"Command Post to Horn-3," the operator spoke into his comms, his voice low but firm. "What's your status?"
There was a pause, static filling the line for a moment before a reply came through. The voice on the other end was tense but calm, the weight of his situation apparent in every word.
"Neutralized Carrier-strain," Lieutenant Shirogane Takeru replied, his voice cracking with exhaustion. "TSF's status is... manageable. Most of the Royal Guard is... KIA."
His throat tightened as he spoke, each word heavier than the last. He glanced at the cockpit of his TSF, his Black Takemikazuchi, and felt a familiar surge of grief and guilt that had become an unwelcome companion.
The once-proud machine was marred by battle scars, its left side nearly torn to shreds, the arm and leg joints barely functioning. There was no time for repair. He simply had to make it last a little longer.
"What about Her Highness?" the operator asked, his voice wavering slightly.
"Escaped." Shirogane's answer was clipped. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, recalling the frantic moments when her Highness had been forced to flee and leave him behind.
"I've sealed off most of the gateway leading to the passage. The Moorcock Lechte Engine has been successfully neutralized."
"How long can you hold, Lieutenant?"
Takeru stared at the cracked screen in front of him, blood from a gash on his forehead trailing into his left eye. He wiped it away with his fortified suit's sleeve, smearing red across his vision. He winced. How long could he hold? How long until the nightmare finally consumed him?
"Long enough," he said with grim determination, "to activate the self-destruction sequence. The data-link will probably shut off soon."
Silence fell over the line. Takeru could hear his heartbeat, heavy and steady, pulsing in his ears. He almost preferred the noise of battle to the anticipation of what was coming. That silence was the sound of resignation.
"We're detecting 50,000 BETA at your location," the operator said, his voice softer now, like a man delivering a death sentence.
Takeru sighed deeply, his body heavy with fatigue. "I see," he murmured, his hand moving instinctively to disarm the safety protocols on the console in front of him. "Disarming the safety protocols."
He paused for a moment, his hand lingering on the console. His mind drifted to memories—fleeting glimpses of past battles, friends who were now gone, decisions that haunted him with the knowledge that no matter how many times he tried to change things, the outcome always led to this.
His failure to make Alternative IV a success.
His failure to save them all.
It was heavier and painful reminder.
He wiped more blood from his forehead, but the pain didn't matter anymore. His vitals showed that the wound was serious, and he knew his time was limited. A direct hit from the BETA had grazed his TSF, leaving the armor compromised. The joints in the arm and leg of the machine were barely functioning, and they wouldn't hold for much longer.
Yet, despite it all, he was still alive. But for what purpose?
His gaze fell on the dog tags hanging from the control unit. He pulled them into his hands, inspecting them one by one. Each name etched into the metal carried a weight that was almost unbearable.
"Sakaki Chizuru… Yoroi Mikoto… Ayamine Kei… Tamase Miki…" His voice trailed off as he reached the last one. "Mitsurugi Meiya…"
The tags jingled lightly as he let them fall back into place. He closed his eyes, leaning back in his seat. Everyone except Meiya was gone. Dead. Their sacrifices echoed in his mind, haunting him.
Gods, he was tired.
His hands moved slowly, but with purpose, as he disengaged the last of the protocols. The countdown began, ticking away the seconds to what would be his final stand. He slumped back in his seat, staring blankly at the screen in front of him. Time seemed to blur, stretching out and compressing at the same time. The weight of everything pressed down on him, squeezing the life from his lungs.
But then — something wasn't right.
He heard a low rumble from deep within the base. His eyes snapped open, and he checked the readings on his console. The Moorcock Lechte Engine was starting up again. Panic flickered through him. How was this possible? He had already shut it down!
His hands flew over the controls, trying to turn it off again. No response. The readouts only confirmed his worst fear—the engine's G-elements were destabilizing. Detonation was imminent, and there was no way to stop it.
The gates in the distance began to shake violently, the sound of thousands of BETA slamming against them like a battering ram. The sheer number of them was overwhelming. He could almost hear their alien cries through the reinforced steel, like the gnashing of teeth at the edge of oblivion.
Takeru knew he was dead. There was no escaping it now.
He climbed out of his black Takemikazuchi and moved toward the nearby Susanoo, the massive TSF that housed the engine. He pulled himself into the cockpit, his fingers trembling as he tried to enter the shutdown codes again. Each key press felt like a struggle, his body heavy and sluggish with blood loss and fatigue.
"Command Post to Horn-3," the operator's voice crackled through the radio. "We've detected G-elements ignition at your location. What's going on?"
Takeru's voice was ragged as he replied, "The engine started again. Shutting it off isn't working. I… I'm afraid detonation is imminent."
There was a long pause on the other end. The operator's voice, when it came, was filled with dread. "Lieutenant Shirogane, you realize that this will wipe Hawaii off the face of the planet?"
"Yes," Takeru whispered. His hands hovered over the controls, helpless. "But I've tried everything. I entered all the shutdown codes. I even manually disabled the physical switches. Nothing works."
The datalink went dead. The hum of the Susanoo's engine filled the air, a mechanical heart racing toward its last beat.
Takeru took a step back from the console and stared at the timer. There wasn't enough time for him to make it back to his Takemikazuchi. His options were gone.
He found a quiet corner and sat down. The dog tags jingled as he pulled them out again, and he held them tightly in his hand.
He stared at each name for what felt like an eternity. Each one was a reminder of everything he had lost—everything he had failed to protect.
"Class Rep… Mikoto… Ayamine… Tama… Meiya…"
As the countdown ticked closer to zero, he leaned back against the cold metal wall, his eyes growing heavy. He closed them, letting the memories of his fallen comrades wash over him. Their voices echoed in his mind, soft and comforting, as though they were with him in these final moments.
He didn't want to feel afraid. He wanted to believe that this was how it was always meant to end. That maybe, in some way, this would be enough to atone for all his failures.
The timer reached its final seconds.
3… 2… 1…
The world went black.
And in that blackness, there was silence. No pain, no fear, no regret.
Only peace.
The explosion came a moment later, a flash of blinding light that consumed everything in its path.
The island of Hawaii disappeared in an instant.
Takeru felt a sharp pain surge through his skull as if a thousand needles were pricking his brain. He clutched his head, his vision blurring. Slowly, the world around him seemed to shift, and fragments of memories came crashing into his mind like tidal waves. Each piece felt like a jigsaw puzzle fitting back together, creating a mosaic of his past experiences. They were like data packets being downloaded and decrypted, revealing the reality he had lived before — only now it was all new, yet strangely familiar.
As his mind settled, Takeru saw vivid scenes — events from another world he had once been part of. A world filled with chaos, where he had fought and bled, survived and died, all in the name of a cause he could hardly comprehend anymore. His breaths were shallow, each one a struggle as he tried to make sense of the rush of information.
Why now? He thought. Why could he remember these things now, of all times?
Still, Takeru didn't understand where he was now. Usually, he should be in his bedroom in Hiiragi. Staring at the ceiling, but he didn't understand why he was in this place. He looked around. Morning light seeps through the translucent shoji screens, softly illuminating the elegant interior of the house. The room was minimalist yet refined, embodying traditional Japanese aesthetics. Tatami mats cover the floor, their earthy scent mingling with the faint aroma of incense still lingering from the evening before.
Sliding open the shoji screen revealed the view of the garden outside, casting gentle shadows across the wooden floors. Above, the ceiling features exposed wooden beams. A simple yet exquisite tokonoma alcove adorns one wall, displaying a seasonal scroll painting and an ikebana flower arrangement. A low wooden table sits in the center of the main living room, surrounded by zabuton cushions. The lacquered surface of the table glistens in the soft light.
Stepping onto the wooden engawa that wraps around the house, the morning air feels crisp and cool. The estate is surrounded by a perfectly manicured garden. Moss blankets the ground in soft greens, interrupted by smooth stone pathways leading to a koi pond. The water shimmers as sunlight dances across its surface, and the koi lazily glide beneath floating lotus leaves.
A carefully pruned pine tree leans gracefully over the pond, its reflection mirrored in the water. Lanterns made of stone stand stoically among clusters of bamboo and azaleas, their placement deliberate yet effortless. A small wooden bridge arches over a stream that meanders through the garden, its burbling sound a peaceful accompaniment to the rustling of leaves in the morning breeze.
In the distance, the rooflines of the estate's outbuildings emerge, their gently curved eaves capped with dark tiles that glisten with morning dew.
The air inside the estate was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine from the garden. Light filtered gently through the shoji screens, casting a soft glow across the tatami mats. A faint tapping sound broke the silence as a young woman, dressed in a perfectly arranged kimono of muted greys and blues, approached one of the inner rooms.
Her name was Emiko, a loyal servant to the Shirogane family since her early teens. Now in her twenties, she carried herself with calm precision, though her heart occasionally raced when delivering important messages to the household's young master, Shirogane Takeru.
Emiko knelt gracefully before the sliding door to Takeru's quarters, her hands folded in front of her. "Shirogane-sama," she said softly, her voice steady but respectful. "Your father, Shirogane Kageyuki-sama, requests your presence."
Inside the room, Takeru blinked groggily. His disheveled hair caught the morning light, and his kimono hung loosely from his shoulders. "Kageyuki…?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. He rubbed his temple, frowning as though trying to remember something he had long thought about.
"My father?" Takeru repeated, his confusion deepening as memories flooded more into his head.. He looked at Emiko through the partially opened screen, his brows furrowing. His father's name sounded familiar yet distant, as if pulled from a memory that didn't entirely belong to him.
"Yes, Takeru-sama," Emiko replied patiently, her head bowed. "He is waiting for you in the inner hall. He mentioned it is an urgent matter."
Takeru nodded slowly, then paused. Something felt wrong—like a piece of the world had shifted out of place. He stared at Emiko with an intensity that made her glance up in concern. "Emiko," he asked, confused why he knew her name. His voice was unusually sharp. "What year is it?"
The question startled her. "The year, Takeru-sama?" she repeated, as if to confirm she'd heard correctly.
"Yes, the year!" Takeru pressed. His heart pounded for reasons he couldn't explain, as though the answer would either anchor him to reality or shatter it completely.
Emiko blinked, then answered simply, "It is the year 1990, Takeru-sama."
Her words struck him like a thunderclap. 1990. The number reverberated in his mind. He staggered back a step, his breath quickening. "That can't be right," he muttered under his breath. "That's impossible…"
Emiko tilted her head slightly, concern flickering in her eyes. "Takeru-sama? Are you feeling unwell?"
Takeru's gaze darted around the room, as if searching for something that could explain this surreal situation. Just moments ago or so, he thought he had been in Hawaii bleeding out. His mind scrambled to make sense of the impossible. How could it be 1990?
He looked at Emiko, her face now tinged with worry. Her presence was grounding, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to the storm brewing in his chest. Swallowing his panic, he forced himself to nod. "No, I'm… I'm fine," he said, though his voice trembled slightly. "Tell my father I'll be there shortly."
Emiko hesitated, but then bowed deeply. "As you wish, Takeru-sama," she said before rising and gliding away, her footsteps light but deliberate.
Left alone, Takeru leaned forward, his hands gripping his knees. 1990. The date repeated in his mind like an echo in a vast, empty chamber. The last thing he remembered — it couldn't have been this world, this time. Yet here he was, in the Shirogane estate, with servants addressing him as if nothing were amiss.
What had happened? And more importantly… why was his father Kageyuki, of all people, calling for him now?
Shirogane Takeru took a deep breath, steeling himself.
He didn't understand why he woke up at this time and place instead at his bedroom in Hiiragi Town.
But he also understood that he just got a huge amount of time before the world turns into a salty wasteland.