Chapter 68

Ah... since I’m in the video too, I guess it isn’t exactly someone else’s.

The thought only made her more unsettled.

In the car after breakfast, accompanying him on his commute, Commander Dezeb Avganis cheerfully ran through the shopping list.

“Let’s get a large-capacity washer and dryer. That’ll be better for the bed sheets, right? Oh, is there a particular dishware brand you like?”

There was.

The kind that cost about 2 cp apiece.

There was a local equivalent of the discount chain she used back home, and Lieutenant Erabelle Vermilion preferred cheap household goods meant for people living alone—things she could use without worrying and throw away once they broke.

Hardly the sort of thing one recommended to the ruler of an entire planetary system.

She also had no idea why the ruler of a planetary system was personally worrying about bed sheets. Honestly, it would have seemed perfectly natural if he hadn’t even known such things needed maintaining.

She had known for a long time that he was surprisingly good at housework.

It still felt strange.

He continued rattling off every conceivable household necessity, moving from appliances to kitchenware and bathroom supplies, all the way down to nails.

“No dog shampoo.”

Apparently, he had somehow concluded that she liked using dog shampoo.

“Dezeb, that was just a one-time thing.”

“It would’ve been a one-time thing if you hadn’t used it. You went through two whole bottles.”

It smelled nice.

Erabelle watched him, oddly excited as he discussed household purchases like a newlywed.

...First things first.

She dragged her gaze away from his face—a face that made her thoughts go hazy if she stared too long—and turned toward the window.

Focus on getting back to duty first.

The 41st Division was actually stationed inside the capital now.

And not like before, when only Dezeb and a handful of senior officers had slipped in discreetly.

This time, the entire flagship had arrived.

A warship the size of a respectable moon hung in the sky, yet the people of the capital showed no reaction at all.

Which meant they couldn’t see it.

There was no chance a warship that enormous had been granted permission to dock between residential satellites.

Which meant it hadn’t.

Erabelle was starting to worry that they were about to abandon the human disguise altogether.

...Perception interference alone couldn’t hide something that big. Is it overlapping with the Upper Plane?

Whatever the case, the flagship had changed considerably since she had last been aboard.

One of those changes was a much more systematized infirmary.

“Report your examination results once a week.”

“Yes, understood.”

Dezeb personally escorted her there and even made sure she met the physician assigned to her.

The doctor wasn’t part of the senior staff and, apparently lacking any immunity to Dezeb whatsoever, wore the expression of a man desperately resisting the urge to smash his forehead into the floor.

Erabelle quickly looked away from him and asked about returning to duty.

“Return? Erabelle, your body rating is Level 2.”

He was stating the obvious.

“I’m in a support branch...”

“Bring me a certificate of completion from a center, and I’ll take you back.”

He said something impossibly generous.

“And if you go poking around an APU again, I’ll be genuinely angry.”

It was a simple warning.

Even so, every fine hair on Erabelle’s body stood on end.

Seeing her freeze like a frog before a snake, Dezeb smiled again, soft and gentle enough to seem unreal.

“It’ll help with your rehabilitation.”

Apparently, even he didn’t think she could actually complete it.

She soon found out why.

***

An A-Grade Center...

“...”

In other words, an A-Grade Center.

Erabelle checked the address he had given her again.

And again.

Getting through a D-Grade Center would already have been a stretch, while this A-Grade Center required a minimum Body Level of 5 for completion.

She was doomed.

Amazingly, there was still room for her situation to become even more hopeless.

Rehabilitation at an A-Grade Center...

Her arms and legs worked perfectly fine now, so she wasn’t even sure why she needed rehabilitation in the first place.

And yet here she was.

At an A-Grade Center.

The flagship’s training sector had plenty of D- and E-Grade Centers. There were even a few F-Grade Centers intended for support personnel.

More importantly, the 41st Division’s A-Grade Center was designed for actual combat preparation.

Its purpose wasn’t to hand out certificates.

It existed to keep top-tier attackers in fighting condition.

Dezeb had given her the address to a place like this and told her to come back with a certificate if she wanted to return to duty.

Maybe a mere thousand years of training would do it.

The Red Sea had parted. People got struck by lightning. Someone eventually won the lottery.

Perhaps a miracle would happen to her too.

With a grim expression, Erabelle trudged inside.

[Your current body level is 2. For your safety, we recommend using an E-Grade Center or lower. If you still wish to proceed, please consult the information board in the first-floor lounge.]

Even the reception AI was recommending that she leave.

Believe me, I’d like to.

She trudged toward the first-floor lounge.

Completing an A-Grade Center program at Body Level 2 was utter nonsense.

If the receptionist had been human instead of an AI, they would probably have been doubled over laughing by now.

How exactly was she supposed to complete this?

She was an administrative clerk in a support track.

Why was she training in a facility reserved for the absolute elite of the combat branches?

She could actually die doing this.

She probably wouldn’t even clear the first virtual program, let alone reach live combat.

She might simply keel over from shock.

“Uh, excuse me. Move over a little.”

“What the hell? Why are you blocking the hallway?”

People in training suits grumbled as they squeezed past Erabelle, who stood frozen in the corridor like a stray goat that had wandered away from its herd.

Every one of them was a straight-backed AT-line contractor.

Among them, soft-limbed Erabelle looked like a sickly goat that had somehow stumbled into a pack of wolves.

“Room 4 is malfunctioning. Get that fixed quickly.”

“Sorry?”

Huh? Is he talking to me?

“I said Room 4 is broken.”

When she failed to understand him the first time, the man grew irritated and launched into an explanation.

He seemed completely convinced that she worked for the center.

“There’s a 0.02-second delay in firing. You pull the trigger, and the round doesn’t discharge until 0.02 seconds later. Got it?”

That sounded like an E-chip malfunction.

Probably the 112-1 model.

That model had a known defect where embedded nightmare shards occasionally proliferated.

Replacing the chip would solve it.

Including the decontamination service, the repair should cost around 10,000 cp.

Erabelle found herself automatically calculating the estimate.

“Yes, I’ll look into it.”

She could just send the issue to the front desk.

Much easier than explaining to each person that she didn’t actually work here.

“Check Room 8 too.”

“When does Rift insertion open? The schedule says the 11th. Why isn’t it available yet?”

“Hey, have you seen my bag in the training room? Black leather. You know, the Center-issued one from before.”

This is literally my first day here.

The complaints kept coming.

Why did the vending machine only stock chocolate energy bars and not peanut butter ones?

When were they going to restock the canned coffee that had sold out?

Erabelle briefly considered telling them she wasn’t a member of staff.

Then she imagined being lynched by the irritated crowd and decided against it.

“I’ll inquire.”

She adopted that as her universal response.

Then she checked the holographic information board and started calculating the training schedule.

Obviously, she had no chance.

So Erabelle decided not to think about her chances at all.

Don’t think it’s impossible. Maybe somehow... maybe it’ll work!

From that day onward, Erabelle’s life became very simple.

When regular training ended, she did extra training.

When that ended, she used whatever time remained to train some more.

And so, day after day, she began crawling home.

***

“...”

Dezeb silently watched Erabelle sleeping, half-buried in the enormous bed.

He glanced at his wristwatch.

It was only 9:20.

Considering her old routine—lounging in front of the television until at least eleven—this was absurdly early.

Lately, though, it had been like this every night.

He had assumed she would know when to stop.

Instead, for two straight weeks, she had been leaving before dawn, crawling home in the evening, collapsing into bed like the dead, then getting up before sunrise and doing it all over again.

Leaning against the doorframe, Dezeb gazed into the dim room and let out a short sigh.

She had less time to ride the link now, with no room left for idle thoughts.

That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Running headfirst into her physical limits would force her to become more conscious of her own body.

That, too, was useful.

As expected, Erabelle’s tendency to ride the timeline through the link was psychological in nature.

Emotional instability caused faults within the sorcery system.

At this point, Erabelle’s body even reacted to ordinary ideas like, If you eat junk food, your health will get worse.

The resulting signal, however, was far stronger than Dezeb had anticipated.

It was easier to work with it than try to suppress it.

Not that he liked it.

Dezeb tossed two bottles of massage oil onto the bed and rolled up his sleeves.

“...Mm.”

He pulled back the blanket, climbed over her, and tugged her T-shirt up and off.

Erabelle curled in on herself as though she were cold.

He poured oil along her narrow spine and began working it in with slow, firm strokes.

Her body trembled whenever his hands passed over a particularly tight knot.

“Dezeb...”

“What is it?”

“I... it hurts.”

“I know.”

He poured on a little more oil and pressed his fingers steadily into the rigid muscles at the back of her neck.