02. Suddenly appointed captain of a spaceship 1

A sudden bookmark. Thank you. You there. Well then, unexpectedly, I’m posting the second episode.

02. Captain of the spaceship 1

Report from the assault vessel SII-001.

—— Nanobot settlement rate: 3%

—— Nearly all settled and activated nanobots are concentrated on an archipelago located east of the primary continent.

……

—— Inactive nanobots appear to have self-destructed.

—— Inactive nanobots within individuals below the threshold settlement rate will be deactivated.

—— Number of individuals exceeding the threshold settlement rate: four. Three of these are juveniles, thus excluded from candidacy; nanobots will be deactivated.

—— Conduct peripheral survey and contact with candidate subjects.

—— As only one candidate subject remains, perimeter security will be implemented.

—— Awakening twelve bio-roids assigned to Special Operations Division.

—— Reconfiguring six bio-roids for investigation and contact purposes.

—— Reconfiguring the remaining six bio-roids for specialized combat perimeter defense.

……

—— Investigation and contact bio-roids reconfiguration complete. One unit reconfigured as communication-specialized.

……Complete.

—— Perimeter defense bio-roids reconfiguration complete.

—— Communication-specialized bio-roid connected to Agirakana Core.……Complete.

—— Awakening all twelve target bio-roids.

……

Connecting the communication-specialized bio-roid to the Agirakana Core? The captain, seated in the central command chair, listened to the synthesized voice streaming from the automated log device and felt a flicker of suspicion. But recognizing it as a direct order from Agirakana, he filed the thought away and erased it from memory.

Ten days have passed since I quit the company.

In the meantime, paperwork arrived from the company’s HR department—pension forms, health insurance documents, the usual bureaucratic clutter.

Ichijō sent a few emails, but I was already a former employee. I replied with half-hearted responses and called it done. Apparently, my departure had left my department in quite a state.

Sorry about that, Ichijō. Still, there was nothing I could do about it. The promise to treat her next time—something I’d casually made—wasn’t brought up again in her messages. Odd, really. She’d usually be oblivious, but she remembered this one detail. I found myself mildly impressed.

The place I’m living in now is a studio apartment of roughly forty square meters. I bought it secondhand. All the remaining loan balance was paid off with the inheritance from my father, who passed away three years ago. My mother died exactly ten years before him. I’m an only child, and so were both of my parents. All four of my grandparents are gone, too. There may be other relatives somewhere, but I have no idea who they are. At the very least, according to the household registry, I consider myself utterly alone in the world.

Besides my own savings, there was a decent amount left by my parents, so financially I’m in no rush. Job hunting can wait—sure, I’m of an age where “someday” might turn into “someday, someday” and then stretch into years, but that’s just how it goes.

I didn’t wake up until after eight, having stayed up late watching TV shows I’d recorded yesterday. I pulled the half-eaten pizza I’d left out for breakfast from the refrigerator and heated it in the microwave. I refilled the electric kettle, turned it on, and waited for the water to boil while pouring instant coffee into a mug.

For years I’d worn thick prescription glasses for my nearsightedness. But three days ago—after noticing my eyes felt tired lately, I took them off, and suddenly, everything looked… sharper. Clearer. Almost too clear.

Quitting my job seems to have improved my vision. I suppose I must’ve been doing something terrible for my eyes. My overall health is excellent, too—good appetite, regular digestion, sound sleep. Maybe the fat around my waist has even shrunk a bit? Hm. The only thing I can think of is quitting work. I’ll weigh myself later, just to be sure.

The water had boiled, so I poured it into a mug, warmed up yesterday’s delivered pizza, and carried both to the table.

Even so, a ten-day consecutive holiday with no plans at all was getting long. While eating the pizza, I pondered what to do today.

Rilirilin, rilirilin…

Lost in thought, the phone rang. Nowadays, few young people have them, but we still have a landline.

“Hello? Is this Mr. Yamada’s residence?”

“Yes, this is Yamada. Who’s calling?”

“Agirakana. We’ve been meaning to consult with you personally, so we’re reaching out by phone.”

Agirakana? Some foreigner, perhaps? Speaks Japanese quite fluently—though oddly so. I usually decline unsolicited offers, but the unfamiliar name piqued my curiosity.

“Um… Mr. Agirakana? What kind of consultation?”

"In one word, we'd like to headhunt Mr. Yamada."

"Me? Headhunt... me?"

"That's right. We'd like to headhunt Mr. Yamada—(・)"

Headhunt me? Some kind of joke, surely. I haven't done anything particularly notable in the industry, as far as I know. Still, if it's a dangerous solicitation, I'll decline—but I'm idle enough now to hear it out. Might as well listen, just to see if it's a prank.

When I suggested meeting at a nearby café, they said there were some complicated circumstances and instead requested I come to my apartment directly.

Normally, I wouldn't dream of letting a stranger into my home, yet for some reason I agreed without hesitation. Then again, I've spent the past ten days barely speaking to anyone beyond the shopkeeper, so perhaps this is just the rebound effect.

I wait, washing dishes.

Precisely five minutes before the time she’d specified, the chime at the apartment building’s entrance sounded.

Through the video intercom, the figure on the other end matched the voice on the phone—early twenties, a woman. She wore a navy-blue women’s business suit, dark enough to border on black. Her skirt was a tight pencil cut. Her short, slightly wavy black hair was pulled back with military precision and secured with what looked like a hairpin. A strikingly composed face—sharp, polished, the kind that suggests she’d been trained to command boardrooms, not to mention her looks. The kind of woman who’d probably file her nails in the back of a shuttle.

“I’ll open the entrance door. Please come up to apartment 504.”

She’d reach the fifth floor in under a minute.

Ping!

Agirakana, seated across from me at the dining table, stood once, then offered a business card. I stood too, accepted it, and made a note—no card of my own, currently unemployed.

‘Ain Agirakana’

was all that was written on the business card. No company name. No contact information. Just a card, plain and simple.

“Um…?”

This person looks Japanese, but where exactly are they from?

“Earlier, on the phone, I mentioned headhunting—but more precisely, it’s scouting.”

“Headhunting and scouting? Sounds like the same thing.”

“Yes. Scouting. That is, we’d like to scout you, Yamada-san, to become the head of our organization.”

“Organization? Not a company? And the head?”

I understand the words—but not the meaning. What on earth is this?

"Yes. Our organization is not a corporate entity as understood in this country. Furthermore, due to certain circumstances, our organization currently lacks a top leader. Therefore, we have assessed your qualities and would like you to become our organization’s head. I cannot prove it here, but our organization holds vast assets—unlike organizations burdened with problematic holdings, as you might fear."

"O-oh, I see. Then, what is the name of this organization?"

"For now, we go by Agirakana."

"So that means...?"

"Yes. I am currently serving as the provisional representative of the organization within this nation."

"I see...?"

"Mr. Yamada, if you have a little more time, would you consider accompanying us? I believe I could explain things in greater detail."

"Considering I’m currently unemployed, I’m certainly free to do so."

"Then, I'll show you the way. It's a short walk—just a moment away."