The cafeteria was full of its usual noise.
Tucked into a corner of Seldia's residential sector, it was one of the few spaces where vigilante members, maintenance crews, and various staff all mingled—a place untouched by the business of combat.
The clatter of trays.
Low voices.
The occasional laugh, a little slack around the edges.
None of it had anything to do with fighting.
Grain sat alone in the middle of it, eating quietly.
He watched the holographic projection on the wall. Not really watching.
(…Again.)
The footage hadn't changed in days.
The Blang faction's large-scale raid.
The vigilante corps' response.
And—
"Here is the footage in question."
The image cut.
A machine the color of old iron.
An outdated silhouette.
Tearing through multiple Makinas.
Punching.
Kicking.
Grabbing and slamming.
A brutal, unrefined way of fighting. Nothing close to elegant.
But—impossibly fast.
"As you can see, it's displaying movement that defies standard operating parameters."
One of the studio's analysts spoke calmly.
"This is the Crafid, a model from Escad Industries, which dissolved approximately twenty years ago."
A second image appeared alongside it.
Technical diagrams from old records.
"However, the standard Crafid has no such mobility. Its specs should fall short of current-generation machines."
"Then what are we to make of this?"
The analyst shrugged at the caster's question.
"A different machine, made to look like one."
Another analyst spoke up.
"There's also the possibility it's fabricated footage."
"Fabricated?"
"If a Makina capable of this actually existed—"
A beat.
"The pilot inside wouldn't survive."
The cafeteria noise ticked up slightly.
A few laughs found their way in.
Grain watched without a word.
(…Wouldn't survive.)
He felt nothing in particular about that.
It was just incorrect. That was all.
The image changed.
A familiar face appeared on screen.
"We cannot deny that this machine was, from our perspective, an inexplicable arrival."
Grain set down his spoon.
The man being interviewed was himself, speaking evenly.
"Now that it has vanished without a trace, we have no means of identifying its origins.
What we can say is that its intervention kept casualties to a minimum. That is beyond question."
He sounded faintly detached from the subject.
"We are currently conducting a full search for the unit in question.
We will report back as developments occur."
The footage ended.
In the cafeteria, Grain let out a quiet breath.
(…Search in progress.)
He glanced slightly to the side.
(She's right here.)
◆◆◆
"…I was told the cafeteria was open to me now."
He turned. Letaria was standing in the doorway.
"…Yes."
A short answer.
"Milea must have passed the word. Sit wherever you like."
Letaria looked around once, seemed to consider—
And sat down across from him.
"It's rather large in here…"
A brief silence.
The holographic feed was still playing.
Her gaze drifted toward it.
"…Is that—"
"…Yes."
No further explanation was needed.
On the screen, the machine was at it again.
She could tell at once. That was her.
"We'll now play audio submitted by viewers."
The caster's voice.
"This was intercepted from an open comm channel during the battle."
A moment.
Then—
Static.
"——Wh×t d× you ×ean, COS×LAY——!"
"——I am a LADY of N×BLE BIRTH, and I will not——this is an OUTR×GE——!!"
The audio was badly broken up.
But what was being said—more or less—wasn't difficult to follow.
The studio stirred.
"This appears to be the voice of the unknown pilot. As for the content…"
The caster left the sentence incomplete.
At that moment.
"…"
Grain's shoulder gave a small tremor.
The next moment—
A laugh escaped. A small one. Quickly stifled.
"…Why are you laughing?!"
Letaria's voice went up a notch.
Grain pressed a hand over his mouth and shook his head.
"…Sorry. I'm sorry."
But it wasn't quite under control.
Even with his eyes averted, she could tell.
Letaria watched his profile in silence.
(…Was that exchange really so amusing?)
She let her cheeks puff out just slightly.
Composed her expression into something offended. Then turned back to the screen.
(…Well.)
She wasn't actually angry.
"…That is me up there, isn't it."
"…Yes. They've been running it for days."
"…What on earth is all this."
Confused or exasperated—her face couldn't quite commit to either.
◆◆◆
On the screen, the iron-colored machine kept rampaging.
(…That was painful.)
The memory surfaced without warning.
The impact.
The shaking.
Force hitting her body from every direction.
(But.)
A pause.
(…Perhaps it was also a little fun.)
The feeling from that moment was still there.
The instant she had charged out, without thinking.
Moving before a single thought could form.
And—
She also remembered being scolded.
Milea's quiet, unrelenting pressure.
"You're extraordinary."
That word surfaced alongside everything else.
(…Whether I'm extraordinary or not, I genuinely can't say.)
(But.)
On the screen, the fist swings again.
(…Fighting with Arden might not be so bad.)
Milea's offer drifted through her mind.
(…Turning it to my advantage…)
A beat.
(…Actually, that framing feels a little wrong now.)
She couldn't say exactly why.
Only—
Something had shifted. Just barely.
The silence stretched on.
The cafeteria noise was somewhere far away.
Grain spoke.
"…Want to join us?"
A short question.
Letaria didn't answer right away.
She looked down. Considered.
(…)
Then looked up.
"…I'll give it some thought."
Grain gave a small nod.
Nothing more was said.
On the hologram, the mystery Makina was still at large.
The cafeteria went on as it always did.