The cooling pipe came into view. The enemy flagship's massive hull bore down, filling the entire viewport. One of the pipes running across its surface—the section where the armor seams grew thin—there. Even a training-grade beam could reach the power core from that point alone. But standard output wouldn't be enough. From inside the cockpit, Seira spoke quietly. "[serious]Overcharge—if we concentrate three times the regulation power output into the beam generator at a single point, it will reach." Kaito held the control stick, pausing for a moment. "...The machine?" "[cold]There is a 73% probability the power systems will burn out." The answer came without hesitation. The numbers were coldly precise. But through the neural link, the emotions flowing from Seira were anything but calm. Fear, trembling hands, no other options—all of it reached him before words could. Kaito let out a small breath. "[laughing]You really do say the most dangerously insane things with a straight face, don't you?" Seira froze in the rear seat. "...Huh?" "[excited]Let's do it." Immediate. Not a shred of hesitation in his voice. Beyond the neural link, Seira went silent for just a moment. Then something reached him through the link—something more direct than words. Gratitude, maybe. But it felt like more than that. Kaito himself couldn't name what he was feeling. "[whispers]...Thank you." Kaito's chest lurched. —No time to think about this. "[serious]Seira, I need you to correct the firing angle!" "[serious]Understood—beginning corrections. I'll send adjustments in 0.05-second intervals. Match them." Alarms screamed through the cockpit. Non-regulation power flooded into the beam generator. The machine's armor groaned and creaked. Gauges turned red. Something smelled like burning. Warning lights blazed to life one after another. "Overload." "Overheat." "Power Exceeded"—every warning filled the screen. Kaito shouted. "[excited]I believe in you!!" Seira's voice trembled as she sent the final correction values. "[crying]Me too!!" The shot fired with everything they had. Light streaked forward. Straight. Unwavering. BOOOOOM!!! The cooling pipe shattered through. A moment of silence—then the chain reaction began inside the enemy flagship. BOOM. BOOOM. BOOOOOOM!!! Collapsing from within. That massive hull swallowed by light from the inside out. Seira tried to report, but her voice caught. "[crying]Confirmed hit...power core chain reaction...enemy forces..." She stopped. Through the neural link, Kaito felt Seira shaking. Crying—her voice made that completely clear. "[gentle]It's okay to cry." "[crying]I am not crying." The response came instantly. But her voice said otherwise. Kaito laughed. Everything was absurd. Everything was perfect. The remaining black-armored enemy units lost formation the moment the flagship fell, scattering into the void of space in retreat. Ryo's voice burst through the comm window. "[excited]We did it!! You two are the best!!" But before Kaito could even finish hearing it—the Regnos Mk-IV's systems died as if surrendering. The engine cut out. Every gauge went dark. With zero thrust, the machine began drifting slowly on inertia alone. Gravity vanished. Kaito and Seira's bodies floated weightlessly upward. Only the emergency lights remained in the darkened cockpit. A small orange glow. Unreliable. It was all that illuminated them. The neural link—still barely connected. Their emotions mixed quietly together. Exhaustion. Relief. And then—the desire to be near each other, flowing from both of them in the same shape. From Kaito. From Seira. Simultaneously. Space was silent. All the sounds of battle had faded, leaving only darkness and the two of them drifting alone. Their bodies drifted closer. Not intentional—just gravity's absence. Natural. Their helmet visors came within touching distance. Gray, single-lidded eyes looked back at him. Sweat-dampened hair clung to her forehead. Tear tracks were drying inside her helmet. Kaito figured he probably looked the same. His cheeks felt hot. Dimples formed without permission. They both smiled. Not the smile from before the finals at summer camp. Not the one from the day they'd screamed about a 23% sync rate being the worst combination. This was different—a smile that said: we're alive. Kaito slowly reached out. Through his glove, he took Seira's hand. Seira didn't pull away. The emergency monitor cast faint numbers across the screen. Sync rate: 93. Kaito saw the number and paused. "[surprised]...Hey, this is..." Seira's face held a hint of pride—even through the helmet, he could somehow tell—and she answered first. "[serious]A record update across all data from the past 50 years." Kaito looked up at the ceiling. "[laughing]We're gonna get chewed out for this..." "[laughing]...Yes, we will." They said it at exactly the same moment. Perfect synchronization. It was funny. They laughed again. They drifted through space hand in hand until the Federation rescue ship arrived. Neither said anything else. There was no need. --- Days later, the graduation ceremony was held at Central Academy. The ceremonial hall was packed with students in dress uniforms. Earth hung beyond the windows—blue, round, smaller than expected. Kaito and Seira walked side by side down the corridor. The dress uniform felt tight. Kaito kept tugging at his collar. He said quietly. "[gentle]We're getting assigned to the front lines. ...We'll stay paired forever, right?" Seira stopped for a moment. Her cheeks flushed. Even her ears turned red. She straightened her posture and opened her mouth. "[serious]...Of course. According to Pair Formation Regulation Article 7, our partnership is—" She stopped. She'd realized it herself. All this time, she'd hidden behind regulations and analysis. Now, in this moment, she was trying to use regulations as a shield for what she really felt—and she saw how ridiculous that was. Two years of solving everything with rules and data, and now she was reaching for a regulation when she knew exactly what she wanted to say. Seira laughed softly. "[gentle]—Yes. Together. Always." This time, she said it in her own words. Kaito's eyes narrowed slightly. "[excited]That's what I wanted to hear. Not the regulations." "[serious]...I'll remember that." Still flushed, but she didn't look away. A short distance down the corridor, Ryo watched the whole thing and looked up at the ceiling. "[sad]Damn it, I lost!!" He clasped his hands behind his head, leaning against the wall. But his expression, despite the frustration, held something almost peaceful. "I guess...I can't compete with those two." He said it quietly. From the heart. "Ryo, who are you confessing to next?" A classmate standing nearby teased him. Ryo straightened up immediately. "[excited]Shut up! I've already got my next strategy planned!!" His wistfulness vanished in an instant, replaced by his usual energy. --- In the midst of the ceremony's noise, Carmilla Lette stood alone. At the edge of the corridor. With her back to the other instructors chatting with students, she stared only at her tablet screen. Her usually sleepy eyes held a different light today. An analysis report had arrived from Federation Intelligence. Composition data of the armor alloy recovered from the destroyed enemy flagship's wreckage. At the end, a single line was appended. —"Manufacturing impossible with known Jupiter-sphere refining technology." Carmilla's finger stopped there. She read one more line. The matter of the training zone Field Zeta's beacon being precisely neutralized. That configuration data existed only in Federation military internal files. There was no way to know it from outside. Which meant— Carmilla set down her tablet. "[whispers]...This is only the beginning." Her whisper reached no one. Down the corridor, Kaito received his deployment orders on a terminal. He looked at the screen and grinned. "[excited]Finally, the real stage! Ark Base Terra, Seventh Mobile Squadron—seriously!?" Beside him, Seira had already opened her terminal. "[serious]Don't get ahead of yourself. We need to start with data collection first. The Seventh Mobile Squadron's past combat records—" "[laughing]Come on, take a break today." "[serious]Since you're being careless, I have to compensate." "That's harsh." Seira kept her eyes on the terminal, but the corner of her mouth lifted slightly. Kaito looked at her profile. Neatly arranged hair. Serious eyebrows. An expression that could seem cold—but now, faintly smiling. A year ago, they'd collided in the hangar corridor. Worst first impression. Sync rate 23. Forced reassignment looming. A night under moonlight when their hands touched. A day that fell apart during suspension. A cockpit where they'd laid everything bare—it all led here. Partner. Friend. Something more. The name for that feeling could wait. But Kaito squeezed his hand in his pocket, remembering the sensation through the glove. That touch from the void. To the front lines of space. Together. For now, that was enough.