The sea is shining. The Sagami Bay in spring had clear air, water that sparkled brilliantly, and a pleasant breeze. Shimakaze loved it. She thought it was the best thing in the world—to run across a sea like this. "[excited]Alright, gonna blow past everyone today too!" She spoke aloud to no one in particular. She pushed her rigging to full output. The thrusters mounted on her back and waist whined, and Shimakaze's body skimmed low across the water's surface. Spray scattered. Water splashed beneath her feet. The wind tousled her black short hair into a mess. Fast. Relentlessly fast. Among the sixty-five ship girls assigned to Yokosuka Naval District, none could match Shimakaze's speed. That alone was her pride. Today's mission was patrol reconnaissance of the Sagami Bay patrol zone. A six-person fleet with Sendai as flagship—they'd make a circuit down to the southern end of the bay and return. If no deep-sea abyssals appeared—those mysterious monsters with black-iron armor—then that would be the end of it. If they didn't appear, that is. "All ships, report current position." Sendai's voice came through the earpiece. Calm, clear-toned. The only light cruiser in the group, with long experience as a flagship. "[excited]Shimakaze, forward position! No abnormalities!" She answered immediately. Being at the forward position felt good. Shimakaze was always at the very front. That's how the formation was arranged. Using her speed for reconnaissance and preemptive strikes—that was Shimakaze's role. (Normal weapons don't work on deep-sea abyssals. Missiles, torpedoes—no matter how many you fire, they don't leave a scratch. But spirit-cast rounds from our ship girl rigging are different.) Shimakaze's gaze fell on her own gun turret. When fired, a pale blue light dwelt in the bullets. Only that light could pierce the abyssal's hard armor. Even if scientists spent years researching it, apparently no one understood why. The power of ship girls, the power of ship spirits—that's what they called it. But honestly, the theory didn't matter. (If I move fast and shoot fast, it's all over.) That's what she thought. She'd always thought that. ＊ Shimakaze was the first to see the ripples. Far out on the horizon. A movement that looked like ordinary waves to the naked eye, yet was distinctly different. Deep-sea abyssals well up from the ocean. Not gradually—suddenly, all at once. Those ripples were the precursor. "[serious]Sendai, contact to the south-southeast! Three destroyer-class!" "All ships, assume alert formation——" Sendai's order was cut short. "Too slow! I'll handle them first!" She was already moving. Her body moved before her mind caught up. She pushed her thrusters to maximum output and broke from the formation. Three. Destroyer-class. Small deep-sea abyssals about her own size. Around fifteen meters long—nothing to fear alone. At my speed, I can take them down without getting hit. I always have. She closed in on the first one. Deployed her torpedo tubes. The spirit-cast rounds glowed pale blue. Boom. Direct hit. The pale blue light scattered, and the first abyssal slowly sank into the sea. (Yes!) She didn't stop, just wheeled around. Heading for the second. This one she'd handle with her gun turret. She fired. Missed. Fired again. Hit. The second one sank too. (Two destroyed. One left.) She was about to turn back when— An explosion sounded from behind her. "...Huh?" The third one had exploited the gap Shimakaze left in the formation. It had driven straight at Sendai's flank and was launching a ramming attack at close range. The sound of Sendai's rigging straining came through the radio. "Ugh...left wing, compromised! All ships, emergency evasion!" Her voice had changed. Calm Sendai's voice was panicked for the first time. The remaining two destroyer-class abyssals threaded through the gaps in the broken formation and drove into the rear ships. The voices of evading ship girls overlapped on the radio. "Shimakaze! Get back here, now!" Shimakaze turned around at full speed. She drove off the remaining deep-sea abyssal. She managed to prevent any ship from being sunk. But Sendai—her rigging was completely warped on the right side. She was one step away from being sunk, heavily damaged. Stillness returned to the sea. The remains of the two abyssals Shimakaze had sunk scattered pale blue light as they descended. (We won though.) Shimakaze thought that, watching the wreckage sink. (I took down two properly. So why... why did this happen?) ＊ When they returned to Kamome Pier, someone was waiting. Standing at the edge of the pier, arms crossed, watching the fleet. Short, bluish-black hair, pale gray eyes. White shirt with a Ministry of Defense badge on the jacket. Slender build, tall—around 178 centimeters. Aosawa Reiji. Deputy Commander of Yokosuka Naval District. Operation planning, ship girl training management, logistics coordination. He ran nearly everything at the naval district from behind the scenes, the Admiral's right hand. A young officer who'd graduated from the National Defense Academy, twenty-eight years old. His manner was gentle. But his eyes were sharp. When those eyes looked at you, your spine naturally straightened. Shimakaze thought that's why the other ship girls often took a step back from him. Aosawa glanced briefly at Sendai's rigging. That single glance seemed to tell him everything—his expression shifted by a fraction of a millimeter. "[serious]Shimakaze. Come to the command building." That was all. The other ship girls naturally put distance between themselves and Shimakaze. ＊ The hallway of the command building, "Misaki Hall," echoed with footsteps. Aosawa walked slowly. Shimakaze followed behind him. Between them stretched a silence where no one said anything. Aosawa stopped in the middle of the hallway. Without turning around, he spoke in a quiet voice. "[serious]Naval District Ordinance Article 14. Unauthorized independent action. First offense—combat suspension, seven days." Something in Shimakaze's chest contracted sharply. "[serious]Ship girls are military personnel. The breakdown of the flagship's chain of command resulted in Sendai's condition today." "[angry]But if I hadn't moved first——" She started to protest. But Aosawa continued without turning around. "[serious]If you believe that moving fast solves everything, then today's outcome is already your answer." The words died. That's wrong, she thought. But she couldn't quite articulate what was wrong or how. Shimakaze opened her mouth but couldn't close it, couldn't speak. Aosawa simply walked on. ＊ Walking back down the hallway alone, she heard voices from the direction of the cafeteria, "Mamiya." A few ship girls had come out into the hallway. When they saw Shimakaze's face, their eyes shifted slightly away. But she heard their voices. "Oh, I heard Shimakaze messed up again." "Sendai went to the repair dock, I guess." Shimakaze didn't stop walking. It felt like stopping would be losing, so she kept going. Nuruma's hot spring—that's what they called the repair dock. Where damaged ship girls soaked in restoration fluid to have their rigging and bodies repaired. That Sendai was soaking in it today was Shimakaze's fault. She understood that clearly enough. She burst into the dormitory and slammed the door. ＊ Second floor corner room of Harukaze Dormitory. Shimakaze's room wasn't very large. A six-mat Western-style room with two beds. But now only one was in use. Her former roommate had been transferred to another naval district half a year ago. The empty bed remained unpacked, somehow left as it was. A time-record chart was pinned to the wall. A sheet where Shimakaze had written down her own measured times, the numbers shrinking as you went up—a record of getting faster. That was the only properly maintained thing in this room. Shimakaze threw herself onto the bed. "[angry]I'm the fastest! I took down two of them properly! So why do I have to get yelled at!" She shouted and kicked at the blanket. Kicked it again and again. She stared up at the ceiling. White ceiling. Empty ceiling. (Why. Why doesn't anyone understand?) Because moving fast had to be right. If she'd waited for Sendai's orders like that, it would've taken longer. Because Shimakaze moved first, she'd taken down two. That was a fact. But Sendai was heavily damaged. (That's also a fact.) Her chest felt unsettled. Every time she tried to construct an excuse, that unease seemed to grow larger. She closed her eyes. Remembered something from long ago. In elementary school, Shimakaze's mouth was fast. Whatever she thought came right out. She'd made friends angry several times that way. She hadn't meant it as an insult, but she'd said unnecessary things. She should've stayed quiet. She'd said things that didn't need saying. No matter how many times she apologized, people looked at her like, why did you say that? When she was running, it was different. When running, she didn't have to talk to anyone. If she faced forward, she wouldn't collide with anything. The faster she went, the less anyone could catch up. She wouldn't hurt anyone. No one could hurt her. That's why she'd come to love speed. Speed alone became Shimakaze's pride. Speed was all she needed. If she moved fast enough, everything would work out. Speed was justice. She'd believed that her whole life. "...Why isn't speed enough?" She whispered it, then kicked the blanket again. This time she put too much force into it. With a thud, her body fell off the bed. "...Ow." She lay on the floor for a while, unable to move. Her elbow was a little red. Even though no one was watching, somehow she felt embarrassed, and Shimakaze curled up small. Outside the hallway, she heard someone passing by, talking. They were discussing Friday curry at the cafeteria. Today was Friday, then, Shimakaze thought vaguely. Every Friday was curry day. A custom inherited from naval tradition at the naval district—the curry at the cafeteria "Mamiya" was really delicious. Normally she'd definitely go eat some. Not today, she thought. She didn't want to walk through that hallway. ＊ Misaki Hall, Third Floor, Deputy Commander's Office. Aosawa Reiji faced his terminal. On his desk lay several volumes of fleet action records. Today's patrol mission logs, Sendai's damage report, Shimakaze's disciplinary record. And one envelope, still unopened. The envelope's cover bore a "CLASSIFIED" stamp. Aosawa entered Shimakaze's disciplinary information into the terminal while speaking to himself. "[cold]That girl charged ahead again on speed alone. I knew it would happen." His expression was bitter. Not angry. Something closer to tired. He reviewed the disciplinary content. First offense, seven-day combat suspension. Standard per naval district ordinance. A ship girl breaking the flagship's chain of command was one of the most serious violations the naval district dealt with. A second offense meant a month's suspension and demotion. A third meant possible discharge. (Shimakaze doesn't understand yet. Not yet.) Aosawa finished the entry and closed the file. Then he opened a different window. Text appeared on the screen. "Southern Deep-Sea Domain Large-Scale Operation—Participating Ship Girl Selection List (Provisional)" At the top of the list. "Supreme Flagship: Yamato" Aosawa's hand stopped. One second. Just one second, looking at that name. But that second felt a little long. He closed the monitor. He looked once toward Tokyo Bay out the window, then reached for another document. His face was different from when he'd spoken to Shimakaze in the hallway. Not the face of a calm disciplinarian. Beneath the severity was the face of someone worried about something. From down the hallway, a faint sound of wind drifted in. The cold wind of a spring night.