Chapter 108
Chapter 108
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 108
Chapter Title: Battleship Promise
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On paper, it was a clear win, but this nagging unease just wouldn't fade.
'Was he testing me?'
At the very least, it didn't seem like he'd come to meet me on a whim.
If that were the case, he wouldn't have flipped his stance so easily.
I sighed inwardly, reminded once again that no one here was a pushover.
"Done?"
As I stepped out the door, Roze turned from gazing outside and asked.
"Yeah. Let's go."
"You mentioned another meeting?"
"Yeah. You can join this one."
Yuri was the only one among the new family members I'd met yesterday who'd shown genuine goodwill.
In a way, he didn't quite fit the family's vibe.
'Is that why he became a ship technician?'
Monarch relatives usually took executive roles in the various businesses.
Those recognized as direct descendants were sharp and capable, so they avoided the grueling hands-on work.
Which made Yuri's choice to go into fieldwork all the more unusual.
He was only in his forties, yet he'd earned the title of Meister—proof his skills were top-notch.
"That must be him."
When we arrived at the rendezvous point, someone riding a work mech was waving one of its arms enthusiastically.
It was Yuri.
I waved back, and he tossed aside what he was working on, then barreled toward us still mounted on the mech.
"You're here! This must be the superhuman you brought along?"
"Nice to meet you. I'm Roze."
"The pleasure's mine. ...Oh!"
He extended the mech's arm, then flinched, realizing it might be rude.
But Roze just grinned, grabbed one finger, and shook it up and down like it was the most fun thing ever.
'He handles it like an extension of his body.'
Work mechs weren't neural-linked; they were old-school hydraulic rigs.
Think futuristic excavator.
I hadn't seen the whole thing, but the way he maneuvered it spoke volumes about his expertise.
"S-Sorry about that."
"No, it's fine."
"You said you had something to show us. What is it?"
"Right, my manners. This way."
We followed Yuri deeper inside.
It looked like a secure area, but no one stopped us.
He must've cleared it ahead of time—the guards just nodded greetings as we passed.
"Why bring us so deep? Doesn't seem like place for outsiders."
"Anyone direct line can enter here, so don't worry."
"...And me?"
"I've got special clearance for you today, Superhuman Roze. Just don't go blabbing about it."
"I won't!"
Roze flashed a cheeky grin and stuck close behind Yuri.
One more sector in, and we emerged into a massive space.
A sealed dock, judging by the look—internal length easily two kilometers.
And it wasn't empty.
A ship was already half-built inside.
'At least Behemoth-class.'
I'd heard Monarch's current facilities couldn't handle Behemoth-class vessels.
Maybe the hull, sure.
But powering something that massive required matching engines and subsystems, and they lacked the high-end gear for that.
"What do you think?"
Yuri was buzzing with excitement, like a kid showing off a favorite toy.
"Did you build this?"
"Yeah. Designed it from scratch myself."
"Impressive. But it's not finished yet?"
"Haha, long way to go. We just don't have the equipment."
To get this far in such conditions was already incredible.
Still, without upgrades, it was like a dumpling without filling—completion was a pipe dream, yet here he was trying.
"Upper brass approved this?"
"It's for tech recovery. Cost be damned, we have to try."
"Fair enough. Can't stick to midsize forever."
"Exactly. But progress is crawling."
"You're not just showing off. What's the ask?"
"Oh, right."
Yuri hesitated a moment before getting to it.
"You're going independent unit now, right? That means you get dibs on salvage claims."
"Yeah."
"So, if you snag a hatchery core, could you bring it to me?"
"A core?"
He nodded tensely at my echo.
Normally, salvage and spoils went to the Alliance.
Petty stuff you might snag with permission, but hatchery cores—vital for core weapons—were off-limits.
So corporations hired mercs or raised their own strike teams to raid contaminated zones.
But those yielded mostly 1st or 2nd-stage low-grade cores.
Independent units had more leeway.
Trade-off for self-funding: no Alliance support, but they recognized your gains from victories.
"For the engine, right? This size needs at least 5th-stage..."
"Tough?"
"..."
A 5th-stage wasn't something you grabbed on a whim.
That level bordered end-stage, spawning danger class-6 aliens.
And it wouldn't be alone—spawned hordes turned swathes of terrain into hatchery colonies, with insane defenses.
Clearing that took a full regular fleet. My little destroyer wouldn't even register.
"Urgent?"
"Not exactly, but I need it to test my idea."
"Honestly, not right now. Unit's small, and export approval's iffy."
"Oh... yeah..."
Yuri bit his lip, crestfallen.
"But if I get one later, I promise it'll be yours."
"...Really?!"
"Yes."
"Whoa, thank you!"
He lit up despite the vagueness.
"Finish that beast, and it's yours. So please!"
"...This ship?"
"Yeah. Family promised me first dibs if I pull it off."
My turn to be stunned.
A house like Monarch could eat the rebuild cost as R&D once viable.
Still, generous to a fault.
'No way they'd just hand it over blindly.'
Probably motivation bait.
Yuri the gearhead cared only about building, not sailing. They'd swap it later for something he wanted—win-win.
His next words confirmed it.
"But what would I do with it? I've got a superhuman niece. You'd put it to good use."
"...True."
Manning it now would stretch us thin, but completion was years out.
No canon mention of Monarch rebuilding Behemoth-class, but this payoff seemed solid.
I nodded, suddenly realizing how much I was leaning on family pull.
'Come to think of it...'
If I'd possessed some nobody, none of this.
Monarch made it possible.
They extended favors no one else would, just because I was one of them.
"Lucky Lemon. That's way bigger than hers. Hers is like a booger by comparison."
"...Not quite a booger."
I turned away, no comeback for Roze's teasing.
Overstated, but the size gap was real.
'Still a battleship, though...'
Couldn't shake the bittersweet twinge—like heading to the bathroom with different feelings going in and out.
"Mister, make it pretty and tough, okay?"
"Made by these hands? It'll be the sleekest ship in the world once done."
"And make the training room big and sturdy. Captain's quarters too, if possible?"
" Amenities aren't detailed yet—anything goes. Specs?"
"Oh, then..."
Roze and Yuri hit it off instantly.
'If she had that many gripes, why not speak up sooner?'
I could only watch them bitterly for a moment.
*
I'd taken delivery of the battleship in person, but sailing it solo wasn't happening yet—plenty of hurdles.
First, my affiliation meant reporting the vessel to the Alliance.
Unauthorized armed ship movement could spark trouble, so mandatory.
Luckily, I'd prepped them—cleared in three days.
Now I could fly it through Drive Gates no issue.
Meanwhile, I'd been recruiting bridge crew.
'Minimum viable at least...'
Battleship ops were worlds apart from civilian shuttles.
Each specialist handled massive data; one slip meant death. Pros only.
Even the military ran aerospace academies for steady supply, fast-tracking grads with two years' credit and egos to match.
Shila-grade civilians rarely cut it for battleship crews.
"They're really coming?"
"Should be."
"It's been a week already..."
"Can't fly this solo."
Roze and I were on the battleship bridge.
I'd been poking systems whenever free to learn the ropes; she'd toured it all and was bored.
'About time for contact.'
I waited patiently.
Normal job postings wouldn't cut it here.
York Planet—home to Monarch Ru Docks Station, top shipbuilder.
Drew pros like flies.
They spawned private aero academies.
'Horizon Aviation Academy.'
Named for horizon-spanning ambitions, but drowning in red ink.
Barely scraping by without proper sims.
'Some things never change.'
Canon namedrops it—a prodigy alum aids the protagonist as an extra.
But I wasn't after the prodigy.
Just three years older than hero, still a kid, unqualified.
'A teacher who molds talent is gold.'
Canon had the prodigy idolizing his mentors like fathers, vowing payback post-success.
Knowing the story, I had high hopes.
My wrist buzzed.
VIP alert.
"Got it."
Hook set.
Tempting offer—took days, but they bit.
I shot to my feet.