After the 31st battle

Combat had ceased.

The members of the Harold Fleet had completely lost their will to fight.

Jin thought it was unsurprising.

They had all, upon Laitera Project activation, believed their hopes had been fulfilled.

He did not know what those hopes had been—but they had been taken away.

Not abandoned by their own hands, but forcibly removed from outside.

Given the nature of the Laitera Project, only avoidable tragedies could be altered in the past.

A gathering of those who wished to change injustices beyond their own power.

Jin felt pity for their despair—the loss of something they had believed regained, only to have it taken once more.

Their posture was almost pitiful, making him worry they might simply remove their helmets and launch into space.

The defense forces of the awakened Third Fleet moved to apprehend the Harold Fleet, each carrying an uneasy sense of incompleteness.

Jin should be present there too, but Edelweiss is currently unconscious and unable to communicate.

Still, with Harold—the mastermind—missing, it's difficult to do anything here. There's nothing to be done.

Yet that, too, is only temporary.

Death or capture would be acceptable, but disappearance is the issue.

That means there's a possibility of return. Whether it's feasible or not is irrelevant—what matters is the possibility, which implies room for deception.

If she returns, countermeasures must be implemented immediately—but that is no longer Jin's responsibility.

Docking at the hangar of the *Gay Bork*.

Awakening just barely.

Edelweiss murmured, shaking her head.

"That... was harsh. I'd rather not experience it again."

"Really that bad?"

"It felt like my very existence was shaken. Something about it was deeply unsettling."

The oddity in Edelweiss’s tone, as if she were utterly fed up, lasted only an instant.

“Hey.”

‘What.’

“You’ve been picking up more and more of that whining vocabulary lately.”

‘You’re the one who’s influencing me.’

Jin deflated instantly.

The moment he stepped down from the机体, the technician stared at him with wide eyes.

He didn’t understand the meaning behind that expression, and frowned in confusion.

‘Are you surprised that it came from within me?’

‘Ah. I see.’

Just as he was caught in that empty exchange, the technician stared intently at Jin’s face and shouted.

“Captain Tozawa! You’re alive!”

“Not quite.”

‘Not quite.’

Still, Jin tilted his head—was it really necessary to react so strongly?

Well, true. The battlefield had been fierce enough that dying more than once wouldn’t have been surprising—but still…

"Being told something like that as if death were inevitable hurts, Private."

No. My apologies... The unit's response had completely dropped out...

Jin recalls, as he thinks about it.

The griffin became Edelweiss's meal. Not a single screw remains.

Ah… I see.

It's not my fault.

The mechanic, casting a puzzled glance at Edelweiss, who had become slightly talkative, was reassured with a quiet "Don't mind it."

Well, as you can see, I'm still intact.

Hah... Ah! Then hurry to the rest chamber! Something serious has occurred.

Something serious?

Jin tilts his head again, considering what could possibly be considered dire under these circumstances.

What's wrong?

The maintenance technician's movements falter at the sight of the impossibly delicate girl—her eyes swollen from crying, hair matted—entering the battleship's hangar.

He had been out of place all along.

"No, something's gone terribly wrong, it seems."

"Terribly wrong?"

He tilts his head in exact mimicry of Jin.

"Anyway, where's Sharon? I need to apologize… I can't just leave it like this…"

"Uh, yeah. I should say thanks too."

Shi, descending from Mio's body just after her, mutters the same words.

His arrival at Mio's side was only possible because of Shirley.

There is no limit to how many thanks one could offer.

"Um, Captain. If you could please hurry… This is something only you can resolve."

"Ah, right. Sorry, Private. Both of you, come with me."

Under current circumstances, trainees and civilians cannot be left to move freely. Someone must supervise.

Jin hesitates, sensing something must be addressed, but for now he must resolve the matter pushed by the Private first.

Jin had business with Sharon as well. He led the two of them toward the rest chamber, intending to attend to his own matters first.

Three maintenance personnel seemed to be stationed there.

Rather, one person was being comforted by two others.

That one was weeping violently—so much so it felt like a child wailing.

The other two appeared to be desperately trying to soothe him.

Indeed, it was difficult. He did not know what had occurred.

Yet Jin tilted his head, wondering what it meant to be the only one capable of resolving it.

Suddenly, the two comforting the man noticed Jin. They stiffened, their expressions mirroring the shock of the maintenance personnel from earlier.

They must still believe him dead, Jin thought, a faint sense of irritation rising.

This will likely continue for some time, he realized.

Then, abruptly, he noticed something.

So many believing him dead.

And one of them, crying. Upon closer inspection, blonde hair.

Something familiar about the back view.

The two mechanics shook the one who was crying.

The middle one turned, desperately gesturing for the other to look behind.

Sharon, her makeup smeared beyond recognition—her tears a mess so grotesque that Mio’s earlier weeping seemed refined by comparison—recognized Jin and lunged at him.

“Y-you’re not dead! You’re not dead, you’re not dead, you’re not dead—!”

Honestly, he wanted to avoid that face, soaked in tears and snot, but he knew that pulling away would only make her cry harder, so he endured.

There, there. Patting her shoulder, calming her. The motion was identical to Mio’s.

“If you’re alive, say you’re alive!”

“No, I mean… sorry.”

Jin had thought it was unreasonable, but he swallowed his rebuttal—concerning her was a fact.

Whether embarrassed by having cried in misunderstanding—or unable to face her own tears and nasal discharge smeared on Jin’s pilot suit.

Avert the gaze—then notice the silver hair hidden behind Mamoru's shadow.

Mio turns to hide her face as soon as she tries to look around.

Between them, Mio began to spin, circling around Shu. Shu exhaled.

Bad timing for a final journey.

“Ah!”

Jin grabbed Mio by the neck and halted her pointless spinning motion. The incident with the hatch earlier—Jin now regarded Shu as someone capable of consideration.

Unable to escape, Mio faces Sharon.

"Um, Sharon... no, not Sharon, Miss Shirley, no... um... that is..."

Shirley smiles at Mio, who hesitates, words failing her.

"Come here, Mio-chan. Let me tidy your hair."

She gestures toward the chair, inviting her to sit.

From her pocket, as if always carried, she produces a comb and begins to brush Mio’s hair.

Mio’s strands, regaining their familiar shape moment by moment, draw a quiet exclamation from Shu.

Jin too cannot help but murmur in silent admiration. A master’s touch.

The foolish men remain ignored. Shirley turns back to Mio.

"It’s good to see you again."

"Sharon… I’m sorry."

Sorry for what.

Shirley knows exactly.

Even if only the major things are counted—vanishing without a word.

Or perhaps the attempt to erase the past where Rei died, threatening the present bond.

Even more could be listed, if all details were included.

Yet even with all of it combined.

"Very well."

No other words exist. There is nothing unforgivable.

It is unavoidable, since one wishes to forgive.

"But there won't be a next time, you know? Be certain. Consult properly."

"Uh… yeah…"

Wiping Mio’s tears with a handkerchief, Shirley turned her gaze toward the guard.

"Trainee Higata, you did well. Bringing Mio-chan back safely—very impressive."

"No, actually. Thank you, Sergeant Byron. Thanks to you, we made it in time."

"No. You made it in time because you moved straight toward Mio-chan without hesitation. Direct path, no distractions—someone out there should learn from that, honestly."

That someone pretends not to notice.

With eight years of accumulated delay, any excuse would sound hollow.

Then, as if just realizing something, Shirley’s eyes drifted, searching for someone.

She circled the room, her expression one of mild confusion.

"Where is Instructor Sasamori, by the way?"

"What about Instructor Sasamori?"

"We were deployed together—Shigeta trainee and I."

"Hmm."

Jin understood, then, what had been troubling him.

A trainee could not have been deployed alone. Someone must have been with him.

He had assumed, without question, that it was someone whose attention had been diverted.

At that moment, Shigeta began to sweat profusely.

"Tōya?"

"...Crap. I forgot."

Jin mentally rebuked him—You can't pull that kind of thing.