C.E. 73 (Cosmic Era)
Panama Base
The sharp chime of a terminal alert cut through the corridor.
> "Pilot Asagi Kyousuke. Report to the Base Commander's office immediately."
Kyousuke halted mid-step.
So it's finally my turn, he thought.
The metallic hallway seemed longer than before as he walked, boots echoing in steady rhythm. Soldiers passed him without a glance—technicians, pilots, officers—all moving with the practiced efficiency of those who had long accepted this place as home. Kyousuke straightened his posture as the commander's office came into view, its reinforced doors marked with the OMNI emblem.
He stopped, exhaled once, then knocked.
"Enter."
The room was cool, illuminated by holographic displays floating above a wide desk. Behind it sat the base commander, a stern-faced officer whose uniform bore the scars of long service. His eyes never left the screen in front of him as Kyousuke stepped inside and snapped to attention.
"Second Lieutenant Kyousuke Asagi reporting as ordered, sir."
"At ease," the commander said, finally looking up.
With a flick of his fingers, Kyousuke's personal file expanded in midair. Lines of data scrolled past—name, age, service record, combat simulations—before slowing to a deliberate crawl.
The commander studied it in silence.
"Orb Union national," he muttered. "Transferred to OMNI Enforcer Forces after… circumstances."
Kyousuke's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
The file shifted again, revealing a pair of faded photographs.
"Father," the commander continued, voice neutral. "Mobile Suit pilot. KIA during the Battle of Orb."
A pause.
"Mother. Field medic. Also killed in action."
Kyousuke kept his gaze forward. He had repeated these facts so many times they felt less like memories and more like lines from a report—sanitized, stripped of pain.
"Despite that," the commander went on, "your aptitude scores are unusually high. Spatial awareness, reaction speed, stress tolerance." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You don't fly like someone who learned in a simulator."
Kyousuke answered quietly, "I grew up around Mobile Suits, sir."
"Hmph." The commander closed the file with a gesture. "That explains part of it."
He leaned back in his chair, studying Kyousuke as if weighing a weapon in his hands.
"You're in OMNI territory now, Asagi. Your past, your nationality—none of that matters here. What matters is whether you can follow orders and survive long enough to be useful."
"Yes, sir."
The commander's gaze hardened. "Good. Because from today onward, you're not just another transfer. You'll be assigned to active-duty operations sooner than planned."
Kyousuke's chest tightened—but he didn't hesitate.
"I won't fail."
A faint, unreadable smile crossed the commander's face.
"See that you don't," he said. "Dismissed."
Kyousuke turned on his heel and exited the office, the door sealing shut behind him.
Only when the corridor swallowed him again did he allow himself a single thought to surface—
The war wasn't waiting anymore.
It had found him.
The door slid shut behind Kyousuke with a dull hiss.
For a moment, he simply stood there, the commander's words echoing in his head. Active-duty operations sooner than planned. The phrase carried a weight he knew all too well. At Panama Base, that meant live ammunition, real enemies, and mistakes paid for in blood.
Kyousuke exhaled slowly and began walking.
The corridor opened into a vast hangar bay, where the air was thick with the scent of oil and ozone. Mechanics swarmed around dormant Mobile Suits like ants around steel giants, their voices blending with the constant hum of generators. Overhead, cranes moved with deliberate precision, lifting armor plates and weapon racks into place.
His eyes were drawn—almost unwillingly—to one unit standing apart from the others.
A Strike Dagger.
Its white-and-gray frame bore fresh maintenance markings, the paint still unscarred by combat. Compared to the veteran machines nearby, it looked almost pristine. Too clean for a battlefield. Too quiet.
"So you're the new transfer."
Kyousuke turned. A tall pilot leaned against a crate nearby, helmet tucked under one arm. His uniform was worn, his expression relaxed—but his eyes were sharp, assessing.
"First Lieutenant Marcus Hale," the man said. "Your new squad leader."
Kyousuke snapped to attention. "Second Lieutenant Kyousuke Asagi, sir."
Hale waved a hand. "Relax. Save that stiffness for the briefing room." He nodded toward the Strike Dagger. "That one's yours."
Kyousuke followed his gaze. "Mine…?"
"Custom-tuned for your data profile," Hale replied. "Commander's orders. Seems you made an impression."
Kyousuke said nothing, but his chest tightened. A brand-new machine wasn't a reward—it was a test. New pilots with shiny units tended to draw fire first.
Hale studied him for a moment longer. "You've flown before. Real combat. I can see it in your eyes."
Kyousuke hesitated, then answered honestly. "I've seen Mobile Suits die. Pilots too."
"Good," Hale said quietly. "Then you already know the first rule."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice as a transport alarm sounded in the distance.
"This place doesn't care where you came from. Orb, Earth, Coordinator, Natural—it'll chew you up all the same. What keeps you alive is the pilot next to you."
Kyousuke nodded.
"Briefing in ten," Hale added. "Get familiar with your machine. We deploy tonight."
Tonight.
Kyousuke walked toward the Strike Dagger, placing a hand against its cold armor. For a brief instant, an image surfaced in his mind—his father's silhouette, framed by cockpit light, smiling as if to say Fly straight.
Kyousuke clenched his fist.
This machine wasn't Orb's.
This uniform wasn't his homeland's.
But the sky… the sky was the same everywhere.
As warning lights flickered on across the hangar, Kyousuke Asagi stepped forward, readying himself for his first battle as an OMNI pilot—knowing full well that once he launched, there would be no turning back.