Chương 336: 143.Unexpected Person 2

"Oh my." The girl finally spoke. Her voice was pleasant. Not sweet, and not soft. It was a clean, cold kind of pleasant, where every syllable sounded like its edges had been filed smooth before being released. Unfortunately, what she actually said wasn't gentle at all.

"I had always assumed that the Federal military largely consisted of the sort of people who rarely use their brains." She tilted her head slightly, her gaze falling on me, the corners of her lips carrying a curve that didn't quite qualify as a smile.

"But looking at today, it seems that is not entirely the case." Vicious. And viciously well-bred. The high-class type where you know perfectly well you've just been stabbed, but you still feel the need to reflect on whether your own posture was elegant enough while taking the hit. Just as I was debating whether to fire back with a feeling's mutual, you Imperials don't exactly look like you're all burdened with brains either, a hand expertly clamped onto my arm and pulled me back.

The motion was too clean, too practiced. I didn't even have to think. It was her.

"I am the Executive Officer of this ship." Maki stepped forward, planting herself steadily in front of me. Her voice wasn't loud, but it forcefully pressed down the sparking tension in the hangar by a full layer.

"Captain Maki Kushima." The girl's eyes narrowed slightly. I understood that expression. It wasn't simple surprise, or caution. It was an appraisal. Like she was taking Maki's rank, her position, her way of speaking, her posture, and even that little motion of pulling me behind her, throwing it all onto a scale in a single glance, and calculating a number only she knew.

"Maki Kushima..." She repeated the name very softly, as if confirming something, or snapping a fragmented assessment into a complete picture. Then, she said mildly:"I see... How terribly rude of me." I saw the corner of Maki's eye twitch. The movement was tiny. Small enough that anyone else probably wouldn't have noticed. But I saw it. And I'd bet three days' worth of pudding rations that the I see hiding in that sentence wasn't nearly as simple as it looked on the surface.

It wasn't an ordinary oh, so you're the XO. It was more like— Ah. So on the Yukikaze, your kind of person is the real problem.... Dammit. Just imagining it made me feel annoyed on Maki's behalf.

"Apologies," the girl said, her tone so flat it bordered on relaxed.

"It seems I haven't introduced myself." She stood between her two escorts. Behind her was the shuttle, its engine heat not yet fully faded; in front of her was the ring of half-lowered muzzles from the Yukikaze's security detail. Yet the way she stood there made it feel like all of those things were merely a backdrop.

"I am Hedwig von Wittelsbach." I froze. That surname... Something slammed hard against the inside of my skull, but I couldn't quite place it right away. Wittelsbach. I felt like I'd heard it before. No, more accurately—anyone who hadn't slept through all their history classes should have heard it. And looking at us, without so much as a waver at the end of her sentence, she dropped the final line cleanly.

"I am the Third Princess of the Galactic Empire." In that instant, I felt the air in the entire hangar bay stop. Even the security guards, who a moment ago had been tense enough to bite through their triggers, looked like someone had unplugged them on the spot. Guns still raised, souls temporarily jammed. The sound of the ventilation fans returned, but it couldn't shift a single expression in the room. It was a bizarre feeling.

Like the universe had kindly paused for half a second, specifically to give us unlucky bastards time to digest an introduction that was going to make Logistics work overnight, cause the Political Department to collectively lose their hair, and send the Security Clearance reviewers out the door smiling with knives in their hands. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Not because I'd never seen a VIP. It was because I'd never thought a VIP would look like this. Too young. Too calm.

Too much like the kind of person who, when the last question on the exam is clearly outside the syllabus, can watch you break down while neatly writing out the perfect answer.... No, this wasn't an exam. This was our entire ship potentially stepping into a diplomatic incident—a deluxe upgraded edition, complete with royal bloodlines, assassination attempts, and a three-piece Imperial destroyer set. Jess spoke first. She let out a low whistle, like she'd finally watched the curtain rise on tonight's grand finale.

"Well then," she said.

"I thought we'd fished up trouble. I didn't realize we'd fished up trouble's family registry."

"Jess." Maki only said her name. Her voice was flat. So flat that even Jess tactfully swallowed the rest of her sentence. Only the thoroughly punchable curve of her mouth remained, looking exactly like someone who knew perfectly well she was staring at a powder keg, but still wanted to see if she could tap it with a fingernail first. Sergeant Takenaka's face was ugly enough to be used as exterior hull paint.

He opened his mouth, closed it again—looking like he desperately wanted to say something—but ultimately chose to lower his muzzle by two inches instead. Good. At least his brain was still functioning. He knew he'd just narrowly avoided writing the Yukikaze's service record into a Federal diplomatic textbook as a negative case study. The overhead comms cut in.

"Security detail, safeties on, muzzles down." Ash's voice dropped from the public circuit, as cold as a perfectly squared block of ice.

"No one makes contact with the subject without orders. No raising weapons a second time. No verbal provocation. Takenaka, reform the perimeter. Lan, re-verify the encrypted ID. Aida, scan the shuttle and the retinue's gear—give me a version that saves Legal from writing two extra reports." The moment that string of orders hit the deck, the scene finally shifted from might make the news in the next second back to barely resembles a military.

"Copy."

"Understood."

"Processing." The familiar responses chained together one by one. Listening to them, my heart finally remembered how to beat. Maki took a half-step forward, standing even straighter than before. She didn't immediately turn subservient just because the other party had declared a royal title, which made me feel deeply reassured. That was the most terrifying and reliable thing about Maki Kushima—point a knife at her, and she won't panic; drop a royal title on her, and she won't kneel.

She will simply take control of the room first, and then decide whether to dismantle you along with it.

"Princess Hedwig," Maki said, her words clean.

"The Yukikaze acknowledges your declaration of identity. However, until secondary verification is complete, the hangar bay will maintain its current alert status. If this causes offense, please forgive us." Hedwig looked at Maki, that thin trace of scrutiny still in her eyes. But she nodded. Not a large movement. Just a slight dip of the head. Yet somehow, that single nod felt more like a true superior than the phrase Third Princess had. As if she weren't accepting an arrangement, but making a judgment: Good.

At least someone on this ship is competent.

"Reasonable," she said. Only four syllables. Delivered as though she were pardoning an entire hangar bay from the obligation to collectively fall on their swords tonight. I suddenly felt a flash of annoyance. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. For no real reason. Just that instinctive urge to pick a flaw that bubbles up in an underage teenager faced with someone too perfect, too calm, too much like the model answer.

Especially when this particular model answer had nearly cost our entire ship a night's sleep.

"So," I said, crossing my arms and deliberately dropping the polite tone.

"Your Highness the Third Princess of the Empire, are you trying to tell us that those three Imperial destroyers earlier were just throwing a border welcome tea party, and their muzzles were just pointing in an overly enthusiastic direction?" Maki shot me a sideways look. The meaning of that look was crystal clear: Hoshino Shimo, knock it off. But she didn't stop me. Which meant she also wanted to know the answer. She just wasn't going to be as obnoxious about it as I was. Hedwig shifted her gaze to me. Very brief.

But incredibly sharp. I hated that kind of look. Not because it was oppressive, but because it felt too much like being dismantled—bones, temper, nerve, level of disrespect, all weighed in a single glance, ending with the conclusion that your packaging wasn't good enough.

"If I said yes, would you believe me?" she asked.

"No."

"Good," she said mildly.

"At least someone on the Yukikaze doesn't consider insulting one's intelligence to be diplomatic etiquette."... This girl. Did she learn sarcasm as a second language growing up? My mouth twitched. She'd blocked me so cleanly I almost laughed. Beside me, Jess was already biting her fist to hold back a laugh, her shoulders shaking so hard she looked like some kind of dying, bizarre sea creature. Maki didn't let the scene slide in a weird direction for long.

"Your Highness," she said.

"This is not the place to continue this conversation. The Yukikaze will provide isolation, medical care, and temporary quarters in accordance with protection protocols. As for your retinue and escorts, they must relinquish heavy arms and be registered by our security detail. If you agree, please follow me to the ship's isolation reception area."

Beside her, the man who looked like he was holding himself together by sheer willpower—the same one who had spoken to us on the encrypted line earlier—finally seemed to come back to life.

"Your Highness," he murmured, "this is standard procedure." Hedwig didn't answer him immediately. She looked around the hangar bay first. At the security guards. At the shuttle. At Maki. And finally, her gaze actually returned to me. Me: "... What?"

"Hoshino," Maki warned softly.

"I didn't say anything wrong, I'm just asking why she's looking at me—" Hedwig's lips finally moved. It wasn't a smile. More like a very thin crack forming on the surface of ice.

"You were right earlier," she said.

"About what?"

"If we truly intended to launch a sneak attack here, there wouldn't be this many people still standing in the hangar." I blinked. Beside me, Takenaka's face instantly turned as colorful as if someone had spiked his disciplinary manual with chili powder. Hedwig continued, her tone as placid as if she were proofreading a report.

"To notice that immediately means you thought at least one step further ahead than the people who raised their guns." Sergeant Takenaka's temple twitched. I barely held it together. Not because she praised me. Being praised by someone like this didn't feel like a reward; it felt more like being casually patted on the shoulder by an exceptionally well-crafted knife. The problem was— She made a very good point.

So I just coughed, pushed the amusement back down, and tried to look like I wasn't an idiot ready to wag my tail the second I got a compliment.

"Thanks," I said.

"Though I'm not sure if a compliment from an Imperial Princess comes with a warranty."

"It does not," she answered quickly.

"What a shame."

"For both of us."... Alright. This girl was good. Maki raised a hand to press against her temple, looking like she was already taking an advance on the exhaustion that was about to hit the entire ship.

"That's enough chatting," she said.

"Takenaka, disarm the weapon sensors around the shuttle. Jess, stop laughing, get to the bridge and pull the fire-control logs from earlier. If Aida scans anything outside Imperial specs, I want it reported to me immediately." Jess looked devastated, like someone forced to abort a highly entertaining activity.

"Aw—I was just getting to the best part."

"If you watch for one second longer, the best part is going to be you writing an incident report," Maki said. Jess clicked her tongue and, surprisingly, turned around obediently. I honestly suspect she only responds to that specific tone. After a brief exchange of glances, Hedwig's escorts slowly began detaching their external weapons according to protocol. Their movements were still crisp, but absent of any unnecessary hostility.

That compliance was telling in itself—they didn't trust us; they trusted that Hedwig had already calculated this move was safe to make. Thinking about that made me even more uncomfortable. This person didn't seem like a protection target. She seemed more like the only person in this entire incident who hadn't lost the initiative from start to finish. The shuttle hatch was still open, the cold light spilling behind her, clearly outlining the edges of her long black coat.

Standing there, even though she couldn't be much older than I was, she already possessed a very troublesome degree of competency. It was as if, while other fifteen-year-olds were learning math, romance, and how to hide snacks in their dorms, she had spent her fifteen years learning how to survive assassinations, political warfare, and diplomatic protection lists—and in the process, had turned herself into a document no one dared to casually fold. The person in front of me didn't look like cargo.

Didn't look like a hostage. Didn't even look like a princess in the traditional sense. She looked more like— Someone who, as long as she was breathing, would continually manufacture consequences. And the Empire clearly knew this.

"Shimo." Maki called me.

"Yeah?"

"Stop spacing out. Keep up." I finally realized the formation had already started moving deeper into the ship. Security had reformed into an escort perimeter on the outside; Hedwig walked in the center, followed by her maid and two escorts; Maki had naturally slotted herself into the optimal position to control the room. As for me? I wasn't supposed to be in this formation.

In theory, a single-seat fighter pilot who had just finished a mission and whose brain was still slightly numb from the catapult launch should be heading to the medical bay, returning to her quarters, or at least going back to pretend to be an adolescent organism that sleeps normally. Unfortunately, on the Yukikaze, theory is usually about as useful as decorative wallpaper.

"I'm coming too?"

"You already hijacked the opening interrogation, and now you want to play the innocent bystander?" Maki didn't even turn her head.

"I was just providing an on-site tactical observation."

"You were providing trouble." Walking ahead of us, Hedwig suddenly said, very softly:"On that point, your ship's Executive Officer is entirely accurate." Me: "..." Even though Jess was almost out of earshot, she still made the effort to turn back and land one last stab:"Congratulations, Hoshino. You're Princess-certified."

"Shut up!" The hangar bay finally started moving again. In the end, we didn't take Hedwig anywhere decent. Not the Captain's quarters, not the officers' lounge, not even a proper reception room that might at least have a fake potted plant to give the illusion of ah, the Federal military isn't so poor that they use warehouses for diplomatic meetings.

The three of us—Jess, me, and Maki—led Hedwig and her entourage (who had spent the entire walk looking like they were measuring exfil routes with their eyes) until we finally stopped at a half-cleared warehouse on the upper-mid deck. Inside were a few folding chairs. The kind that are usually shoved in a corner, only dragged out for ad-hoc assemblies, emergency briefings, or those Academy scenarios where everyone stays behind today to listen to the brass talk nonsense.

Simple structure, hurts your ass if you sit too long, and if you're in a bad enough mood when folding them up, they can be used directly as blunt weapons. Very Yukikaze. And very fitting for our current atmosphere of: Forget the pageantry, let's decide whether we actually believe you first. Hedwig stood at the door and ran a sweep of the room. The way she looked at it didn't seem like she was taking in the environment.

It looked more like she was confirming whether the space was sufficient to handle things if negotiations broke down. Then, Hedwig spoke mildly.

"You lot. Stay outside." She wasn't talking to us. She was talking to the escorts behind her, the ones who looked like they could snap a person's ribs in a rhythmic sequence at a moment's notice. They stopped immediately, with almost zero hesitation. Only one person followed Hedwig inside. Hedwig's personal lady's maid. I took one look at her, and alarms instantly went off in my head. This one... wasn't simple.

Not the moe maid from an anime who brings you black tea with a flushed face and yells Young Master, please don't peek at my panties. Not even close. The vibe I got from this maid was much closer to the psychotic drill instructors I'd dealt with in boot camp. Not the oh, how frightening kind of frightening. More the if you say one wrong word right now, she might help you draft your last words first, then fold you up neater than any of these chairs kind of frightening.

I added a private, deeply uncharitable note to myself:... No wonder she's an Imperial Princess's personal lady's maid. The hiring criteria for that position probably isn't whether you know how to make tea. It's whether you know how to dispose of a body. Maki didn't bother with pleasantries. Not a single beat of preamble. The door closed, and Maki went straight for it.

"You say you're the Third Princess." She stayed standing. Didn't sit. I'd bet anything it wasn't because she couldn't find a chair she liked. It was because if Maki sat down right now, she'd lose half her leverage. She let the pause run for exactly one beat, then dropped the second half.

"What brings an Imperial Princess all the way out here?" Hedwig, upon hearing this, actually smiled. Not a warm smile. A professional one. The kind of expression that looks like it was trained into her from childhood — a standard face to place over whatever she was actually thinking, whenever it became necessary.

"I am a Special Mediation Ambassador." Maki's eyebrow didn't move.

"Mediating what?"

"I'm afraid," Hedwig said, her tone perfectly even, "you're not cleared to know that." The room went quiet for a beat. I heard Jess draw a soft breath beside me. Not surprise. The kind of breath that means: oh, oh, oh — that one landed clean, I like it. Maki's expression didn't change. But I saw it. The corner of Maki's eye. A barely-there twitch. That was rare. Rare enough that I wanted to put up a commemorative plaque on the spot: Captain Maki Kushima.

On this day, slapped clean across the face with a single sentence. Has yet to strangle the offender. Maki continued.

"Is the mediation directed at the Federation, or something internal to the Empire?" Hedwig didn't even pause.

"You're not cleared to know that." Maki tried again.

"The subject transferred aboard the Fujimaru — was it you yourself, or a piece of information or material you were carrying?" Same answer.

"You're not cleared to know that." Third time.

"The three Imperial destroyers that pursued the Fujimaru — whose orders were they acting on?" Hedwig finally paused. A pause. Brief enough to be a trick of the light. Then she looked at Maki, and said it again, just as calmly:"You're not cleared to know that." Right. This had stopped being a conversation. She was using diplomatic language as a blunt instrument, bringing it down on Maki's forehead one measured stroke at a time, each blow carrying the same message: you don't rank high enough for this.

I turned to look at Maki. Maki said nothing. But I saw it — the corner of her eye twitched again. Second time. A strange feeling crept over me, suddenly. These two were actually very similar. Neither of them was the type to win anything by raising her voice. Neither of them wore her emotions anywhere visible. But that was exactly the problem. If they were just similar, that wouldn't be frightening.

What made it frightening was that behind these two people stood completely different systems — systems that were, in fact, directly opposed to each other. Maki measured the world by conglomerates, the military, responsibility, and practical operations. Hedwig measured it by royalty, diplomacy, order, and the state. One ruler: Federal standard. One ruler: Imperial specifications.

And now someone had shoved both rulers into the same room, and set them down on opposite sides of a warehouse table that looked like it might give up the ghost at any moment. Just imagining how they were about to start measuring each other was enough to make my scalp prickle. So I made a very reasonable, very mature, very survival-oriented decision.

I pretended the tea that didn't exist on the table was getting cold, and began to rise from my chair with the full intention of performing oh, so sorry, let me go fetch everyone a fresh cup — I'll be right back, don't mind me, I definitely won't be gone forever. My backside had barely cleared the seat by an inch —"Shimo." Maki didn't turn her head.

"Sit down." Me: "..." Fine. Apparently there was no escaping this. I sat back down, obediently. The folding chair let out a soft, metallic groan — quiet, but in that particular moment, thoroughly humiliating. Across from me, Hedwig's eyes narrowed slightly. Oh no. I was already starting to read that expression. She was doing it again. Not just looking — appraising.

Like she was running calculations in her head: my conversational dynamic with Maki, the distance between us, the timing of the interruption, and the precise quality of my failed attempt to escape followed by being hauled back. She looked at me. Then at Maki. And then, on that face — the kind of face beautiful enough to make you actively resent acknowledging it — a very faint smile surfaced.

"The way you two interact," she said.

"Interesting." A chill moved down my spine instantly. Not because those words were frightening in themselves. It was because when someone like her started finding an interaction interesting, it usually meant she'd already stopped looking at the surface. And I had a very strong, very unwelcome, and very accurate premonition that whatever Hedwig said next was not going to do me any favors. I quietly lit an invisible candle for myself. Then thought, very seriously:... Ash.

Is it too late to request a transfer back into the Zero and go resume trading shots with the Imperial Navy?