Rowan came to consciousness lying in the most comfortable position of his life. He ached all over and didn't want to open his eyes. His back was against warm sand, and his head rested on something that was somehow both soft and firm. Like the perfect pillow.
Everything hurt. His head pounded, and his arms burned like he'd plunged them into magma. But he had to know: had Wisconsin killed him?
He forced his eyes open and immediately panicked.
Thighs!
He was still on the beach, still flat on his back, and his perfect pillow… was Wisconsin's toned, barely covered thighs!
She smiled down at him. "Hey, there he is! How ya feelin', Red?"
He tried to sit up, but her hand pressed him gently back down.
"Easy, big fella. I knocked you the fuck out. Just chill a second and don't be a prude about this. I don't mind where you're at. Not even a little bit."
That 100% did not help! At all!
She was just okay with a stranger lying in her lap?! Absolutely not! Rowan started to squirm out from under her, but she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him.
"No! Stay right here. Don't run away from me." Her voice had lost that teasing edge. It was soft now, more real somehow. "You did great, Rowan. Just… stay with me. You earned it, man."
Rowan was still trying to figure out what the hell that meant when a sharp French voice cut in:
"Mon Dieu, I will be sick."
The slap of savate slippers on sand announced Professor Piorun's approach. She crouched beside them, her coat flaring in the sea breeze.
"Your softness disgusts me," she said, but there was the faintest hint of teasing buried under the contempt. The tone of a drill instructor who had, against her will, been impressed. "But I must say, you both did very well." Her gaze flicked to Wisconsin. "Correction. You did well."
Then she turned to Rowan and gave him a look so flat it could've crushed mountains.
"You," she said simply, "are dog shit."
Rowan bristled then caught himself. "…Sorry, Professor."
A blue shimmer bloomed in the air beside him. Lightning popped into view, practically glowing with indignation. "Hey! Look here, lady! It was my boy's first fight, and—"
The change was instant and violent. A pulse went through the air like a railgun round had just sailed past. The battle aura of a fully-trained Captain flaring to life for a fraction of a second.
Piorun sprang upright, twisted, and let fly with a vicious push kick. Her foot, wrapped in violet hardlight, crashed into Lightning's torso with a sparking WHAM. The sprightly AI flew ten feet, bounced off the sand, and vanished with a startled, indignant "eep!"
"She kicked me! She can hit me, Cap! Holy crap, she kicked me! Getting kicked hurts! She's a crazy person!"
Rowan blinked. Piorun had kicked Lightning. Part of him wanted to fight Piorun but another part of him was just so stunned that she had been able to hit Lightning in the first place that his brain had to take a second to restart.
Piorun calmly knelt back down as if nothing had happened.
"I do not permit interruptions during my critique," she said flatly. "Not even from super AIs."
Piorun adjusted the way her jacket draped over her shoulders and leveled her gaze at Rowan.
"Now then," she said, tone crisp as frostbite. "Let us dissect what I have just witnessed."
Rowan tensed slightly beneath Wisconsin's arms.
"You are faster than she is." Piorun pointed at Wisconsin without looking at her. "It is not even close. Your reaction time, your twitch response, your adaptability... it is all superior."
Rowan blinked. "…Wait, what?"
She held up a finger. "But," she paused to savor the word like a bitter wine, "you did not use it."
Wisconsin chuckled softly behind him, running her fingers through his hair to get all the sand out. He didn't hate it...
"You had more speed, more reach, and a more versatile power set," Piorun continued. "And instead of controlling the distance, you charged forward like a frat boy chasing a donkey. You let her bait you into a brawl. A brawl, Capitaine."
She made a noise of disgust. "I expected you to dance. To harass. To fight like a battlecruiser... But no. You planted your feet and played punch-me-in-the-armor-belt with a goddamn heavy cruiser."
"I'm a battleship..." Wisconsin muttered, petting Rowan's hair like he was a favorite cat.
"Shut up," Piorun snapped without missing a beat. "You are not helping."
Rowan tried to speak, but she rolled right over him.
"Your hardlight generation is advanced. Shockingly advanced for someone at your level. You could have shaped the terrain. Forced her into angles that favored your strengths. Made her think. Instead, you made one little staircase and then tried to kung-fu your way through a woman whose fists have the power to crush your ribcage in a single blow."
Piorun's voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. Her cold, clinical disapproval hit harder than any shout.
"Do you know what that is called, Capitaine Takeda?"
Rowan swallowed. "…Poor judgment?"
"Bravery." Her smile was almost kind. "Which is the most generous translation of stupidity. And you, apparently, are very brave."
Rowan winced. "Yes, ma'am."
"But." Piorun tilted her head. "You learn quickly. And you are willing to be hit. That is a trait shared by all the best fools."
Wisconsin gave a proud little grunt. "He's got grit. I like him."
Piorun stood, brushing sand from her knees. "I am submitting my full evaluation to the Headmistress. Expect lessons and drills. You will receive more bruises. I refuse to let you waste your potential so expect that I will hold you to a higher standard than your peers, Capitaine."
As she walked away, she paused, then turned over her shoulder.
"But for your first fight…" A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Not bad."
Another set of footsteps approached, slow and precise. Polished trainers this time, not the slap of combat slippers. Rowan turned his head just in time to see Lady Hood striding through the training yard like a queen walking through commoners.
Perfect posture. Not a speck of sand on her training uniform. Not a hair out of place. She was sweat-slick but regal in presentation.
"I will also need a copy of your assessment, Professor," she said evenly, "along with any dietary restrictions, aptitude notes, or drills you expect him to perform."
Piorun didn't even look surprised. "I am aware," she replied simply, never slowing as she continued to walk. She simply tapped the tablet on her hip. "It's already in your inbox." And with that, Piorun moved away.
Rowan shifted, trying to sit up. Only to be gently but firmly yanked backward by Wisconsin, who caged him in with her arms again.
"Don't try to stand yet, Red," she warned. "I cleaned your clock something fierce. Your knees'll still be doing the Macarena."
"She's right," Hood added dryly, crossing her arms. Her cool gaze landed on where Wisconsin's fingers had started kneading Rowan's shoulders with the precision of a licensed massage therapist. "Though I must admit I question the qualifications of your current attendant."
Wisconsin shot her a wink. "What, jealous? You can take over after I've softened him up."
Rowan groaned, both from embarrassment and from the absolutely magic way her thumbs were working a knot out of his shoulder blade. They had just been kicking the crap out of each other and yet he was oddly comfortable with this woman! He could not figure it out...
But that was secondary at the moment. A more pressing matter than whatever the hell Temper Temper had knocked into his mind was looming.
He looked up at Hood, eyes narrowing. "Okay, I gotta ask, why do you need a copy of my assessment?"
Hood flipped her long blue hair over one shoulder like a flag of righteous irritation. "Because, as of yesterday evening, I was assigned as your personal tutor. By direct order of Ark Royal."
Rowan blinked.
Lightning squealed in his mind.
"EEEEEEE! Study date privileges unlocked! I'm making flashcards right now! They will be in your Captain's quarters next time you step on my decks! What's your favorite gel pen color?! Wait no, don't tell me! I know the answer! I'm gonna fabricate some of those too!"
"What?" Rowan said aloud doing his level best to ignore Lightning. She was absolutely going to make hay out of this for days!
"Don't worry," Hood replied coolly. "I'll ensure your education is both thorough and efficient. Avalon Naval Institute will produce a competent Captain out of you, one way or another."
"Oh my God," Rowan muttered, half to himself. "I'm being annexed."
Hood smiled at him and crouched, wrapping her arms around her knees. "We British are quite good at that."
"Ooooh, claimed by nobility!" Lightning added with glee. "You are gonna level so quick! She's like an XP booster of divine ass and graciousness!"
"Please stop talking," Rowan said internally, but he couldn't help smiling anyway. His girl had a way of making incredibly weird situations seem not that bad.
Rowan blinked up at Hood, confused. "Not that I'm not grateful but... Why do I get a personal tutor?"
"Because you are decidedly behind, Master Takeda," Hood said primly. "Look around. Do you see anyone else laid out like a fish at market?"
He turned his head.
The beach was full of students standing around, recovering from their bouts in their own ways. Some of the girls were stretching, others were simply chatting. The one strange submarine captain, Parche was refueling by eating handfuls of broken cookies out of her pocket and drinking what appeared to be milk out of a camelbak.
Which was... odd.
Some of the girls had bruises. A few were limping. But the only person flat on the ground, half-cradled in someone's lap like a concussed toddler, was him.
"…Man," he muttered, hanging his head. "That sucks. I didn't think I was that bad."
Wisconsin leaned over, her voice softer than he expected. "Hey. No. Don't do that to yourself, Red."
She gently turned his head so that he looked up at her. She wasn't teasing. Not even smirking.
"You pushed me," she said. "You pushed me! And I've been fighting since I could put on gloves. You're just raw, man. No shame in it."
Her hand shifted to squeeze his shoulder.
"And as much as she is a priss," she added with a meaningful glance toward Hood, "the Princess is a great duelist. I honestly hoped I'd draw her or the German today so we could go full tilt."
Hood arched an eyebrow, but didn't interrupt. In fact she seemed genuinely touched by Wisconsin's raw honesty.
"She was winning fencing competitions at ten," Wisconsin continued. "You can learn a lot from her."
Rowan blinked again, processing that.
He was flat on his back. His ego was bruised. His body felt like a discarded chew toy.
But the strongest brawler in the freshman class was treating him like he belonged. And Lady Hood, who walked around like she had personally won a war, had been ordered to teach him and seemed absolutely ok with it. Like she looked forward to it.
He wasn't quite sure how to feel.
Lightning, of course, had no such hesitation.
"See?! You're already the protagonist! You're the only one who got KO'd and you still walked away with lap privileges and a private tutor!"
Please stop talking, he thought at her. But there was no heat in it. He smiled. Don't be trying to turn this into some pervy fantasy. Just give it up already...
"Never!" She said, then she placed a gentle digital kiss on his forehead. "Not until you realize how awesome you are."
"Hey," Wisconsin piped up, raising a hand like she was volunteering in class, "if you want him to train against a battleship, I'm more than willing."
Rowan gave her a wide-eyed look. "Wait, what?"
She grinned and leaned back, tugging up the edge of her tank top to show off the swelling bruise on her ribs—deep blue and angry purple, right where the practice knife had rammed in.
"Kid's got guts for days. Look what he did to me!" she said, proud as hell. "He got me good! So yeah—I'd be glad to help! Might even pick up a few tricks myself!"
Rowan was still processing the absolute lunacy of one of the strongest girls on the island offering to spar with him again, when a sudden chill crept into the sunlight.
A shadow fell over them.
And then a voice.
Low, clipped, and unmistakably cold.
"Nein. That privilege is mine."
Rowan turned slowly.
And there she was.
Bismarck.
Still glowing faintly red, her eyes unreadable and her expression as flat as the ocean after a storm. Her massive hardlight zweihänder was balanced over one shoulder like a casual warning. The air around her felt heavier somehow.
Wisconsin let out a low whistle. "Damn, she fine!"
Rowan swallowed hard. Wisconsin was telling the absolute truth!
Bismarck's training gear was the exact same as almost everyone else's. White tee, shorts and sneakers but Bismarck seemed to carry it like armor! She didn't even look like she had worked up that much of a sweat! Like her toned gymnasts body had been bred for war and she knew it! Her circuit seals (like anchor chains and iron crosses on her arms and thighs) just added an aura of unearthlyness to her beauty.
Even Lightning went still in his head. Just muttering one single syllable.
"…Fuck."
Bismarck stepped forward and drove the tip of her zweihänder into the sand with a low shhhunk. It hummed slightly as it settled into the earth.
"I am his conquest, after all," she said simply, as if calling herself that didn't carry the weight of a thousand implications.
Rowan sputtered upright, only for Wisconsin to yank him right back into her lap with one arm. "Easy, tiger."
"Hey! Whoa! No, don't say that!" Rowan protested, voice cracking slightly. "Or at least don't phrase it like that!"
Bismarck tilted her head. "Vas es das? It is true, is it not?"
"Well… yes! On a technical level! But...but it's not like I didn't try to let you out of it!"
She made a short, chopping motion with her hand. "Your sputterings are irrelevant to the truth. If Hood determines that, to best follow Professor Piorun's advisement, you will compete against a battleship...then that battleship will be me."
"Damn," Wisconsin muttered under her breath, clearly enjoying Rowan's discomfor, "wish I was someone's conquest."
Lightning chose that moment to blink back into semi-physical form over Rowan's shoulder, her voice tense with barely-contained glee. "Can someone please write this down? Somebody just said Rowan conquered Bismarck and I am living for that phrasing!"
Wisconsin snorted a laugh, doing her best not to shake Rowan and failing as she slipped into uncontrollable titters.
"I hate everything," Rowan groaned.
Bismarck ignored the peanut gallery. She pulled her blade from the sand with one hand and let it dissipate into digital mist. "Inform me of the schedule, Hood. I will make myself available."
Rowan slumped back against Wisconsin.
"This school is going to kill me."
Wisconsin stood, making sure that Rowan was sitting up properly as she did, brushing sand from her thighs as she squared up to the taller girl without flinching. "No way. No how, Lady Adolf."
Bismarck's eyes narrowed. "What?"
"I just found out that Red here's got enough guts and speed to keep up with me," Wisconsin said, planting her fists on her hips. "I don't want to lose that. And besides he's fun! Fighting a dude was awesome! That grapple session? Super hot. So, I want in."
Bismarck regarded her with the chilly disdain of a glacier. Her silver eyes bored into Wisconsin's fiery blue ones with regal disapproval.
"Nein."
"Yes," Wisconsin fired back instantly.
"Nein," Bismarck repeated, and this time she turned her head away entirely, resting her digital zweihänder across her shoulder like a bored executioner. The dismissal was absolute.
That did it.
"Look, bitch," Wisconsin said closing the distance so that she and Bismarck were nearly nose to nose. She spoke quietly, low and sharp, the words for Bismarck's ears alone. "you can let me play too… or I can just play with him when you aren't around."
That got Bismarck's attention.
Her gaze slid back, slow as sunrise over a gunmetal sea. No expression. But the air between them chilled.
Because Wisconsin was serious.
She wanted to train with Rowan. And if Bismarck wasn't willing to let her, she'd go about it another way, smiling, teasing, flirting Rowan into submission when Bismarck wasn't there to stop her.
Rowan, still laid out, blinked rapidly. "Uhh…"
Lightning whispered in his head, 'Oh my God, you're the meat in a warcrime sandwich.'
Bismarck's face betrayed nothing, but a muscle ticked along her jawline as her molars ground together.
Otto, she thought sharply, summoning the ever-faithful voice of her old one-eyed Kriegsmariner. Tactical assessment. How likely is this to be a bluff?
The AI did not hesitate. His gravelly voice echoed through her mind.
"Based on current public records, recent duel footage, social posts, and in-class behavior, I advise you to operate as if she is telling the truth, mein Kapitänin."
Damn her, Bismarck thought quietly.
'What is her current level of ground based Combat readiness?' she queried. Maybe a quick bout could settle it. Prove she was the better training partner.
"Breached but still fully combat capable if you intend to challenge her on foot. Note: Her offense style directly counters your preferred stance. If engaged at this range and footing, suboptimal chance for victory." Otto told her, with a hint of regret. "In addition, your own injuries sustained in the spar with IJN Yamato are far greater than hers. Her endurance is a match for yours on any day but now you are at an extreme disadvantage, mein Kapitänin."
She clicked her tongue. Otto was right. Bismarck wasn't showing it but the shrine maiden had absolutely battered her torso and the crown of her head.
Scheiße…
Could I challenge her to a Frame duel instead? There my physical limitations are less relevant and I am the more experienced combatant.
Otto hesitated. Calculated. Hesitated. Calculated again. Then sighed, like a dad who realized the money was going to be tight this month.
"High probability of refusal unless stakes are obscene, likely something lewd or reputationally damaging. If accepted, outcome depends on microsecond decision-making. While we have advantage in armor and precision, her firepower output and speed is a match or greater than our own. Tactical edge: unclear. Emotional volatility: high. Unpredictability: extreme."
Scheiße, scheiße, SCHEIßE!
She forced her expression to remain impassive, regal even. But inside, the gears of pride and strategy screamed in opposite directions. She did not want to back down. She would not lose ground.
But she also would not risk appearing petty or threatened.
Especially not in front of him.
But it was Rowan who broke the silence, rubbing the back of his neck, still reclined in the sand.
"Wait," he said, blinking between the two towering girls. "You two fight completely differently. If the point is to help me catch up... wouldn't having multiple training partners, who are each good at different things, help me grow faster? Like... it'd be good for everyone, right? Maybe you two could even spar each other if I'm working with Hood or something like that?"
Wisconsin looked at him like he'd just solved world peace.
"Dude! That ain't bad thinkin', Red." She leaned over and gave him a light smack on the chest. He winced and gasped. "Whoops, sorry bout that! Got overzealous... Again!" She then turned to regard Bismarck, "What do you say, Bizzy? Wanna tag team this?"
Bismarck turned her head slowly. Her silver eyes were unreadable.
"I am Bismarck, not Bizzy," she said flatly.
But then she nodded. "Those terms are agreeable."
Internally, she was screaming with relief. Rowan's suggestion had given her an exit ramp. A dignified solution. A tactical victory, salvaged from the edge of emotional humiliation.
Otto, with wry amusement, whispered in her neural link:
"That boy may be under-trained in the ways of battle, mein Kapitänin… but as a diplomat he's dangerously effective."
'Ja,' Bismarck thought and exhaled with the smallest of smiles. 'He could sell glasses to a blind woman.'
She looked at him as he grinned up at her then turned her face away quickly. Even battered and laying on the beach, completely blown out as he was Rowan's smile was absolutely dangerous to her self control.
Glasses to a blind woman indeed...