Chapter 119
Chapter 119
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 119
Chapter Title: Crowded Streets
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"Was the city always this packed with people?"
The streets were overflowing with civilians.
It looked like even those who'd been avoiding going outside because of the aliens had all come flooding out.
But Roze and I were the only ones surprised by the sight.
Merdi seemed as disinterested as ever, and Shepin and Rodrigo wore equally blasé expressions.
Catching my look, Shepin held up her palms in defense.
"...What? You'll end up just like us eventually."
"I didn't say anything."
"You did! It's written all over your face!"
Shepin's emotions fluctuated as wildly as her ability.
She heated up fast and cooled off just as quick.
"Kyahaha!" Roze burst out laughing as the two of us bickered.
Just one high-energy person was enough to keep things from getting boring.
Noticing her reaction, Shepin cleared her throat, her voice a bit louder than before. "So, how'd you pull it off?"
"Pull what off?"
"Getting us assigned to you. I figured it wouldn't happen."
Shepin laid her true feelings bare.
She'd agreed to my proposal, but clearly thought the odds were next to nothing.
"...Uh, luck?"
"Luck my ass. Spill it."
"Haha, really."
I brushed it off with a laugh.
Shepin thinking that way made perfect sense.
Normally, the affiliations of three superhumans wouldn't shift this easily.
'Should I tell her?' I had to lock in Roze's assignment too, making it four in total.
But let's think this through.
To outsiders, I was a rookie superhuman, barely four months in.
Could someone like that really snag four superhumans?
"............Whatever."
"Huh?"
"Forget it."
Shepin, who'd been pressing like she had to hear the answer, suddenly leaned back and gave up.
"Heh, thanks to you, we're on vacation, right? Good's good."
"...Yeah, sure."
I started to spill the truth but clamped my mouth shut.
This vacation was more like a last supper, in fact.
Darmosa had assigned me four superhumans in exchange for a guideline.
The terms: from the day I was supposed to officially become a superhuman onward, conquer at least two hatcheries per day.
Four months into the year meant 250 days left.
That added up to 500 insane hatcheries within the deadline.
And minimum growth stage two or higher.
'Crazy.'
Under normal conditions, anyone would just abandon independent unit operations.
Even steadily conquering hatcheries, one a day was a stretch—let alone two.
In exchange, they'd elevate the independent unit's operational authority to battalion level, but considering the support for hatchery raids, that was only natural. What if we failed?
No need to say it—it'd all be for nothing.
We could keep operating as an independent unit, but the title of elite hatchery assault specialists would be gone forever, and my activities would face major restrictions.
But it wasn't all bad.
As I said earlier, I was just a four-month rookie superhuman.
Granting this kind of treatment to a kid like me went beyond preferential—it bordered on insane.
No wonder words failed people.
How this special favor got granted, and the misunderstanding that Darmosa was personally building a useful strike force—it could all backfire.
To dispel that suspicion, I'd need achievements to match.
In other words, Darmosa had laid out the board with his guideline.
Prove our worth. Go wild.
With the guideline in place, even those doubting us would wait to see if we could meet the conditions.
The spotlight was inevitable, and opinions would shift based on our performance.
'We'll have to chant "we're dead" until then....' I turned away from Shepin, already plotting vacation plans while grabbing Rodrigo.
A wave of guilt hit me—I couldn't just stand there watching. *
Rumble! Boom!!
Explosions echoed one after another.
The ash-gray sky shrouded in dust teemed with warships, fighters, and winged aliens.
The ground was no different.
Piles of corpses stacked from armored soldiers, combat mechs, and aliens littered the area.
This place—bombarded daily and crawling with hatcheries popping up at random—was Granko Planet, one of the fiercest frontlines in the world.
"Huff...."
A massive man resembling a beast puffed on a pipe, gazing cynically at the sky.
He perched atop a ground hatchery they'd just conquered.
Signs of fierce combat surrounded him: alien corpses strewn about, a severed core rolling on one side. "Fwooh...."
He removed the pipe, white smoke billowing into the air.
"...There you are!"
A voice called from below.
A woman in superhuman uniform spotted him and bounded up like a cat, landing lightly in front of him.
She immediately pointed at the pipe and yelled.
"Again? I told you not to!"
"...Leave it."
The man's thick voice rumbled low.
But the woman ignored him, reaching to snatch the pipe.
Despite her sudden move, he calmly pulled his hand back, securing it. "Give it here."
Her body tilted toward him due to their arm length difference.
Almost embracing him but still short, she switched tactics, pressing her chest close.
Seizing the moment his eyes flicked down, she swiped the pipe.
"Hand it over."
His eyes twitched faintly.
She wagged her finger, acting like she wouldn't give it back, and his expression darkened.
His hand around her waist gripped harder than necessary.
"Veronica."
What he smoked was a nerve stabilizer like a cigarette.
Effective even on superhumans with strong drug resistance, but highly addictive—with side effects from prolonged use.
"You don't need this crap, Bazimut. Look at me."
Veronica cupped Bazimut's face, locking eyes.
His hardened expression slowly softened.
"There we go, good boy."
"Now come on." Bazimut stood, tossing Veronica aside.
Nearly slammed into the ground, she sprang up like a spring and yelled. "Handle me gently! What kind of way is that to treat a lady?"
But Bazimut asked in his usual curt tone, ignoring her. "Next target?"
"...Tch. That's it for today. The kids take the next one."
Bazimut yanked his sword from an alien corpse.
A monstrous greatsword: 4.5 meters of blade, 1 meter hilt.
He lifted the massive thing one-handed like a toy, slashing down at blinding speed to shake off debris. "Kids?"
"You know, Oochi and Mooshi. The shorties who just joined."
"...Must be really short on manpower."
"They held their own last time I saw. No need to worry. Hey, you hear the news?"
"What news?"
"That girl you had your eye on. Looks like she got snatched."
"...Tell me more."
Bazimut's eyes twitched again.
But after hearing Veronica out, he deemed it irrelevant and calmed.
"Guess she likes playing house. Won't last anyway."
"Those kids are getting famous lately. They might pull it off."
"Bullshit."
Bazimut dismissed her and slung the greatsword over his shoulder, striding off.
"What if they actually succeed?"
"She'll come anyway."
"How do you know?"
"...Same class. I can tell. She'll end up here eventually."
Bazimut fell silent after that.
"Wait up!"
Veronica caught up to his strides, shouting.
Ahead of them, the superhuman unit commander's personal ship—with its three-headed dog emblem—touched down. *
The ship departing Quvillion Planet continued on its original course.
They'd lost ten days to the unexpected incident, but no extra vacation time.
At least Darmosa had granted three days at the commander's discretion, so no need to rush.
'Pretty much got everything we need now.'
Newly boarded on Quvillion: 200 mercenaries.
The Metal Gear Mercenary Unit wasn't disbanding.
With over 500 members, the remaining 300 would stick to minor ops to stay sharp, recruiting to fill gaps and gradually downsize.
The mercenary leader was now assuming duties as fleet commander for combat crew. They'd also hired general crew for miscellaneous ship tasks.
Around 20 so far, including medical tech specialists, cooks, and the like.
'Didn't think this would be easy.'
Long-term confinement in tight spaces made recruiting ship experts tough.
My premium-class ship emphasized comfort more than peers, but over time, it made little difference.
Surprisingly, they found specialists easily from an unexpected source. "These are them."
"Pleasure to serve, Captain!"
"Looking forward to working with you!" People stood before me, saluting a bit awkwardly.
They were referrals from Amorf, now fleet commander.
"Nice to meet you."
I greeted them with a bright smile.
They were refugees sustained by Metal Gear Mercenary Unit support.
With Metal Gear now under me, they were effectively my dependents.
I'd half-ignored Amorf's initial offer to hand them over.
No way it'd be easy—I'd planned high pay and open recruitment.
But seeing the profiles of these "applicants" shocked me.
All highly skilled.
"That solved our biggest headache easily."
After the specialists reported in and left, I said to the fleet commander.
"Plenty want to repay your kindness, Captain. Even retired pilots if you need 'em."
"We won't run fighters for now. Just small assault ships for transit—so we're good."
Operating fighters with our current ship size felt greedy.
It'd broaden solo op scope, but for hatchery specialists, half-assing one or two was pointless.
"Just hit Terra Planet to upgrade the troops' gear, and we're set."
Time to deliver on promises.
Superhuman power for hatchery assaults: covered.
Next: boost the combat crew who'd storm hatcheries with us.
'Current arms will rack up casualties.'
Metal Gear's prowess was legit.
In the last stage-five hatchery raid, of 100 deaths, only 15 were mercenaries.
Considering near-equal special forces numbers, that's over fivefold better.
But two per day? Even elites would feel the strain.
'Money's for times like this.'
Ways to boost power short-term: plenty.
Easiest? Throw cash at it.
I'd equip everyone with next-gen bio-armorsuits prototyped at Salmon Research Institute.
Not mass-produced yet—high unit cost—but doubled protection even now.
Keep most's cybernetic bodies state-of-the-art, and we'd far exceed current strength.
Still shy for minimizing losses.
'Fill the rest with combat mechs.'
Hatchery raids aren't about sheer numbers.
No basic models with weak combat power.
Fontana's custom models for data collection.
I'd cherry-pick high-end ones suited for hatcheries and bring them along.