Orga POV
Orga leaned back in the chair of the comms room, the faint hum of machinery filling the silence. The screen in front of him was empty—no signals, no delayed transmissions, nothing. He stared at it for a long second longer than necessary, then stood up and exhaled slowly.
"…Not today either," he muttered.
It had been seven months. Exactly seven months since the Titan delivery. Seven months since things had gone wrong in ways that still clawed at him when the nights were quiet. The scars were still there—on their bodies, on their machines, and on him. Two brothers lost. Names that still echoed whenever he closed his eyes.
Everyone said Ichiro was dead.
Everyone except Orga.
He stepped out of the comms room, boots heavy against the metal floor. As the leader of Tekkadan, he'd learned when to accept reality, when to cut losses and move forward. He'd buried people before. He'd watched coffins lower into red Martian soil. But this—this was different. His chest tightened slightly at the thought.
He couldn't accept it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Tekkadan had been built on stubbornness. On refusing to bow, refusing to disappear. Hope—that was all they'd had in the beginning, and it was still what kept them moving now. They were Tekkadan. And hope didn't die that easily.
A lot had changed since then. Tekkadan had grown—expanded beyond what he'd ever imagined in those early days. A branch on Earth. More contracts. More allies. More enemies. Power came with a price, and Orga felt every sacrifice like a weight pressing down on his shoulders. He carried it because no one else should have to.
His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Mikazuki.
He remembered the exact moment Mika had heard about Ichiro. The way those blue eyes had gone empty—not angry, not grieving, just blank. Like something had been switched off. Mika hadn't said a word. He'd just stared at Orga for a second too long, then turned and walked out.
That look haunted him more than any scream or accusation could have.
Mika was… better now. At least on the surface. He trained more than usual, pushed his body hard, harder than necessary—but that wasn't new. Fighting was how Mikazuki processed the world. Still, Orga could tell something had settled deep inside him, something sharp and unresolved.
Orga clenched his fist, then slowly relaxed it.
"If you're alive," he thought, staring down the corridor, "you better come back soon."Because Tekkadan kept moving forward.
Orga stepped into the cafeteria, the familiar noise of voices and clattering trays washing over him. For a moment, it grounded him—this was Tekkadan as it was meant to be. Loud. Alive.
"Yo, Orga! What're you doing standing there like a statue?" Eugene called out, waving him over.
Orga glanced toward the table. Eugene was sprawled back in his seat as usual. Across from him sat Akihiro with his brothers—Masahiro beside him, and the two Atland boys, Aston and Derma, quietly eating. A little farther away, Shino and Azee were mid-conversation. His eyes drifted, almost instinctively, to another table—Mikazuki and Atra sitting together, eating in silence. Orga smiled faintly and finally moved toward Eugene.
"So," Orga said as he sat down, "how's the new blood?"
Shino snorted. "They're fine. Just need their asses kicked into shape a bit more."
Laughter rippled around the table.
Orga turned to Azee. "How's Naze doing?"
Azee's expression softened. "He's doing fine. Same as always. Still acting like he's invincible."
Orga chuckled. "Figures."
He shifted his gaze to Akihiro. "And you?"
Akihiro scratched the back of his head, clearly uncomfortable. "I was… uh, teaching them math."
There was a beat of silence.
Eugene burst out laughing. "With a teacher like you, they're better off staying dumb."
Derma shot Eugene a sharp look while the rest of them laughed, even Atra letting out a small giggle. Mikazuki didn't react—he kept eating, eyes unfocused, distant.
"Hey, Eugene," Eugene said suddenly, pointing his fork, "why're you asking about us anyway, Boss?"
Orga opened his mouth to answer, his gaze drifting back toward Mikazuki—
The cafeteria doors slammed open.
Merribit came rushing in, breathing hard, hair slightly disheveled. The room quieted almost instantly.
"Merribit?" Orga stood. "What is it?"
She bent over slightly, hands on her knees, catching her breath. "B-Boss… a signal came in. From Titan."
The words hit him like a shock.
"It's from Baldwin."
For a fraction of a second, Orga forgot how to breathe. Then a fierce grin broke across his face.
"Where?" he asked, already moving.
"Comms room."
Orga didn't hesitate. He turned and bolted, boots pounding against the floor. Chairs scraped back as everyone stood, following him without question.
Hope—thin, fragile, impossible—burned bright in his chest as he ran.
Orga nearly slammed the headset onto his head as he reached the comms console, fingers gripping the edge of the desk as if it might disappear. The screen flickered, static crawling across it—then a voice cut through.
"Hey, Orga. How's it going?"
For a split second, Orga froze. Then he laughed, loud and raw, the sound tearing out of his chest.
"You goddamn cockroach," he said, voice shaking despite himself. "I knew you'd still be alive."
Static crackled as Baldwin laughed on the other end. "Told you I'm hard to kill."
"You dumbfuck," Orga shot back, grinning wide. "You know we thought you guys were dead?"
His laugh lingered, sharp and relieved, and then he leaned closer to the mic. "Alright—where is Ichiro? Let me hear that bastard's voice."
There was a pause.
Too long.
The static filled the silence, thick and uneasy.
"He isn't with me," Baldwin said finally.
Orga's smile vanished.
"What do you mean he isn't with you?" Orga asked, his voice tightening. "Where the hell is he?"
"I don't know," Baldwin replied. "He's not on Titan. We got separated."
The words settled like lead in Orga's chest. He didn't speak for a moment. The room felt smaller, heavier, the hum of machines suddenly too loud.
"…Are you safe?" Orga asked at last.
"Yeah," Baldwin said. "I'm safe. Fumitan's with me too. We'll be heading back—maybe a month, two at most."
Orga exhaled slowly. "That's good. That's damn good."
There was urgency in Baldwin's next breath. "Orga, I can't stay on. Gjallarhorn's on our asses right now."
"Yeah," Orga replied immediately. "I got it. Stay alive. Both of you. And get back here—fast."
The signal crackled, distorted.
"See you soon," Baldwin said.
The line cut.
Orga lowered the headset and sank back into the chair, the energy draining out of him all at once. The room felt quiet again, painfully so. His fingers curled against the armrest as his thoughts raced.
If Ichiro wasn't with Baldwin…
Then where the hell was he?
Orga stared at the darkened screen, jaw tight, hope refusing to die—but fear creeping in all the same.
Now I gotta explain things to them.
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Powerstonessss!!!
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