073 Drift Chapter 13 Six Wives Imperial Regular Army
It’s short and a bit rough.
Changed the name of Baron Lartel from the previous chapter 072 for comedic effect.
Fille → Du
The idea of marrying three members of Brush Lips? Not serious on my part.
I’m just using “wife” as a cover story to protect them.
If one of those noble bastards ever takes a fancy to a member, I want a clean excuse: “She’s my wife, so what?”
I haven’t given up on returning to Earth.
Probably taken over by enemy forces by now. Life as we knew it’s gone.
Even if we’re missing, no one’s got time to care.
But if I ever make it back to Earth, I want to bring them back as idols.
That’s why I mustn’t even touch them with a single finger.
"Akira… what’re you thinking about?"
Saya presses herself against me, squishing her chest into mine.
No— not even a single finger…
"Saya, let go! We’re not even officially married yet. In fact, it’s a fake marriage, remember?"
"Eeeh. I’m serious, though. We could have our first night tonight."
"That’d be irreversible once we get back to Earth. Just hold on a little longer!"
"Eeeh. So boring…"
Saya steps back.
(Huff huff. Scary kid…)
Wait— what’s this weird sensation on my back?
I turn around. Miu’s clinging to my back.
A faint bulge presses against me.
"Miu too…?"
(Yeah. Good job, Miu. But I don’t wanna be called a slut when we get back to Earth. Let’s wait three years.)
Miyu was left as-is since she was healing anyway.
What should we do with these chemi-mimi intruders trying to force their way into marriage?
A casual remark, yet the president replies.
Just accept it. Three young, beautiful girls. And since it's legal, it's a harem. A harem.
"Boss, you considering the back fence?"
Actually, if we're gonna be living at that fortress—here— it's more convenient.
Yeah, let's form an idol unit with them. Entertainment under the Empire!
I thought it was HR...
All I could do was let out a dry laugh.
But I suddenly felt like getting back at them.
"Boss, you should look after Naohi and Sayaka too."
"Hey, you"
We’ve got to secure our status—fake marriage or not.
They say a fifth-class imperial battle medal is roughly equivalent to second-tier citizen status, so...
"Guess I'll never stop being treated like a refugee... "
"At least none of the five women in our office are going to let me down."
I’m lost in thought.
The Lartel are supposed to be the strongest species—can even outmatch catfolk and dogfolk.
The whole “use their rivalry as an excuse to refuse” plan? Already falling apart with the Lartel showing up.
And I can’t exactly say no to a Lartel bride either. Too much risk.
Dead end.
Now it’s just a matter of my own feelings.
A cute wife back on Earth? Never gonna happen. Three of them? That’s basically a fantasy.
Unless there’s some real issue—physically incompatible, personality clash, something major—I’m pretty much stuck with just… marrying them.
If I ever get back to Earth… maybe I’ll just live with my kemonomimi wife in space.
Weirdly, the idea’s starting to feel… acceptable.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Anoyi Fortress had guests.
Visitors from the Imperial Regular Army.
Earth refugee populations erupted in excitement—this must be the Earth Recovery Operation force.
Commander Sanders, along with the commanders of the three branches—Noa, the Captain-General of the Caprius Dominion, Hunter, the Captain-General of the Graul Dominion, and John, the Commander of the Minor Domain Coalition—stood in formation at the spaceport to welcome them.
For some reason, I and President Kamizawa were standing behind John.
This spaceport was a massive hangar, prepped for a welcome ceremony.
Instead of connecting via boarding tubes, ships were brought into the airlock and disembarked directly via gangway.
The hangar had movable partitions installed, so welcome personnel could be stationed within.
The hangar door shuts, and as air fills the chamber, the bulkhead ahead slides open.
A gangway extends to the battleship standing out prominently ahead.
The hatch opened, and stepping out was an imperial noble clad in a military uniform adorned with the same flashy decorations as the Prince.
"Salute to Lord Gilbert, Commander of the Imperial Regular Fleet's 183rd Squadron!"
Everyone snaps to attention at Commander Sanders' command.
We don’t know the imperial salute, so we fake it, copying what we see.
Raise your right arm in an inverted L-shape, palm facing the other person.
Something’s off. Are we part of the imperial army?
Hmm, good work. Where’s the Earthling? Still whining about being a refugee? I came to pick him up myself.
I just found out the Empire’s been treating Earthlings differently lately.