Macross Delta: Pale Shooting Star Sings on the Battlefield - The Temperature of Lies

A white ceiling. It took Souma Kakeru a long time to realize that his body was lying on a bed. His eyelids felt as heavy as lead. He tried to put strength into his fingertips, but they wouldn't move properly. (Where is this…) The sensation of a tube inserted into his nose. An IV line connected to his left arm. The inside of his mouth was bone-dry, his tongue feeling like it was stuck in place. He slowly shifted his gaze. Outside the window, the sea of Ragna stretched out before him. Gentle waves bounced the sunlight, glittering brilliantly. In the distance, he could see the massive form of the Macross Elysion floating. (I fell into that sea.) The moment of the crash flashed back in his mind. The left wing exploding, the aircraft spinning, seawater rushing into the cockpit. The pain of a metal fragment stabbing into his thigh. The cold water. A song heard far in the distance— Souma moved only his neck and looked down at his own body. Thick bandages were wrapped from his right shoulder across his chest. Gauze was also applied to his left flank, blood faintly seeping through. His ribs throbbed painfully with every breath. They were probably cracked. The sensation in his right hand was dull, as if he were wearing a thick glove. On his left shoulder, there were suture marks from an extraction surgery. A fragment must have been deeply embedded. The freshly stitched wound stung with heat. (Three days… no, maybe more.) He didn't know how long he had been asleep. But he was certain that a considerable amount of time had passed. Outside the window, a seabird cried. Souma stared at the ceiling and didn't move. He didn't even have the energy yet to look up at the sky. ―――――――――――――――――――― How long had he been like that? He heard the sound of a door opening. A middle-aged woman in a white coat entered, carrying an IV pack. She was the nurse in charge. "[gentle]Oh, you're awake. How are you feeling?" Souma tried to speak, but his throat was stuck and no words came out. The nurse continued in a gentle tone as she replaced the IV with practiced hands. "[gentle]You've been asleep for three days. We were worried. But you're okay now. Your life isn't in danger." Three days. Those words pressed heavily on his chest. "[gentle]Miss Freyja Wion has been so worried about you. She came here every day. She was also the one who initially covered the treatment costs—" The nurse abruptly clamped her mouth shut. Souma's eyes widened slightly. "[nervous]…Ah, no, I mean. Anyway, please get plenty of rest." The nurse averted her eyes awkwardly and hurriedly left the room. The small sound of the door closing echoed in the hospital room. Souma stared at the ceiling, unable to move. (The treatment costs… Freyja did?) The nurse's words repeated in his head. Freyja Wion had been constantly worried. She had paid the treatment costs upfront. A financial burden. A debt. Souma bit his lip. That fact stabbed deeper than the wound in his shoulder, deeper than the cracks in his ribs. Had he borrowed not just his life from her, but money too? He was already an unidentified outsider. He had no value. And yet—he had caused trouble again. A dull ache throbbed deep in his chest. Guilt and confusion washed over him simultaneously. The sea outside the window sparkled with an innocent face, as if it knew nothing. Souma closed his eyelids. He didn't want to see anything. ―――――――――――――――――――― The next morning. The smell of disinfectant hung in the corridors of Ragna City General Hospital. Souma pressed the nurse call button and tried to sit up. But he couldn't muster any strength in his arms. He tried to lower his trembling legs to the floor, but his knees buckled and wobbled before he could stand, sending him right back onto the bed. Damn it. As he gritted his teeth and gripped the bed rail— He heard voices from the corridor. "[whispers]Hey, do you know that Walküre girl? She comes every day." Two nurses were chatting just outside the door. Souma held his breath, still gripping the rail. "[whispers]Ah, you mean Miss Freyja? Poor thing." "[whispers]I heard her younger sister is locked up in a prison in the Wind Kingdom. That's why she can't refuse the military's work." "[whispers]What… so is singing actually an obligation for her? Maybe she's not doing it because she wants to." The voices faded away. The strength drained from Souma's hands. Still gripping the bed rail, something rewound in his head. The hand extended to him amidst the rubble. Silver hair swaying in the wind. Back then, she had looked like an angel. The terrace seats of Café Nova. Her profile as she gazed at the sea of Ragna. She had seemed a little lonely, but she smiled for him. The voice he heard through the door of the communication room—she would do anything to save her sister. Everything connected. (I see.) (So I was being used.) Something voiceless welled up from the back of his throat. Souma pressed his pillow against his face. He clenched his teeth. The corners of his eyes burned hot. The tears came not because he had been used. It was anger at himself for being drawn to her despite that. If all her smiles had been an act—then what had he thrown himself into the battlefield for? For whose sake had he fallen into that sea? There was no answer. With his face pressed into the pillow, he cried, killing the sound. The sheets grew wet with tears. His back trembled. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth too hard. Only the inorganic electronic beeps of the machines echoed in the hospital room. ―――――――――――――――――――― Early afternoon. The door to the hospital room opened. There was no knock. When he raised his head, standing there was—spiky, bluish-silver hair. Ice-blue eyes emitting a cold light. A small cross-shaped scar on his left cheek. It was Hayate Immelmann. He carried nothing in his hands. No flowers, no get-well gift. He was just standing there. "[cold]So you're alive." He didn't even try to sit in a chair. He stood a little distance from the bed, arms folded, looking down at him. "[cold]Heal up fast and come back. The squad's short on fighting strength." His voice was calm. It sounded like he was worried. But Souma's body remembered. That voice mixed into the comms just before the crash. —Target eliminated. "[whispers]…It was you." His voice was hoarse. Even so, he didn't look away. He stared intently at Hayate's face. Hayate said nothing. He simply turned on his heel. In that instant—a very slight relaxation flickered across his mouth. A faint distortion, impossible to tell if it was a sneer or relief. Souma didn't miss it. (So it's true, after all.) The betrayal was real. This man did it. The crash, the ambush. It was all orchestrated. But right now, Souma had no proof. He had no physical strength either. He couldn't even speak properly. Hayate disappeared into the corridor. The door closed. Silence returned to the hospital room. Souma stared at the ceiling, gritting his teeth. His molars ground audibly. Anger smoldered deep within his body. He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch the wall. But—he didn't even have the strength for that yet. Only the electronic beeps of the machines sounded, regular and rhythmic. Beep, beep. ―――――――――――――――――――― Evening. The time when the sun slanted and dyed the hospital room orange. Souma was still staring at the ceiling. Images came flooding back in his mind. The live combat that day. The moment the Fold Waves reached him on the battlefield. The sensation when Freyja's song resonated deep in his head. That song, at least, wasn't a lie. It wasn't calculated. It wasn't an act meant to deceive someone. It was simply meant to push forward those standing on the battlefield— (That was real.) Using only that conviction as a handhold, Souma slowly sat up. The bandages pulled, sending a sharp pain through the wound on his left shoulder. His ribs creaked, stealing his breath. Even so. He lowered his feet to the floor. The cold feel of linoleum. He placed a hand on the wall and straightened his trembling knees. Clinging to the IV stand, he took a single step forward. The pain blurred his vision white. The floor felt like it was swaying. With every step, his whole body seemed ready to fall apart. Even so. He walked to the window. The sea of Ragna was dyed red by the setting sun. The distant horizon was slowly beginning to swallow the night. Souma placed a hand on the window frame and looked down at the sea. Not for revenge. Not to give in to anger. (I want to protect that song—one more time.) Freyja's face, shining on the battlefield. That radiance alone was a truth more certain than any lie. Souma clenched his fist with a trembling hand. He knew what he had to do next. Get proof of Hayate's betrayal. And find a way to save Freyja's sister. He had to move for that. But—he still didn't know how many people on the base would be willing to hear him out in his current state. His face reflected in the window glass was still pale, the very picture of a sick man. Even so. "[whispers]…It's fine. I can still do this." His catchphrase came out shaky, barely a voice. But it was no longer a lie to deceive himself. Night was about to fall on the sea of Ragna. The hospital room lights turned on automatically, erasing the orange glow outside the window. Souma Kakeru stood alone in that light. In a place where no one could see, quietly gritting his teeth.

日本語

Episode 5

Name: Macross Delta: Pale Shooting Star Sings on the Battlefield
Author: Novelia

What is Novelia?

Novelia is an AI-powered platform where you can create and read original light novels and fan-fiction, and chat with the characters as if they were real. Stories update daily, and you can start reading and creating for free.

Learn more about Novelia →