The Villainess Takes the Cockpit

The launch impact of the catapult still lingered somewhere in Letaria Adeniam's frame as Arden settled into Seldia's hangar.

She brushed a lock of dark purple hair back into place and walked toward the waiting technician.

"Welcome back, Letaria. Data retrieval complete."

From the scaffolding above, Milea Ichinose spoke without taking her eyes off her terminal.

Surrounding her, the enormous logs transmitted from Arden's systems during the battle floated in holographic display.

"Good work. Useful data. …How's the body holding up? Trace Mode's recoil is still rough, I imagine."

Milea finally lowered her gaze and studied Letaria in her usual measuring way.

Letaria briefly recalled the repeated impacts against the cockpit seat during the sharp evasive maneuvers—and pulled a face.

What she wore now was the slim, close-fitting suit Milea had given her.

Still self-conscious. But considerably less punishing than a dress.

"…Hmph. Better than before. Sore in a few places, but nothing serious."

She tilted her chin with studied composure.

The modifications to Arden—the extreme acceleration and turning forces—would have been enough to cause even a manual-control pilot to black out. That Letaria had survived Trace Mode with "sore in a few places" was, by any standard in this world, deeply abnormal.

"I see. Well—that's just how it goes with you, isn't it."

Milea had already more or less made her peace with this particular impossibility.

But to Letaria, those words landed like the finest of compliments.

In the old world, her abilities had been scorned and dismissed. Here, they were accepted as a matter of course.

She gave a satisfied sniff and straightened with pride.

"Naturally! Why, of course—this is simply what I do!"

She declared it with a flourish that suggested a high laugh was imminent—but at that moment, Milea closed her terminal and fixed her with a level look.

"…The weapons. You didn't use them, did you."

Letaria's triumphant expression went rigid.

"…Ah…well, you see, that is to say…"

"Photon rifle. Photon saber. Top-of-the-line, both. According to the logs, neither was deployed once.

What the logs do record is an extensive catalog of kinetic strikes delivered by Arden's fists and legs."

With each quiet addition from Milea, Letaria seemed to shrink slightly.

"You were screaming 'Oh, do shut up' while literally crushing an enemy cockpit with your fist. I had anticipated something like this—but do you have any appreciation for the effort required to maintain my composure?"

"W-well, I couldn't help it! I have absolutely no idea what to do with that stick and that lump of metal! It's considerably faster to simply hit things directly!"

The counterargument was dangerously close to petulant. Milea let out a long sigh.

"…Fine. We'll work on it. Eventually."

She set aside the exasperation and moved on.

Milea looked Letaria's suited figure over from head to foot.

Letaria noticed the look—this is just how she is—but felt warmth creeping into her cheeks all the same.

(That off-the-shelf suit can't fully support what she's capable of. A custom piece—something that assists muscle movement and maximizes G-tolerance. That may be worth pursuing.)

She didn't say any of that out loud. Instead, Milea simply waved a hand.

"You can go."

"You are always so brusque!"

Letaria huffed and marched out of the hangar. Milea watched her go, then turned back to her monitor—specifically to the dents in Arden's knuckle plating—and let the corner of her mouth rise, just slightly.

◆◆◆

Back in her quarters, Letaria settled into the sofa.

Simpler in design than anything in the old world. The comfort was astonishing.

Through the window: the vast inner structure of the space station, and beyond it, the fathomless starfield.

The exact opposite of the green, sprawling Adeniam lands she had once called home.

She tapped the bracelet terminal and cast a holographic news screen into the air.

"—Next: we spoke with vigilante corps Captain Grain regarding yesterday's raider-suppression operation—"

The feed cut to a familiar, earnest-looking young man. Grain. Captain of Seldia's vigilante corps.

He looked directly into the camera, expression slightly stiff, and spoke.

"In this operation, our corps received the support of a civilian cooperator, and successfully dismantled the raider force.

We have made contact with this individual, who has agreed to continue lending their skills on a goodwill basis.

We understand they intend to operate freelance, responding to civilian commissions, and we look forward to continued cooperation.

We remain fully committed to the safety of Seldia's residential sector."

The interview ended. As the caster delivered praise, Letaria let out a quiet, involuntary laugh.

"…It doesn't really suit you, does it."

She was thinking of the cafeteria. The moment Grain had heard that intercepted audio and very nearly lost his composure.

Gratifying, in retrospect.

"…Heh."

She laughed once more, then turned off the news.

To be needed. To be useful. Not to prove anything to the world that had cast her out—but to build something new here, with her own hands.

That feeling was slowly straightening something in her. Something that had been badly bent.

Then the door chimed.

That unfamiliar sound. She had learned it meant a visitor.

"Who could that be?"

She walked to the door. She still hadn't quite mastered the button system, so she relied entirely on the automatic mechanism.

On the other side: a familiar golden bob.

"Letaria—! Great work today!"

Stesia Rinin. The far-too-energetic vigilante member who had guided her through the residential sector.

"…Oh. What brings you here?"

Stesia's smile was broad and unguarded.

"Ahaha, sorry to just show up! So—tomorrow we have a regular training session. Simulator drills. Would you like to come?"

"…A simulator?"

Stesia leaned forward with visible excitement.

"Mock combat using the simulators! Come fight with us!"

The simulator. Something Letaria had been using repeatedly to improve her feel for Arden. A strange space that wasn't real—where one could pilot a Makina without the physical cost of actual battle.

She didn't have to get thrown around. Though the lack of realism was its own annoyance.

This might be a good opportunity to practice using the weapons Milea had been insisting on.

"…Very well. I happen to have been looking for an opportunity to demonstrate my abilities."

Letaria let the familiar haughty smile surface.

"I accept. I shall show you something to aspire to. Do try not to be so overwhelmed by my magnificent piloting that your legs give out."

"Yes! Thank you so much! I've always wanted to actually fight the Runaway Lady!"

Stesia's bright, utterly uncomplicated smile delivered "Runaway Lady" without a single trace of hesitation.

Apparently it was catching on among the corps.

Runaway Lady…that isn't quite complimentary, is it. Letaria was beginning to suspect it wasn't.

After Stesia had gone, she found herself pressing her right hand into a fist.

"Simulated combat…hm. Ohoho. I find I'm looking forward to this."

◆◆◆

While Seldia's residential sector buzzed with life, far from that warmth—in a region of space the noise could not reach—a graveyard of cold steel drifted in silence.

The abandoned factory that had served as the Blang faction's base.

Already a ruin before they ever moved in, it was now wrapped in the total stillness of vacuum.

Rusted floors. Crumbling walls. Cables left dangling from torn housings. Everything about it said: abandoned, and long ago.

Searchlights sliced through the dark.

The vigilante corps' investigation team. Grain was at the lead.

"…Nothing of use here."

A subordinate spoke through the comm, their voice deflated.

The investigation had been the primary goal—but they'd hoped to find something worth salvaging.

"…Yes."

Grain answered briefly and swept his light toward the wall.

A Makina lay in pieces. Head gone. One arm torn away at the root.

"…An Escad Industries model. A Crafid. So this really was one of their old facilities."

His subordinate moved closer and attempted to read the serial number.

Escad Industries. Once at the cutting edge of Makina development, the company had simply vanished from the public record at a certain point—more legend than history.

Letaria's Arden was built on this same Crafid frame.

Grain stared at the wreck in silence.

Coincidence. Or something more.

He had no name for the unease he felt—that a being of impossible ability had arrived in the world aboard this ancient machine.

A glint on the floor. A small flash of light.

"Hm…?"

Grain crouched. Through his gloves, he retrieved the source.

A data chip. Filthy. Partially scorched. The kind of thing that would be dismissed as junk without a second look. But Grain held it for a long moment, then slipped it carefully into his pocket.

At that moment, an urgent transmission reached him inside his helmet.

"Captain, analysis team here. The factory's trajectory calculation is done."

"…Report."

His low voice moved through the silence.

"…The results are remarkable, sir. Tracing the route—this factory appears to have drifted here over several decades from the Redes Sector. A region that was, at the time, completely obscured by an enormous-scale magnetic storm."

The Redes Sector.

At that name, Grain's expression went completely still.

The greatest forbidden zone in this star system. Spoken of as the ruins of a lost civilization. A cursed land. A dead zone in the laws of physics.

He said nothing.

In his pocket, his hand closed around the data chip.

Quietly.

Firmly.