40 The Parting on a Clear Day
This is the second update of today.
Weakening.
Jin clearly feels it.
His body had stopped responding.
The future ahead had begun to blur.
The acceleration of the forward unit was becoming unbearable to withstand.
The prognosis was deteriorating faster than expected.
It's not unreasonable—she herself recognizes that much.
Past forty, nearing fifty.
The decline had been noticeable for eight years, but in recent years it has become pronounced.
It is something unavoidable, given that they are human.
She had compensated for it with piloting skill, and in fact could still assert that no pilot was stronger than herself.
Until this day, until this moment.
Raven advances toward him.
If the reaction battle can be forced into a decisive clash, there is a chance of victory. That was the calculated cry.
Jin would find it difficult under conditions where reflexes matter more than technology.
The movement one second ahead is visible.
He knows what must be done.
But the command reaches the extremities of the body too late.
The机体's response lags by zero point zero one seconds.
Just that.
In that narrow gap, the opponent has already inserted a move.
Evasion comes too late.
The ether dagger glances across the abdomen during the pass.
Impact.
Damage is minor.
Yet the hit disrupts posture, just slightly.
Not yet dead.
Jin's Raven still lives.
This level of damage does not result in a downed unit, nor does it impair mobility.
Just shock.
He failed to evade something he would have dodged unscathed before. That fact strikes Jin.
Turning around, facing again—situation should reset—should have.
When Jin's Raven turns, the opponent is already moving toward him.
Close combat between assault frames is a contest of kinetic energy.
Simplicity: the one who stops moving falls.
Thus, speed increases year by year, and inertial control advances in parallel to withstand it.
That is why it becomes clear.
The opponent’s rate of reversal is abnormal. The frame may endure, but the body cannot.
Blood pools in one area, causing unconsciousness.
Only now does Jin realize—his enemy performs such extreme maneuverability as naturally as breathing.
—He raises his arm, thinking within.
When they first met, he was just a child with no combat ability at all.
Before he knew it, the boy had entered the military earlier than his peers.
Before he knew it, the boy was behind him.
Jin’s Raven cannot re-accelerate in time.
Relative velocity remains the same regardless of who accelerates.
Six kilometers per second.
A point of radar light suddenly materializes directly before him.
Dogfighting while enduring G-forces from a turn.
The illusion of the机体 disintegrating.
The opponent shows no intent to end the engagement through gunfire—instead, they charge head-on, drawing the ether dagger.
Thus, shifting course would easily avoid the attack.
Yet that option cannot be chosen.
To evade the challenge would mean defeat.
A second crossing.
The terrain the opponent has cultivated—favorable to them.
Fighting upon it, the advantage finally belongs to the other.
Jin’s Raven’s right arm is severed.
Combat effectiveness halved, but still operational.
Accelerating onward, Jin attempts to create distance. If outmatched in close combat, then gunfire will be the next course.
The opponent must reverse, incurring a loss.
Yet the opponent pursues with acceleration exceeding Jin’s—just a momentary turn.
A literal 180-degree reversal. Such an aberrant maneuver, impossible for any sane human.
Transitioning to rearward flight, Jin fires the ether rifle.
The aim is the cockpit.
A slight dispersion of shots to provoke evasion. If the opponent slows, it is a gain.
The opponent—does not hold the rifle.
Abandons even the shield, drawing dual ether daggers in a two-handed stance.
A thought: do not underestimate.
Anticipation of what is to come.
Firing while holding both in equal measure.
The shots are deflected by the ether daggers.
No loss of speed—absorbing the assault—no.
One shot, straight on, aimed directly at him.
Jin is struck by the sheer precision of the return—this was one of his own specialties, once mastered, now unattainable.
He had deflected the shot for this one moment alone.
Had it been the first strike, Jin might have instinctively guarded. But seeing the retreat to the rear, that instinct dissolved.
Did the opponent read that far ahead? Jin thinks.
Yes. That is what was read. He acknowledges it quietly.
He knows exactly how thoroughly the opponent has studied him.
Even habits he himself has not noticed—no doubt the other has already mapped them.
The ether bullet that struck him shattered his ether rifle.
The only weapon left was the second ether dagger.
He extended his left hand to draw it—then the enemy’s Raven was upon him, inches away.
He sees the movement one second ahead.
But it is already too late.
The opponent has shaped the battlefield to make this inevitable.
“—Well done.”
The words had barely left his lips.
The ether dagger pierced the cockpit.
That day, for the first time, Jin Eastgarden was shot down by Shu Tōya.
◆ ◆ ◆
A faint memory surfaced—half a year earlier.
The day Jin was first shot down by Shu in a simulated combat exercise.
The first human colony city. His new homeland, the home planet of Terminus, had no zenith screen.
A sky so vividly blue it stretched to the horizon, the sun spreading across the earth.
Still, Jin thought, he had not grown accustomed to sunlight.
Had he seen a waking dream under its intense glare?
“Jin?”
Leaning beside him, Sharon peered down.
“Nervous?”
“Somewhat.”
“Kinchō?”
The young girl, her hair a faded gold with hints of pink—perhaps a return to ancestral traits—tugged at Jin’s hand, looking up.
“Dad, kinchō?”
“That’s right. Heart racing.”
“Tia’s heart’s racing too!”
Tia. Mio’s younger sister—thus Jin and Sharon’s daughter—smiled brightly as she said this.
Even a child could sense today was special.
Her cheeks flushed more than usual, restless.
“But you know… you accepted it so easily, Jin.”
“What are you talking about?”
"About the marriage. I thought you'd resist it."
"What are you talking about?"
It wasn't a lie to say he hadn't considered it.
"You were saying that regretful thing just now. 'If only I were at my peak.'"
"If I were at my peak, I wouldn't lose."
"See?"
Sharon sighed, exasperated.
But Jin held firm. True, he had finally been surpassed in his declining years. Yet in his youth, he would have won without question.
"Besides, I don't dislike marrying Mio."
"Really?"
"Really."
Only that he believed one must be strong—both body and mind.
At the very least, stronger than himself.
Otherwise, he couldn't feel secure. That was all he meant.
"You tried to sabotage it, though?"
"I didn't sabotage anything!"
"No, you really laid into Sousuke hard enough."
"Not just him. Everyone else proposing too."
"True enough."
Mio was now a significant figure. Politics inevitably entangled even her marriage.
Jin had broken through all of it by force.
I won’t entrust my daughter to someone weaker than me.
Jin didn’t realize—without him, Mio might have been forced into marriage with someone else somewhere.
The title of current top pilot had served its purpose.
"Big sister was mad!"
"She was furious, wasn’t she?"
"I—can’t beat that guy, so it’s his fault..."
There was a time, after returning home, when she silently endured threefold silence from them—she’d almost stopped wanting to come back.
Even if he had held back and won, Sousuke would have seen through it. Jin thought that might have strained relations further.
"Yes, let’s stop this conversation."
"Let’s stop!"
Laughing, Tiera imitates Jin.
Whether that counts as fortunate remains uncertain.
For now, Tiera shows no sign of Byron’s rumored mechanical obsession.
It is pleasing that she shows ordinary interest in others.
"Then, Jin. See you later."
"Later!"
"Ah. See you."
Jin departs from the two.
A major task awaits him.
"...Daddy?"
At the chapel entrance, Mio stands waiting.
Wrapped in a pure white wedding dress.
Her veil and silver hair merge as one—a sight certain to inspire a parent’s excessive pride.
"You look good."
"I heard that just now."
After being thoroughly praised by Shirley and Tiera in the changing room. A faint, wry expression flickers.
"Thank you, Daddy."
"Hm?"
"For raising me this far."
I've said this before, Mio. Thank you—this time, it's my turn to express gratitude.
Jin says, laughing.
I was happy for sixteen years thanks to you.
And then, he added.
Save that for later. What then, if we both cry?
That's right.
The wedding ceremony is just beginning, and yet—
The chapel door opens.
Jin walks along the red Virgin Road.
Recalling the first day we met, in the rain.
That meeting was not inevitable.
Had she not mispressed the button, Mio would have met someone else instead.
That is precisely why Jin wishes to be grateful for that encounter.
It is because of that encounter that these sixteen years exist.
The most fortunate event, one would say, is the first thing that comes to mind.
Various things have happened.
On the scale of major events, Harold's Rebellion—but even after that.
There have been factions opposed to the alliance with Terminus that attempted to assassinate Mio.
There have been instances where the Third Fleet was attacked by three powerful swarms belonging to the oldest category.
Amidst such events, there were also moments of quiet joy—Mio becoming unusually spirited upon Tiara’s birth, and other small blessings.
Step by step, he etched the history shared with Mio into his own being.
Halfway along the Virgin Road, Shu stood with a tense expression.
More tense than when in battle, Jin nearly laughed.
Shu had grown into one of the Third Fleet’s most elite pilots.
His victory over Jin had earned him renown across other fleets.
Jin knew, without doubt, that if worst came to worst, Shu would reach Mio faster than anyone else.
A quiet sigh escaped his lips.
He would have no hesitation in entrusting Mio to him.
The escort role is changing.
Mio and Shu retreat step by step, drawing farther from him.
They move forward.
But Jin knows there will come a time when he cannot follow.
Thirty years from now? Or forty? Perhaps even longer.
Yet inevitably, he will die.
And with that, Jin’s history as a human ends.
That was what frightened him.
Not death itself.
But the fact that, once dead, he would be unable to do anything—unable to help his daughter, who would live on for centuries to come.
—Shu had never taught him, yet he had scoured military records until, without realizing it, Jin had mastered his techniques.
Honestly, Jin was glad.
That what he had done would be passed on to someone else.
That someone would read the history carved by Jin Tōgō.
And forge their own path.
Thus, ten years, twenty, a hundred years ahead.
Someone must still be out there—someone who can help her daughter.
At that thought, fear vanished.
Only now did he understand.
Why was Rei attempting to unearth history?
Was he trying to recover lost knowledge from the past?
What lies there is not a fact of the past.
A wish. A prayer.
As long as history endures, no one's path will ever become worthless.
Watching his back as he departs.
Jin reflected that he had grown taller than he had been in the past.
Jin thinks it's impossible to carry her anymore.
Not becoming someone else—yet the path diverges here.
The duty to protect Mio first from here onward no longer belongs to Jin.
The duty to make her happy is not Jin's.
May you be happy—
May happiness endure until the day his life ends. Jin wished.
Believing that the man who has surpassed himself will fulfill it.
◆ ◆ ◆
Two futures were seen.
The one seen later was the future in which I am alive.
A future where only Jin and I remain.
The third person who should have been there is absent.
— Our future, where our child was lost.
A sigh escaped, quiet and heavy.
If this future information came from the Laitera Project...
What should I do?
Even with knowledge of the future, human action remains limited.
How can one save a life lost before birth?
After birth, there are always ways.
Now that I have come to the Third Fleet, I know that nanomachine treatment is capable of almost anything.
Even a brain alone, if treated before brain death, could surely be fully restored.
But before that stage...
Using nanomachines on a fetus is illegal.
No— even setting aside legal concerns, it is far too dangerous.
Interfering with a being not yet established as life carries the risk of transforming it into something other than human.
Humanity has not yet advanced so deeply into the domain of life.
Laytera— I realize now, belatedly, that she indeed brings misfortune to people.
There are tragedies that can be avoided by knowing the future.
Captain Grace said as much.
But— knowing the future also means bearing suffering that was unnecessary.
What is one to do when confronted with an unavoidable future?
The first future I saw.
A future without me.
A future where Jin is with someone else.
A world entirely different from the one I witnessed moments ago.
A future where Jin, having lost me, sinks into despair— and slowly begins to rise again.
A future where he encounters someone watching over a child, and fights to protect that child.
Someone who was not human.
A child terrified of their own ASID nature— weeping in fear.
A child who suffered, believing they had no reason to be born.
That child was held in Jin’s arms.
Called a precious daughter.
And once again, just the two of them.
Why another future appeared—unknown.
If the Laitera Project succeeded, how could two futures be visible?
The logic eluded understanding—yet, half-intuitively, comprehension settled.
This was not my future.
It was our child’s future.
That was why two had appeared.
One path the child would walk.
One path I myself would walk.
If the Laitera Project’s theory held true, those two possibilities might overlap.
Choosing one would erase the other.
Should I consult Jin?
But how to explain it?
Simply saying I saw the future—would be dismissed as dreaming.
Already, I could see the reply: “Marriage blues?”
Then, speak of the Laitera Project?
...Impossible to say.
If I am to speak, there is no need to explain why I know it.
If that is the case, I will have to reveal the true reason I met Jin.
That is something I do not wish to say.
Moreover, in the second future, Jin appeared to know nothing about Litera.
Raised a child as a stranger, unaware of the truth.
What if knowing it somehow erased that future?
...I see.
I realized it.
Two futures came into view.
Me or the child.
The question is which one must be sacrificed.
The future is not something meant to be seen.
The result of a choice one need not see—there is no reason to be unafraid.
Why is there no other future?
Why can I see nothing but this?
Why can't we reach a future where the three of us are together?
I understand.
There is no such future.
The possibility would be negligible even if it existed.
Perhaps in that future, the Laitera Project was never realized.
That leaves me with only these two options now.
Once more, replay it.
A life shared between Jin and me.
I think we were happy.
Even within the information flowing in, ten years could be declared happy.
Yet, simultaneously, a decade haunted by loneliness and regret.
I have come to accept it.
If this self is the result of a choice.
This is the me from the future who abandoned a child.
You must be lonely.
The warmth that should have been cradled in my hands—lost.
It must be frustrating for you.
The warmth that should have been held in my own hands—lost.
Survived by sacrificing a child.
She understood she would surely carry this regret forward, into the time that followed.
The shame will never fade away.
Recalling another future.
Not me. The future of our child and Jin.
Jin had been searching for me all along.
Whether the child noticed or not is unclear.
His gaze always searched for me, lingering where my position had been—on the right side.
His right fist, hand clenched shut around nothing, remained tight.
The child had always been on the left.
Every time he spoke, Jin glanced briefly to the right, then to the left.
Since when had it changed?
He no longer looked to the right.
His right hand began to relax, slowly opening.
When spoken to, he now looked first to the left.
This shift was lonely. And it was joyful.
Jin had lost me, and carried that absence.
But time, and this child, would heal it.
He was not trapped by shame like me.
Not even when threatened by the Laitera Project.
Not even when told he could have a future with me— a future written in regret.
In the end, he cast all that aside and went to hold his child.
So it is alright.
The next decade will be turbulent—events of such magnitude they will surely affect all of humanity.
Beyond that, I cannot see.
But I will be happy.
Jin and our child will be happy.
There is no need to carry the past.
We can live, focused only on the future.
The turning point arrives tomorrow.
The联络 ship bound for the Second Fleet.
The day to inform the family of our marriage.
That联络 ship will be sunk.
The choice is simple.
To board, or not to board.
Not boarding— I will not die.
And the end result will be days of regret, forever ashamed of that choice.
Boarding— I will die.
The small life within me will scatter before birth.
But the child will be reborn into a new body, and meet Jin.
What kind of miracle is that?
A life no human hand could deliver—entrusted to the future.
"Easy choice, wasn't it?"
There should be no fear.
Because of a future I should never have known, I must now face death—hours away—without relief.
But I could not bring myself to survive at the child's expense.
Had I not known, I would have boarded the transport ship without hesitation.
Without fear. Just as fate had ordained.
Or perhaps, if only the first future had existed.
I would have boarded without doubt. Believing the path ahead led to the ideal.
So I am glad I came to know.
Knowing allowed me to understand the ten years of happiness I had.
Exactly as imagined. It showed me how deeply Jin had loved me.
I can hold that memory close. That is more than enough reward.
"Hey, Jin. I was happy. You made me happy. That’s enough—my heart’s full already."
So please don’t cry.
Don’t regret.
May you, ten years from now, be able to smile when you weep over having been abandoned by me.
And may you come to understand—because you chose, because you were selected—there remains one thought you can carry forward.
Her hand strokes her abdomen.
As, in some future time, Jin will sense the presence of a girl named Mio.
"Hey, Mio."
You once lamented, ten years hence, that you were not wished for, not born by choice—but that is not true.
One of the many mothers who came before you, the first among them, swears it.
"You were born because I chose you, because I wanted you."
May this thought reach you.
Ten years from now.
"Please, be happy."
May you live each day, born into this world.
Thank you for reading.
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