Chương 187: 71. Personnel Allocation 1

I'd originally assumed the paper Ash was pinning under his palm — the one he flatly refused to hand out — was some kind of supplementary boarding regulation. Or worse: a casualty notice, the kind where somebody gets voluntold for extra scut work. I was wrong. It wasn't a casualty notice. It was something with more everyday menace than a casualty notice — the kind of thing that could give you a stomachache a full day ahead of schedule.

Once Ash had confirmed the breakfast table had gone quiet enough not to spontaneously combust again, he flipped the paper over and set it flat in the center of the table.

"One more thing," he said. The heading at the top was written in painfully neat lettering — neat enough that just looking at it told you nothing good was coming. Yukikaze Duty Roster(tentative). My eyelid twitched. Right. So the boarding briefing had just been the appetizer. This was the main course. No wonder he'd held it back until last — the second a roster like this hits the table, nobody gets to pretend "we'll figure it out once we're aboard" anymore.

Because a duty roster is like an exam seating chart, a chore rotation, a muster list — the instant your name goes on it, fate feels officially stamped and filed.

"Standard practice is one upperclassman leading three underclassmen." Ash tapped the page with his knuckles — not loud, but enough to pull every eye to the table.

"The numbers don't divide evenly, so one group only gets two." Jess frowned. Aida raised an eyebrow. Roy and Lan both went still at the same instant, wearing the same hunted look — like two people who'd survived a public execution the night before and had since developed a full-body allergy to the word group. I lowered my head and took a sip of water. I had a bad feeling about this. My bad feelings had an obnoxious habit of being right. Ash pulled the top sheet closer and started reading.

"Bridge watch rotates. One six-hour shift per person, per day. During your watch, you report to the bridge on schedule, rotate in with the duty officer, and carry out standard bridge duties." He slid a second sheet forward as he spoke. I scanned it. The text was as clean and rigid as a court transcript. Upon the Captain's entry to the bridge, all on-watch personnel shall immediately stand at attention and announce — Captain on the bridge! The duty officer shall formally transfer command to the Captain.

Upon the Captain's first entry, the cadet on watch shall immediately report current ship status:"Reporting to the Captain. Current heading triple-zero degrees, speed zero-zero knots. Distance to next waypoint zero light-years. All systems nominal." I stared at that line for a solid two seconds. Somehow, that hazy, half-formed wow, big ship, so cool impression I'd carried since yesterday — watching the Yukikaze from across the harbor — got flattened by one line of standard reporting protocol.

This wasn't a guided tour. This was something you had to stand up, memorize, say out loud, and not screw up.

"Hourly status reports, handover call-and-response, heading confirmation, emergency muster calls, CIC contact acknowledgment — memorize all of it today," Ash went on.

"Once we're aboard, if you freeze because your tongue trips or your brain goes blank, nobody's going to finish the line for you."

"Wow." Aida flipped through the pages, tone perfectly sincere.

"Ash, this isn't putting us on a ship. This is making us rehearse our own deaths on dry land first."

"Rehearsing it beats dying badly the first time for real," Ash said, without missing a beat. Very Ash. No fire, no drama, not even a real attempt to scare us. He'd just stated a genuinely unfunny fact the way you'd read off the weather. Which was the worst part.

"The remaining six hours are specialty training," Ash said.

"Assignments aren't identical — they're based on individual aptitude, division, and what the ship needs. Don't start complaining yet. Before you open your mouth, make sure you've actually got something worth trading."... Oh. I understood immediately why he'd front-loaded that line. Because he obviously knew exactly who was about to jump. And right on schedule, in under three seconds, she did.

"Hold on." Jess's head snapped up almost instantly.

"Just — hold on.

'Not identical' already sounds shady as hell."

"You can hear the rest first," Ash said.

"If I wait till you're finished to object, it'll be too late," Jess said, completely unashamed of the logic. I almost laughed. No — she actually had a point. She'd just said out loud what the rest of us were too careful to say first. Ash ignored her and started reading off the groups.

"Group One. Aida leads. Under her: Roy, Lan, Harvey." The air in the dining room shifted, subtly. Aida smiled first. Not a normal smile. The oh, look what the universe just served me smile. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Now this is a beautiful lineup." She propped her chin on one hand, looking lazily between Roy and Lan.

"One with a license, one with a license, plus a resident engine-room consultant who hates people on principle. Senior, did you build this group on purpose because it was stable enough to blow up?" Roy's grip on his fork went rigid. Lan just stared back at her with perfect composure, the kind that said, If you drag last night into today's group discussion, I will vanish from this table in real time. Harvey was the last to react.

He set his cup down, brow furrowing like someone had ordered him to diagnose a busted thruster before he'd even had coffee.

"What's this 'consultant' bullshit for Engineering?" he snorted.

"If Engineering actually goes down, lining these kids up just adds to my casualty count."

"Which is why you're leading them," Ash said.

"I never said I'd lead anyone."

"You just did." Harvey went quiet for two seconds, then turned his head away with the look of a man who'd decided the universe was already garbage and this changed nothing. I gave Aida's team half a second of silent mourning. Ash kept reading.

"Group Two. Evelyn leads. Under her: D, Akari, Maki Kushima." Something in my chest went, quietly, oh. That group was going to run cold enough to frost over. Not in a bad way. Just too stable — like a set of perfectly calibrated blades slotted back into their sheaths. As long as nobody drew, it would look almost peaceful. Evelyn pushed her glasses up and nodded. D barely lifted her eyes.

"Got it" seemed to cover the full extent of her reaction. Akari flipped a page in her notes and asked, perfectly level: "Precision shooting — ship's range, or the simulator bay?"... See. That's the difference. Some people hear their assignment. Some people are already asking where they'll be standing when they execute it.

"Simulator bay first," Ash said.

"Ship's range depends on flight segment and security clearance."

"Understood." Akari nodded. Maki, sitting beside her, just kept her eyes on the roster. Same expression as always. She didn't ask why she'd been put with Evelyn. Didn't react to any of the names beside hers. As if it made no fundamental difference to her where she landed.... In theory, I should have found that completely unremarkable. But for one badly-timed second, a thought slipped through anyway: She's not in my group. The next second I mentally kicked myself. Hoshino Shimo. Get it together.

This was a boarding roster, not a field trip with open seating. And if we had ended up together, I'd probably spend every ten minutes fighting the urge to replay that kiss on the mountaintop and steer the whole ship into an asteroid belt.... Which, now that I thought about it, wasn't much of an improvement.

"Group Three," Ash said. My spine went rigid. Here it came.

"I'm leading," he added, flat as ever.

"Under me: Hoshino, Jess." I nearly choked on my water. Not because Ash was leading me. That part made sense. It was —"... Why does Jess come free with it?" My inside voice slipped out before I could stop it. The whole table turned to look at me. I froze. Excellent. Congratulations, Hoshino Shimo — you've publicly insulted your own teammate before breakfast is even over. Flawless opening. Jess detonated.

"What do you mean comes free with it?! I should be the one asking why it's you!"

"That's not what I meant, I meant this combination — no, what I mean is —""Shut up!"

"Okay. Shutting up." I surrendered instantly. Because if this kept going, our group was going to have its first civil war before we'd even set foot on the Yukikaze. Aida looked delighted.

"This is a fascinating combination. One with a hard mouth, one whose mouth outruns her brain, paired with a senior who'll run them both like infantry. Senior, is this a duty roster or a stress test?"

"No prize for guessing right," Ash said. He actually admitted it. Infuriating. When a man owns up to deliberate cruelty with that much calm, there's nowhere left to aim the complaint.

"Specialty assignments next." Ash flipped to the lower section.

"Hoshino." I sat up straight.

"Single-seat fighter drills. Close-quarters combat. Marksmanship." I stared at the three lines. My first instinct wasn't to protest — my pulse just picked up. Single-seat fighter. Not the clean, consequence-free flying of a simulator. Not some romantic notion scribbled in a notebook during lecture. Real drills. Tied to the Yukikaze, to actual watch rotations, to the real working rhythm of a ship. My throat went a little dry. I still managed to say:"... Copy." Ash nodded once and moved on.

"D. Close-quarters combat, marksmanship, high-G conditioning." D lifted her eyes a fraction — about as much reaction as hearing the lunch menu had changed.

"Mm."

"Akari. Close-quarters combat, precision shooting."

"Understood," Akari said.

"Evelyn. Ship stand-down, or CIC duty." Evelyn nodded. No objection at all.

"Aida. CIC duty, or stand-down."

"Ehh —" Aida drew the sound out.

"Sounds like you've decided my mental stamina has limits and I need to be let out to graze periodically."

"I've decided your mouth doesn't stop running," Ash said, "and putting you somewhere that requires constant reporting is safer for everyone." Aida laughed hard enough to shake her shoulders.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It isn't one."

"Even better. I like it more that way." She said it like it was obvious — like getting criticized and handed something important in the same breath was some kind of premium treatment she'd specifically requested. Ash's finger moved to Jess's line. I watched Jess's eyes sharpen on instinct. Bad sign. She'd smelled it too.

"Jess." Ash's voice stayed level.

"Close-quarters combat, marksmanship, logistics management." Silence. One second. Two. On the third, Jess slapped her paper on the table and stood up.

"Why do I have to train in CQC and marksmanship?!" She glared at Ash with the exact expression of someone who understood the universe wasn't fair but felt this particular instance crossed a line.

"I'm Supply!" Here we go. I ducked my head, pretending to study my sheet, biting the inside of my cheek. Because I already knew this was going to be good. And Ash didn't disappoint. He didn't even raise his voice. He just looked up at her, tone as level as a weather report.

"First: you're in my section." Jess blinked.

"I classify you as infantry first," Ash said slowly.

"Your branch comes after."... Fuck. That was brutal. And completely airtight. Jess visibly staggered, but refused to fold.

"B-but I'm Supply! Supply! If the enemy's already breached the hull, having me pick up a rifle means the whole defense already failed — isn't that backwards?"

"If the enemy breaches the hull," Ash said, holding her gaze, "they're not going to spare you for holding a clipboard." One sentence. Short. Short enough to physically sit her protest back down in its chair. Jess choked for two seconds, then pivoted, hunting for a new angle.

"Then why does Roy —" Beautiful. Dragging bodies down with her. Roy's head snapped up, radiating leave my name out of this. Too late.

"Why do Roy and Lan get straight logistics?" Jess pressed.

"Didn't you just say everyone's infantry first?" Ash leaned forward, just a fraction. Not intimidation. Worse than intimidation. Because that particular lean meant he was about to nail her to the wall with facts.

"Roy holds a Class One accounting license," he said.

"Do you?" Jess: "..."

"Lan holds a Class Two heavy-machinery operator's license." Ash went on.

"Do you?" Jess: "..." Ash paused, looking at her.

"If not, sit down." I nearly lost it completely. Not a polite laugh — the kind where your abdomen starts spasming against your will, and the only way to survive is to bury your face over your plate and pretend to be fascinated by paper fiber. God. That was vicious. And Jess's face made it even better. She hadn't just lost an argument. She'd been stripped down, layer by layer — licenses, specialties, shipboard usefulness — until there was nothing left but sit down.

Her expression cycled from I object through what am I even objecting to and landed, finally, on the specific humiliation of someone who'd just been executed by reality in public. She sat back down slowly. Aida was grinning like something out of a fable.

"Wow. Wiped clean off the board."

"Shut up," Jess snapped.

"But I agree with Ash," Aida said pleasantly.

"If someone actually boards this ship, your first move really shouldn't be hugging a manifest and running."

"I never said I'd hug a manifest and run!"

"Then you definitely need the training."... Perfect. Second hit, landed clean. Jess took a breath, clearly not ready to give up. Her eyes swept the page and landed on Maki's line. I could practically read the sentence forming on her face. Sure enough, it came out word for word.

"What about Kushima?" Jess frowned, pointing.

"What does 'open selection' mean?" I looked too. Maki's entry was shorter than everyone else's. Not because she'd been let off. It read: Primary specialty self-selected. Remaining hours filled per ship's needs. That phrasing was very Maki. Anyone could tell it wasn't a privilege — it was a heavier, more demanding kind of responsibility. But Jess had clearly stopped reading after the first half.

"Why does she get to choose?" she demanded. Maki lifted her eyes toward her, expression calm to the point of not even bothering to engage. In that instant, something in my chest loosened, just slightly. I wasn't sure if it was because she hadn't stepped in herself, or because I already knew — Ash was going to answer for her. And once Ash answered, Jess was going to lose even worse. Right on cue.