Chương 341: 146.Bad Kids' Plan

Once Ash signed off on it, the whole thing changed shape. One second earlier, it had just been the evil brainchild of two sleep-deprived people with slightly underdeveloped morals, muttering at the Federation's public memorial coverage. The next, it was a formal topic on the Yukikaze's bridge — the kind you break down into approach vectors, time windows, ID chains, media nodes, security branches, political fallout, and then write onto the ops board line by line. This ship always amazes me.

On the Yukikaze, the difference between a stunt and an operation is usually just Ash saying one word: continue. The main display split into several panes almost immediately. Top left: Capital Ring system traffic lanes and near-orbit tracks around the capital world of Dunan. Top right: the memorial's public schedule, airspace around the landing zone, and the slots for the military ceremonial flight. Below, two timelines in completely different colors— One for the Yukikaze's loud return.

The other for Hedwig's quiet transfer. The whole thing looked like some kind of beautifully deranged double staff. One line dedicated to pulling every eye in the Federation onto us. The other dedicated to quietly moving whatever couldn't see daylight while everyone else was staring elsewhere. Ash sat in the captain's chair, voice as flat as if he were assigning a compartment-cleaning rotation.

"Major blocks first. One: when the Yukikaze enters the Capital Ring system. Two: our approach on the day of the memorial. Three: shuttle teams for the landing. Four: Hedwig and retinue's transfer. Five: who speaks the first public sentence."

"Six," Jess drawled, raising a hand, "whether the Academy gives us a medal for this or just expels all of Class 144 in one go." Ash didn't even look at her.

"That's item seven."

"Why isn't it six?"

"Because item six is you shutting up." …Right. Very Ash. Roy took the lanes. A few tracks pulled out across the main display, arcing from our current position toward Dunan's outer approach, then branching into several possible vectors around the Capital Ring system's defense net.

"If the goal is for everyone to see the Yukikaze, we can't sneak into port," Roy said.

"We need a line that's clean enough, straight enough, and lands us squarely in the main camera's natural frame."

"That sounds like a wedding procession," I couldn't help saying. Roy didn't even look up.

"At least weddings don't have an AA grid watching them." …Fair. On Lan's side, the memorial relay chains were already coming apart under her hands.

"On the day, Dunan will light up a public memorial channel, a military ceremonial line, and at least five major media outlets sharing primary signal nodes," she said, circling a cluster of glowing points.

"If we want the Yukikaze to be recognized as the Yukikaze the instant we appear — not as some unknown capital-sized contact — we need to push our ID into all three chains at least ten seconds in advance." Jess chimed in from the side:"Ten seconds is plenty. As long as one person yells 'Isn't that the Yukikaze?', the rest will do our PR for us."

"You sound like you're planning a terror attack," Maki said, cold.

"No," I corrected.

"This is called managing public sentiment." Aida actually nodded, calm.

"In a sense, yes." I honestly wasn't sure whether to be pleased I'd been validated, or alarmed that Aida's political vocabulary was now robust enough to launder my worst ideas on the spot. That was when Maki spoke up, frowning like something had just clicked.

"There's another problem." The second she said it, my instincts went on alert. Maki Kushima usually only throws one more stone under the wheel when everyone's getting excited enough to forget physics and the Articles of War at the same time. She looked at the defense overlay around Dunan and finished:"The Capital Ring system. How do you plan to handle that?" The bridge went quiet for a second. Then all of us caught up at once to which that she meant.

Suspended in low orbit over Dunan: twelve massive fortresses, spaced out around the planet in a ring. The hardest layer of teeth guarding the Federation's Capital Ring system. The system claimed to be the Galactic Federation's strongest defense net— Twelve Skyshield orbital fortresses. I stared at those twelve markers for a couple of seconds, then, with full seriousness, proposed the first plan.

"Twelve meteors, one each—""Denied." I didn't even get to finish the sentence. The entire bridge shot it down in unison. The timing was so perfect it felt like they'd rehearsed it ahead of time. I glared.

"Hey, at least let me finish the line." Maki looked straight at me.

"Hoshino, we're going home. We're not suppressing a rebellion."

"Fine, then—" I refused to give up.

"I'll take the Zero in close and shut their mainframes down—""Denied," Maki said, instantly.

"Why now?" Aida didn't even bother lowering her datapad.

"Because you're not fast enough." I blinked. Jess grinned and slid the knife in.

"And your machine isn't red."

"What kind of logic—" I rounded on her. Roy, of all people, backed her up with a straight face.

"Legend says red is three times faster." Me: "…" Lan turned her face away. Jess dropped onto her console laughing. Maki just radiated why am I stationed here in silence. I took a breath and decided not to argue with this particular cluster of unstable personalities. Considering I'd just suggested knocking the Capital Ring system's defense net out with twelve rocks, I probably didn't have much of a high ground anyway. Jokes aside, Maki was right. Skyshield isn't background art.

Those twelve fortresses hanging over Dunan are the equivalent of shoving the capital into a crown that fires back. If we want the Yukikaze to enter Dunan's skies on memorial day — clean, on cue, and without getting turned into a cautionary sidebar in future textbooks — Skyshield isn't something we can "handle on the way." It's the first real gate. Ash tapped the armrest. The room settled.

"Good. Jokes are over," he said.

"Now talk about things we can execute." And just then— The bridge doors opened. We all turned at once. Evelyn Sado came in, leaning slightly on a cane. To be honest, for a moment I thought I was seeing things. Evelyn had mostly been under orders to rest lately. The aura that usually made her look ready to pin someone into a map and give a lecture about it hadn't gone anywhere. She'd just added a cane, which turned the whole package into a very polite, still not-recommended-to-provoke patient.

"Apologies," Evelyn said.

"I heard enough from outside the door." Jess arched a brow.

"Senpai, eavesdropping is—""War-time information intake," Evelyn said, without changing expression.

"Not eavesdropping." …Acceptable. Very Upper House. She walked up to the main display, one careful step at a time, then lifted her eyes to the orbit map over Dunan.

"I'll handle it." The bridge went quiet again. Then, predictably, everyone aimed a uniform look of skepticism in her direction. It wasn't that we underestimated Evelyn. The problem was the scale. Skyshield. Twelve of them. The Capital Ring system. On memorial day. Plus our destroyer, already recorded as dead for a year and about to crash our own funeral. Stack that list together and you're beyond the realm of just have courage. Evelyn clearly knew exactly what we were thinking.

She shifted her grip on the cane and said, evenly:"I am the Chief Electronic Warfare Officer of the Upper House." … Oh. That line landed, and the air changed at once. I'd been about to fire off a being chief and handling the Capital Ring system are two different things, but thought better of it and swallowed it back down.

Because if there really was anyone on this ship who might be able to push can we gracefully attend our own memorial under Skyshield's nose half a step closer to executable— Evelyn was on the short list. I frowned and jerked my thumb toward the tactical stations in back.

"Assuming there's someone who can fix those first." I meant the EW suites and CIC support chain that had been wrung out by wandering, FTL jumps, forward combat, and our brute-force return run — now looking like they'd spent three months pulling all-nighters. No gear, no EW. Even the best hacker can't cook without power. At that point, Harvey lifted a hand from the rear of the bridge. Harvey, from engineering, wearing his usual I only came to make sure you weren't about to blow the hull off again expression.

"I can take that," he said, scratching his head.

"The engine room's stabilized a lot lately. I can spare the time." Roy turned to him immediately.

"You sure?"

"Not sure," Harvey said, honestly.

"But if it doesn't get fixed, it won't be any worse than it is now." The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. …That was pure engineering department philosophy. Ash didn't take long.

"Harvey. From now on, priority is restoring EW and ID support systems. Engine room keeps minimum watch only. You get whatever hands you need."

"Copy."

"Evelyn." Ash turned to her.

"Your job is figuring out how to make Skyshield categorize us as an anomaly to be passed, not one to be shot down." The corner of Evelyn's mouth ticked up.

"A challenging request."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"When did I have the option to say no?"

"You have one now." Evelyn paused, then said, cleanly:"Then I accept." Maki finally let out a slow breath, like she'd just been able to move the biggest unknown from red to orange in her head. Aida had already started adding new nodes.

"If Evelyn can handle Skyshield's ID chain, our approach profile shifts from 'low-probability, high-lethality gamble' to 'high-risk, controllable.'""Sounds better already," Jess said.

"Just sounds better," Aida replied.

"Doesn't mean safe."

"Senpai, it's honestly impressive how you manage to comfort and terrify people in the same sentence."

"I'm not comforting you."

"I know. That's why it's terrifying." Lan added from her station:"If EW comes back to at least seventy percent, I can inject our ID into the public chains about seven to ten seconds before we enter, so the site recognizes us first."

"Ten seconds is too long," Evelyn said. Lan looked up.

"How long do you want?"

"Seven," Evelyn said.

"Ten seconds looks like a preview. Seven looks like a miracle." …I liked that. Unhealthy. Which just made it better. Roy pulled a fresh arc across the approach.

"If Skyshield's handled, we can come in along the outer memorial track instead of the core defense corridor. Hug the ceremonial airspace boundary, push in along the edge. First sightline will be our profile, not our bow." I eyed that curve and whistled.

"Stylish."

"Style isn't the point," Roy said.

"But if we can be stylish, why not be stylish?"

"... I don't disagree." Jess burst out laughing.

"See? Roy actually gets it." Maki rubbed her brow. I could tell she'd given up trying to rewire certain deep-rooted values in this crew. Once Ash was satisfied that the most insane parts had been broken down into assignable work, he started wrapping.

"Recap." One word, and the bridge reset to full attention.

"Roy owns approach and exit vectors for the Capital Ring system. Lan owns public ID, media signal, and broadcast injection. Evelyn owns Skyshield's response and the EW script. Harvey has first call on repairs. Aida handles the Princess transfer line and limited notification to command. Kushima owns shipboard order, compartmentalized need-to-know, and shuttle assignments. Jess—" Jess straightened a little.

"I'm scared you're about to say paperwork again."

"You own tactical deception and on-site contingency planning." Jess's eyes lit up.

"Oh, this I like."

"You're also still doing paperwork."

"... XO, I need to file for psychological support."

"Denied," Maki said. I nearly choked laughing. Last, Ash looked at me. At that moment, I knew it wasn't going to be good.

"Hoshino."

"... What now?"

"You lead the first shuttle's public disembark." My eye twitched.

"I'm really the first one down?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Ash answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Because this was your idea. Also because you're the one most likely to scare everyone awake at a memorial without letting the situation devolve entirely." Me: "…" I genuinely couldn't tell whether that was praise or an occupational hazard. Jess was doubled over again.

"Shimo, congrats. You've been officially promoted from mascot to event key visual."

"Shut up." I swore, but I couldn't honestly deny it— If that day actually came, if the Yukikaze really cut in over Dunan, if everyone at that memorial looked up and saw a ship that was supposed to be stuck inside an accident report, if I really dropped out of a shuttle into the middle of it— That image was wildly, unreasonably satisfying. Satisfying enough that my heart was already speeding up for all the wrong reasons. I was starting to feel bad for the Federation's PR office. Ash swept the room one last time.

"One last point." No one spoke.

"From this moment on, this isn't a prank." His voice wasn't loud, but it locked the whole bridge down.

"This is a re-entry operation. The objective is not to cause a scene. It is to take back control over who the Yukikaze is, what happened to her, and who writes what comes next. Anyone who forgets that just because it sounds fun — I'll have them counting spare parts in the cargo bay before we hit Dunan." Silence. Because everyone knew he meant that. Ash let it hang a second longer, then added:"As for whether the Academy decides to expel all of Class 144 afterward—" I looked up reflexively. So did everyone else.

The corner of Ash's mouth twitched, just a fraction. Not a smile. Something thinner, just enough to send a chill down your spine.

"That's a problem worth worrying about after we succeed." … Right. We were in trouble. Because it wasn't just me and Jess who were evil. Ash was broken in the same places. He just hid it better. I leaned back, watching the approach line taking shape on the main screen, the twelve Skyshield fortresses marked out in Dunan's near orbit, and a ship that was theoretically dead for a year, carefully planning how to attend its own memorial. And I had to admit. This idea was insanely good.

After the meeting broke up, the heat of it was still lodged in my ears. Not literal heat. The kind that comes from a roomful of people who should be thinking this is insane, but who have somehow, in the course of talking, actually started assigning tasks, drawing lines, and arguing about which angle into Dunan's sky would look best. At times like that, human brains usually end up one of two ways. Burned out. Or convinced they're omnipotent. The Yukikaze has the misfortune of usually landing on the second.

It was only after I left the bridge that I realized— We hadn't asked one very basic question. For example. Did the Princess herself know we were planning to use her as part of the smokescreen?... All right, strictly speaking, smokescreen isn't quite fair. You could also say the Yukikaze had, with impressive structure, discipline, and insanity, decided: we'd go publicly flip our own script, and while we were at it, carve out a quiet exit lane for her.

Which, admittedly, still sounded like using someone as a smokescreen. Carrying this deeply unhealthy self-awareness, I got dispatched to the mid-deck starboard isolation block by one simple line from Maki: "You go." The reasoning was plain. Maki was busy. Aida was busier. Ash had probably entered that state where even breathing was being prioritized.

And I — as someone who'd recently, inexplicably, kept being required to be present in situations where I had no business being present — was apparently well-suited to the job of conveying something completely unhinged to another dangerous person in a way that doesn't cause immediate detonation.... I really hate my own aptitude for this. The corridor was quieter than it had been during the day. Lights dimmed a notch. The guards on duty were the kind who didn't wear I am extremely nervous on their faces.

The hatch locks glowed a soft blue, ventilation cycling in waves that made even my footsteps sound thinner. I stopped outside the door. Before I could knock, it opened. Miss Maid stood there.... Yeah. Still Miss Maid. I still had no intention of asking her real name. You don't give a nickname to a time bomb. Some high-risk objects are better left at code name level — for everybody's sake.

She stood just inside the threshold, expression composed, hair not a strand out of place, collar immaculate — like she wasn't half-confined on a stranger's warship, but opening the door in some palace corridor she knew well enough to recite the carpet pattern from memory. She glanced at me.

"Miss Hoshino." The corner of my eye twitched.... Of course. Of course she knew my name. I'd known that already, but hearing it in that standard, correct tone — the kind that made you feel like the next thing handed to you would be a silver tray with poison on it and a polite request to choose — was still weird.

"Her High— is Her Highness awake?"

"Her Highness has not yet retired."

"Right." I stood there, suddenly unsure whether I should apologize for showing up at this hour. Then I remembered who was inside, and decided worrying about being rude to Hedwig in this particular context probably counted as a failure to respect fate. Miss Maid stepped aside.

"Please come in." The first thing that hit me once I stepped through was— They'd already made the place stop looking like a temporary holding block. Not luxurious. The Yukikaze isn't a diplomatic cruiser. We don't have royal suites lying around. Same tables, same chairs, same lighting — and somehow, in Hedwig's hands, it all ended up with a new kind of order. The kind that says: this will do. A small lamp on the table. A few pages of hardcopy and a terminal laid out beside it.

Half a cup of tea by the porthole — cooled, but not yet cleared. Hedwig sat there with a dark coat around her shoulders, most of her long hair let down. Still immaculate enough to be infuriating. She looked up when she saw me. No surprise in her eyes. Just a faint note that read: as expected — someone was going to come.

"Hoshino Shimo." She said my name perfectly. I don't know why, but every time she does that, I feel like I'm being cited by a deluxe dictionary.

"Showing up at this hour, I assume you're not here to conduct a satisfaction survey on the quality of Federal shipboard bedding."

"You being awake at this hour, I assume you're not waiting for me to bring you a midnight snack," I shot back. The corner of Hedwig's mouth moved, very slightly. Not quite a smile. But probably as close as someone like her gets to mm, not bad. Miss Maid pulled out a chair for me. I watched that motion, and a very unhelpful thought flashed through my head — if I sat, would a real pot of tea appear next, followed by a conversation that ended with me signing my soul away on a confidentiality form? So I didn't sit.

I stood. Hedwig glanced at me, didn't push it, and just asked, lightly:"So? The Yukikaze has reached a conclusion?" I nodded.

"More or less."

"Your tone doesn't suggest a normal conclusion."

"Because it isn't." The room went quiet for a moment. Hedwig closed the file in her hand and set it aside, unhurried. The motion carried a very clear meaning— Fine. Since it's not a normal conclusion, you have my attention. I drew a breath. I'd originally planned to ease into this — a little preamble, a little packaging, just enough that when it came out of my mouth, it wouldn't sound like a criminal announcement.

But by the time the words reached my throat, I realized something: beating around the bush with someone like Hedwig was just stupid. So I decided to say it straight.

"The Federation's holding a one-year memorial for the Yukikaze right now, isn't it?" Hedwig nodded.

"Yes. I'm aware."

"We've decided to attend." Hedwig looked at me.

"... Attend?"

"Yes," I said.

"The Yukikaze herself. In person." This time, even Miss Maid went still for two seconds. Very brief. But I swear, it really was two full seconds. Because her hand — halfway through moving the teacup aside — froze. Hedwig, though, didn't give me the are you insane reaction I'd half-expected. She just looked at me. Quietly. Then asked:"You mean the Yukikaze intends to appear in the Capital Ring system on the very day the Federation holds a memorial service for you?"

"Yes."

"Over the ceremony site itself?"

"Yes."

"In full view of everyone present?"

"Yes." Hedwig leaned back slightly. Not relaxing. More like someone who'd just run a full calculation to its end and was now deciding whether to file the ship in front of her under brave, insane, or some mixture of the two in a ratio no Federal training manual would ever recommend. A few seconds passed. Then she spoke.

"That does sound like exactly the kind of plan you'd propose." I blinked.

"Why me?"

"Because it's neither dignified nor composed — and yet abnormally effective."... Excuse me. Was that a compliment or an insult? I was about to protest when she went on.

"Given the Federation's current situation, the moment the Yukikaze appears over the memorial, the entire framing of this incident gets rewritten on the spot. The military can't delay acknowledgment. The media can't shape their version first. The families get answers before the bureaucracy does. And the Capital Ring system's political rhythm gets dragged into your tempo." She paused, watching me.

"Crude. But functional."... Dammit. Even her compliments come wrapped in the distinct flavor of: you're fixing a violin with a wrench, and somehow the notes still come out right.

"So you don't object?" I asked.

"Do I have the standing to object?"

"Strictly speaking, no."

"Then the question isn't objection," Hedwig said, calm.

"It's what you intend to do with me." The moment that line landed, whatever late-night, almost-casual quality the room had been carrying tightened right back up. I'd known she was going to ask that. The Yukikaze could afford to make a loud entrance, as the living. She couldn't. The instant she was exposed, this stopped being "the Yukikaze incident, overturned" and became a full detonation — Federation, Empire, diplomacy, royalty, assassination, and border security, all going off together in one venue.

So I shook my head.

"You go quiet." Hedwig wasn't surprised. She just watched me, waiting for the rest.

"The Yukikaze pulls all the attention. You and your people transfer out on a separate security line. The number of people who know the full timeline gets cut to the bare minimum. The ship's internal need-to-know list is already being re-partitioned." Hedwig listened to the end without answering right away. Her finger touched the rim of her cup lightly, as if turning something over in her mind. Then she asked a question I hadn't expected her to lead with.

"Who approved this plan?"

"Ash."

"Who confirmed the political viability?"

"Aida."

"Who's running the operational side?"

"Maki."

"And who proposed it first?" She looked up at me on that one. I had no choice but to be honest.

"... Me." Hedwig went quiet, watching me, for about half a second. Then she let out a very soft laugh.

"I see." I went on alert immediately.

"That 'I see' does not sound promising."

"I've simply finally understood," she said, "why your Executive Officer looks at you the way she does — like something she can't quite decide whether to catalog, protect, or just tie down before it does any damage." Me: "..." Miss Maid lowered her eyes, very slightly. I suspected she was holding back a laugh. Even if someone like her probably looks like she's preparing to execute someone whenever she smiles, I was fairly sure she'd been holding one back just now.

"Don't go misreading other people's expressions," I said, refusing to concede.

"I'm not misreading anything," Hedwig said.

"I'm extrapolating."... This woman is infuriating. The problem is, she's infuriating with precision. Precise enough that I couldn't fire back right away. I cleared my throat and dragged the conversation back on track.

"Anyway. Your side has to cooperate first. The transfer route can't leak. Miss Maid and your escorts need to accept whatever timing the Yukikaze assigns for the handoff."

"Acceptable."

"That easily?"

"Because the essence of your plan," Hedwig said evenly, "is using the Yukikaze to generate maximum noise for my transfer. If you're all willing to put yourselves in the spotlight, I have no grounds to be uncooperative about it." That was said very plainly. Plainly enough to feel cold. I suddenly realized Hedwig understood everything. She understood that the Yukikaze wasn't doing this only for her. It was for ourselves, for the families, for taking back control of the narrative.

But she also understood that this loud return would, as a side effect, clear a path for her. So she didn't pretend to be gracious, and she didn't pretend to be moved. She just acknowledged it, honestly: Fine. This benefits both of us. In a way, I preferred it this way. At least I didn't have to sit through pretty, meaningless speeches. I nodded.

"Good, then." Hedwig picked up her cup and took a small sip of tea that had long gone lukewarm. Even the way she drank tea was infuriating. Not because the gesture was dramatic — because it was too steady. Steady enough that even if she were handed into a completely unfamiliar power structure tomorrow, she'd still set the cup back down dead center on the saucer first.

"However," she set the cup down, tone mild, "I still need to remind you of something."

"What?"

"If the Yukikaze truly does this, once you're inside the Capital Ring system, things will never go back to being as simple as 'a missing ship comes home.'""I know."

"No. You don't. Not yet." Hedwig looked at me. Under the small lamp, her eyes were deeper than they'd been in daylight. Quieter, too.

"You're not merely 'appearing.'" She said it slowly.

"You're standing in front of the entire Federation, refusing to accept the death someone else already wrote for you." I didn't answer right away. Because that landed too accurately. Accurately enough that the wicked, delicious thrill I'd been carrying since the bridge felt like it had been partly drained out from the inside, leaving something heavier behind. Something more real. Hedwig didn't add anything further. She just drew her gaze away, as if handing that sentence over for me to sit with on my own.

The room stayed quiet for a while. In the end, I was the one who broke it.

"... You really do have a gift for picking exactly the wrong moment to cool a person down." Hedwig glanced at me.

"This isn't cooling you down." She said.

"It's keeping you from overheating too soon." Right. I genuinely had no comeback for that. I looked at her and thought, not for the first time, that this woman was deeply strange. She wasn't much older than I was, and yet she kept peeling things down past the surface, straight to the bone, in a way nobody our age is supposed to be able to do. No wonder her own brother sent people to have her killed.

Someone like her, still breathing, is probably a serious eyesore to a lot of important people who'd rather coast through life without complications. I shoved my hands back into my pockets and turned to leave. I'd nearly reached the door when Hedwig called after me.

"Hoshino."

"What."

"If you truly are going to be among the first to land at the venue." I turned back. Hedwig sat under the lamp, expression level, tone level, like she was mentioning something entirely unrelated to herself.

"Then at least remember to stand up straight." I froze for two seconds, half convinced I'd misheard.

"... You stopped me just to say that?"

"No," Hedwig said.

"I'd rather the Federation's citizens, the first time they see 'the people who walked back alive from their own memorial,' not be looking at someone who appears to have just rolled out of bed."

"Hey."

"Also," she paused, the corner of her mouth lifting a fraction, "if you stand there looking too listless, it'll make your Executive Officer look bad." Me: "..." This time, Miss Maid actually turned her head slightly aside. Knew it. She'd definitely found that one mean too. I glared at Hedwig for a couple of seconds, and in the end could only manage:"You mind an awful lot of other people's business, Your Highness." Hedwig didn't deny it.

"The feeling is mutual, Hoshino Shimo." I snorted and walked out of the room. When the door closed behind me, the corridor went back to that particular late-night, Federal-warship kind of quiet — the kind that doesn't leave much room for feelings. But somehow, the wicked little thrill I'd been carrying since I first thought up the plan to crash my own memorial had come down a notch. Not gone out. Just settled lower.