Chapter 1: The Possibility of Recall

“My new captain is an absolute sack of shit!”

In the empty room, Himeko Murata used her wine glass as a vent. The crystal goblet—no cheap china—was slammed against the wall and shattered; shards flew everywhere. Of course, bad luck struck: a sliver nicked the back of her hand. The cut was tiny, but the flash of bright red made the already furious Valkyrie even angrier.

“Why did Command put that guy in charge of the Hyperion? Even if I’m about to die or retire, he still shouldn’t be taking the helm!”

On the table sat a comm device with video enabled; Himeko’s lioness‑like rage and words were fully visible to the person on the other end.

“They didn’t ask me either. Almost everyone competent in the Far‑East Command has been redeployed against Anti‑Entropy. Those idiots have been extra bold these past few years.” The person on the other end also switched on video, but all Himeko could see on her screen was a flat desk, a very grand office chair, and a suspicious little patch of white fur peeking over the chair’s back.

“No way. Principal! Even if they were reassigned, there should still be somebody decent left. That kid—call him a commander? He’s a fresh recruit straight out of fleet sims!” Himeko grabbed the bottle—finding her goblet already smashed—took a few heavy swigs, and let out a string of slams and bangs.

After a hard gulp, the flush on Himeko’s angry face shifted into a different kind of redness; her mood slid from fury into a frustrated, almost whiny tone. “Calling him a rookie would be flattering. At least a rookie has the decency to ask when they don’t know and to apologize for mistakes. But this guy acts like some princeling—comes in, says nothing, issues orders, wears my squad out to the bone. Kiana and the others are all bruised to various degrees, Bronya’s still in recuperation at the hospital, and he’s over there with this—what, ‘Oh? Is that all you can do?’—attitude!”

Part of that rant was no doubt colored by Himeko’s emotional state, but from what she said, the situation sounded roughly as bad as she described.

So yeah—this captain could be officially labeled unqualified.

“How on earth did he pass the command exam? Is he someone’s politician’s kid, pulled straight through on nepotism?”

“Actually, I can answer that: he really is the grandson of a member of the Council, but his grades at the academy were top‑tier and he does show some command ability. So—you’ll just have to hold your horses for now.”

“Hold my horses? I can’t hold for even one second… Principal, what do you mean by ‘for now’?”

Himeko picked up on a hidden meaning in Principal Theresa Apocalypse’s words.

“Huh~” Theresa let out a laugh, laced with derision.

The patch of white fur on the chair squirmed. Then a small hand—child‑sized—reached down from under the desk, gripped the tabletop, and hauled itself up.

A little nun clambered up: she looked no older than ten, and her habit favored a cute, doll‑like design more than austere sanctity. Snow‑white hair like fresh snow, lips the color of cherry blossoms—beautiful and doll‑like, the picture of a French porcelain nun.

Yet this tiny, childlike nun was none other than the Grand Commander of the Far‑East Branch, an S‑rank Valkyrie—Theresa Apocalypse.

She puffed up as she dragged herself onto the desk, cheeks flushed and eyes squeezed shut with exertion. If you’d seen it without context, you’d think the little figure was adorably trying to reach something—except, of course, she was the one who actually ran the whole branch.

So… your commander looks like this adorable thing—are you sure that’s all right?

“Principal… didn’t I tell you to get a liftable office chair?” Himeko snapped.

“No way! That would lower my dignity—there’s no way I’d bring that out,” Theresa replied.

Himeko’s eyebrows shot up. [You wouldn’t bring it out? So you already bought one? Nice slip there, Principal.]

“Hmph, such a lack of care for the dainty and petite. Why are desks made so damn tall?” Theresa complained once she’d finally hauled herself up. Oddly, the entire office had been arranged to suit her tastes.

“Principal, being 145 cm doesn’t count as ‘petite’,” Himeko said.

“Is that… pocket‑sized cute?” Theresa asked expectantly.

“No, it means you’re crippled.”

“Do you want to die, Major Himeko?”

“Ah—sorry, Principal, you can’t kill me over the comm.”

“I’ll come over and beat you to death!”

“Please spare me, Principal!”

“Never!”

“Principal, you’re the cutest in the world!”

“Well, that’s better. Heh heh heh.”

Their teasing ping‑pong ended like a cat being taunted: Himeko pushed the bottle aside and asked plainly, “Principal, what exactly did you mean by ‘for now’ just now?”

Theresa’s face brightened into a proud, scheming grin—something bluntly smug and a little sinister. “Literally what I said, Major Himeko. Do you think I’d let that problematic child captain Helldrive? I’ve still got better candidates.”

“But didn’t you say all experienced commanders and captains were sent after Anti‑Entropy?” Himeko persisted.

“Yes, that’s true~ But, Major, did you forget? Commanders aren’t limited to those people.” Theresa chuckled. “The real aces aren’t even serving with Honkai anymore.”

“Principal! You mean the organization plans to recall the veterans who left?”

“Yep yep yep! That’s exactly the conclusion from this afternoon’s meeting—those old-timers have been pushed around by Anti‑Entropy and the Honkai too; they’re starting to swallow their pride and personally go call on the youngsters they once chased away. Ooh, you’re hearing this first‑hand—say thank you!”

Hands on her hips, chest out and bursting with pride, Theresa looked like she wanted a thousand people to praise her right away.

Himeko—who’d been pacing—couldn’t sit still. The news sobered her immediately.

She knew the scandal—ten years ago the organization’s internal power struggle had ruined many brilliant young stars; that infighting hadn’t had a clear winner but had driven away most of the bright, highly decorated young commanders and fighters. It even chased off a legend.

“Principal… I have to ask—does ‘recall’ include him?” Himeko asked.

For the first time in years, a rare, bright hope lit Himeko’s eyes—an obsession, a longing for a particular person.

“…To be honest, whether he’d agree to come back is still up in the air.”

Theresa’s vague reply stunned Himeko into silence. She suddenly shouted, “Why not! If you want a recall, you only need to bring him back! Who from that era could match him in ability? Who could rival him now?”

“Himeko!” Theresa’s voice rose several octaves—a rarity. The unexpected outburst calmed Himeko a little and made her notice the distressed look on Theresa’s face.

“This isn’t about whether we want him back—rather, it’s about how likely he is to return.” Theresa slammed the desk in frustration. “You trained under him, Himeko. You spent more time with him than I did. Based on what you know of him—after everything he’s been through, would he even want to come back?”

“If it were up to him? Honestly, he’d probably shoot the messenger who tried to bring him back, or smash the comm device,” Himeko said.

“But ten years have passed—people change. You weren’t the same impulsive kid you were back then; you grew into a capable Valkyrie, didn’t you?” Theresa argued.

“I am me, and he is who he is. From what I remember… I can’t picture him forgetting the past just because ten years passed.”

Himeko’s memory of the man was of someone practical and earnest, never wasting words, keenly aware of others and able to adapt accordingly. Once he set his mind to something, not even death would make him turn back. Worst of all—his memory was phenomenal.

“But he cares about family and feeling,” Theresa said unexpectedly.

“I read his whole file. His disobediences, even his enlistment, stemmed from uncontrollable emotions. Psychologically speaking, he might value relationships highly. If someone who knows him well and has a good relationship with him tried to persuade him, he might come back.” Theresa said this earnestly, but her face soon twisted into worry; she muttered, “Ah—this is tricky. Most of his old friends are gone, his close subordinates can’t be reassigned, and his trainees are all on the front lines now—who else is there? Who is there…?”

She seemed not to notice Himeko’s eyes brightening on the monitor; she kept rocking her head, twirling a finger on her chin.

A few minutes later, Theresa realized something was off—Himeko had gone terribly quiet.

She peeked at the screen, only to see the empty desk and Himeko’s room, which looked like the mess of a college girl—except Himeko herself was nowhere to be seen.

“Maybe she staggered off to puke? But… her tolerance isn’t usually that bad,” Theresa wondered, confused. She wiggled the comm device left and right to try to find other camera angles, forgetting that to show another corner of the room the other side would have to move their camera too. All her wiggling did was produce a ridiculous, wobbling view for the person at the other end.

“Himeko? Himeko, Major Himeko…” Theresa called, getting no response. Then she let a mischievous, childish voice slip out and mouthed softly into the comm, “Auntie Himeko~”

“Who are you calling auntie, you old hag?!” With a tremendous strike, the heavy door to the director’s office was slashed open. A crimson greatsword carved across the thick metal door, cutting it into several pieces. The thunderous crash sent Theresa leaping like a startled rabbit.

“Eek!”

Standing in the doorway was Himeko Murata—wearing sleeping shorts, a tank top, and slippers. She must have run full tilt: sweat drenched her brow, her hair was messily tousled by wind and perspiration, and her dark, heavy bags under the eyes made her look wrecked and fierce. She glared sharply…and she was hauling a massive greatsword.

A deep crimson blade nearly as long as she was tall. All these factors combined turned the usually beautiful, charming Valkyrie into something like a demon crawling out of the abyss.

“Modified Fusion‑Core Sword?! Major Himeko, what are you doing?! Don’t—don’t come any closer!” Theresa cried.

“Save the chatter—will you come or not? If not, I’ll fight you!” Himeko snarled.

“All right, all right, we’ll let you go—there was literally no one else available! So stop coming at me, or I’ll punch you in the chest with my tiny fists!” Theresa pulled out Juda hidden behind her office chair.

“…Principal, I got a bit carried away. Please have mercy,” Himeko said.

“Not caring at all—I’m frightened!” Theresa said, indignant.

“World’s cutest Theresa, please put down Juda and spare me. Cross my heart—I’ve never even had a single romance in my life!” Himeko pleaded.

“Okay, okay, I hear you~” Theresa giggled, but kept Juda poised to deploy—this scheming forever‑12‑year‑old lady wouldn’t let the Valkyrie off easily.

“All right, all right, don’t make that face. I’ll pay for the door. When can I dispatch you?”

Knowing she wouldn’t get out of paying today, Himeko pressed. “When?”

“That’s up to you. Personally, I want him back as soon as possible. The Cowards at Command want to haul him back like he’s their father. Here—this is where he is right now. If you can, leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Himeko, you really are predictable—one minute you’re all grown up and steady, the next you’re the same impulsive kid when his name is mentioned. Gosh, you’re blushing,” Theresa teased with a sly foxish grin, half‑covering her mouth.

“What! I—this is just because I drank too much wine!” Himeko protested.

Maybe she had drunk too much. Maybe not. But her face certainly wasn’t that red from the alcohol alone.

“A‑ah~ Are you blushing, Himeko?? Well, well~ When you first met him you were a sixteen‑year‑old with the heavy heart of a girl. And—he’s perfect in so many ways… no, scratch that, he’s a straight‑up heartthrob. I get it, I get it—Theresa understands~”

“A forty‑five‑year‑old auntie with no relationship experience understands a whole lot, huh?” Himeko muttered under her breath.

“…Anyway, Himeko, I’ll get someone else to handle the request. As for you—die here for me first!!! Juda Oath unlocked—blade mode!!”