22 Betrayal 4

"Can't you tell me why we're fighting?"

Jin had said that, and Rei blinked in surprise.

Such a statement seemed unfitting for a pilot who was beginning to stand out even among the Defense Force.

The urge to probe further was there, but before that—

"Kusaka, you... lost your ID, didn't you?"

"Which means I'm staying over."

"Are you serious?"

She had tried to pout cutely, but there was no reaction.

Only a clear air of disbelief.

Rei felt it intensely—the impression of someone rolling into a stranger's room as if nothing were wrong. It pressed against her like a physical weight.

"I don't know anyone else in the Third Fleet, though."

But that was just an excuse.

The fact remained: she had lost it.

And the fact also remained: she remembered Jin the moment she did.

"Going to stay with some random stranger? What were you thinking? Think about your safety a little more."

She almost snapped back at the words.

"I know he's not just some stranger. I know he's someone kind—someone who'd help when I was in trouble."

The tone was harsh, but Jin's words had always been considerate of her.

She thought it wouldn't end badly. That was why, when she was lost, she chose to go to him.

Better than sleeping out in the open, surely.

She couldn't bring herself to say it directly, so she masked it with talk of probability.

She wondered, just slightly, what his reaction would have been if she'd said it straight.

If the Laitera Project succeeded. If such a hypothetical could ever come true.

But even then, she thought, such a reaction would only be worth nothing.

“You’re saying ‘price,’ but you’re not actually paying with your body, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

“See, I told you it was safe.”

“That’s a stretch even for a lie…”

She acknowledged her presence here, albeit reluctantly, so she must be a good person after all.

The thought of such unearned reassurance made her feel embarrassed. She spoke quickly.

“Anyway, when we were in danger earlier… when someone forced something inappropriate on me… wouldn’t it be easier to claim damages if I knew who they were?”

Jin looked genuinely displeased.

Yet he didn’t push her away.

May was aware she was using him conveniently.

In turn, Jin was being used conveniently—she wondered, what kind of past would shape a person into such a character?

In other words, she realized she wanted to know Jin’s history.

Looking back, she realized that at that moment, she had already lost to Jin.

"Say, Toukou-kun, do you have anyone like that?"

"Why?"

"Because I can't help but wonder."

Jin gave a slight, ambiguous expression and prompted her to continue.

There was nothing left to say—everything had already been said—but as she thought of it, Ling spoke aloud.

"If she existed, I’d feel like a mistress, and that’d be awkward. I’d be a little anxious about it."

Yeah. That was bad.

Or maybe it was more of a shock.

The fact that she thought that way was surprising in itself.

"Relax. There’s no one."

"Really? That’s not reassuring either."

Because just hearing that made her feel a little happy.

The way her heart kept betraying her, Ling had not found peace since earlier.

Trying to calm herself, she began organizing the information gathered today into a report.

When speaking of history, Rei calmed down.

Unexpectedly, Jin engaged with it, and they spent a reasonably pleasant time together.

After a slight warmth had settled in the atmosphere, Rei cut straight to the point.

"Then, let's hear about the history of Higashiō, shall we?"

Jin, who claimed not to understand his reasons for fighting.

Digging deeper into that would surely yield favorable information for the Laitera Project.

But beyond that pretext, Rei simply wanted to know.

A twisted rationale, clouding the truth.

"It's not particularly interesting, you know..."

"Fine. I don't expect it to be. I just want to know your history."

That was all Rei truly wanted— to hear the old stories of a person like him.

"...I'm from a children's protection facility. I don't know what my parents looked like."

Jin spoke of his origins.

Something she already knew.

Something she had never known before.

Words that touch a place far deeper than mere information known from a third-party perspective.

Upon hearing the explanation, it makes sense.

There was nothing of value in Jin's past.

He does not know what it means to have a family—something that should have been ordinary.

As expected, this fact will surely make cooperation with the Laitera Project easier.

But, To thought. Jin probably wasn't aware of it.

That's why family wasn't something that could be included in the reasons for fighting—grew up in an environment like that.

She wanted to give him the warmth of family, speaking with a faintly lonely tone.

For a moment, he thought that.

Perhaps that was it. The way Rei had prolonged his stay, disrupting his original schedule by lingering for three months at Jin's side.

Ignoring return orders, again and again.

Continue spending time together, without clarifying the nature of their relationship.

The air, lukewarm as bathwater.

Not hot. But not cold either.

The temperature has risen noticeably since three months ago.

Certainly not a lover.

They have never even touched fingertips. Not even shared a table.

Certainly not family.

If they were, the heat in their glances would be excessive, unconscious.

If forced to define it, perhaps a friend—but even that feels inadequate.

So it remains unclear.

They were given a spare key to the room, but Jin knew well enough it wasn't trust that had been granted.

Merely a matter of shipboard convention—likely meaningless to Jin.

Yet deeply unsettling to Mio.

Just speaking casually each day.

Laughing at those casual exchanges.

The frequency of laughter increasing day by day.

"...Still hasn't been reissued?"

"Nope. Troublesome, huh?"

The ID had long since been reissued.

Jin knew that.

Mio knew it too.

It was enjoyable, speaking with such pretense.

In the midst of it. He heard Jin’s weakness.

He could not find value in humans after the gun. He wanted only to protect his comrades.

Perhaps it was the first time Jin had allowed himself such a moment.

Perhaps it was the first time he had been able to focus on anything other than survival.

That much imagination was within reach.

Yet comrades fell, defending humans he deemed worthless.

He struggled with that contradiction.

That was what Ling thought she wanted to heal.

Over three months of living, she realized Jin was not as strong as she had first believed.

In fact, he only appeared strong because he had nothing to lose.

Because he had nothing to lose, he feared loss less.

Knowing Jin’s history, Ling concluded this.

But that also meant he had nothing to protect him.

So, without Jin realizing it, he became battered, broken, covered in wounds.

She wanted to heal it.

She wanted him to feel the warmth of family, cold as he was.

She had suggested the Christmas party because that was one of the ways Jin had known family warmth.

"Look forward to it. I’ll let you taste food made by someone else."

She had been glad when he gave a faintly happy expression in response.

He was, truly, just a person—vulnerable like anyone else, capable of kindness like anyone else.

She wanted to keep watching the way Jin’s face softened slightly, relief flickering across it, when she said “Welcome home.”

When she saw that face, she couldn’t ignore the warmth kindling in her chest.

She felt a quiet sense of accomplishment each time she saw his expression ease, little by little.

She took pride in the fact that he had come to feel, at last, that he could let go—release the tension he had carried for so long.

The faint shadow of another person lingering within Jin.

He doesn’t know why they parted.

Jin refuses to speak of it.

But it doesn’t matter.

That someone failed to heal Jin.

Thus, Mio understands, clearly now, that he still bears wounds.

“I want to do this.”

She wants to bring a smile to Jin’s face. To heal his unseen scars. To watch over him, to ease the anxiety she sees in his eyes.

That is Mio’s current desire.

But it contradicts Mio’s role.

What she must do is expose Jin’s past wounds, lay them bare, and teach him how to erase them.

Never heal them.

Let him suffer, as Jin suffers from the contradiction between his present state and his role.

Mio suffers from the same contradiction.

They both carried this contradiction, and longed for a life like lukewarm water—endless, unbroken.

It ended abruptly.