Overheat 1
────Kiiieek? The distinctive screech of a bug drew closer. It was scouting the surroundings as it approached—a Locust.
Simply put, it was a bug the size of a compact car, armed with machine guns. Though relatively small at just a few hundred kilograms and its weaponry not particularly threatening in firepower, the real problem was that getting spotted by one would bring every bug in the vicinity swarming in an instant.
Netoru steadied his breathing, tensing his body in preparation for any contingency.
Did I draw too much attention after all?
He'd achieved his goal. But the bugs' pursuit was far more relentless than anticipated. For them to chase him all the way here... He must have really pissed them off.
Well, couldn't be helped. He'd ambushed their front lines, shattered their formation, and bolted without a backward glance. To the bugs, Netoru was that enemy now—the one who'd thoroughly provoked their rage. From their perspective, it must have been utterly baffling and infuriating.
────Jeek—jeek.
As the Locust's cries grew nearer, tension mounted. "Hah... hah... Netoru. What now? It's heading straight for us..."
Karen, gasping for breath with sweat-soaked hair plastered to her cheeks, asked the question. Her chest heaved against the tight suit, as if protesting the strain. It was because Netoru had pushed the output too hard in that short burst to draw the enemies' eyes. The cockpit felt stiflingly hot from their ragged breathing.
"Wait. It hasn't spotted us yet."
"But..."
"Don't worry. Just trust me."
"Hah... seriously... You always say not to worry. Where does that shameless confidence come from?"
"Hey, have I ever steered us wrong?"
"...Hard to believe, but yeah, true."
Karen suddenly let out a few chuckles amid the tension. What was so funny about that? Netoru tilted his head, then refocused on the Locust.
Right now, they were hunkered down using the terrain for cover, evading the bugs' notice. Naturally, 5th Platoon had escaped as planned. Now it was just about their survival.
...Any moment now, we should hear something.
Truth be told, Netoru didn't like hiding like this either. But anyone could see Karen was at her limit. He hadn't chosen to hunker down instead of fleeing on a whim. In a way, making it this far was already impressive.
────Jeek—jeek.
Finally, the creature's shadow loomed as it trampled dirt and grass. Netoru gripped the controls. He could feel Karen swallow hard, bracing herself as she awaited his decision.
Netoru held out until the last second, pondering. Have to fight after all? How much longer can Karen hold out? Or is there even an escape route?
Analyzing the terrain, bug numbers, composition, movements—he coldly pieced it all together in his mind, searching for a breakthrough. That's when...
"...Huh?"
Karen's surprised voice shattered the cockpit's tense silence. Netoru's lips twisted into a smirk.
Right on time. Lucky break.
────Kiiieek?
The Locust, which had closed in right before them, froze mid-step and whipped its head around. Its long antennae twitched left and right a few times before it spun without hesitation and bolted into the ground.
It must have gotten word through their network. And that meant 393rd Unit's platoons had engaged. Otherwise, it wouldn't pivot so abruptly. Missing out on the fight was a bit unsettling, but whatever—job done here. No point fretting over them; it'd just give him a headache.
"...We lived."
"Yeah... we lived."
Netoru spoke, and Karen echoed softly. They watched until the Locust vanished, then exhaled deeply, releasing the tension from their bodies. Closing their eyes felt like it might knock them out on the spot.
Netoru had just that thought when—thud. Karen had collapsed atop him in the cockpit, passed out cold.
Limit reached, huh.
"...Can't be helped."
Gazing at her steady breathing, Netoru leaned back against the seat and shut his eyes. With Karen out, there was nothing more he could do.
As his vision blurred, a red sunset rippled beyond the horizon.
2. As a kid, the protagonists in those robot anime always frustrated me. But looking back now, it made sense. They weren't trained adult soldiers—they were just high schoolers suddenly shoved into giant mechs to fight. Of course they screwed up.
And having tried it myself, piloting a war machine blind with no prep? Way harder than it looks. Especially when a screw-up in that first clueless battle gets someone killed, you're grabbed by the collar amid curses, and back at base, your squad glares at you with murder in their eyes. That's trauma for life.
Naturally, I felt wronged and pissed at first. What did I do wrong? I just fought to survive, did my best with what I had. But you can't even voice that. One death makes you the villain.
In a critical battle where every cog has to mesh perfectly, an clueless civilian is a massive sin from the start. And when dozens of lives hang in the balance...
Sure, in some manga, friends soothe the struggling hero with talk of love, dreams, passion, hope, friendship. But the world I woke up in wasn't some gentle place waiting for the hero to grow—it was a real battlefield, shells and bullets flying, hell where people died daily. The guy who grabbed your collar yesterday turns up a cold corpse tomorrow.
Extras dying on a screen might just hype the audience, but seeing it for real? Only despair and self-loathing.
So I gritted my teeth and fought hard not to be a burden. Learned what I could, ditched what I shouldn't. Cursed my inexperience and matured by force.
By the time I'd become a decent Holy Knight pilot, it hit me: I'm not the protagonist.
3. Rustle rustle... The sound of someone tearing into combat rations pulled him up from deep sleep.
Netoru's consciousness surfaced toward the noise. "...Hm? You're up?"
Karen's face came into view first. Legs crossed in the cockpit, she had an energy bar from the rations in her mouth.
Nom nom... Starving, huh. He watched blankly as she chewed busily like a squirrel with an acorn.
"...Want one?" Karen blinked, holding out another bar.
Netoru chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, pass. What time is it?"
"Mm. Just hit 20:00."
"...Slept longer than I thought."
That explained the darkness. Looking up, the night sky brimmed with stars forming the Milky Way—a sight rare on Earth, but commonplace here. Still, its beauty never faded, so Netoru gazed absently, lost in thought, before murmuring, "Karen. How's your condition?"
"...Mobilizing the Holy Knight now might be tough. Probably okay by morning."
"Got it."
Holy Knight pilots were just parts for the machine. But humans aren't machines—they need rest. Plus, with their poor coupling wavelength match, their active time was shorter and downtime longer than average. In a way, Karen and Netoru were mismatched components forced together.
"Any word from the commander?"
"Nope. Nothing yet."
"...Figured."
As expected, just checking. They were beyond the 39th Sector, near the border of the elves' land, Elfrandia—outside the commander's observation range. So they had no clue about the battle's outcome. No contact with Rien meant no intel at all, not even on nearby bugs.
For now, they had to wait till morning. Karen finished her bar neatly, glanced slyly, and spoke softly. "...Netoru. Think the unit's okay? There were a lot of bugs today."
"Yeah, a ton."
Enough to nearly kill them fleeing. Even idiots could see the threat in that horde filling the fields. And the 393rd had already fought once—facing more wouldn't be easy.
"Netoru."
"What now?"
"Not gonna tell me not to worry this time?"
What the hell? Bemused, Netoru gave her the answer she wanted. "...Dunno. Probably fine, right?"
"What kinda..."
Apparently displeased, Karen shot him a dissatisfied look and turned away. She'd wanted his usual brazen "don't worry." But saying it now... what good would it do?
