Chapter 81

While Keita and Shizuka were discussing the expedition, the four of them—Shōko Iitani, Nana Taguchi, Natsuki Hashimoto, and Mari Ayase, who were in the same unit and thus finished their training at the same time—were conducting their weekly progress check.

“So, how’s it going on your end?”

“Well, what do you mean by that, exactly?”

“Ah. There’s no real change on my end. At most, the frequency of simulator use has increased a bit.”

“Yeah. Natsuki and I have been focusing more on the powered exoskeletons rather than the mechs. Although, as Natsuki said, the frequency of simulator use has increased recently, there’s no dramatic change.”

Indeed, as Ayase mentioned, there was no significant change in the progress of Natsuki Hashimoto and Mari Ayase, who were primarily focused on mastering the powered exoskeletons. If anything, they were just getting used to the size of the additional limbs, but that was something anyone could imagine after a week of training. So, when Natsuki said there was nothing worth mentioning, it wasn’t a lie. Not a lie.

(Ch. This is troublesome.)

Of course, saying something is "not a lie" doesn’t mean it’s the truth.

There must have been some growth, but it was obvious they were hiding it.

...Of course, Shōko, who asked the question, understood this much. She had even anticipated that Natsuki and the others would give such an answer.

After all, even within the same unit, they had different backgrounds, so they needed to classify what should be kept confidential and what should be disclosed. Moreover, they were dealing with military secrets related to the latest weapons.

Naturally, the information each of them held was extremely valuable, and disclosing it carelessly could cause problems.

Therefore, it was only natural for them to try to keep information confidential, even from those in the same unit. (Of course, concealing information from their superiors, Keita and Shizuka, was not allowed.)

However, given that they were part of a unit with the word "training" in its name, the military wanted them to eventually be able to train others.

Thus, the military did not stop the members of the training unit, like Shōko, from sharing and exchanging information to some extent. In fact, for this unit, it could be said that such sharing was encouraged.

After all, if each person kept their information secret, the differences in their proficiency levels could become too large, or they could drag each other down, resulting in none of the four reaching the necessary minimum level. In that case, the purpose of assigning promising talents from each division to the newly established training battalion would be lost.

Given these circumstances, the military believed it was better to promote growth by encouraging the sharing of information, and this was communicated to Shōko and the others.

—By the way, the main reason the military did not instruct them to keep information confidential was that they understood that the information the girls would obtain would never reach the level of information held by Keita, who was appointed as the unit commander... However, to avoid hurting the self-esteem of these young girls, this matter was known only to some officers through an unspoken agreement.

Leaving aside the exceptional and abnormal individual who continued to advance alone at an unprecedented pace...

Among the girls, there was a sense that it would be unwise to disclose all the information they had just because the military allowed it.

While not alchemy, the basic principle of things is equivalent exchange. Therefore, they believed that the information they held should be disclosed or exchanged according to its value.

Shōko, too, usually provided various pieces of information that were somewhat obscured, based on the same idea, and she had intended to do the same today.

—Until she was informed by Masahiro Saikō that they would be going on the expedition after the training ended.

“Enough of that. I’m not in the mood for this. If you keep making pointless small talk, I won’t give you my information.”

“Oh?”

“Hm?”

“...Is something wrong?”

Nana and the others were puzzled by Shōko’s bad mood and her lack of effort to hide it.

(They don’t know, huh?)

Seeing their reactions, Shōko concluded that "they don’t seem to know that we’re going on the expedition."

If they had known, they wouldn’t have had the time for their usual routine of word games before exchanging information.

(The question is why they don’t know. No, why did Saikō Heavy Industries tell me this information?)

According to Saikō, going on the expedition was already a decided matter. Moreover, the ones who submitted the proposal were the maintenance crew responsible for Nana’s and the others’ mechs. They were the most directly involved, so it was impossible for them not to have the information.

If that was the case, it was strange that Nana and the others hadn’t been informed.

(What’s the difference between me and them? The mechs we ride? The companies that maintain them? The divisions we belong to? Our proficiency levels? ...Ah.)

At that point, Shōko hit upon a possibility.

(Are their proficiency levels below expectations? Did they avoid giving them the information about the expedition to avoid putting pressure on them?)

Indeed, while Shōko could now perform [shooting training] to some extent, Nana, and even the commander, Shizuka, couldn’t perform [shooting] satisfactorily as of a week ago.

This was unexpected by the maintenance crew who had submitted the proposal.

The cultural festival, which triggered this, took place in mid-October. The upper echelons decided on the expedition and the establishment of the training battalion in late October. The expedition was scheduled to take place from late December to early January.

Considering this, the period during which Shōko and the others could train was roughly one to one and a half months, excluding the time needed for the mass-production model deployment and other preparations.

Normally, it takes some time for a proposal to be approved. Specifically, at least a month, and even with a lot of effort, about half a month.

However, this proposal was not a bad one for the first division’s upper echelons, who wanted an escort, the expeditionary force, who wanted to see the new models, and the people who wanted the training battalion—more specifically, Keita—to gain experience. Therefore, it was approved in about half a month, which was almost the fastest possible time.

This means that the maintenance crew, who were dispatched by the zaibatsu-affiliated companies, submitted the proposal more than half a month ago.

However, even at that time, Nana and Shizuka couldn’t perform [shooting] satisfactorily, as is evident from the current situation. The maintenance crew, however, had planned based on the assumption that Nana and the others would improve.

The worst-case scenario they had in mind was the data from the mass-production models, specifically the third division’s pilots.

Even they, after about two months of training, could perform shooting to a level sufficient for combat.

Unlike a few months ago when everything was trial and error, they now had a simple manual.

They also had data from using the mass-production models to defeat the demons.

Moreover, they were training not the third division’s dropouts but the most promising talents from each division, who were expected to lead their respective divisions in the future. Not to mention, they had an exceptional individual who could perform the ideal movements right next to them.

Given these favorable conditions, it was not unreasonable for the maintenance crew to be optimistic that they could make it in time for the expedition.

However, reality was cruel.

The third division’s pilots, who were now looked down upon by everyone, were still excellent enough to be entrusted with the division’s revival, even if they were inferior to the experienced and skilled pilots who had died on the front lines.

It was only because these excellent individuals trained with all their might, to the point of blood and sweat, that they were able to perform artillery fire with the same precision as the other divisions during the second major offensive.

The maintenance crew’s optimistic assumptions and the premature start based on those assumptions led to a situation where they would be sent to the front lines with mechs that couldn’t even perform shooting, which was nothing short of a death sentence.

While it was their own fault, the despair the maintenance crew felt was immense.

To make matters worse, they had to explain the situation to Nana and the others, who were now involved due to the approval of the proposal.

The problem here was the position of the recipients, Nana and the others.

They were not ordinary soldiers or civilians without any backing. They were purebred young ladies from prestigious families, recognized as the future of their respective divisions.

What would happen if they were told the truth about the situation?

At best, they might be told, "If you want to die, go ahead." But that wouldn’t happen. First, the companies they belonged to and their families would protest, saying, "You’re trying to kill our children."

The first division’s upper echelons, who approved their participation, the expeditionary force, who agreed to accept them, and even the commander, Shizuka, who couldn’t perform shooting properly, would not have expected such an inexperienced unit to volunteer for the expedition. The people who submitted the proposal and their superiors would be questioned.

—In fact, when Shizuka told the overall commander, Asaka, about the battalion’s proficiency level, Asaka reportedly held her head in her hands, saying, "Why would they submit a proposal for such an inexperienced unit to participate?"

Despite this, Asaka ultimately approved the participation of the training battalion because the groundwork had already been done, and because of Keita’s presence and Shōko’s ability to perform [shooting].

At the very least, two of them were usable, and ideally, they hoped Shizuka and Nana would improve.

Asaka decided to accept the situation as it was.

Of course, the people who had agreed to the groundwork without sufficient information and the companies that had submitted the irresponsible proposal would be punished.

Would the zaibatsu-affiliated companies protect the maintenance crew, who had received protests and penalties? Of course not. They would be abandoned and made to bear all the responsibility.

Or, more likely, they would die on the front lines.

Either way, it was a death sentence. The only way to change this bleak future was for Nana and the others to improve before the expedition.

While it was currently impossible, if they could at least perform [shooting] and defeat the demons at the expedition site, they could claim that they had based their proposal on the assumption that the girls would improve.

Of course, they would still be punished for the irresponsible proposal.

However, the experience of maintaining mechs that had seen combat would undoubtedly protect them.

Once they reached this conclusion, the rest was simple.

They decided to have Nana and the others train with all their might without giving them any unnecessary information.

This was evident from their serious approach, as they had Nana, who was the main pilot of the mass-production model, and Natsuki and Mari, who were primarily focused on the powered exoskeletons, use the mass-production model simulators to improve their proficiency as much as possible.

(100% self-preservation.)

The maintenance crew were putting their all into training and maintenance because their careers were on the line. Shōko understood this, but she couldn’t accept that her classmates and, by extension, her own life, were being put at risk for their self-preservation.

“...What’s going on?”

“Well...”

“Trouble, maybe?”

(This lack of tension. Yes, I should provide the information I have first.)

The lives of her comrades were at stake. Shōko, who understood this—of course, Nana and the others also understood, but they were unaware that they were going to the battlefield—had no room for hesitation.

“Listen carefully.”

“???”

“We’re going to accompany the first division on the expedition.”

“???”

“The departure is scheduled for the end of this month.”

“???”

“From now on, you need to train with the determination to die. If you don’t... you will die.”

“???”

“This isn’t a joke, a dream, or an anime. It’s reality.”

“Haaaaaaa!?”

On that day, the girls, who were confronted with the harsh reality, reportedly let out various kinds of un-ladylike curses, or so it was said. It seemed that various unexpected events had occurred.

Thank you for reading.