Chương 238: 94. Maintenance Assessment 1

I woke the next morning in a state of deeply undignified tension. Not because we had to go outside the hull. Not because today was the formal zero-G repair assessment. Because the moment I opened my eyes, I saw Maki already sitting up on the bed across from me, half into her uniform, head bent, calmly doing up her cuff buttons — as if last night had simply never happened.... What is this woman actually made of.

I pulled the blanket up a little higher, telling myself it was just because I was cold, not because I was avoiding her eyes. Maki didn't even look up.

"Shimo. Pretending to sleep isn't going to make Victor cancel the assessment."

"I'm not pretending. I'm performing a tactical eye-closure."

"Your tactics were snoring, a minute ago."

"That was psychological warfare."

"I see. Intimidating the vacuum of space with nasal resonance." She finally lifted her eyes. The look was flat, mild, almost entirely unbothered. Which was exactly why it made my stomach hurt. After we'd gotten back to the room last night, I'd meant to say something. Things like what are we, what was that kiss, and what did it mean that you pinned me down and then suddenly stopped. I hadn't said a single one of them. Maki hadn't pushed me to, either.

She'd just tidied up, washed up, and said "we've got an assessment tomorrow, go to sleep" — exactly like always. Like handing someone a live grenade and then, very politely, pressing the pin back in for them. I sat up slowly and scrubbed a hand through my hair.

"You seem... to be in a good mood today."

"Better than someone who woke up looking like she's being marched to a public execution."

"That's because I'm going outside the hull."

"No." She fastened the last button, voice calm to the point of cruelty.

"That expression has less to do with the hull and more to do with being alone with me." I nearly choked on my own spit.

"Wh—who's worried about that."

"Mm."

"That 'mm' is extremely condescending."

"Getting awfully bold lately, aren't you, Shimo." She actually said it again. I glared at her, ears heating up against my will. She watched me for two seconds, the corner of her mouth almost lifting — not quite — then picked up my jacket and tossed it at me.

"Hurry up. We genuinely cannot be late today. Victor made it very clear yesterday — anyone who's late doesn't get to hold the welding torch. They get a rag and get to polish the exterior plating instead."

"... Half the time I genuinely can't tell if he's joking or if he'd actually do it."

"With him, probably both." Fair enough. Breakfast had an unusually charged atmosphere across the whole ship. Not the ordinary "formal assessment today, everyone's tense" kind of charged. The "someone nearly caused an incident in a double room last night severe enough to earn the whole mess hall a bonus course, and the witnesses are still breathing" kind of charged. The second I walked in with my tray, Jess was already there. The instant she spotted me, her eyes lit up like she'd just found the keys to an armory.

I was finished. This woman hadn't come for breakfast. She'd come for me.

"Morning, Shimo." Bright smile. Zero shame in it.

"Sleep well?"

"Fine." I steeled myself and sat down.

"At least I wasn't woken up by your trash talk."

"Oh? Shame. I was hoping the second-class soundproofing wasn't that good." I nearly bent my fork in half. D, across the table, burst out laughing and slapped the desk.

"That line is dangerous, Hoshino."

"Shut up." The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"Hey, don't take it out on innocent civilians." He wore an expression that had never once been innocent in its life, and added, entirely seriously, "I'm just checking on roommate harmony."

"You're just here to watch the fire you started."

"What about Harvey, then?" He redirected instantly. Harvey, mid-soup, set his spoon down and gave me a level look.

"I'm only wondering if your hands are going to shake outside the hull today."

"Thank you. You're much more civilized than some people."

"You're welcome." He nodded.

"If they do, I can draft your last-words template in advance."... I take it back. Not one of these men is any good. Roy sat beside him, clearly working hard to preserve the dignity of a normal person, though the corner of his mouth was already losing that fight.

"At least your partner today is reliable." I glanced at Maki on reflex. She was cutting her fried egg, expression so blank it looked like she hadn't heard a word. Feeling my eyes on her, she looked up, voice level as a morning weather report.

"Relax. If you drift, I'll pull you back." Jess jumped in immediately.

"Wow. So tender." I genuinely wanted to shove a bread roll in her mouth. Fortunately, breakfast got cut short — every terminal at the table chimed at once. The notice was short and blunt: Phase Three Formal Assessment: Zero-Gravity Extravehicular Repair Operation. The table went quiet for a beat. Then D whistled.

"Alright. Let's see who becomes a message in a bottle first today."

"Unfortunately," Maki said, sipping her water, perfectly cold, "I'm hoping it's you."

"You've got a vicious mouth on you too, you know."

"Likewise." I kept my head down and ate. Good. Everyone else looked completely normal. I was apparently the only one with the memory of being pinned to a mattress playing on illegal broadcast loop in my skull. Perfectly normal. When Victor stepped back up to the lectern in the briefing room, that metal flask was still in his hand. At this point I was starting to suspect it wasn't a container at all, but one of his internal organs.

"Everyone here?" He swept his cloudy but sharp eyes over the room.

"Good. Nothing new today. Because yesterday, you already worked through most of the ways you're capable of embarrassing yourselves." Silence. D muttered, "I feel like that was aimed at specific groups."

"I can hear you, kid." Victor didn't even look at him.

"Especially you." The room laughed. D spread his hands, the picture of innocence he'd never once possessed. Victor picked up the chalk and wrote the day's tasks on the board. One. External crack inspection. Two. Mounting-bracket removal and replacement. Three. Vacuum arc-weld seal. Four. Line refastening and power-on check. Short lines. Every one of them looked entirely capable of landing someone in the casualty column of a repair report.

"Rules are simple." He tapped the board.

"Pairs. Out the hatch, clear your assigned sector. Forty-five-minute limit. Run over: deduction. Weld drift: deduction. Miss a check, miss a lock, miss a report: deduction. Fling yourself off the hull: automatic fail." Roy raised his hand, entirely serious.

"Instructor — what if you fling your partner off the hull?" Victor looked at him.

"Then consider transferring to law. You're going to need a defense brief." The room went quiet, then cracked up. Victor grunted and kept going.

"Pairings stand from yesterday's sim. D and Roy. Harvey and Aida. Akari and Evelyn. Jess and Lan. Shimo—" His chalk paused. His eyes cut our way.

"—and Maki." Maybe it was just in my head, but the back of my neck went warm the second I heard that pairing. Jess turned immediately and gave me a smile with absolutely no good intentions in it. I was finished. If she got monitoring duty on our channel, this wasn't extravehicular maintenance today. It was a public exhibition. Sure enough, Victor twisted the knife right after.

"Also — interior monitoring and ops logging rotates through whoever's not outside. First rotation: Jess, comms for sectors two and three." My vision went dark for a moment. Jess, meanwhile, perked up like she'd just been handed a promotion.

"Copy, Instructor. I will monitor with great dedication." She loaded the word "dedication" with all the flavor of a criminal announcing intent in advance. Maki, beside me, said quietly, "Don't worry."

"That has zero reassuring power."

"At least I won't let her laugh you to death out there."

"Thanks, but I'd rather not die socially over the comms first."

"Then focus on the work." Light tone. Direct. I took a breath and pushed the noise down. Right. Work first. Come back alive. Shame can kill me later. The hull-prep bay always smells wrong. Not just metal, not just machine oil — something closer to everything in here can end you, so kindly show some respect. We suited up in EVA gear and ran the checklist in the staging chamber. Mag boots. Attitude micro-thrusters. Safety tether. Tool clips. Helmet comms. Chest biometrics. Backup O2 on the back panel.

And today's headliner — the vacuum arc welder. Heavier than I expected, grip wrapped in low-temp insulation, pressure gauge and output dial on the casing. It looked like an unreasonably large, entirely unsentimental handgun. Victor stood by the prep bench, checking the roster and handing out tools like he was distributing last testaments.

"Remember. This isn't a classroom toy." He held D's gaze an extra beat as he passed the welder over.

"Point that nozzle at your partner again, and I'll weld you to the hull myself."

"Instructor, is that a threat?"

"That's instructional guidance." D shut up. When it was our turn, Victor slid the toolbox over, glancing between the two of us once.

"You've got B-7, exterior inspection. Replace the sensor flow bracket, seal a two-centimeter surface crack, refasten one section of heat-sink piping. You don't need me to recite the sequence again?"

"No," Maki said, crisp. I nodded. Victor looked at me and added, "Hoshino."

"Sir."

"Don't get distracted just because your partner's pretty." The prep bay went dead silent for half a second. Then Jess laughed outright from the next station.

"Instructor, that one was precise."

"... Can I request the comms be cut right now?" I asked, expressionless.

"No," Victor said.

"Because I want to hear how she makes your life difficult too." Has this ship abandoned discipline entirely. Maki just took my right hand and, without looking up, pressed the glove ring in until it seated. Her fingers slid over my wrist through the fabric. My shoulder tightened without my permission.

"Ignore them," she said, still not looking up.

"Run the checklist."

"... Right."

"Tether, confirm."

"Primary clipped, secondary clipped, rear backup ring secure."

"Thrusters."

"Left four, right four. Pressure normal."

"Welder."

"Output on standby, safety engaged, mount clip normal."

"Good." She looked up, meeting my eyes through the clear visor. For one very inconvenient second, I decided that compared to the vacuum of space, the actually dangerous thing was this person saying "good" to me, in that voice, from that distance. Jess's voice cut in over the comms right on cue.

"To my two lovely B-7 techs — this is your dedicated monitor speaking. Gentle reminder: while I fully support team bonding, extravehicular operations are not a flirting venue." A vein throbbed at my temple.

"Jess. One more word, and when I get back I'm using you as a welding practice plate."

"Ooh, so fierce. I'm just wondering if you're distracted today because last night weren't you—""Shut up!"

"Copy, copy." She sounded delighted in the worst way.

"B-7 team: spirits high. Logged." Maki, of all people, let out a small laugh. Just a breath over the comms — barely there. But that was worse than anything Jess could have said. Because it meant she was in a good mood. And her good moods usually got billed to me.