Meeting Request

Someone is combing their hair. Like a mother long dead.

Za, za, za. The sound is like radio channel hopping.

‘The recent counteroffensive led by the Karaaf Front Army has achieved significant results.

Partial restoration of maritime transport networks has been achieved. In response, the Hyurick Expert Committee—’

‘The Seven Peace Line Association declares its full support for the Karaaf Front Army.

Human lives are being lost even as we speak. We—’

‘Another one of those people has done it again! The Flatchers TV team reports live from Sergeant Io, who participated in the Super Touchdown Operation—’

‘Sitalskia has successfully captured Gorda, but acquiring the enemy technology as a resource proves difficult.

It’s a mass of over-technology.

Questioning why we’d invest precious technicians on such a thing? Sergeant Io.’

I’m certain. Part of humanity’s unique technology was originally given to the lizards.

Yusei twists his body without opening his eyes.

Exhausted. Just let me sleep quietly.

Again, the static buzz.

Analyzed your behavior. More meticulously than any prior investigation.

Severe stress-induced psychosis. Sudden outbursts of violent speech, uncharacteristic of military conduct.

That’s acceptable. We don’t want your counseling.

But your battlefield intuition—whatever you call it—is unnervingly precise.

As if viewed from above.

Be direct. Answer directly.

What do you know about the lizards?

Nothing beyond common knowledge. There’s no other way to answer.

Cruel. Cunning. Tough. Burn everything to the ground. Strip the prey bare. Hang them from high places. Laughing while they do it.

Kill them. I hate them. I’ll kill them. I’ll make them suffer the same fate.

But the details are sharp—excellent. The craftsmanship is massive up close. Modeling that thing must have taken ages.

Movement too—there’s a kind of realism to it. Motion capture, no doubt. They move with bent knees, so the actor who inspired that motion must’ve had a hell of a time.

Hey, Yusei, you changed the team name without asking.

What the hell, you “Blast Squad Ganmochan”?

Wait, already getting flagged for glitches. Got a message from ops: “We’re checking the logs.”

Man, we’re famous again. …Though it’s just another false accusation this time.

What—Ganmo-chan is the savior who brings calm to that brutal robot game, isn’t she?

Shouldn’t you be honored to serve under a unit named after her?

And honestly—no glitches at all. I’ll admit that position is strong, but in the end—

—proper speed, proper weapons, proper positioning. We won because we were meant to win.

Still, Ganmo-chan… that name might not be the most suitable for a unit.

‘I trust your judgment, Io.’

A hand, combing through hair, brushes against the cheek. Gentle, like soothing a child.

A chill. Oddly pleasant.

‘Io… what the hell is going on…?

No—of course it’s good our forces won…’

‘Lieutenant, isn’t this incredible?'

You’re the one who just crushed that lizard, aren’t you?

Pax—get down. This isn’t that simple.

…Io, we’ve been given standby orders. Evacuation from Audar is postponed.

At the same time, contact from an odd agent. Claimed to be a special lieutenant—though… likely ranks higher than that.

A nasty one. Didn’t say a single concrete thing. Still unclear what they want.

But Io… the target is you. You don’t have to fight anymore. I’m worried.

A contact from someone unknown.

No need to worry, lieutenant. It’s my duty.

Nothing unusual. Just like always. Too late anyway.

We won’t let you interfere with the lieutenants.

Leave it to me, princess.

I’ll get you out of Karaf.

Io opened his eyes and replied.

——

——Blue Goblet Observation Record: 2 years 8 months

——Level 8 Observation Zone. "Your personal garden"

——Operation ID Io-200

……Something’s been clear in my head lately. Body’s moving better too.

“That’s good news.

Agent Io’s performance improvements are reflected in the data.

You’re still growing beyond theoretical limits.”

Ha ha, I thrive on praise. Keep it coming.

“You’re the finest unit Blue Goblet has ever supported.

You achieve results that surpass theoretical projections.”

Ticklish. At the end of the day, I’m just crawling through mud playing with toy guns.

“Fine. Let’s save the world. With toy guns.”

Oh, that phrasing—exactly my taste.

Io rose within the sea of blue light.

Blue Goblet leans in. Io feels unease.

Goblet’s pupils glow gold. Had they always been that color?

The unease vanishes almost immediately.

What good would suspicion do? Over something so trivial.

“Anyway, our original plan should’ve been near completion by now…”

‘Cruuk McGabbain is currently on standby in Oxanun.

The Karaaf Front Army’s intentions remain unclear, but Agent Io may now hold value as a hostage.’

“A hostage… me? …Well, I suppose they’d bring up the lieutenant and the boy soldiers if they wanted leverage.”

Characters I’ve fought alongside for years. I’d prefer they all reach a happy ending.

“Any options, Goblet? Not just the lieutenant. Something that could deliver the kids too—straight to Audar.”

The avatar received a high-priority, useful message during your off-grid operation.

"Operation...? Ah, that one."

Likely the robot game he’d been playing with Jonathan Ridge. Genre-wise, it calls itself tactical mecha action.

Typical underground game. Manages to integrate player actions into the narrative without breaking world consistency.

"Fine. Who sent it? What’s the content?"

"Sender: Vitto Crouan. Message: informal meeting request."

"Good. Support me, Goblet."

Goblet widened his golden eyes and displayed a mechanical smile.

"Intervention resumed. Agent Io, your return is welcomed."

——

"Sergeant Io, if possible, I’d appreciate a more cooperative stance next time."

A gentleman with a neatly trimmed beard was shaking hands with him.

The information displayed in his vision read Edmond Riffar. Psychiatrist-like.

(—Goblet, what’s this guy?)

—The Karaaf Front Army appears to be attempting to restore your memory data.

Through this operation, enemy weapons such as Tomas, and even Galdar, have been captured and secured.

You are concealing the existence of the Blue Goblet, and unable to provide a proper explanation for them.

(And… what does this have to do with Io’s memories?)

—They are probing the secrets of your auxiliary brain. The Enhanced Soldier Project, which created Io-200, had most of its documentation lost after political maneuvering.

Yet your astonishing battlefield results are prompting renewed interest in re-evaluating the project’s achievements.

Io snorted. Scanning the room, it looked less like a hospital than it did a hospital.

Harshly barren, yet unnervingly clean. Almost unsettlingly so.

—Ah, Doctor Ed. You’re used to dealing with psychopaths, right?

—...I don’t understand the intent behind that question. If you’re referring to people with mental disorders, I must ask you to retract that statement.

—You’re telling me to investigate how I controlled Garuda, aren’t you?

—As I explained before the counseling session.

Io turned away without expression.

—There’s something in my head.

—Huh?

—A blue goddess. She guides me.

What do you think? Sounds like religious delusion, or just a madman’s rambling, doesn’t it?

Edmond stared at Io with complete seriousness.

Better to search the old enhancement soldier project files than try to get me to cooperate.

Otherwise, just scrape my skull open.

Io walks away after saying that. Goblet indicates the route to the exit.

At the reception desk, several men are facing off against the security force. The air is thick with tension.

Among them, Io spots a familiar face and calls out.

Carlyle Private First Class. Hex and Neumann too.

Sergeant! You’re safe!

The men swarm in. Io smiles awkwardly.

Surrounded by burly men isn’t exactly a pleasure.

What’s going on with you all? What kind of gathering is this?

Hey, this isn’t a joke. We heard you were brought in here, so we gathered as many as we could and came running.

Hex speaks with unusual seriousness.

Everyone here is crazy—not the patients, the staff.

They administer drugs beyond regulated limits with complete calm. Rumors say they’re using banned substances.

Neumann glares at the security guard, distaste etched into his expression.

(Really?)

‘Agent Io was also subjected to medication for controlling secretions.

Suggested influences and drugs have been neutralized due to potential side effects. No issues.’

Suggestion? Even that?

Damn. Unpleasant business.

‘I’m immune to that kind of drug. Any form of suggestion as well.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Hard to say. Either way, I’ve no more business here.’

Hex nods several times, then performs a throat-slitting motion toward the security guard he’d been glaring at.

Carlyle doesn’t stop him either. He grunts, encircles Io protectively, and pushes him toward the exit.

— Hey, cut it out. Don’t cling so hard.

— Sergeant, what’s going on?

From the moment they step into the streets of Oxanun, Carlyle is agitated.

— All I hear is stinking rumors. Oxanun’s changed. Something’s off.

— You could say that. We’re on the verge of being kicked out by the Karaf. Wouldn’t be strange if it were.

— That’s not it. Sergeant, you’re a hero. You don’t like being called that, but—

why this treatment? It’s not how you’d handle a political prisoner.

Carlyle’s frustration is clear. Io looks up at the cold, overcast sky.

— There’s something more important than fighting the Weedran.

— Enough of this. Send them back. How long are you planning to keep them on guard duty?

Noiman exchanged glances with Hex, then reluctantly dismissed the men.

A small smile. Not a bad guy, is he.

— Lance corporal, did you hear about the delay in the withdrawal of 3552’s Kharaf?

— …Yes. Lieutenant notified me. The whole situation around it’s completely unclear.

— Any word from Natalie Vicker?

— Contact’s been lost. Even tried Fletcher TV—pure secrecy, no exceptions.

Goblet added.

‘Natalie Vicker successfully made contact with Vitto Crouan.’

— Natalie’s hiding. For reasons.

— Hiding?

— She got involved with military incriminating data. Don’t worry. I’m not planning to kill her.

Tension ran through Carlyle’s group. They sensed the gravity from the sparse exchange.

“That… is the treatment for the Kraf virus you administered to me?”

“Partly. But not only that.

I’m in danger. Can’t speak freely. — I’m supposed to have dinner with the sergeant, after all.”

If you care about your family, don’t dig deeper. That’s what he meant to say.

He’d developed a reasonable rapport with these combat engineers, the Three Ravens. They’d each want a happy ending too.

“Some day, you’ll be able to talk. For now, just don’t ask.”

Carlyle hesitated long before nodding.

The expression of a man burdened by thoughts of his family was clear. A solid character.

(Goblet, how should I proceed with this meeting?)

The secure line will be protected by Blue Goblet. Contact will come from us when ready.

(Show me the optimal location.)

Leave it to me.

He’s starting to inject more emotion into his replies lately.