t worry. If we were gonna hand you over to the cops, we would’ve done it hours ago. You can even give us a fake name if you want. A bushwarbler is a bushwarbler, but it’s still related to the flycatcher. It sings the same tune either way.”

“...Umm, what’s this old guy talking about?”

“Don’t worry about him. Hakuna just says stuff like this sometimes.”

“You…?”

Chelsea’s harsh tone took Hakuna aback. Apparently, she was plenty capable of acting like an adult if there were people younger than her around.

“...I’m a pilot who ended up here because of my own set of circumstances. I’m not exactly who I seem to be either. How about you tell me your story? I don’t like calling young men like you ‘kid,’ anyway.”

“Takeru.”

With butter and cream smeared around his mouth, the boy gave a polite reply.

“Takeru Goldenlaub. I’m from the planet Cassube.”

“Cassube!? Isn’t that on the Orion Arm!?”

The flow of stars in the Milky Way galaxy forms clusters called “Arms.” The Frontier Fleet was located in the Sagittarius Arm. Therefore, the Orion Arm lay a thousand light-years away.

“I hopped from one cargo ship to another.”

“Cargo ships… you’re one crazy kid…”

“I picked ones that carried food and moved from one pressurized container to the next, so there was always food all around me… at the very end, I screwed it all up. The life support system on one of the spaceships I was on blew up, and I really didn’t know what to do…”

“You’re lucky you’re even alive.”

Hakuna’s voice was usually a big ball of recklessness, but even he sounded genuinely shocked.

“Apparently the cargo ship got attacked by space pirates… I don’t know much other than that, since I’d get caught if I asked too many questions. There was just this huge bang all of a sudden. Then, when the life support system went out and the cargo hold dropped to -20 degrees, I was like, ‘this is the end…’ Hey, could I get some of those sausages…? Anyways, I used my amazing grit to fix the life support system and somehow made it onto the Frontier. By then, I was totally wiped out… and the cargo was all frozen solid, so I couldn’t eat any of it…”

“You fixed the life support system…?”

“With enough guts, you can basically do anything. Back in my village, we couldn’t get by unless we could fix machines. I really did think I was gonna freeze to death, though, for the record. I got away from the container and got all sleepy…”

“Well… thank goodness you’re alive…”

“It’s since I’m half-Zentran. My mom used to tell me I was genetically built to be tough. She’s dead now.”

The Zentradi were a race “engineered” to live aboard spaceships, which gave them a wide range of capabilities. They could function in the vacuum of space, with enlarged cerebrums, an optical fiber nervous system, high compatibility with mechanical implants, enhanced cardiopulmonary functionalities, resistance to G-forces, the ability to photosynthesize… The “engineering” varied significantly on an individual basis. These traits, which sometimes gave rise to extraordinarily talented prodigies, applied even to those without pure Zentradi blood.

“So, do you have somewhere to go?”

“Of course not. I heard the Frontier Fleet didn’t use implants for family registry management, so I figured this would be the perfect place to slip myself into.”

Chelsea and Hakuna exchanged a glance.

But, before the adults—or rather, this man and woman who hadn’t fully grown up quite yet—could come up with an answer, Takeru began to snore. The exhaustion of eating for several minutes straight must have caught up with him, so the conversation was put on hold.

✥✥✥

They entered the hangar, which was undergoing its routine maintenance. Just as Hakuna was about to peer into the inspection hatch of his VF-1X++ Double Plus’s nose cone, a jolt ran through the back of his head.

“Hey, old man!”

If one were to ask Hakuna which had shocked him more between being called an old man and being whacked on the head by a bearing, it would most certainly have been the former. The bearing that had made a thunk on his head was charred and deformed.

“The heck? Hey, you. Are you really the pilot of this thing?”

The boy who called himself Takeru crawled out from underneath the Double Plus, rolling up the sleeves of his worn-out work clothes.

“What’s up, Takeru?”

Though, the fact that this boy who should have been asleep in his room would emerge from under his Valkyrie didn’t particularly surprise him. He knew that children weren’t all that capable of sitting still.

“Such a simple issue. Can’t you see that the burn marks on the left and right nozzles are different?”

“Hm?”

“So, I opened up the bearing case on the right engine, and oh boy, there was a whole bunch of nasty grinding debris in there. After that, it was easy. I just took out the bearings one by one and when I reached the fourth one… bingo. That was it.”

Takeru pointed to the bearing at his feet.

“From how worn down it is, it’s probably been shot for a long time now. The main shaft, the housing surrounding it, and the pump all ended up covered in scratches. With damage this bad, revving your engine should’ve made a pretty noticeable sound. How come you didn’t realize, old man!?”

“Yeah—you’ve got me there. My bad.”

“!?”

Hakuna just bowed his head. This only annoyed the boy further. He never would’ve thought this grown man would bow his head to him. That’s what the look on his face said, anyway.

“When you’ve been a civilian pilot for as long as I have, especially on your own, you just get used to these kinds of abnormalities. It’s basically the norm for me…”

“So it’s just you and your plane?”

“Haha—Well, I’ve just managed to scrape by somehow. It’s a bad habit of mine, but let’s just chalk it up to my skills.”

“...?”

Just like Chelsea had not long ago, the green-haired boy looked like Hakuna had dulled some of his edge.

“You can keep going.”

“...For real?”

“You wanna tinker with it, right? My Valkyrie, I mean. The VF-19 next to it is trouble, but you can take this one apart as much as you want. You didn’t seem like you were lying about fixing a spaceship’s life support system. Do whatever you want.”

“Awesome!!”

There was a glint in Takeru’s eye as he got right to work wrestling with the engine block.

A perfect image of the joy of having exactly what you want to do right in front of you.

✥✥✥

Chelsea stepped out onto the balcony and found herself looking up at the night sky. Even on a spaceship, where the distinction between night and day shouldn’t exist, people still needed the concept of them to keep track of time.

The boy had finally fallen asleep, exhausted from tinkering with the Valkyrie, so Chelsea brought him to a spare bedroom. She walked over to where Hakuna was on the balcony and spoke.

“...What do we do with him?”

“Planet Cassube is still in a quagmire from the struggle between the old United Nations and the New United Nations. It ain’t like we can just send him back.”

About ten years ago, mankind’s government faced a crisis.

There was a conflict between those who opposed the oppressive centralized system of the Earth-centered government and Earthling supremacists. Ultimately, it was the former who prevailed, and the New United Nations government transitioned to a more decentralized, smaller government. In this transition, the United Nations Spacy (U.N. SPACY) was dissolved and reformed as the New United Nations Spacy (N.U.N.S.). This became the backdrop that allowed the autonomously-operated Frontier Fleet, private military contractors, and interstellar mega-corporations to become increasingly active.

Although they had narrowly evaded the threat of a full-scale interstellar war, the embers of that conflict were never truly stomped out. In reality, fighting raged on in various corners of the galaxy.

“So… I’ve been thinking. How about I just hire him as a mechanic for our team?”

“Are you serious!?”

“If he can repair a life support system on his own, he’s at least worth being taken under the Colonel's wing. I could manage the maintenance when it was just me and my VF-1, but now that your VF-19’s been thrown into the mix, I’d like at least one dedicated staff member we can trust.”

“Should we get him recognized as a refugee…?”

“He was clinging to my Valkyrie just now, wasn’t he? Even though moving caused him excruciating pain. Y’know why I didn’t stop him?”

“Why? It definitely would’ve been better to stop him…”

“Seemed to me like the kind of PTSD common in folks who were forced into child labor. He mentioned something about armed groups. His folks probably got killed by local guerrillas, who then put him to work. I saw that sorta thing play out lots of times during my time in the military.”

“Hakuna… you were in the military?”

This was the first she’d heard about it. She was so surprised she found herself peering over at Hakuna’s face.

“A long time ago. I did this and that in a spec-ops unit.”

“This and that?”

“This and that. All sorts of dirty tricks that they don’t write about in history books. Y’know, the kind of work that the regular military doesn’t involve itself in. Civilians, guerrillas, terrorists, call them what you will, but the results were the same. Right about the time I was getting fed up with all of it, my commanding officer ran off. No—He betrayed us.”

“—”

Chelsea wasn’t sure what to say.

It wasn’t like she’d never killed anyone herself. But S.M.S. at least hadn’t been involved in operations like those. They were only deployed for symmetrical warfare, battles where the enemy could just as easily kill them. They never fought battles where the other side couldn’t fight back properly. It was true of the Frontier Fleet’s branch of S.M.S., at the very least. 

That was a point of pride for them. Though, to put it bluntly, there was also no value in using an expensive private military contractor for operations like those.

“I don’t know why our commander—his name was Naresuan—betrayed us. But either way, our unit was wiped out and I used that opportunity to leave the military. Of course, I wouldn’t have let the chance slip past me. It was back then that I got to know José and the Colonel.”

“So that’s it…?”

“To sum up, I ran from the military first. Unlike you, I don’t plan on going back to join S.M.S. to fight again. I’m just a humble racing jockey now. I know full well that saving this kid won’t help me atone for my sins, either.”

“That’s not true.”

The words ‘You saved me too, didn’t you?’ rose up within her, but Chelsea hesitated to speak them. She felt that if she said it aloud, something might break. She lost her courage. It was a sort of confusion that she couldn’t recognize, one different from her fear of pulling the trigger and her terrible dreams of an icy coffin.

“Well, a sin is a sin. They stick with you forever. They don’t just go away just ‘cause you atone for it.”

“Yet you still fly.”

“That’s right. Even after I threw away my pilot uniform and rank insignia, there were some things I just couldn’t forget. One was my wings, another was my promise.”

“Promise?”

Hakuna stared off into the distance, which made Chelsea wonder if he was thinking about a woman. She wasn’t sure why she thought that, though.

“A promise to my mentor. Asked me to do a little something. Well—just make of that what you will. I’ll tell you the story someday. Someday.”

Hakuna turned his back and began to head inside. Chelsea called out toward his broad shoulders.

“One last thing.”

“Hm?”

“Am I… your teammate now because of how similar our situations are? Or because you felt sorry for me?”

“What if I did?”

“Then you’d better not let me down. If you do, I’ll slap you. And this time, I really will leave.”

“—No, no…”

Hakuna shook his head, his back still turned.

“You’re nothing like me. Didn’t I tell you? I do all of this out of self-pity and sentimentality. It ain’t like that for you.”

“Then, what…?”

“Eventually, a bird finds the sky that suits it best. A fish finds the sea that suits it best. You may be able to become either a bird or a fish.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that the answer lies within you alone. Goodnight, Chelsea. Try not to catch a cold.”

Chelsea didn’t say anything more.

She just watched Hakuna as he walked away.

To become either a bird or a fish, huh…?

✥✥✥

And then, the day arrived. The final match of the Reno Cup, which Berthier was taking part in, was upon them. With this Vanquish match marking the season’s finale, the excitement of the crowd had reached a complete fever pitch.

“Gyaaaaaahh!! Y-You call this a maid outfit!? This is a swimsuit!!”

A cry that bordered on wailing rang out from a corner of the hospitality booth near the Vanquish arena’s pit area.

Normally, the massive tented structure was a rest area where worker teams provided meals to the staff. It wasn’t somewhere that an individual participant like Chelsea would typically be allowed to enter. The fact that she was there now spoke volumes about the sort of financial clout that their sponsor, “Skylab,” had.

“Ah, Little Miss Chelsea. Is there a problem with our uniform?”

A ponytailed woman who, to an outsider, could have been mistaken for a child, struck the beet red Chelsea with a paper fan. This specific kind of paper fan was said to be a cultural artifact developed by Earthlings before the war. It was often used to deliver comedic retorts to others, but Chelsea couldn’t begin to imagine how a culture could develop in such a way.

“Here at Skylab, our corporate motto is ‘culture and love!’ That is to say, express a healthy amount of eroticism! The war was fifty years ago now, we can’t let ourselves forget why we’re all still alive!”

It was difficult to believe that this woman, Yuein Lau, could be the president of a company, but the real issue was the outfit. Chelsea was handed a black bodysuit that was practically a competitive swimsuit, which was paired with knee-high socks that had a poor excuse for a ribbon running down the center, frilly detachable sleeves and a similarly frilly medium-length apron.

Skylab began as a cafe on the planet Eden over forty years prior, then rapidly expanded into a chain of family restaurants across the galaxy. Recently, it had begun to dispatch event hostesses and to produce its own cultured food products.

The outfit assigned to Chelsea was the uniform for the company’s restaurants. It was designed to guide the trends of the era toward hotness and sex appeal, which made it a perfect target for enthusiasts, particularly camera-wielding boys.

“That uniform is a lovely dress that gives each and every man in the Frontier Fleet something to dream about. Puff your chest out!”

“I’d prepared myself for a maid outfit! Wasn’t it the cultured food manufacturing company, Rig Synthemeat, that I signed with!?”

“Rig Synthemeat is one of our subsidiaries. As the owner of both, I’ll be in charge and will ensure that the parent company’s intentions are reflected there as well.”

Her round glasses glinted, and the age-defying CEO flashed a devilish smile.

“Still, I never would have imagined that someone who’s even appeared on the Galactic Network would accept a contract with us.”

“!!”

“Don’t worry.”

Whether her words were meant to reassure the stiffening Chelsea or not, CEO Yuein shook her ponytailed head and spun in a full circle.

“Surely there’s a reason why a former singer who so suddenly retired from the entertainment industry would be in a place like this, doing something like this. We’d prefer not to cause any business conflicts with your former agency, so we won’t make a big deal out of this. After all, that’s not our main focus.”

“Huh?”

“Yes. What I want is…”

Yuein stuck out her red tongue with a devilish grin. Contrasted with her girlish body, it gave off a shockingly mature aura.

“...your Valkyrie.”

✥✥✥

“Hey! What the—!?”

Seeing the state that her Valkyrie had been transformed into, Chelsea let out a cry of protest.

Its entire fuselage was covered with stickers and illustrations from Skylab and its affiliated companies. Like this, it looked less like a Valkyrie and more like one of those “itasha” cars from Deep Akiba.

“Putting stickers on a Vanquish Valkyrie is expensive, so we decided to go all out and focus on a single one!”

Yuein was in high spirits, but Chelsea was far from amused.

There was no trace left of the honed blade that it once was. Now, it was little more than a flying billboard.

“Couldn’t you at least put some on Hakuna’s too…?”

“I said we focused on a single one, didn’t I? Sorry, but as far as the general public—not to mention enthusiasts—are concerned, Hakuna’s VF-1 is just an old model at this point. Not the VF-19 ACTIVE, though! This one’s a brand-new model which was even just featured in the Galactic Aviation Journal! With our ads on this thing, our reach could expand across the galaxy! The return on investment is out of this world! Plus, it doesn’t hurt that our pilot is such a beautiful young woman!”

Yuein was clearly being pushed forward by her excitement, but her words left a hint that she had actually put a lot of effort and research into it. Enough to make Chelsea realize that this wasn’t just some selfish whim.

She was honestly terrified, but she managed to hold in her panic. She thought it was probably thanks to what Hakuna said and the boy who’d helped them with maintenance.

If she won, she could at least provide Takeru with a warm meal, maybe even help him get a legal family registry. She could invest in his future. With that in mind, she could find enough courage to press on.

✥✥✥

Gently, the VF-19 ACTIVE rode the wind.

Developed to collect data for state-of-the-art planes that were being developed by LAI, its OTM-variable wings caught the rough winds on Island Reno with ease. They were good wings.

This was not a race.

The event, an exhibition flight, was held before the race.

By design, the Vanquish had a heavy focus on promoting a variety of companies, including Valkyrie manufacturers and sponsors from all over the galaxy. To this end, all kinds of events were held before and after each race, designed to entertain aviation fans of all sorts.

There may have been many emigration fleets in the galaxy, but few had a sky that one could fly in. Even on colonized planets, it was rare to find such a beautiful “sky.” Thus, the fact that they could hold an air show within its atmosphere was appealing in and of itself.

Flying so close that they could easily touch, the VF-19 ACTIVE and Hakuna’s VF-1 flew side-by-side. The skill with which he flew his outdated VF-1, keeping up with the VF-19, was more than enough justification for Hakuna’s “Emperor” title.

“Hey… do we really have a photoshoot after this?”

“Like I keep telling you, yes. That’s the contract. Isn’t that why they put some extra speaker units on your plane to blast their commercial jingle?”

They both did a half-turn. At a distance where their canopies nearly brushed against one another, the two planes trailed smoke and performed a barrel roll. Tracing a spiraled arc through the light, they made a steep climb. The fact that they retained enough composure to exchange words during this was proof of their excellence as pilots.

“You mean these things attached to my missile launchers…? They’re just dead weight, so I’m not very thrilled about it…”

“The Prez said you’re supposed to keep them on during the race and play it loudly during the wing performance if we win. The wishes of sponsors’ve been following the free flights of adventurous aviators since the days of the Wright brothers.”

“Like how they say Charles Lindbergh’s greatest struggle wasn’t flying itself, but finding sponsors?”

“Yep. In the end, Lindbergh was drafted into intelligence operations against Germany. For humans, escaping gravity costs money. That’s the pure, unvarnished truth of our culture.”

With that, Hakuna snapped his fingers.

That was the signal.

Their two Valkyries almost grazed the ceiling as they transformed into Battroid Mode, plunged into a freefall, and—holding hands—transformed into GERWALK Mode just as they touched down. Thunderous applause rang out from the crowd.

The feeling of it wasn’t so bad.

✥✥✥

“Ohhohohoho! If it isn’t Chelsea Scarlett! When did you shift careers to become some sort of novelty act!?”

Her crimson hair flowing in the wind, a girl with an air of arrogance about her appeared. Her slender white finger was thrust into Chelsea’s face.

Chelsea couldn’t help wondering why Lena was at this photoshoot to begin with, but it took about three seconds to remember that before she and Hakuna performed their exhibition, the SV-52—the so-called Phantom Valkyrie—had put on its own spectacular, high-profile demonstration. There wasn’t an aviation fan out there who’d willingly miss a chance to see the SV-52, which only saw limited use during the First Unification War.

Though, she couldn’t quite understand whether Lena’s motivations—which brought her so far as to attend this photoshoot just to show off—stemmed from her feelings about Earth or from something else entirely.

“Lena Zielonaska! Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to point and laugh at people!?”

“If I can’t laugh at this, then what can I laugh at!? Ah, how funny! At this rate, the idea that you could ever win back your honor from me is no more than a distant dream!”

Chelsea’s head instinctively twisted in wonder. The Frontier fleet was vast, but was there truly anyone else who would give a pompous laugh like some corporate heiress in this era other than Lena Zielonaska? It was like she had gone so far beyond being a stereotype that she herself was a cultural relic.

“Don’t try to trip me up! What are you talking about!? When did I ever lose to you!? And another thing! What the hell are you wearing!? Weren’t you the one going on and on about some noble, aristocratic pride!?”

Pointing at Lena’s silver armor, Chelsea raised her voice.

“What a silly question.”

With a swish, the lady swept her long, flame-colored hair back.

“When Hakuna tells me that you stand here in a maid uniform, would it not be my duty to come and outdo you?”

“...W-Well, that’s not…”

Lena seemed to be caught in some nonsensical delusion, but when the words left her mouth, it somehow felt legitimate. That was the amount of conviction in her eyes and voice.

“For the record, the traditions of Poland’s armor industry date back thousands of years! When it comes to forging steel into elegant—yet practical—styles, my people are the crown jewel of Central Europe…!”

“Stop! Why is Hakuna telling you any of this in the first place!?”

Normally, she would’ve preferred to confront him directly, but Hakuna was far off in the distance, putting the finishing touches on his VF-1 with Takeru. Pushing her way through the crowd to reach him would’ve been far too much trouble.

“It’s only natural! Hakuna and I are close personal friends. You believe that just because you’ve stumbled into the world of Vanquish, you can just waltz into an established social circle? Typical Zentradi thinking!”

“What does being Zentradi have to do with anything!?”

“My, my…”

Lena’s eyes narrowed, peering into Chelsea’s. A touch of sincerity crept into her tone.

“To keep winning at everything—never shying away from a challenge, clearly stating anything we wish to say. That is the pride of us Poles. If you can’t find your worldview—”

“Worldview?”

“Yes. Who you are, where you come from, where you wish to go. If you can’t figure even these things out, I cannot permit you to stand at Hakuna’s side—”

Lena struck sexy poses for the fans surrounding the designated photo area. She was not turned toward Chelsea. Rather, her eyes gazed off into the distance.

Who I am, where I come from, where I wish to go…

A cool wind blew through her heart.

Something that she’d almost forgotten threatened to awaken from the depths of her memory. She slammed the door shut in fear.

✥✥✥

“Hey, pops. You’re seriously planning to fly in this piece of junk?”

Takeru, who had practically been glued to the VF-1 during the last bits of fine tuning, had an uncharacteristically age-appropriate look of concern on his face.

“This thing’s been running on fumes since I left the military. As you can clearly tell, it’s beginning to fall apart. I do know that it’s causing trouble for you and the Colonel.”

“You’re underselling it like crazy. Seriously, you’re really planning to take on Berthier in this? And not just Berthier, either. Brauhitsch’s VF-19, Angeloni’s VF-171, this whole place is full of AVF-class fighters. You’re really gonna charge in there with a machine like this?”

“—Well, back in the day, this and that happened…”

With a wry smile, Hakuna looked up at the sky. Even if it was artificial, it was still the sky.

“And I ran away from the military, taking this thing as my severance pay. Kinda like you.”

“Like me…?”

“At first, I was gonna run a transport service around the Frontier. But then, one day, I saw Berthier flying and the idea hit me. Which of us is faster? I wondered.”

“That’s why you became a Vanquish racer!?”

“Hey now…”

His white teeth flashed a grin. The face of a troublemaker caught napping in the schoolyard while playing hooky.

“It’d be impure to become a Vanquish racer for any other reason. Beating a guy like Berthier in a VF-1? In the oldest Valkyrie there is? That’ll show me something.”

“Show you something? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hey, how’d you know my engine bearings were messed up?”

“How am I supposed to explain something like that? You just know it when you see it. Only a dummy with glass marbles for eyes would miss it.”

“Exactly. In the end, what I see when I chase after Berthier is somethin’ only I can see. Anyway, that was just what I needed, so I wanna repay him for it. That’s all.”

“Repay him for it?”

“Huh? Yeah, it’s simple.”

Putting on his helmet, the man gave a thumbs up.

“I’m gonna take the Tyrant’s crown.”

✥✥✥

The cockpit of a VF-1 is cramped. Military cockpits generally are, the most major exception being the Anti-UN Forces’ Su-34 fighter-bombers, which were equipped with a kitchen, a toilet, and a sleeping area for use during ultra-long-range missions.

The VF-1’s cockpit, in particular, was designed during a transition phase of transformation technology, making it especially cramped. If the cockpit was closed in Battroid mode, it could be so tight that a claustrophobic person would barely be able to stand it.

And yet, as they all lined up on the runway to wait for the race to begin, Hakuna felt like no other space could’ve sharpened his senses the way this one did.

At the very front of the runway was Berthier’s VF-9, which was painted a bright yellow. Following close behind it were a whole line-up of formidable planes, including Brauhitsch’s VF-19 and Lena’s SV-52. Chelsea’s VF-19 ACTIVE, still covered in a thick layer of decals, was positioned just slightly behind the VF-1.

The countdown signal began.

Like a receding tide, the surrounding commotion faded away.

His engine nozzles narrowed. Crimson flames began to propel his machine. As if it was tucking that thrust away in storage, the plane’s braked landing gear tilted it forward. Souls took residence in these things that were once mere masses of metal.

His ailerons fluttered, signaling that they were ready. His wings fluttered as if they were alive, as if they sensed the wind.

The count reached zero.

His throttle opened wide.

Thermonuclear burst jets propelled the ten-ton aircraft forward with tremendous force. Its frame let out a satisfying groan and he felt a tingling sensation running from his lower back up his spine.

All of the planes pitched their noses up, maneuvering their vectoring nozzles as they fluttered against one another like a flock of birds. They each strove to gain the upper hand and secure the highest vantage point.

The festival had begun.

✥✥✥

Each plane began its climb, racing to be the first to gain altitude.

Immediately, they took a left turn, as if twisting back to make up the necessary laps.

The Reno Cup got off to a turbulent start.

Held without any qualifying rounds with only teams who took strong placements in previous races, the event lacked the initial culling that conventional Vanquish races had. As a result, the top contenders converged in the Environment Ship’s narrow airspace the moment the race began. It was a dead heat.

Right at Hakuna’s side—so close that it almost touched the VF-1’s wings—a plane shot by, spewing flames as it went. It probably wouldn’t explode, but a bailout was likely unavoidable.

“What the!? Who crashed!? Did you see it, Chelsea!?”

He showed no sign of slowing down. Crashes were par for the course in Vanquish, so he didn’t have any interest in worrying about it. With the slightest of maneuvers, the VF-1 dodged the flaming craft.

“...It was Imran Bangani’s VF-4! Berthier set him up. I think he crashed into the repulsive field above us…”

Chelsea’s voice replied. She’d pulled slightly ahead, positioning herself to mark Berthier.

“A technical kill right off the bat…!? You’re really somethin’ else, Tyrant.”

Hakuna desperately suppressed the heat that rose through his body, the tension in his fist as he gripped the control stick. He had to stay reasonable.

“Not yet…! Don’t make your move right away…! Pace yourself! The winner of this race is the person who takes a checkered flag at the end, Hakuna!”

His body, trembling from the G-forces bearing down on him, had a rush of adrenaline burning through it. Even if he didn’t know the specifics, the fact that Imran had crashed meant that Berthier had taken control of the race’s pace.

Everyone was gunning to take the Tyrant’s crown. No matter their speed, strength, or sharpness, everyone was forced to keep Berthier at the front of their minds. And so, all Berthier needed to do was crush any challenger who dared to approach him.

Of course, if someone emerged and took Berthier down, that person would take the role as dictator of the race’s pace. When should they make their move? Or should they be crushing whoever challenges him as well?

On a level beyond that of a typical race, a tension clung to the skin of every participant as their Valkyries passed through the aurora of the pinpoint barrier gate.

✥✥✥

By the time they were in outer space, five racers had already been eliminated. Like moths drawn to a flame, each fierce competitor who challenged Berthier was forced off of the course or sent crashing down.

No wonder, Chelsea thought. Berthier’s flame was simply too dazzling. The slender silhouette of his VF-9 Cutlass was like a golden inferno.

Even she had found herself wanting to challenge those wings of his countless times. That was the overwhelming power of the Tyrant’s flight. It had the power to dominate the will of all who saw it. That was why Chelsea had swapped positions with Hakuna to hold off pursuit of him.

I recognize this power… What was it…? It wasn’t in the military…

A tingle of anxiety burned behind her.

In the lead were Berthier, Brauhitsch, and Hakuna. Trailing slightly behind was Berthier’s partner—Anthony Clemens—followed by Lena and Chelsea.

Hakuna and Brauhitsch were right on Berthier’s tail.

From what I heard back in the Environment Ship, his VF-1’s engine sounds really clear… The kid must have worked really hard on the maintenance, huh?

‘The kid,’ Takeru, had done a good job. Chelsea believed that, even if his work stemmed from a desperation born out of having nowhere else to go, the sincerity in his soul shone through.

The course set out for them in space was far narrower than it appeared. If a pilot strayed off course, they’d have to burn a large amount of propellant to correct their trajectory, effectively dropping them out of the race.

It was like flying through an invisible tube. Pilots were forced to maintain a three-dimensional awareness of their own plane, as well as the pinpoint positions of the other ships around them and the walls.

Without the “down” defined by gravity, one wrong move could rob one of their bearings and send them hurtling into the depths of space. The race was far more dangerous than its appearance let on. Flying on a specific course in space was more difficult than trying to resurface after being spun around in the pitch-black depths of the ocean by looking for the light of a buoy.

There was movement in the lead.

It was Oscar Brauhitsch’s VF-19A Excalibur. A domestic model, a silver plane fine-tuned for racing, accelerated, trying to overtake Berthier. The burst of speed felt typical of his attitude of sheer determination.

The move spurred other racers into action. Lena followed suit; Clemens’ VF-11 moved to block her. Chelsea activated her high-maneuver winglets, drawing distance from the two and waiting for an opening to appear.

Brauhitsch’s thermonuclear burst engine roared. Full power. For a split second, he had certainly overtaken him.

Immediately afterward, Chelsea saw a scene that she never could’ve anticipated.

Brauhitsch suddenly drew distance, as if he were repelled.

She didn’t know why it happened. But something must’ve spurred Brauhitsch to the decision.

Of course, it was still a very small opening. Berthier twisted his plane into that space. The VF-9 Cutlass was a Valkyrie with incredibly smooth, forward-swept wings.

He didn’t seem to have even the slightest intention of letting him pass.

An impenetrable wall. There was no other way to describe it.

Brauhitsch’s plane drifted away; Hakuna slipped into its position. His formation wasn’t disrupted.

Chelsea accelerated slightly. The group behind her had also begun to move, following Brauhitsch’s lead. If she fell behind now, she wouldn’t be able to keep up with Hakuna.

“You’re as slow as ever, Zentra Girl! I guess you don’t have the guts to chase after the Tyrant!”

Lena’s SV-52. Unlike before, she’d equipped the space-use Super Pack to her wings in this race, giving her a boost in acceleration. Apparently, even with her overconfidence, she’d had high hopes for today’s bout.

Just let her talk, Chelsea thought. As she was about to accelerate, Chelsea tried desperately to hold back. The airspace was too narrow. If Lena, Clemens, and herself got into a brawl, the chances of a crash were too high. That was before factoring in that Lena was reckless enough to excel at those kinds of collisions.

Watch out, watch out.

“...You go on ahead, Lena! I’ll bring you some apple pie later!”

“Don’t try to be cute! Geez!”

Leaving that parting shot behind, Lena’s Super Pack ignited. Spewing flames from both wings, the ferocity of her four-engine fighter was bearing down on Clemens.

She’s good!

The maneuver impressed Chelsea. In one swift move, she had overtaken Clemens’ VF-11 and passed Brauhitsch.

It was a bold, courageous charge. It brought to mind memories of a knight charging forward with a lance in some old movie. An ordinary pilot may have thought of the move, but probably would’ve been too afraid to actually attempt it. The way she assessed where in the airspace she could fully utilize her pack’s acceleration to launch into the charge was truly impressive.

The SV-52 Oryol’s mass and size were nearly double that of the VF-9 Cutlass. If she unleashed that energy, she could blow the Cutlass all the way to the edge of the course. With the kind of power output the VF-9 had, it shouldn’t have been able to deploy a pinpoint barrier while in fighter mode.

That said, if he tried to evade the SV-52, he’d lose a significant amount of kinetic energy and end up being left in the dust. Once the SV-52 reached its top speed, the lightweight VF-9 couldn’t hope to keep up with its massive thrust.

Just as Chelsea thought the race would turn into another battle between her and Lena…

Without changing course, the VF-9 flipped itself upside down, exposing its underbelly to the SV-52.

!!

The SV-52 was forced to change course. It made a sudden, steep climb, veering dramatically off of her track. Just as she was about to be sent off-course, she jettisoned her Super Pack to avoid the collision.

Chelsea could hear boos directed at Lena’s sudden change in course over the radio broadcast of the race.

“No…!”

Only Chelsea understood. It was a large laser mounted beneath the VF-9’s nose that had forced the SV-52 to evade.

Of course, there was no way a Vanquish Valkyrie would be equipped with an actual combat weapon. It was probably just a laser communicator for reconnaissance, or just there as decoration. Nobody would be fooled by such a thing. Surely…

Just now, the VF-9 was in position to shoot down the SV-52…! Lena didn’t fall behind! She was forced into this position!

It was proof that Berthier was a pilot of extraordinary talent. He was capable of exerting enough pressure to install a fear of death even in a girl as fiercely competitive as her, even though it was nothing more than a decorative laser cannon.

Chelsea guessed that Brauhitsch had cleared the way for the same reason. In the world of the absolute elite, unbelievable things happened. She knew that all too well. She once belonged to exactly that kind of world.

The real battle starts once we enter the flag area… okay, okay!!

The Reno Cup’s flag area was a simulated urban area built outside of the city limits, designed specifically for Vanquish combat. There, she should be able to make full use of the area to fight. For now, all she could do was build up her strategy step by step, starting with the things she was currently capable of.

✥✥✥

Berthier’s maneuvers upon entering the flag area were bordering on the divine. In the blink of an eye, he had picked up a supposedly randomly placed gunpod and began silencing his pursuers one after the next.

Rosa Adley Angeloni’s VF-171 went into a spectacular spin, crashed into a building and came to a complete stop after being struck at the base of its variable wings by an EMP shock round. 

Hakuna’s VF-1 was barely managing to keep up with Berthier.

It wasn’t the difference in the output of their machines. In terms of engine output and the top speeds they could pull off, the VF-1 actually had a leg up. They had nearly equivalent maneuverability. The VF-9’s primary advantage was in acceleration and GERWALK performance.

But Berthier’s skill was terrifying. Not only in the pressure he’d exerted when defeating Lena and Brauhitsch, but also his undeniable technique which gave him the power to outmaneuver every Valkyrie that lined up against him.

“Haha… not bad at all!”

He deliberately dove into Berthier’s fire to evade it. If he’d hesitated, the bullets would’ve struck him where he stood.

Bullets you can see won’t hit you. It’s the ones you can’t see that strike you head-on, so the best move is to charge straight into the fire.

Hakuna could feel his adrenaline surging. If he were to tell the truth, neither alcohol, drugs, nor even women, could have given him as much pleasure as he felt at that moment. Gender, race, wealth, poverty, none of it mattered. All that existed was the sky and their skills. All he wanted to know was which of them was stronger.

Chasing after the man he’d admired and aspired to be like for so long, Hakuna was happy.

✥✥✥

Having found one of the flags, the Valkyries fought a fierce battle to seize it. Even knowing its location, none were foolish enough to dive in and grab it. They knew that they would be struck by a barrage of gunfire from behind the instant they tried.

Conversely, any advantage they could establish depended entirely on the first half of the race. That was why the Vanquish was neither a simple air race nor a Battroid wrestling match.

In the middle of all of this, Chelsea stood alone on the field, devoting herself entirely to assisting her teammate, preventing any more pursuing Valkyries from entering the fray. Of course, that didn’t mean she wasn’t ready to dash away the moment she spotted another flag.

Clemens’ VF-11 sent a punch charging toward her, which the Nothung sent gliding aside like a wind sprite with a graceful parry.

Battroids were not humanoid. They were bona-fide aircraft with wings extending from their lower body for aerodynamic control. The maneuverability that using these wings as thrusters gave the Nothung in close-quarters combat—a literal fistfight, in this case—was Chelsea’s greatest and most effective weapon as someone who was unable to fire a gun.

The VF-11, having been parried and sent off course, was struck by gunfire from above and sent slamming into the wall. It was only a shock round, so it wouldn’t be destroyed, but it was clear that it wouldn’t be able to get back up for quite a while.

“What the…!?”

Of course, Chelsea hadn’t fired the shot. Clearly, it was another Valkyrie. Before she even had time to think, she was diverting her unit’s power to its pinpoint barrier and shifting the shield upward.

A barrage of shock rounds rained down through the glass of the buildings and into the Nothung’s shield. Shards of shattered glass scratched the decals plastered all over her Valkyrie.

“The SV-52! Lena!”

Huge wings seemed to spill out of the cityscape. GERWALK legs extended out from them, diving down like a hawk targeting a rabbit on the ground.

The SV-52’s wings were designed with numerous small surfaces, like a bird’s feathers, to control aerodynamics. This enabled not only supersonic flight but also flight in low-altitude. In particular, it allowed for precise maneuvering in GERWALK Mode. Using her massive wings to force a rough brawl was Lena’s specialty.

But Chelsea Scarlett was no rabbit.

She transformed from Battroid to GERWALK Mode, shifting her weight with one smooth motion. Making use of the kinetic energy from Lena’s charge, she swept the SV-52’s legs out from beneath it, sending it flying.

“Do you have to fight so rough every time!?”

“Zentra Girl…!!”

But, that was as far as it went.

If she had a gunpod, she could’ve finished off the SV-52 then and there. Though, even if she did have one, Chelsea wouldn’t have been able to fire anyway.

The SV-52 regained its composure, unleashed a barrage from its gunpod, then pulled back to draw distance.

“You’ll regret not shooting me down! I keep telling you! If you won’t amount to anything, then just lay down and give up!”

“As if I’d… ever do that!!”

Deflecting the gunfire with a pinpoint barrier shield, Chelsea retreated into the shadow of a building in GERWALK Mode.

✥✥✥

Shockwaves shattered one glass window after another.

The battle had become an intense GERWALK duel.

In the cockpit of the Double Plus—the VF-1++, Hakuna felt intense negative G-forces grind his molars to dust. A rush of blood blurred his vision as he scanned for his opponent.

His radar was completely blocked by jammers installed throughout the city module.

Well, this clunky old radar wouldn’t have been any good against a state-of-the-art stealth plane anyways…!

He had only one target to pursue, the shadow of the Tyrant Berthier!

—Or, that was what he would’ve liked to think. Berthier wasn’t the only one swarming the flag area, though. In reality, Hakuna’s head and eyes were darting back and forth relentlessly to track every moving target.

Even if they were in a makeshift town built solely for Vanquish battles, its sheer size was extraordinary.

“—Chelsea, how’s it goin’ over there?”

“Hm, well, fine, I guess—Aside from this damn paintjob and costume.”

Apparently she was still bitter about having to wear an outfit that was practically a swimsuit and having sponsor stickers plastered all over her plane. Her voice sounding different from usual over the comms wasn’t just distortion from the jammers.

She’s got more pride than she realizes…

“A VF-4 locked onto me, but I shook it off. By the way it’s moving, I don’t think it found a flag.”

“Gotcha.”

Incoming gunfire. From above, diagonally and to the left. Hakuna used the high-mobility nozzles on the VF-1’s legs to dodge with a slalom maneuver. The bullets instead shattered the glass of a building, sending sparks flying all over.

That was too careless. It couldn’t be Berthier or Brauhitsch.

Aside from high-end models with a transparent cockpit display like the VF-19 series, the underside tended to be a blind spot in GERWALK Mode. Unless a pilot had implants, they couldn’t fight while looking up at their opponent’s rear. Thus, even if this wasn’t the case in Battroid Mode, flying higher than your opponent wasn’t always an advantage in GERWALK combat.

As easily as plucking a sugar cube from a bowl, Hakuna’s plane lightly ascended. It silenced the VF-3000 Crusader with a flashy paintjob by unleashing a burst of shock rounds at its left leg.

It all happened in under two seconds.

“Roger that. Keep up the surveillance.”

“Okay, okay. Also, just now—”

“!!”

In an instant, like a slash at Hakuna’s back, a bloodlust swept over him.

Faster than he could think, he hid his machine behind a building. A shock round tore through the space where Hakuna had just been.

“Berthier’s here! No time to chat!”

He hadn’t actually seen him. He hadn’t even caught sight of his shadow. But he knew. This was Nicolas Berthier, the Tyrant. Nobody else could’ve radiated such intense bloodlust. Even during his time in the military, he’d never felt a pressure so excruciating.

Sensing that he’d been spotted, Hakuna’s reaction was swift.

Adorned with white patterns, his Double Plus burst out from the shadow of a building and soared toward the gunfire.

✥✥✥

“I see! He’s a man of bold resolve, but still too naive!”

From the cockpit of his VF-9 Cutlass, Nicolas Berthier laughed like a shark.

It was a slender machine.

At first glance, its forward-swept wings looked like a VF-19’s. The frame itself was small, though; nearly the same size as the VF-1.

Even in GERWALK Mode, its most defining characteristic was the pair of high-maneuver nozzle-equipped thruster units that protruded from the rear of its fuselage. The design gave it acceleration well-suited for urban combat.

“If you ran away like a little fox, I would’ve punished you.”

Undeterred by the gunfire, Hakuna’s VF-1 closed in.

His maneuvering was sharp. Without hesitation, without pause.

The VF-9’s muzzle locked onto his cockpit.

Berthier was projecting his “intent.”

In the ancient Japanese Nikaidou Heihou school of martial arts, the technique was called Shin no Ippou (Singular Heart). It wasn’t some dubious psychic ability, though. It simply infused “intent” into every single movement, making it appear as if the user was actually performing a different action in order to mislead their opponent.

One could call it a feint, but Berthier was loath to let it be perceived as such.

All paths are open for the Tyrant.

His ego was haughty, but it was that very ego which could accomplish it.

Thus, it came to pass.

With the mere pointing of a muzzle, Hakuna’s VF-1 began climbing as an evasive maneuver.

Had he actually fired a shot, the maneuver would’ve caused him to be struck by a volley from the VF-9 above.

But—

Berthier’s muzzle was now pressed against Hakuna’s defenseless belly, after it had dodged the deliberately “feigned” shot—!

✥✥✥

A shock round pierced his machine.

“Ghuoohhh!!”

An electromagnetic pulse burst coursed through his machine, pressing Hakuna’s body against his G-resistant seat.

Berthier’s shot was incomparably precise.

His vertical stabilizer was shattered; a spectacular crack opened in his canopy. His forcibly retrofitted fold sensor unit burst into brilliant flames at the end of his cockpit.

Had he not instantly diverted all power to his energy-conversion armor and activated an EMP fail-safe, his machine would’ve come to a complete stop.

Sparks engulfed the craft. He could hear the screams of the bloodthirsty crowd like a gladiator hearing the nobles in a roman colosseum.

“Hakuna! I’ll be right there!”

It was Chelsea. If not for her voice, he might’ve succumbed to his body’s plea for rest.

“No! Stay away!”

“Don’t you have faith in me!?”

“That’s not it! This guy is just…!”

The final blow.

With a desperate transformation into Battroid Mode, he rolled over and dove into the shadow of cover.

Where’s he coming from!?

He felt a powerful presence through the wall of the building.

Instinctively, a warning signal shot up his spine from his lower back. The same kind of bloodlust he’d felt countless times in his military days, unlike the youthful fighting instinct Lena had. It was the real thing, the aura of someone with true intent to kill.

From the upper left.

With the mirror building behind, he retreated to evade.

A while Valkyrie was reflected on the mirror wall. Beside it was the silhouette of a VF-9.

No.

Not a reflection.

“Berthier…!”

What looked like a reflection was the actual VF-9 in Battroid Mode, appearing after piercing the mirror building with energy conversion armor. The distinctive silhouette, with its wings retracted into its frame. A pinpoint barrier tackle targeting the laser turret on the VF-1’s right shoulder blew its left arm off.

“...The bloodlust is still coming from somewhere else…!”

“You’ve got skill, Hakuna.”

“Berthier!?”

He was surprised that the Tyrant would be reckless enough to initiate communications at such a close range, especially considering the circumstances.

“I never thought you’d acknowledge me.”

“I never underestimate an opponent, no matter how weak. I know the name and flying style of anyone who challenges me, inside and out. That’s what it means to soar to the pinnacle.”

“I see…! I’m honored!”

He didn’t go as far as to tell him that he’d been sharpening his fangs for the sole purpose of defeating him. He believed that that was the sort of thing that should have been demonstrated through his flying.

✥✥✥

If things go on like this, Hakuna won’t win.

That was Chelsea’s cold calculation.

There was a decisive difference between Hakuna’s flying technique and Berthier’s raw skill.

Chelsea was familiar with Berthier’s technique—or rather, his “intent.”

No, it could be said that everyone in the entertainment industry was familiar with it.

The charisma to dominate the stage and direct a performance exactly as one chooses. Only those who can maintain control of that can hope to be stars. Sheryl Nome, Ranzou Saotome and Nekki Basara. It was the charisma—the absolute power—possessed by people like them.

Of course, Chelsea still respected Berthier’s extraordinary ability to use such a thing as a feint technique in combat, but she knew good and well that it wasn’t a superpower by any means. It was a legitimate technique that took advantage of human senses.

So, Chelsea! What do we do, Chelsea Scarlett!?

Was there a way to break through it?

No. Berthier’s “intent” was so strong that even the highly advanced skills that Hakuna had acquired found it difficult to overcome.

That was the truth.

So, would she just give up?

Would she run away again?

Some would argue that it’d be fine if she did. Her contract was strictly to support Hakuna as an amateur, after all. She wasn’t paid to go any further, nor was she expected to.

But that was only the objective truth. In her subjective world, things were different.

Hakuna is the man who touched my heart.

As a maiden, that made her happy.

She felt that, even if in a small way, he had saved her.

So now, it was her turn to return the favor. She had to.

But how would she do it…?

In real war, she had options. Beams, missiles, etc.

But this was the Vanquish. Her goal wasn’t to shoot him down. She just needed to create an opening, one instant, even. Just long enough for Hakuna to stage a counterattack.

How would she do it…? Basara’s cry flashed in her mind.

“The beating of a passionate heart, that’s what singing is!”

That’s right.

And so, she would do what came to her.

Never thought I’d end up thanking the Prez at a time like this…!

Chelsea deployed her optional unit and soared into the sky in Battroid mode.

Toward the distant sky.

The Nothung rode the wind, trailing flames behind it.

✥✥✥

“Tch… let me see you put your back into it, Double Plus!!”

Warning messages were displayed all around him. Alarms blared, urging him to evacuate. The modifications he’d made to his VF-1, including cramming a small thermonuclear engine originally designed for an unmanned fighter into it, were already bordering on illegal. The energy capacitor was operating beyond its limits; the heat dissipation from the energy-conversion armor could no longer keep up. The cockpit was beginning to feel like a sauna.

A straight path to the flag lay ahead of him, but Berthier’s shots were precise. Hakuna just couldn’t gain the upper hand when faced with attacks executed with such masterful precision. It was like running a marathon with his legs tied together.

Despite this, Hakuna’s exceptional concentration allowed him to keep deflecting the VF-9’s attacks to the very end, preventing each blow from being a fatal one.

Two GERWALK units were locked in an endless stalemate.

If they transformed into Fighter Mode, they’d be easy targets for snipers. If they transformed into Battroid Mode to build up their energy-conversion armor, they’d fall behind and never catch up.

Is it over…!?

But just as Hakuna’s concentration was about to snap…

…A song reached his ears.

Soba ni itai no  anata no soba ni

(I wanna be right by your side)

Hiroi ginga  deatta koto wa  shukumei nankajanai

(In this vast galaxy, our meeting wasn’t brought by destiny)

Kikoe kikitai  anata no koe wo

(I wanna hear your voice)

Kakusansuru Ain Soph Aur

(Your expanding Ain Soph Aur)

Soko nihanai kedo  tashikani arumono

(Something that is not here, yet certainly is)

“Chelsea!?”

She was singing.

It was certainly Chelsea Scarlett’s song.

She was singing into a mic and out through the speakers attached to the Nothung’s legs. The sound quality wasn’t great. She had no accompaniment. But the power of her song overcame all of that.

There was a certain radiance to it.

Everyone looked at her. Whether it was with goodwill or malice, praise or condemnation, they had no choice but to look at Chelsea.

It was a flower blooming on the battlefield; a delicate, yet undeniable blossom.

A song was resonating. A song that thought of someone, cared for them and had faith in them. Even Lena, who was in prime position to shoot her down. Even Brauhitsch, who should have been chasing after Berthier. Everyone found themselves listening to the song. That was the power it had.

It told them something.

That there were still beautiful things in this world.

That, regardless of mankind’s sins, they truly did exist.

And that her song was real.

For just a moment, it swallowed up Berthier’s “intent.”

A moment was enough.

“There it is!!”

In one swift motion, he pushed the throttle in his left hand past its limit. He didn’t care if it made the engine seize up. Even if it exploded a moment later, so be it. Better that than to regret not having pushed it at all.

He opened the Super Pack acceleration boosters mounted on each of the Double Plus’ legs to full throttle. He’d been saving them. He was sent soaring upward and backward. With the high-mobility nozzles opened wide, he swung his legs slightly to the left, which made the whole unit slide. The joints had already reached their limit. Sparks flew from them.

G-forces rocked Hakuna’s entire body, threatening to tear apart his bones, flesh and internal organs. If it weren’t for the anti-G seat stimulating his chakra, his body would have been literally—not figuratively—torn apart.

But what did that matter?

He extended both legs and, riding the momentum, transformed into a fighter in an almost upright posture. Trailing the flames of a thermonuclear burst behind like the tail of a comet, the Double Plus soared!

Unmei shimeshite horoscope

(The horoscope points to our destiny)

Ohitsuji kara kakeagatte  sakana no shimesu  ano sora he

(Racing up from Aries, guided by Pisces, toward the sky)

Ginga yo kakete  kaleidoscope

(Racing through the galaxy, a kaleidoscope)

Anata to deaeta sono koto ga  naniyori no kiseki dakara

Chelsea’s will dominated the field.

Mysteriously, the once-unstable engine’s output had stabilized. The reactor’s Fold Coal reaction was approaching normal levels. The energy-conversion armor, well past its limit, still functioned.

“Well done, Chelsea Scarlett.”

A somersault directly above Berthier.

He had him.

It was no illusion.

Transforming from Fighter Mode to Battroid Mode, using air brakes to slow down, stabilizing himself with his thrusters. He took aim with his gunpod.

Despite his sudden burst of acceleration to evade, a hail of bullets, falling like a clap of thunderous lightning, rained down upon the Tyrant.

Surely, it exploded against his rear auxiliary thrusters—!

The Tyrant had been brought down.

“Yaaahoooo!!!”

Inside his machine, pushed past its limits and sputtering to a halt, Hakuna let out a triumphant cry.

This was probably the first time. The first since the day he’d left the military.

He took off.

On his rear-view monitor, Berthier appeared, in pursuit. Of course. A barrage like that wouldn’t break his spirit.

Now…

Now, all that was left was to run. To trust Chelsea to watch his back. That was it!

Now in GERWALK Mode, his VF-1 raced toward the flag like a bolt of lightning.

Its acceleration boosters couldn’t withstand the strain; exhaust spewed from them. They came from a VF-11’s Super Pack that he’d forcibly strapped to his VF-1, so there wasn’t much he could’ve done to avoid it.

“Who cares!?”

He pulled an emergency lever to jettison the boosters. At almost the same time, the booster exploded spectacularly in midair, blowing the windows off of a building.

The screams of the crowd, the roar of the engines, the howl of the wind, and Chelsea’s song all flowed together, mingling as a single massive orchestra.

✥✥✥

“Why—”

“Hm?”

At Katori’s side, Takeru stared at the monitor.

He watched as the screen showed the VF-1’s white wings racing toward the flag while under fire, with Berthier’s VF-9 in hot pursuit. On another monitor, he could see Chelsea’s blue wings, being chased by Lena and “The Guardian” Clemens.

“Why are they both taking this so seriously? It’s just a game, right?”

“Sure, it’s a game. But listen close, kid.”

Her eyes not straying from the monitor, Katori ruffled Takeru’s hair.

“Don’t you think this is a healthier thing to take seriously than killing?”

✥✥✥

In the end—

Gathered before the flag, in their final skirmish, Chelsea managed to outmaneuver Brauhitsch, but was flashed out by a sniper shot from Clemens. She didn’t make it to the podium. Apparently, he really did have what it took to be called “The Guardian.” Though, that was a natural course for someone who stepped out from cover to sing on the battlefield.

None of that mattered, though.

Seeing Hakuna, the “Uncrowned Emperor,” standing on the podium, she felt that the struggle had hardly happened at all.

She was surprised to see that Berthier, whose flag was snatched right out from under him, still finished in second place. She had to give him props for that. Even if his plans were thwarted, he was still the Tyrant. It was also thanks to the skill of the "Guardian", Anthony Clemens, who had intercepted Brauhitsch to secure Berthier’s flag and keep nearly all of their rivals at bay.

In third place was Lena Zielonaska.

She had overwhelmed her opponents with unrelenting roughness, then made a perfectly timed burst into the flag area. Her skill in making it onto the podium with no teammate to support her was truly impressive.

Anthony Clemens and Brauhitsch ended up taking each other down. Brauhitsch launched a surprise attack on Berthier, which Clemens thwarted. Brauhitsch’s teammate was also defeated by Lena, making for a dismal end of the season. Though, his expression was still surprisingly composed, all things considered. It was the face of a man who’d poured all of his adrenaline and mental fortitude into his wings. A face free of regret.

Watching those heroes douse themselves in champagne, Chelsea felt a strange elation.

I wonder how I was able to sing…?

But when she tried again, her voice wouldn’t leave her throat.

Ah, I guess I really am Meltrandi after all.

✥✥✥

In the depths of the galaxy.

Someone peered at a monitor.

“...Sophia Spiritia detected.”

“Are you sure, Naresuan?”

“Without a doubt. It is about to begin—our Annuufuhn Braidee.”

The man’s voice carried with it the sort of deep conviction and confidence in victory that only those who believe their fight is just possess.

His voice was another will, one which sought to swallow the galaxy whole.

The Earth Unification War. The final conflict between Earthlings came to an abrupt end when an alien race known as the Zentradi intervened. Mankind was unified under the New United Nations Government, and an age of hope and galactic exploration had dawned. There was a terribly long ceasefire, so long that everyone forgot that there had ever been a war. But, the past suddenly awoke from the depths of darkness.

After the qualifiers, the VF-19ACTIVE Nothung was brought to a maintenance hangar on Island Reno. It was rich with the smell of machine oil and burning metal, along with the distinctive scent of a place filled with the hustle and bustle of people.

“You sure put on a show.”

One of Hakuna’s investors, a woman with chocolate-colored skin named Katori Brown Robbins, looked at the Nothung and let out a sigh.

With that as her first remark, Chelsea thought:

Ah, she must be pretty strict.

“Doesn’t look broken to me, Colonel.”

Chelsea had shrunk back, but Hakuna was tilting his head. The Nothung’s chassis was still in pristine condition, there was no sign that it had been damaged in their recent race whatsoever.

“Ah, no… um…”

“What is it, Chelsea?”

“It is broken. You just can’t see it, Hakuna. Any decent mechanic would be able to tell, even if they were twelve years old.”

She looked like she was in her early thirties. A strikingly rugged woman with a rhythmic gait. Her arms were muscular, giving her an appearance like a wild beast.

“You’re right, little lady.”

Katori stared into Chelsea’s eyes with intent.

Her eyes were sharp. They weren’t the eyes of a killer or a soldier. There was a different quality to them, like she had the sternness of an astronaut, but could lose her composure at even the slightest misstep.

“When I evaded Hakuna in the flag zone, there was a small irregularity in the noises the right-side engine was making. Putting it in tempo terms, it was a quarter of a beat off. Just a small staccato.”

“Ohh.”

Katori’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“One of the thermonuclear burst turbines on the right fin is starting to warp from the heat.”

“So it’s this thing?”

Hakuna peered into the engine nozzle on the Valkyrie’s leg.

“I swear on a coyote’s front paws, it just didn’t seem that way.”

“Then you’d better apologize to that coyote. By my estimate, it’s bent by 0.5 degrees. If you went for another reckless maneuver, I wouldn’t be shocked if it’d snapped off. Hakuna, you’re gonna keep being called the Uncrowned Emperor forever if you can’t pick up on things like these.”

Oddly, Hakuna didn’t argue with her. There seemed to be a deep bond of trust between them.

“—But, you’ve got a good eye, little lady.”

“Chelsea. First Lieutenant Chelsea Scarlett.”

“You can drop the rank. This isn’t the military.”

The woman, who had already been addressed as “Colonel,” made a sour face. But her voice was still gentle. In her tone, Chelsea could sense her love for technology and aircraft.

“Allow me to properly introduce myself. I’m Katori Brown Robbins, president and field manager of the civilian maintenance company, Robbins Family.”

“Are you ex-military?”

“Yes. From a survey fleet even more run-down than this one. Been flying since I was thirteen. Though, I was eight the first time I took a Valkyrie’s engine apart.”

“If you went fifty lightyears in any direction, you’d probably struggle to find more than five civilian mechanics better than you, Colonel.”

Saying that, Hakuna looked at the whole line-up of Valkyries in the Robbins Family’s massive hangar. It wasn’t just Hakuna’s VF-1 and Chelsea’s VF-19. There was a mix of older civilian models like the VF-3000 Crusader and the VF-5000 Star Mirage, as well as active-duty models like the VF-14 Vampire and the VF-17 Nightmare.

“I’ve worked on all of these. That VF-3000 over there, for example, has already outlived its usual active service life by over twenty years, but its owner is ready to die with it. Those are the kinds of machines we repair here.”

“...That’s… beautiful.”

That was Chelsea’s honest reaction.

It wasn’t a shiny, state-of-the-art factory by any means.

It was more like a warehouse, little more than an open space with nothing but a roof to shelter it from the elements. A world apart from the high-end, shimmering modules she was used to back at the S.M.S. The mechanics coming and going were much more rustic, to the point that it’d be more fitting to call them technicians than experts.

But even if it wasn't polished to mechanical perfection, there was a different kind of beauty to it. It was warm, like a concert performed by people who brought their own instruments and played together as they pleased.

“It’s stupid, really.”

Katori broke eye-contact with Chelsea and gave a wry smile. A smile that made her seem more embarrassed than uncomfortable.

“Stupid?”

“Yeah. If you just watch TV, you see that the latest and greatest in technology gets updated every week without fail. Complete with new commercial jingles. You can buy basically anything from the Galactic Network. Sure, you need money for it, but maintaining a vintage Valkyrie isn’t about the money. It takes effort, too. This good-for-nothing’s—”

The chief mechanic pointed her tanned finger at Hakuna, who was fiddling with the VF-1’s exposed engine block with a completely oblivious expression.

“—Hakuna’s VF-1 stopped being officially produced by its manufacturer over 40 years ago now. Of course, there are plenty of parts in circulation since they made so many to begin with, but if any parts are missing or don’t fit right, we have to make them by hand. Sometimes it even takes a year or two to find a replacement once it breaks.”

Katori laughed, alluding to an extreme example where they had to hire an explorer to dig up blueprints from pre-war ruins.

“So… they’re important?”

“That’s right. It’s about our passion. Just like art, once a technology becomes lost, it can’t be revived by ordinary means. For example…”

Maybe she’d taken a liking to Chelsea. Katori waved her over to a grease-stained, apparently handmade, titanium bench.

If she insisted. Chelsea was a bit out of her element in such an unfamiliar situation, but the soundscape of the place was soothing.

Glancing at the now-seated Chelsea with a look of slight satisfaction, Katori took a seat next to her and snapped her fingers. Like magic, one of the mechanics appeared to hand her a freshly brewed cup of coffee.

“For example, this knife.”

Katori drew a large knife with a blade over 30 centimeters long from its sheath, still holding her coffee in her other hand.

The blade had a pattern which shimmered and sparkled in different, equally non-uniform ways depending on how the light hit it. One could say it was like a marble pattern, but that wasn’t quite true. The blade’s mysterious beauty alone seemed capable of cutting through you.

“What’s this?”

“A Damascus blade. It’s made of steel forged over three hundred years ago, in an Earth nation called India. To be precise, it’s made of wootz steel.”

As she moved the knife’s blade ever so slightly, ripples of light shimmered from it and then faded away.

“It’s a specially forged steel with a rippled surface that they say doesn’t break, bend or rust. Whether that’s true or not, we don’t know how humans from all those centuries ago managed to create steel like this, with carbon nanotubes lining it at a molecular level. This baby is a rare survivor; it cost me quite a modest sum.”

“Because of Space War I?”

Chelsea’s voice got a little stiff.

Long ago, Chelsea’s ancestors had slaughtered many of Katori and Hakuna’s ancestors, reducing the Earth’s population to somewhere between one-sixtieth or one-hundredth of what it once was. Even now, there were pure-blooded Earthlings who brought the topic forward whenever they met a Zentran.

But Katori wasn’t like that.

“...No.”

“Huh?”

“The method for forging Damascus steel was lost over three hundred years ago. Some say that it was because they stopped producing the raw materials necessary, but others say it’s because the specific techniques were lost in the turmoil. The truth is lost in the shadows of history.”

Chelsea took a sip of her coffee and, somehow seemed to be carrying an extra weight on her shoulders.

Katori took a sip too. It was incredibly rich and stickily sweet, probably because it was the kind of coffee that manual laborers drank.

Just like her.

Chelsea thought.

The flavor seemed to have the weight and depth of life within it.

“That’s just how culture is. Once it’s lost, it can’t be recovered. No—maybe that’s not quite true.”

“—?”

“It’s probably that same inability to recover it that makes people work so hard to get as close to it as they can. Even today, somewhere in the galaxy, there must be people who strive to recreate Damascus steel.”

With a swift, proud motion, the mechanic stood.

“—That’s the kind of place this is. Welcome, Chelsea Scarlett. We’re happy to have you.”

The hand extended toward her was large.

She hurried to shake it.

“Same here! I’m looking forward to working with you!”

“Yeah. Since we’ll be doing your maintenance for the foreseeable future, try not to break your plane too much… though, if you have to, feel free to wreck it in a spectacular fashion.”

“If I have to?”

“A Valkyrie is a tool. People shouldn’t die for tools. Don’t worry. There’s no machine that we can’t repair. Humans can’t come back from the dead, but machines can be made as good as new.”

Baring her white teeth, Katori showed Chelsea a genuine smile for the first time.

It was a nice smile.

A smile that inspired confidence that this mechanic was worth trusting with her life.

So Chelsea decided that she’d put her faith in her.

✥✥✥

The streets of Island Reno were bustling, as if a circus had spilled out onto them.

A clown handing out balloons here, a juggler tossing flaming swords there.

A dancer projected a holographic dragon onto her body, skillfully hiding her true form as she danced. Nearby, a band dressed in star costumes played cheerful tunes.

Every building was lined with dazzling neon signs. Even the trees were illuminated by fiber optics or genetically engineered bioluminescence, casting their light onto the Reno streets like shining stars.

Everyone had smiles on their faces.

They were cheery and joyful. Wholeheartedly so.

The festive atmosphere drew in everyone present and spread outward. No matter where you were, the Reno festivities inevitably engulfed you and kept spreading from there.

And then there was the sky.

The vast desert surrounding the town wasn’t Reno’s only attraction; its sky was another.

There was always something in the sky.

Sometimes there were fireworks. Others, there were airships gliding leisurely through the air. But, most importantly, the heroes of Vanquish performed demonstration flights, even when nobody asked them to do so.

At times, when a Valkyrie flew just above the rooftops, it felt like one could reach out and grab it. Even though the entire city was covered by a repulsive field—a spatial distortion field designed to prevent collisions—the festivities had the power to transform fear into joyous excitement.

“It’s amazing, Hakuna.”

Chelsea was like a country bumpkin. She couldn’t begin to imagine how many times she’d have to push through this crowd, this wave of people larger than the Babylonian exile itself, before reaching the straight line that would take her back to Hakuna’s place from the Robbins Family factory.

So, despite her frustration, Chelsea had to rely on the man named Hakuna Aoba, who swam through the crowd as if he were Moses himself.

“Is it always like this?”

“You could say that—well, I guess you could say otherwise, too.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Lemme put it this way. There’s always a festival going on here in Reno. Sometimes it’s a sporting event. Sometimes a rock band comes to do a show. Sometimes a politician comes to hold a fundraising rally. Of course, there are plenty of times where it’s just packed with people here to gamble and see the sights. The reasons for it may vary, but it’s always a festival.”

Hakuna turned around and gave a wry smile.

Again…

Chelsea thought.

She didn’t recognize the smile.

There was no flattery in it. No calculation. No ulterior motive whatsoever. He was just smiling. And yet, it didn’t seem foolish to her either.

It was a kind of smile that didn’t exist in the world she once lived in.

So there’s a world like this out there too—

“Pardon me, are you Miss Chelsea!?”

Her train of thought was interrupted by a voice from behind.

“Wha? Oh, yes. I am.”

Even she thought that the reply sounded pretty dazed.

Either way, she turned around.

Standing there was a decidedly rugged-looking young man who smelled like machine oil. From his flight jacket and the numerous platoon patches sewn into it, she could tell that he had some affiliation with Vanquish.

Judging from his well-proportioned muscles and his stance, she could tell that he was a pilot. His faintly freckled face was flushed, and there was a mix of awe and admiration in his gaze.

“I’m a fan of yours!”

“A fan?”

It was Hakuna who tilted his head in confusion. When he turned around with a lumbering motion a beat later, he looked less like a pilot and more like a bear.

“Yep! I’m the 12,025th member of the Chelsea Scarlett Fan Club, Ricardo Bloomberg!”

“Oh, uh, well…”

A fan… of me!?

She should’ve seen it coming. She’d spent far too long living a life where it was rare to step foot outside of an aircraft carrier, let alone into a crowd. This wasn’t an ordinary lapse in judgment.

R-right… When I was in showbiz, I always had my manager with me when I went out, so… uh… what am I actually supposed to do in a situation like this?

Her brain started to overheat like a burst engine. The roaring of missiles and machine guns echoed through her mind.

“Your hiatus started three years ago! I never thought I’d see you again! And I never could’ve imagined this! That you’d compete in Vanquish!? And your flying was so beautiful! I’m so moved! So touched! It brought a tear to my eye! Please! Could I please get your autograph!?”

“Uhh, well, I…”

She was in trouble.

A real pinch.

She could feel everyone’s gaze turning toward her.

I’m becoming the center of attention.

Her body went stiff.

Her throat was dry. Her voice cracked.

Her heart pounded wildly.

“Ahh, sorry, pal. She’d like her privacy today.”

“Hakuna!”

Hakuna’s broad back slid smoothly between Chelsea and the young man.

“I’m sure she’d like to thank you for the support, but she’s brand new to this whole Vanquish thing—she’s nervous, is all. Surely you realize how mentally grueling racing can be, right, Bloomberg?”

“Hakuna Aoba! The Uncrowned Emperor! Are you her teammate!?”

What laced Bloomberg’s voice wasn’t jealousy, but rather an innocent admiration. A joy in seeing a man he admired standing side-by-side with a woman he admired. The jarring dissonance of that innocent gaze pierced Chelsea’s heart even more.

“Welp, that’s just how it is. You understand, don’tcha? The preliminaries aren’t even over yet, y’know.”

“Yeah! They’re just getting started!”

“Then, if you can make it through the prelims, we can talk again. Does that work for you?”

His tone left no room for argument, but wasn’t overbearing either. Chelsea was only in this situation because she herself had already been swept up by his words, so she knew good and well how powerful they were.

“Right! Um, if that happens… I’d be honored to get your autograph!”

Instinctively, the young man who’d introduced himself as Bloomberg gave a deep, ninety-degree bow.

“You’ll fall over if you stiffen up like that, Bloomberg.”

With a thump, Hakuna patted Chelsea on the shoulder and urged her to keep walking.

When eyes turned toward her, he stood like a shield, protecting her as if it was the most natural course of action.

Chelsea gave a light nod of acknowledgment, then deliberately looked away. She forcefully pushed the sight of Bloomberg, watching her leave with tears in his eyes, out from view.

I… just did something bad…

✥✥✥

Walking aimlessly, they found themselves in a secluded spot. A rooftop garden attached to a hotel.

She didn’t have much memory of staying in hotels, but when the clerk bowed and ushered them both in as soon as he saw Hakuna, she realized that Vanquish had become the main power on the Island.

Leaning against the fence at the edge of the garden, exhaustion washed over her.

It wasn’t the fatigue that flying or fighting gave her.

It was a weariness born from a mixture of fear and regret, the type that makes you feel like your brain is eating away at itself.

“Here.”

“Yeep!”

Something cold touched her cheek, and Chelsea let out a cute yelp as she recoiled in surprise.

“Wh-what…?”

“It’s a sports drink. Do you not like those?”

“No, it’s not that…”

She was scared.

For no discernable reason, she was scared of everything, including Hakuna.

The only reason she was still with Hakuna was that being alone would scare her even more.

“Then drink up. Most of the troubles in this world can be fixed by replenishing your fluids and sugar intake.”

Hakuna flashed his teeth, thrusting the can out in front of him. She realized that the coldness on her cheek was the metal tube of the can, which seemed to appear next to her like magic.

“...Thanks.”

She pulled the tab, letting the slightly sweet, lemony liquid slide down her throat. The coldness of the cheap isotonic beverage seeped into the dried lining of her throat like rain in a drought.

“Was that guy from the S.M.S. or something…? Never seen him before.”

“—”

Hakuna wouldn’t force her to open up to him.

There was no way that he really thought he was from the S.M.S. He was just playing stupid in the hopes that she would talk about it herself.

She didn’t dislike the gentle feeling enveloping her, and the lingering chill on her cheek helped to calm her down a little.

“First, you should look up.”

“...?”

“Up in the sky, Chelsea. Always look at the sky. Lift your head up. If you keep looking down, your mood’ll just get darker and darker. There’s nothing down by your feet. You don’t lower your head because you feel bad. You feel down because that’s where you’re looking. That’s just how it works.”

With that, Hakuna downed his amber-colored can. Chelsea wondered if it was alcoholic, but had no intention of pulling on the threads of that suspicion.

“The sky…”

Her neck felt terribly heavy.

Chelsea thought that looking down from the balcony and watching the people below in their revelry would have suited her better.

“Look at the sky, Chelsea. When a falcon flies, it starts by tilting up its head.”

“...!”

She looked up at the sky.

“Even just yearning for it is okay. Even if you don’t have wings, just look at the sky.”

It felt like the words were pushing her forward.

She’d only spent a short time with him, but she could tell that Hakuna embodied the sensation of flight, just as the sky itself did. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to fly his VF-1 the way he did.

“The sky…”

She looked up.

That was all it took.

All she had to do was shift her line of sight by ten centimeters or so.

But that simple choice transformed the world before her from a dull chaos to a deep blue sky.

A pure white Valkyrie soared across the boundless blue expanse.

Beyond it, a world of shimmering stars came into view.

She took a deep breath.

“A long time ago…”

The fact that she began to speak shocked even her.

But she thought that saying it out loud might make her feel a little better.

Hakuna poured more of the amber-colored liquid down his throat and wordlessly settled into a listening posture.

“I used to be a singer. Until three years ago, when I was on a galactic tour.”

“So it seems.”

“Have you heard of Nekki Basara?”

It had been a while since she’d said his name.

“I looked up to him. To the soul of a man who stared down the Protodeviln, who sought to absorb the spiritia of the entire universe, alone. A man who kept singing with his life on the line.”

Nekki Basara. Fire Bomber. There was no one in the galaxy who could say they’d never heard of them.

He was a legendary rock star.

Hailed as the greatest band of the 21st century, they were a legendary group whose songs used to play everywhere you went.

And Nekki Basara’s way of life, to seek nothing but songs, became a legend in its own right.

“I wanted to be a singer like he was. Someone who believed that the power of song could move mountains, move people’s hearts, and move the galaxy itself.”

It wasn’t actually that long ago, but it felt like a terribly distant past.

Why am I telling him this? I never even told my S.M.S. teammates.

“But then, one day, I just couldn’t sing anymore.”

“...Why?”

Hakuna’s question wasn’t curiosity, nor was it cheap sympathy. It was something much deeper, something that seemed to come from the deepest depths of his heart.

“...I don’t remember.”

“Hm?”

“No, I don’t know. Or, maybe I do.”

Chelsea tried to make sense of words that she just couldn’t get in order.

Deep inside of her, she was struggling to untangle and rearrange the frayed, knotted threads of her memories.

“The more I sang, it was like more and more people’s emotions were flowing into me… that’s how it felt.”

“Being in the spotlight, you mean?”

“I was getting scared of the spotlight, but that wasn’t all of it. It felt like more and more of their emotions were being poured into me every time I sang, and I got scared of what that would do to me. I got further and further away from the reason I started singing. Even though I’m Meltrandi.”

“I don’t think that matters, though. It’s not your genes that make you who you are.”

“...That isn’t what my parents told me. They said that ever since the Zentrans and our culture became a part of the New United Nations Government, we’ve lived for the sake of Earth culture. That’s why they gave me singing lessons, dance lessons, and even the Earth name Chelsea… My mom and dad… said they didn’t need me… that I wasn’t human, just a combat weapon, just one of Satan’s Dolls… and… ever since… whenever I go out in front of an audience, I freeze up and can’t think straight… even though I’m supposed to sing.”

“—”

“Even though I know fans like him are supporting me, I still—”

“You should wipe your tears.”

“!!”

When he handed her a handkerchief, she realized that she’d been crying.

Hot tears had been streaming down her cheeks, soaking her collar, and she just hadn’t noticed.

“...Thanks.”

“Even if you’re looking up, tears can still fall.”

“...In the end, I couldn’t be like Nekki Basara. But I never even went to school; singing was all I could do… I ended up at S.M.S. because I had a Valkyrie pilot’s license for event promotions. And that’s how it happened, how we got here, even though I…”

“Even though you can’t shoot a gun anymore?”

Hakuna crushed the aluminum can in his hand.

“I ran away. From the stage, from the spotlight. And now I’m running away from being a pilot, and I…”

“What’s wrong with running away?”

He said it like it was nothing.

As casually as tossing a crushed can into the trash.

“B-But…”

“This world isn’t about forward or backward. There’s also up and down. You don’t have to fly on some predetermined course. Even if you feel like you’re flying in a totally different direction, you might just end up at the finish line anyway. Doesn’t that work just as fine?”

“...I can’t see it that way.”

“You’ll get it eventually. Eventually.”

He gazed into the distance.

He kept gazing into the distance.

It was the kind of gaze that made you wonder if there was something out there, far out on the horizon.

“Not just forward or backward…”

“Right. Think of a Valkyrie, even. They can take more forms than just an airplane, right? If a morning comes when you can live like Nekki Basara again, then you should just go ahead and live that way.”

“...Right.”

Somehow, the weight she felt in her chest started to feel lighter.

✥✥✥

Every restaurant they tried to get lunch at was packed. By the time they finally found somewhere with an open table, it was already late into the afternoon.

She decided to watch the broadcast of the qualifiers partly because her buffalo chicken wings were taking forever and partly because Bloomberg was taking part in it.

She didn’t dislike her fans.

If anything, she felt a pang of grief that she couldn’t respond to their cheers. That was who she was.

On the screen, Bloomberg’s white VF-11C Thunderbolt charged toward the flag in GERWALK Mode.

Watching the people in the restaurant leap with excitement at the heroic sight, Chelsea realized just how popular Vanquish was.

“It’s him… he’s fast.”

“Yeah, he’s got skill.”

Hakuna laughed with a grin. He’d already begun drinking in broad daylight, arguing that since there was no night or day in outer space, it didn’t matter when he drank.

But, a shadow was cast over the Thunderbolt.

A bird…!?

A craft she’d never seen before.

It was huge.

A deep crimson machine an order of magnitude larger than the Thunderbolt in both length and wingspan.

A Variable Fighter with strange wings like a bird’s.

“They’ve got him!”

Its legs gripped the VF-11’s fuselage like a bird of prey seizing a swan.

By skillfully alternating its aerodynamics and nozzle thrust to apply pressure, the red Valkyrie pinned the VF-11 down, preventing it from either climbing or breaking away.

Bloomberg’s unit raised the gunpod on its right arm.

But the strange Valkyrie was faster.

A torrent of shock rounds pierced the VF-11’s right arm. Sparks flew. The now-disabled arm hung limply.

The battle was over.

But…

“No!”

Chelsea cried out.

She didn’t know why.

But she knew what was about to happen.

The red Valkyrie’s wings shifted to generate downforce.

That was all.

That was enough to disrupt the vector of kinetic energy, sending the VF-11 slamming down into the ground in a spectacular tumble.

No matter how thick its energy-conversion armor was, it wouldn’t matter. The sheer force generated by the combination of kinetic energy and mass shattered it.

The VF-11’s cockpit was crushed, its canopy scattered into the air with a blinding flash. It all played out in slow motion.

A horrible sound rang out.

The sound of a human life being shattered. The sound of a Valkyrie so carefully nurtured by its engineers being torn apart. The screech of metal against metal. The roar of an explosion. And finally, a wail of grief. Each sound brought excruciating sorrow.

“...How awful.”

Chelsea was probably the only one who thought so. Hakuna didn’t bat an eye. The people inside the shop, including the staff, all went wild watching the extravagant crash. Right. That was the kind of show this was. A spectacle.

But, she couldn’t forgive it.

She couldn’t forgive this attitude of trampling over someone just for the sake of some spectacle.

“Hey, Chelsea!”

She stood up.

She was standing.

There was no logic behind it.

Before she knew it, she was running.

Not long ago, she probably wouldn’t have done something like this.

But she ran.

Once she started, she couldn’t stop.

✥✥✥

A deep crimson Valkyrie landed on the tarmac.

Its massive form was unmistakable.

“You!”

When Chelsea spoke, the pilot turned around and removed her helmet.

303 Kościuszko…?

Engraved with these unfamiliar words, an emblem that was presumably a unit insignia adorned her chest. The design, with crossed sickles and a military cap, was so classic that it seemed terribly anachronistic.

Her luxurious hair, the same color as her Valkyrie, fluttered in the hot breeze of evening.

A woman.

Even as a woman herself, Chelsea thought she was a beautiful Earthling woman.

She didn’t worry much about gender or species at this point, but still, she’d imagined someone far rougher from the way she flew, so she couldn’t help being surprised.

“And who are you?”

With an icy gaze and tone, the pilot cut Chelsea down. It was the kind of voice that dismissed everyone but herself as inferior, refusing to even offer a second glance.

“Chelsea Scarlett—”

After a brief pause to shake off her hesitation, Chelsea went on.

“A Vanquish pilot.”

“Never heard that name before. I make it a rule not to remember the names of pilots who place any lower than second.”

“That’s not what matters right now!”

Chelsea thrust her finger into the pilot’s haughty face.

“What was that back there!?”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you mean. It was a great performance, wasn’t it? The audience seemed delighted, at least. I don’t remember doing anything that would warrant a complaint from a child like you.”

“That downforce!”

“Downforce… ahh…”

The pilot gave a faint smile. It was an expression like she was being scolded for something as small as a light wrinkle in her collar.

“What is your problem?”

“You didn’t have to do something like that! When you destroyed the VF-11’s right arm, you’d already won!”

“I was curious about what you had to say, and it’s something this trivial? Couldn’t you come up with something a little more clever than that?”

“Trivial!? You seriously think it’s alright to hurt the other pilots that badly!?”

“Of course.”

She puffed out her chest, which was as voluptuous as her hair.

“This is Vanquish, the most extreme race in the galaxy. We all know the risks when we enter a race like this. It’d be unbelievable if we didn’t.”

“There’s still a difference between risks and hurting other people for no reason!”

“There is a reason.”

“What?”

“We’re pilots. We combine our expertise with our people’s traditions to take flight. Demonstrating the meaning of battle is proof of our nobility and a testament to our culture. We aren’t like the Zentradi.”

“You’re calling one-sided violence like that culture!?”

“Earth’s history is a history of war. Conflict is the force that drove mankind to evolve and propelled us out into the sea of stars. Vanquish embodies that chivalrous warrior spirit! It’s only natural for the strong to stomp out the weak.”

“That’s just a phony justification for your sadism!”

“—That’s how you describe my noble fighting style? I won’t let that comment pass, Zentra Girl.”

“What? What does being Zentradi have to do with this!?”

“—!”

They got so close that their noses were almost touching, their shadows overlapped.

Invisible sparks flew from their gazes, a tension akin to bloodlust that left no room for intervention.

And yet, a man with a chicken wing in his hand pulled the two apart.

“Alright. That’s enough, you two.”

““Hakuna!?””

Their voices echoed out in unison, entirely by accident.

✥✥✥

Hakuna was a mysterious man. It was like his very presence made the atmosphere of imminent conflict in a room shift into something more peaceful somehow. It was no different that day on the tarmac.

“Wh-What!? Th-Th-This Zentra Girl is living with you!?”

Her eyes widened in shock, her face turning beet red all the way to her ears. The red-haired girl jumped to her feet.

“Don’t say it like that, Lena. It’s a complicated situation. I’m just letting her stay at my place.”

“Don’t common folk call that ‘living together’!?”

The red-haired pilot, whom Hakuna had called ‘Lena,’ clung to his chest and shouted at him.

“N-No, it’s not like that! I’ve taken her in out of necessity!”

She was still angry at her rough play earlier, but there was another kind of anger toward this woman swirling within Chelsea. She wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but it was anger nonetheless.

It’s bad enough that I have to live with an incomprehensible man like him, but now I have to sit and watch it get treated like some kind of scandal!?

“—Honestly, I can’t believe it.”

Lena stared at Chelsea with the kind of look one might give a stray dog on the side of the road.

“I just can’t accept that a little girl like you who’d never even heard of Vanquish before now gets to stand next to Hakuna, the Uncrowned Emperor, as his teammate!”

“Why is this still about Hakuna!?”

“I’ve been trying to recruit Hakuna as my own teammate and partner for a long time now. For me—no, for every Vanquish Racer—he’s the man we need to surpass. The legendary racer who has skills on par with the fastest man in the galaxy, Nicolas Berthier, but still can’t take his crown because he doesn’t have a team. I simply cannot agree to this. For Hakuna to suddenly welcome some random woman as his teammate out of nowhere! There’s just no way I can accept that!”

“Partner, you say?”

Hakuna scratched his head with a look of confusion.

“Yeah. If you joined up with me, I’d have better maintenance and staff waiting for you. For someone after Berthier’s crown like you—”

“I appreciate the offer, but you’re moving too fast for me, Lena Zielonaska.”

“!? Then how do you explain parading around with Zentra Girl over here!? You know full well how I feel about you, and still…!”

Irritated, Lena took off her glove and threw it right at Chelsea.

“Wha…?”

“Let’s duel, Zentra Girl!”

“Duel!?”

“In the next race, we’ll settle if I’m right or you are! I am Magdalena Zielonaska, noblewoman of the Republic of Poland, and I won’t take no for an answer!”

Proclaiming the name of a country that no longer existed, the girl stood proud against the setting sun.

Chelsea had no national history to claim. So, in her eyes Magdalena seemed like the ghost of Earth-borne mankind.

✥✥✥

The morning of their duel arrived; frenzied enthusiasm engulfed Island Reno.

The two participating Valkyries were gathered on the scorching runway.

Based on her score and time in the qualifier, Chelsea’s starting position was ninth. It wasn’t the worst, but it certainly wasn’t the best.

Her AI system, Brünhilde, was in excellent condition. A wonderful harmony emanated from her. Robbins Family seemed to have done a perfect job.

“I should ask… are you really doing this duel with Lena?”

A transmission from Hakuna, who was in sixth.

“She’s not your only enemy. There’s still Shinsei’s Brauhitsch and the other races to worry about. If you get yourself into trouble for no good reason, you’ll just be her next victim.”

“I know.”

“Lena Zielonaska is a Valkyrie killer. She makes absolutely sure to destroy other Variable Fighters. Some rumors even say that she hates Valkyries. If you’re wondering about her skills, they’re really something else.”

More than that, Lena’s starting position was an impressive first. She had torn that VF-11 to pieces and still managed to rack up the highest score. From where Chelsea sat, her deep crimson machine seemed impossibly far away.

And then there was her plane. The SV-52γ was practically one-of-a-kind, a lost model developed for an old war that she’d restored using her own money. It was a red Valkyrie with unknown performance and techniques.

“But the way she flies brings nothing but dissonance to the sky. I can’t stand the noise of it.”

Chelsea checked her instruments meticulously.

She hadn’t been so focused on a flight since her first.

“I get it. From a teamwork perspective, if you just mark and hold her down in pole position, that’ll make it easier for me to win, so I appreciate that. But, Chelsea…”

“—?”

“Nah… you don’t need my unsolicited advice. It’d be strange for a coyote to tell a wren how to sing its song as it leaves the nest. I’ll just pray that the White Maize Woman grants you the insight you need.”

…He was a strange man.

But she didn’t find him unpleasant. It was clear that he was looking out for her. So, at the very least, this did put her a little more at ease.

✥✥✥

The Vanquish racers took off from Island Reno and broke out into space one after the next.

Until they cleared the Reno section, restrictions were placed on their course and transformations, so there weren’t any major changes in their placements. That was what made the starting position so important. The order there directly translated to an advantage in the flag area.

Brauhitsch’s VF-1 took the lead, with “Cannonball” Angeloni’s VF-171 and Hakuna’s VF-1 close behind.

Hm… it’s that one!

Lena’s red plane, the SV-52, had broken away from the leading group and was now gliding gracefully through space.

“...I can hear you, Chelsea.”

“Lena!”

Communication during a race was divided between dedicated channels for each team and an open channel for the wider network as a whole. The open channel existed as a measure to allow pilots to request rescue from other pilots as quickly as possible in case of any emergency. Though, in practice, it was standard for teammates to use their own dedicated channel to coordinate with one another.

In other words, using the open channel to deliberately broadcast your plane’s status to members of the other teams was completely foolish.

And yet, Lena Zielonaska, the Crimson Rose, was enough of a fool to do just that.

“I’ve been waiting for you. Now, our duel can begin! With the rose emblem on my Oryol and the pride of my clan by my side, I’ll send you sinking into the sea of stars!”

“...It’ll be my pleasure!”

Not because she’d been challenged.

Not because she’d been insulted.

Purely because this deep crimson Valkyrie made a sound that disturbed the song within her.

The two Variable Fighters plunged themselves down toward Island Reno. The Vanquish race was a battle that circled this island and the space around it.

✥✥✥

The skies around the Environment Ship were cramped.

At the altitude of two thousand meters—six thousand feet—they’d have nowhere left to go.

“This thing—it’s so fast!!”

Lena Zielonaska’s SV-52. Its crimson wings blocked Chelsea’s VF-19’s path like a phoenix's wingspan covering the sky.

If they kept accelerating this way, a collision was inevitable. The Nothung had a pinpoint barrier, so it might survive, but the worst-case scenario would destroy the SV-52.

She had no choice. She banked, then dipped slightly downward. Above her, she saw the emblem of a rose. The plane was just as gaudy as its pilot.

“I knew you were a coward!”

“What!?”

Lena’s mocking voice echoed over the radio, sending Chelsea into a rage. She was being looked down upon.

“With a plane like that—no, with skills like yours, you still let a chance to take me down pass you by! Do you seriously think you can beat me like this!?”

Taunting her, the SV-52 banked sharply.

It accelerated even further. It was high-risk flying, navigating the tight space just beneath the canopy. Its crimson wings had a glow, trailing streaks of clouds behind them.

“But, I…!”

“I suppose a Zentradi like you just can’t understand sportsmanship! You win by doing everything you can within the rules, a tradition that has been carried on since the tourneys of medieval knights!”

“Even so, I won’t accept that kind of fighting!”

She’d heard that Bloomberg had been seriously wounded by that downburst. Even if his life wasn’t at risk, she couldn’t forgive her for stripping someone of their wings.

“You could’ve won without doing something like that! Is this really something to take pride in!?”

“It’s only natural that I won! It’s in how you win, how spectacularly you do it! That is what makes a knight a knight!”

“Then there’s no way I can forgive a stunt like that!!”

She pressed the point.

The Nothung’s fuselage, blending into Island Reno’s blue sky, left a trail of water vapor as it closed in on Lena’s SV-52.

“Okay, then… what are you going to do about it!?”

The SV-52 moved its nose upward, as if it was standing upright against the ground. It applied all of its air brakes at once.

Pugachev’s Cobra!?

An aerial combat maneuver devised by Viktor Pugachev of the former Soviet Union: a plane’s pitch is raised to ninety degrees in mid-flight. By forcibly bringing the plane to a halt in the stall zone, the enemy plane is forced to overshoot, allowing a pilot to position themselves behind them.

Lena…! Is she trying to shoot me down!?

She shouldn’t have been equipped with any machine guns, but they were all authorized to carry a comms laser. If she aimed it directly at her cockpit at full power, she could take Chelsea down in a single shot. Lena had the skill to pull it off, too.

“Grh…!”

She never expected it, but the chances weren’t zero. It was unforgivable for an S.M.S. pilot to underestimate the possibility of it and let her enemy get behind her.

She raised her nose. Moving the EX Gear’s legs in sync with the two-dimensional vector nozzles, the Nothung did a Cobra maneuver as well, rising up to prevent Lena from getting behind her.

“Heh… following my lead, are you?”

“Of course… I am!”

Trailing water vapor behind them, the two Valkyries stared each other down, both still in the Cobra maneuver.

The time that passed felt like an eternity.

“But the Vanquish is just getting started, Chelsea Scarlett!”

The SV-52 began rotating itself 270 degrees backward to return to its original flight position.

Kulbit!!

The Nothung followed suit.

Their restored flight positions were nearly identical.

Entangled with one another, the azure and crimson Valkyries plunged toward the pinpoint barrier gate.

✥✥✥

“Wowie, they’re really going at it.”

Hakuna narrowed his eyes as he watched Chelsea and Lena hurtling through the void of space on his rear-view monitor.

Of course, he hadn’t given up on the race, either. On the contrary, he was using each of his senses to the fullest, coaxing his finicky engine into behaving, despite the fact that it could explode at any moment. Banking at his plane’s absolute limit, keeping an eye on his remaining fuel.

His ability to perform all of these tasks and keep his awareness spread across his surroundings was like an ancient swordsman feeling every single strand of his sword hilt’s cord while keeping focused on the enemies around him.

In terms of pure aircraft performance, Chelsea had the upper hand.

The latest L.A.I. model built from a brand-new frame would inevitably come out on top against an anachronistic machine restored from fifty years ago.

As for piloting skill, Hakuna estimated that the two women were basically evenly matched. No, he might have even said that Chelsea held a slight advantage, given that she had better reaction times and was more genetically suited to tolerate G-force than her Earthling opponent.

But Vanquish was another story. Lena’s skill and nerve, her ability to fly on the designated course, her mastery of the terrain and the course itself far surpassed Chelsea’s. Above all, her fighting style that never feared going too rough or making contact would put constant pressure on Chelsea and stop her from using her true abilities.

“Alright—it’s about time, Brauhitsch! Thanks to the goddess, victory is within our grasp!”

Hakuna sent his VF-1 accelerating forward, closing in on Brauhitsch’s VF-19.

✥✥✥

That GERWALK… her moves are incredible!

Back in the Reno desert for the third time, Chelsea was breathless.

The VF-19 was designed as a stealth combat attack plane equipped with Fold Boosters, intended to carry out pinpoint strikes against enemy command centers and the cores of fleets in outer space. Consequently, its GERWALK Mode was designed for rapid deceleration and directional changes during aerial combat, and for high-speed movement across the surface of enemy ships. So, the GERWALK’s typical fine maneuverability wasn’t prioritized to the same extent as its Battroid and Fighter Modes.

But the SV-52 was different.

Its massive wings, drawn like a seagull’s, caught the wind with precision. The combination of lift jets mounted on its underside and thermonuclear jets in its legs gave it truly smooth, three-dimensional maneuvering up and down in all directions.

A bird, yet not a bird. A human, yet not a human.

By the time they left the GERWALK area, a gap of at least thirty seconds had opened up between Lena and Chelsea.

And there was only one reason that she didn’t attack in GERWALK Mode.

Here it is!

The moment she entered the flag zone and transformation was authorized, Chelsea transformed the Nothung into Battroid Mode. The sky-blue wings of the GERWALK folded like a sword entering its sheath, and the azure colossus revealed itself. Gunfire from the SV-52 burst out from behind a rock, exploding the exact same instant that she concentrated a pinpoint barrier on her left arm’s shield.

I knew it—she’s not hesitating to shoot right at my cockpit!

Even if they were just riot control stun rounds, a direct hit on the cockpit of a Valkyrie moving at high-speed would almost unavoidably cause a life-threatening accident. Blocking the gunfire with its barrier, the Nothung leaped into the air.

“The Nothung, was it?”

“Yeah—pretty good machine, isn’t she?”

“Yes. Nothung, sword of Siegfried. Its roots are in Norse mythology, the holy sword Gram that Sigurd drew from the stone. The legend shares the same roots as Excalibur, or Caliburn, that was passed down by the people of England, whose bloodline comes from the same Norman source.”

Even in the heat of battle, Lena’s voice was calm, as if reciting a poem. Or maybe, for her, battle itself was the song of her soul. Her voice had an air of ignorance, but it was unclouded.

“So then… Do you understand the meaning of the name?”

More gunfire. Reaching the flag area first and picking up the scattered gunpods was immensely important. At the peak of her ascent, she transformed into Fighter Mode, flipped back in Battroid mode just as it reached the minimum altitude, and then took cover behind the rocks once more.

“...The meaning of it?”

“—You aren’t an Earthling, but were given the name Chelsea Scarlett, a name forced upon you! Now, you stand before someone of noble blood like myself, brandishing a mythical sword which your blood holds no connection to! I cannot forgive such selfishness!”

“Tch! You’re so arrogant!”

“If you really are Zentradi, you should fight like one!”

The SV-52 charged headfirst toward the unarmed Nothung. Of course, even if she wasn’t unarmed, Chelsea likely wouldn’t have fired.

Unable to hold back the gunfire any longer, her pinpoint barrier vanished. Even with the immense energy generated by its thermonuclear burst engine, the Nothung couldn't maintain the barrier indefinitely. Its arm, struck by a shock round, splayed out and then slumped.

Before her eyes, the massive red SV-52 transformed into Battroid Mode, looming closer. It was huge! It was a head or two taller than even the VF-19. Chelsea knew that there was an absolute difference between them in terms of power and weight during close combat.

“So the rumors are true! You’re a Zentran who can’t even fire her gun!”

An open-palmed chop from the SV-52 struck her left side, where she’d dropped her guard.

The intense shock of it was transmitted through the energy-conversion armor and shook her cockpit.

“You can’t wage war! You can’t imitate our culture! Screw letting you stand by Hakuna’s side! I won’t even let a half-baked failure like you pilot a Valkyrie!”

“Who are you to talk!?”

Her plane shook violently.

The SV-52 had seized the VF-19’s shoulder and arm. Chelsea realized that she was trying to slam her entire craft, cockpit and all, into the rocky shore.

If I could… just shoot her…!

Her finger reached for the trigger.

The anti-aircraft laser on its head was reserved for laser communication. If she smashed it into her face to destroy the sensors, or fired it into her wing to damage her transforming mechanism, then maybe…

But, no matter what she tried, her finger simply wouldn’t move that final millimeter.

She just couldn’t play that note.

“This is the end for you, Zentra Girl! Crawl through the Reno desert to repent for stepping foot onto a stage you never belonged on!”

It’s the same.

Just like when she’d lost her voice.

Just like when she’d felt abandoned by culture itself.

She could feel it. The unwavering pride and resolve of the girl standing before her. Even with all of her prejudice, she had a nobility, a love for tradition, and a steadfast soul that believed in the person that she was. That soul, the sound of her heart, was resonating through her armor. Chelsea didn’t have anything of the sort.

I’m… nothing.

An empty shell, clad in hollow armor, could never stand up to a steadfast soul like hers. The thought bound her like chains.

Her shoulder armor had shattered. The linear actuators in her joints wailed from the overload.

That was when it happened.

“Chelsea!”

A voice.

A rough, crude voice without any musical quality whatsoever.

But a beautiful voice nonetheless.

The wings of the VF-1 passed overhead as it engaged in a fierce dogfight with Brauhitsch’s VF-19.

Chelsea surely heard the message that those wings carried.

“Don’t forget! In the sky, there’s not just forward or backward!”

It wasn’t a call for backup. He may not have even spoken at all—they were simply the words she wished for, spoken in the face of defeat.

Even so, the sound was certainly there. It resonated.

And the sky was even more certainly there.

That was why…

“Look up at the sky. Lift your head. Toward this sky!!”

“!?”

Full-throttle thrust. The VF-19ACTIVE’s full thrust propelled it upward.

“Wh-what…! Zentra Girl…!?”

“Hrrryaaahh!”

An emergency full-throttle thrust from the thermonuclear burst engine was capable of propelling a ten-ton craft out of a planet’s gravitational field in under three minutes. Even with the SV-52’s weight added to it, lifting the weight was a breeze. Through the EX Gear, she manipulated the variable winglets on the Nothung’s hips. Manipulating the aerodynamics, cutting through the wind, flipping her plane’s orientation.

She converged the pinpoint barrier onto her shoulders. Using the sweeping motion of transforming into GERWALK Mode, she shattered the SV-52’s fingers and put strain on its joints.

The VF-19 had forcibly broken free from the SV-52’s grip.

“No way! My Oryol was…!?”

“I’m not finished yet!!”

Her fuselage buckled, exposing the VF-19’s cockpit block. The process was simple to describe, but to execute a transformation with several tons of metal crashing into her required a level of boldness that surprised even Chelsea herself.

Her right shoulder was unable to withstand the strain and was blown off along with its armor. But what did it matter? At this range, she could still maneuver without it.

Reverse! She transformed into Fighter Mode and accelerated with all engines at full throttle.

As they passed each other, she reshaped the Nothung’s wings into a form optimized for cutting. It was only possible because of OTM variable materials, support from her control AI Brünhilde, and the godlike speed at which Chelsea could input data. Her intense training at the S.M.S. had made it possible.

“If I have to! I can wreck it in spectacular fashion!”

A sword.

Indeed, it was the single swing of a sword.

It was in the genealogy of holy swords that had shone in the hands of hero kings since time immemorial.

Like a bolt of lightning, like a descendant revelation, the Nothung’s wing sliced through the crimson wing opposing it.

The slash, which channeled the machine’s entire output into the wing’s energy conversion armor and pinpoint barrier, was far too sharp. The SV-52’s energy conversion armor was sliced through like butter.

She watched as the SV-52 spiralled out of control and slammed into the ground.

As Chelsea went into a steep dive, she saw the ground looming beneath her. But, a Valkyrie was not an airplane. It was not bound by a single form. She extended her legs and performed an emergency stop in GERWALK Mode.

Her knees were unable to withstand the impact of the land and shattered.

That was the price for redirecting power to her conversion armor and barriers. No, she was lucky that she landed at all, even if it cost her her knees. One wrong move and she could’ve just as easily been impaled through the cockpit and buried at the bottom of the Environment Ship.

The Nothung spun wildly and came to a halt. It had ended in a draw.

In other words, both had retired.

But as she looked up at the sky, Chelsea saw Hakuna’s VF-1 overtaking Brauhitsch’s VF-19.

That was enough for her.

Oddly enough, the cheers directed at her didn’t make her feel uncomfortable, either.

✥✥✥

“You put on quite the show out there.”

“Huh?”

It came as a surprise to Chelsea that it was Lena who’d extended her white hand toward her as she watched Hakuna at the podium.

“D-don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not saying that I acknowledge you as a worthy teammate for Hakuna. It’s just…”

“It’s just…?”

“It’s just that I’ve acknowledged that you have the qualities necessary to be a worthy rival. Only the strong have the right to uphold their pride. With that belief in mind, it’s irrelevant whether you’re pure or Zentra.”

“...”

Chelsea was taken aback for a moment. Her words were surprisingly straightforward.

“I saw that you have enough pride to be a Vanquish competitor. Earning Hakuna’s acknowledgement by fighting you should be entertaining… Er, wh-what? Rejoice! I’m saying that I recognize you as an equal rival!”

“...Okay.”

After a moment of hesitation, Chelsea took her hand. It was surprisingly soft and warm.

“Okay, okay—But I won’t lose to you, Lena Zielonaska!”

“Go ahead and try, Chelsea Scarlett!”

The two women tightened their grips on each other’s hands.

Indeed, since this wasn’t a fight to the death, there would be a next time. Just as the sky stretches on without end.

Compared to the galaxy as a whole, mankind’s history is no more than a speck of dust. The galaxy knows none of this. But we do. A person’s life and death may be no more than a fleeting moment, but the human soul lives in a way that understands the value of each moment. Thus, the radiance of each soul is no less brilliant than the galaxy itself. That is the nature of this story.

“How the hell did things turn out like this!?”

The girl named Chelsea Scarlett had uttered these words to herself every time she woke up for many years now.

An unfamiliar ceiling.

Not the stark, specially-armored ceiling of the Macross Quarter battle carrier. She rubbed her tired eyes, looking up at the decidedly classic, wood-panelled ceiling.

Sparkling sunlight from an artificial sun streamed in through the window, enveloping her old yet clean sheets.

She was confused, but not quite uncomfortable.

The bedroom assigned to her was small and cluttered, but not dirty at all. Old photographs, models of Variable Fighters and engine blades of unknown origin were scattered throughout, telling the story of its inhabitant's love for planes and childish attachments.

She sat up halfway and brushed her hair back from the linen pillow.

Did I… sweat in my sleep…?

As usual, she wondered if she’d feel the sticky remnants of a nightmare on her, but there was no such thing. All that tickled her senses was the faint, rustic scent of sun-kissed linen.

Not having that dream about sleeping in an icy coffin actually gave her a slight sense of unease, but she forgot all about it as soon as she felt the scent of coffee in her nose.

“Yo, good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

The man’s unfamiliar voice startled her, so she rushed to pull her sheets up to cover her ample breasts, barely concealed by her T-shirt.

“Wh-who’s there!?”

“C’mon. ‘Who’s there’ is a bit much, don’t you think?”

The man, coffee cup in hand, gave a dramatic shrug.

“You, you must be…”

“Hakuna. Hakuna Aoba.”

“Hakuna Aoba…”

Chelsea managed to salvage his face from the murky depths of her hazy memory. He was the man that she’d met at a small repair shop that she was sent to on a temporary assignment from S.M.S. Though, strictly speaking, it wasn’t really a temporary assignment. Her commanding officer, José, had cobbled together some borderline forged documents to shield her and send her out under the guise of a temporary assignment just as she was on the verge of being laid off.

She was grateful for that, and relieved that she hadn’t been sent to a disciplinary hearing, but that didn’t mean that being asked out of the blue to become a Vanquish Racer wasn’t a breach of contract in its own right.

I specifically joined S.M.S. because I didn’t want to be a sideshow anymore!

Regardless, that was the reality in front of her.

Since it was there, she had to deal with it.

She’d already gotten into a long argument with Hakuna over it, but she ended up borrowing a room…

“Sorry for entering a lady’s bedroom without knocking. But, if you could recall that it was my room not long ago, that’d be great.”

Setting his coffee cup down on a plywood sideboard crammed with tools, the man who introduced himself as Hakuna turned his back to her.

“Breakfast should be ready in about half an hour. Once we’ve eaten, let’s continue that discussion from yesterday.”

✥✥✥

“So, about that conversation.”

Chelsea, now wearing an S.M.S. jacket, decided to get right to the point after taking a sip of her brim-full mug of herbal tea.

“Yup.”

Hakuna, on the other hand, sat relaxed in his well-worn overalls.

“I’m not just gonna become a racer! I don’t know what Captain José told you, but I firmly refuse to go along with it!”

“You’re definitely a fighter pilot. I mean, sure, if we made you be some short-haul passenger plane pilot who just does what a computer says, that’s one thing, but the actual work you’ll get here can’t really be that different, can it? D’you think a chicken cares about the difference between ham or bacon with their eggs?”

“But I care!”

“What a coincidence. I’m the kinda guy who spends his life obsessing over the difference between ham and bacon, too.”

—He was an odd man.

He looked as rough as a rock, but no matter how hard she pounded him with her words, he seemed to just brush them off like wind through a willow tree. She’d spent the whole night debating him, only to be outmaneuvered at every turn.

But it wouldn’t be right to call him an unapproachable or cold man, either. There was something about his defiant smile that melted Chelsea’s heart. A heart which, after a long life in the entertainment industry, had grown wary of others and learned not to trust people so easily.

Otherwise, even if she couldn’t return to her room on the Macross Quarter, she certainly wouldn’t have stayed the night in the room of a man she’d only just met.

“Okay, lemme explain it again. Chelsea Scarlett, you couldn’t pull the trigger during combat… is that right?”

“…That’s… true, but…”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Did you know? They say that even if you put a gun in the hands of every Earthling and sent ‘em straight to the battlefield, seven out of ten times they won’t be able to fire at another person—even if it means they’ll die. It wouldn’t shock me if the same was true of Zentrans.”

“—”

Chelsea had no words to respond with.

The Zentradi were a warrior race. They were bred that way. That was why people generally believed that they had no qualms about killing. But the fact that the girl named Chelsea differed from that was an exception, nothing more, nothing less.

“When it comes to soldiers, only about three out of ten people actually make it through training. Even with those who don’t make it, that’s just how it is—a swan who can’t keep up with its flock is still a swan, y’know?”

“Next time… next time I’ll definitely…”

Trying to shake off the image of the boy’s face, his frozen expression of terror that was etched into her mind, Chelsea forced out the words. It wasn’t as simple as saying them. There was that much resistance within her.

“It’s no use.”

Hakuna replied immediately, in a matter-of-fact yet resolute tone. It was as sharp and devoid of unnecessary force as the slash of a top-tier swordsman.

“Neither José nor I have ever seen anyone say something like that and actually be able to pull the trigger in their next battle. They eventually die, kill their allies, or end up drowning themselves with drugs. That’s about it.”

“Kill their allies…?”

“Yeah, Chelsea. The fact that you can’t pull the trigger means that the enemy won’t die. It's simple math. There aren’t even numbers to it—you get what I’m saying, right?”

The man of unknown race and creed went on.

“The idea of sending you to race as an S.M.S. operation isn’t half bad. When José thought it up, I didn’t hesitate to accept. I get the partner I’ve always wanted. You get to keep your job. I don’t see the problem here.”

“I didn’t join S.M.S. to race!”

“But still, the nature of your missions is at your employer’s discretion. You could’ve just as easily been fired on the spot, but José covered for you. You should be grateful for that.”

“I… I want to be with them! On the Macross! That’s my family!”

Chelsea slammed her fist on the desk. Her mug bounced slightly. The force of the blow shocked even her.

“Family, huh?”

Hakuna didn’t ask about her real family. She didn’t know if it was indifference or kindness.

“Yeah, I get that. Any pilot who’s flown with a Macross would say the same.”

“...”

“Hmm…”

A silence passed over them. It was objectively brief, but felt like an eternity to Chelsea.

“Alright, how about this? Wanna play a game with me?”

Hakuna grinned, baring his white teeth.

A smile like the sun. The kind of smile that could make anyone who saw it feel at ease. The smile of a true man among men.

“A game?”

“Yeah. Let’s give this a try. You challenge me to a Vanquish Race. If you win, I’ll negotiate with José to get you back into the S.M.S. If they won’t agree, he’ll have to talk it out with me.”

“Can you… really do that?”

“He and I are friends, after all.”

What he said didn’t exactly make logical sense, but it struck a chord within Chelsea more than logic ever could’ve.

The world he comes from isn’t one full of lies and tricks.

“...And if I lose?”

“If you lose, you’ll just have to race with me for a while. Of course, I’ll treat you as a proper racer and take care of you. That’s separate from your S.M.S. salary.”

“Isn’t this bet a little unfair? I’ve never raced before…”

“I’ll give you a handicap. That’s what sportsmanship’s all about. Come with me.”

With that, Hakuna stood up from his chair. He was gentle, but still had an undeniable, commanding presence about him.

✥✥✥

He led her to another hangar, adjacent to the one she was staying in.

With landing gear to serve as evidence that it was brand new, a large Variable Fighter sat inside.

“They’ve entrusted me with it. This hangar’s meant for customers.”

“This… is from S.M.S…?”

“Yep. José gave it to me for you to race with.”

“Gave it away? So soon?”

“You could call it a prototype under testing. We’ll gather extensive data in conditions close to live combat and that should help speed up development on the new model. Putting it simply, they’re letting us borrow it.”

It was an incredibly beautiful machine.

So beautiful that it was hard for her to believe that it was a Valkyrie, a Variable Fighter originally created for killing.

If she had to compare it to something, it’d be a sword.

Shining brilliantly, sharp, without a single flaw, forged solely for its singular purpose. A sword.

Its wings made her feel that the swordsmith who forged it must have offered their soul to the gods, without any hint of doubt or shame, carving out a beautiful thing for the sake of the world.

“A VF-19EF…? No, it’s not. The shape of its wings is…”

It did resemble her beloved plane.

But everything about it was so different.

Its distinctive shape was like a swan gracefully spreading its wings, but it was nonetheless evident that the electronic equipment and navigational support systems integrated throughout it were as up to date as could be.

“The model number within S.M.S. is VF-19ACTIVE. It’s called the Nothung.”

“Nothung? Like from Wagner’s opera?”

“Is that right?”

“Act I, Scene 2. Siegfried, a hero born from forbidden love, takes the sword Nothung as his own to slay Fafnir, a giant that was transformed into a dragon. It’s the sword wielded by the man that the most renowned Valkyrie, Brünhilde, loved. S.M.S. must have a bit of a romantic streak in them.”

Chelsea stroked the Nothung’s wings tenderly, like a lover would.

Even though it bore the name of the sword which slew a detestable giant, its blade was beautiful. Its state-of-the-art energy conversion armor was polished to an almost mirror-like finish, shining so brilliantly that she felt that her soul itself might end up being sucked into it.

This Valkyrie… was waiting for me.

Yes, she understood it.

Not from reason.

Not from logic.

This sword had simply been forged for her hand to hold, an instrument played for her soul’s satisfaction.

The fact that these wings were created for her sake was as self-evident as the fact that a rose has a fragrance. It was so obvious that there was no need to provide any proof of it.

They were a pair of wings forged so that Chelsea Scarlett could take flight.

The wings of Icarus, forged from OTM-reinforced titanium composite material that even the flames of Helios could never hope to scorch.

“Seems like you’re a fan.”

Hakuna smirked.

She couldn’t even pretend that she wasn’t. Her soul as a pilot, her pride, even, would not allow it.

So, she gave a different answer.

“If I fly in this—what about you?”

“You saw it already. My VF-1.”

“A VF-1!? The original Valkyrie!?”

“Yup. Those are my wings.”

“No way! Are you making fun of me!?”

“No way. I’d never lie about a plane.”

“But that’s about as big of a difference as there is between a light aircraft and a jet!”

The VF-1 Valkyrie was the most famous Variable Fighter in the galaxy.

The simple fact that “Valkyrie,” which was just a nickname, had become a generic term for its type of weapon spoke volumes.

No one could doubt the excellence of this humanoid fighter which could transform into three different stages, which once fought the invading Zentradi as the Earth’s main fighter during Space War I.

Though, when compared to modern Variable Fighters, its performance was hardly worth mentioning. Putting it bluntly, it was an outdated model.

After all, Space War I was fifty years ago now. Both Chelsea and Hakuna were from the generation that had no memory of the war itself.

In contrast, even if there was a successor currently in development, the VF-19 remained an unparalleled masterpiece of human civilization in terms of speed, maneuverability and range—not to mention its cost.

Pitting the two against one another would be as reckless as pitting a World War II Me-262 fighter against the MIM-31 Karyovin stealth bombers used by the Anti-UN Forces during the Earth Unification war at the end of the 20th century purely because they were both jets.

Even if it wasn’t an aerial battle, or maybe because it wasn’t, it was like a fight between an adult and a child. Like a race between a top-of-the-line sports car and a used compact. Chelsea had to assume that he wasn’t speaking with full sanity.

But the man looking at her with eyes like a hawk just twisted his lips in defiance and spoke.

“That’s why I called it a handicap. For someone like you who’s used to using an EX Gear, this would be better than something like a VF-11. I couldn’t get my hands on a 25, though…”

“Quit screwing around!”

“I’m not screwing around.”

There was a fierce resolve behind Hakuna’s eyes.

It wasn’t a joke or some casual remark. It was a resolve that said he wouldn’t allow her to say such a thing.

He’s killed someone before.

Chelsea’s instincts sensed it.

Of course, even if Chelsea was part of a private military company, she was still a professional soldier. She had killed people before, without any distinction between Earthlings and Zentras.

But the thing conveyed in Hakuna’s eyes was a darkness deeper than any that Chelsea had ever known.

“I’ve given you a fair presentation of the best possible options. I think this deal should be meaningful for the both of us. If that sounds like a joke to you, then go ahead and propose an alternative, Chelsea Scarlett.”

“—”

“We all live by taking lives in one form or another. It’s the difference between killing them on a farm or hunting ground yourself versus paying someone else to do it for you. That’s why I think I understand your argument, your desire to get sustenance in a way that satisfies you. But it’s a baby chick’s privilege to have its parents bring food whenever it holds its mouth open.”

“You’re calling me selfish now!?”

“If that’s what it sounded like, I’m sorry.”

“—Gh!”

Chelsea clenched her fists.

But that was all she could do.

Because it was true.

Her cheeks flushed; her well-shaped eyebrows twisted in humiliation.

It wasn’t rage. It was shame.

Shame toward who?

Toward herself, of course. For having been so childish.

Toward herself, who was faced with adult logic and could only counter it with childish emotion.

Just because she hadn’t been able to say anything back then, when she stepped off the stage, didn’t mean that she could say anything now. It didn’t mean that doing so had made her into an adult.

Even so—even so, Chelsea Scarlett was no longer a child. She resolved to stop letting her emotion dictate her words.

And, just as she had when she first stepped onto the stage, she planted her feet firmly on the ground and tensed her stomach.

She felt that she had to do it.

“I’ll do it—but don’t cry if you lose, alright?”

“Right.”

With a sly grin, Hakuna gave her a thumbs-up.

“That’s what makes you a pilot.”

✥✥✥

TV news was abuzz with reports of victory over a faction of renegade Zentradi. An excited news anchor announced that President Glass’ approval ratings were through the roof, which served as the driving force to fend off his opposition’s attacks about the delay in tax reforms.

Of course, the news made no mention of S.M.S.’s involvement in the fight.

The only mention of it was a line tucked away in the corner of an official document that read: “We received cooperation from a private military provider.”

Works for me, Ozma Lee thought.

They weren’t ordinary troops who fought for glory. They were professional soldiers who worked for money. If there was ever a time when he would truly stake his life and honor, it’d be when those bugs finally arrived.

“Hey, Ozma.”

Next to him on the living room sofa was his beloved sister, Ranka Lee, with jade-green hair so different from his own. Her big, round eyes peered into her brother’s raptor-like eyes.

“Why do they call them renegade Zentradi?”

“Officially, the galaxy isn’t supposed to have nations aside from the New United Nations Government. From the government’s perspective, all Zentradi not under their rule are rebels.”

“But aren’t there a thousand or so ships in the Zentradi main fleet? I heard that the Boddole Fleet that came to Earth was just one of many.”

“You’re so smart, Ranka.”

The ace pilot’s eyes softened. It was a look that his subordinates would never see. He would do anything to protect his sister.

“That’s right. That’s why the Frontier Fleet is headed toward the galactic center, where there’s minimal activity from the main fleet. They just said it on the news, right? That detachment was only sent for recon, they were wiped out before they could contact the main fleet, so this won’t escalate into a full-scale war.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. The New United Nations Forces are doing just fine.”

Ozma was actually troubled about this, and wondered if a hint of sarcasm crept into his words. The part of him that cursed at his subordinates and enemies, seething with rage at the New United Nations Forces’ cowardice and corruption, tended to clash with his desire to raise his sister to be a refined and gentle lady.

“Hey, Ozma?”

“What’s up?”

“You’re not going to do anything dangerous, are you?”

“C’mon.”

Ozma gave a wry smile. One with a double meaning.

“I’m just a human resources guy at a security firm. I couldn’t get myself into trouble even if I tried. They don’t transfer office guys like me into anything that’d make me wear a uniform.”

“—You’re right. Sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

With the same hands that gripped control sticks every day, the same fingers that pulled the triggers of missile launchers and machine guns, Ozma ruffled Ranka’s hair.

Soon, Ranka lost interest in the topic when the entertainment section of the news drew her eye toward the radiant superstar, Sheryl Nome. Then, leaning her weight on her brother, she drifted to sleep.

As he carried his sister’s light body to her bed, Ozma looked up at the galaxy through the window.

—I wish this could last just a little while longer—

✥✥✥

“Phew.”

After assigning Chelsea a spare room, Hakuna was finally able to lay in his own bed. He could feel the scent of a young, beautiful woman lingering somewhere in his room, which did make him a bit shy.

“Still, who would’ve thought.”

He picked up a photograph. A nostalgic image.

“That’s what makes life so interesting. It’s like that saying about the hedgehog who sleeps under a cactus, never knowing about the bird incubating its eggs just beneath him.”

Cracking his shoulder blades, Hakuna spread his fingers out from pinky to thumb, then folded them into each other one by one several times.

“Well, things’ll work out somehow. I swear by the summit of Kilimanjaro."

✥✥✥

The Macross Frontier Fleet was classified as an Island Cluster-type Long-Range Emigration Fleet.

An Island Cluster was, in essence, a collection of self-propelled space colonies.

At their core was Island One, which was 15 kilometers in diameter. On the surface of the nearly circular, salad-bowl-like spacecraft with thin walls, urban areas modeled after various Earth cities were recreated, with a layered city extending beneath them as well.

Extending out behind it like a flock of birds were Environment Ships. Glass tubes each 8 kilometers in length.

Each Environment Ship was a spacecraft capable of self-propulsion, each with its own semi-independent natural environment. Along with Island One, they formed a greater ecosystem, allowing them to circulate waste and atmosphere among them.

Island One had a population of approximately 5 million, and the twenty-or-so Environment Ships behind it housed another 5 million. A total of 10 million people were on an endless pilgrimage, in search of a new home, with this vast, glass-walled world serving as both their land and sky.

✥✥✥

Island Reno was unique, even among the Environment Ships.

Typically, the artificial recreation of Earth’s natural environment served one of two purposes: to support key industries like agriculture and fishing, or to create a warm, habitable environment that could allow humans to survive in the harsh, inhospitable conditions of outer space.

However, what made this ship unique was that it recreated a desert, specifically, the deserts of Nevada in North America.

Naturally, there were residential areas underground, but the surface was nothing but a barren wasteland. Newspapers on the Macross Galaxy, which generally valued practicality above aesthetics, sarcastically referred to this Island as a “flying test tube full of sand” and “an archaic form of adoration toward pebbles.”

Nevertheless, Island Reno generated wealth for itself primarily through its unimaginable peculiarity among Environment Ships. Tourists from all over the galaxy travelled through its recreated desert in covered wagons, reflecting on the hardships of pioneers from the faraway past. In Western Land, they dressed up as heroes and villains and carried out four-act plays as a kind of survival game.

Come nightfall, the red lights of the casino district built in the center of the island drew people in. The crowd appeared in the desert just as the stars appeared in the night sky.

Amid that town’s hustle and bustle, Chelsea Scarlett had just arrived.

✥✥✥

“All these people are here to watch the Vanquish!?”

It had only been three days, but Chelsea was once again struck by the realization that a powerful current of fate had swept her up.

There were so, so, so many people.

It was like they had gathered from every corner of the galaxy. The streets were packed not only with what seemed like every ethnic group that once existed on Earth, but also with Zentradi, intelligent species of even more obscure varieties, and mixed-race people descended from all of the above. It was a mosaic of color and culture.

“Yep, that’s right. After all, the Vanquish is the only place you get to see Valkyries fight up close outside of combat. There are plenty of fools who wanna fly in the sky.”

Indeed, the vast desert was one of the best environments for flying aircrafts. No rain, and even if they were to crash, the thick sand would prevent them from piercing through and dealing any damage to the residential district below. The exposed hotels and casinos were protected by pinpoint barriers, too. It was a perfect place for Valkyries to fly.

A plane with forward-swept wings and flash coloring flew above Chelsea’s head, trailing rainbow smoke as it sped away.

A deafening roar of cheers erupted from the crowd.

“A VF-19!? Not an EF-type though… is it a domestic model?”

“You got it.”

Hakuna provided commentary, his tonea mix of rivalry and admiration.

“That’s Oscar Brauhitsch’s VF-19A. It’s won three consecutive Vanquish races in the Frontier Fleet.”

“Wh—Why is a machine like that taking part in some ordinary race!?”

“Hey now, races have been a showcase for a sponsor’s technological prowess since the days of horse racing. A racer of Brauhitsch’s caliber was able to get the company itself—Shinsei Industries—to back him. He’s their personal pilot now. I don’t see much of an issue with it. I’m in cahoots with S.M.S. myself.”

“That thing’s in today’s race too?”

“Yep. He’s on his way back from the qualifiers. If you let the fact that he’s got a new model bug you this much, he’ll trip you up before you even get to facing me.”

“Right… that’s actually… kind of exciting.”

Her true feelings slipped out before she could stop them. As a fellow VF-19 pilot, she got an itch to go head-to-head with him. She was honest enough with herself to not deny the feeling. 

Fireworks went off. It seemed like the real battle was finally about to begin.

“Here we go—showtime!”

✥✥✥

She settled into the cockpit of the VF-19ACTIVE, revealing a prototype EX Gear pilot suit built into its seat, which doubled as a power assist unit.

The flight support AI, Brünhilde, activated, sending a message confirming that there were no abnormalities. It was a military-grade AI, cold and impersonal, lacking the gentle, pseudo-human interface common in civilian systems. But that fact was what made its matter-of-fact message feel reassuring to her.

It was Chelsea who’d named it Brünhilde. She also drew the emblem on the nose of the plane, which was inspired by Brünhilde, queen of the ancient Norse Valkyries.

The anthropomorphism may have been childish, but any pilot worth their salt knew that personal attachments like these could sometimes be the final thing keeping them going.

Besides, she also wanted to try out having a personal emblem, since the amount of covert operations they carried out meant that she never got to try it back with the S.M.S.’s Apollo Platoon.

“I have control! OK, OK, here I go!”

The battle between Chelsea and Hakuna would take the form of a Vanquish qualifier.

Put in the simplest terms, thirty-something Valkyries would take off and fly in a predetermined circle. Strict restrictions were placed on flight altitude and transformation in certain areas, so there were some parts of the course where a Fighter Mode’s performance was crucial, and other parts where the GERWALK and Battroid Modes were the key to victory.

The winner, the first to capture a specific flag, would earn the right to compete. That said, this particular event had nothing to do with Chelsea. Her only objective was to cross the finish line before Hakuna did.

But if I’m doing this, I should want to win, right Brünhilde?

The thought did cross her mind.

More than any of this, the first beat of the Nothung’s heart was a magnificent rhythm that lifted Chelsea’s spirits.

She checked its instruments. The sound of its reactor idling was crystal clear, as beautiful as resonant quartz. The vibrations that shook her seat and the hot hair being sucked into the engine rang out like a symphony.

Beautiful—yeah, almost too beautiful.

It was a question.

She understood that José wanted her to collect data for this experimental craft in near-combat conditions.

She understood, but it was still far too extravagant for her. She couldn’t fathom why even the flight assistant AI had to be a new LAI design. No matter how she looked at it, it just cost far too much money.

After all, all of the other planes, from Hakuna’s VF-1 to Brauhitsch’s VF-19, were civilian units, restored and modified from former military aircraft. The Nothung was a state-of-the-art plane that shone from tip to tail. It was just too beautiful.

The S.M.S. is still hiding something from me—

Chelsea couldn’t tell what it was, or if it was separate from her existing paranoia about her situation.

✥✥✥

Chelsea wasn’t the only one with these doubts.

Oscar Brauhitsch, a macho man with blond hair cut so short he was almost a skinhead, asked the chief mechanic about the exact same subject.

“Hey, what’s with that VF-19? I haven’t heard of any other company sending in a VF-19 series model.”

“Rumors say they’re from the S.M.S.”

“I see. Must be LAI or something, then.”

LAI was an Italian conglomerate that maintained friendly relations with the Japanese military conglomerate, Shinsei Industries. However, there was an irreconcilable difference in the corporate cultures of LAI, a space-based enterprise that had completely shifted its management to the Frontier, and Shinsei, which remained strictly an Earthling-based company. Their relationship was extremely efficient, but they each kept a knife hidden behind their backs, just in case.

Shinsei was a rising star that completed the VF-19 and propelled it to become the de facto standard, so the fact that LAI, which co-developed the Frontier Model “Caliburn,” would introduce another VF-19 into the Vanquish race felt to them like someone they’d lended their roof to was trying to take over the entire building.

Brauhitsch, racing under their banner, felt the same way.

“And what’s with that pilot? Is she just some chick with nothing going for her but her big chest?”

“You’ve got a good eye.”

“Of course. A pilot’s eyes are his life—well, she is good on the eyes. I’ll give her that, but…”

With a grand gesture Brauhitsch waved his hand.

“If they wanna use her as a poster girl to make a name for themselves in Vanquish, those Italian bastards at LAI must have a screw loose. I mean, c’mon. If you’re gonna do it, at least do it properly. Handing a machine like that over to some privateer, not even a works team—it just doesn’t add up.”

“She’s an S.M.S. pilot, they say her skills are solid.”

“Sure, maybe in a fight. But this is Vanquish. It’s the most extreme race in the galaxy. If they think they can bring in some fancy new model, stick a pretty girl in the cockpit and make it to the podium, they have another thing coming.”

Brauhitsch laughed defiantly.

A trained eye could see that his left arm, encased in his pilot suit, was a chrome cyber-arm. He hadn’t augmented his brain through implants, but he’d lost his original arm in a Vanquish accident five years prior.

He spoke with the pride of a man who lived and breathed Vanquish, not envy.

✥✥✥

With cheers roaring out, colorful Variable Fighters took off from the desert runway.

Of course, Chelsea’s Nothung was no exception.

Taking full advantage of its variable wings, she adopted a configuration optimized for low speeds to start riding the wind in one swift motion, soaring into the skies above Island Reno.

Hakuna really did come in a VF-1. I admire his pride, but that’s not everything. Relying on my machine’s power alone isn’t exactly my—!?

Her convenient train of thought was cut short.

Like a bolt of silver lightning splitting the sky, a Valkyrie streaked right past the Nothung.

“The VF-1…!? No way, this acceleration is…”

“Hey, what’s the matter, latest model!?”

Hakuna’s voice came over the radio.

She opened her throttles wide and transformed her wings into high-speed flight mode. If she didn’t, she would’ve been left completely in the dust.

She couldn’t believe it.

This thing—it doesn’t just have tweaked aerodynamics.

Powered by Super Pack boosters that were sourced from somewhere she couldn’t say and forcibly mounted on its legs, along with a main engine with clearly extraordinary thrust capabilities, the VF-1 entered supersonic flight at almost the exact same moment the VF-19 did.

The two planes closed in at a distance so close that they might have been able to touch their hands together if they reached out, slicing through the sky, intertwining like a spiral, tearing through the air as they closed in on the gate to outer space.

No.

Enduring the G-forces, Chelsea listened to the sound of the VF-1.

There wasn’t the slightest disturbance in it.

Using gentle, sometimes strict commands, its pilot took the wail of a machine that should have been crying out in agony from being pushed beyond its limits and transformed it into a flawless melody.

What is it—why would someone like this be racing in a place like—!?

That question was cut short.

Because Brauhitsch’s plane accelerated from behind, taking a straight trajectory toward the gate.

She activated the high-mobility units at her wingtips and tried to fly while responding and blocking Hakuna’s course at the same time. Naturally, Hakuna wouldn’t allow it. Since she also had to fly the designated course, her trajectory became even more complex, tracing a smooth curve.

With each pass over the neon lights of the Reno cityscape, once, twice, three times, they could hear the cheers of the crowd.

The three Valkyries, tangled together, passed through the pinpoint barrier gate that served as the boundary between them and outer space.

✥✥✥

The pinpoint barrier gate was a technology that utilized the pinpoint barrier—originally designed to protect ships from asteroids and enemy attacks—to create a special field that allowed Valkyries and people to pass through into space without allowing the atmosphere to escape.

Strictly speaking, crafts didn’t actually pass through. Rather, at the exact moment they pass, the barrier vanishes quantum-mechanically for a fraction of a second, too brief for human eyes to perceive. If she were honest, Chelsea didn’t understand how it worked even after it was explained to her.

In any case, when she broke through the auroral gate at the absolute limit of her speed, she found herself in the void that surrounded the fleet. Outer space.

There was a three-dimensional course the shape of several ovals, passing through a number of gates installed on the surface of Island Reno and then returning to its interior.

“Out of my way! Rookies who bet on the power of fancy machines alone should just stay off of the path!”

Brauhitsch’s VF-19 cut between Hakuna and Chelsea, executing a maneuver that bordered on ramming them. Chelsea’s course was thrown off because she instinctively dodged it. Her ears picked up the sound of Hakuna’s engine, which she never should’ve been able to hear, as he flew away.

Dammit—

Indeed, this was a race. Not air combat. Moves that would work in air combat wouldn’t necessarily be correct in a race.

In a Valkyrie race where they were flying at super high speeds, even the slightest deviation in trajectory could create a gap that was impossible to close with only a few seconds left. Falling slightly behind those in the lead, Chelsea’s Nothung accelerated once more.

Once in space, the Valkyries changed their path into a race course by passing through gates set near the Island or on non-environmental ships.

“You little—! Don’t underestimate me!”

No missiles were coming at her, at least. She stopped treating it as a game, but slipping from gate to gate at top speed was hardly a challenge for someone like Chelsea.

Superior maneuverability that could transcend human limits was the true strength of the VF-19 Series. Even in space, the trio of EX Gear, support AI and high-mobility nozzles fully demonstrated this fact. Overtaking two or three of her more hesitant opponents, Chelsea managed to take a position to chase the leading group consisting of Hakuna, Brauhitsch and about five others.

But that was where the two men’s cunning came into play. Their movements were precise and had no waste, born of intimate knowledge of the course. They gave her no opportunity to overtake them.

With the leads firmly established, the race went on.

✥✥✥

Again, she passed through the pinpoint barrier gate and returned to Island Reno. 

The GERWALK Mode slalom was brutal.

She wasn’t averse to flying through dense, rocky terrain by any means, even if she was restricted to a certain altitude. The problem was the VF-19’s structural limitations. Because it used forward-swept wings, the arms and wings get in each other’s way in GERWALK Mode, limiting its ability to use a swing of the arms to shift its center of gravity, as is necessary in slalom. The same applied to Brauhitsch, so, incredibly, Hakuna’s VF-1 managed to pull ahead.

This thing—it’s tuned specifically for low altitude aerodynamics—

It lived up to its reputation. But that wasn’t all.

The VF-1 was a bit smaller than current models. That made it well-suited to Vanquish, navigating narrow passageways in GERWALK Mode where one’s width can normally become a hindrance. Several times, Chelsea was forced to lose time because she couldn’t squeeze through gaps that Hakuna could pass through easily.

I won’t lose—!

✥✥✥

They navigated the slalom course and charged into the flag area. Like the slalom course, the flag area was a rocky desert, but transformation was now unrestricted. Whoever captured the few flags placed in the area would advance to the main Vanquish tournament.

They were permitted to use gunpods loaded with mock battle shock rounds (projectiles that use an electromagnetic pulse to disable a machine temporarily) that were placed haphazardly throughout the area. Vanquish Valkyries carried no weapons aside from defensive pinpoint barriers, so this was a bit of a breakthrough for them.

But still—!

With the freedom to transform, there was no way that Chelsea and her Nothung, which excelled at high-mobility combat at low altitudes, could lose. She quickly grabbed a gunpod and used a combination of GERWALK and Battroid Modes to race forward.

She slalomed past a punch thrown by a VA-3 Invader, then performed a half-turn and transformed into Battroid Mode. She outmaneuvered the enemy and tried to break away. Even with close combat and shock-round fire now unrestricted, she didn’t have time to be dragged into some chaotic brawl.

In fact, behind her, that same VA-3 had already been knocked out of the race after a spectacular kick from a VF-14 Vampire perched on a rocky outcrop crushed its head.

It was no exaggeration when they called it the most extreme race in the galaxy. Chelsea knew all too well why they raced in planes with limbs and fought over flags.

What about him—where’s Hakuna!?

In GERWALK Mode, the composite sensors in her head, which were normally sealed behind her armor, activated. It didn’t take long to find him.

“Got him!”

Words. Transformation. They came simultaneously.

Hakuna hadn’t secured a flag yet. Brauhitsch had sped up to snatch it from him. Hakuna banked, searching for another one. Chelsea knew the sound in her ears.

That engine sound—!

She used her Battroid feet to kick off the ground. She transformed into Fighter Mode. The Nothung soared just above the surface. It moved at a speed that would make even a decent pilot flinch. The ground was right below the lower cockpit monitor.

A Battroid, pelted by a hail of shock rounds, was spinning and hurtling toward her at a terrifying speed. Even if their unit survived the crash, the pilot inside wouldn’t have it easy.

But Chelsea wasn’t afraid. The wind’s grace, the sound of her wings; they told her all she needed to know about the world around her more eloquently than a sensor ever could. Her ears didn’t miss even the slightest rustle in the air.

Her engine beat out a rhythm. The flag flapped in the wind. The intricate pillars of rock played a symphony called “The World.”

Chelsea was part of that song. So, she thought that as long as she could hear it, she wouldn’t lose. She thought that she could fly.

She gave chase.

Hakuna’s white VF-1 charged toward the flag. If she let him take it, she faced certain defeat.

As if the towers of rock didn’t even exist, her ears read every nuance of the complex air currents and sent the Nothung soaring along the optimal course as simply as if it were a straight line. It was a silver sword slicing through the world. The audience stared in awe, cheered, and showered her with thunderous applause. Even the other competitors were forced to admit that she was no longer relying on her plane alone. Even Brauhitsch was staring with wide eyes. With the EX Gear linking them, Chelsea and the Nothung had undoubtedly become one.

If I go at top speed…!

No matter how many boosters it had or how its engine had been upgraded, the VF-1’s fundamental aerodynamic characteristics hadn’t changed. With transformable wings, a sturdy frame capable of withstanding the massive thrust of its engine, and Chelsea at its controls, the Nothung could catch up and overtake it.

Like pulling up roots.

That was the only way to describe it.

In one swift motion, she overtook two VF-11 Thunderbolts.

Locked on.

Before her eyes.

One plane—

Transformed into Battroid Mode.

But Hakuna was still too fast.

I’m not gonna make it—

The white back of the VF-1, reaching out to the flag.

Its wings, so defenseless. Too defenseless.

There’s no way he doesn’t see me closing in—

In the VF-19’s right hand was a massive gatling gunpod.

She wouldn’t miss. She couldn’t miss. No. Even if she did, she could use a pinpoint barrier punch…

If they’re just practice rounds—then—!

Her finger reached for the trigger.

Her finger reached for the trigger.

Her finger reached…

“No!”

Instead, Chelsea transformed.

Quickly nullifying its perfect opportunity to shoot and performing a spectacular somersault, the VF-19 left everyone blinking in disbelief. Her flying itself was still magnificent, so there were still those who cheered.

✥✥✥

“…You knew… that I wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger?”

After the qualifiers, Chelsea muttered to Hakuna as he climbed out of his cockpit.

“...I guess.”

Hakuna seemed a bit troubled. He hadn’t been able to beat Brauhitsch either. But so it goes.

“No, that’s not exactly it. If you could shoot, then you should’ve won and went back to S.M.S. anyways. If you couldn’t, then you shouldn’t go back. That was the idea.”

“So it wasn’t a serious fight?”

“No, that’s not it.”

His voice dropped slightly.

“Back there, even if I banked to evade or moved to counterattack, your shot would’ve been spot-on. In a VF-1, I could evade, but I wouldn’t have been able to get the flag afterward. My bet that you wouldn’t be able to shoot me was just the best strategy. There’s one thing I can say without reservation, though. You’re a great pilot, Chelsea!”

“...”

“More importantly, you’d better go answer their cheers.”

“...Huh?”

She hadn’t noticed.

Before her eyes, she saw people cheering for her, Hakuna, and the other pilots. Cameras were flashing nonstop. Even if it was only the qualifier, it had been quite a race.

—Oddly, she wasn’t afraid.

It wasn’t like it was back when she couldn’t get on stage.

There was a sense of satisfaction. A sense that she’d given it her all, soared through the air, and was now being celebrated for it.

So, quietly, Chelsea murmured.

“I’ll give it a shot.”

“Hm?”

“Vanquish—But only until I can pull the trigger again. How’s that?”

“Ahh—Works for me. I’ll let José know.”

“Okay, okay.”

She felt a little lighter.

On the vast horizon, contrails from someone’s Valkyrie in flight stretched until they faded away.

Chelsea didn’t know what lay at the end of it.

In the sea of stars, there is no forward nor backward. It is a world governed by inertia alone, where all one can do is float. It is a hollow world where one neither flies nor advances, merely drifting along the course of another’s vector. Even so, she thought that she wanted to fly.

The cockpit of a VF-19EF Variable Fighter is cramped.

Chelsea Scarlett had a slender frame, but even she had little room to move when tucked inside of it.

It made sense that their name was synonymous with “chicken coops.”

After all, Chelsea was no chicken—she was a young woman, and, if we were to speak impartially, a beautiful one at that. She had recently emerged from girlhood into womanhood, but was still too pure to be called a fully-fledged woman. She was a radiant maiden reminiscent of a drawn saber. Her appearance reminded one of a Valkyrie, the beautiful, white-winged maidens who guided people to the afterlife in Norse mythology, who also happened to be the namesake of her Variable Fighter.

“Is another war coming?”

Muttering this, the maiden with the face of a silver goddess soared through the cosmos in her Valkyrie, alone.

There would be a war.

Her mindset was wrong.

Totally wrong.

She knew full well. It was only that, just like those around her, she chose to call the period without attacks, the time spent preparing for the next battle, “peacetime.”

Even so, people were still being deployed. The thought of it made her anxious. Though, that was a natural thing for a living being to feel.

Trying to distract herself from the fear and tension, she took a small, melodious breath, but pressed her hand to her mouth before it could escape.

✥✥✥

In the upper right corner of the heads-up display in front of her, a warning began to flash.

As Chelsea blinked, the VF-19EF Caliburn’s support AI magnified the image ten-thousandfold.

It was a massive, almost impossibly large spaceship, likely several kilometers long, which glowed with a dull, deep green in the light of the nearest sun-like star.

There weren't just one or two of them, either. There were enough to call them a fleet.

The beam guides and missile bays equipped throughout them, not to mention the swarms of combat pods circling like small fish around a giant whale, left no doubt that they were the creations of a people born for combat.

“...Zentradi.”

The word slipped out from her throat, full of tension and something beyond it.

She sent her control stick moving in a complex sequence, activating the sensor pods mounted on the VF-19EF’s wings. With layers of decoy signals camouflaging it, optical scanning cautiously locked onto the Zentradi fleet.

“No response from New United Nations Forces-type identification. Response to Zentradi Axis IFF. It’s the Zentradi Koperl Main Fleet’s 201581976 Reconnaissance Squad…?”

Hidden in the shadow of a small celestial body they called a meteorite and concealing all trace of herself with Fold Active Stealth, Chelsea sighed from the cockpit of her VF-19EF. No matter what it was or how obvious of a prediction it was, it never felt pleasant when a bad prediction ended up coming true.

“It’s black… pitch black.”

With her toes and the fingers on her right hand, she unconsciously tapped out a rhythm as she stroked her well-defined chin with her left. She had a habit of doing so when she spoke.

“The fleet’s roughly fifteen light-years away. For a short-range Fold, that’s just a short hop away. They could be space pirates or smugglers pretending to be Zentradi, but I guess they’re all cut from the same cloth at the end of the day. Hmm, okay, okay.”

Confirming that she’d gathered 100% of the data she needed, the maiden’s lovely fingers tapped at the console in front of her. Sitting in inertial flight, she redirected her craft’s power to the Fold Booster mounted on the upper surface of its hull.

The Fold Booster was a specialized device which made the hyperspace navigation often referred to as “warping” in the science fiction of centuries past into a real possibility even for single-seater spacecrafts. Looking like a translucent crystal less than ten meters in length, the device remained extremely expensive even a decade after it had entered practical application. Virtually no one had access to it outside of certain military forces and criminal organizations.

In the blink of an eye, her VF-19EF was enveloped in the rainbow-colored bubble of Fold Space. The false signals emitted by it prevented even that light from reaching the Zentradi fleet.

Probably.

Yes, probably.

Unfortunately, Chelsea didn’t actually have any way of confirming whether the camouflage actually worked. She could only assume that it did because the enemy had yet to react to her.

She was the Emperor with beautiful new clothes, but unlike that old fairy tale, she was the only one who could see them. To figure out if she was naked, she’d have to go and see how others reacted.

Just like the entertainment industry.

She thought.

✥✥✥

About fifty years ago, there was a war.

Compared to the vast interstellar war that had been raging on for tens of thousands of years, one could describe it as no more than a minor skirmish.

The conflict between the Zentradi and the Supervision Army, two warring races created by the ancient interstellar civilization known as the Protoculture, ended up engulfing the remote planet Earth and leaving it in ruins.

Nevertheless, the people of Earth managed to escape alive thanks to a single ship called the Macross and the power of a lone singer who lived on it, allowing them to make peace with the much larger Zentradi race.

However, none could say whether mankind and its culture would survive the next war.

Having made peace with the people of Earth, the Zentradi cooperated to ensure the survival of a culture which they themselves once lacked, a culture that had captivated them so deeply that they willingly abandoned war.

This effort would be called the Humanity Seeding Project.

Most of the surviving members of mankind left Earth and set off for the far reaches of space aboard Super-Long-Range Emigration Ships.

Even if some or even most of them would be destroyed, they planned to scatter as many seeds of their culture, as many memories of the Earth as they could, throughout the cosmos. It was a plan that could be classified neither as tragic resolve nor extreme optimism.

Nearly fifty years had passed since the first Super-Long-Range Emigration Ship, the Megaroad-01 departed.

The journey of the Zentradi and mankind continued.

✥✥✥

She heard a song.

She always heard a song.

When one entered the subspace known as Fold Space, they dreamed.

It’s said that the silver thread which connects a sentient being’s physical and ethereal bodies unravels, carrying the ethereal self away to a higher astral plane or subspace.

None of this was certain, none of this was scientific.

And yet, the phenomena’s existence was undeniable, so people resorted to outdated occult terminology to put it into words.

Reality comes first, then scientists assign it a name, not the other way around. Faced with the vast field of the cosmos, the superdimensional Fold that transcended the world of Newtonian physics, mankind had no choice but to become far more humble than they were when they still clung to the Earth.

Chelsea had no doubt that it was her ethereal self unraveling into Fold Space that caused her to dream.

This was fine.

What she hated was the fact that those dreams were always nightmares.

The terror of her soul being sucked away.

That long sleep, trapped in a coffin of ice.

No one was there.

No sound.

Just endless silence.

She hated remembering it.

That sense of anxiety she felt in dreams, knowing it was a dream but still being unable to move her body.

Her body told her that she was frozen, that she was inside of that cold coffin.

Even though that was over ten years ago.

Somewhere deep down, Chelsea’s rational mind raced. But she was still stuck, unable to move.

Maybe I really am still in that coffin.

Flying through space, leaving home, becoming a pilot. Was all of that just a dream she saw in that coffin of ice?

Was this reality? Was the life she thought was reality just moments ago actually no more than a dream?

Chelsea couldn’t say.

Uncertain, she emerged from the Fold.

✥✥✥

Emerging from the Fold, the first thing that greeted her was the shimmering green and blue of the town she called home.

The land that filled her vision did not belong to a planet.

It was a massive, circular spaceship with a circumference nearing 30 kilometers.

One could think of it as a sort of glass canopy—though, strictly speaking, it was a different kind of reinforced material, not glass—covering a diorama of land and sea arranged on a plate.

It was far smaller than Earth, but a biosphere teeming with life nonetheless.

A city built within a former Macross space battleship.

Island One was a flagship which carried on the tradition of the Super-Long-Range Emigration Ships.

The fleet led by this ship was known as the 25th Super-Long-Range Fleet, Macross Frontier.

Behind Island One there was a string of small cylindrical spacecraft called islands stretching out like a peacock’s tail. Connected as a single entity, they formed an ecosystem that some described as being like an archipelago.

Heading toward the Macross, the VF-19EF slowly banked its beautiful, crane-like frame and entered a landing approach course.

✥✥✥

“A joint operation?”

A man with scars that made him look like a pirate, Jeffrey Wilder flashed a defiant grin at the sponsor on the other end of the monitor.

He was a man of the sea.

A man with such brazen audacity that he almost resembled those heroes from the times when men fought on sailing ships with muskets and sabers in hand, making it rain with the blood of those who stood against them.

He was a pirate, a sailor, or perhaps both wrapped up into one. If he wasn’t wearing a military uniform, it’d be impossible to believe from his appearance that he came from an age of space travel.

He was not a soldier belonging to the New United Nations Forces or the national military of any fleet nation.

The private military contractor S.M.S. That was his affiliation.

As mankind expanded its reach across the galaxy, they began to seek out their own self-defense forces rather than being reliant on armies swayed by national egos. This was particularly true of those involved in trade. Eventually, these forces came to be leased to nations as a form of commercial enterprise.

It was like the merchant fleets from the Age of Discovery were reborn.

He was the Captain of the flagship of that armed merchant fleet, which bore the Macross name, the Variable Space Carrier Macross Quarter, and the Commander-in-Chief of the S.M.S.'s combat force. That was the man’s true identity.

“Yes, a joint operation. Even if it’s a reconnaissance sub-fleet, it’s still division-class. Well, let’s just say that the new President would love to get the credit for repelling it.”

On the other end of the monitor, the sponsor laughed heartily.

He was an alien.

With pale green skin and a massive implanted mask covering half of his face, it was clear from a single glance that he was a Zentradi giant.

The giant’s name was Richard Vhirler.

One of the giants who naturalized to the Earth’s side during Space War I. Though he was old enough to be described as elderly, his gaze still felt like a young boy’s, radiating with an odd, friendly warmth.

“Then we’ll proceed with the standard response under Code Z. Does that work for you?”

“Please do. Having the government reaffirm our usefulness should allow us to seize the initiative if we should eventually have a Code V.”

“Right. Consider this a good opportunity to demonstrate the power of our new Quarter-class ship and the VF-25 series.”

“Mm-hm! That’s precisely what I meant.”

Vhirler nodded several times, like a child staring at a new toy in a store window.

It was an oddly innocent expression, he seemed entirely unconcerned with the fact that they were about to use the latest in human weaponry to vaporize his own people in space.

“By the way…”

“—What?”

“According to our reports, it looks like it was First Lieutenant Chelsea Scarlett who sent this tip.”

“Sure. Is there a problem with that?”

“No, no—well, I suppose if this were the ordinary military, they might nitpick and ask ‘should we send a Zentra to scout these Zentra and see if they surrender?’ Though I certainly wouldn’t make a fuss about that.”

“I don’t plan to either. It could be a demon from hell and I wouldn’t care as long as the mission got done.”

“Yes, yes, well—”

Vhirler scratched his thinning head, looking a bit shy.

“You see, I was the one who recommended her for recruitment. It makes me a little happy to see that the girl who joined because of one of my whims is doing a great job.”

“She’s a good pilot. When it comes to aerial recon, she stands out even among our best pilots.”

“I’m so glad to hear it. Well now, I’ll leave the rest to you. As for me, I’ll do my best to sell your work to the government’s top brass.”

✥✥✥

“The core of this operation is to let the New United Nations Forces young’uns earn their stripes.”

It’s serious business, Commander Ozma Lee addressed everyone while standing in front of a screen, to which a burst of laughter devoid of any formality erupted forth.

“All you gotta do is seize victory. So we’ll have the New United Nations Forces’ Ghosts break through and open a hole in their air defense network for us. Then, we just rush in and rack up a kill count. Once we’ve taken out the long-ranged artillery and their barriers, the New United Nation Forces fleet will follow up to destroy the enemy flagship. We’ll get that part on video.”

Ozma shrugged and the laughter erupted again.

After all, for the government big-wigs, the war was something that happened far away. They never even consider the possibility that they might lose. To them, the idea of victory came as naturally as having a hamburger served to you when you order one at a hamburger shop. All they were concerned about was how to report on each victory and use it to their advantage in the next election.

“Welp, it’s all just capitalism in the end. Our generous sponsor says they’ll pay us a hazard fee along with a bonus based on our score.”

He was fearless.

Chelsea felt that there wasn’t anyone in the world who looked better in the S.M.S. flight jacket than he did.

Though, there were those rumors that he was a creep who was into young girls.

It was one thing that he bragged about his middle-school-aged sister all the time, but there were also the rumors that he’d dated a young lady from a well-off family while she was still a preteen, even if they eventually broke up. That said, she thought that this whole story would be best taken with a grain of salt when it went as far as to say that the young lady in question was the President’s daughter.

Still, speaking of him purely as her superior officer, rough edges aside, he was an excellent pilot who’d served as a frontline commander once, so she decided not to dwell on those things too much.  Besides, she’d seen plenty of eccentrics back at her old base.

“The enemy entered the Fold and made contact with the Frontier. We’ll strike them right under their noses by having our ship enter an emergency Fold. We launch in four hours. Formation: Pattern Delta. Keep your formation tight!”

✥✥✥

“You got a moment, Chelsea?”

As she moved down the corridor leading to the zero-gravity gun room, a voice called out from behind her.

A man with the air of a nobleman was standing there, his chestnut-colored hair flowing like a horse’s tail. Her direct superior officer, Apollo Platoon Commander José Schreier, who came from a noble house. His full name was Don José Javier Rojo Schreier, but that took so long to say that everyone started calling him José for short. Of course, Chelsea did the same.

He was an anachronistic, ever-flamboyant presence, but he had the undeniable skill to back it up. The story went that he’d joined S.M.S after being expelled from his old unit after nearly killing a superior officer who’d tried to let civilians get caught in the crossfire when blowing up a group of terrorists.

“Commander José, what is it?”

“Don’t give me that, ‘what is it’ stuff.”

The Commander gave a dramatic shrug. A theatrical, ridiculously exaggerated gesture.

“It’s about that. The scouting offer from the Queadluun Squad, please make sure to reply to them.”

“Oh… uhh…”

“There aren’t many pure-blooded Zentradi like you. Even then, they say you being an amazing pilot is all the more reason.”

“—”

Even within S.M.S, there weren’t many Zentradi soldiers. Much less those with the genetic disposition to switch between Macron and Miclone forms at will. The number of people who could use a Queadluun Suit, a Protoculture remnant superweapon which could control inertia, was extremely limited.

“...I appreciate the offer, but I can’t do it.”

“Can’t?”

“Because I’m not a Zentradi, I’m an Earthling.”

“...I see.”

For a single fleeting moment, Commander José looked apologetic, but he broke back into his usual wide smile as soon as the moment passed.

“Forget it, then. I’ll let recruitment know myself—and hey, don’t make that face. An Española hates to see a beauty’s face cloud over like that.”

“Your wife’s gonna be pissed if you keep saying stuff like that.”

“Haha, it’s just an ordinary greeting, Señorita!”

Politely brushing his hand aside as it moved toward her waist, Chelsea got back on course toward the gun room.

“Besides, I love my Valkyrie. And Apollo Platoon, too. Flying here, being here, this place is everything to me.”

Saying so, she gave a bright smile.

Or rather, forced a smile.

✥✥✥

“Hm—? Is that ship entering the Fold Course?”

Wearing an EX-Gear, a Powered Suit designed for personal flight, a rookie student in the pilot training course named Alto Saotome looked up at the cosmos through the canopy.

“News from the Navigation Bureau says there shouldn’t be any ships entering  Fold at this time, though…?”

The boy had no way of knowing that his fate would soon become deeply intertwined with the ship he saw, the Macross Quarter.

For now, looking at the azure sky that stretched out above was good enough for him.

✥✥✥

After emerging from the Fold and feeling her ethereal self return to her body, the first thing Chelsea saw was Commander José’s face, peering at her sleeping visage with a look of pure amusement. He was a fierce man who looked like some sort of leopard, but his eyes alone were more like an adorable little bear cub.

“That’s unlike you, Lieutenant.”

“Unlike me?”

She sat up a bit from the custom-built Fold travel sofa in the gun room. She felt sweat on her brow. Grabbing the bottle she kept within reach, she gulped down some mineral water and felt her body grow cold.

“Yeah, you were singing. It was unlike you.”

“I was singing… Me, Commander?”

“Yeah. I don’t remember what it was called, but it was some old Fire Bomber number.”

“Oh—”

She took another sip of mineral water and looked up at the ceiling.

It felt like her mind had fogged over.

Right, back then—I heard Basara’s song—and then—

She felt like she was forgetting something important.

How was it that she’d gotten out of her coffin back then?

And then—

Someone’s voice—

“Chelsea, you used to be a singer, right?”

It was their young Frontline Air Traffic Controller, Catarina Verde’s voice that snapped her out of her thoughts. She let out a soft hum as she woke from her Fold Trip and stretched herself out like a puppy, an adorable sight fitting of someone her age.

“Just for a little while. I wasn’t cut out for it though, so I quit.”

“No way! You won the Platinum Award at the Galaxy Gold Disc Awards…!”

“It was a fluke, a total fluke. Things like that happen in showbiz.”

“Hey, Catarina.”

José whispered, tugging at Catarina’s sleeve.

“Oh, sorry…”

Realizing she’d stepped on a touchy subject, she bowed her head in apology.

She wasn’t a bad kid. She didn’t know any better, so Chelsea couldn’t blame her.

“It’s okay. Right now, flying with everyone in my Valkyrie is enough to keep me fulfilled. Singing? I’m done with all of that.”

Saying so, she forced a smile and made up her mind to head to the hangar.

Realizing she was in a bad mood, she felt fed up with herself.

She tried to sing a bit in the empty hallway, but the melody wouldn’t flow from her throat anymore.

✥✥✥

The terribly flat, inorganic wings of the AIF-7S Ghost unmanned fighters were launching from the flat hulls of the Guantanamo-class carriers Muroran, Maizuru and Belleauwood, which looked like rectangular apple pies.

By combining stealth carriers that could hide far beyond enemy range and AI with combat capabilities that surpassed human soldiers, an ideal war with zero casualties could be carried out. If a war in which people die is evil, then a war that spreads destruction and death but on a scale where no human dies must be just—that was the grotesque ideology that had been born. Of course, this also operated under the presumption that renegade Zentradi who defied the United Nations Government should not be considered human.

“Alright, Apollo Platoon! We’re taking off! Let’s tear open this wound that the Ghosts left for us with style!”

At José’s command, the Macross Quarter’s three-dimensional electromagnetic catapult gently lifted the crafts off of the deck and fired them like bullets with hyper-acceleration exceeding 10Gs.

A plasma beam fired from the enemy fleet grazed the VF-19EFs. Of course, none of them, including Chelsea, panicked enough to attempt evasive maneuvers.

“Sorry, Chelsea!”

A mass of plasma large enough to obliterate a cruiser shot past them just a few meters away. All that separated José from it was a canopy, and yet his voice didn’t waver at all as he led the charge.

“What?”

“The change in machines! It’s my fault we couldn’t get all the VF-25s we needed!”

The platoon leading the vanguard, Skull Platoon, along with several other platoons were issued the latest model Variable Fighters, the VF-25 Messiah. The members of Apollo Platoon were still using the previous generation VF-19EFs.

“No worries. I like the Caliburn the best anyway.”

“Glad to hear it. Apparently the tech guys want data on operations with both the 25s and 19s. From a field perspective, it just means there’s a real purpose for you guys to charge in yourselves.”

Advances in unmanned combat aircraft technology had accelerated the specialization of manned fighter pilots.

Superhuman skill that machines couldn’t match up with, flexible thinking that an AI couldn’t fully process. They didn’t need standard products, but super aces that could handle any mission. Ironically, whenever such personnel were required, aside from a few special forces units, they were usually sourced from a variety of defense contractors like private military providers or security firms that could poach as many people as they wanted by offering generous compensation.

“There are always accidents on stage, right?”

“Right. Besides, this isn’t the real thing. Once this sortie’s over, we’ll give them a full overhaul and get some training on the new model.”

“Looking forward to it, Commander.”

“Oh—looks like the curtain’s about to rise. All units, draw your weapons!”

As soon as José shouted the usual command, the figure of a diva was projected ahead of them.

A massive hologram projected by the Ghosts that flew out ahead.

A singer with chestnut hair, dark skin and a bondage-style suit.

Among the Sheryl Nome followers who sprang up like bamboo shoots after rain, she was one of the most successful. Sonnet Desmont, if she remembered right.

Pretty sure I met her a few times backstage during TV programs.

She was timid, despite the flashy, revealing outfits she wore on stage. Chelsea remembered comforting her when she was frozen stiff waiting for fans to approach her. Well, none of that mattered now.

Of course, the military wasn’t playing her songs as some joke or whim.

It was something they called a Minmay Attack.

During Space War I, the Zentradi were a race without a culture. This left them so captivated by the songs of a single idol, the legendary Lynn Minmay, that they panicked and lost all will to fight. Because of this, they were crushed by the Earth’s forces and forced to sign a peace treaty. Since then, playing an idol’s songs during combat had basically become standard practice against Zentran forces who hadn’t made contact with Earth.

Of course, the amount of impact it would have was a gamble.

In movies and TV shows, Zentrans who hear music immediately lose their will to fight, shouting “Deculture, Deculture!” in a panic. That wasn’t how it really was, though. Every single Zentran losing their will to fight didn’t happen either during Space War I nor afterward.

In any case, the Minmay Attack continued based on the reasoning that even if it were only 1% effective, it was better to do it than not as long as it might disrupt the military’s chain of command.

She saw it as nothing more than a desecration of culture, but Chelsea shook off the thought.

After all, she was just a pilot now. Her days as a singer were behind her.

✥✥✥

José’s VF-19EF, flying ahead of the rest, unleashed a barrage from its FAST Pack and the over 200 micro-missiles and rocket launchers mounted under its wings.

A burst of explosions lit up the sky.

“Apollo 2 to Apollo 3, enemy crafts bearing 2-5-7, 30!”

Catarina’s RVF-19EF gave crisp and decisive commands. The strength of a well-funded private military company lay in its ability to make sophisticated tactical decisions even under electronic jamming by having their air traffic control be handled by an RVF escorted by unmanned fighters on the field.

With the enemy “Regult” combat pods falling out of formation, Chelsea’s eyes locked onto them one after another.

“Apollo 2, Fox Three!”

The missile bays in the VF-19EF’s leg engine nacelles opened, spewing out multi-shell cluster missiles as it charged forward in fighter mode.

Like blooming Housenkas, the tips of these missiles, which were about as thick as a Battroid’s upper arm, launched countless micro-missiles which turned the enemy combat pods into balls of fire.

But even if the Regults were essentially just spherical armored pods with verniers, beam cannons and legs, they were still weapons of space warfare that had been used for tens of thousands of years. A poorly maintained “run-of-the-mill” unit may have been another story, but a “top-of-the-line” one that retained at least fifty percent of its original performance would certainly be capable of using its  combination of defensive lasers and thrusters that could fire in any direction to evade the micro-missiles.

“Is it gonna hit!?”

Of course, Chelsea wasn’t dumb enough to dismiss a Regult as some kind of small fry. Even if the Regult platoon’s retaliatory lasers struck her projected position, her VF-19EF would not be there. She wasn’t some idiot who flew on trajectories a computer could predict, nor did she have such flimsy stealth capabilities that any ordinary auto-targeting system could lock onto her.

The Regults kicked off into the vacuum with their long legs, using the recoil to turn and pursue the VF-19EFs. But then, their thick armor was pierced by one incoming shell after another, halting their movements and making them no more than shooting stars. It was super-long-ranged supporting fire from the Destroid unit clinging to the deck of the Macross Quarter, trailing behind them.

In the blink of an eye, the enemy Regults had lost control.

Chelsea’s VF-19EF, now shifted into GERWALK ｍode, raced across the battlefield with its gatling gunpod, systematically destroying the isolated combat pods scattered across it.

That is not to say that it was an easy battle.

Even if the official catalog specs showed them to be superior to an overwhelming degree, the true power of a “run-of-the-mill” Zentradi weapon cannot be gauged by mere numbers.

Even if they were “top-of-the-line” ones, the difference in number was overwhelming. No matter how well their state-of-the-art stealth technology, energy conversion armor and pinpoint barriers could protect them, the fact remained that Variable Fighters were small, less than 20 meters in length.

A direct hit meant death.

That was what made the battle of these four Variable Fighters, led by José and soaring against the backdrop of pop songs flowing through space, so beautiful and tense.

✥✥✥

When she was a child, people told her she was a sensible kid.

She was happy to please her parents and never thought that there was any problem with that.

She was told that living in Miclone form was just the way things were and accepted it as such. She had fun in her singing and dancing lessons, properly learned the Earth’s culture and became a fine Earthling. She thought it was entirely natural that she went by an Earthling name.

She remembered the day that she met Nekki Basara, decided to become a singer, passed the audition and was praised by her parents.

“This means we’re not Zentradi anymore,” they said.

That wasn’t the case, though.

In the end, no matter how far she went, she couldn’t escape being labelled a “Zentradi singer.”

So, she chose to abandon singing and run away.

She would never forget her parents’ cold stares of disappointment.

She was lucky to secure a position at S.M.S. thanks to the Valkyrie piloting skills she’d gained during her time as a singer and through her connections to Richard Vhirler, who was a friend of her parents. When all someone knows is singing and dancing, what more is there for her to do when that gets taken away from her?

And so, ironically enough…

“Sorry, you won’t hit me.”

Her eyes were fixed on the lock-on marker, her left hand on her anti-air intercept laser’s panel and her right on the gunpod’s trigger. Missiles to pierce their cannons and lasers to intercept missiles coming toward her. Her gunpod blew the Regults to pieces and her wings and thrusters dodged the anti-aircraft fire as she flew.

Handling several completely different tasks at once, Chelsea closed in on the enemy battleship. Her flying was like a disciplined orchestra, each of its instruments playing its own melody but flowing as a single harmony.

Her flying, beautiful to the point of being musical, was the most eloquent proof of all that her blood was Zentradi, a race genetically engineered for battle.

And so, while fighting at least, Chelsea could forget her parents’ scolding.

“Good-for-nothing daughter who doesn’t understand culture!”

“It’s because of people like you that the Zentradi aren’t accepted by Earthlings.”

“We don’t need you!”

I…

On the surface of the battleship’s armor plating, her VF-19EF extended its legs in GERWALK Mode and went into a reverse thrust. She did a half-turn like a figure skater to evade the missiles pursuing her. After intercepting them with her gunpod, she thrust the fist of her pinpoint barrier into the guided beam turret with one fluid motion.

I’m here! I’m not unwanted!

✥✥✥

The ship’s side hatches swung open and Nousjadeul-Ger Powered Suits poured out. Using the sturdy battleship’s bulges and the wrecked gun turrets as cover, the men fired laser machine pistols at them. In the vacuum of space where there was no sense of depth, they looked just like ordinary humans.

Of course, there was no way that they were “ordinary humans.”

Nousjadeul-Ger Powered Suits covered a giant’s entire physique, which were as large as a Battroid, with over 30 tons of armor, propelling them with massive thrusters. It was a fearsome weapon that had been in use since the final stages of the Stellar Republic’s Schism War. On top of being a power-enhancing suit that multiplied the strength of giants who could already exchange blows with Battroids, it gave the Zentradi agility and heavy armor along with firepower that could even rival a Destroid.

Leaving aside the question of if they had no qualms about letting their own ship get damaged or if they simply had faith in its armor, the explosions from their anti-armor hand grenades were driving the VF-19EF into a corner. There was no hope for backup. Not just José, either, even Catarina was caught up in close combat. Until the carrier-based attack platoon broke through with large missiles, they had no choice but to hold their positions on their own.

“Okay, then!”

She dodged the explosion and broke away in fighter mode.

Or so it seemed.

Her VF-19 was experimentally equipped with the anti-G power assist armor “EX-Gear” developed by the Frontier Fleet, giving her exceptional maneuverability. In a dogfight, she could even rival the VF-25. The powered suit gave a pilot the ability to withstand random G-forces that humans normally couldn’t.

Once on the escape course, her vulnerable underside would be left exposed. The Zentradi soldiers who hoped to hit that spot were left staring in amazement at the way her craft moved. It looked less like a weapon and more like an alien creature.

A steep climb followed by a roll.

Enduring the intense G-forces that threatened to make her black out, Chelsea flew in a backward maneuver against the artificial gravity field on the ship’s surface. She would’ve crashed into the battleship if she lost control for even an instant. Just below her, or perhaps just above, she could see the “ground.” Close enough that she could touch it if she reached out. If she lost her composure, even a Variable Fighter with energy-conversion armor would be doomed.

With the dual onslaught of weak gravity and the barrage of fire pressing down on her, Chelsea was unflappable. Like a hunting dog baring its fangs at its prey. She felt the rain, the wind, the mud, but none of it got to her.

“One down!”

Circling behind the two Nousjadeuls that were firing particle assault rifles at her from the shadow of a large, semicircular anti-aircraft gun, she did a somersault and transformed into Battroid mode.

“Two!”

As she took out the first with her gunpod, she blew the second away with micro-missiles from the missile pod on her right leg.

Another Nousjadel raised a shoulder-fire anti-air missile launcher. She got a lock-on alert.

“I can’t waste time worrying about every little thing!”

Chelsea didn’t even glance at the missile.

A sound.

She could predict the missiles’ positions based on the sounds of her craft’s sensors. Combined with the Valkyrie that had become an extension of her body, it was nothing. Trusting in her stealth, trusting in her maneuverability, trusting in her own skills, she dodged one missile after another, tracking different targets with her eyes as she went.

She transformed into GERWALK mode. While being pursued by missiles, the laser cannons on each of her hips blasted another Nousjadeul-Ger to bits. She transformed into Fighter Mode, accelerated and redirected power to her pinpoint barrier. With her forward wings transformed into shining blades, she sliced through the Nousjadeuls in her path. She transformed. Dancing gracefully like a ballerina, she deflected incoming missiles with her pinpoint barrier and destroyed pursuing missiles with her head-mounted laser cannons.

“If you’d just surrender already, I wouldn’t have to do all of this!”

Multi-lock. She fired all of the micro-missiles left in her FAST Pack straight into the anti-air turret in front of her.

Her VF-19EF charged forward through crimson flames.

The usual mission, the usual job.

Like living in a dream, like flying through a dream.

Flying?

Is that what it was?

Could this, repeating hit-and-run barrages in a designated operation airspace, really be called flying?

She wondered if it was any different from floating. Like a lesson where she had to keep singing the same verse again and again. Just as the lesson dictated, her fingers and legs kept playing their deadly song.

Hollow pop music drifted in from the distance.

A song.

A song that had lost all meaning echoed across a battlefield that had lost all meaning.

A love song meant to confuse and kill giants who kept fighting an eternal war, as commanded by creators from over a hundred thousand years ago.

“There!”

She locked onto a Nousjadeul-Ger that was firing a volley at her from its particle rifle to protect the gun emplacement.

She knew they were terrified. She could tell by the tremor in their aim.

She may have lacked culture, but she had a heart. Watching ally after ally turn into humanoid balls of fire, it was no wonder they were scared.

Still in Battroid form, she focused a pinpoint barrier on her left arm’s shield and flicked it upward in an uppercut.

They dodged!?

Her lunge was just a fraction too short.

Whether it was because of some unconscious hesitation or because her unit’s variable frame had developed a flaw somewhere in the transition from long-ranged Fold reconnaissance to combat, she couldn’t say.

But the fact remained. The fist of the pinpoint barrier that she’d thrust upward had blown away the armor on the Nousjadel’s face and stopped.

And so, she saw it.

A child’s face.

The horrified face of a young boy. The face of a child soldier, someone who had only recently been “produced.”

A face that was looking right at Chelsea.

On reflex, she tried to pull the trigger.

I can’t pull it—?

Cold sweat trickled down her cheek.

Despite her will, her finger refused to move. Her throat refused to create her voice.

She thought that she was used to killing people. She should have understood that she was killing her own people. And yet, the boy’s terrified gaze betrayed all of that.

The world flowed in slow motion, turning sepiatone—

The cheerfully bright idol song still flooded her ears—

And then—

“What the hell are you doing, Chelsea!?”

Like snow hitting the earth, a direct hit from an anti-ship beam gunpod vaporized the boy before he could unleash his barrage of laser machine pistol fire into Chelsea’s cockpit.

José’s voice.

Seeing that Chelsea was frozen stiff, he had sniped from another sector of the battlefield to protect her. It was no more than an act of God.

“Mechanical trouble!? If you don’t figure it out, you’ll die!”

“N-no, that’s not—”

“What!?”

“I can’t… fire. My fingers… won’t move.”

“—Tch—Got it. Break away! Bearing 3-5-1, can you fly!?”

“B-but, the anti-air cannon is still—”

“We’ll figure it out somehow! Just get outta here!”

✥✥✥

Three more Nousjadeul-Gers, or rather, three pilots, closed in on Chelsea as she broke away from the battleship. Judging by their ability to keep up with the VF-19EF, their Flemenmik thermonuclear converters must have been performing at their specifications from five hundred thousand years prior. In our earlier terms, they were “run-of-the-mill.”

“Check Six! Check Six! Get out of there!”

“I know, Catarina.”

Why…? Why is this happening to me!?

She could shatter the incoming missiles with anti-missile weaponry or shoot down the Impact Cannon’s projectiles with lasers. But her body simply wouldn’t move to shoot down enemies.

Her craft shook violently.

It’d taken a direct hit from a large-caliber plasma cannon. Her energy-conversion armor had just barely deflected it, but it wouldn’t happen again. The energy remaining in her capacitors was practically zero.

“Why!? I’m a Meltrandi, so why can’t I kill people!?”

The thrust of her main thrusters dropped sharply, throwing her already unstable VF-19EF totally off-balance. Her energy conversion armor had used up too much power, her main propulsion system was malfunctioning somehow. Of course, it was a small enough amount of damage that it could be repaired in under a minute, but every second in a dogfight felt like an eternity.

Am I gonna die!?

The icy coffin flashed through her mind.

The image of the boy who died in the coffin of an armored spacesuit overlapped with the image of herself in that coffin of ice.

And then—

Chelsea realized that José’s VF-19EF had arrived like a savior, shooting down the Nousjadeul formation and leaving her alive.

✥✥✥

Looking from the S.M.S. building, the setting sun looked blood-red.

“It’s a psychological thing. The military doctor says that the stress you’ve built up over time can stop you from pulling the trigger—It’s common, and has nothing to do with your skills as a soldier.”

“C-Commander, I—”

“I don’t doubt your loyalty or your piloting skills. These things happen, y’know. Until you can find the cause of it and resolve it, I can’t assign you any piloting tasks. There were no casualties this time, but the anti-aircraft fire caused considerable damage. You’re going to have to take responsibility.”

“—But, for me, I—”

“This is the only place for you, right? But we’re not like the regular military, we’re a for-profit company. If you aren’t useful to us anymore, you’ll be fired on the spot.”

José’s logic was sound. She understood where her salary, which was several times larger than a regular soldier's, came from and why someone like her had been allowed to stay.

“That said, we’d be in trouble without you. How about this? Why don’t we try a temporary transfer?”

“Transfer?”

“Yeah. A way for you to keep on flying your Valkyrie without killing or shooting anything.”

“—I want to stay here!”

“I know. So if you prove yourself at your new job, you can come back.”

She couldn’t refuse.

This transfer system didn’t even exist in the first place. If she resisted any further, he wouldn’t be able to cover for her anymore.

That’s what José’s eyes told her.

Even if S.M.S. trusted her, there was no room to get complacent. That was the reality of the situation.

“...Understood. First Lieutenant Chelsea Scarlett, accepting the assignment.”

✥✥✥

He gave her an address that led her to an old warehouse on Island 15. It stood in a vast, open field where all she could feel was the blowing of the wind. What caught her eye most was the makeshift runway.

“Uh… Is this the home of a Mr. Hakuna Aoba?”

The first thing she saw upon entering was an incredibly white wing.

It was much smaller than a VF-19 or VF-25.

An old, old craft she’d seen a few times in archival footage.

The VF-1 Valkyrie. The name of a Variable Fighter from over fifty years ago.

“Oh, there you are!”

The man, who she could clearly tell was an Earthling, but wasn’t sure if he was Asian, Caucasian, African or Indigenous, slapped Chelsea on the shoulder.

He wore overalls caked in machinery oil, with messy hair and bags under his eyes like they were lost in thought.

His eyes reflected the sky.

She knew he was a pilot. Not like José’s bird-of-prey-like aura, he was more like a giant condor, flying alone to heights far beyond anyone else’s reach like it was easy.

She could smell the wind; hear its sound.

As if his presence alone made the wind itself rejoice.

“José told me about you. You’re the girl who’s here to team up with me for the race, right?”

“Race—?”

“Vanquish! The world’s most extreme Valkyrie race! You can count on me for the long haul, buddy!”

“I-I can’t do that! I’m a military pilot! There’s no way I can get myself involved in something like this…!”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it quick! I’ll be counting on you!”

—She didn’t get what was going on.

But she knew that the door of fate had closed behind her and a new page had been turned.

The wind roared and, from somewhere, she heard another song.

“Welcome! Vanquish welcomes you with open arms!”

“This is bad! This is very bad!”

Valerio Valeri, AKA VV, was in a panic. He had just been summoned by the top brass of Actaeon Industries.

There were many reasons for this, but the foremost among them was his overspending of their budget.

Development costs for Mobile Suits he’d developed on a whim, the Blau Calamity, Gelb Raider and Rot Forbidden.

On top of that, receipts for personal convenience store purchases had been discovered in the ledger.

“Your submitted receipts include three packs of pudding. How exactly do you believe that falls under your development budget?”

So asked one executive, sarcastically, at the inquiry meeting.

VV answered “Sweets are necessary to keep one’s brain active!” but they were not convinced.

Recalling the executive’s face still enraged him.

“Honestly, can these moronic Naturals not even grasp something as simple as that!?”

It was all everyone else’s fault. He could not have been at fault. He had no reason for it, but it was the truth. That was how VV thought of things.

“I will pass on this sort of society. I will change jobs. To somewhere where my high-level skills can be put to real use!”

He thought for a moment.

The Earth Alliance was out of the question. It was full of Naturals.

ZAFT, a Coordinator military, had the advantage of not having stupid Naturals, but it was also full of overly competent people, so he wouldn’t stand out. That was why he had joined the Natural-run Actaeon Industries in the first place. To choose ZAFT would be putting the cart before the horse.

Also, he’d heard that Actaeon had dealt with ZAFT before, but their reputation had taken a significant hit when they presented the NMS-X07P Gel Finieto as their next flagship model. VV wasn’t (very) involved with the Gel Finieto, but as someone who belonged to the same company, being viewed with glasses still tinted by that failure felt unpleasant to him.

“Very well… the Junk Guild, then.”

Saying it aloud made him feel like it was a brilliant idea.

“The Junk Guild has Coordinators as well, so I would no longer be surrounded by nothing but idiotic Naturals. And yet, there is probably no Coordinator there who is more competent than I am. I should not just get a job there, I should aim to become their next chairman!”

The face of a junk dealer flashed through his mind.

Lowe Guele, a man that he shared a deep, troubled history with.

“As the chairman, I would be his boss. I could put him to work in all kinds of ways. It is killing two birds with one stone! Great idea! As expected of someone such as myself!”

VV wasted no time putting his plan into action.

✥✥✥

“So, from now on, I will be the one to guide the Junk Guild!”

Meeting with Liam, the Junk Guild’s chairman, VV made a declaration.

They were at the Gigafloat, floating atop the Earth’s oceans. It served as the Junk Guild’s headquarters on Earth.

“Huh?”

Liam didn’t understand.

“Former Chairman Liam. You have done your part. Leave the rest to me. You are a Coordinator, so you ought to understand what I mean without me having to spell it out, yes?”

“Well, I suppose.”

What Liam couldn’t grasp was why he would have to hand over his position to this man.

He did understand that a troublesome person had appeared, though.

Fortunately, Liam had become accustomed to dealing with people like that. He had lots of experience managing his guild of eccentric junk dealers.

“For now, I do understand your desire to become the chairman. But for that to happen, our members have to recognize you as worthy of the position. Can you do that?”

“How logical. As expected of a Coordinator. But, you should be able to discern that from my appearance alone. My highly fashionable outfit, even my expression radiates intelligence.”

Liam stared at VV’s distinctive outfit.

Sighing inside, he continued trying to persuade him without provoking him.

“The Junk Guild attracts all kinds of people. Some of them may not be able to judge your character just by looking at you.”

“I see, I see. There must be plenty of foolish Naturals among you. Then, let us compete with our technology as a clear demonstration of our abilities. Which will show that I am superior!”

“No. I have all sorts of responsibilities to take care of. Can I send a proxy?”

“Is the proxy a Coordinator?”

“A Natural.”

“Foolish. There is no way that I could lose to a Natural. You will regret appointing such a proxy. I warn you of this out of generosity.”

“Thanks. But I’m okay. It’s settled, then. You and my proxy will bring your most prized machines and compete based on technical skills, agreed?”

“Hmm. Very well.”

VV gave an emphatic nod.

He felt like he’d been thoroughly outmaneuvered by the chairman.

Meanwhile, Liam was clearly relieved. He was confident that his proxy would settle everything.

Because he had already chosen his proxy. It was Lowe.

He was even more accustomed to dealing with troublesome people than Liam was.

✥✥✥

And so, the day of their technical contest arrived.

They came to a barren wasteland chosen by VV.

It was also the place where he had once fought to settle the score with Lowe Guele.

“A fitting location for my new beginning. The place where I suffered the only defeat of my life. From here, I will rise again. Though, to call it a defeat is rather generous, seeing as I lost by the most cowardly means possible. That junk dealer deliberately had his minion, 8, build the 80 system into my machine. It was that 80 that chose to make me surrender.”

Whether it was actually his only defeat was questionable, but his interpretation for why he had lost was even more so.

VV had forced 8 to create 80, and 80 had stopped fighting because it judged that VV was in real danger.

“Yo, sorry to keep you waiting.”

A gigantic machine appeared before VV.

A support machine for Mobile Suits called a Power Loader. Equipped with Power Cylinders, it had a strength far beyond that of standard Mobile Suits.

“Wh-what in the world!?”

VV was stunned by its size.

“Liam told me you challenged him. I figured that using something you’ve never seen before would make things more interesting!”

Only then did VV recognize the voice.

Looking closely at the machine, he saw a Mobile Suit with white armor and a red frame mounted at its center. A Mobile Suit he could never forget.

The ASTRAY Red Frame!!

Its pilot’s name was…

“Lowe Guele!!?”

“Yup! Been a while, VV!”

VV never could have expected it. He never imagined that the Junk Guild’s chairman would select this man as his proxy… However, looking at it another way, this was actually lucky. VV had never lost to Lowe (in his own opinion). As long as he watched out for dirty tricks, he was certain that he could win.

Furthermore, his Turn Red, which had lost to dirty tricks the last time they’d fought, had undergone new modifications.

An Ultra Super Safety Cockpit.

It could withstand any impact and resist being destroyed by any energy weapon. Also, the cockpit hatch incorporated a Super Safety Shutter Grate.

It could block attacks that would normally be fatal.

In terms of keeping its pilot alive, the Turn Red had become the most reliable machine in the universe.

Beyond that, it had significantly enhanced 80’s offensive capabilities. By integrating his self-evolving AI research into the system, it became even more intelligent.

Its name was 800. Its capabilities weren’t actually ten times greater, but he boldly chose to multiply its name by ten for the marketing flair.

A cunning yet weak enemy against his clever and powerful self.

“I heard we’re having a tech showdown today. Can’t wait. Oh, right. When I mentioned that I’d be seeing you, 8 told me he had something to do.”

The junk dealer was casually chatting with him. VV felt even more confident that he would crush him.

Victory never went to those who let their guards down on the battlefield.

“Let’s settle this, junk dealer!”

VV shouted. In an instant, the Turn Red had transformed the Tactical Arms on its back into a sword and assumed a fighting stance.

VV wasn’t piloting. 800 had read his words and expression and moved the Turn Red accordingly.

“Huh? A battle? I thought we were just comparing our tech. That’s why I brought non-combatant gear. Damn… I should’ve brought the 150 Gerbera, then.”

The 150 Gerbera Straight. Normally mounted on the ReHOME, it could be sent down from space to be used on the ground if needed. He’d actually just recently done so, though, so it was undergoing maintenance. It wasn’t in working condition.

“It appears that luck is on my side. You could not bring that ridiculous oversized sword.”

VV had seen the 150 Gerbera before. In fact, cleaning up after one of his mistakes was the reason it was out for maintenance in the first place.

“I do have the Red Frame’s Gerbera, but it’s too small for the Power Loader to use…”

VV wouldn’t sit around while Lowe hesitated. He slashed at him with the Tactical Arms.

“Take this! Turn Tactical Slash!”

“Uwoah!”

The Power Loader’s bulk made it impossible to evade. Instead, Lowe used its massive hand to deflect the blade, changing its trajectory.

Among Mobile Suit-sized swords, the Tactical Arms was among the largest and heaviest. The centrifugal force threw him off balance.

“Woah woah woah!”

VV’s Turn Red, caught in the massive blade’s swing, was staggered.

But it regained its balance in an instant. 800’s control systems were still at full functionality.

“Woah, pretty quick recovery. Your control system’s been tuned up since last time, hasn’t it!?”

“Of course. Coordinators constantly evolve. Do not lump us in with you stagnant, hairy apes.”

Lowe wasn’t that bothered about this kind of discrimination, but hearing the remark still would have made him a bit uncomfortable.

VV’s words didn’t reach Lowe, though.

Turn Red’s 800 system blocked them. 800 understood the reason for Lowe and VV’s battle. It was a contest of technology. In that case, he would have to block trash talk that would prevent the opponent from unleashing their true power. That was his judgment. It also aligned with VV’s demand to not use any dirty tricks.

“I’ll be coming for you this time, VV!”

Lowe’s Power Loader grabbed the Turn Red. 800 could have dodged and prevented being captured, but deliberately allowed it to assess their opponent’s technique.

The Power Loader’s massive hand lifted them up, shaking them violently.

In their previous battle, the Red Frame defeated the Turn Red by delivering blows that shook its cockpit. If this worked, he would probably win the same way.

But that hope was tamped out.

“Hehehe. I don’t feel a single shake.”

VV cackled from within the cockpit. He ostentatiously poured tea from a pot into an expensive-looking cup and drank it. Not a single drop seemed to spill.

All thanks to the safety cockpit he’d designed.

“Now, let us show him your next amazing ability, Turn Red.”

In response to VV’s words, the Turn Red shook itself out of the Power Loader’s hand.

The Turn Red swung its Tactical Arms down toward a rock in front of it.

“Huh? What is it doing?”

VV couldn’t comprehend what 800 was doing.

Meanwhile, Lowe figured it out straight away.

“He split that misshapen stone perfectly in two! So precise, too! I can’t let him beat me!”

Detaching the Red Frame from the Power Loader, he drew the Gerbera Straight and, like the Turn Red had, cleaved a rock lying in the ground in two.

“Alright!!”

They were even now.

800 measured it, and it was even.

After that, the Red Frame and Turn Red began to compete in one precision task after another.

Only VV, still not comprehending any of it, was left in the dark.

“What the hell is this? Is he using dirty tricks again? Hey, 800. Your code was originally part of this junk dealer’s crew. Did they rig you with some nasty trap!?”

The words shocked 800. He was claiming that VV didn’t create him.

He inspected his own development history, along with the Turn Red’s.

This revealed to him that he was almost certainly not created by VV. Beyond that, the Turn Red was based on an Orb Mobile Suit and its equipment was all copies of things Lowe had developed.

The only thing made by VV was the safety device on the cockpit.

Then, 800 stopped. He sent a transmission to Lowe admitting defeat. In terms of technological prowess, they had completely lost.

“Wh-what!?”

VV had been defeated by Lowe once again and didn’t even understand how.

“Hey, VV! You’re a pretty good sport now. It’s nice of you to admit defeat like that!”

The junk dealer’s voice was cheerful.

“Damn it… I don’t know how you did it, but you’ve used some dirty trick…!”

Only after saying that did he realize something. The fact that he couldn’t tell what sort of trap he’d used meant that he was technically inferior to Lowe.

“Gh… Damn it all!!”

VV honestly admitted defeat.

He still had that much integrity left, at least.

“But if I cannot become the Junk Guild’s chairman… what am I supposed to do for work from now on…?”

VV had tears welling in his eyes.

✥✥✥

A few days later.

An unexpected visitor arrived at Lowe’s place.

It was VV, his face beaming with a huge grin.

It was actually kind of creepy.

“What’s up?”

“I found someplace that recognizes my abilities. I got rehired, so I came to report that to you.”

“That’s great. So, where is it?”

“Hehehe. Actaeon Industries.”

“Huh? Didn’t they just fire you, though?”

“The world is far better organized than a Natural like you could ever imagine. Talented individuals like myself are always rewarded.”

According to VV, he’d actually gone to the Earth Alliance forces to ask for a job.

But 800, which he hoped would be the deciding factor in getting him hired, was deemed unsuitable for combat and rejected.

He even offered the wreckage of the Destiny Impulse R that he’d recovered with Lowe, but not even that sparked any interest.

VV was about to concede when something unexpected caught the Earth Alliance technician’s eye.

It was the Ultra Super Safety Cockpit installed in the Turn Red.

Having lost many skilled pilots on the battlefield, the Earth Alliance considered ensuring cockpit safety an urgent priority. It was actually a perfect fit.

After being recruited by the military, he was immediately sent to be a technical officer at Actaeon Industries, one of the Alliance’s weapons development companies.

“And the terms are far better than before. The executives’ eyes went wide with shock.”

VV gave a hearty laugh.

It seemed that his luck may have actually been able to rival Lowe’s.

“Well, good for you, bud.”

“Yes, I just thought I should report to you first.”

“Well, I guess…”

“This means that I can develop a new machine! A wonderful machine that can defeat you!”

It seemed that the battle between Lowe and VV was far from over.

To be continued?

BACK TO READING ORDER

Translated by TrafalgarLog

Afterword

Here is the second volume of D ASTRAY B.

It is a project developed to go along with the HD Remaster of the TV anime Mobile Suit Gundam SEED DESTINY.

Gundam is inextricably linked to the Gunpla kits made by the Bandai Hobby Division.

This work also features a number of those kits. If you enjoy this novel, please pick some up for yourself.

Also, the original manga works in this series, Mobile Suit Gundam SEED ASTRAY and Mobile Suit Gundam SEED DESTINY ASTRAY have remastered tankoubon editions out now. These editions have additional content, including newly written stories where Dante and Elza from this work act as if they have been here all along. Please check them out.

In addition to the remaster edition, the ASTRAY novels originally serialized in The Sneaker are now available as e-books. Please check these out too.

Regarding this work, it was originally imagined as a six-month serialization.

In the original plot outline, Dante was defeated and killed by Gai very early on.

Elza, transformed into a vengeful demon, would then face Gai in a final battle.

That was the sort of story it would’ve been.

Those who have already read this work may be surprised to hear it, but the story underwent significant changes.

Thanks to the tremendous support of our readers from the very first chapter, the serialization was extended to a year. Without that extension, the story would not have turned out the way it did.

I extend my deepest gratitude to everyone who supported us.

As the author, I’m glad we didn’t have to kill Dante. For real.

That fact alone shows that a story isn’t created solely by its author. The readers also have a significant part to play.

I feel this especially strongly with the ASTRAY series.

Now are comments for each chapter.

Please note that there will be spoilers. I recommend reading the whole story before proceeding.

Battle 01: The Man Who Erased His Past

This marked the start of a new ASTRAY story, introducing the new factors that are Dante and Elza.

For Elza’s name, we initially considered the name “Orca,” but abandoned that idea because there’s a similar name in the main story (for a male character).

As you can probably tell from the names, I drew inspiration from Orca (the killer whale movie) and Elza (from the movie Born Free).

Writing Dante and Elza’s conversations in the first chapter was pure joy for me. It’s no good if only the author is having fun, though. I was worried that readers might not feel the same way, but they ended up being hugely popular, so that was a relief.

The story of Barry Ho, who appears as a guest character in this chapter, was written in FRAME ASTRAYS.

Battle 02: Uninvited Assassin

When Battle 01 was received so well, I got carried away and wrote Battle 02 to be twice as long (haha).

I was trying to set the Dante and Gai flashback scenes around the time that Gai was in his early teens, but he ended up seeming like a young boy in the published version.

It seemed to have been a big hit with lots of fans. Tokita-sensei even drew an illustration for it in the first volume. That made me really happy~.

Personally, I love writing scenes about characters’ pasts. I’ve done it in other series too.

I’m sure I’ll do it again in the future.

There are still lots of mysteries surrounding Gai, so I’ll probably explore those eventually if the opportunity arises.

Elijah losing his ZAKU’s custom Wizard wasn’t actually part of the original plan.

In the magazine serialization, there were example models shown alongside the text.

For Elijah’s ZAKU, I was going to use one made during the original series, but it had been so long since then that we couldn’t find it anywhere. There wasn’t enough time to remake it, so the editorial department suggested that a Gunner Wizard could be made a lot quicker and this was the solution we landed on.

In other words, what lurked behind Elijah’s misfortune was neither The Clan nor Reed, but rather the Dengeki Hobby Magazine editorial department.

I was worried that people would criticize us for going too far with Elza’s nudity, but I was relieved when everyone accepted it instead. By the way, something extra was added to the illustration between the serialized version and the tankoubon. Those who are curious should compare them.

Battle 03: 12 Mysteries and A Dream

During serialization, it was called Black and Red (Part 1).

The title referred to the ASTRAY Noir and Fake Red Frame, but I couldn’t fully develop that part of it at the time, so we revised the title.

Battle 04: Secret Talks at a Dance

Like the last one, this was titled Black and Red (Part 2) during serialization.

I didn’t end up writing much of the battle with the Noir and the Red. Since the story featured Dante in black and Laura in red, I considered keeping the original title. But it was often mistaken for the title of the classic song Le Rouge et le Noir, so I decided against it.

Incidentally, the title “Secret Talks at a Dance” was taken from Der Kongreß tanzt.

There’s also a burlesque show in the chapter, and there’s a movie with that title as well. It’s one of my absolute favorites, so definitely check it out if you’re interested.

The story of Ed and Jane that was adapted into the burlesque was part of the Mobile Suit Gundam SEED DESTINY ASTRAY manga.

The woman from The Clan, Laura Lotte. This name is an alias. Her real name is Matisse. Her shadowy deeds are also shown in the manga. The Laura Lotte alias originates in the Sneaker novel.

Battle 05: Warrior Vs. Heretic

At least, black and red clash.

As the writer, I wanted to mislead readers into thinking that the Red Frame in question was Lowe Guele’s, but it was kinda obvious, wasn’t it?

The young Un No is a character from Mobile Suit Gundam SEED VS ASTRAY.

He was designed by Toda Yasunari-sensei.

Elza’s singing is first mentioned in this chapter.

Song appears as an important keyword in the main SEED series, and there are quite a few characters connected to songs in the side stories, as well. Elijah’s friend, Vair, for example.

However, none of these characters directly consider song to be a combat skill.

Elza is a character who ties every ability to combat.

Yet, when Dante tries to tier her beauty to combat, she denies it (haha).

Battle 06: Gathering in the Twilight of the Sky

During serialization, this was titled “Ame-no-Mihashira.”

When rethinking titles for the tankoubon, I changed it because just using the facility’s name felt too generic.

Lily appears in this chapter.

Like the young Un No, she is a character from VS ASTRAY. Her original design was by Mr. Ueda Youichi, the character designer for the original series. In this version, Mr. HIRONOX designed a new costume for her.

Special Battle 01: Elza, As She Was

An original story written for the tankoubon.

I wrote it based on a prompt that Mr. HIRONOX gave me.

Actually, I began building up to the finale starting from around here. I was careful to make Dante and Elza seem like a parent and child rather than lovers. That was why I wanted to write a story set in an era where they could genuinely appear like a father and daughter.

Battle 07: Death As Reward for Praise

Elijah and Elza fight in person. Well, they don’t actually fight that much (haha).

It’s stated for the first time in this work that Elijah practices capoeira, but he actually used it in the original series, too. If that makes you go “huh?” then please reread Tokita’s manga.

Starting from here, Elza’s Mobile Suit is upgraded to the GOUF Crusher Custom. The GOUF series originally had interchangeable limbs as part of its design. But no variants with specialized legs had appeared yet, so I really wanted to include a new design that did that. Unfortunately, we don’t see it in action outside of a mock battle, so I didn’t get to showcase it until the bonus chapter.

Battle 08: Once More, They Dance

The restoration of Gai’s Mobile Suit to its standard Blue Frame form serves as foreshadowing for the later appearance of the Blue Frame D, but it also reflects influence from the Bandai Hobby Division, who had just released the Perfect Grade Blue Frame kit. Not that I was actually asked to advertise it or anything (haha). Now that I got one for myself, the standard Blue is actually pretty cool.

Lily joining Dante’s crew helped depict the relationship between Dante and Elza from a new perspective.

Actually, the possibility of Dante dying as originally planned still remained at this point. In that case, I wanted a character who could be a friend to Elza and prevent her from being isolated, so I had Lily join the team. Dante didn’t end up dying, so her role shifted to being the voice of reason for the odd pair (haha).

Battle 09: These Exceptions, Mercenary and Irregular

Scout 0984 (Ash) and his Testament Gundam appear.

I’m sure that lots of you were surprised by the arrival of such an unexpected character.

The reason for his appearance, needless to say, was the release of the ROBOT TAMASHII Testament Gundam. Even so, why did this Mobile Suit appear in the manga in the first place when there were no plans for any commercial release back then? Anyway, it made me so happy! Later, the protagonist’s Out Frame D was also released.

Battle 10: Destined Confrontation

The story of Gai’s past.

And then, the battle between Dante and Gai begins.

The secret of the Blue Frame D is revealed.

The fact that Gai could use DRAGOONs was something that I had planned from the very beginning of the project, but I took great care to make sure that readers didn’t figure that out.

Gai will probably continue to hide this ability going forward.

Battle 11: In Nocturne’s Embrace

A story focusing on Elza. The battle between Dante and Gai, only briefly shown in the previous chapter, ended with its outcome still unknown.

Readers following the serialization may have wondered if they’d skipped a chapter.

This was intentional. We left Dante’s fate ambiguous to keep everyone in suspense.

Incidentally, the scene where Gai and Elza each take one of Dante’s swords and clash in the snow was HIRONOX’s idea. The finished illustration turned out beautifully, creating a truly splendid scene.

Battle 12: For Whom Their Swords Dance

The final chapter.

Elza’s ASTRAY Noir D piloted by Elza, which appeared in the previous chapter, can be easily recreated by combining the ASTRAY Noir and Destiny Impulse R kits released by Bandai Hobby Division.

I’m truly grateful that we were able to end the story this way.

Special: ASTRAY Noir

A short story published in Gundam Hobby Life.

Chronologically, it fits between chapter 7 and 8.

Considering its role as Gunpla promotion, I structured the story so that the ASTRAY Noir could play a major role.

The character Prayer as he appears here is from VS ASTRAY.

Special Battle 02: To Assassinate Elijah

A new story for the tankoubon.

This story features Elza’s GOUF Crusher Custom, which appeared but didn’t see very much action, as well as Lily’s original-color Blitz.

It takes place around the same time as Battle 10 chronologically.

Canard, who helps Elijah this time, is a character from Mobile Suit Gundam SEED X ASTRAY. Elijah doesn’t like him, but in the final chapter of the DESTINY ASTRAY manga, they undertake a joint mission at Matias’ mansion.

There’s no direct connection, but I hope you can see how this incident made that scene possible.

Bonus Manga: Those Who Bear The Secret

This manga is by Toda Yasunari-sensei. For tankoubons of stories released in Dengeki Hobby Magazine, we often commission bonus manga from Toda-sensei, and he contributed one for this volume as well.

This story takes place after the finale. Many ASTRAY characters made guest appearances in the main story, so we had the informant Luchini from Toda-sensei’s ASTRAY R appear in this one.

As I was scripting it, I aimed for a level of coolness that was laughably over-the-top.

Toda-sensei understood that intent perfectly and we ended up with a super energetic story. The Blue Frame D posing in the background after Gai introduces himself is an homage to the legendary “Cool Cool Spin!”

T/LN: The “Cool Cool Spin” is a fan nickname for the cool spin pose Gai does in Toda’s original ASTRAY B bonus chapter.

That concludes the chapter commentary.

If ASTRAY is ever revived again, let’s reunite. I believe that the day will come.

-Chiba Tomohiro

BACK TO READING ORDER

Translated by TrafalgarLog

Part of Elza’s story was left untold.

She tried and failed to eliminate Elijah.

This was planned out by Dante to prevent Elza from interfering in his fight with Gai.

“Sorry, Elza. Gai and I need some time to settle things between us as men. You go have some fun with that pretty boy while we’re at it. Watch out, though. Who knows if it’ll actually be all fun and games.”

Dante and Gai would soon fight in the Debris Belt and Elza went down to Earth with Lily, unaware of any of it.

Her stated reason was to meet with The Clan.

But her true goal was to eliminate Elijah Kiel.

Also, she wanted to eliminate Kazahana, who knew her deepest secret…

✥✥✥

Meanwhile, Serpent Tail was fully aware that Elza was targeting Elijah. Dante had informed Gai beforehand.

Preparations were made to intercept her.

The chosen battlefield was one of the abandoned military bases surrounded by the jungles of the Amazon.

It was a South American military facility destroyed by the Earth Alliance during the War for Independence.

Use of this location had been arranged through backdoor negotiations with the relevant parties, ensuring that on official records, ‘nothing ever happened’ if they were to do anything there. The South American government was also an unofficial collaborator in this.

The base’s distinctive feature was immediately apparent.

Originally used as an air relay base, it had a large runway.

The runway was also destroyed during the War for Independence, but Serpent Tail had restored it to perfect condition.

The giant humanoid weapons known as Mobile Suits could achieve stable bipedal locomotion over most terrains. But even so, they still moved most easily on flat, level ground.

Naturally, this condition applied to enemies as well as allies.

Worse yet, preliminary intelligence indicated that Elza’s Mobile Suit was a high-speed type equipped with treads on its legs.

Its compatibility with the runway would be exceptionally high.

“That’s the beauty of it.”

Reed, who had chosen the location, grinned as he exhaled words that reeked with the smell of alcohol.

He had deliberately chosen a location where the enemy would have the advantage.

To make the enemy think that it was where they chose to fight.

In lieu of that, he had prepared an ample amount of traps. Devices powerful enough to blow her advantage to smithereens.

The intel that Elijah was at the most perfect position for her had already been leaked to various parties.

Elza believed that eliminating Elijah would be her secret mission. Because of that, she would never suspect the trap that awaited her.

The man at the heart of the matter, Elijah, did not seem pleased about it at all, though.

To fight Elza fairly and settle things once and for all.

That was Elijah’s wish.

He did believe that it was only natural to prepare an advantageous position for himself before fighting. It was a mercenary’s most basic principle.

Even so, if he was going to fight, he didn’t want to settle it with traps.

He wanted to win through combat alone and was determined to stick to that.

The battle meant something to Elijah.

Elza, like Gai, was a Combat Coordinator created by Dante.

Defeating her meant something close to defeating Gai. Gai was Elijah’s goal as a mercenary. The battle was a good opportunity to test his own abilities in that regard without harming Gai.

Elijah and Elza never reached a clear conclusion in their past battles.

This time, Elijah saw a chance for him to win.

Of course, if Elijah showed even the slightest sign of losing, one of Reed’s traps would activate and brutally shatter his hope for a fair fight.

He could only hope that such a situation wouldn’t arise…

“I have to try!”

He resolved himself.

His Mobile Suit was ready to go. His ZAKU Phantom with its custom Wizard.

Its interchangeable shoulder parts that once had shields and pike armor were removed and now replaced with beam cannons.

It also carried a beam assault rifle.

A style focused on offense.

“I’m counting on you, buddy. Let’s win this with our own strengths.”

Elijah looked up at the ZAKU positioned at the center of the runway, finding its presence reassuring.

“Um…”

At that moment, a voice called out from behind him.

His heart skipped a beat.

Elijah should have been the only one at the base. Reed and the others were watching from a distance.

Whipping his head back, he saw a young girl standing there.

For a moment he thought it was Kazahana, but it was someone else.

“Who are you?”

“Hello. Sir Matias sent me here.”

The girl beamed at him.

It was as if the word ‘smile’ had been written across her face.

Suspicious. His gut instinct told him so.

Had Matias’ name not been mentioned, he would have dismissed her immediately.

Matias was an enemy of The Clan, and among the most skilled in the world when it came to handling intel. He was fully cooperating with Serpent Tail at Gai’s request.”

“Then you…”

“Yes. I’m here to be Kazahana Azure’s decoy.”

For reasons unknown, Elza was also after Kazahana’s life.

Elijah had already witnessed this. There was no doubting it.

To counter this, they had prepared a decoy this time around.

Incidentally, Elza tried to kill Kazahana on an isolated Orb island, but they didn’t actually see each other’s faces.

It was hard to believe that Elza didn’t know what Kazahana looked like, but they could at least be certain that they had yet to meet directly.

If they prepared a decoy who resembled her closely enough, they may be able to deceive her for a moment.

Especially if Elijah was seen working alongside her, it was highly likely that she would assume the girl was Kazahana.

If these two were attacked, then Kazahana would still be safely hidden elsewhere.

Also, the girl Matias had arranged was said to be skilled in hand-to-hand combat.

If Elza initiated a fight outside of their Mobile Suits, the girl could protect herself and serve as Elijah’s escort.

“I see, so you…”

Elijah stared at the girl.

She seemed older than Kazahana.

Her height was about the same, though. Having grown up in space, Kazahana was a bit taller than most girls her age.

She was wearing the same outfit Kazahana usually wore.

Her hair and eyes were brown, just like hers.

“Actually, my real hair is orange and my eyes are green.”

She was in a disguise, apparently.

Her appearance wasn’t a perfect match, but it would work.

“What’s your name?”

“Kazahana Azure.”

“What the? No, I’m asking for your real name.”

“My real name is a secret. Right now, I’m Kazahana Azure. Is that not okay with you?”

“No, it’s whatever.”

Elijah relented. It was true that her real name didn’t matter much.

“Alright then, I’ll be counting on you. The attackers should show up within the next few days at the latest.”

“Yes. But I’m sure that it won’t take that long. I think it’ll all be settled today.”

The girl was confident.

“What? Did Matias say that?”

If he did, it must have been true.

His ability to gather information was abnormally high. Through data analysis he was able to predict the future with shocking accuracy. There was even a sarcastic rumor that God himself comes down to ask him about tomorrow’s schedule.

“Well, something like that.”

The girl’s words got vague.

Elijah felt a sense of unease, but let the feeling slip away before it could bother him. It quickly vanished into unconsciousness.

“Still, you’re as handsome as the rumors say, Mr. Elijah.”

“That’s pretty random. Who even cares about that? Also, go ahead and just call me Elijah. That’s what Kazahana does.”

Elijah didn’t particularly enjoy it when people commented on his appearance, even though it was mostly compliments that came his way. He felt that his beauty was a trade-off for his lack of the physical advantages that Coordinators normally possessed. To him, being praised for his looks was tantamount to being called incompetent.

“Pretty rare to see someone frown when complimented. You seem like a pretty troublesome person.”

“Troublesome? Sure. That’s just who I am.”

Elijah brushed her off.

ZWRWRWRWRT

The conversation was cut short by a sudden tremor.

Elijah knew the type of vibration well.

It was the sound of a weapon equipped with rollers on its legs.

Loretta’s Powered Suit, the Guti, made a similar sound. But this one resonated much more heavily. The entity causing the sound had to be massive. It was Mobile Suit sized.

“Elijah, we have one Mobile Suit approaching.”

“No, wait. Listen closely. There’s a jet sound, too. There’s another one in the air. Two in total.”

Elijah corrected her. He was certain that two Mobile Suits were approaching.

Based on prior data, the one advancing on the ground was Elza’s and the one coming from the air was Lily’s.

Lily’s Mobile Suit was equipped with Mirage Colloid stealth that could make it invisible.

Instead of approaching silently, Elza was making a louder noise to mask the approach of the other Mobile Suit.

The suddenness of the sound was proof of that.

Up to a certain point, they must have approached as quietly as possible.

But Elijah had spent years on the battlefield as a mercenary as well. He wouldn’t fall for a trick like this so easily.

“If only we could use radar, we would’ve detected them so much sooner. What an annoying world we live in.”

Since the N-Jammers were scattered across Earth, radar had ceased to function. Enemies could only be spotted visually.

If radar still worked, they could’ve detected the enemy’s approach before they even reached South America.

The fact that they were surrounded by jungle also made noticing their approach more difficult.

They had chosen it deliberately to lure them in…

“Aren’t you going to sound an alarm in the base?”

“It’s just you and me here. There’s no need.”

“But there is something we can do.”

Elijah pulled a small device from the pocket of his uniform.

It was simple, with a single switch in its center. Elijah calmly flipped the switch and small explosions erupted across the runway.

BWBWBWBWMM!!

The neatly maintained runway was in ruins.

“What a waste!”

“This is a signal flare for the battle. Hurry into the building.”

The girl was bait to make Elza think that Kazahana was there. With the Mobile Suit attack coming so quickly, she had lost that purpose.

She would have to protect herself.

Especially in the Mobile Suit battle that Elijah had planned, the girl would only get in the way.

It would become a brutal battlefield unfit for unarmored human beings.

“Hurry!”

Giving the order, Elijah leapt into the cockpit of his custom ZAKU Phantom.

As the ZAKU’s startup finished, a massive crimson shadow materialized on the destroyed runway.

It was a Mobile Suit called the GOUF, developed by ZAFT.

“So it really is Elza’s Mobile Suit.”

Elza’s GOUF Crusher.

Upon entering the ruined runway, it slowed down.

Not because it couldn’t run anymore, but because it was wary of traps.

“Elijah Keel.”

A voice boomed from the GOUF’s external speakers. A familiar voice.

“Elza, huh? Your GOUF has evolved.”

Just as the intel had said.

Elijah had once fought Elza’s GOUF Crusher on an isolated Orb island.

Back then, Loretta had set traps and blown off its lower body.

It had been modified to repair that damage and enhanced in the process.

The new leg sections had several wheels enabling high-speed movement.

Also, a sinister-looking lance protruded from the left knee.

“Seems like you knew I was coming.”

“Yeah.”

“I see.”

She didn’t ask how he knew. Asking wouldn’t change anything. He already knew. Her asking how wouldn’t make him forget.

Besides, she knew full well that there were intel professionals on his side.

“Mobile Suit combat or fighting in person? Which would you prefer?”

“You’re letting me pick?”

“Yes.”

Elza had no real grudge against Elijah, though she had come to kill him. She thought that he at least deserved to choose how he would die.

“...Mobile Suit combat, then. I’m not up to fight someone naked.”

“Right.”

Elza had clothes on, but she didn’t bother mentioning that.

“Then should we get started?”

“Whatthe? You’re being kinda nice. Do you always ask for your opponent’s preferences before you fight?”

“I don’t.”

“You just did.”

“...Hm. I wonder why.”

Elza didn’t know either.

She didn’t know, but it was definitely because it was Elijah Keel. He was an odd man.

“How the hell should I know!?”

Elijah shouted and his ZAKU Phantom, equipped with its custom Wizard, went flying into the air.

A simulation of the battle was already playing out in his mind.

If he couldn’t see victory at this stage, he may as well turn tail and run. Mercenaries only fight battles that they can win.

But he could win. Elijah was certain of it.

BSHWM!

Elza’s GOUF unleashed its massive Slayer Whip.

Its target wasn’t Elijah.

It was the Kazahana body double.

She narrowly evaded it and fled into the building Elijah had pointed her to.

“You’re still out here!? I told you to hurry!”

Even inside the building, there would be no safety for her.

If the GOUF Crusher used its Spherical Breaker, the building would be destroyed in a single blow.

“Elza, I’m your opponent.”

“Right.”

Though she replied so, Elza’s GOUF Crusher didn’t pursue him.

Likely because Lily’s Mobile Suit was still concealed.

A pincer attack. That was probably their goal.

But Elijah knew it all too well.

He had a secret plan to surprise them.

“It’s about time you got here. I’m counting on you, Canard!!”

✥✥✥

Outer space.

A Mobile Suit hovered above South America.

By matching its relative velocity to the Earth’s rotation, it managed to remain stationary above a fixed point on the ground.

The Mobile Suit had confirmed Elijah’s destruction of the runway moments prior and launched from its mothership nearby. The runway explosion was meant to both halt the enemy’s advance but also act as a signal to this Mobile Suit.

The YMF-X000A/H Dreadnought H. The mercenary named Canard Pars.

“240 seconds since the signal. Initiating mission. I’ll give you the intense fight you asked for, Elijah. Just don’t whine if you get hit!”

The Dreadnought H had a massive piece of equipment shaped like the letter H on its back.

It transformed into two massive cannons.

BYWM!

They fired beams.

Pillars of light descending straight toward the ground.

Not just one shot, they fired continuously.

The Dreadnought had an N-Jammer Canceller and a nuclear engine.

Its power could be described as nearly infinite.

Using that power, it unleashed a relentless assault.

DGWWRRRRM!

The ground was engulfed in crimson flames.

Beams rained down one after another, gouging the earth.

Elza’s Mobile Suit used its leg rollers to evade the beams. Though the runway was destroyed, the built-in rollers on its legs still gave it a faster movement speed than walking on two feet could.

Normally, one must watch the muzzle of a gun to predict its firing angle and evade its beams.

But that method was useless against beam attacks from such high altitudes.

Elza kept evading them by sensing changes in the air, shifts in the airflow as the beams sliced through the atmosphere. It was something an ordinary pilot could never hope to achieve.

“She’s dodging them. That’s fine.

Elijah declared.

He never intended for Canard’s attacks to defeat her anyway.

He would be the one to defeat her. He needed her to keep dodging.

Canard’s beams were fired at predetermined times and locations.

Elijah knew this, but they must have seemed random to Elza.

Elijah held a significant advantage.

Before Elijah even conceived of the strategy, Matias had already secured Canard’s cooperation. Canard had apparently been taking on a lot of jobs from Matias lately.

“Why Canard, of all people?” Elijah thought.

Elijah had a hard time dealing with Canard, even if he could obviously acknowledge his formidable skill.

When he learned that Canard’s participation was secured, this strategy immediately came to mind.

Elijah could fight without facing Canard directly. Two birds, one stone.

Of course, if Elijah made a mistake, he would end up swallowed by the beams himself. He couldn’t let his guard down. Even now, a beam had just barely missed the front of his Mobile Suit.

“That was close.”

Had he moved too far ahead of the planned target or was Canard’s aim off…?

“Gotta stay sharp.”

For the time being, he wouldn’t blame Canard. He was the one asking him for help, after all.

And then, there was another factor. The barrage of beams put the enemy at another disadvantage.

“Come on out, Lily!”

As if answering his call, a Mobile Suit appeared overhead.

It was the Blitz, Lily’s Mobile Suit. Its hull had a unique pattern.

“Colloids…”

The Blitz’s stealth functions worked by anchoring Mirage Colloids to its surface.

But particles from the beams were swirling all over the battlefield now. The air had been charged, disrupting the magnetic fields.

Mirage Colloid stealth couldn’t function properly.

“Stay back, Lily.”

Elza’s orders.

A sound judgment, in Elijah’s opinion.

Canard’s aerial bombardment was confined to the base. Moving Lily outside of it to carry out supportive attacks would be the most effective tactic. So far, this aligned with Elijah’s assessment. For Elijah, it would be good enough for the time being to just limit what Lily could do.

Elijah would be maneuvering anyway. The beam could act as a wall. He wouldn’t be hit by supportive fire so easily.

The Blitz exited the base and landed.

Then, it fell silent.

Elza and Elijah both found it suspicious, but there was no time to dwell on it.

Elijah in particular had a time limit to worry about. The Dreadnought H’s weapons were powered by nuclear energy and wouldn’t run out of power, but their barrels couldn’t withstand continuous firing. Eventually, their firepower would weaken and he would stop firing altogether. And it wouldn’t be that long, either. He had to settle things quickly.

The runway had already been completely obliterated.

The area around the base was ionized, crackling with repeated discharges.

“But this was just us setting the stage. It’ll all be depending on me in the real fight.”

Even on favorable terrain, victory wouldn’t come by just waiting passively. He needed to take the initiative.

Elza’s GOUF skillfully dodged the beams that rained down from above.

Elijah sometimes used the beams as shields to block attacks, striking when they created openings.

But he couldn’t deal a fatal blow.

The Dreadnought had already fired a considerable number of beams. It had to be nearing its limit.

Another beam flew between Elza and Elijah’s Mobile Suits.

BKYWM!

Then, from behind the beam, a whip-like projectile arced through the air.

By the time he realized it was the GOUF’s Slayer Whip, it was already wrapped around him.

As the beam vanished, Elza’s GOUF coiled the Slayer Whip around itself and launched into the air.

Contact was made right away. The Impact Vice mounted on the GOUF’s arm seized the ZAKU’s arm while the Impact Vice mounted on its leg grabbed the ZAKU’s leg.

To launch an attack from behind the beam at a target that couldn’t be seen through it. Elza’s skills were far beyond his expectations.

“The beam won’t come where you are.”

Elza stated calmly.

Then, the lance mounted on her leg swung back in dramatic fashion. Knowing the attack was coming, he couldn’t dodge it.

She kicked.

Her target was the cockpit.

She struck without hesitation.

Elijah’s ZAKU was covered in Phase Shift armor on its heavily impacted areas. It was strong against physical attacks.

It withstood the first hit.

Then the second came. It withstood that one, too.

But the shock of the attack shook him violently.

Even if his Mobile Suit wasn’t destroyed, he felt his consciousness being blown away.

Beams continued to rain down from the sky.

“Not… finished yet…”

Elijah rallied his consciousness, which threatened to vanish completely.

The next beam would strike…

That spot…

“Uwoaahh!”

Elijah shouted.

He slammed his control stick forward, pushing both his and Elza’s Mobile Suits forward.

The beam struck right in front of them. He drove them toward it, trying to ram both of them into the beam.

“As if!”

Elza understood that Elijah was trying to destroy them both.

She released the Impact Vices on her limbs and kicked Elijah’s Mobile Suit upward to separate from it.

Elza accelerated and pulled away while Elijah slowed down from being kicked.

If things went on like this, only Elijah would be left in the beam’s trajectory.

“Farewell, Elijah.”

The beam came down from the heavens and struck Elijah’s Mobile Suit before her eyes.

It made her feel a little sad.

A feeling she had never felt when facing an enemy before.

A song threatened to spill from her lips.

But there were no ears for it to reach.

“Elzaaaaa!!”

An unbelievable sight.

After the pillar of light vanished, Elijah’s Mobile Suit still stood. Its surface was charred and mangled by the beam and several parts were missing, but he was alive.

Light poured out from both shoulders and the beam rifle in its hand.

“Shit!”

Elza tilted her Mobile Suit backward, presenting its soles to him. It was a way to minimize the surface area exposed to the attack and further protect the cockpit.

An intense shock unlike any she had ever felt pierced through her. Her Mobile Suit crashed to the ground.

“I… won?”

Elijah had seized victory by the skin of his teeth.

The beam that had struck him from above was not at full power.

Even if Canard’s Dreadnought had infinite power, its barrels couldn’t withstand continuous firing. Eventually, the potency of the beams would diminish drastically.

Elijah observed the beam that struck just before it.

He knew that the time had come.

“Mission complete…”

He felt a sense of accomplishment, but thinking about how heavily damaged his personalized Mobile Suit was gave him a headache.

✥✥✥

Silence enveloped the battlefield.

Elza was alive. When she regained consciousness, the base had already been deserted.

“I failed…?”

Dante had told Elza that there would be a week before he fought Gai. It was unlikely that she would be able to find Elijah again and kill him in that time. She had no choice but to give up.

After confirming that she was uninjured, Elza headed for the Blitz.

Its cockpit hatch was wide open. Inside, Lily lay unconscious.

The Blitz was Lily’s Mobile Suit, registered with her biometric signature.

Only she could open it. Who could have opened the hatch and knocked Lily unconscious?

But this explained why Lily wasn’t providing support fire during the fight.

She had probably been ambushed and knocked unconscious early on.

“Kazahana…”

She thought. She was at the base. Even if she managed to open the hatch somehow, she couldn’t imagine Kazahana defeating Lily in a physical fight.

Elza was stumped because she didn’t know the secret of Lily’s birth yet…

Lily was one of many children created by Librarian through the splitting of a single fertilized egg. In other words, there were others who shared her exact genetic makeup.

One of the Librarians who created her, Prayer, was trying to prevent Serpent Tail from being killed for the sake of a certain plan.

Yes, Prayer protected Serpent Tail as the one who would bring down his own organization.

To that end, he sent one of the Lilies that remained within the organization.

“Wake up, Lily.”

Elza shook her shoulder to rouse her.

“Elza…”

“We failed. Let’s head back.”

At that point, it would be more effective to act alongside Dante to corner Gai than it would be to kill Elijah. Even if Dante refused, she would join the fight. Elza had made up her mind to do so.

Dante and Gai’s battle was already over by that point, but Elza could not have known this.

THE END (Extras)

BACK TO READING ORDER

Translated by TrafalgarLog

Lowe and VV worked together to defeat a common enemy.

It was a Destiny Impulse R.

A whole platoon of them, at that.

They were prototypes, but they were still Mobile Suits that ZAFT was developing for full deployment. Normally, civilian engineers could never hope to defeat something like them in combat.

The defiance of that common sense could be attributed, above all, to the high skill level of these two individuals.

But, that alone would not explain it.

Another major factor was that they both simply had great luck.

It’s not a scientific thing to say, but facts are facts. It can’t be helped.

Lowe’s Red Dragon and VV’s Mobile Suit squadron returned safely, though with some battle damage. The two shared in the joy of victory over a tough enemy.

“We have seized total victory!”

The moment he stepped out of the Turn Red, VV gave Lowe a hug. This caught Lowe off guard for a second, but he quickly hugged him back.

After the hug came a firm handshake.

“The number of ‘em had me spooked, but we still managed to beat ‘em!”