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 - The Trap Star, the Day Everything Collapses
Three hours before launch.
The bridge of the flagship *Brünhild* was wrapped in an uncharacteristic silence.
The air was taut, stretched to its limit.
"Major Krüger, final confirmation of fleet formation data."
His golden hair swaying, Reinhard turned. His azure eyes pierced the newly appointed adjutant responsible for rear support.
Krüger bowed once and operated his terminal. His fingertips were faintly damp with sweat.
Kirchheis watched the scene from a corner of the bridge. The deep green eyes beneath his crimson hair narrowed.
Just days ago, his trusted adjutant, Rear Admiral Mayer, had departed the fleet on emergency transfer. Assigned to fill that void was this man—Major Krüger von Klein. Recommended by the Personnel Bureau, his record was said to be impeccable.
But—
(*His eye movements are strange.*)
Kirchheis murmured deep in his chest. Every time Krüger read out data, his gaze flickered for an instant in an impossible direction. As if probing for something.
He had no proof. But since the last assassination attempt, Kirchheis's wariness had been honed far sharper than before.
"...Lord Reinhard."
Kirchheis took half a step forward.
But at that moment—
"L-Launch preparations, complete!!"
A young operator soldier shouted, his voice strained with tension. The angle of his salute was clearly wrong.
"...Ah, I-I'm sorry! One more time!!"
He tried again. This time, his momentum was too much, and his right hand trembled. The atmosphere on the bridge loosened for just an instant.
Kirchheis quietly walked over and whispered softly.
"It's all right. One salute is enough. Take a deep breath."
The operator soldier turned red to the tips of his ears and nodded rapidly.
Reinhard glanced at the scene, the corner of his mouth twisting slightly. It was an expression close to a wry smile.
"Very well. Relay to all ships. We will now invade the Leutenberg star system. All hands, battle stations."
The hull of the *Brünhild* turned, resonating with a deep bass rumble.
Kirchheis could say nothing. He had no choice but to lock away his suspicions about Krüger inside his chest.
At that moment, Kirchheis unconsciously adjusted the left cuff of his military uniform.
The wound on his left chest throbbed sharply. It still hadn't fully healed. Regenerative medicine had closed the wound, but the nerves inside were screaming.
(*...I'm fine.*)
Kirchheis told himself.
Twenty minutes into the battle.
On the bridge's main monitor, a swarm of light points spread out. It was a tactical map of thousands of ships, friend and foe, entangled in chaos.
"Right wing, advance as planned. Encircle and annihilate the enemy."
But in the next instant, the light points on the monitor moved in an impossible way.
The Alliance fleet, which should have been encircled, took evasive action beforehand, as if they knew their strategy perfectly.
The enemy line of battle slipped smoothly around the flank of the right wing.
"What...?"
Someone gasped.
Reinhard's eyes narrowed coldly.
"Change formation. All ships, shift to Delta Formation. Hurry."
The order flew.
But it was right after that.
At the center of the monitor—twelve Imperial ships positioned at key points in the battle line—suddenly changed direction.
Their gun ports turned toward the allied ships beside them.
A flash.
BOOOOOOM!!
A muffled explosion shook the floor of the bridge. On the monitor, an allied ship was engulfed in flames from within, snapping in two. Its armor peeled away, internal atmosphere gushing into space and freezing in an instant.
"Allied ships are firing on allies!!"
A scream echoed through the bridge.
Reinhard stared at the monitor in silence. All expression had vanished from his face.
Kirchheis moved.
From behind, he seized the arm of Krüger, who was trying to operate something at the communications station.
"...What are you doing."
Krüger's face changed color.
"Let go!! This is combat command—"
Kirchheis didn't answer. He pinned Krüger to the floor. The hidden terminal Krüger had been holding fell to the floor with a metallic clatter.
Kirchheis picked up the terminal. He scrolled through the screen.
"...All operational data. Transmitted externally, several hours ago."
It was a quiet voice.
But that voice pierced the ears of everyone on the bridge like a death sentence.
Reinhard directed his gaze at Krüger for the first time.
"...I see."
Just one word.
He didn't shout. He didn't curse. Just, quietly, *I see*.
That voice trembled faintly.
Everyone on the bridge felt a cold chill crawl down their spines.
CLANG!!
Suddenly, outside the bridge, a tremendous roar echoed, like steel being torn apart.
"Enemy special forces have forcibly docked with small craft!! They're breaking into the ship!!"
Footage from the surveillance cameras appeared on the sub-monitor. Black-clad armed soldiers advanced, seizing control of the corridors. Their movements were efficient, as if they knew the ship's internal layout perfectly.
The escort soldiers fought back, but were shot down one after another.
"Fortify the bridge's defenses!!"
Reinhard's command was in vain; the enemy soldiers were at the bridge's doorstep in the blink of an eye.
BOOOOOOOM!!!
Explosives detonated, and the bridge's thick armored door blew inward.
Amid the smoke and sparks, a man who appeared to be the enemy commander slowly raised his gun.
The muzzle was aimed straight at Reinhard's heart.
Time stopped.
Before he could think, Kirchheis's body moved on its own.
He threw himself in front of Reinhard.
THUD!
A light impact.
A burning pain shot through Kirchheis's left shoulder. The taste of blood spread through his throat.
The floor tilted.
"Kirchheis!!!"
Reinhard's scream.
Enemy soldiers grabbed the fallen Kirchheis by the arm. They forcibly dragged him up and took him toward the exit.
Kirchheis's feet were dragged across the floor, slick with blood.
"This is a gift from Seckwald, you golden-haired brat."
The enemy commander declared with a twisted grin.
As he was dragged along unresisting, Kirchheis looked back at Reinhard just once.
Those deep green eyes were not distorted by pain.
(*...Thank goodness. Lord Reinhard is safe.*)
Those eyes held not pain, but apology.
That his own actions would bind Reinhard's movements. That this was more sorrowful than anything else—those eyes spoke it clearly.
"Kirch—"
Reinhard tried to shout the name, but no voice came out.
His throat seized up, unmoving. His fingertips clawed at the empty air.
The enemy withdrew from the ship.
On the bridge, only the smell of blood and silence remained.
Damage reports came in one after another.
"Sunk, one hundred thirty ships."
"Heavily damaged, two hundred eighty ships."
"Fatalities, estimated over eight thousand..."
The operator soldiers' voices trembled as if they were about to cry. The fleet could no longer continue the battle. Beyond the monitor, the enemy fleet withdrew leisurely.
A recall order arrived from the Imperial Capital via the Ministry of Military Affairs. Command authority suspended.
Reinhard was on his knees on the ruined bridge floor.
With his palm, he gently pressed the traces of blood Kirchheis had shed. Red, and still warm.
No one could call out to him.
After a while, Reinhard stood up. On unsteady legs, he walked to the window overlooking the space outside.
"...Damn it!!"
His fist struck the window glass. A dull sound. The sensation of bones grinding. Once more. This time, blood smeared the glass.
"Everyone... return to the Imperial Capital alive..."
The words of command caught in the back of his throat. He couldn't say anything more.
Reinhard's shoulders trembled faintly.
The fleet was annihilated.
His sister was in a remote border region, unreachable.
Kirchheis had been taken.
The young admiral, twenty years old, had the fact that he could truly do nothing carved into his very being for the first time in his life.
On the return journey to the Imperial Capital.
In the medical section of the *Brünhild*, Reinhard sat alone, his back against the wall.
He hugged his knees and simply stared into the dark universe.
Despair covered his entire body.
Suddenly, he remembered the words Kirchheis had spoken just before he collapsed.
As he was being dragged away, Kirchheis had certainly murmured something quietly.
Those words were not Reinhard's name.
"Data"—that's what it sounded like.
(*Data...?*)
Reinhard repeated the word in his head.
The location of the enemy fortress, whether Kirchheis was alive or dead—everything was shrouded in darkness. But at the very end, Kirchheis had entrusted him not with his own name, but with the word "data."
It was a single thread, fallen into the darkness.
Thin, and seeming ready to snap at any moment.
With only his eyes open, Reinhard continued to stare at the dark universe beyond the glass.
Dawn was still far away.
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