Side note: Training Day for a Noble Lieutenant

Lieutenant Akatsuki Sumeragi had been busy since being assigned to the battleship <O-hokkaku>.

Under the supervision of a lieutenant, he was first made to visit each department aboard the battleship, then forced to perform menial tasks in each to learn how each department operated.

As soon as he began to grow accustomed to one department, he was moved to the next. Just as he started to grasp how things worked, he was moved again. Keeping up was a constant effort, and the next move came before he could recover.

Each day brought new discoveries and new knowledge, along with twice as many shouted reprimands.

Whether Akatsuki was of noble blood, a citizen of Amato Imperial Japan, or the son of the current Emperor, none of that mattered. The days were filled with relentless discipline.

Exhausted both mentally and physically, Akatsuki collapsed onto his narrow bed each night to sleep.

Even under such high-stress conditions, Akatsuki’s face remained consistently cheerful.

The education officer, a lieutenant, regarded this expression with doubt. “Why do you seem so pleased?” he asked.

“Because everyone on this ship treats me like a regular new lieutenant. That pleases me.”

The education officer could only smile faintly at Akatsuki’s straightforwardness.

This sincerity, inherent in Akatsuki, naturally drew favorable impressions.

Each time he was passed from department to department, he began to be liked by the personnel of each unit.

Reprimands and anger gradually gave way to careful instruction.

On the corridor, he was no longer glared at as an obstruction. Salutes and brief greetings became common.

The meal, served with careless precision, grew larger with every passing day—excessive for Akatsuki, who ate little, turning the portion into a burden.

By the time three months had passed since assignment, Akatsuki had become the younger sibling everyone welcomed.

Only now did Akatsuki begin formal training as a Captain candidate.

A vast number of skills were required of a Captain candidate.

First, mastery of fleet coordination—how multiple fleets moved in unison—and then the technical operation of a single vessel. All were essential. Tactical templates for every possible combat scenario were learned. Then, judgment was developed through application to specific, nuanced situations.

During fleet combat, students learn the material consumption rates of each ship class and the procedures required to replenish lost supplies.

Personal combat skills must be cultivated to ensure victory in shipboard engagements. Training covers shooting drills, close combat, and tactics for zero-gravity environments, developing proficiency equal to that of specialized personnel.

This phase is a high-intensity (hard) refinement of the standard curriculum at the Officer Academy, designed to enhance familiar military techniques.

However, the Captain is also the face of the warship. The role extends beyond the vessel or the battlefield.

The Captain may dine with senior national officials. Table manners and conversation skills must therefore be learned.

To avoid disappointing the public, every aspect of appearance and conduct must be flawless.

Excessive attention to etiquette must not result in a rigid and dull individual.

A sense of humor must be cultivated.

The ability to make light remarks that do not offend, to craft poetry or lyrics that convey one’s education without pretension, to engage in conversation that opens another’s mind, to incorporate current trends into banquet performances.

These are not merely military training, but lessons in humanity.

Dawson, unburdened by the effort required to master military skill through his status as top graduate of the Officer Academy, and unburdened by the refinement gained from his upbringing as a member of the imperial family, learned both discipline and humanity with equal ease.

By the time six months had passed since his assignment, he had become a proper Amato Stellar Navy officer—flawless in conduct and capable of standing anywhere as a junior captain.

By this time, Akatsuki was permitted, under the approval of his training officer, a second lieutenant, to ascend to the bridge of the battleship *Mount O-Hotaka*.

Entering what could be called the brain of the battleship *Mount O-Hotaka*, Akatsuki's eyes lit up.

Every person here was someone a new second lieutenant dared not address directly.

Such a position would naturally lead to arrogance in civilian society, but everyone on the bridge moved with strict adherence to their assigned duties.

The helmsman held the wheel at all times, alternating gaze between the course and the instruments.

The navigator studied the star positions on the celestial chart, continuously verifying the ship's location.

The observer stared at the radar screen, scanning for any suspicious blips.

While all maintained their roles as Amato Imperial Japan military personnel, Akatsuki turned his attention to the captain—the face of the ship.

Sitting with the military cap pulled low over his face, pressing his back against the chairback of the captain’s seat, legs crossed in a half-lotus position, the captain yawned with deliberate laziness.

The contrast with those around him was so extreme that even Akatsuki blinked in surprise.

When Akatsuki stared without moving, the captain—Major General Sasaki Alma, in a careless posture—turned a smug grin toward him.

“What is it, Lieutenant Akatsuki? Something on your mind?”

An order to respond when addressed by a superior was ingrained in him from training as a captain candidate.

Akatsuki answered immediately.

“Yes. I observed a difference in demeanor between the captain and the others.”

The captain’s smirk widened at Akatsuki’s direct, unambiguous statement.

“Calling it impolite, are you?”

I’m simply surprised by the difference in upbringing compared to what I was taught.

What difference?

You wear the military cap properly, keep your spine straight, do not cross your legs, and maintain a serious expression. That is what I was taught.

Depending on how one listens, these words could be seen as a complete rejection of Major Alma’s appearance.

Yet Major Alma did not show anger. Instead, he laughed.

Hahahaha. If judged by those standards, my posture must be a failing grade. It’s no wonder you can’t look away.

While Major Alma laughed with amusement, the lieutenant who had educated Akatsuki looked troubled. His expression seemed to say that this was a poor example of education.

The same expression appeared on Lieutenant Colonel Chiquichi Ringe, who stood beside Major Alma.

Captain. Since Lieutenant Akatsuki is a guest, you should at least pay some attention to your appearance.

If it were another lieutenant, I might consider it. But Akatsuki? No need. I’ve already shown my true face during our first meeting.

Even so. Today is the first time Akatsuki will see the bridge in operation. You’d like to make a good impression, wouldn’t you?

Ah, ah. Fine. I’ll play it straight. I’ll play it straight, alright.

Major Alma waved a hand, dismissive. Then he reached for the brim of his monk’s hat. Gripping the edge, he pulled it down firmly.

At that moment, Major Alma’s expression and posture changed.

The constant smirk vanished. His face now held the sharp, focused look of a seasoned soldier. He stopped crossing his legs. His spine straightened. He sat upright, not leaning against the backrest, but balanced with the stillness of a statue—intense, deliberate, unyielding.

The moment Major Alma adopted that posture, the air aboard the bridge shifted.

The bridge had always carried the tension of a work environment, but now it was charged with a taut, rigid intensity.

Every person aboard the bridge worked with sharper precision than before. No slack remained in their movements.

The change in atmosphere was so profound that even Lieutenant Akatsuki, the ship’s education officer, stiffened her expression and stood at attention.

Akatsuki found herself unable to breathe without conscious effort—a tension she had never known before in her life.

Alma glanced sideways at Akatsuki, who was breathing through her shoulders.

“This is the real atmosphere of a battleship’s bridge. State your impression, Lieutenant Akatsuki.”

“Y-yes. I understand this is a place too advanced for me to be in.”

As Akatsuki answered, struggling to breathe, Alma’s expression briefly returned to its earlier smirk.

“Early on. You’re not saying it’s inappropriate?”

“Yes. One day, I will become Captain of a battleship.”

Akatsuki spoke with bold declaration. Alma’s serious expression finally cracked, reverting to the smirk from moments before.

“Good. That’s the spirit. Though, for me, becoming Captain isn’t something one just does. All responsibility, all hardship. Shoulders stiffen.”

Alma rotated his shoulders, leaned back into the chair, and resettled his legs into a half-crossed position.

Linge, observing the scene, exhaled.

“That wasn’t the kind of thing a real Captain should say to a Captain candidate.”

There's nothing I can do about it. That's my true feeling. If I didn't like battleships, I would have declined the burdensome captaincy long ago.

Akatsuki blinked, feeling the tension dissolve and his breathing ease.

"Captain Alma, do you like battleships?"

"Yes. I do. Every battleship carries the dignified presence of the Amato Imperial Japan, forged from the pinnacle of their technological mastery. I believe there can be no man who dislikes battleships, not if he's like me."

"Did you become captain because you like battleships?"

If a clumsy fool is put in charge of a battleship and it sinks over some trivial reason, that’s a serious loss for Amato Imperial Japan. So I concluded it’s better to have someone highly capable like me as captain. That way, the battleship remains operational, Amato Star’s security is maintained, and I can appreciate the battleship too—three benefits all at once.

Lieutenant Colonel Ringo looked incredulous at Major Alma’s confident statement.

“Factually, there are few people in Amato Imperial Japan who understand battleships better than Major Alma. So even if his character and work ethic are lacking, we can’t simply dismiss him.”

“Hahaha—when it comes to skill, the military of Amato Imperial Japan knows how to silence dissent, doesn’t it?”

“It’s not something to laugh at…”

A light atmosphere flowed across the bridge of the battleship, shaped by the exchange between Major Alma and Lieutenant Colonel Ringo.

Akatsuki interpreted this as the kind of humor necessary for a captain.

As Akatsuki accepted this reasoning, Major Alma turned his smirk back toward him.

"Permission to board the bridge so soon. I’ll give you a small reward."

"A reward?"

"Not gold or alcohol—those don’t seem to be your preference. So I’ll give you information about something you like."

"Something I like?"

Akatsuki mentally listed his preferences, tilting his head to consider which one it might be.

Major Alma watched this with quiet amusement, then delivered the reward’s information.

"Dawson Eida Lieutenant. He is currently on a special mission. He has achieved a result unprecedented among military personnel of the Amato Imperial Japan. He is being recommended for promotion to captain, reportedly."

"Dawson being recommended for captain..."

Akatsuki stood stunned, caught off guard by the unexpected news.

A promotion so soon after becoming a new lieutenant—this was unprecedented.

Akatsuki considered Dawson a friend, had imagined him as a rival in the future, but this rapid advancement was far beyond any expectation.

Major Alma struck Akatsuki firmly on the shoulder, snapping him back to awareness.

"Listen, Lieutenant Akatsuki. If you intend to match Lieutenant Dawson Ida, do not rush recklessly. Focus on building achievements steadily, firmly, yet as quickly as possible. If you keep this in mind, you will inevitably catch up. The path you walk is the elite route of the Amato Stellar Navy. Walk it properly, and it will be the fastest path to promotion."

The words, sharp as a challenge, ignited Akatsuki’s sense of purpose.

"Yes. I will strive steadily to match Lieutenant Dawson!"

Seeing Akatsuki’s renewed resolve, Dawson nodded, then turned his face forward.

Immediately after, Dawson’s smirk deepened.

‘Excellent. Perfectly stoked.’

The expression, though unspoken, was not visible to Akatsuki, but it was clear to Lieutenant Ringe standing beside him.

Lieutenant Ringe’s expression tightened as if enduring a headache, her gaze fixed on Major Alma’s poorly concealed habit.