Hearing Sirius’s apology, the cruiser couldn’t help but recall the absolute disaster zone his room had been just minutes prior.
“Yeah, you can’t fake that kind of chaos on purpose,” Ulyanovsk nodded.
He bent down and picked up the glass of water that had somehow survived the hostage rescue operation with the stockings.
It had gone cold by now.
“Excuse me,” the girl eyed the liquid suspiciously.
“What’s in there?” “Just boiled water,” the cruiser said, giving the glass a slight shake.
“If you were what I thought you were when I first saw you, you’d be gagging at the mere sight of it.
No amount of training suppresses an Abyssal’s disgust for purified water.” He brushed past her bewildered look.
“Let’s put your clothes away, and I’ll give you a tour of the house.” Sirius looked at the wide-open wardrobe, then at her neatly folded pile of clothes.
“But what if the portal opens while we aren’t looking?” “Magic is shy,” Ulyanovsk stated matter-of-factly.
“I doubt this portal is going to do its thing while the doors are wide open and we’re staring right at it.
Plus, gear doesn’t belong on the deck.” Sirius stood in thought for a moment, but military discipline won out.
Despite her lingering protests, he slid the drawer of underwear back into place, and the girl expertly stowed the rest of her garments.
“Alright,” Ulyanovsk said, closing the doors.
He gestured for her to follow.
“Quick recon brief.
I live in a military housing sector on a naval base.
Nobody bothers me here unless it’s an absolute FUBAR situation.
So, as long as you keep a low profile, the grunts won’t step foot past the porch.” He shot her a teasing wink.
“But if you do feel the need to entertain yourself, please do it outside my house.” “That is vulgar and rude,” Sirius crossed her arms, looking genuinely offended.
“Sorry, different world, different rules.
I know Kanmusu look a lot more appealing than normal women, but guys around here tend to forget that behind a pretty face and a killer figure hides a steel monster from the past.
With all the collateral damage that entails.” “Wait, so your manifestations are women too?” the girl asked, surprised.
“I thought…” “I’m an exception.
A freak accident of the summoning process,” Ulyanovsk quickly dispelled her suspicions.
“As much as the Brass would love a fleet of obedient male ship-boys—mostly out of habit—every Kanmusu is female.
Centuries of naval tradition and maritime pronouns actually count for something, it seems.” Sirius’s face fell.
“So it really is best if I don’t leave the house,” she summarized, sounding detached.
“Hey!
It’s not as bleak as you’re making it out to be in your head!” the cruiser protested.
“It’s just that, even by Kanmusu standards, your…
assets are a bit much.” “But there are Kansen much prettier than me…” the girl murmured, dropping her gaze guiltily.
“Well, none of them are currently on my radar.
Anyway, I digress.” Ulyanovsk stepped into the hallway.
“You popped out in my bedroom.
There are four rooms in total.
That one on the left, and two upstairs.
Command didn’t rule out the possibility of summoning my sister-ships or other missile cruisers, so they gave me space.
Don’t be shy.” He pointed down the hall.
“There’s only one bathroom, upstairs.
Rec room is up there too.
And this is the kitchen,” he said, pushing open a door to a room that served as both a galley and a dining area.
“Not exactly royal quarters, but it’s cozy enough.” Sirius looked around in awe.
“Do your Kansen live in separate houses?” “As far as I know, yeah.
The major Combined Fleet bases have massive dorms or individual cottages for task forces.
Standard global practice is to house Kanmusu by class, except for destroyers and subs.
There are just too many of the little ankle-biters to give them all a private suite.” He conveniently left out that this information was based purely on rumors and what he’d seen while scavenging ruined bases after Abyssal attacks.
“Tea?” he offered, nodding toward the counter.
“I wouldn’t refuse,” Sirius smiled politely.
“Back home, every Kansen is assigned a room in the royal palace…” “An actual palace?” the guy asked, letting her step into the kitchen first.
“Mhm,” she nodded.
“Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth has to live somewhere fitting, after all.” “Are we talking about the dreadnought or the human queen?” “The battleship Queen Elizabeth,” Sirius replied.
She said it with an inflection that implied he had just asked if the sky was blue.
It added another bullet point to his mental list of parallel-world absurdities.
Did they take over humanity and start playing aristocrats and maids?
Ulyanovsk thought, side-eying the insanely revealing maid outfit the cruiser was wearing.
Sirius, meanwhile, had her own swirling thoughts.
During her service, she had encountered inter-dimensional portals before.
Neptunia, Utawarerumono, worlds with giant robots fighting kaiju…
they were usually the result of Siren machinations.
But a portal opening for just one Kansen?
Unheard of.
Siren portals were usually massive, swirling vortexes heavily guarded by combat drones.
She had no idea why the enemy would create a portal just for her.
She was a proud member of the Maid Corps, yes, but there were far higher-priority targets.
Lady Belfast, King George V, or the Queen herself…
“Um…
May I ask a question?” Sirius broke the silence, watching her involuntary ally fiddle with the tea leaves.
Ulyanovsk held back a sarcastic Marine quip and just shrugged.
“If it’s about the tea, you get what you get.” She shook her head.
“No.
I wanted to ask…
who is humanity fighting here that forced them to create Kansen?” “Ah.
We’ll get to that.
Both the Kansen and the enemy,” the cruiser replied.
“But grab a seat first.
No truth in standing, and it’s going to be a long talk.” After brewing the tea to a point where he wasn’t completely ashamed to serve it—sneaking in a couple of tea bags to cheat the color—Ulyanovsk quickly set the table and sat across from her.
“We northern barbarians don’t know much about high tea.
Aristocratic tastes are a bit above our paygrade,” he said, pouring the dark liquid into mugs.
“You probably won’t appreciate a brew made of pinecones and currant leaves, but it’s what I’ve got.” “It seems some prejudices transcend dimensions,” Sirius sighed, eyeing a metal tin of cookies with interest.
“Prejudices, huh?” Ulyanovsk winked.
“Our Royal Navy loves to knock back a pint or two of tea as well, but even they don’t organize their cruisers into ‘Maid Corps’.
Care to explain that logic?” “The Maid Corps looks after the daily life and well-being of Her Majesty’s subjects!” Sirius declared, her posture snapping perfectly straight.
Ulyanovsk could have sworn he heard the fabric of her bodice weeping in distress.
“Oh, really?” he side-eyed the strained material.
“How exactly?
And for who?” “Battleships, aircraft carriers…” Sirius started listing them off, before catching the guy’s gaze.
“Not in that sense!” “What sense did you think I meant?
I’m just wondering why anyone would burden light cruisers with chores that sprite-crews handle perfectly well,” Ulyanovsk replied calmly.
He made a show of scooping sugar into his mug with a teaspoon.
“What else was I supposed to think after all your hints about my outfit and the way you look at me?!” the girl huffed.
“I just thought your top was going to snap when you straightened your back like that.
But I admit, I crossed a line,” the cruiser conceded smoothly.
“And I apologize.
It’s not every day you see a cruiser with battleship proportions that isn’t a Des Moines class.” Sirius drilled him with a stare for a few long seconds.
Then, she let out a tired sigh.
“We don’t choose the form the Wisdom Cube gives us,” she said quietly.
“Your Kanmusu are summoned by a machine?” Ulyanovsk blinked.
His mind immediately painted a sci-fi picture: a leftover supercomputer from an ancient civilization, worshipped by humans in animal skins, churning out warrior maidens upon request.
It also reminded him of a trashy TV show he’d watched a month ago.
A cargo spaceship dropped a container of sex robots into the ocean, and they rose up, transforming into high-tech warships mimicking WWII vessels.
“Whoever designed this ‘Wisdom Cube’ had a very specific fetish.
I’d like to shake his neck,” the cruiser shook his head, banishing the weird memories.
“There isn’t just one Cube.
Every Kansen has her own.
Nobody knows where they came from, but Wisdom Cubes are what gave humanity a fighting chance against the Sirens,” Sirius corrected his wild theory.
“By creating us,” she added, pressing a hand to her chest.
“Our process is simpler.
Mostly,” Ulyanovsk said, heavily dumbing down the official doctrine.
“There’s a place of power, rigged up with the right equipment.
You gather a bunch of priests, shamans, or onmyoji—depends on the country—and they summon a Kanmusu.
No alien artifacts.
Though it helps if you have a piece of the original ship, or a catalyst strongly tied to its history.” He knew from classified naval documents that the reality was far darker, but she didn’t need to know that.
“Akashi mentioned at the flagship council that the Wisdom Cube somehow materializes humanity’s collective knowledge about a ship,” Sirius mused, stirring her tea.
Ulyanovsk suddenly felt profound pity for his parallel-world colleagues if their world was populated by the same kind of degenerates who made anime in his.
If British light cruisers—escorts for freezing Atlantic convoys—manifested as busty maids, he dreaded to think what happened to the Essex family or Akagi.
The former probably couldn’t take a step without a massive honor guard, and the latter’s pilots likely kamikazed into the enemy like a pack of lemmings following their leader off a cliff.
“Looks like your people figured out how to bypass the catalyst requirement,” the girl finished her thought.
“Maybe,” the guy shrugged.
“But that still doesn’t answer the maid and fairies question.
A light cruiser is a highly valuable, versatile combat unit.” “Fairies?” Sirius finally managed to ask the question she wanted before getting derailed by comments about her chest.
“Sprite-crews.
Helper spirits.
The ones who pilot the planes, clean the decks, cook the chow, and generally make a Kanmusu’s life livable,” the cruiser hinted, seeing her curious expression.
“You don’t have them?” “We do,” Sirius smiled, thinking of the yellow birds that maintained their base.
“But their physical limitations prevent them from doing certain things.” “You’re a warship in human form, and you’re talking about biological limitations,” Ulyanovsk snorted.
A small puff of smoke popped in the air in front of him.
A miniature creature, looking like a human with a disproportionately large head, materialized.
It wore a sailor’s uniform covered by a white apron, and a chef’s toque sat proudly on its head.
“This is my ship’s cook, Lyova,” Ulyanovsk introduced the fairy.
The tiny man squeaked happily, turned to Sirius, and offered a crisp salute with a ladle.
“And now, a masterclass…” The fairy hopped onto Ulyanovsk’s palm, and the cruiser gently transferred him to the kitchen counter.
He pulled some ingredients from the fridge, placed a frying pan on the stove, and set a plate next to the tiny chef.
“Lyova, make some pancakes,” the cruiser ordered.
The fairy squealed enthusiastically and let out a sharp whistle.
Instantly, a dozen more tiny cooks appeared on the counter and got to work.
Sirius watched, mesmerized.
The palm-sized creatures dragged the heavy frying pan.
They set up stepladders to reach a mixing bowl.
Out of nowhere, a miniature construction crane appeared to hold a hand mixer, which had been air-dropped in by a tiny helicopter.
Ulyanovsk snapped his fingers a few times in front of her face.
“Hypnotic, isn’t it?” he smirked, finally getting her attention.
“Why would a cruiser ever cook for herself when she has a crew like this?” “Ours definitely can’t do that,” Sirius admitted, not even trying to hide her envy.
She pictured herself trying to stir a bowl of dough ten times her size and shuddered.
The last time she was allowed in the kitchen, Her Majesty never got her favorite pastries…
“My condolences,” Ulyanovsk sighed.
“While they cook, try a cookie.
Highly recommend.” “Thank you.” The girl pulled a cookie from a tin decorated with a brown bear holding a giant spoon of white cream.
“Don’t be shy,” the cruiser leaned back.
“Now, what I really want to know is…
you mentioned Sirens a few times.
What are they in your world?” “Nobody really knows.
They appeared out of nowhere, armed with highly advanced technology, and quickly wiped out everything in the oceans.
Why they moved toward land is a mystery, but Kansen were the only way humanity could effectively fight back.
Is it the same here?” Ulyanovsk tried to picture humanized WWII ships fighting “highly advanced technology”—which clearly meant aliens.
He couldn’t.
“Not exactly,” the guy shook his head.
The first pancake began to sizzle on the stove.
“Here, ‘Sirens’ is just a classification for the command units of the Abyssal Fleet.
The ones who unite the feral packs, the Himes, and the Princesses under one banner.
No high-tech lasers.
Just teeth, claws, and raw, brutal strength that lets them rip naval steel apart with their bare hands.
Plus a few nastier surprises,” Ulyanovsk shuddered involuntarily.
The memories of encountering an Abyssal “Siren” were seared into his mind.
A beast capable of turning a calm sea into a howling Category 5 hurricane in ten minutes was insanely hard to kill.
It was even harder to resist the urge to open the scuttling valves and detonate his own reactor when another one surfaced right next to him two days later—just to chat.
Especially since even classified intel insisted that Abyssals couldn’t speak.
“I can show you some public archive photos later.
Not exactly dinner table material,” the cruiser promised, quickly changing the subject.
“But you said your enemy has high-tech weapons.
Do you have robots running on water or something?” “The grunt units are unmanned combat vessels,” Sirius replied, her eyes locked onto the cookie in her hand.
“As for the Siren commanders, we don’t know much.” “Vessels?” Ulyanovsk repeated.
“Like, actual ships?” “Yes.
Though the Sirens themselves—excluding their rigging—are roughly the size of a normal human,” the girl confirmed.
“And Kanmusu are summoned to fight that?” “Kansen,” she corrected automatically.
“Potato, potahto,” the guy waved it off.
“But you seriously fight large ships?
Like, full-on 120-meter destroyers?” “A standard Siren destroyer model is exactly one hundred meters long,” Sirius nodded affirmatively.
“Armament?” “Directed-energy beam weapons, rocket-propelled torpedoes, and—” Her sentence was cut off by the loud smack of the cruiser’s palm hitting his own forehead.
“No, no, that makes sense…” the guy muttered, trying to calm down.
“Small, highly maneuverable target.
Hard to lock onto, and survivability is comparable to a historical counterpart…
And I thought my world was a loony bin.” “Is something wrong?” his guest asked, concerned.
“Everything’s peachy,” the cruiser took a deep breath.
“Just grand.
Ignore me.
It’s just that here, our biggest enemy is the size of a large whale and kinda looks like one.
Only the rare, unique specimens are bigger, and if you meet one of those, it’s usually easier to just scuttle yourself.
So the idea of fighting an enemy the size of an actual warship sounds completely wild to me.” “But hasn’t humanity been driven from the seas here too?” Sirius asked, a note of hope in her voice.
“Surely a target the size of a whale couldn’t do that much damage to a modern warship…” “Unless it has the ability to literally eat said warship.
And these ‘whales’ don’t swim alone.
They travel in packs of five, minimum.
Normal weapons barely scratch them—pisses them off or disorients them, at best.
Oh, and electronics completely fry in their presence.” Ulyanovsk was slightly bending the truth about normal weapons being useless.
Missiles and artillery worked fine against Abyssal destroyers and smaller fry…
if they hit.
Unfortunately for humanity, precision-guided munitions capable of hitting a target the size of an Abyssal destroyer were insanely expensive.
And it only took one, maybe two hits from a monster to sink a multi-million dollar warship.
So the remnants of the world’s navies just guarded major coastal cities and never sailed into deep water.
But his interdimensional guest didn’t need to know all that.
“We also have ‘fish’ with battleship-caliber cannons and armor to match.
Except they’re the size of you or me.
And they love to play submarine,” the cruiser sighed.
“Nobody drove humanity from the seas.
Everything that floated, or got too close to the water, was just eaten.
First the cargo ships vanished.
Then they broadcasted a rig getting devoured live on global TV, like a bad piranha horror movie.” “We faced a qualitatively superior enemy, and you did too,” Sirius summarized, lowering her head.
“Except ours destroys targets, rather than eating them.” “Pretty much,” Ulyanovsk nodded.
“Plus, there’s an endless swarm of them.
So you’ve just got aliens, and we’ve got a mass invasion of countless hordes.
But let’s not dwell on the depressing stuff.” A plate with a neat stack of fresh pancakes was lowered into the middle of the table by the tiny cargo helicopter.
The fairy-cooks slid down the ropes, unhooked the plate, and vanished along with their transport.
The head chef, Lyova, gave a satisfied salute with his spatula before melting into thin air.
“Could’ve just called me,” the guy grumbled, looking at the cookie crumbs scattered across the table by the helicopter’s rotor wash.
“Do the fairies clean too?” the girl asked.
“The ones assigned to the base do,” he shook his head.
“You could use ship fairies, but that’s like painting the grass green for the Brass.” A look of utter confusion washed over the maid’s face.
“Why would you paint grass?” “It’s just a stupid military tradition before inspections.
Don’t worry about it.
I’ll clean the table myself.
It’s getting late, so let’s get back to logistics.
I assume Kansen living conditions on your side aren’t much different from human ones?” “Yes,” Sirius nodded.
“Glad to hear it,” the guy pushed the plate closer to her.
“Dig in.
Don’t be shy.
Lyova is a great cook.” The girl timidly picked up a pancake, but managed to fold it into a neat envelope quite skillfully.
“Sour cream?
Jam?
Condensed milk?” “Um…” the girl hesitated.
“We actually don’t have any of those.
Except the sour cream,” the cruiser snorted, pulling a tub the boots had bought out of the fridge.
“Thank you.” “Don’t mention it.
So, everyday items won’t be a problem, hopefully.
But you’re going to have to sleep in my room.” “And you?” Sirius asked, wiping a drop of sour cream from the corner of her lip.
She had miscalculated the trajectory of the pancake, and a bit had squeezed out.
“Same room,” Ulyanovsk replied without blinking.
Sirius nearly dropped her pancake, smearing herself with the white cream again.
“Where else?” he clarified, watching the girl turn beet red.
“I laid out the situation earlier.
You’re on a classified foreign base, and I’m responsible for you.
It’s in my best interest to make sure you don’t wander off.” “But that’s improper!” the Kansen protested.
“We’re ships, it’s fine.
Ships moor hull-to-hull at the pier all the time.” “It’s different…” “What, do male admirals in your world make a habit of hitting on Kanmusu?” “No,” the girl caught herself, looking away shamefully.
Looking at Sirius’s weak denial, Ulyanovsk would have been surprised if it were otherwise.
He had read incident reports about overly close relationships between commanding officers and Kanmusu.
Despite the draconian discipline enforced on the base, many men showed weakness when surrounded by beautiful, lonely girls.
“Right,” the cruiser pretended to believe her.
“But you’ll have to deal with it.
I have no idea how you act in your sleep, and I need to be close by to restrain you if things go south.” “I am a very peaceful sleeper, and I don’t sleepwalk,” the girl huffed.
“That’s not the point.
I told you, our enemies are spiritual entities.
Basically ghosts.
I assume you know what ghosts do to the human psyche?” Sirius nodded, embarrassed, planning to continue the argument later.
However, after finishing their evening tea, a nasty surprise awaited her in the form of her missing clothes from the wardrobe.
“Ah, these are mine,” Ulyanovsk said, running a hand over the hangers.
“Wonder where they went while your dresses were taking up space.” “What will everyone think of me?” Sirius groaned pitifully, collapsing onto the floor in defeat.
“Her Highness will declare me a deserter…”