30

The moment the Laitera was finally set in motion.

Mio had to act the instant all preparations were complete—before Harold could detect her.

Detach Harold from the Laitera. Send only the information she sought back to the past.

That would ensure everything unfolded exactly as Mio intended.

At the precise moment the Reactor reached maximum output.

The link between Mio and the Staltria Reactor was severed.

“Ah!?”

Even as a simulation, Mio had undeniably been the original Queen’s Reactor’s host.

To sever that connection—only the true owner could do it—or else physically tear it apart.

At this moment, Mio was nothing more than fuel for the Reactor. Her will could no longer influence it.

‘I’m sorry.’

A word of apology with no trace of remorse reached Mio’s ear.

'The ether required to activate Laitera is below the reactor’s operational threshold.'

It was too simple a psychological trap.

Harold had always said it.

Laitera required Starto’s reactor. It needed this high output.

But—he never said critical operation was necessary!

'I knew you were scheming something... I’m sorry, but I’ll have to eliminate you.'

Mio couldn’t seize control of a device from nothing. An interface was required.

Harold knew this. He had prepared a showy throne—ostentatiously.

To easily detach Mio if needed.

'You may rest easy. I’ll show you how to save Kusugami’s command—because that’s what a promise between people is.'

He spoke these words with careless ease—then let a smile break through, one he could no longer suppress.

"Come on! It's finally happening! The Litera is moving! Come on! Come on! Show it again! Let us meet once more! My beloved!"

The cry of joy.

It might finally be here—the thing long sought. Emotion rises as the fulfillment of a lifetime's longing draws near.

And then—

The Litera activates.

◆ ◆ ◆

"What was that just now?"

A high-output reactor reaction, emitted from deep within enemy lines.

Following it, a wave of etheric communication that scrambled even sensors.

All communications systems collapsed. No voices remained.

Yet, despite the scale of the phenomenon, the silence that followed felt unnatural.

"Hey, sister."

Even with communication saturated, May should still be reachable at this proximity. Shu calls out.

No reply.

He grits his teeth—realizing even this close, it fails.

The communication is already normal.

The influence of the etheric transmission—aimed at no known destination—has already subsided.

If sound reaches the ear, it should be audible.

Voices questioning the current decline.

A voice to assess the situation.

Yet it was far too quiet.

And this was not limited to communications.

...The fighting has stopped?

No one is moving.

The defense force of the Third Fleet, which had just been engaging in combat with a peculiar ASID.

The ASID in question as well.

The warships of the Third Fleet, visible in the distance, and the battleships of the Harold Fleet.

The people of Terminus, who should be attacking from another direction as well.

Everyone—halt your movements.

What is this...

Something is wrong. Clearly abnormal. As if only I were left behind in a nightmare.

But the sweat seeping across the forehead.

The tightly gripped control stick.

The sudden pain inside the cheek, bitten down on instinct.

Everything here insists that this is real.

"What the hell is this?!"

Satoru felt terror grip him at the scene, frozen as if time itself had stopped.

An unknown phenomenon.

He recalled the old saying: it is the unknown that frightens humans most.

More than anything, he could not understand why he was unaffected.

Why only he could move.

"Hey, May!"

After a brief hesitation, Satoru released the cockpit hatch.

He leapt toward May's Leopard, which appeared to be stationary—though in reality, it was only matching relative velocity.

If Satoru decelerated for any reason, he would be ejected instantly from the Leopard and become debris in the void. The safety tether was not forgotten.

He entered the emergency code, opened the hatch, and looked directly at May.

"May! May, come on—wake up!"

Vitals were normal.

Her eyelids, loosely closed, looked as if she were asleep.

But she would not wake.

"Please, come on—wake up..."

This incomprehensible situation.

Beyond Sho's ability to manage.

If she never woke again.

If she passed away as peacefully as she slept.

The thought made him recoil at his own imagination.

"What am I supposed to tell him... what is Junpei supposed to do?!"

A reaction came instantly.

Her eyelids twitched.

Sho guessed the direction. Repeated the same words, as if to confirm.

"You promised Junpei! That you'd both come back! He's been waiting—waiting for you and your brother to return!"

As he shouted, May opened her eyes, as if waking from a sudden start.

"………… Did I fall asleep?"

"No, I don't know. Ask me anything, I won't know."

She had appeared to be sleeping. Yet it was impossible this was merely drowsiness.

There was no mistaking it—she had awakened only after hearing Junpei's name.

"Wait—what about the battle? No, why is it that I'm the one here? What happened?"

"I'd like to know that myself."

Briefly, Shu explains the current situation.

There isn't much to say, really.

"...Everyone might be in the same state as I was just now."

"More accurately, I'm surprised I'm not affected."

Thirty minutes have passed since then. No response to any communication attempts.

All humans in this region appeared to have fallen into the same kind of sleep as May.

"Hmm. The Reactor seems to have shut down too. Could it be that the Laitera system activated?"

"No, that doesn't make sense... What even is that time machine? Could it really cause mass unconsciousness like this?"

May hesitates before speaking.

"...I think I was dreaming."

"Dreaming?"

"Yes. A dream. My consciousness was gone... but Kou was smiling. A face I’ve never seen before—so peaceful, holding his daughter close. Even that ending felt right to me."

"No, no... Your Junpei is a boy, isn't he?"

"That’s what I’m saying— it was a dream. No... maybe it wasn’t a dream. Maybe it’s a changed outcome, being overwritten now...?"

I don’t know.

Only the one who experienced it could know how the past alters the present.

But May doesn’t believe what she saw was merely a dream. The sensation was too real.

No— rather, even now, I wonder if that place is real and this one is the dream.

"...But if that’s true, why am I the only one unaffected?"

"I don’t know. I can’t even explain why I woke up."

Switching to an arbitrary Raven, the pilot tested whether consciousness would return—but there was no sign of awakening.

May’s awakening—the trigger—was not a universal solution, not even for Junpei.

"...What do we do? Retreat? Or proceed?"

"Retreating won’t solve anything. That’s certain."

The communication remained flat. No response at all.

No change would come from retreating.

Then proceed. In this state, reaching the innermost Lombardia-class would require no effort.

"Let’s go. Sister."

◆ ◆ ◆

One second became two.

Two became ten.

Ten stretched into eternity.

The visible future expanded.

A future that should not have existed was overwritten.

For a single instant, the familiar scene reflected in it seized attention—costing life.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Too sweet.

The scene of a future where lost things have not been lost.

◆ ◆ ◆

His hand fumbled at the tie.

Staring at the odd knot, Jin tilted his head.

"……What is this?"

A dissonance.

As if he had forgotten what he had just been doing.

A fundamental question: why is he tying a tie at all?

He looked into the mirror.

Himself.

Jin Higashi.

Captain, 17th Company, 1st Division, Third Fleet Defense Force.

Wearing formal military uniform, attempting to tie the tie.

"Jin? Ready?"

A voice from behind. Jin stiffened.

He saw the figure in the mirror.

"Good grief. You really went for the daring knot, didn’t you?"

He dared not turn around.

The voice was an illusion.

The reflection was a phantom.

The fear that, if he turned around, there would be no one there at all.

"Look this way. Let me fix it."

A gentle hand pressed against his shoulder.

Jin did not resist the motion. He was turned.

The scene that flooded his vision—Jin quietly shed tears.

"Are you crying, Jin?"

A hand reached for a handkerchief, wiping away the droplet.

He seized it.

Tracing the sensation of the ring on his left index finger with his own fingers.

"What’s wrong, Jin?"

Her voice called his name.

Just that—why did it bring such overwhelming sorrow?

"L-lee…?"

"Don’t cry. It’s alright. It’s alright."

There, standing there, was Shōgō Rei.

Just that—nothing more.

30. The Most Blissful Nightmare 3