Status Check After a Long While (1)

The perfectly serviceable carrier Betelgeuse's Loki Clan had sent us arrived at our docking facilities looking like its armor plating had been put through a shredder.

Granted, our battleships had taken a fair beating too — hammered by a carrier bristling with more secondary batteries than any battleship, all for the sake of forming an anti-air screen. They were pretty thoroughly wrecked in places. But at least they hadn't been reduced to tattered rags of armor the way the carrier had. Fix the external systems like the radar and they'd be fine. No major problem there.

The carrier itself, though — that was a different story entirely.

"Ah, Commander. There's something I need to report first."

"I can already guess, but go on."

"The aircraft carrier we received this time… the internal hangars, fuel storage, crew facilities — basically every system — and even a few of the magazines appear to have detonated as well."

"What."

"In the process, most of the catapult launchers got wrecked too… honestly, if we can't repair this thing, it's unusable."

"…"

That was the situation. The brand-new large aircraft carrier we'd just received as compensation hadn't merely been pounded at close range by every anti-air system in range. Its vital compartments had been thoroughly perforated by secondary batteries that cycled far faster than any main gun. The result: a critical patient that had completely lost its value as a capital carrier — a wreck we couldn't put on the front lines even if we wanted to.

It was a patient in intensive care, pure and simple. Whether we liked it or not, putting it to use meant running serious repairs at the shipyard.

"But Commander — without an Aviation Command, the shipyard says they can't even dry-dock it."

"…"

Thanks to this goddamn system's design, our first large carrier had gone from freshly acquired prize to beaten-up loser the moment it arrived — and until we built an Aviation Command facility to handle carriers, we couldn't even repair the thing.

Faced with this absolute garbage of a situation, I genuinely struggled to hold back the tears.

This game is pure trash…

Status Check After a Long While! (1)

In any case, all the chaos that had erupted right after the event had, with the passage of time, become nothing more than history.

After receiving our "compensation" from Betelgeuse and teleporting the three Superhumans who'd been detained at our base straight to the Loki Clan's main headquarters…

Time flowed on, and on…

"Oh."

The moment I saw that the Special Design Management Bureau — which we'd started building the instant the event ended — had just finished construction, I was struck by the realization that our recent stretch of "comfortable, peaceful" living had already lasted more than two weeks.

Of course, that "comfortable, peaceful" life hadn't been the forced zone-shield peace that followed the event. It was just ordinary, everyday gameplay by normal standards…

— Beep-beep-beep! Beep-beep-beep-beep!

"Commander, another unaffiliated pirate fleet is creeping into our sector."

"They're thick today. Tell Tiamat to go handle it quickly."

"Yes, sir."

…which meant that neutral trash mobs drifting in from nearby were a daily occurrence, baked right into the routine.

Anyway, the important point was this: setting aside those everyday trash-mob appearances, almost nothing particularly memorable had happened in the time since that damn spy event.

…Well, almost nothing. There was exactly one exception.

"Come to think of it, Commander — didn't the Justice Clan ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stop by a few days ago as well?"

"Mm, they did."

Just as Jessica said. Maybe it was because Humanity and Loki had both made contact with me — Justice wasn't about to be left out, and they'd naturally moved to establish contact of their own.

But unlike the Humanity Clan, which had sent a separate representative, or the Loki Clan, which had either sent a spy or contacted us purely by comms, Justice had done something distinctive: their clan leader, Arcadia herself, had come in person.

That said, the fact that I was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pointing out her personal visit as the only distinctive thing should tell you something…

Arcadia had arrived aboard the Hood-class battlecruiser she'd put to such good use during the event, and rather than engaging in any properly constructive discussion, her whole vibe had been… how to put it. Decidedly spacey. Beyond spacey, even.

"It was really something, wasn't it? The clan leader openly declaring herself a fan of the Commander."

"Mm…"

Exactly as Jessica put it. Arcadia had shown up, announced "I'm a fan!" with a completely out-of-character energy, and left me thoroughly flustered. That reaction of hers had stuck with me.

Then again, looking at it another way — maybe throwing me off-balance like that had been the whole point, a way to gain an advantage. The thought kept bubbling up.

Unlike Betelgeuse or the Humanity side, she'd approached in a way I genuinely hadn't anticipated, and she'd quietly probed me with all sorts of little tests. Looking back on how her seemingly vacant demeanor had made me drop my guard and hand over this and that, I couldn't help thinking Arcadia was someone you really couldn't afford to underestimate.

So the whole "looks airheaded, secretly overpowered" character type was real after all…!

Meanwhile, Marianne and Jessica — who'd been keeping a bit of distance while the small talk went on — watched Icarus react to the Arcadia story and slowly shook their heads.

"That Commander Arcadia… she really chose a hard road for love, didn't she."

"Tell me about it. It's not that Oppa's dense, exactly…"

"Honestly, he just has zero interest in the whole 'feminine sensibility' thing to begin with."

Of course, if Icarus overheard that conversation, the atmosphere would turn awkward in a hurry. So the two of them kept their voices as low as possible, whispering their condolences toward Arcadia and her pure-hearted romantic gambit.

And while those two were off having their little girls' talk, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠what was our Icarus up to?

"Let's gooooo!"

"Huh? What are you trying to build?"

"Isn't it obvious? The Aviation Command, of course!"

He was attempting the resurrection of the large aircraft carrier that had been sitting uselessly in the docking facilities for over two weeks — a prize received as compensation and never once put to use.

"Let's goooooooo!"

Of course, for all my full-throated enthusiasm…

As a high-tier building, our Aviation Command was going to take a lot longer than expected. Unfortunately, the resurrection of our essentially dead large carrier still needed another twenty-two days and one hour.

Having confirmed that our big carrier still needed more time before it could climb out of bed, my attention shifted toward Tiamat's leveling progress and her actual performance.

Even at level 1, Tiamat had demonstrated carrier-craft buff capabilities far beyond what I'd expected. And now that she'd reached level 30…

"Ooh."

"When she's just running the carrier craft, she absolutely soars."

"Amazing. No wonder Oppa was so happy about her."

Barely ten minutes had passed since I'd ordered an intercept against the incoming pirates — and she'd already sunk thirteen of a fifteen-ship pirate fleet and forced the remaining two to surrender. The aerial control and command ability on display was that outstanding. As the first Superhuman I'd pulled from the gacha, she was genuinely growing on me. I found myself nodding in pure satisfaction.

— "How about that, Commander? My superb aerial control!"

"Excellent work, Tiamat. Come on back and rest."

— "Yeees!"

Performance aside, though — looking purely at her appearance, you'd expect someone as serious and by-the-book as Belial, or else a constantly scheming succubus type like Pashtura or Griyanaar. That impression ran deep.

But just as the wiki tab description had said, Tiamat was… how to put this? Behind that shadowy, villainous exterior, she somehow combined pure airheadedness with genuine innocence. That wasn't an exaggeration.

Case in point: right now, striking a victory pose to show off, she threw herself into an exaggerated stance — and thanks to a uniform design that simply didn't include pants, her coat and coattails flared up, nearly revealing something pink on the bottom of the comm ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠screen. The person herself, of course, was completely oblivious, just standing there with her nose in the air. It was a deeply complicated and mysterious experience.

And that wasn't the only airheaded thing about her. She had the longest hair of any of our Superhumans, so she was constantly getting it snagged on things as she walked around, whining and struggling. She used her tail as a third hand all the time — and then it would get tangled with her actual hands and she'd end up doing something weird. She'd wedge a drink cup between those enormous breasts that refused to let her uniform close properly, sipping away — and the moment I or anyone else called her name, she'd go "Yes!" and move, compressing her chest. The plastic cup, unable to withstand the violence of those massive, aggressive fat deposits, would simply crush, and the drink inside would erupt over her face and hair like lava.