With a long hiss, the escape pod's hatch opened slowly.
"Ahh... I made it back. This... this is really the real world?" Naomi breathed.
"Captain," Osaka greeted with a lazy grin, "welcome back. How was it? Bet that sim was somethin' else, huh? Only a week's passed out here, but I'd wager it felt like a whole month of fightin' in there."
"I'm... I'm exhausted. Osaka, what the hell was that...? I died so many times."
He barked out a laugh. "That's the idea! It's a highlight reel of every scrap a rookie soldier'd face on their way to bein' called a vet. Jammed it all together so ya don't get a breath. And since yer real body's sleepin', ya don't need food or breaks. Just yer poor brain workin' overtime—like a sweatshop in dreamland."
Even if it had been a dream, Naomi had fought for a straight 168 hours. The sim never gave her a moment—battle after battle, death after death. She'd racked up close to three thousand encounters. In the beginning she'd died almost instantly, racking up quick failures, but as time went on, she had begun to last longer.
"Well, if anyone survived that many real fights, they'd be a living legend."
"Yeah, and I must've died a thousand deaths myself..." Naomi murmured, before consciousness slipped from her. She floated gently upward from the pod, eyes rolled back.
"Well, damn. Girl was sleepin' for days already, and now she's out cold again. Guess that's brain-burn. Hmmm... looks like I've still got some tunin' to do."
He started pulling data logs from the pod, calling Serena over to help move Naomi.
* * *
When Naomi woke, Serena was leaning over her with worried eyes. "Good morning. Are you all right? Osaka called me and when I arrived, you were floating there with your eyes rolled back. I was shocked."
It seemed she had slept for another full day.
"Morning, Serena. I went through hell... ahh, I'm starving."
Serena giggled softly. "Is that so? Well... perhaps I should try that simulation myself sometime."
Naomi's head snapped up.
Osaka cut in firmly. "Now hold on there. That ain't somethin' a normal person oughta try. I checked the captain's vitals—she was dang near dead from the strain. If I don't tweak it, that sim'll flat-out kill somebody."
Naomi blinked at him in surprise. This time Osaka himself was putting his foot down.
"So I really was that close to dying..." she whispered.
He scratched his head. "My bad. Gimme time to adjust it, then ya can be my test pilot again—"
"No way! Absolutely not. Dying over and over like that is brutal. I can't take it."
He shrugged. "Well, ya say that, but look how far ya came. First few hours you were droppin' like flies every couple seconds. By five hours in, you were lastin' whole minutes. By thirty hours, sometimes you even cleared a fight without dyin'. And near the end? You made it through nine times outta ten. Sure, ya still racked up about three thousand deaths, but hey—progress!"
Naomi let out a dry laugh. "No thanks. My mind's about to snap as it is."
Serena looked at Osaka, finally understanding the hell Naomi had been through, and quickly dropped her earlier idea.
"Yeah, best not," Naomi agreed. "It feels so real—dying hurts, it burns, you suffocate. I don't know why it had to simulate all that."
"Dang, that's rough," Osaka said. "C'mon then, let's eat somethin'. You're alive, that's what counts."
With Serena fussing gently, Naomi sat down to a meal. The auto-kitchen was running—ingredients still had to be loaded by hand, but the cooking itself was automated. Freshly awake, Naomi chose something light: vegetable soup and bread.
* * *
Afterward, she sighed. "So, let's confirm—our course is still set for Gordia Central, right? No new breakdowns while I was out?"
Osaka's voice came through Serena's tablet. "We're good. Same course, no trouble. Haven't seen another enemy, and no new failures popped up."
"That's right," Serena added. "But for me, the most shocking thing was still seeing you float unconscious, Naomi. I thought you might truly be dead."
Her words were half reproach, half relief, her smile gentle with worry.
Osaka chuckled. "Heh, well if that's the worst we got, I'll take it. Sorry to scare y'all like that."
Serena laughed softly. "I'm just glad you're safe. I never imagined you had died three thousand times in training."
"Yeah... I'll admit, we screwed that one up," Osaka said, sounding unusually serious. "Should've ramped up the difficulty gradual. Tossin' one light cruiser against the Imperial Fleet right out the gate—that was askin' too much."
"Osaka, this isn't about difficulty—" Naomi began.
But before Serena could start scolding him, the familiar shriek of the ship's alarms cut through the air.
"Show me the tablet! Osaka, battle stations! Thirty-nine degrees port, pitch minus fifteen. I'm heading to the bridge. Serena, to the control seat!"
Serena followed close without even glancing at the display.
"Judging by that number..." Naomi muttered. "Osaka, is it the Imperial Army?"
"Sure looks like it. And not just any bunch—this here's the big dogs. Records say it's the First Space Fleet of the Nei-Vald Galaxy Empire."
By the time Naomi reached the bridge, the forward monitor was already filled with enemy data and trajectory plots.
"Serena," Naomi said quickly, "there's a debris belt ahead—lots of asteroids. I want to slip into it. Pick out the biggest rocks we can hide behind and number them in order of distance."
"Understood. I'll mark only those large enough to shield the ship."
A private channel opened—encrypted, directed only to them. A man with golden hair and sharp noble features appeared onscreen. His presence radiated charm, but his eyes were cold as stone.
"I am Yug Amcher Noi-Vald, Commander of the First Space Fleet. Captain of the Grim Reaper, I wish to speak with you."
Serena gasped from her station. "That... that is my cousin Yug. My uncle's second son."
Her face, however, carried no fondness—only dread.
Osaka leaned back with a low whistle. "Well now, ain't that somethin'. A bona fide prince. So, Captain—what's your play?"
Naomi frowned. "If there's a chance we can avoid a fight, I'll take it. But... I doubt it. Still, I'll at least hear him out."
She opened comms, voice steady despite her nerves. "This is the civilian ship Grim Reaper. I am Captain Naomi."
The nobleman smirked faintly. "So the reports were true—a young woman in command. Then I'll be direct. Hand over the pretender claiming to be a princess of the Valdis Empire. Give her up, and you'll be spared—not only spared, but rewarded for delivering a fugitive. Surely that's a fair bargain."
His words were polite, but his gaze dripped with contempt, looking straight down at Naomi.