Mina Ashiro watched the same footage of Hoshina's terrifying debut, but her reaction was different from the others. She didn't see a new weapon or an evolving warrior. She saw a friend, a comrade she had fought alongside for years, sacrificing pieces of himself on an altar of obsession and desperation.
The report on his deteriorating health, classified even to most Captains, had been slipped to her by a concerned contact in the medical division. She knew the cost. She saw the man, not the weapon. And it made her sick to her stomach.
She stood on the command bridge of her division's mobile headquarters, overlooking a training exercise. Her presence was supposed to be inspiring. The Hero of Shinjuku, the Lioness of Tachikawa, the woman whose face was on every recruitment poster. Today, she felt like a hollow statue.
"Captain." Her second-in-command approached her, holding out a datapad. "A message from the capital. Councillor Tsuburaya sends his compliments on Vice-Captain Hoshina's success. He says, and I quote, 'Your colleague's brilliant victory is yet another testament to the indomitable spirit of the Defense Force... a spirit that you, Captain Ashiro, so perfectly embody'."
Mina took the datapad, her grip tightening on its metallic frame. There it was again. Her name, her legend, being used as a blanket to cover up the dark, uncomfortable truths. Hoshina wasn't a hero driven by an indomitable spirit. He was a desperate man breaking himself in a secret, unsanctioned arms race. But the narrative needed a pure, simple hero to be the face of it all, and that was her job.
She was the symbol. And a symbol couldn't show doubt. A symbol couldn't question the cost. A symbol had to smile, salute, and inspire.
"The Councillor is gracious," Mina said, her voice a perfect, level tone. "Please convey my thanks."
Her adjutant saluted and left, none the wiser. But Mina felt a crack form in her carefully constructed facade. How long could she do this? How long could she lend her face, her name, her honor, to a story she knew was a lie, a story that was now being used to justify the self-destruction of her closest colleague?
The 'greater good' was starting to feel an awful lot like a slow, corrosive poison.
Her thoughts turned to the other casualty of this new, secret war: Kafka. Cast out, a fugitive. Officially, he was listed as 'AWOL, presumed deceased' after the tournament incident. She was one of less than a dozen people who knew the truth—that he hadn't deserted, that he had been at the center of the conflict, and that Hoshina's current obsession was inextricably linked to him.
Her private, unsanctioned search for him had yielded nothing. He had vanished without a trace, swallowed up by the city. It was as if a god had simply erased him from the world. A chillingly accurate thought.
She was reviewing cadet transfer requests later that day when a name caught her eye: Reno Ichikawa.
He was requesting a transfer from the Third Division's cadet pool to her own First Division. His reason was simple and direct: To serve under a commander who embodies the true spirit of the Defense Force. It was a line straight from one of her recruitment posters. But his performance scores... they were exemplary. Since the tournament, his scores in both simulations and live-fire exercises had skyrocketed. He fought with a desperate, focused ferocity that bordered on reckless, but was undeniably effective. He was fighting like a man who had seen something that had changed him forever.
He was Kafka's partner, she remembered. He was there. He knew something.
Mina paused, her finger hovering over the 'Approve' and 'Deny' buttons. Bringing Ichikawa into her division was a risk. He was connected to Kafka. He was a variable. But he was also her only potential link to the truth, her only way of finding out what had really happened in that corridor.
She pressed 'Approve.' If she couldn't fight the system from the outside, she would bring the key to its secrets to the inside.
Later that week, Mina was attending another political function, a gala to celebrate a new line of Defense Force-themed merchandise. She stood in a designer dress, a glass of champagne in her hand, smiling politely as politicians and corporate magnates lauded her for victories she hadn't earned.
She caught a glimpse of herself in a large, gilded mirror. She saw the perfect hero, the Lioness, the symbol. Her hair was perfect, her smile was practiced, her posture was impeccable.
And for the first time, she truly hated what she saw.
She felt like a bird in a beautiful, gilded cage, singing a song someone else had written for her. The comfort of the 'greater good' was wearing thin, replaced by a desperate, suffocating need to be a soldier again, not a symbol. To fight an honest battle, not just lend her face to a dishonest one.
She discreetly tapped her comm unit, a secure, private channel. "Ichikawa," she said, her voice low.
"Captain," the young cadet's voice replied instantly, crisp and alert. He was already hers.
"Your transfer is approved. You start tomorrow. 0500. My private training room," she ordered. "Be ready to work. I want to see exactly what you learned from your old partner."
She ended the call, a new, hard glint in her eyes. The political weapon was starting to forge a plan of its own. She would find Kafka. She would uncover the truth about Hoshina's project. And she would find a way to become a real hero again, even if it meant tearing down the false legend the world had built around her. The uncomfortable symbol was finally starting to fight back.