Bursting into the room, Ulyanovsk was fully prepared for absolutely anything.
He expected Sirius trying to retrieve her maid outfit.
Or maybe a battleship trapped in a destroyer’s body carrying Musashi’s ego.
Hell, he was even braced for a tentacle monster.
What he was not ready for was a massive black cat casually sniffing the laminate flooring right next to the wardrobe.
Just a completely normal, oversized tomcat.
The cruiser even swept him with a quick radar pulse just to be absolutely sure.
For a fleeting second, the guy actually felt a little insulted that his apocalyptic expectations hadn’t been met.
“Who do you belong to?” Ulyanovsk asked the animal, glancing at the open window pane.
He walked over to the wardrobe to double-check that no mysterious interdimensional doors had spawned where they didn’t belong.
The inside looked completely normal.
The cat, deeply offended by the guy’s attempt to nudge him aside with a bare foot, let out an indignant meow and looked up with huge, unblinking yellow eyes.
“Did the comms girls smuggle you onto the base, or did you hoof it all the way from the city?” Ulyanovsk scooped the animal up.
The furball was well-groomed, definitely not a stray.
He had a collar equipped with a bell shaped like a six-sided die—a little cube—but lacked any tags indicating an owner.
Judging by his size, the burly tomcat could easily have squeezed through the open window pane.
Finding the owner was going to be an agonizingly tedious chore.
The cruiser made a mental note to ask around the enlisted barracks later.
But for now, he faced a much more pressing logistical issue: what to do with this four-legged intruder.
On the one hand, he could let the animal crash here until the owner turned up or until he deployed on his next mission.
On the other hand…
Ulyanovsk looked pointedly at the open window.
The whiskered trespasser, immediately sensing that the two-legged giant was contemplating throwing him back out into the cold, began to squirm and flail.
He had absolutely zero desire to return to the great outdoors—it was dirty, freezing, and damp out there.
Claws were deployed, and despite the Soviet aviation cruiser lacking heavy armor, his natural Kanmusu durability kept his skin from being shredded.
“If you don’t want to get tossed out into the frost,” the guy threatened, setting the cat back on the floor, “don’t crap in my slippers and don’t piss on the deck.” Pulling some fresh clothes from the wardrobe, Ulyanovsk was about to shut the doors when he noticed two very strange alterations to his interior decor.
The custom heavy-duty lock—the one he had specifically requested when drawing the new wardrobe from supply—was dangling by a single screw.
And right on the door itself was the highly suspicious smudge of a bare footprint.
“Okay, I can buy poor craftsmanship snapping a lock, but that wasn’t there before,” the cruiser wiped the footprint away with his sock, taking a closer look at the mangled lock.
“At least it’s repairable.” After getting dressed, Ulyanovsk headed to his workshop to grab a screwdriver, confirming along the way that his lockbox of Abyssal trophies was still securely in its place.
That settled his nerves a bit.
The whiskered intruder officially lost his status as a potential interdimensional invader, cementing himself purely as a random stray whose adventuring had led him into a Kanmusu’s den.
It took only a few twists of the tool to reseat the lock.
The temporary pet was issued a makeshift litter box, a saucer, and a comfortable rug against the wall.
Through the entire process, the cat watched the guy with an unnervingly intelligent gaze.
It was as if he understood exactly what was going on, carefully studying the layout of his new domain.
However, the moment a saucer of milk hit the floor, the cat lost all interest in Ulyanovsk.
The cruiser returned to the workshop to put his screwdriver back.
And promptly let out a string of vicious curses the second he opened the desk drawer.
“Give me back my tools!” Ulyanovsk yelled at the ceiling after exhausting his vocabulary of profanity.
“I went through hell to get that sanctioned German steel!” The ceiling completely ignored him.
The cruiser slammed the drawer shut, counted to ten, and yanked it open again.
He glared at its new contents with absolute, burning hatred.
Instead of high-quality, German-made hand tools, the drawer was now lined with a red velvet cushion.
Resting on top of it were several ornate hairpins and a carved mahogany comb.
One hairpin featured a white chrysanthemum framed by a golden halo shaped like licking flames, with three sunbeams of white gold shooting downward.
The second boasted a similar white chrysanthemum, but made of pearls on a silver stem, accented with four petals of thick blue fabric stitched with gold thread.
The third hairpin looked like a butterfly with wings crafted from translucent blue crystals.
And that was it.
An entire drawer hijacked by four tiny hair accessories.
The insanely inefficient use of space sent Ulyanovsk into a fresh spiral of frustration.
He was just about to slam the drawer in and out again, hoping to reverse the glitch, when the butterfly twitched.
Its wings fluttered.
The wire antennae wiggled.
And then it actually lifted off into the air, hovering right in front of the cruiser’s face, flapping its sapphire wings.
“Oh no you don’t!” the guy grabbed an empty Nescafé glass jar, dumping out a handful of paintbrushes, and swiftly trapped the butterfly mid-air.
He snapped his knee up, slamming the drawer shut to prevent the rest of the hairpins from coming alive, just in case.
The crystal butterfly fluttered down to the bottom of the coffee jar, lazily twitching its wings.
Ignoring an inquiring meow from the cat—who had peeked into the workshop to see what the two-legged giant was shouting about—the cruiser found a plastic lid in the kitchen and sealed the jar.
So the magic bug wouldn’t accidentally suffocate, he used a knife to punch a few air holes, covering them with a piece of gauze.
“I think I need to have a serious sit-down with that Abyssal Submarine if she ever surfaces again,” Ulyanovsk muttered, analyzing his new prize.
“Way too much weird stuff happening around this trophy box lately.” “Meow!” the black cat demanded attention, tapping a paw against his empty saucer.
“Glutton,” the cruiser sighed, stepping over to the fridge.
“Is this milk even real?” In response, the cat smacked the saucer harder, making it clatter pointedly against the floor.
Obliging the animal with another serving of the white liquid, Ulyanovsk decided to check the drawer one more time, running through ideas of what to do with the cursed lockbox.
To his immense relief, both his tools and the source of his recent headaches were back where they belonged.
Refusing to close the drawer lest his gear vanish again, the guy ran upstairs and dragged down a heavy steel safe meant for highly classified personal documents.
Since he didn’t have any of those, Ulyanovsk ripped a shelf out of the safe and got to work modifying it.
Rigging up a small camera with night vision, he ran the wire out the back and locked the Abyssal trophies inside.
Now he just needed to set the DVR to record any changes in the safe’s contents—a task he gladly dedicated the rest of his evening to.
*** [Royal Navy Base, Azur Lane World] “I would like to know,” Warspite began, nodding her thanks to Neptune for the tea, “why you have not chopped that wardrobe into firewood yet.” Formidable looked up from the selection of pastries and met the gaze of Her Majesty’s one and only bodyguard.
Though the ancient dreadnought of the Royal Navy looked like a child—barely breaking five feet in height—her strength and mastery of combat were never questioned by anyone.
The girl in the regal purple uniform tugged off her white gloves, casting a deeply unamused look at the gathered Kansen.
For a split second, the aircraft carrier couldn’t help but associate her with a grumpy collie dog.
The illusion was helped by the two small strands of wheat-blonde hair sticking up from the crown of Warspite’s head, strongly resembling the animal ears common among Sakura Empire Kansen.
“What about you, Formidable?” The dreadnought’s sharp violet eyes didn’t miss the fleeting smile on the carrier’s face.
“What say you on the matter?” “I assigned a flight of Albacores to keep an eye on Sirius’s room,” Formidable replied smoothly, setting her teacup on the table.
“Neptune’s report regarding the time dilation between our world and theirs piqued my interest.” “And you decided to gamble base security to satisfy your curiosity?” Warspite raised an eyebrow.
“Is that why I had to intercept Sirius’s and Belfast’s reports from my sister?
Why I had to send the Head Maid on a wild goose chase to find Unicorn’s plush toy?” “Did he run away again?” the fourth girl at the table shook her head.
“Or did he have help?” she aimed the question at Neptune.
Dressed in a striking red military tunic paired with a pleated black mini-skirt, this Kansen was also a battleship.
But unlike Warspite, she stood almost twice as tall and boasted an incredibly developed figure.
The battleships of the King George V class were rightfully considered some of the tallest in the fleet, second only to the imposing Monarch.
“You have no proof, Lady Prince of Wales,” Neptune offered a radiant smile, winking at the battleship.
Smoothing out her red tunic, the battleship with the golden bob merely shook her head.
“Why are you so cruel to her?” “It worked, didn’t it?” “Ladies, let us try to stay on topic,” Warspite clapped her hands together.
“Neptune, are you absolutely certain the Sirens did not orchestrate this?” “Affirmative,” the maid-uniformed girl replied from where she stood near the table.
“As I stated earlier, it doesn’t match their operational signature.
Plus, a stunt like this is too…
trivial for them.” “If it were the Sirens’ doing, they would have targeted Belfast or Her Majesty herself,” Prince of Wales pointed out.
“Agreed,” Warspite nodded.
“I simply cannot wrap my head around it.
Male Kansen…
Preposterous!” “Yet it is a fact,” Neptune chimed in.
“And not nearly as preposterous as Kizuna AI.” “Do not remind me,” Wales shuddered.
“Sometimes Siren singularities open doors to places a healthy mind shouldn’t even look.” “Lady Warspite,” Neptune addressed the dreadnought.
“If you wish to allow Lady Formidable to study the wardrobe, we must temporarily remove Sirius and Belfast from the board.
At a minimum.” “I will suggest to my sister that we reinforce the Northern Convoys.
Given the suspicious movements of the Kriegsmarine lately, this plays perfectly into our hands.” Warspite mused, thoughtfully tapping her spoon against her saucer.
“Victorious will deploy to Malta with you.
She hasn’t sailed south of Scapa Flow in ages,” she directed the last part to the red-clad battleship.
“Are you certain?” Wales stiffened.
“You can endure it for a couple of weeks,” Warspite cut her off.
The Kansen in the red tunic deflated visibly, reaching for the very last strawberry meringue on the platter.
A move that did not go unnoticed on the other side of the table.
“Now that was just a low blow,” the dreadnought huffed indignantly.
“You can endure it,” the battleship mocked, throwing her exact words back at her.
“I will ask you not to take that tone regarding my sister,” Formidable said, completely failing to hide her smile.
“Which Iron Blood forces are stirring the waters?” “The Ugly Sisters.” “Your Grace!” Neptune and Wales protested simultaneously.
“Do you wish to argue the point?” Warspite challenged.
“It is unbefitting to throw around such offensive nicknames,” Neptune chided, refilling the dreadnought’s empty cup with tea.
“It is hardly my fault our sailors dubbed them that,” Warspite waved her off.
“Perhaps we could reinforce Illustrious’s convoy instead?” the carrier suggested.
“Ark Royal will handle that route.
As soon as the cause of this entire mess deploys, you will relocate the wardrobe to your quarters, Formidable.” The dreadnought looked between the cruiser and the carrier.
Both nodded in agreement.
“Excellent.
But I am giving you a maximum of forty-eight hours for your experiments.” “But—” Neptune tried to interject.
“Sirius ships out tomorrow.
If that is what you are worried about, my end is handled.
The portal itself is not my problem.
Base security, however, very much is.
If you wish to extend your research timetable, you’d better provide me with far more compelling arguments than the mere gender identity of the Kansen on the other side.
Am I understood?” “Yes, Your Grace,” Formidable and Neptune replied in unison.
“Splendid.
Now be a dear and pass me those orange pastries,” Warspite gestured to the cruiser.
“Both of them…” *** [Ulyanovsk’s Quarters, Kantai World] A day had passed since the end of the wargames, yet the sheer volume of weird phenomena in the life of the unrealized Soviet nuclear carrier showed no signs of decreasing.
The crystal butterfly he had trapped somehow managed to devour an entire cucumber—a vegetable roughly a hundred times its own mass.
Following that, the jar had been safely locked in the safe, only for it to completely vanish along with the Abyssal lockbox.
When the lockbox eventually reappeared, the butterfly was gone, but the mechanics of its disappearance remained an absolute mystery.
The stray cat that had taken up residence in his home developed a strange obsession with sleeping inside the cursed wardrobe and a highly suspicious interest in his fairies.
However, the sprite-crews quickly and aggressively demonstrated that they were not to be trifled with, laying down a hail of suppressing fire with a heavy machine gun, backed up by an underbarrel grenade launcher just to be safe.
Since then, the whiskered beast ignored the fairies entirely, depriving his new owner of the joy of watching him try to sneak up on them.
Right now, the ball of black fur—dubbed ‘Kubik’ for convenience—was sleeping near the wardrobe, while Ulyanovsk sat cross-legged on the floor, laying out a complex solitaire with his air group cards.
The aviation cruiser had a deployment to the Arctic Ocean coming up, and the operational environment there was a far cry from his usual waters.
Way too many drifting ice floes for the Abyssals to use as cover.
Not to mention the exceptionally cunning and nasty Himes that roamed those frozen seas.
He would heavily prefer never to meet one of them again; his last encounter, where he barely escaped with his hull intact, was enough for a lifetime.
Keeping his own painful experience and the advice of veteran Northern Sea Route sailors in mind, Ulyanovsk debated his air group composition.
On the one hand, he needed to heavily reinforce his ASW capabilities.
On the other, he didn’t want to sacrifice his raw strike potential.
Thankfully, Abyssal air presence in the Arctic was usually minimal, which made the aviation cruiser’s life slightly easier.
“Damn them to hell and back for wanting to drag an entire floating research complex into the Gulf of Ob!” the guy swore, tossing aside a stack of interceptor cards.
“Building a permanent base on land is ‘too expensive,’ apparently!
We have a pre-built rig, so why not use it!
Ugh!” Sometimes, Ulyanovsk really hated macroeconomics.
Sure, the cost of towing a self-contained floating science complex was technically cheaper than building one from scratch in the permafrost.
Even factoring in the extremely high probability of losing the rig to hungry Abyssals.
He hadn’t been briefed on what exactly this complex was supposed to study, but the fact that Command had scrambled almost every available Kanmusu for its escort—leaving defensive perimeters stripped to their absolute minimums—spoke volumes.
“Why couldn’t you guys have given me those attack choppers sooner,” Ulyanovsk sighed, building his air wing decks.
“If you knew this clusterfuck was in the works, you could have shelled out for more than just eight Ka-52s.” According to the bizarre logic governing his existence, the cruiser could physically carry any number of pre-prepared airplane or helicopter cards with him, but he could only launch the ones that had been actively primed.
Meaning, they had to be loaded into his specific “deck” adapters.
His hull had three such ‘magazines’.
One was exclusively reserved for his main battery Granit missiles.
The other two could be swapped out depending on the mission parameters.
He could theoretically load new cards into the adapters while at sea, but his hull had to ‘read’ the contents.
That took time—unacceptably long in a combat situation.
Hell, just reloading his missile silos took nearly half an hour for each of the twelve tubes.
Engrossed in his monotonous work, the cruiser had almost completely tuned out the rest of the world.
He was brought back to reality by a furious, resentful yowl.
Dismissing the cards, he whipped around to see Kubik with his back arched, hissing viciously at the open wardrobe.
Already a big cat, the beast puffed out until he was the size of a medium dog, slowly backing away without dropping his hiss.
Stepping out of the wardrobe—clutching a copy of a fresh magazine featuring a new American drone on the cover tightly to her chest—was an elegantly dressed girl.
It was not Sirius.
She wore a long black-and-white dress.
There was a fleeting resemblance to the maid—mostly in her eyes, which were a deep reddish-brown, and her extremely lavish chest, proudly displayed by a plunging neckline.
But other than that, it was instantly clear she was a Kanmusu.
Her posture, her gait, her flawless, unblemished appearance.
Extremely long, light-brown hair was tied into twin tails on the sides of her head, secured by black ribbons.
On a normal human, hair reaching almost to the floor would be a logistical nightmare.
Yet, the girl moved as if she didn’t even notice the massive, trailing braids.
[image here] Ulyanovsk figured that with his luck, he would have tripped over hair that long by his second step.
“So you’re the one who swiped my magazine!” the guy exclaimed.
That missing issue of ‘Popular Mechanics’ had gotten lost in the chaos of Abyssal lockboxes and magical portals, but the loss had definitely left a sour taste in his mouth.
“Excuse me?!” the girl huffed.
“If I had the opportunity to ask for permission, I assure you I would have done so!” “What happened to ‘taking things without asking is bad’?” Ulyanovsk asked, rising from the floor.
A faint blush touched the girl’s cheeks, but Ulyanovsk saw zero shame in her eyes.
Only the intense, clinical curiosity with which people look at museum oddities or animals in a zoo.
“Ahem, I beg your pardon,” the girl restated, maintaining her composure.
Without letting go of the magazine, she elegantly pinched the hem of her skirt and dropped into a polite curtsy.
“Aircraft Carrier of Her Majesty, Formidable.
Illustrious-class.
On behalf of Her Majesty, I wish to extend our gratitude for assisting Sirius during her…
distress.” Recalling exactly what had constituted his first guest’s ‘distress’, Ulyanovsk couldn’t hold back a smirk.
“Distress…” the guy chuckled.
“What an accurate and delicate phrasing.
Aviation Cruiser Ulyanovsk, at your service.
Although, I am intensely curious,” he stressed the word, “as to how you got here.” “I am currently seeking the answer to that very question myself,” Formidable replied smoothly.
“I hope you will assist me.” “Oh?” Ulyanovsk looked pointedly past her shoulder.
“Bypassing the obvious clichés,” the girl clarified, her tone turning a bit stricter, “you must understand that an interdimensional portal appearing inside ordinary furniture is not an everyday occurrence…” “Except I disassembled my interdimensional portal less than a week ago, splashed it with holy water, and turned it into the supply depot, precisely to avoid any repeat incidents.” The cruiser gestured toward the new wardrobe.
“So logically, it shouldn’t be working anymore.” “Is that so,” Formidable murmured thoughtfully, glancing behind her.
Through the yawning, highly suspicious emptiness of the wardrobe—empty except for two black heels resting on the bottom shelf—she could see the room on the other side.
Soothing blue walls, plush upholstery…
Ulyanovsk didn’t get to examine the other side further.
His attention snapped back to Kubik.
Apparently forgiving his earlier grudges against the furniture, the cat was now curiously sniffing the wardrobe door.
And then, Kubik headbutted it with enough force that the heavy wooden door started swinging shut.
Mentally accepting his fate, the cruiser waited to see if the guest had the reflexes to stop her ride home from locking her out.
Instead, she did something entirely unexpected.
“Stop!” Formidable commanded with absolute authority, extending her hand toward the closing door.
The air in the room suddenly grew unimaginably thick, instantly sapping the color from the world.
The Kansen could feel reality actively resisting her will, much harder than it usually did.
Fighting the strain, she lunged forward, grabbing the cat by the scruff of his neck just a split second before the world slammed back into full color.
“A very familiar cat,” Formidable noted, lifting the indignantly yowling animal into the air.
“Drop Kubik unless you want your dress shredded to rags,” Ulyanovsk advised, having extensive experience with the furry menace.
“Also, what the hell was that magic trick?”