If Kircheis Had Lived: A Legend of Galactic Heroes What-If
In the far future of the galaxy, where massive space battleships fire arrows of light, Reinhard von Müsel was about to lose his best friend, Kircheis, in a cruel conspiracy. But on that fateful day, Kircheis miraculously survived.
'Thank goodness you're alive...!'
Their tearful reunion is short-lived, however. Strange occurrences begin happening around Reinhard. Sinister rumors swirl among the nobles, a huge war begins to shake the galaxy, and worst of all, his sister Annerose might be the tar
If Kircheis Had Lived: A Legend of Galactic Heroes What-If - A Promise Under the Stars, a Creeping Shadow
The office aboard the fleet flagship *Brünhild* had been steeped in a heavy, oppressive silence for a week now, ever since the supply seizure.
Reinhard traced his cold blue eyes over the document data on his terminal, one page at a time. These were internal approval documents he had obtained through unofficial channels from the Imperial Supply Bureau. Beside him, Kircheis was examining documents in the same manner. The young man with crimson hair wore his usual gentle expression, but every so often, he shifted slightly, as if protecting his left chest. The gunshot wound had likely not yet fully healed.
Reinhard knew that Kircheis was here despite that pain. But he did not mention it.
"...Found it."
Reinhard's finger stopped. On the screen was the seizure order. At its end, an approval seal had been stamped.
"Count Fischer's household, private legal officer: Wilhelm Kreutzer."
Kircheis looked up.
"Under the Seekwalde Faction Alliance, then. The Count is a distant relative of Duke Krausewitz."
"Hmph. So it *is* that lot."
Reinhard gave a short, derisive snort. The Seekwalde Faction Alliance. A grand conservative coalition of thirty prestigious noble houses. Its leader, Duke Krausewitz, commanded eight thousand private warships and was the faction within the Empire most hostile to Reinhard's rise.
The recent assassination attempt on Kircheis—that shooting involving the Dirkschneider Secret Intelligence Bureau—undoubtedly had the Faction Alliance's hand behind it as well.
"Still, this alone is weak for a formal accusation. A private legal officer's seal can be explained away as 'part of routine clerical procedure.'"
Kircheis nodded slightly.
"Yes. But we must properly thank the non-commissioned officer who brought us these documents."
At those words, Reinhard's expression softened just a little. The NCO from accounting—a young man who had cooperated, fully aware of the risks of unofficially removing documents.
A short while later, that NCO was summoned to the office. He was a young soldier, barely past twenty, with prominent freckles. He stood before Reinhard, his fingertips trembling with nervousness.
"You did well. I have received the materials."
"Y-Yes, sir! I am honored to have been of service, High Admiral!"
"...Thank you."
When Reinhard said that with uncharacteristic directness, the NCO looked blank for a moment. Then, his face rapidly turned red. Even the tips of his ears were bright crimson.
"P-Please, don't mention it! For someone like me to be thanked by the High Admiral...!"
"Without your cooperation, we would not have obtained these documents. That is a fact."
The NCO stood rigidly at attention, his face showing he had no idea what to say. Kircheis chuckled softly.
"You don't need to be so nervous. Lord Reinhard is someone who properly acknowledges the work of others."
Reinhard turned slightly to the side and muttered, "...Don't say unnecessary things." His voice lacked its usual cold severity.
---
That evening, Kircheis sat alone in the ship's communications room, facing a terminal.
Scrolling through an old roster of the Imperial Supply Bureau, he located a certain name. Karl Haase. A classmate from their officer academy days, now an NCO working in the Supply Bureau. Kircheis knew him to be a trustworthy man.
A sharp pain throbbed in his left chest.
Kircheis frowned and unconsciously placed his hand over the wound. Regenerative medicine had closed the injury, but the nerves still needed time to recover. The doctor had told him, "Don't push yourself for a while."
But with Reinhard facing a crisis, he had no leisure to worry about his own body.
He sent a secure communication to Haase.
A reply came immediately. Haase had accepted Kircheis's request—to investigate the background connections behind the supply seizure. More than that, he provided information he had already been gathering independently.
Reading its contents, Kircheis's gentle eyes narrowed sharply.
"...This is..."
---
An hour later, when Kircheis returned to the office, his face lacked its usual warm smile.
That alone told Reinhard the information was grave.
"Report."
"Over the past three years, seven young flag officers have had their logistics cut off and been brought down by the exact same method."
Kircheis turned his terminal screen toward Reinhard. Displayed there was the information Haase had sent, lined up in detail. Dates, the names of the targeted flag officers, lists of the intercepted supplies, and—what became of them afterward.
Reassignment to obscure posts. Dismissal. Death in battle—likely the result of support being intentionally severed.
"All of them, like us, were rising powers with no ties to the established factions."
"Yes. Meaning this is not an improvised act of harassment. It is a systematized, manualized method of strangulation."
Reinhard's fingers gripped the edge of the desk tightly.
*By the manual, huh.*
Then the next step should be an attempt to dismantle the fleet itself. After cutting off supplies and cornering them with material shortages, they would decree a fleet reorganization citing 'problems with combat sustainment capability.' If that happened, Reinhard would become an admiral without a single fleet—a High Admiral in name only.
"You've done well to investigate this, Kircheis."
"No, the one who helped was Haase. He... risked his life to leak this information."
Kircheis's voice sank just a little at the end. He felt guilt for having put Haase in danger. Not wanting Reinhard to realize it, he immediately put on his usual smile. But Reinhard did not miss the small shadow lurking behind that smile.
---
Late at night—
The bridge of the flagship *Brünhild* was empty.
All the other officers were either on break or taking naps; the operator stations were unmanned. The lights were dimmed, and the entire bridge floated in the faint, bluish glow of emergency lighting. Only the countless stars shone coldly beyond the massive forward window.
Reinhard sat alone in the command chair.
Leaning back deeply, he simply gazed at the stars. His jet-black uniform melted into the darkness, and only his blazing golden hair floated faintly, catching the starlight.
Quiet footsteps approached.
"I knew you'd be here."
Kircheis stood there holding two mugs. Steam rose from them, carrying a faint scent of tea.
"Darjeeling. Unfortunately, the Assam hasn't arrived yet."
"...I don't care about the type, as long as you brewed it."
Reinhard accepted the mug. He took a sip and let out a small breath. Kircheis stood beside him, keeping a slight distance. The starfield beyond the glass stretched out endlessly before them.
For a while, neither spoke.
Only the faint hum of the ship's drive systems resonated lowly.
"Kircheis, do you remember?"
Reinhard suddenly spoke.
"Back then—when we used to climb onto the rooftops in the capital and gaze at the night sky."
Kircheis looked slightly surprised, then smiled.
"I remember. You always used to say, while looking at the stars, 'Someday, let's make all those stars ours.'"
"Yeah."
Reinhard's lips relaxed just a little. It was not the face of an admiral, but the face of the boy from those childhood days.
"Back then, we had nothing. My sister had been taken away. No status, no money. But the night sky—we could see that from anywhere."
"Now, you are a High Admiral. You have a fleet, and a flagship."
"But we learned today, didn't we? Those seven flag officers who were brought down—they once had fleets too. Authority, status. And yet, they had everything taken from them with a single stamp on a document."
Reinhard's voice was calm, but beneath it lay suppressed fury.
"What we have now is ultimately the same. If they get serious, they can take it away at any time."
"Lord Reinhard."
Kircheis spoke quietly.
"Even so, we have come much further than we were back then. At the very least, the two of us are still standing here together."
Reinhard looked at Kircheis's face. Crimson hair. Gentle green eyes. Despite having nearly died in an assassination attempt, this man's kindness had not changed at all.
"...You really haven't changed a bit since those days."
"Do you think so?"
"You haven't."
Reinhard looked up at the stars, slightly embarrassed.
"That's why I can keep moving forward. As long as you're by my side—no matter how much they cut our supplies, no matter how much they tighten the noose with their schemes—I'll show them."
"We'll make the galaxy ours."
In that voice, the passion of the boy who had gazed up at the stars from that rooftop lived on, unchanged.
Kircheis nodded deeply, then quietly raised his own mug.
"...Until that time, I will be by your side."
The small *clink* of the mugs touching echoed through the quiet bridge.
It was a sound far too modest to call a toast.
But that sound was a promise between the two of them, more certain than anything else in the galaxy.
---
The next morning—
Reinhard entered his office earlier than usual.
The starry sky of the previous night and his conversation with Kircheis still lingered warmly in his chest. But the moment he activated his terminal, his expression changed.
The incoming emergency communication light was flashing red.
The sender was the Imperial Rear Palace. The encryption level was private—meaning it was not official military correspondence.
Reinhard's finger trembled for just an instant.
He opened it.
The sender was his sister Annerose's lady-in-waiting.
As he read through the contents, the color drained from Reinhard's face. It went beyond pale, becoming as white as a corpse.
At that same moment, Kircheis was walking through the ship's corridors. Having finished the morning inspection, he was heading to the office to report to Reinhard.
When he stood before the door, he noticed there was not a single sound coming from inside.
Normally, one would at least hear the tapping of a terminal or the rustling of documents.
"Lord Reinhard, good morning."
After knocking, he called out.
No reply.
Kircheis waited a moment, then quietly opened the door.
An eerie stillness filled the office.
Reinhard sat in the command chair, staring at the terminal screen, utterly motionless. In his hand, he clutched a single communication, trembling faintly.
"...What happened?"
Reinhard did not answer.
Kircheis approached and gently took the message from his hand. Then, as he read its contents, his own expression changed.
—*A trace amount of a neurotoxin was mixed into Lady Annerose's dinner.*
—*I noticed a foreign substance at the bottom of the cup beforehand, so it did not enter her mouth.*
—*However, I have absolutely no idea who orchestrated this.*
—*I am too frightened to report it to the palace guards.*
"It can't be..."
Reinhard's lips moved faintly.
"It's my fault."
"Lord Reinhard."
"Because I stood out too much, they targeted my sister Annerose. Since they realized they couldn't crush my fleet, this time they went after my sister—"
His voice was trembling.
The twenty-year-old admiral who always wore a mask of cold composure now wore the face of a mere younger brother. In the face of the fact that his beloved sister had been exposed to a concrete danger of poison, his charisma and his tactics were utterly powerless.
"It's not your fault."
Kircheis spoke in a firm voice.
"The ones at fault are those who resort to such methods. Besides, her lady-in-waiting noticed. Lady Annerose is still safe."
"But we don't know when they might succeed next time. And I—I can't do anything."
Reinhard's hand clenched tightly. The laws of the Rear Palace—any direct contact from outside was absolutely forbidden. Going to see his sister, making a phone call, even sending a letter—none of it was possible with the authority of a High Admiral.
The enemy had precisely exploited that point.
The power to extend a hand even into the Rear Palace. That meant either the uppermost echelons of th
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