The continuation nobody was waiting for!
I lay awake in my cold bed, head violently pulsating as my brain futilely tries to force sleep upon this restless body. Eyes closed, I nevertheless watch as the broken lights fade in and out of existence in a drunken dance without reason or pattern, seemingly taunting me. I contemplate rolling out of bed to drown myself in alcohol, but the desire to not disturb the soft, rhythmic breathing coming from the bunk above me stops me from doing so.
For the first time since she arrived here, Goya sounds to be peacefully sleeping. And whilst the sweet lulls of rest continue to evade me, I think perhaps one night’s sleep may just be enough for the both of us.
My eyelids gently float open and I stare blankly at the wooden frame of the bed above me. The silver moonlight floods the room, painting everything a pale grey and illuminating the fact that I had forgotten to close the curtains after stumbling in. What had I been doing before? I can’t quite remember.
I roll over onto my side, a response that I would attribute to having started to hear a pair of hushed footsteps echoing in the hallway, rather than an attempt to find a more comfortable sleeping position. It’s unusual for people to be wandering the halls at this time, excluding perhaps myself, Goya or perhaps Kanata. Even that light cruiser is unusually quiet these days, although rather than sleeping I do believe she prefers to go out on walks and the like.
The door cautiously creaks open as I’m distracted in my own thoughts, as if ashamed by its own creakiness. Squinting hard enough I manage to bring the nostalgic figure into focus for a short moment before she starts towards the closet.
Struggling out of bed I stumble over to the closest as well, cutting in front of the intruder and haphazardly drawing out a mixture of thick clothing and undergarments before waddling out of the room as quietly as I can.
“Yukikaze,” I quietly say, slowly turning around so that I don’t fall, “You’re largely back in one piece. How was China?”
Slowly closing the door behind her, Yukikaze smiles at me, her hair partially scorched and her usual clothes almost non-existent, tattered and torn.
“It was great!” she chirps, defying my expectations which were largely formed by her lack of clothing. “Some of the girls actually remembered me, so they let me right in!”
Her voice is almost exactly the same as it was four months ago when she first ran away, light as the falling snow yet sharp as her mind, of which her looks do not betray. Above all else, her voice is still as filled with hope as it was the day she left, a trait that fails to show itself in the voices of the other girls; although I think it may have taken on a colour of maturity contradictory to her appearance.
“Why is your gear so messed up then?” I question, handing her the mismatch of clothes I had retrieved earlier, which she gratefully accepts. “You look a little messed up yourself, actually. Must’ve been pretty bad if your hair started to burn off.”
“That happened on the way back. There was this huge bunch of abyssal aircraft off the southern coast,” she says, emphasising the point by childishly spreading her arms wide in the air.
That’s odd. The southern area was supposed to have been cleared a couple of months ago, if my memory is correct.
“Ah, could you fix up my clothes while I borrow the bath?” Yukikaze requests, “I’m not sure, but I think it’ll only take about half an hour or so before all these scratches fade.”
“Of course,” I say, watching as she removes what remains of her clothing before slipping on a white shirt that was mixed in with the pile of clothes I handed her. Picking up the ragged garment, I try to verify whether or not she actually was attacked by aircraft, tracing my finger over the charred fabric edges. Naturally, I can’t tell anything at all from doing this.
“Do you want to join me in the bath as well? You don’t look too well.”
The offer is tempting, but I think I hear someone else downstairs that needs my attention.
“I’m fine. Just a migraine,” I say, failing an attempt at a relaxed smile and consequently making Yukikaze look even more worried. “I’ll grab some painkillers while I’m waiting.”
Yukikaze looks at me unassuredly, tilting her head slightly as if to question my real motives. I smile another smile, although this time it is a natural, tired one. She seems to take this as a sign that I’ll do what she asks, searching briefly for the staircase to the first floor where the communal baths remain before running off in an odd fashion, of which I can only guess is an attempt to combine running and sneaking into a singular bizarre motion.
I return to my room, spending only a few seconds searching my desk drawers for my beloved analgesics, only to be hugely disappointed by my lack of beer and/or water to down it with. I defeatedly trudge off towards the cafeteria.
Gently opening the huge dining hall doors reveals exactly what I expected - Sitting by one of the windows is one of the two new trial admirals, Shimizu Kanata, with a steaming cup filled with some weird kind of tea I don’t recognise again. He seems to have been expecting me too, his quiet gaze following me as I enter the snow white room.
“Hey,” I say under my breath, raising my palm to him but not quite waving. It’s almost that awkward kind of ‘hey’ that you see occasionally in those romance/comedy movies, where the guy comes back to the girl to apologise for something before she runs away in tears, except the genders are swapped and I can’t imagine either of us running away in tears.
He motions for me to come closer in response, silently drawing back a chair for me along the pseudo-linoleum flooring with great practice and an almost comical expertise.
“What’s all that?” he asks when I finally arrive, pointing out the ball of stuff I’m carrying.
“Some damaged gear, as well some acetaminophen I need water for,” I explain, still standing.
He stares back blankly, indicating his confusion as well as a whole other bunch of emotions depending on the situation.
I guess he doesn’t know what acetaminophen is, which is understandable considering how strange a word it is, so I hold out the nearly empty Tylenol packet instead.
“Is that… paracetamol?”
I nod without particularly thinking. He’s not wrong, I suppose…
“I see.”
A man of deep and incredibly insightful replies as always, yep. Terrible at small talk as well talk in general. Not that it particularly bothers me, the company during the sleepless nights is always nice, regardless of how silent they are.
“I’ll get you a cup of water.”
Well that’s unusual. The act itself isn’t unbelievable, but the fact that he actually went through the trouble of announcing it is quite a shocker. Maybe miracles do actually exist.
“Alright then. I’ll just throw these into the pot and come back, so you can just wait here.”
To this, he doesn’t respond. I retract my previous comment, miracles definitely don’t exist.
I quietly enter the large of scrap metal we call the factory, refraining from turning the huge lights on as they would undoubtedly burn my eyes out at this time of night. The moonlight alone is sufficient enough to go through the motions - find pot of ever-boiling steel, dump clothes/gear/fractured pieces of metallic life/etc. into pot, add bucket of pleasant smelling dishwashing liquid into said pot, find something to waste my time on while I wait (preferably something that provides enjoyment, regardless of how hollow or short-lived it may be). It is a mundane routine that I am well acquainted with.
The activity of choice on this occasion is ‘Attempting to Make Meaningful Conversation with Kanata’, shortened to AMMCK(ah-mick), for convenience and mild amusement. Whilst it is indeed a challenging task, in the 9 nights we’ve been together I’ve developed a sort of strategy which revolves around cycling through topics until he reacts.
I take retake my seat at the small table near the window that Kanata has made his temporary abode and down the few remaining painkillers left in the packet.
I haven’t quite pinned down his interests, although conversations about his personal life almost always dead-end and he often takes more interest than he should in the lives of the people around him. He doesn’t seem to remember that no one here really has anything to say about their lives and even less that they want to talk about.
Today, I opt to converse about the intruder within our midst, which is just dramatic for saying I tried to talk about Yukikaze. He doesn’t seem particularly surprised when I bring her up, perhaps having seen her enter whilst staring towards the never ending ocean view outside the cafeteria window.
I talk about how she says she’s on a journey to ‘find herself’, about how she’s dropped by to visit after running away to China for several months, about how she’s going to America next and about how much she’s changed since last time I saw her. About how she used to be even quieter than him, about how I used to spend the long nights with her reading about the new, foreign world we had been reborn into.
Throughout all of this Kanata remains largely unresponsive, doing little besides occasionally sipping his tea as I begin to ramble on about how sometimes I wonder what would happen if I just got up and left one day too, and whether anything actually change if I did. Somewhere along the way I become incredibly fascinated with the faint lines adorning my palms, tracing them as they cut across my hand. It feels a little ticklish, but the simple task of tracing the lines with my index finger is strangely calming.
Palm reading is an activity which I have heard of, and can only imagine involving very little actual palm reading; yet as I stare down at my empty hands I can’t help but think about what every little thing might mean. Does this line mean I’ll be rich? Does this bump mean I’ll fall in love soon? Does this line mean I’ll find happiness at the age of 42, sell everything I own and devote my life to helping the less fortunate?
“Imuya.”
Kanade’s voice wakes me from my search for the meaning of life supposedly hidden away somewhere in my hands. When I look up, he is smiling ever so slightly. The fingertips of his right hand rest in my left, a more than unusual act of skinship.
What the heck is that supposed to mean? This is probably the first time he’s ever initiated any sort of contact between us and definitely one of the very few times I’ve seen him smile.
Maybe I shouldn't be thinking too hard about this.
“I really hope I’m interrupting some sort of midnight rendezvous here.”
The sudden voice from behind me makes me jump slightly. Kanata gently retracts his hand and sinks back into his chair, looking past my shoulder at who I guess to be the now rejuvenated girl. How did I not hear her coming?
“You actually just jumped,” Yukikaze comments, whispering, “Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you guys are dating,” with a face that says she’ll tell everyone within a five mile radius.
“I don't know how you came to the conclusion that we’re dating, but I can tell you that it is one hundred percent the wrong conclusion. Also, it’s already far past midnight.”
“It is really already past midnight? Wow, if you're not just here to keep Imuya company, then what are you doing awake?” she says, looking at the silent Kanata.
“He’s part of the club too.”
Yukikaze stares right back at me with an incredulous look on her face.
“He’s a shipgirl?!”
“He’s not even a girl!”
“Oh.”
“Why do you sound like you didn't realise that?! Look, this isn’t the time to be practicing manzai.”
Just thinking about it makes me feel tired.
“You're right, we should be more concerned with trying to ascertain the status of your relationship with that young man over there.”
“Why…?” I can’t help but press my hand to my forehead in response. “What even made you think we were dating in the first place?”
“Aw, you don’t need to take everything so seriously, Imuya,” she says, patting me on the back. “I was just kidding.”
“...Is that so?”
“Oh yeah, don’t worry about it! I’ll just forget that when I walked in you guys were holding hands and staring longingly into each other’s eyes in the moonlight.”
She doesn’t sound at all like she’ll forget it, but I’ll take that she won’t tell anyone in a way that makes it seem like there is anything more than a platonic relationship between us. Hopefully.
I sigh, rising slowly from my chair.
“Let’s go get your gear. It’s probably fixed by now,” I say, not knowing how much time has actually passed. “I can update your device with the information you need for America while we’re there too.”
Although I’m trying to escape this situation as fast as I can, Yukikaze reminds me I have forgotten something rather basic.
“You’re not gonna introduce us first?”
The fact that I forgot the two don’t even know each other surprises even myself. I cannot imagine Yukikaze staying more than a day though, and having come this far, I somewhat doubt the need of a formal introduction between the two.
“Kanata, this is Yukikaze, who I was talking about before. Yukikaze, this is Kanata Shimizu, one of the two new Admirals currently here on their trial period. Sazanami’s taking care of him.”
Miss Miracle extends a hand to the almost mute man and the pair exchange a handshake.
“It’s nice you meet you, Commander Shimizu.”
Kanata merely nods his head in response, although both parties seem pleased enough with the exchange. The lack of frivolity is oddly jarring, perhaps because I don’t seem to take well to these sorts of formalities as of late.
“Okay!” she chirps, clapping her hands together in satisfaction. “I guess you’ll be needing my Device then.”
Yukikaze gently materialises her electronic brick out of the moonlight, bending and shaping it into its more common rectangular form. She is a lot faster than she was when she left, taking only a few seconds to properly solidify it.
This is one of her unique abilities - whilst all shipgirls naturally store ammunition and fuel within their bodies in an unconscious process, she is the one of only two shipgirls I know who are able to actively control and utilize the ability for non-combat related items.
I work through the positives of what I could do if I had the ability to retain non-combat items inside myself as I update Yukikaze’s device on the factory computer. I spend very little time mulling this over as I rapidly approach the conclusion that I am far too lazy to do the practice required. A submarine like me wasn’t designed to carry much in the first place, anyway.
Standing a few steps behind me is Kanata, staring uninterestedly at the computer screen so as to not bother Yukikaze, who changing her clothes behind us.
“Thanks for all of this, really,” she says, taking off her temporarily borrowed clothes and slipping on her usual shirt-like wear. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
“Don’t worry about it. You can just share some of your enlightenment with me once you reach it,” I joke.
“Yeah…”
Yukikaze’s eyes wander the room, briefly settling on the ever silent Kanata. He continues to stare at the computer, although his gaze seems to sharpen, as if he is focusing on something beyond the screen. She takes a deep breath before firmly setting her gaze upon me, seemingly having made her mind up. Something is off.
“Nothing’s really changed, has it? Everything seems about the same as when I left.”
“There are a couple new ships here and there. It’s just everyone’s asleep right now.”
Yukikaze briskly shakes her head.
“I didn’t mean that. I meant you and Miss Goya. Especially you, you don’t look that happy.”
“There’s nothing to say about us. And this,” I say, motioning to my face, “this is just what my face looks like when somebody wakes me up in the middle of the night.”
“You weren’t asleep though.”
I resignedly sigh. She wants to know too much. I’m fine with being ignored and or hated by most of the ships here, but it’s strange how it’s almost kind of annoying when people actually start talking to you.
“Look, I’m fine, alright?” I say, handing back her device. “At the very least, it’s nothing you should be concerned about. My own problems are no worse than anyone else’s. I have faith that Goya can deal with her own problems. Everything’s perfectly fine.”
“...That’s a lie and you know it. Neither you, nor Miss Goya, nor anyone in this weird asylum will ever move on on their own.”
I pause for a moment, mulling over what kind of response I should give. Silently, I disconnect her Device from the computer and slide it across the table so that it stops next to the exit.
“Don’t try to run away from this,” she says, slowly walking over.
“I’m not running away from anything,” I assert, avoiding turning to face her. “I have an assigned job to do and I plan to faithfully continue that assigned job, unlike some girls.”
“You can’t possibly agree with how your life has been decided for you tho-”
“Nobody cares. We’re weapons. Weapons don’t feel.”
“Then why do you seem so helpless...?”
Yukikaze’s hands gently grasp my shoulders from behind. Despite the cold of the late autumn night, they are still warm.
“Why are you crying?”
There is a long, painful pause before I finally turn to her, feebly slapping aside her hands. For some reason I can’t bring myself to look into her clear, brown eyes.
“Leave. All the information you need is already there,” I say, failing to stop my voice from quivering.
After what feels like a short eternity, Yukikaze picks up her Device and begins to head towards the door, her footsteps echoing in the empty air.
“Imuya… I can’t say for sure why any of us came back. This, I will say though - I’m sure we didn’t come back just to do exactly what we did before and repeat history. We look like humans now because we are humans. You don’t need to force yourself to be I-168. Just... be yourself, Imuya.”
She exits the room, leaving me with only one thought―――
―――Who is “Imuya”…?