(Private Record — For My Eyes Only)

  2485, Garipan City

  I was born in this city, at a time when the war between the Federation and the Empire had already been burning for more than a decade.

  My mother was a teacher.

  My father was a pilot in the 14th Fighter Squadron—also known as the 14th Void Falcons.

  As a child, I often stood on the rooftop, watching fighter jets streak across the sky, their silhouettes lingering in the air. I would think to myself: One day, I will be sitting in that cockpit.

  Not for war—

  But for the sky that would one day belong to me.

  2501, Garipan Military Academy

  At sixteen, I entered the academy.

  I chose to become a pilot because I wanted to fly.

  At the academy, I met Nova. She was sharper than I, calmer than I. We argued over tactics in the library and competed against each other in the simulators. She always said I was reckless; I mocked her for calculating too much.

  Back then, we were still friends.

  The battlefield had not yet torn us apart.

  June 2509, The Epsilon II Campaign

  I went to war as a pilot. One of my missions was to escort Meadow, along with several wounded soldiers and a medical team, back to base.

  That day, everything collapsed.

  My craft was shot down. Everyone else died. Meadow and I were captured.

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  In the POW holding complex, Meadow and I lived through the darkest period of our lives—something I had never imagined experiencing. Every second, every minute, I was facing death. Death—Crowley—stood behind me the entire time, silently watching as I faded away in that dark, helpless room.

  From childhood to adulthood, I had never imagined meeting God in such a way.

  Until that day, when an Imperial officer pulled us out of confinement and began escorting us to another unknown location.

  June 2509, During the Transfer

  Fate played a cruel joke.

  Meadow and I should have died in some nameless room.

  Instead, we were saved by a fat mechanic named Jack.

  He was shaking—trembling like a frightened child. Using a trap he had built himself, he accidentally killed the Imperial officer and dragged us back from the edge of death.

  From that moment on, a feeling began to grow inside me.

  Not gratitude—

  but dependence, and a kind of trust.

  When you fall into an abyss, and a hand pulls you back out, you cannot forget it. That hand was shaking, cold, yet gripping with desperate strength.

  That dependence carried a sense of possession.

  Later, by a stream, Meadow and I washed away the blood and the shame. Under the moonlight, he lay on a rock nearby, watching as we cleansed ourselves of humiliation. I deliberately stood straight, letting him see the body forged by years of training.

  My eyes challenged him: Look a little longer, coward—if you dare.

  Late Summer 2509, Garipan Capital

  I returned to the capital, to the academy grounds, which had already been transformed into a center of military and political power.

  I saw Nova and told her everything about Jack.

  She only smiled and said I was blinded by emotion.

  She is rarely wrong.

  But she didn’t understand.

  She wasn’t there in that field.

  She wasn’t pulled back from death by someone like him.

  Late 2509, Location: Garipan Frontline

  Today, I saw Jack again.

  He had been hiding here for months. Nova told me he was involved in a top-secret project. Now I see him playing games.

  Doesn’t he realize that his disappearance nearly got Meadow and me labeled as spies?

  When I found him, he didn’t say a word. He simply walked toward me, step by step—each step like a drumbeat striking my heart—and then wrapped me in his broad body.

  I saw his deep eyes.

  He wasn’t acting.

  I felt his heartbeat gradually accelerate until it resonated with mine. His body was trembling slightly, as if he were afraid of losing me again.

  Was this his attachment to me?

  Or the joy of reunion after war?

  I didn’t dare move—not even a little. I was afraid that if I did, the feeling would disappear.

  Because what I feel for him is not simple.

  It is not love.

  Not entirely.

  It is dependence.

  Possession.

  Trust.

  Pity…

  and something else I cannot name.

  If he truly is a “hero,” then to me, he is.

  And I, having lived through all of this, will never forget.

  His cowardice is another form of courage.

  — Nya

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