The Class Monitor shook her head, her expression deepening as she spoke.
"Actually, Captain, didn't those two tell the children to call you that?"
Her words triggered a brief memory of the first time I met those two children. I quickly shook my head to dispel the thought.
"No, neither of them ever gave such an instruction."
"Indeed," Bronya added, her voice analytical. "Though there were moments when the children mistakenly addressed the Captain as 'Papa.'"
However, that wasn't exactly surprising once you understood the state of their domestic lives. From what I've gathered, their husbands were apparently so buried in work they were never home.
It was bad enough that people said it was easier to count the days those men were present than the days they were absent. So, how would a child react in that environment?
As Bronya suggested, it wasn't uncommon for a child to address an adult male figure as 'Papa' even if they weren't blood-related. It happens when a child knows they have a father, but sees him so rarely that his face becomes a fading memory.
When those two first told me about it, they wore such sorrowful expressions. They apologized, explaining that the children only acted that way because their fathers were too busy to even show their faces.
How did I feel seeing them like that?
To be honest, I was furious. I wanted to hunt down those husbands who prioritized work over parenting and dumped the entire burden of childcare on their wives. I was ready to give them a piece of my mind, but Bianca and Rita managed to calm me down.
Were they the only ones busy? These two were still active-duty Valkyries; if anything, their schedules were just as packed, if not more so. Even now, thinking about it makes my blood boil. Do those men think their responsibility ends at conception?
To me, it was the absolute height of irresponsibility.
But looking at the vulnerable side of women I've known for years—my comrades-in-arms—I couldn't stay angry at them. I told them not to apologize and promised that whenever they visited, I would treat those children as if I were their own father.
Since I had watched those kids grow up since they were infants, I poured my heart into caring for them. I wanted to make sure the time they spent with me was filled with enough joy to offset the absence of their deadbeat fathers.
Suddenly, the memories started flooding back.
"Bronie was the same, but the other two... when they were babies, they'd only stop crying when I held them. I felt like I needed more than two arms back then. It's a fond memory now," I reminisced.
"While Bronie would eventually settle down when The Bronya held her... those two would continue to wail unless the Captain took them, wouldn't they?" Bronya noted.
"Yeah. Whenever they were left in my care, I'd end up with one strapped to my chest and another to my back just to get through the day."
"Hehe~ Do you remember when Bronie got jealous and threw a tantrum? She insisted that she had to be held too."
"That was a real dilemma," I laughed. I was out of arms to hold her with, and no amount of coaxing could stop her tears. Eventually, we reached a compromise: a piggyback ride.
I remember seeing a specialized child-carrier rig online and asking my wife to use her powers as the Herrscher of Reason to construct it. Once I strapped it on and hoisted Bronie up onto my shoulders, she finally settled down. No, wait—she didn't just settle down, she was ecstatic, cheering and giggling the whole time.
Eventually, the other children caught on and started pestering me for piggyback rides too. I ended up having to rotate them out every hour so everyone got a turn on my shoulders.
"Perhaps that is why the children still remembered the Captain when you met again?" the Class Monitor mused.
"You're right. Honestly, given how infant memory works, I expected them to have forgotten me entirely. I was stunned they remembered."
"The Bronya was also surprised," Bronya added. "Specifically when they followed Bronie's lead and called the Captain 'Papa' for the first time."
"Bianca and Rita were shocked, too. I figured they'd pick up words from each other, but I never imagined 'Papa' would be the first thing they'd mimic."
"The Bronya suspects they saw how the Captain reacted when Bronie said it. They realized that saying that word would make the Captain come running to them immediately."
Recalling the scene, I scratched my cheek awkwardly. I remember the look on the two mothers' faces—they looked utterly hollowed out and depressed seeing their children reaching for me while shouting that word. Then, they turned those resentful eyes toward me.
Well, I can't blame them. The first time a child speaks, you want them to be calling for you. The emotional impact of that moment is indescribable. For the record, the first word Bronie ever uttered was 'Mama.'
A strike to the heart! So, I can empathize with their pain.
But why did the Class Monitor look so perplexed? As she listened to us, her expression morphed into that of a master detective who had stumbled into an inescapable labyrinth.
"Monitor?"
"No, it can't be... Surely, what I saw that time was real..." she whispered to herself.
Connecting the dots between our stories, even the most oblivious person would start to suspect something. I sighed.
"Class Monitor."
"Yes?"
"Are you trying to say that you think I'm the biological father of those two children?"
At my blunt question, the Monitor flinched. She averted her gaze, closing her eyes in a heavy silence. Looking at her, I felt a headache coming on and pressed my hand to my forehead. Perhaps because she has lived for so long, the Class Monitor has a habit of falling silent when she's supposed to answer a difficult question... but those who have known her for a long time know that silence is a clear affirmation.
"Look, that's impossible," I stated.
"...I would like to believe so as well," she replied softly.
"Then how did you even reach that conclusion? I mean, I wouldn't just go around cheating—well, I can't say it's *impossible!"
Ugh. It's painful that I can't even argue that point with total confidence. If I could see my past self right now, I'd deliver a Hectopascal Kick at twenty-three meters per second to snap him back to his senses.
"The logistics don't make sense. If something like that had happened, there's no way I wouldn't remember."
"The Captain is correct, Class Monitor," Bronya intervened. "The Captain hadn't touched a single drop of alcohol that day, so a 'mistake' was impossible. Now, if it had been Seele, that might be a different story."
"Right, exactly! ...Wait, what?" I paused. "Honey? What did you just say?"
"The details regarding Comrade Seele are secondary. Let us focus on the primary issue for now," Bronya said, expertly dodging the topic.
Excuse me? I feel like something incredibly significant just zipped right past me.
"...Captain, do you remember your conversation with those two that day?" the Monitor asked.
"Hm? Oh, yeah. They were smiling and giving me their sincere congratulations on the wedding. They seemed genuinely happy for me."
"...Is that truly what you think? Was there nothing... strange?"
Prompted to re-examine the memory, I searched my mind. All I could recall were their bright smiles as they congratulated me, looking as happy as if it were their own celebration. "No, I'm drawing a blank here."
"Think carefully. Specifically about how they looked when they weren't* speaking to you. Particularly Durandal-sama."
"...I was surrounded by so many people, I didn't really have a chance to observe them when we weren't talking face-to-face."
The Class Monitor shook her head, placing a hand over her eyes. "Captain, you are being negligent."
"Why am I being called negligent?" I protested. I was anything but lazy that day; I was running around like a headless chicken trying to greet everyone after the retirement announcement.
"Then let me describe it for you. Their expressions at that time—"
"Yeah?"
"Were the very embodiment of the Void. Absolute nothingness."
As she said this, the Class Monitor clutched her head, her pupils trembling as she muttered. "In all my long years, I have seen many people, but I have never seen a expression like that. It was a 'nothingness' so profound that it left the observer unable to think. It wasn't something humanity was meant to face. If it had been a battle, I would have preferred to face a Herrscher or the Honkai itself rather than confront whatever that was. Augh... my brain... it's trembling!"
I mean, seriously, what did Bianca look like to make even the Monitor this terrified?
"Calm down, Monitor. You're going to claw your scalp off."
"It's fine. I'm a Super Soldier; physical wounds heal in seconds."
"Your mental health certainly doesn't," I shot back.
"...That was a cowardly blow with the truth, Captain."
"If you don't like it, feel free to fight back with slander and—no! On second thought, if you did that, I'd be finished. Please don't."
Fu Hua alone was one thing, but if the self-proclaimed hedonist, the Herrscher of Sentience, got involved, I'd be socially buried globally in an instant.
"So, what did you actually see that makes you so certain those two are my children?"
The Monitor hesitated for a moment, then let out a long sigh before opening her mouth.
"On the night after the retirement ceremony, everyone spent their final night in their personal quarters on the Hyperion for old time's sake, correct?"
"That's right."
"At the time, I was caught up in a long conversation with the Academy Principal, so I entered the ship later than everyone else."
The Monitor started to continue, but her voice failed her for a second. She bit her lip, hesitated, and then with a look of grim determination, she pushed her glasses up her nose and spoke again.
"...That was when I saw it. The two of them... or more accurately, Rita-sama expertly bypassing your room's security while Durandal-sama led the way inside your quarters."