“You know,” Ulyanovsk said, turning back to the girl, “people tend to do all sorts of things in their sleep…” A plan for a tactical retreat was rapidly forming in the aviation cruiser’s mind.
It was devious and underhanded, sure, but if executed perfectly, it guaranteed his unexpected guest wouldn’t even remember this midnight interdimensional visit.
“And sometimes, the mind conjures up such incredibly realistic images,” the guy murmured with a faint smile, slowly closing the distance to Formidable’s bed.
“That the sleeper confuses them with reality, even after waking up.” The girl watched his movements warily, but couldn’t stifle a yawn, letting out a soft groan and wincing slightly as she did.
“What do you think,” Ulyanovsk stopped right next to the bed, leaning in until he was face-to-face with Formidable.
“Is happening right now?” Staring into the girl’s sleep-hazed brown eyes, the cruiser tried to remember how the male leads in those trashy romance paperbacks handled these situations.
He never thought he’d actually need to rely on the garbage he read out of sheer boredom on deployment.
But bizarre situations required unconventional solutions.
His involuntary conversationalist was clearly losing her battle with exhaustion, giving him hope that this circus would be over soon.
“What are you blabbering about…” Formidable started, but the guy silenced her by pressing a finger to her lips.
“Shh,” Ulyanovsk smirked.
“How else could I possibly be here, if the connection between our worlds was destroyed?
Maybe,” he leaned in closer, whispering right into her ear, “someone just has a very wild imagination?” Gently biting her earlobe, the guy placed his hand on her shoulder and ran his palm down her back.
“Anything is possible here and now,” whispered Ulyanovsk.
His hand moved from her back to her waist and then down toward her hips.
And apparently, she was so exhausted that she actually bought his little performance.
“This is all because of you,” Formidable mumbled sleepily, resting her forehead against the guy’s shoulder.
“You’re supposed to…” Whatever Ulyanovsk was supposed to do, she never finished the thought.
The second the guy’s hand brushed her left side, the girl hissed and recoiled in pain.
His eyes darted from the bandage wrapped around her head, half-hidden by her bangs, to the rest of her body.
Ulyanovsk abruptly grabbed the blanket and yanked it out of her hands.
Hidden beneath a tiny crop top that barely contained her chest, and a pair of extremely short sleep shorts, her body looked like it was halfway through the mummification process.
Her left shin was tightly wrapped from ankle to knee.
A massive rectangular bandage, easily the size of half his palm, was plastered across her forearm, secured with even more gauze.
Ulyanovsk was starting to piece together exactly where the girl had gotten these injuries.
Running his fingers lightly over the thick layer of bandages wrapping Formidable’s torso, he mentally interrogated his tiny saboteur.
‘What exactly did you rig those doors with, and where the hell did you find the explosives?’ [image here] “I told you, this is your fault,” the Kansen poked a finger hard into the guy’s chest the moment he pulled back to assess the damage.
She quickly crossed her left arm over her chest, noticing exactly where his gaze had lingered.
The cruiser just frowned harder, listening to her explain how his wardrobe had apparently been booby-trapped with enough C4 to arm a fleet of suicide boats.
“And how exactly am I the one to blame here?” Ulyanovsk asked, continuing his visual inspection.
“It’s not like I fired a P-700 Granit at you…” “Your helper spirit rigged the wardrobe doors with explosives!” Formidable hissed indignantly, lightly swatting his hand away from her bandages.
“And now my hull is sitting in drydock with a massive breach in the armor plating.” “You shouldn’t have kidnapped military personnel,” the aviation cruiser grumbled back.
But his brain latched onto her mention of a drydock.
“Your hull?” “How else do you expect me to repair this level of structural damage?” the girl snapped sarcastically.
“And please, stop touching me.” “But…
your hull?” Ulyanovsk repeated, recalling Sirius’s stories.
“Did repair gels go out of style over there?” “See for yourself,” the Kansen sighed, waving a hand toward her window.
“Eastern pier.” Peeking out the window, Ulyanovsk spotted the docks in the distance.
Several cruisers were moored there, bustling with activity—welding arcs flashed brightly, and heavy cranes swiveled back and forth.
Looming behind them was the gargantuan silhouette of an aircraft carrier.
Squinting, the guy could make out a smokestack peeled open like a blooming metal flower, and extensive buckling along the flight deck armor.
Glancing back at the girl, who was currently sitting on the bed with her arms crossed, looking thoroughly offended, he started drawing parallels between the carrier’s structural damage and her physical wounds.
He opened the window, extending his arm.
A tiny Su-33 sprite in a recon loadout materialized above his palm and shot into the night sky with a cheerful whine of its jet engines.
“Aren’t you worried they’ll detect that?” Formidable asked, watching the fighter jet streak away with clear interest.
“They won’t have time.
It’s a short flight,” the guy reassured her.
The scout plane reached the drydock in seconds, giving Ulyanovsk a crystal-clear feed of the damage.
It looked like the poor carrier had tried to reenact the final stand of the Musashi, or had eaten a full volley of modern anti-ship missiles.
And they had exclusively targeted her port side.
The bow looked like it had been sliced open by a giant scalpel.
A massive, jagged hole with metal peeled outward yawned near the superstructure.
The stern, conversely, looked like it had been caved inward by a sledgehammer, twisting the rudder blade, though the outer hull miraculously held.
A similar crater dented the flight deck, as if something incredibly heavy had been dropped on it, or a massive airburst had detonated right above it.
Ulyanovsk had seen enough.
He recalled the scout plane.
“Satisfied?” Formidable asked, tilting her chin up proudly.
The cruiser couldn’t find the words to respond.
Sirius had mentioned that local Shipgirls could manifest their full-sized historical counterparts, and Ulyanovsk admitted that had some tactical utility.
But he absolutely could not fathom why anyone would waste the insane amount of time, manpower, and steel required to repair a full-sized warship when it was infinitely easier to just heal the Kansen herself.
“What, did they ground you and refuse to let you take a dip in a repair compound bath as punishment?” “A bath in what?” Formidable frowned.
“If that is a joke, it is in extremely poor taste.” Ulyanovsk stared at the girl.
There wasn’t a hint of deception on her face.
The conclusion was obvious: they didn’t have access to Kanmusu repair gels.
Which painted a very grim picture of their logistical capabilities.
“Excuse me for a second,” he said, stepping toward the girl.
“Don’t you think there are better ways to ask for forgiveness?” Formidable shook her head, quietly lamenting the utter lack of culture among these northern barbarians.
She let out a startled squeak as Ulyanovsk effortlessly—but carefully—scooped her up into his arms.
The guy instantly regretted his decision.
Instead of a petite, light girl, it felt like he had just tried to deadlift a fully loaded Nimitz-class aircraft carrier.
His arms nearly cramped, and it was a miracle his legs didn’t buckle out from under him.
“I can’t stand looking at those bandages anymore,” Ulyanovsk gritted through his teeth, marching toward the wardrobe.
Crossing over to his own side, the guy carefully deposited the stunned girl onto his bed, then immediately beelined for his storage closet.
He returned carrying a small metal lockbox, a standard-issue trauma kit, and several packs of sterile gauze.
“Vestal already bandaged me up,” the British Kansen declared, eyeing the medical supplies he was laying out on the edge of the bed.
“I highly doubt an aviation cruiser is going to do a better job than a dedicated repair ship.” “I don’t doubt that,” Ulyanovsk grunted.
He was fighting with the metal key attached to the side of the lockbox, trying to crack it open according to the printed instructions on the lid.
“But I guarantee your Vestal doesn’t have what’s inside here…” After his third failed attempt to follow the instructions, the aviation cruiser tossed the can-opener aside and simply punched his thumb straight through the metal lid, peeling it back by force.
Inside rested a small, dark-green tube resembling toothpaste, carefully wrapped in a thick, finger-width fabric cord.
“What in the world is that?” the girl asked, nervously watching him free the tube from the cord.
“Repair compound,” Ulyanovsk answered shortly.
Seeing the utter confusion in Formidable’s eyes, he sighed.
He picked up the useless can-opener key that came with the kit.
“Watch my hands,” the guy said.
He deliberately slashed the sharp edge of the key across the back of his own hand.
He didn’t cut deep—mostly just ruined the piece of metal entirely—but a bleeding gash appeared on his skin.
Puncturing the seal of the tube, Ulyanovsk squeezed a dab of thick, greenish gel onto his finger and smeared it across the scratch in one smooth motion.
With a faint sizzle, the bleeding cut knit itself back together instantly, leaving flawless skin behind.
“Now, let me help you,” he said, looking the girl over to decide where to start.
“Is this how Kansen repair themselves in your world?” the girl breathed, utterly shell-shocked, her eyes glued to his healed hand.
“Not exactly.
This is an emergency trauma kit, strictly meant for patching up a ship in the open ocean.
Back at base, we use less concentrated solutions, and we try to avoid using the polymer-steel cord,” he nodded at the thick string in the box.
“It’s way too expensive…
Your arm, please.” Taking Formidable’s left hand, Ulyanovsk carefully peeled off the medical tape.
He had no idea how—or even if—Kanmusu repair gel would interact with a Kansen’s biology, so he decided to test it on a minor wound first.
Even though she had gashes on her head, he purposely saved those for last.
He had once witnessed a Shipgirl get her entire command bridge blown off, only for her to keep fighting like a headless chicken.
It was a gruesome, bloody sight he had zero desire to recreate in his bedroom.
Beneath the tape was a deep, diagonal laceration expertly stitched with surgical thread.
Squeezing some gel onto a sterile gauze pad, the guy gave a warning.
“Tell me immediately if anything feels wrong.” “Like what?” Formidable asked, flinching as the thick, freezing gel touched the edges of her wound.
Ulyanovsk carefully spread the compound in an even layer and waited for the reaction.
“Our girls tolerate polymetallic activated compounds without any issues, but you know…
different world, different rules,” he replied, keeping a clean towel handy just in case he needed to wipe it off.
The greenish liquid, shimmering under the bedroom light, began to foam and soak directly into the wound.
The girl sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, her eyes locked on her forearm.
The surgical thread literally dissolved into nothingness as the flesh knitted itself back together, erasing any trace that the laceration had ever existed.
Pressing a clean gauze pad against the spot, Ulyanovsk gently probed the area.
“How does it feel?” Aside from the skin being slightly warmer than normal, there was no sign of the injury.
“Incredible…” the girl whispered, genuinely stunned.
Yanking her hand out of the aviation cruiser’s grip, Formidable inspected her forearm closely, refusing to believe her own eyes.
She flexed her wrist, confirming that her movements weren’t stiff or restricted like they had been just minutes ago.
The wound itself wasn’t life-threatening—Kanmusu healed from stuff like that overnight naturally—but it certainly didn’t happen in seconds.
“Alright, while I work on your side, why don’t you explain why you guys repair yourselves as full-sized hulls?” “Are you sure that tiny tube has enough for a wound this size?” Formidable looked dubiously at the dark-green container in the guy’s hand.
“This kit has enough juice to regrow an arm ripped off at the elbow,” Ulyanovsk snorted.
“Haven’t tested it myself, but the statistics back it up.
So, if you please,” he patted the edge of the bed invitingly.
“I’m not forcing you.
Your call.” After a brief hesitation, the Kansen shifted to the edge of the mattress, resting her feet on the floor.
Covering her chest with her left arm, she twisted her torso slightly and fixed the guy with a stern glare.
“Try not to betray my trust.” Ulyanovsk just smirked, pulling trauma shears and a biohazard bag from the kit.
He pretended that the girl’s attempt to save face had actually worked, dropping to his knees and getting to work.
“So, about the full-sized hulls,” he brought the conversation back to his burning question.
“Sirius mentioned you use them to mount equipment that wasn’t part of your historical specs.
Even though the physics of that raises a million questions for me, there’s at least a sliver of tactical logic there.
But using it for repairs…” “What is wrong with drydock repairs?” Formidable flinched as the cold metal of the shears touched her back.
“I refuse to believe that whoever created the Shipgirls couldn’t come up with a more cost-effective way to repair them than wasting literal tons of steel patching up massive hull breaches,” Ulyanovsk replied, methodically cutting through the thick layers of bandages.
Formidable stayed silent for a few seconds, chewing on her response.
The only sound in the room was the crunch of gauze between the shears.
“If the damage is minor, Kansen can heal it themselves over time.
However, in my case, two boiler units sustained critical damage.
I had to enter drydock for a full refit.” “Wait, so they’re physically replacing your boilers right now?” Ulyanovsk stopped cutting.
“You mean there are human crews crawling around inside you at this very moment?” “What?!” the girl gasped, trying to twist around to face him.
The guy had to lightly press the blunt tip of the shears against her back to stop her from making sudden movements.
The Kansen quickly caught herself and only turned her head.
“Humans do not perform repairs on Kansen!” Formidable stated indignantly.
“The Manjuu merely transport the raw materials to the hull so the restoration process finishes faster.
The repair protocols handle everything automatically, allowing the Kansen to rebuild the damage herself.” ‘So they do have their own version of fairies, they just use them subconsciously,’ Ulyanovsk interpreted her words in his own way.
“And in combat?” he resumed his cutting.
“In a combat scenario, the damage control protocols engage,” the girl huffed.
“Is it different for you?” “We just slap on this stuff,” the guy tapped the tube of repair gel.
“Or one of its many variations.
With all this talk about ‘protocols’, you sound like a machine…” Carefully peeling back the final layer of gauze, Ulyanovsk got a look at the wound.
The skin on her left side looked like it had been violently sanded away almost down to the ribs, leaving charred, burnt flesh along the edges.
The abdominal cavity had nearly been compromised, but thankfully, there was no organ exposure.
However, his trained eyes immediately noticed that the tissues were already slowly regenerating.
For a normal human, this rate of cellular growth would be considered an aggressive mutation.
According to Ulyanovsk’s mental math, at her current rate of generating biomass, the wound would close completely in about four or five hours.
Native Kanmusu couldn’t boast that kind of natural regeneration without relying on specialized compounds or repair bays.
“I’m going to need you to hold completely still,” he warned her.
“And keep talking about how you guys use your full-sized hulls.
It’ll help distract you from the pain.” Watching the guy unspool a section of the thick polymer cord from the container, Formidable decided to clarify something.
“What is that for?” “What?
The story, or the cord?” “Both.” “First off, standard anesthetics don’t work on Kanmusu.
And this,” he snapped off a small piece of the cord, “is so your body doesn’t cannibalize its own mass trying to rebuild the missing tissue.
Law of conservation of mass and all that.
I know we technically violate physics just by existing, but matter still has to come from somewhere.” Coating one side of the cord heavily in repair gel, Ulyanovsk carefully laid it directly into the open wound, splitting it into two strips.
“Keep talking,” he prompted, tearing off a second piece of cord.
“The Manjuu essentially do the same thing,” Formidable resumed.
“They provide the mass to replace what was lost.
And the Manjuu repair crews can accelerate the process—Ah!” she cried out, trying to arch her back to see what was happening to her side.
“That’s the reaction starting,” Ulyanovsk gently but firmly patted her back, forcing her to sit straight.
The first piece of cord had already dissolved into a greenish, bubbling foam that rapidly coated the damaged flesh.
Just below it, parallel to the first, Ulyanovsk laid down the second strip.
“Summoning the full-sized hull also provides a massive logistical advantage.
It is far more cost-effective for a single Kansen to transport an entire squadron inside her hull than for every ship to burn fuel sailing there under their own power,” Formidable winced as a sharp sting radiated from her side.
But at the same time, she could literally feel her internal bulkheads reforming at terrifying speeds.
She felt her dislodged number six boiler snap back into alignment.
The moment the third piece of the bizarre cord was pressed into her wound, she felt the entirely destroyed number four boiler manifest perfectly back into place.
With every new dose of the compound, the Kansen realized her structural damage was vanishing exponentially faster.
Her engine room systems reported that the steam lines were fully restored.
A few seconds later, the readouts confirmed she could output maximum power to the shafts of three of her geared turbines.
She could go to flank speed right now if she wanted to.
Formidable had never experienced repairs this fast in her life.
“Are you okay?” the aviation cruiser’s concerned voice pulled her back to reality.
“Hmm?” she looked down.
“You suddenly stopped talking and spaced out.” “Forgive me, I was lost in thought.
What did you ask?” “I asked if you guys literally ride inside each other?” Ulyanovsk gave her a very weird look.
Blinking away a sudden wave of lightheadedness and a rising flush of heat, Formidable clarified.
“You could say that,” she nodded.
“There’s actually a solid chunk of common sense in that,” the guy went back to work.
“Excuse me?” the Kansen frowned.
“I’m guessing the designated ‘taxi’ is usually an aircraft carrier or a battleship.
Logistically, that checks out,” he noted.
“But I’d really like to know how you pull it off.” “By utilizing the Wisdom Cubes,” the girl started to shrug, but stopped herself.
Feeling a strange, floaty sensation in her head, she elaborated eagerly.
“Every Kansen is summoned using a specific artifact, a catalyst that contains all the memories and emotions humanity associates with that specific ship.
It’s because of this phenomenon that we’ve been able to summon Kansen of ships that only ever existed on blueprints…” As Formidable babbled on, Ulyanovsk sneakily checked the expiration date on the emergency kit.
It was still good for a few years, but it was having a highly unusual effect on the girl.
It was doing its primary job perfectly—within minutes, the horrifying gash on her side had been replaced by flawless, smooth skin, with only a slightly paler tint outlining where the wound used to be.
But, whether he had used it on himself or read the after-action reports from other ships, Ulyanovsk couldn’t recall a side effect quite like this.
Formidable’s face was flushed pink, and her body radiated a distinct heat, indicating a rising core temperature.
She kept fidgeting, even though she had sat perfectly still at the start of the procedure.
And most noticeably, she was far too eager to share highly classified information.
It reminded him exactly of someone who was lightly intoxicated.
Which shouldn’t be physically possible.
Normal alcohol didn’t work on Kanmusu; getting them drunk required specially brewed concoctions that shared absolutely zero chemical properties with military-grade repair compounds.
Meanwhile, Formidable had drifted into explaining completely esoteric concepts about the interaction between humanity’s collective unconscious and summoning catalysts.
Ulyanovsk filtered through the jargon and latched onto the most important detail: “So the ‘three-day rule’ applies to you guys too?” “Three days?” the girl echoed.
“A Kansen does not retain memories of the last twenty-four hours prior to her sinking.
It mitigates psychological trauma.
What three days are you referring to?” “Our Shipgirls lose the last three days before their death,” Ulyanovsk replied, stowing the remaining cord back into the container and squeezing some gel onto his palm.
“I don’t even know which is worse…” Formidable sighed, lowering her gaze.
“Both are infinitely better than actually remembering your own death.
Which, for a Kanmusu, can happen multiple times in a very short operational window,” Ulyanovsk echoed her sigh, gently rubbing the pale skin on the Kansen’s newly healed side.
A montage of memories flashed behind the guy’s eyes—pages of his life he actively tried to keep buried.
“All done,” he playfully flicked the girl’s waist.
Formidable gingerly touched the spot that had taken the brunt of the exploding wardrobe.
Running her fingers over perfectly smooth skin, she leaned down to inspect the area that, just minutes ago, belonged in a forensic pathology textbook.
“Astonishing,” she whispered in pure disbelief, running both hands over her ribs.
She looked up at the guy.
“It’s impossible!” “You’re sitting on the bed of a carrier spirit whose hull was scrapped seventy-five years ago,” Ulyanovsk offered a crooked smirk.
“Shall we continue?” he asked, tracing a finger over the bandages on her left leg.
Formidable gave him a very strange look.
It instantly reminded the guy of the glare Neptune had given him while pointing a halberd at his face.
Then, in total silence, she turned forward, straightened her back, and extended her left leg toward him.
He found himself noticing, unavoidably, that her top seemed to have become at least one size smaller since the beginning of this session.
The fabric outlined things with a precision that would have caused whiplash injuries and court-martial proceedings if she’d walked through the base like that.
He made a deliberate effort to not think about the two details that the thin, stretched material was failing spectacularly to conceal.
Moving down to the floor, Ulyanovsk dropped to his knees in front of the girl and began unwrapping the bandages.
Compared to the wound on her side, the damage to her leg was superficial—just a few nasty scrapes and a massive bruise covering her entire calf.
That kind of tissue damage only required a topical rub of the gel.
The guy got to work, deliberately ignoring the increasingly heavy breathing coming from above him.
“I think that should do it,” Ulyanovsk nodded in satisfaction, capping the nearly empty tube of gel.
“You can do another pass,” the girl requested, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
She placed her foot on his thigh, put her palm on her own knee, and drew it slowly toward herself, leaving five red lines across the skin.
Following her hand, Ulyanovsk looked up and met the Kansen’s glassy, unnaturally bright brown eyes.
“Please,” she breathed heavily.
The aviation cruiser suddenly felt a very strong urge to consult his first-aid manual on how to resuscitate a patient experiencing chemical delirium.
But the urge vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Instead, he just shook his head and squeezed two more drops of gel onto his palm.
“Don’t make my job harder, okay?” the guy asked, rubbing the repair compound onto both of his hands.
The moment he touched the scratched thigh, she leaned slightly forward and shifted her knees apart, giving him better access.
He finished the scratches quickly and, while the compound was still on his hands, stood and removed the tape from her cheek.
He finished treating the scratches in seconds.
While his hands were still coated in gel, he stood up and peeled the band-aid off her cheek.
He didn’t even need to apply anything—the skin underneath was perfectly healthy.
Wiping off the excess compound, Ulyanovsk removed the bandages from the girl’s head to check for lacerations.
To his surprise, those had healed on their own as well.
“Looks like your native repair protocols handled the rest,” the guy smiled, ruffling the hair on the crown of Formidable’s head.
She smiled back, her eyes narrowing in a very peculiar way.
To Ulyanovsk, her expression looked like a bizarre mix of an Abyssal Hime that had just cornered a suspiciously isolated carrier, and a certain warrant officer ready to sign away his soul the second he spotted a hangover cure.
He was about to step back, but two feminine hands clamped onto his shoulders and pulled him down.
“Is that all?” Formidable asked, pulling her face uncomfortably close to Ulyanovsk’s.
“It’s called an emergency kit for a reason.
Its only job is to keep you floating long enough to reach base and get into the hands of a specialized Kanmusu,” the guy replied.
He really didn’t like the husky, predatory tone of her voice.
Her voice hadn’t changed in volume, but it resonated deeper.
It sent physical vibrations through his chest, making him subconsciously want to hear her keep talking.
“So go see Vestal, since she’s your primary care provider,” Ulyanovsk advised, trying to pry himself loose from the Kansen’s grip.
This felt way too much like the psychic pressure exerted by the ocean when it was blanketed by the Abyssal fog.
When the water turned crimson, purple lightning cracked across the sky, and your mind drifted dangerously close to saying ‘screw it.’ Screw the orders, screw the oath, screw duty.
Just give in to the temptation and take that one, final step over the edge.
He didn’t even register how their positions flipped, suddenly finding himself pinned on his back against the mattress with the girl straddling him.
Though he highly suspected she had used her time-manipulation tricks to get there.
“You know, you are a very strange man,” Formidable giggled, shifting her hips.
“Any other officer would have done everything in his power to be exactly where you are right now.” “Neptune’s reviews paint a pretty clear picture of that,” Ulyanovsk sighed.
“Can we stop this circus?” “I’m afraid not,” the Kansen smiled wickedly.
“It seems that in addition to my external injuries, I have some internal ones as well.
And since you’ve already started rendering first aid…” she leaned down, resting her chest against the guy without breaking eye contact.
“…you are strictly prohibited from stopping.
And you still haven’t conducted a primary physical examination, as you call it…” Her proportions prevented her from getting truly close to his face, so she had to raise herself slightly.
But the moment her lips brushed his, a sharp ‘crack’ echoed in the quiet room, and Formidable went totally limp, her strings cut.
“Yeah, that wasn’t funny,” Ulyanovsk grumbled, shoving the unconscious girl off him.
Shaking out his stinging hand—the one he had just used to karate-chop the Shipgirl in the neck—he got off the bed and looked down at her.
Passed out cold, even with that goofy, intoxicated smile on her face, Formidable was undeniably beautiful.
The aviation cruiser freely admitted that.
But taking advantage of a girl in a chemically altered state who had no idea what she was doing wasn’t just immoral; the mere thought made him feel physically sick.
Picking up his unconscious patient, Ulyanovsk was once again astounded by the sheer, crushing weight of the fragile-looking girl.
Even though, when she was sitting on top of him a minute ago, she hadn’t felt like she was crushing him into the mattress at all.
Quickly carrying Formidable back to her own room and carefully tucking her under the covers, he closed the wardrobe.
Ensuring the portal was fully shut, he delivered a devastating front kick to the IKEA knock-off, instantly reducing the furniture to a pile of splintered particleboard.
“Just in case,” he explained to the cat, responding to the animal’s judgmental stare.
*** [Azur Lane World] Somewhere far away, a pair of brilliant blue eyes snapped open.
Their owner began to look around in sheer panic.
“And what exactly are you doing in my quarters?” “Oh?” the blue-eyed girl let out a questioning gasp, quickly disguising it as a yawn.
“Another vision, yes?” “Yes,” the girl nodded.
“That is no excuse to sleep in my room.
You have your own.
Although, if you tell me where Unmei is…” “One must not use the Gift for selfish purposes,” the blue-eyed girl lectured her companion piously.
“You can preach to me after you stop hiding from Command…
Wait, did you just fall back asleep?”