“Vadim. We have saved you twice. We are not your enemy.”

  Lillik’s voice is low but firm. A hint of inexplicable persuasion permeates her words.

  “Right now, I am giving you an opportunity. I am giving you a new life and a future. So… think carefully.”

  She looks up at Vadim, who stands tall. His motionless figure creates an even deeper tension. She continues her speech.

  “You became a soldier to earn money. But in the end, what killed you was not an enemy’s bullet… it was a bullet fired by your own nation.”

  Lillik takes a step closer to Vadim.

  “Vadim… we are not monsters. We aren’t the horrible aliens you see in movies. There is only one reason we revealed ourselves: for the sake of world peace. It is a pity that our appearance is not on the side of R. Vadim, I tell you again, I am not trying to persuade you. I am trying to give you an opportunity.”

  “The hometown with no future, the reality always strapped for cash, the past that pierced down toward your insignificant self… forget them now.”

  Her words feel less like consolation and more like a declaration of a new beginning.

  he says no more. She has already poured out everything she wanted to say. Now, the choice rests solely with Vadim.

  After a moment, Vadim’s firmly closed lips slowly part. “Yes… I understand. Too many things have happened in my life today. Please give me… time to think.” His voice is low and somewhat exhausted. Yet, within it, the will of a survivor clearly remains.

  She nods silently. “Yes, Vadim. Take a look around the starship. Check out the spacecraft in the hangar as well.” Her voice is very quiet. It is the voice of someone offering an option, not giving a command.

  Vadim stares at her for a moment before turning away. He leaves the cockpit and heads toward the hangar. He only has a vague thought of going there, yet his body moves without hesitation as if it already knows the way. His stride is natural, like someone who has been frequenting this place for a long time.

  The walls and floors of the corridor share a color similar to the iron seen on Earth, but up close, they feel like an entirely different substance. The walls are covered with fine, embossed protrusions, and if he touches them, they feel as if they might pulse with warmth like the skin of a living creature. The floor glimmers with a silver sheen; it looks like solid steel, yet it absorbs the impact of each footstep ever so slightly. Despite walking on metal, there is almost no sound.

  No lighting is visible on the ceiling, yet the entire corridor is evenly bright with a faint light. He cannot tell if the light is seeping out from the material itself or if his vision is simply perceiving it that way.

  He descends toward the ship’s hangar. Even at a glance, over a hundred small combat ships are lined up in rows. These small combat vessels are far larger than any fighter jet on Earth. However, looking up at the ceiling of the starship’s hangar, the end is nowhere in sight, and the hangar walls are vast enough to embrace an entire football stadium. Within that overwhelming scale, the small combat ships look like toy models.

  The combat ships seem to be catching their breath, like horses at a racetrack waiting for the start. Their shape resembles the leaves of a purple Oxalis. Because the triangular purple leaves look like butterflies, it is also called the 'Butterfly Oxalis.'

  Unusually, the ship has only two engine vents. Given the nearly triangular structure of the craft, it seems like four would be necessary for balance, but in reality, only two large vents positioned on either side of the rear are emitting a blue light. The cockpit canopy is covered in smooth curves, and the interior space looks more spacious than expected. Two seats are arranged front and back—large enough for a pilot and a tactical officer, or perhaps a commander, to board together. The front panel is designed low and wide to maximize visibility.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  A sleek silver band wraps around the exterior of the craft. It is not a mere decoration; it acts like neural lines revealing the skeleton of the combat ship, reflecting light and sharply defining its silhouette. The silver lines, caught in the light, glow coldly as they blend with the sky-blue hues, and beneath them, the two engines spit out blue flames, surging forward and further forward.

  The structure that appeared unbalanced is, in fact, a perfectly calculated aesthetic of asymmetry.

  However, as Vadim looks up at the combat ship, he already knows everything. The overall length, propulsion coefficients, maximum acceleration limits, atmospheric reentry angles, weapon slot positions, and power output limits. It isn’t that someone whispered in his ear, nor does it feel like he downloaded data from somewhere. It simply comes to him naturally, as if he had known it all along.

  Vadim’s heart skips a beat. It is certain that Vadim’s brain has been upgraded. To use a metaphor, it is a sensation as if a memory space of a mere 8MB has instantly expanded to 60MB. It isn't just a matter of filling empty space; it is a surreal sense of expansion, as if the storage device itself has been replaced.

  Vadim looks at the combat ship once more. It is no longer just a machine. He knows how to launch it, how to accelerate it, and even how to destroy it.

  “I am no longer who I used to be. I am reborn, and whatever the conclusion may be, let’s start again.”

  Vadim decides to accept reality.

  ========================

  ========================

  Evgeny, Chief of Staff to Kerensky, hears his phone ring. “Hello? Who is this?” Evgeny answers, questioning the unknown number.

  “Hello. Do you remember me? I am the Asian man who suggested 24-hour mercenaries at the President’s safe house about a month ago.”

  The voice is low and calm, yet it carries a strangely solid resonance. Evgeny’s pupils flicker momentarily. It is a face he cannot forget.

  That night, he had taken the proposal lightly. It was a time when the war was in full swing, and countless private mercenaries and arms brokers were drifting in and out. He had thought of it as just another exaggerated contract proposal. However, Evgeny realized only later that the 'mercenaries' the man spoke of were not a simple human unit. Those mercenaries were a group connected to an extraterrestrial civilization.

  Evgeny is startled by the voice on the phone. “Ah... yes... I remember. What brings you to call?” Evgeny responds favorably.

  The bombing has stopped, and prisoner exchanges are underway. The artillery units on the front lines have closed their muzzles, and soldiers in the trenches finally have the luxury of looking up at the sky. The war has not entirely ended, but without a clear declaration of a ceasefire, it has entered a sort of standstill. The starship is clearly on our side.

  “Evgeny. Please convey my words to the President. I heard that the President will be speaking at the UN this time. At that venue, please introduce Lillik, the captain of our starship, to the world… and provide an opportunity for her to give a speech directly.”

  The voice over the phone is excessively soft. There is no pressure, no threat. Nevertheless, the tone suggests that the option of refusal does not exist.

  “Ah... I will pass on the message. But what is the intention behind wanting to speak at the UN specifically?” Evgeny is momentarily lost for words. He never expected a request for a speaking opportunity at the UN. Not a show of force, not additional military cooperation, not the sharing of strategic assets—but a speech.

  The man’s breathing continues steadily over the receiver. “Mr. Evgeny…” He pauses for a moment, as if he himself knows the ripples the next sentence will cause. “We have obtained information that a plan to attack our starship is being discussed within R.”

  Evgeny’s eyebrows twitch slightly. “At first, they will mobilize all conventional forces. Anti-aircraft missiles, strategic bombers, and even electronic warfare assets. And… if they judge the situation to be uncontrollable, there is a possibility they will consider the use of nuclear weapons.”

  Those words are no exaggeration. Evgeny knows. As the war drags on, the voice of the military hardliners grows louder. An uncontrollable entity like an alien starship is both a source of fear and an object of elimination for them.

  The man’s voice remains tranquil. “However, we will not launch any attack against R. We will not engage in digital hacking, disruption of infrastructure, or preemptive strikes.” “We simply want to officially state our will for non-violence to the entire world.”

  Evgeny taps his fingers on the desk. A declaration of non-violence. The UN podium. A worldwide live broadcast.

  If they clearly proclaim at that venue that they ‘will not attack,’ how will the international community react the moment R attacks first? Who will be recorded as the aggressor? This call is not a simple request. It is a calculated diplomatic move to rearrange the justification for war.

  Evgeny slowly draws a breath. The starship floating in the sky brought the battlefield to a halt without firing a single shot. And now… instead of guns, they say they will stand at the podium. They are seeking a certain justification. Will the starship truly adhere to non-violence until the end? Evgeny tilts his head in doubt.

  “Yes, I understand. I will convey your words to the President.”