Coupling Practice Method
“■■■ Commander. I heard that with the withdrawal from Zone 47, Units 470, 471, 472, and 473 have been disbanded.”
“Could we possibly get some of those pilots transferred to our unit?”
“No… I’m not asking for a bunch of people. Even one would be fine.”
“…What? W-Wait a second… What the hell does that mean?”
“■■■ Commander! Why are you twisting it like that!”
“Rookies won’t cut it! We need veteran pilots in our unit! How long do we have to…”
“…I’m sorry.”
Just like any other morning. Rien Prust, in the middle of a comms link with the higher-ups, dropped her head in defeat.
Blood soon trickled from her parched lips as she clenched her teeth hard.
2.
In meetings with the upper brass, the job of the 39th Sector’s 393rd Unit commander was always the same.
Begging for new personnel.
Since taking command of the 393rd, Rien had never once skipped this plea.
No, it wasn’t just her. Every commander from every unit wailed the same demand at every meeting.
Pilot shortages plagued every outfit. They all scrambled for more supplies and support however they could.
What passed for a “meeting” was really a chaotic free-for-all to snag whatever scraps they could.
And among those commanders, Rien was the youngest. A woman. From the “new nobility” to boot.
“…These shameless bastards.”
Rien trembled faintly. Rage and disgust welled up from deep in her chest.
Fine, underestimate her for being a woman. But to spew such vile crap right to her face?
How could nobles stoop so low?
Every commander begged for fresh pilots throughout the meeting. But Rien was especially tenacious.
If there was even a glimmer of possibility, she’d shove her head in headfirst, consequences be damned.
She had no choice. It was that desperate.
Thinking back to her first days here still made her teeth grind.
When she’d arrived, the 393rd was in tatters. The previous commander dead from total unit wipeout, with barely enough survivors to scrape together a single platoon.
They’d tossed in some rookies eventually—maybe out of some belated scrap of conscience—but the quality was the problem.
Rien hated rating people like products. But in her position, she had no choice but to evaluate them.
It was the only way to craft strategies that were efficient and minimized casualties.
By that metric, every pilot sent to the 393rd was “bottom-tier.” Kids the brass had flunked out.
That was the makeup of the current 393rd.
And naturally, rookies like that weren’t built to last.
“Konoha, Rohan, Ashu, Kifa, Eri, Mikage, Kanata, Reina…”
Rien murmured the names of unit members long gone.
She couldn’t forget a single one. No—she mustn’t forget.
Their blood and lives had fertilized the unit she had now. She owed them that much: to remember.
“What? No luck again?”
Asuna approached the desk where Rien lay slumped and spoke up.
Rien lifted her head just slightly, her expression vacant, soul seemingly fled.
“Yeah… pretty much.”
“Figures. Tough break.”
Asuna gave a small tsk—milder than before, almost routine now—and settled into a corner, legs crossed, flipping open a report.
It was the latest intel briefing from the upper echelons, a few days old.
“Rien.”
Asuna’s face soured mid-read, like she’d spotted a bad prank. She waved the report and tilted her head.
“This for real? Not some bullshit, right?”
“No way it’s fake.”
“But come on—even for them, how does something this insane even exist?”
“…Yeah, it does sound off.”
The report Asuna held detailed events from Zone 47. Hard-to-believe ones, at that.
Rien had reacted the same at first.
The retreat from Zone 47 was straightforward. They’d planned to contract the front lines anyway, but a few days back, something unstoppable had ravaged the area.
A colossal bug over 100 meters long… That’s what the report plainly stated.
Asuna reread it, then flicked the paper with her finger like she’d cracked it.
“Ah, maybe they fat-fingered a zero?”
“Asuna… cut it out. I asked in the meeting ‘cause it bugged me too, and they swore it’s legit.”
“…”
Asuna blinked, rubbed her eye sockets for a long beat, denying reality. Then she muttered, deflated.
“Damn… Rien, I’m thinking of going atheist lately. If there’s a god, they wouldn’t screw us like this. Humanity’s toast at this rate, huh?”
“…”
Doom… It sounded like a joke, but she couldn’t deny it. Not from her vantage, with access to more intel than most.
Commanders had to stomach the ugly truths others could ignore.
“Okay, say it’s real. So how’re they handling it? Gonna hunt the damn thing? But pulling out of 47 says otherwise…”
“…Dunno. No clue there.”
Rien stretched her stiff body, arching her back, and lifted her gaze to the ceiling. Her blue eyes rolled slowly, steeped in exhaustion.
A colossal bug… Honestly, it felt too surreal to hit home.
Besides, it was far off. They’d handle it themselves.
What mattered to Rien was the 39th Sector.
3.
Unless bugs were spotted, unit members had free rein inside the base. But they didn’t just kill time.
“Come on! Hit me harder! You gonna fight bugs like that!?”
Chandler bellowed, his burly frame drawing young unit members wielding wooden swords.
The size gap made it look like a big brother playing with kids.
Each swing of Chandler’s bokken sent bodies flying with a sharp crack—threatening enough to snap bones if it connected wrong.
No mercy for the youngsters. Gentle off-duty, brutal instructor on the field.
Netoru watched from the shade of a nearby tree.
“…Was he always this hardcore?”
Sure, Holy Knight pilots might scoff at sword drills. But they mattered—a lot.
Holy Knight weapons were cold steel; hands-on experience sharpened weapon mastery, spiking combat prowess.
Chandler’s method wasn’t wrong. Not perfect, but he was giving his best. A non-knight wouldn’t know formal regimens anyway.
Most units had at least one knight-trained male pilot… but this place, shunned by nobles, had zilch.
The gap between commoner and knight pilots was vast—mana nerve systems, swordsmanship, all of it.
In a bug-ravaged world, Netoru wondered what class even meant. But the nobles feared it.
Commoners outshining them. Nobles on the chopping block. Revolution rearing its head again.
They hid their arts tight, even now. Pathetic, when raw power equaled dominance.
“Nothing worth sticking around for here.”
Bored of Chandler’s routine, Netoru yawned hugely and stood.
He left the men behind for the women’s training area. Sweaty guys lost their appeal fast.
A few steps, and the air shifted—fresher, feminine.
There, women sat in a circle around Seres.
Yoga mats on the ground, flowing into Pilates-like stretches. Leggings hugged sleek lines—eye candy.
—Everyone, follow my lead.
As Seres moved, the women mirrored her.
—Knees a bit wider than hip-width, arms stretched past shoulders.
“…”
—Once there, push hips back like you’re sinking, elbows straight.
Over ten girls struck the “cat pose.” Prep for building mana nerve systems in the lower abdomen.
“…Seres handles the girls’ sessions, huh.”
Rear ends raised in unison—a sight. Among the teens, Seres’s ripe 20s figure stood unrivaled.
Netoru couldn’t look away. Her fluid extensions oozed sultry elegance.
Tempting as hell… but too risky to touch now.
She’d gotten chummy with Karen too; poking that hornet’s nest might sour things with the girl he’d just started cracking.
“…Hm?”
Then Netoru noticed: no Karen around Seres.
Training solo? He scanned about—
“What’re you doing, creeping like a perv?”
Karen’s voice hit from behind.
Startled but cool, Netoru turned. She glared with half-lidded eyes.
He shrugged nonchalantly. Panic would just look weak.
“Just passing by.”
“Passing by? Wow… You’re shameless, you know that?”
Amazed in every sense, Karen pinched her brow and sighed.
“Whatever, perfect timing. Help me out. Got time?”
“Help with what?”
“Training, duh.”
Training… Netoru eyed her outfit and nodded. This kind, sure.
Black leggings like the others, tracing her curves differently than the cockpit suit.
“Follow me.”
He trailed, admiring—
—Nngh! R-Rin! Don’t yank so hard!
—Psh, gotta pull like this for it to count!
—Eeee! M-Me next! I’ll really die!
At the spot, the twins awaited Karen with partner Pilates-ish stretches.
Suddenly, Karen halted boldly, turned, and asked Netoru.
“Just to check—you do know coupling practice methods, right?”
