Chapter 27

“I think I just lost 100 cp worth of brain cells.”

“Well, that’s oddly specific.”

“Yes. Exactly 100 cp.”

Lieutenant Camillia Ovia responded by raising her fist and bumping it lightly against Erabelle’s outstretched palm.

“Look at you—striking a patient again. What a lovely bedside manner you possess...”

“What was that?”

“I said you are an absolute angel.”

Erabelle submitted meekly beneath the looming fist. Satisfied, Camillia pivoted back to the original topic.

“So, who is this Compatible One?”

“I told you, I don’t have one.”

“Nonsense. You do.”

Camillia brandished the chart in front of Erabelle’s face.

“There is no way you don't. The metrics make zero sense otherwise—not from simple clinical data alone. This latest tag reading is outrageously good. This is textbook post-contact data for a Compatible pair.”

“Tch,” Erabelle grumbled, her face twisting in annoyance.

“Is it someone I know?”

“No. Never met the person.”

“Then who on earth could it be? At this level, I would wager your compatibility index easily clears ninety percent.”

Camillia scrolled through the digital readout, muttering to herself as visible goosebumps surfaced on her arms.

Every three months.

Without fail, after receiving her Identification Tag, Erabelle always ended up in the medical bay.

Of course, she was hardly an isolated case. Camillia oversaw several other tagged personnel as well.

“Well, whoever they are, treat them nicely. It doesn't cost you anything.”

“Your bedside manner is truly top-tier, ma’am. Anyway, moving on—how about hooking me up with some supplements? I noticed a fresh shipment of IVs arrived.”

“When is logistics finally going to replace that delivery officer?”

“Beats me.”

Soon, perhaps, Erabelle thought quietly to herself before shifting the topic.

“I need more medication.”

“...You burned through the previous batch already?”

“I have been managing the tag.”

Camillia released a short sigh and retrieved the pharmaceutical box. While Erabelle remained lying down—updating her vacation itinerary on her phone with one hand while receiving IV fluids through the other—she called out for Miro to store the medicine.

Then she froze.

“Miro. M—Miro, hey?”

Something was wrong.

“What is the matter with her?”

The summoned spirit floated upward sluggishly, her oversized eyes scanning the chamber before locking onto Erabelle.

“Are you crying?”

The azure Great Spirit let out a long, mournful wail.

“This noise level... are you certain she is alright? Something feels off.”

“Did she sustain physical damage or something?”

“She hasn't even stepped outside recently.”

Perhaps that was the issue?

“We are going on vacation. To the beach. That sounds lovely, doesn't it?”

“Must be nice. Returning to the exact same spot year after year.”

“It is not the exact same. There is a full 8,760-hour difference since last year...”

“Enough. Lie back and finish your IV already. I would actually like to return home today. You are single-handedly preventing me from clocking out.”

“Which is precisely why you ought to select better friends—ow! Stop hitting me!”

“When did I hit you? Do not frame me for assault.”

Camillia scanned the chart once more, checking for any anomalies she might have overlooked.

“Her noise levels are well within normal range, so do not fret. But if her condition shifts, notify me immediately. Ah—when are you departing?”

Erabelle gently stroked the whimpering Miro as she answered.

“Today.”

***

Commander Dezeb Avganis, clad in his tactical uniform for the first time in a while, sat perched atop a half-crumbled perimeter wall. Pulling his black face cover down to his chin, he lit a cigarette.

“......”

nearby, the Dogs watched him in silence, carefully reading his mood. He was visibly displeased—a fact that made Aries, who carried urgent intelligence to report, acutely nervous.

“Commander Dezeb...”

He turned his head slowly. Aries barely managed to suppress a shiver as their eyes met.

“The Second Prince’s reconnaissance unit is actively surveying Sector E17. Officially, it is for planetary resource development, but... if they proceed unchecked, their path will intersect with the Thirteenth Prince’s main force in roughly ten hours.”

“......”

“Should contact occur, it will severely compromise the Second Prince’s operational strategy to secure dominance over Sector E.”

“What is the Thirteenth Prince’s main force doing there in the first place?”

“Supposedly, they received intelligence indicating an artifact signature in the sector.”

“Artifact, my ass.”

There was no possibility of anything remaining. Not unless someone had felled a planetary god, which was out of the question. Unclaimed artifacts at this stage of the war? Absurd.

“Just throw out a decoy. Who is stationed nearest?”

“Lieutenant Erabelle Vermilion.”

“...Is that so?”

Dezeb responded leisurely, lighting another cigarette.

“What a pity.”

At least he seems indifferent, Aries thought, letting out a silent sigh of relief.

Still, that girl possessed truly wretched luck. Frankly, her life had spiraled downward ever since she crossed paths with their unit. Becoming Dezeb’s Compatible One was merely the latest in a long line of misfortunes.

Even her miserable existence felt like an afterthought.

Just as the Commander said... What a pity.

Aries released a low, internal sigh, already sensing the conclusion of yet another grim wager.

***

“Are you even aware that our county is composed entirely of islands?”

Tuia Beach clung to the coastline of a small, isolated planet nestled in a forgotten corner of the galaxy.

Quiet, picturesque—it possessed a certain understated charm.

“Of course I know.”

“Then why must we always come here? My domain is surrounded by beaches as well, you know! Why do we constantly migrate to this specific shore? And it is always the exact same spot! Do you never grow weary of it?”

“It is not the exact same. Look over there—do you see? There is a brand-new bench. And that refuse bin? It used to be light green, but now it has been painted dark green.”

“Ah, so we are playing a game of ‘Spot the Difference’ now?”

Catching on, Sanche eagerly joined the banter.

“Now that you mention it, they altered the shade of that restaurant’s awning as well. Oh, wait—never mind, it has simply faded in the sun! And the sign is missing a letter. Is that the local aesthetic these days?”

“Precisely! That is the proper attitude. Try viewing the world through fresh eyes.”

“......”

Sanche exploded instantly.

“We have been frequenting this establishment for seven years! How am I supposed to view it with fresh eyes?”

Erabelle clicked her tongue at his outburst.

“The youth of today possess zero patience.”

This coastal retreat had, in truth, evolved into a steadfast tradition—spanning several years now. It had all begun when Erabelle received her Identification Tag and shed her stateless status.

“This is madness. Whatever. I am heading to the bar.”

Sanche barely managed to toss his luggage onto the hotel bed before storming back out the door.

That hopeless AT brat. Incapable of remaining still for a single moment. What is the point? After years of visiting, there is nothing left to explore anyway.

“Aagh... Ughhh...”

Erabelle collapsed face-first onto the mattress with a heavy groan.

“My poor bones... I am decaying where I lie...”

She whined and complained for a few moments before drifting into a deep sleep. She did not stir until the Count arrived in person to drag her out of bed.

“Ugh... Still exhausted...”

“Are you even a functioning human being?”

Sanche glared at her as though observing a particularly repulsive specimen, but Erabelle remained entirely unbothered.

“Sleeping is a refined skill. The more you practice, the more proficient you become.”

“Are you serious? Can you not exercise sleep in moderation?”

“I haven't even slept that much.”

“You consume food, sleep, consume more food, and return to sleep. Are you certain you belong to the human species?”

“...You little pest—!”

Erabelle lunged directly for his hair, but Sanche adeptly blocked her reach with a laminated menu.

They devolved into bickering like toddlers. Meanwhile, the Count paid them no mind, leisurely scanning the headlines on his data tablet.

Planetary rifts, monster incursions, meteorological forecasts, royal court gossip—the standard news cycle.

“Your meals are served.”

A waitress approached their table, her expression warm with familiar recognition.

“Arrived right on schedule again this year, I see?”

This coastal settlement was a close-knit colony. Most residents were familiar with one another—knowing precisely whose son or daughter belonged to whom.

“Well, it would feel improper to skip a year. Has everything been well with you?”

Erabelle offered a sweet smile—her previous murderous rage toward her brother vanishing as though it had never existed.

“Same as always. Very little shifts around these parts.”

“You have grown even more radiant, though!”

The waitress, laying the hospitality on thick, served them a round of complimentary beverages.

Erabelle took a lazy sip through her straw and shot a glance at Sanche.

“What.”

“Nothing. It is merely unsettling. Do you possess a split personality or something?”

“A split personality? What could you possibly know about social etiquette?”

“Social etiquette? Please. That is pure theater. You are delusional.”

“......”

Hostility flared between them once more. This marked roughly their twelfth skirmish of the day alone.

Unable to endure the squabbling any longer, the Count brought his wooden mallet down onto a lobster shell with a deafening thunk.

“Hmm? Why halt? Please, proceed. Continue your duel.”

“...Would you like some salt?”

“Oh, yes, certainly. Would you care for some salad as well?”

Their instantaneous ceasefire caused the Count to click his tongue in exasperation.

“Neither of you will ever truly grow up.”

Erabelle offered a casual shrug.

“Remaining unchanged is a virtue. It is actually extraordinarily difficult to accomplish.”

“She is correct. For once in her life, she is actually correct.”

Observing the two of them suddenly form a united front—all giggles and synchronized eye-rolls—the Count felt a sudden, powerful urge to abandon the lobster and test the weight of the mallet against their skulls instead.

***

“The summer festival commences the day after tomorrow! There will be food stalls lining the beach, a live musical performance, and a fireworks display at night. You should absolutely attend!”

The restaurant waitress handed them a promotional flyer alongside their receipt.

Naturally, none of the locals were aware of their noble lineage. For years, they had operated under the guise of ordinary merchant aristocrats.

It was far better that way—for all parties involved.

After all, only imperial high nobility possessed the standing to look down upon provincial lords. To ordinary citizens, nobles—who governed entire planetary bodies and enjoyed centuries-long lifespans through the blessing of Signum—were practically a different species entirely. A higher order of existence.

So in truth, the deception was an act of consideration. A harmless, gentle lie.