The med bay smelled of antiseptic and the faint copper of spilled blood. Machines sighed in slow, pitying repetitions. A single strip-light hummed over the pod where he'd lain—half-dead, whole trouble. Two figures watched the monitors: one with grief tucked into her jaw, the other with a practiced calm that hardly steadied the room.
"You sure are heartless!" Alto said, words sharp as broken glass.
"Well, that's because you took it. Youri replied gliding in the empty space. Do you even know how many you killed? Billions — trillions, maybe." Youri said with a voice flat, almost bored — the kind of cruelty that had grown used to the math of ruin.
Steel and sorrow sat between them. A dead pause, then Youri's tone — patient, clinical: "So, Alto, what do you want? You know you're running out of time." Altos reply slipped out like ash. "It's not like I have any choice. I'm just an empty husk… or so they say."
A dark little replay. "Hm. This time I'll take your liver. You can thank me later — now you can drink to your heart's content."
The man somehow managed a humorless shrug. "I guess you're not that bad after all."
"Get out of here. It's time to go back to your hell." As Alto said that he pushed him to reality.
A nurse barked from the hallway. "He's awake! Tell the general!"
"Yes, sir."
The door hissed aside. The General entered like a storm dressed as a woman. "My lady, the pilot has just woken up."
"Thank you. I'll be there shortly."
The pod hatch opened. He blinked against the light, like someone surfacing through cold, black water. "It's sad to see you wake up."
"Thank you, General. I appreciate it." His voice held that crooked calm — apology and provocation braided.
"Quick on your feet, eh?" she said, folding the words into a bedside inspection.
"It's not my first time. Don't worry." His smile was a small, broken thing.
She tossed something at him — a glove that landed against his cheek like an invitation. "I have something to request of you."
"What?" he asked, wary as a creature discovering a trap. She caught the glove mid-air, palm flat.
She didn't bother with pleasantries. "I challenge you to a duel." She said it like a verdict.
He exhaled, a sound that held tired amusement and resignation. "[Sighs.] Do I have a choice?"
"You can use a Royal Knight unit, since there's no authorization for your own." She offered the rules as though they were mercy.
"You know you could get hurt." He cocked his head.
"Perhaps. Are you afraid of dying?" she asked, and the question hung between them, heavier than any armor.
He answered with a truth that should have been relief: "Listen, lady, I'm missing half my organs and more than a few other things. Death would be a blessing for me."
Her expression softened in a flicker. "Finally, something we both agree on. Fine, have it your way. But don't come crying to me when you're hurt."
"Your unit is ready. We can begin as soon as you deploy."
Space at Ynok felt thinner than usual, as if the stars themselves leaned close to watch. The Royal Knights arrayed like a dozen bright spears across a black sheet. The Phantom's cockpit glinted — a black jeweled eye in the void.
"My lady, the Phantom is fully loaded and ready for battle."
"Thank you. We're praying for your victory." A whisper of ritual in a war room.
"Don't worry. He's piloting a normal unit — he's not untouchable. No matter what happens, no interference. Understood?"
"Yes, my lady." The tone was formal but threaded with dread.
"The other unit has deployed. The duel will start in thirty seconds." The comms counted down like a heart monitor.
"Are they really going through with it?" someone asked, disbelief and a small, perverse hope mixing.
"Once the General decides on something, she sees it through to the end."
They watched the battlefield chew distance between them. Then the Phantom blurred — faster than the eye, a whisper of metal. "There they go! … Wow — where did the General go?"
"That's the ability of her orbiton, the Phantom. It moves so fast no normal unit can detect it." An older pilot's voice trembled with respect.
"What is D7 doing? He's just standing there, not moving at all." Someone tried to pierce the quiet puzzle.
"Even the Royal Knight units can't quite track the Phantom."
"So he's dead meat?"
"Don't get ahead of yourself. He's not a god pilot for nothing."
Then the Phantom appeared like a blade drawn from shadow. It cut — and every sensor went white. "There she is! She cut him!" someone shouted.
"Wait — he survived? He only lost an arm!" The crowd's gasp was half-hope, half-horror. "I could've sworn she cut him in half!"
"You could barely see it, but at the last second he pushed her blade toward his left. This guy is good." The pilot's voice used the word like a prayer.
He reacted like a man who had lived on the edge of death and learned to bargain. Everyone leaned forward. "Wait — what is he doing? Why is he going that way? Maybe he's trying to run— Look! She appeared again! He has no chance now; that's going to hit him head on!" The sense of inevitability tightened.
But then the scene changed as if someone rewrote the stars. "Wait — she fell into his trap! She can't see him! The star — he used the bright light to blind her!" Armor and stratagem braided. "What? The gun — it's pointed at the General!" Panic sliced across channels. "No, look closely. She also laid a trap — the laser units. They're pointed at him too."
Silence, then a thinning laugh in the comms — incredulous, raw. Tension broke into an exhausted exchange.
"What do you say, General? Why don't we leave it at this?" His voice carried a kind of broken humor.
She exhaled and the armor loosened. "I accept that I underestimated you. Youri Kronos, you may be a piece of shit, but you have my respect as a warrior."
"You knew the lasers were there, didn't you?" he said, half-accusation, half-grin.
"I may seem like a genocidal maniac, but even I don't want unnecessary bloodshed." The confession cut soft as a blade.
"I just want something to drink, that's all." He sounded almost small.
"You are one strange man, Youri Kronos." Her words held heat and something like reluctant care.
They returned to Fansilia in the brittle light of aftermath. The city breathed as if exhausted, and the General's rank still pinned her like an uneven weight.
"Everyone, thank you for your service. The mission is over. You're free to return to your personal lives until the next deployment." The formal words went out like benedictions.
"General, the car is waiting outside."
"Thank you." Her voice was hollowed by fatigue and a relief that tasted faintly of guilt.
"My lady, welcome back." Anna's voice was soft as a hand on a shoulder.
"It's nice to see you, Anna."
A motorbike's engine thrummed like a living thing. "Hey General, I never quite got your name." A joke, clumsy and sincere.
"Is that guy bothering you, my lady?" Anna asked, protective as the night closed.
"No, it's alright." She opened the car door, letting the moment be small and humane. "Well then, see you at Marta's." He put his helmet on and drove off, a silhouette slipping into the night.
"Let's go, Anna. This was a long mission." Leonora's voice was soft at last.
"Yes, my lady." Anna answered, relief like rain in her tone.
Leonora's expression closed like a door. "Oh — also, your father has requested a meeting with you."
"Father? Another marriage proposal, probably. He's waiting at the house? I really don't want to deal with this." Anna's words were equal parts exasperation and duty.
"I'm sorry, my lady, but I was given strict orders to take you there."
"Don't worry. Let's get it over with."
Outside, the city held its breath. The stars watched and did not speak. Between the two of them a fragile, dangerous peace settled: a woman who could scythe planets and yet still be undone by small things; a man who tasted annihilation and wanted, merely, a drink. They walked toward obligations that would not wait.