Chapter 16 : Final Preparations
The logistics requisition form glowed on my tablet, cursor blinking at the "Justification" field.
Additional portable communication units (x6) — Multi-squad coordination training exercises.
True enough. We would use them for coordination training. They would also be essential when primary communication channels failed during the invasion's opening hours, when electromagnetic interference from mass Gate activity scrambled Border's standard frequencies.
I submitted the form and moved to the next item on my list.
Field medical supplies (standard combat kit x3) — Extended training scenarios requiring on-site first aid capability.
Also true. Also exactly what we'd need when medics couldn't reach injured agents fast enough during the chaos.
The morning had passed in a blur of paperwork — equipment requests, training schedule modifications, supply chain queries that looked like a new captain trying to prepare his squad properly. Nothing suspicious. Everything necessary.
Ten days until Aftokrator's forces breached Mikado City's dimensional barriers. Ten days to position every resource I could without triggering questions I couldn't answer.
"Captain Mikumo?" The logistics officer — Tanaka, according to her badge — looked up from her terminal. "These requisitions are... thorough for a C-Rank squad."
"We're trying to be prepared for anything." The standard answer, delivered with standard humility. "Rindō-san encouraged comprehensive training approaches."
"I see." She stamped approval on the forms without further comment. Rindō's name carried weight; his recommendations spread through Border's channels without investigation.
I collected my copies and headed for the exit, calculating delivery timelines against invasion probability windows.
Chika found me in Tamakoma's training room, reviewing evacuation protocol documentation that looked like standard study material.
"You wanted to discuss training focus?" Her voice was steadier than it had been weeks ago, though her shoulders still curved slightly inward when addressing authority figures.
"Yes." I set down the tablet, giving her my full attention. "I've been thinking about how we can best utilize your capabilities during high-stress scenarios."
Her expression flickered — the ghost of anxiety that appeared whenever someone mentioned her "capabilities." The astronomical trion capacity that made her both invaluable and terrified.
"I thought we might focus on evacuation support and civilian protection scenarios rather than direct combat drills," I continued. "Your trion reservoir would be better utilized maintaining defensive barriers and providing long-range suppression for evacuation routes than engaging hostiles directly."
The relief that crossed her face was immediate and obvious. "That... that makes sense."
It did make sense, tactically. Her massive trion output would be more efficiently applied to protection than attack, where her psychological blocks about harming others would create dangerous hesitation.
But that wasn't the only reason.
Memory Architecture supplied the context I couldn't share: Chika's trion signature would be a beacon during the invasion. Aftokrator had specifically designed their operations to capture high-trion individuals for their Mother Trigger systems. Every moment she spent on the front lines increased the probability of becoming a primary target.
Keeping her in support roles might keep her out of Hyrein's direct attention.
Might.
"We can start the new training focus tomorrow," I said. "Usami will coordinate the scenario parameters."
"Thank you." Chika's small smile held genuine warmth. "For understanding."
I wanted to tell her that I understood more than she knew — her fears, her guilt, the weight of her brother's disappearance. But transmigrator knowledge wasn't comfort I could offer. It was context that would destroy her trust if revealed.
"We're a team," I said instead. "Understanding is part of the job."
Evening found me on Tamakoma's auxiliary rooftop, the same location where I'd first trained Spatial Cognition and first noticed the watcher who'd observed me from the adjacent building.
That observer had never returned — or never been visible again. The mystery lingered in Memory Architecture's files, unsolved but not forgotten.
I closed my eyes and let Spatial Cognition expand.
The rooftop materialized in my awareness: concrete surface, ventilation units, the railing around the perimeter. Fifteen meters of clear perception, stable and sustainable.
I pushed outward.
Sixteen meters. The stairwell door's shape appeared, then the corridor beyond it. Seventeen. The structural supports beneath the roof, the piping systems running through walls.
Eighteen meters. The edge of the adjacent room, where someone had left a maintenance cart against the far wall.
My nose started bleeding. I ignored it, pushing further.
Nineteen meters. Twenty. For one brilliant instant, I perceived the entire floor plan of Tamakoma's upper level — every room, every corridor, every person-shaped absence where the building stood empty.
Then the ability collapsed, and I was back in ordinary darkness, blood dripping down my upper lip.
I sat down heavily, letting the exhaustion settle. Twenty meters in bursts, fifteen stable. Progress, but not enough.
During the invasion, I'd need every meter of awareness. Combat moved too fast for normal human perception; Spatial Cognition was my only advantage against enemies who could close distance faster than eyes could track.
I wiped the blood with my sleeve and started breathing exercises to accelerate recovery.
Nine days now. The calendar kept counting.
The medical supplies arrived at Tamakoma the next morning, labeled for "training exercises" that existed only on paper.
I helped Usami inventory them — standard combat trauma kits, coagulant sprays, emergency trion stabilizers. Everything a forward medical position would need when casualties started mounting.
"This is a lot of medical gear for coordination training," Usami observed. Her tone was curious rather than suspicious, but the observation landed with weight.
"Better to have and not need than need and not have." The phrase felt worn from overuse, but it was the only deflection available.
"You sound like Jin-san." She smiled. "He says things like that when he's being cryptic about probability stuff."
The comparison made my chest tighten. Jin had seen my futures, had warned me about paths that led to destruction. Now Usami was noticing patterns that echoed his precognitive behavior.
"Just trying to be prepared," I said. "Tamakoma-2 is new. We need every advantage we can get."
She accepted the explanation without pressing, but I caught her making a note on her tablet — another entry in the informal record of Captain Mikumo's unusual thoroughness.
Evidence accumulated. Preparations advanced. The countdown continued.
Eight days. Seven. Six.
The calendar on my tablet became an enemy I checked compulsively, watching numbers shrink toward the moment when everything changed.
At night, I lay in my bunk staring at the ceiling, running scenarios through Memory Architecture's perfect recall. Invasion patterns from the anime. Gate breach locations I half-remembered. Black Trigger deployments that had seemed abstract when watching on a screen and now felt like death sentences waiting to execute.
I knew what was coming. I couldn't stop it. I could only prepare — and hope that preparation was enough.
The supplies sat in Tamakoma's storage, waiting for purposes nobody else understood.
Five days until everything I knew got tested against reality.
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