People believed that the world's strongest shipgirl could bring blessings, real fortune and protection.
Parents would buy souvenirs from that shop to give their children a touch of "warrior's spirit."
The timid would enshrine them as charms against evil.
Commanders would keep them close, hoping for a little extra luck.
And shipgirls… they would hold them just to look upon their idol.
Fortunately, the shopkeeper still had a conscience—selling good merchandise at fair prices, without turning the photo of Hikaru and Tirpitz into some shameless "pay-to-worship" attraction.
One way or another, Hikaru and his Tirpitz had become a beacon for the city—almost a spiritual totem.
It was no different from the way people praised heroes in times of war.
The reverence for a supreme warrior was something peacetime folk could never imagine.
But Hikaru had been missing from the public eye for a long time now.
Some even whispered that people had seen him being chased through the park, and that the recent martial-law crackdown had been aimed at him.
The citizens refused to believe it.
To drive a hero to death before the war was even won.
And Hikaru really hadn't been seen.
He hadn't attended a single celebration, not even shown himself at the Academy.
People had been holding the question in for days, itching to ask:
"Where has our great hero gone?"
So when Saint George casually spoke the words "Kuramoto Hikaru," it was like dropping a depth charge into still waters.
The citizens, who had been too cautious to step out of line before, surged forward.
"Great Saint, do you know where Commander Hikaru is?"
"Yes! I still want to thank him!"
"They say he's been persecuted. I don't believe our leaders could be that stupid, but the whole city is abuzz with rumors. Can you explain the truth to us?"
"And what about Lady Tirpitz? I want to bring her some resources and pray to her directly. They say only worshipping in person is effective—that way I can actually build something good."
Saint George froze.
Her main battlefield was the Hawaiian front, where heroes were everywhere—too many to count.
But never had she seen this kind of feverish devotion.
It was as if Hikaru were a superstar.
As if he were a savior.
As if his very name carried magic.
Alaska cursed inwardly. She gave Blücher, who was holding her massive anchor, a quick look.
"Shut the tavern down, quick!"
With that, she grabbed Saint George and pulled her toward the back room.
Thankfully, Saint George was indeed a dragonslayer hero, and the citizens did not grow so frenzied as to block their way.
But the idea of closing the tavern was a fantasy.
Without some kind of explanation, the crowd would never disperse. In fact, more and more people were flooding in, threatening to crush the tavern entirely.
Blücher held her anchor tightly but didn't dare use it to force people back. If even one accident happened, it could mean lives lost—and who would take that responsibility?
Blücher and Deutschland ran in circles, desperate.
Up on the small stage, Göta Lejon crashed her cymbals and shook her head wildly, screaming into the mic:
"Only the heavens above remain—
and even they are so cruel, oh oh~!"
Behind the closed door, Alaska released Saint George's hand and gave a wry smile.
"You've ruined me. After this mess, how am I supposed to keep my tavern running?"
Saint George curled her lip and said coldly, "A lion does not mingle with sheep. To hole up in a tavern like this is nothing but a waste of life."
Alaska was never one for meekness. Saint George's arrogance sent her temper flaring.
"How I spend my time is none of your business. Why are you even looking for me?"
Saint George spoke only two words:
"Old K."
That explained it. Old K was Alaska's superior.
But a new doubt rose up—Saint George, by origin, belonged to the UK-Faction. By rights, her homeland should have been in Europe.
So why was she working for America's secret service?
And why did she seem to have access to such high-level missions?
[End of Chapter]
[100 Power Stones = Extra Chapter]
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