Clicking tongue reverberated.

The epidermis of Goddesium was scorched, and the movement of the left arm, exposed under the sun with artificial muscles darkening, was unsteady.

Moore's reaction to accepting this fact was just that.

"─Is Elysion adjusting like this... isn't the conduction efficiency bad?"

It was a hastily constructed defense facility from the first invasion, probably made of reinforced concrete during the initial assault. Likely some sort of field command post.

Shivering uncontrollably, the group of Counters and Metis, dragging the trembling Laplace with them, reached the nearest abandoned facility.

In any case, first aid was necessary. Especially Moore's mechanized left arm, despite being grazed by the beam, was beautifully burnt, with some parts charred.

Maxwell, sitting in front of Moore on the floor, used the tools at hand, occasionally expressing dissatisfaction with Elysion, a competing company in terms of Nike manufacturing, while proceeding with first aid, furrowing her brows.

Finally, Maxwell, manipulating a terminal connected to a terminal inserted into the scorched epidermis, seemed to achieve a satisfactory result. The expression used was still "current situation," however.

Nodding once, she pulled the terminal out and turned her turquoise-blue eyes toward Moore.

"Yes. How is it? It's just first aid, but is it better than earlier?"

"Yeah, thanks... It's much better."

As if checking, he repeatedly clenched and opened his left hand, confirming its movement. The epidermis was burnt, but fortunately, the artificial muscles and frame inside seemed to be fine.

"Well, when you get back to the Ark, you'll have to replace it, though."

"...It's been a string of bad days."

There were spare eyeballs, but there were none for the prosthetic hand and leg. Moore couldn't help but think that it would be good if Elysion had them in stock.

Exhaling a sigh, Moore's gaze then turned to Laplace, sitting in the corner of the room, huddled with knees drawn up.

"...The weaponry didn't deploy, but..."

"I'll check it during maintenance. But... probably... that was..."

Maxwell, hesitating in her words, stood up and walked toward Laplace. While watching her back, a momentary noise ran through Moore's housing covering both ears.

<──Report the situation.>

"──20 seconds, please wait."

The communication partner was Shuen. Though a mechanical voice, while listening to the solid confusion it unintentionally conveyed, Moore stood up, gripping the assault rifle.

Recognizing Moore's intention to head outside, he raised his hand to restrain Rapi, Anis, and Neon, who tried to follow him and then went out into the corridor.

A bit away from the room, exactly 20 seconds later, he once again used the headset's microphone, pinching it with the fingertips of his left hand—a bit clumsier than usual—and opened his mouth.

"──I apologize for the wait. I will report the situation."

Slipping into the adjacent room, he briefly reported to Shuen the encounter with a swarm of Rapture creatures about twenty minutes ago and the results of the skirmish, including approximately twenty Raptures, including the Load class, being encountered. Ultimately, all of them were defeated, but Trouble occurred in the process.

<... Is this some kind of joke? Laplace?>

"...I don't have the hobby of treating such things as jokes. I'm reporting what I saw. It may seem like post-traumatic stress disorder PTSD after psychological trauma... Unfortunately, I'm not an expert in that area."

Shuen's voice, not attempting to hide confusion, resonated from the depths of the housing. Meanwhile, Moore took out a soft pack, shook it lightly, and lit a cigarette with an oil lighter.

Considering Shuen's reaction to a report beyond expectations or assumptions, Moore had expected either a greater disturbance or a scolding tone. However, there was nothing but silence from the depths of the housing.

Whether Shuen was trying to remain calm or had become unable to react due to the unexpected nature of the report—either way, it was good that things were quiet.

Exhaling purple smoke, he surveyed the room he had slipped into.

How many decades had it been since a living person entered this room? It was inevitably dusty, but there were several mugs left on the neglected desk, giving a sense of life.

Casually approaching the desk with some abandoned mugs, his attention was caught by a book that seemed to belong to someone.

Picking it up, he blew away the dust covering the cover with a breath of purple smoke from his cigarette.

Glancing at the cover while still holding the cigarette in his mouth, he flipped through the pages.

"──Out of the night that covers me."

<──What is it?>

"...Oh, it's nothing. I apologize. So, what do we do? Personally, I recommend retreating, but..."

<──No. Absolutely not.>

"...Shuen."

With a sigh mixed in, Moore addressed Shuen informally.

Laplace wouldn't be effective in combat. Considering the current situation, the first thought that came to mind was to retreat, and perform maintenance and detailed inspections while waiting for the opportunity to redeploy.

To the extent that she didn't understand, she shouldn't be foolish.

<We're running out of time. There's a limit to protecting those kids. Ignoring the demo any further is difficult. Misilis' stock prices are still falling...!>

"...So, that's why we have to stand our ground here, right?"

As the appointed commander in charge of the situation, he wanted to get approval for an immediate retreat at all costs.

However, at the same time, he understood that the Metis squad, including her, was facing an impending deadline to protect them from unspecified malice—though the term "malice" might not be entirely accurate.

<...Can't you do something with mental care...?>

"It's like being asked to restore a cracked eggshell."

While giving an indirect response to the difficulty, Moore sensed movement in the adjacent room where Counters and Metis members were progressing with maintenance and taking a break.

"...I'll try to do something, but please don't expect too much. If it comes to the worst, I'll decide on an early retreat, so I hope you understand."

Having unilaterally cut off the communication, Moore held the cigarette in his mouth and, incidentally, tucked a book that must have belonged to someone under his arm as he exited the room.

At that moment, the sight of a bright blond figure walking feebly with two tied strands of hair came into the corner of his vision.

It was Laplace.

As he watched the figure that had been exhaling purple smoke, he noticed the faces of the Metis squad peering from the door of the adjacent room.

"What happened? Did you have a fight or something?"

Trying to inquire with a deliberately calm voice, the responses from Maxwell and Drake—members of the Metis squad—were not favorable.

Laplace's condition seemed more serious than imagined. Well, that was already obvious, so it might be a belated realization.

"...Sorry. We... can't do anything. Baby, can't you do something?"

"...I can't make grand promises... but I can try talking to her."

Seeing the faintly anxious turquoise-blue eyes, Moore released a small sigh and purple smoke, then proceeded to walk towards the direction Laplace had gone.

"...I'll leave it that idiot to you."

"She's not an idiot."

"...Yeah, maybe you're right."

He shrugged his shoulders with the cigarette in his mouth. All they could do was watch his retreating figure.

It didn't take long for Moore, with both legs clad in tan-colored boots, to find Laplace again—though, to be fair, it was only a matter of minutes.

Sitting in the shadow formed in the corner of the corridor, he saw her huddled figure with a fur-lined hood, and after exhaling a thin stream of purple smoke, he threw the cigarette butt into a portable ashtray.

The faint exhale and the sound of the portable ashtray's lid opening and closing seemed to tickle her ears. Laplace lifted her face lazily.

"...Oh... Captain..."

"...How are you feeling?"

Despite trying to sound casual while asking, she once again lowered her face, burying her forehead on her raised knees.

"...Go somewhere else. Right now... I can't protect you even if something happens."

"...I don't know about other commanders, but unfortunately, I'm not that weak. Even if Raptures attack, I can at least defend you."

"...Is that so... yeah... that's right..."

---I see. This is serious.

In Moore's memory, the Nikke named Laplace was a lively and energetic individual. It could be said that her straightforward and simple personality was both her strength and charm.

However, she didn't look like herself.

That being said, it wasn't like he had the authority to definitively declare whether she seemed like herself or not.

"...Mind if I sit next to you?"

"...Do as you please."

With permission obtained, Moore sat down unreservedly beside her. His backpack was left with Anis, and feeling the hard sensation of the wall through his body armor, he opened the book he had brought and, subsequently, lit a cigarette with the flame of an oil lighter.

"...Sorry."

"What's that for? I don't recall you doing anything to apologize for. The incident with the bridge is already settled, right?"

If she could just give a wry smile at this point, it would be a satisfactory light-hearted comment. However, it seemed that Laplace didn't have that kind of composure.

"...Because of me, everything... went to waste."

"...This operation?"

Stopping the light-hearted remarks and sarcasm, Moore reconsidered his approach, and when he continued with a sincere question, Laplace, with her head covered by the hood, nodded slightly.

"...Even without NIMPH... I just wanted to prove I could be a hero. But that ruined everything..."

Without interjecting with a comment, Moore allowed her to express what was weighing on her. He made only the faint sound of turning pages as he continued to flip through the book.

"...Everyone was right. Because I don't have NIMPH... because I wanted to become a hero even though I'm not one... I ruined the operation... and put everyone in danger..."

The sound of pages turning lightly and the faint sound of burning tobacco mixed with her quiet lament.

"...I thought I was a hero myself... but I was wrong. I'm just a weak existence..."

Moore, catching a glimpse of Laplace's figure huddled with her knees drawn up and her back slightly rounded, released a sigh and, casually, peeled off the hood she was wearing with his right hand.

Then, his right hand was placed on Laplace's head, and with a gentle touch, he began to stroke her, as if ruffling her hair.

"...It was from a previous mission. I told you, becoming a hero isn't something you achieve just because you want to."

"...Yeah."

"...I won't take back what I said. But I also said this."

.

.

.

--- Being a hero means --- someone who has accomplished something is inexplicably evaluated as such by those around them. Those who become heroes with the desire to be such, well, in the history of the past, it's not that there weren't any, but there were probably few.

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.

.

Recollections of the words that were likely a rebuttal to Laplace's way of being, spoken directly to her face, came to Moore's mind.

Now, those words turned into sharp blades and pierced one after another into the depths of her heart.

"...To make becoming a hero your purpose or goal seems to be an unhealthy way of living personally... Well, everyone has their own way of living. I may criticize or give opinions, but I won't deny that way of being."

"...Even if you think it's wrong?"

"Whether it's right or wrong might not be the real issue. If that's how you want to live, then go ahead. It won't be influenced by my opinion."

Laplace, surprised by the unexpected words, unintentionally looked up at Moore. He released a light puff of purple smoke and shrugged his shoulders lightly, as if wondering if he looked like such a sinister person.

"...The historical figures called heroes from all eras weren't heroes from the beginning. There were times when they were weak kids, and above all, they must have experienced many setbacks and difficulties."

Moore, who had moved his right hand away from his head covering the bright blond hair, re-gripped the book held in his burnt left hand with both hands and turned the pages again.

"Those who don't yield to adversity and even make setbacks a source of strength are the ones who can be called heroes. The path to becoming a hero is not just about defeating enemies."

"...Maybe... that's true..."

Laplace's reaction was lukewarm. And that was understandable. She was currently facing obstacles, setbacks, and adversity that Moore had mentioned directly.

--- If that's the case, she should probably be grateful to whoever left this book.

Maybe he was one of the soldiers stationed at this facility. Inwardly expressing gratitude to the unknown predecessor, Moore extended the closed book to Laplace beside him.

The presence of the book handed to her barely seemed to catch the view of Laplace, who had been huddled with her knees drawn up.

Lifting her face slowly, she alternated her gaze between the worn-out cover of the book and Moore.

"...Do you read poetry?"

"...No."

"I see."

Not minding that, Moore nodded and turned several pages of the book, shading the cover and pages in front of her eyes.

Eventually, when Moore's fingertip, having reached the intended page, stopped, he held the book open for Laplace.

"...It's a poem written by a poet named William Ernest Henry."

"...Sorry. I've never heard of it."

After all, the poet belonged to the 19th century in the old era. It was understandable that Laplace didn't know about him.

Not minding that, Moore nodded while exhaling purple smoke from the clenched cigarette in his mouth.

"...When he was twelve, he fell ill and had to amputate his left leg. Although he aspired to be a journalist, he had to spend eight years in hospital due to his frail health. Then, he got married and had a daughter... but he was struck by the misfortune of losing his daughter at the young age of six."

It must have been a series of misfortunes and trials. Perhaps he cursed God or fate more than once.

"...But still, he faced these trials. The brilliance emitted by someone who doesn't yield to unjust trials, who writes poetry about an unwavering way of life. He said that he would carve out his own destiny. And this poem has transcended time, giving courage and indomitable spirit to a man confronting destiny in pursuit of freedom and equality."

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.

.

.

Out of the night that covers me Black as the pit from pole to pole, 

I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.

 In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud. 

Under the bludgeonings of chance, My head is bloody, but unbowed. 

Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

 It matters not how strait the gate How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate

 I am the captain of my soul.

by William Ernest Henley ----Invictus

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A composed, low voice. It recites the poem written on the opened page of the book that Laplace now holds.

"What's the title... how do you pronounce it?"

"Invictus. It means 'unconquered' or 'unbowed' in Latin."

Not knowing the pronunciation and meaning, Laplace asks, and Moore responds with the same composed, low voice as when he recited the poem.

"I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul..."

"I'll give you that book. It seems to contain famous poems from around the world."

"Thank you, Captain."

"If you want to express gratitude... tell it to someone, somewhere."

To the soldier who left the book or perhaps to the poet himself.

Shrugging his shoulders, Moore tosses the cigarette into the portable ashtray, stands up, and turns on his heel.

Exiting the shadow in the corner of the hallway and heading back to the room, Maxwell and Drake appear in front of Moore.

They inquire about how things went, but Moore responds with a gesture of shrugging his shoulders for the umpteenth time.

"...Now it's her issue."

----

Author: By the way, the summer event has started, hasn't it? Anyway... why isn't the Laplace swimsuit version appearing in the gacha? (Wait, seriously? It's not coming out? Is this a joke?)