15 Lieutenant's Will

"Lieutenant, recognize my return."

Jin entered the office, immediately speaking the words upon meeting his superior, the Lieutenant.

It was fortunate that he had been granted access just three days after scheduling the appointment.

"Rather early surrender, Lieutenant. You've only been in your instructor role for about ten days."

"Being an instructor is irrelevant."

Jin felt a faint irritation at the Lieutenant's evasive tone.

The officer he had trusted.

No, still does.

Even if the current personnel decision was contrary to Jin's wishes, he knew it was not retaliation.

He understood the Lieutenant was pursuing what he believed to be the best course.

Thus, the inability to read the Lieutenant's current thinking stirred unease and irritation.

"The situation is different from one and a half months ago. At that time, there was no immediate crisis."

At the very least, such a large-scale assault by humanoid ASIDs had not been anticipated.

Which is precisely why appointing Jin to an instructor position had been such an unreasonable personnel decision.

"Current conditions aboard the fleet are unfavorable. There is no room to spare for idle personnel."

Jin, the top ace and the Third Fleet's leading ace.

Unquestionably the strongest single assault frame in existence.

He should have been a stabilizing force in the dire combat situation.

"...I said it before, Lieutenant Azuma. The battlefield is not a place to fulfill your desire for suicide."

Jin cannot deny those words.

Mio's presence heals Jin.

Yet at the same time—torments him beyond measure.

Slowly, like wind eroding the earth.

The absence of her order—drives it into him.

He was aware that, should the need arise, he would fight without regard for his own body.

"Lieutenant! But if we continue like this, it will affect the fleet's survival!"

"Do you believe you alone can determine the fate of the fleet?"

"At the very least, I could serve as a counterweight on that scale."

For a moment, the two stared at each other in silence.

The lieutenant was the first to relax his shoulders.

"Your return is impossible. Lieutenant. A large-scale deployment from the Second Fleet is scheduled for one month from now."

"The Second Fleet... a cybernetic squadron?"

"Affirmative. Individually, they may be negligible, but as a unit, their combat power is unquestionably the finest among humanity."

In the Second Fleet, bodily augmentation is legally permitted.

Pilots are no exception—entirely mechanized cybernetics, forming a specialized force.

The most powerful unit in the fleet, operating custom-modified machines that no unmodified human could pilot.

Jin's customized Raven, too, traces its origins to the cybernetic units of the Second Fleet's specialized force.

In a sense, they were akin to siblings.

"If they were here, the situation might stabilize."

Jin could not refute that statement.

At the very least, as a unit, they were undeniably more powerful than Jin himself.

Yet, seeing Jin still searching for something, the lieutenant let out a quiet sigh.

"Seems I can't let you give up yet."

Of course, Jin thought within, that was expected.

If the fleet falls, Jin must not survive.

To surrender one's power of life and death to another—impossible.

Ah, but...

That self-accusation, questioning whether he was merely using that as an excuse, would not fade.

Seeing that Jin still retained his resolve, the lieutenant spoke with a voice that had given up.

"Lieutenant, I am revoking your piloting authorization."

Piloting an assault frame required the DNA of its authorized owner.

More precisely, the current model featured an organic authentication cockpit.

Authentication was mandatory for activation.

The major had just revoked Jin's authorization.

"Major, that is—"

Jin's expression shifted, even if only slightly.

No matter the emergency, piloting would not be permitted.

He would be kept away from the battlefield at all costs.

Jin understood the major's resolve.

"I have no intention of changing my current assignment. Step back."

Jin did not understand.

He could not comprehend what the major was thinking.

With a clear sense of disappointment, Jin exited the major's office.

"…Damn it."

Stepping into the corridor, he could no longer contain the curse that escaped his lips.

Meanwhile, in the office, the lieutenant projected a single image onto the screen.

“Can’t have you dying here, Tōgō. Not in a skirmish like this.”

The image, grainy and indistinct.

Without reference points, hard to discern—there it was, the silhouette of the colossal species Jin had witnessed.

◆ ◆ ◆

“Understood. Always maintain numerical superiority. Do not stand out. Pursuit is the most dangerous. You lose composure if you’re always on the offensive.”

Jin was aware the next day’s training was more intense than usual.

The fracture in his negotiation with the lieutenant yesterday had clearly affected him.

Fourth-year cadets, due for commissioning next month, assigned to the front lines.

Their presence now felt envious, unreliable.

Jin could not stand on the battlefield.

So he thought, at the very least, he must train harder.

To slightly increase the odds of survival.

He had resolved, even if it meant being hated, to impose rigorous training.

Joint unit training for third- and fourth-year cadets.

A defensive drill simulating attacks by humanoid ASIDs, data collected after several engagements.

Jin repeatedly insisted: maintain a superior numerical advantage at all times.

The most common occurrence among rookie pilots is becoming isolated on the battlefield—overwhelmed by the environment.

Necessarily, this shifts into a one-versus-many scenario.

In such cases, an inexperienced pilot cannot survive for more than a few seconds.

That is the leading cause of death.

Do not break coordination.

Do not become isolated.

Always maintain unit integrity.

It is fundamental—yet ironically, Jin himself was constantly violating it.

Still, he believed this instruction protected the trainees.

—They would never become aces.

He was certain of that.

Keep your eyes behind.

See one second ahead.

Stated plainly, it is absurd.

Yet only those who grasp that absurdity through instinct can enter the realm called ace.

Pilots who have achieved a certain level of combat success all possess that instinct.

At least all the pilots Jin has met were this way.

Even aces fall.

So the likelihood of a trainee without that instinct being shot down increases further.

"Concentrate fire! Scattered counterattacks won’t pierce the humanoid coating!"

Practice coordination as a unit.

That is the proper form of a pilot.

"Maintain spacing sufficient for mutual evasive maneuvers! Enemies won’t wait, even if we form a cluster!"

He himself operates a humanoid ASID as a simulated opponent.

Fortuitous, perhaps.

Its size differs little from an assault frame.

Jin’s refined piloting instinct was fully reflected.

The way he charged forward, as if dismantling the trainees’ unit, resembled a starving wolf.

The idea of providing proper instruction as the initial combat instructor had been entirely discarded.

The trainees nearly lost their footing under the intensity of the training.

Each time, Jin barked.

“If you’re going to cry out at this level, quit being a pilot! You’ll only die quickly on the battlefield!”

Even if they were mimicking the traditional worm-type frame, that would be acceptable.

But against humanoid opponents, this was insufficient.

They must become stronger—more so than ever—otherwise they would never survive their first deployment.

He pushed them harder than ever before.

Even among those who had endured four years, some still dropped out.

“Are you going too far, Higashi?”

He heard this from his mentor.

Perhaps he was right, Jin thought.

Still, it could not break.

……If someone breaks here, they should never have entered the battlefield in the first place. One day, they’ll drag their comrades down with them.

This was Jin’s philosophy, standing on the battlefield.

Especially now, with trainees, it was uncertain whether they could gain experience in a relatively safe combat zone.

Without some filtering, it would be dangerous.

They’ll probably resent me.

Doesn’t matter. If it saves lives, so be it.

There was still time before reinforcements from the Second Fleet arrived.

They, too, would need to reinforce their defensive lines—could not come rushing immediately.

Distance was the main factor.

Temporary relief, perhaps. But permanent deployment? That brought complications.

Just stay alive until the reinforcements arrive.

That was all Jin was thinking.

……?

Suddenly, Jin noticed an unfamiliar silhouette.

…Recently, unfamiliar faces stand out.

Access to the training facility is restricted, so outsiders are noticeable.

One can tell they’ve entered through proper channels, verified by badge—yet—

Indeed. What could it be?

The two exchange puzzled glances, unable to discern the cause.

Days later, Jin will regret it.

Even if he had noticed then, nothing could have been done.

He regrets not recognizing the signs, though they were present.

He never considered his own decision would backfire.