That night, many things were happening at once.
In the City, on the bustling food street, inside the same beer hall where Hikaru and California had once drunk together.
The stage shook under the pounding of death metal. The crowd raised their glasses, roaring, drinking, howling with abandon.
In wartime, the two most popular escapes were alcohol and sex—and alcohol was, of course, the easier to come by.
After the Southern Ocean Defense Battle, several provinces in the southern part of the Country had suffered heavily. Countless soldiers had lost comrades, countless commanders their shipgirls. With their hearts in desperate need of numbing, the food street was booming like never before.
Still, death metal was not something everyone could withstand.
The wailing of an ambulance siren cut through the night.
Down in a concrete basement three stories beneath the bar, the proprietress—Alaska—brushed dust off the communications set with a trembling hand, then tilted her head back with a weary sigh.
Even with ten meters of concrete overhead, the sheer penetration of the music and the vibrations seeped down into her bunker.
With her keen senses, Alaska could even tell that yet another poor fool had succumbed to the sonic onslaught above—collapsed, foaming at the mouth, convulsing on the floor.
Troublesome. Troublesome Göta Lejon. Troublesome mission.
Alaska pouted, dispirited.
She was a striking shipgirl with pink hair and pink eyes, the very picture of a rocker. Even her rigging took the form of a guitar and amplifiers. If anyone's death metal was the real deal, even Göta Lejon had to give her a thumbs-up.
On a normal day, Alaska would have slung her guitar and joined the frenzy upstairs. But not tonight. Tonight, she needed silence.
As she sat waiting, bored out of her mind, the communicator on the table suddenly came to life.
Alaska perked up at once, snatched up a blank sheet of paper, pen poised to record.
The indicator lamp glowed a ghostly green. Then came the rapid "di-di-da-da" of Morse code.
She carefully jotted down every mark. The message would only be sent once, no repeats, no confirmation. One mistake, and it was gone.
Minutes later, the beeping ceased. The light went dark.
Pulling out a thick codebook, Alaska cross-referenced the cipher against her notes.
When she was finished, she crumpled the page into fragments, pressed a hand to her forehead, and slumped in her chair with a defeated groan.
"Seriously? After all these years underground, you want me to pop up just like that? I was planning a grand stage debut!"
She lay there three full minutes, forcing herself to accept it. Then she recalled the message.
Contact Hikaru. Win his favor. Best of all, persuade him to visit America.
Three simple lines. Three impossibly difficult tasks.
Even the first—simply approaching Hikaru—was nearly out of reach. How was she supposed to find him? The Country guarded him like its greatest state secret, surrounded him with so many layers of protection it was like fortress walls.
"Guess I'll have to sniff around for intel… carefully. Can't let the military catch my scent," Alaska muttered, tapping the table. Then she blinked, chuckled at herself, and shook her head.
"What am I saying? Headquarters just gave me clearance to act openly. No more mole work for me."
Because that was what she was. A mole. An American spy embedded in these lands.
Not inside any sensitive government post—she didn't need to be. For now, and for the foreseeable future, humanity across Earth Island still stood united against the Abyssal threat.
But people without long-term vision are doomed. And nations must think ahead most of all.
That was why Alaska had been sent to lurk here—an investment in future advantage.
Even united, humanity still competed—for growth, for influence, for resources.
And now, the most coveted resource of all had appeared. So much so that America had pulled Alaska out of deep cover, revealing her as an active asset, to seize the initiative.
The world's strongest shipgirl had been summoned. All Earth Island turned its eyes to her. And when word spread to the halls of power, leaders raged with barely restrained frenzy, as though they had swallowed fire itself.
The commander who held the world's strongest shipgirl—Hikaru—had been driven out of China.
[End of Chapter]
[100 Power Stones = Extra Chapter]
[Check out my Patreon to read 20+ chapters ahead]
[[email protected]/BellAshelia]
[Thanks for your support!]