Chương 146: 55. Invitation 1

The bell for the last morning period rang, and I knew I probably wasn't going to make it to dinner alive today. The reason was simple. I'd barely shoved my books into my bag, hadn't even had time to wonder whether today's cafeteria fried chicken might be marginally better than yesterday's braised mystery meat that had the structural integrity of body armor, when three people materialized in the corridor and blocked my exit. Not just standing there.

The specific kind of blocking where you haven't done anything wrong, but your body starts scanning for emergency exits anyway. Evelyn Sado was leaning against the window, her Cool Grey hair catching the late-morning light in a genuinely irritating way—bright and expensive like the coating on high-grade military optics, the kind you could tell at a glance wasn't meant for first-year consumables like me to touch.

Aida Rosen stood beside her, smiling with her usual warmth, the kind that always made me think of those tactical manual descriptions: surface stable, lethally active. As for Ash Vander—he stood so straight he looked like he'd grown directly out of a bridge railing, and just watching you with his hands in his pockets carried the specific pressure of someone noting that your ship's waterline was compromised. I stopped walking and silently lit incense for myself.

"Looking for me?" I asked.

"Looking for you," Evelyn said, smiling first—beautifully, in the way that also suggested she might sell you to a defense contractor for stress testing.

"Have you been busy lately, Hoshino?"

"If you're asking whether I've been too busy to get cornered by upperclassmen in a hallway—apparently not, since that's happening right now." Aida laughed softly.

"You're still sharp. That's good."

"People who survive tend to be. Especially once they're done crawling through nineteen-hundred-degree firestorms." I said nineteen-hundred-degree firestorm very clearly. Because the three of you are currently standing in a well-lit, ventilated school corridor, not face-down in the dirt on that cursed planet. Don't package your survivor observation session as some wholesome campus exchange. Evelyn didn't retreat. She nodded.

"Which is exactly why we wanted to talk to you." My eyebrow twitched. Here we go again. The way these three had been looking at me lately had evolved from oh, that's the first-year who made it back to this material looks promising, let's see what's inside. At this rate I was genuinely worried they'd show up with a consent form one day: I, the undersigned, agree to serve as a tactical investment subject for upperclassman observation.

A few students passing by slowed down, pretending to be busy while their ears practically stretched across the hallway. Perfect. The public execution atmosphere was really coming together. Aida spoke first, her tone as gentle as a guidance counselor walking you through college applications.

"You've probably sensed it already, Hoshino. After the field training, the way the Academy looks at people changes. You're not just a name on a transcript anymore. You're someone who gets factored into actual deployment planning." Stolen story; please report.

"Translation: upgraded from disposable consumable to recyclable asset?"

"…That's a rather sharp way to put it."

"My approval rating for the system is running low right now. My apologies." Ash finally spoke—quiet, not loud, but with that bridge-comm frequency that makes everyone automatically shut up.

"Sharp beats dull." I looked at him. He looked back, steady. None of Evelyn's obvious appraisal, none of Aida's probing warmth. More like he was evaluating a component—checking whether it would fit, and whether it would explode once installed. Annoying as it was, people like that usually don't waste words. Evelyn stepped forward, smile unchanged.

"You don't have to be this guarded. We're not here to poach you, and we're not demanding a commitment right now. We just want you to know—if you're willing to look higher, there are places better suited to you."

"I feel like I've been hearing variations of that line lately."

"Which proves we're not the only ones who can see it," she said. I'd finally had enough. I raised a hand.

"Stop." All three went quiet.

"If you keep taking turns pouring this into me, I'm going to start thinking I'm not a first-year—I'm the Federation's latest prototype shipborne precision munition." I hugged my bag and looked at all three of them.

"Let's cut to it. What are your respective specialties? Tell me what kind of trouble I'm dealing with." The corridor went quiet for a beat. Then Evelyn smiled. Not offended. The smile of someone who'd been waiting for the real question.

"Fair enough." Clean and direct.

"I'll go first. Electronic warfare, reconnaissance, radar interpretation, sonar echo analysis, plus a certain amount of systems interference you've already experienced firsthand." A certain amount. My mouth twitched.

"Your 'certain amount' nearly turned my entire squad's thermal signature masking into a synchronized sleepwalking performance. I remember it very clearly." Evelyn raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely pleased.

"So you also know I'm not just someone who sits in the back reading charts." That was fair. I admitted it reluctantly. She was strong—annoyingly strong. Not the kind that blows you apart head-on, but the kind where you're still trying to distinguish enemy from rock from teammate, and she's already rewritten half the map's meaning. Aida continued.

"I specialize in orthodox tactical theory. Wargaming, tactical deployment, mission-tier breakdown, pre- and post-engagement intelligence synthesis and operational revision." She paused—the practiced pause of someone used to people tuning out—and added:"If you're thinking 'sounds like someone who sits in the rear giving clean speeches,' I don't mind. Because most of the time, someone does have to sit in the rear and turn chaos into something that can actually be commanded." … All right.

That had more backbone than I'd expected. Aida wasn't the type who dazzled on first impression. But the way she spoke made something clear—she wasn't toothless, she just bit at a different level. Put her in intelligence staff or tactical command and she might genuinely drag a collapsing situation back from the edge. Finally, Ash looked at me and said, flatly:"I don't have neat categories like that."

"Oh?"

"Bridge. Command. Navigation judgment. Fleet tempo." Half a beat.

"That's what I've trained for since childhood." Even delivering his credentials, this guy sounded like he was stating his last name. I looked at him, and an uglier translation surfaced unbidden. Born to captain. Not just someone who gives orders. The kind whose presence makes everyone around them instinctively check whether they're standing in the right place.

Add in that Orion admiral father's background, and this was either a future fleet admiral or a large-scale catastrophe with casualty numbers that could fill a spreadsheet. I was quiet for a few seconds. Then, honestly:"… At least now I know you're not here to start a club." Evelyn smiled slightly.

"So what's your answer?"

"No answer," I said.

"Not yet." Aida tilted her head.

"You need time?"

"I need to consult my people." I looked at all three of them.

"One week. Give me a week, and I'll get back to you." The moment it was out, I surprised myself. Not because of what I'd said—because of how naturally my people had come out. No hesitation, no deliberation. I'd just included them. D, who walked like he was trying to break the floor. Dead-eyed Akari. Harvey, who communicated through criticism but would absolutely save your life. And Jess and Maki, who had thoroughly colonized my daily rhythm. Without noticing, I'd stopped making decisions alone. Evelyn didn't push.

She nodded, clean and simple.

"One week. We'll wait." Aida smiled.

"I hope your choice turns out to be as smart as your capabilities." Ash dropped one line:"Don't waste time." And with that, all three stepped aside. I stood there watching their backs, a specific kind of irritation settling over me. They weren't recruiting me. They were reminding me—you're in the frame now. And one of the things I hate most is being seen.