Chapter 2: Fear
Giroro was tapping his fingers on his desk impatiently. He had been battling with himself for the past few months. Now he finally got the free time, an extended vacation as a reward to his recent success with a mission, yet he hesitated and pondered. He was itching inside very badly, he had pondered on this matter for so long that he swore that he was on the brink of insanity. He wanted to ask so badly, but he felt that it would be awkward to do so. He was afraid to face the truth too.
His yearning had surpassed his fear, so he smashed his hand on a button. A static screen lit up in front of him and rang, waiting for the Keronian on the other side of the screen to pick up. He drew in a quick, sharp breath. Then a face appeared on the screen.
"Second Lieutenant Giroro, how may I help you?" the figure saluted. He was Giroro's intelligence officer.
Giroro cleared his throat and replied, "Sergeant, would you mind to search up how many years have passed since Keroro Platoon was withdrawn from Pekopon?"
The Sergeant broke into a naughty smile and replied politely, "Sir, I believe that you can do the math yourself."
Giroro's face became a deeper shade of red. Then he quickly regained his composure and cleared his throat sternly, "Urm, I certainly can do that myself, soldier. I was asking how many Pekopon years have passed?"
The sergeant's furrowed his forehead in curiosity and confusion, but he nonetheless obeyed. He typed some commands into his computer, then in a few seconds he got his answer. "Sir, seventy-four Pekoponian years have passed."
Giroro became utterly lost for a few seconds, his face blank and his body stiff. He did not know that whether he should be glad or sad. Then he replied mechanically, "Thank you, Sergeant."
The sergeant stared at his superior curiously, "Anytime, sir," and he hung up.
Giroro had forgotten that Pekopians have a much shorter lifespan than Keronians. If he were to fulfill his promise, he would have to act fast. Or it might be too late already. If more years had passed, he could be certain that she is dead. However, seventy-four years could mean that she is still alive, but old. Giroro questioned himself, would I still love her no matter how she looks like? Or should I only cherish the memory of her youthful self?
Giroro was caught in yet another inner turmoil. He wanted to take his chance to find out if she was still alive, yet he knew that it would break his heart if he find out that she has died. If he never go find out, he could live in denial and always believe that she is still alive and well, just like on the day he had left her; yet he would wonder for the rest of his life that maybe he could have seen her again had he tried.
It was too much for him, and he broke down. He rested his head in his arms, on the table. He sat there for an afternoon in silence, meditating on his choices. Then suddenly a relevation struck him. He, Second Lieutenant Giroro, would never surrender without fighting. Not trying would be equivalent to losing a battle without fighting. He jumped up from his seat and swung the old belt onto himself, across his chest.
"Natsumi, wait for me. I'm coming."
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