140 Ch.140
Author:"...Lately, I've been working overtime until late, and as a result, I can only update once a week. I apologize deeply for not being able to respond adequately to the feedback I received.
The background of Goddess Commander glimpsed in the White Memory event this time—no, I never thought he was a former mercenary. (If that's the case, why didn't he mention it sooner.)"
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It's a relief that I received a spare.
Unable to sleep, his feet headed towards Ingrid, Moore, clad in a short-sleeved shirt, pushed his mechanical prosthetic eye into the eye socket of his right eye reflected in the mirror of the washstand, contemplating deeply.
When he was injured, the optic nerve that should originally connect to the brain was partially severed by his hand. In its place, a small connecting terminal now carried the function. It was connected to the remaining optic nerve retained through surgery.
As soon as he fitted the prosthetic eye, the previously limited field of vision expanded. Just to be sure, he glanced up, down, left, and right, exhaling a sigh of relief upon confirming that everything was normal.
"Commander, are you okay?"
"Yeah, no problem. I can see clearly."
There was a high possibility that it could have been another surgery. For someone like him who disliked hospitals, it was a word of salvation.
Responding to Anis' considerate voice from behind, Moore assured her that everything was fine. He left the washstand and returned to the commander's room—now becoming more of a shared space than a personal one.
"Well then, how many fingers do you see?"
"Four."
Anis, sitting confidently on the sofa and tilting a bottle of carbonated water, pointed to him with one finger.
—Only two fingers, the index, and middle fingers were raised.
"Commander, should we go to the hospital right away?"
"Yeah. Commander, I'll make arrangements, so please wait."
"...Just kidding. Two fingers, right?"
In his own way—rather, with a monocle and a mechanical prosthetic eye, he tried to make a joke or a black joke, but it seemed it didn't land well.
Anis, wearing a serious expression, then turned her gaze to Lapi, the dependable leader of the squad, who had taken out her mobile device.
"Really... I was really surprised, you know?"
"Commander, excuse me for saying this, but please refrain from making jokes that aren't funny. As Anis said, we might take it seriously."
"...Is that so?"
The joke did not go well. Scolded by both Rapi and Anise, he sighed and absentmindedly rubbed his chin with his right hand.
It hadn't been an hour since they returned to the forward base. He felt the rough sensation of stubble in the palm of his hand.
"Master~. It seems there's a delivery while you were on the surface~."
Neon suddenly appeared in the commander's room with a package in hand. The package was handed to him.
From whom and where the package came—looking at the slip, he recognized the spelling of Yan in the sender field.
Whether it was Yan from the Merchant Union, Moore cautiously opened the package.
The contents were—
"...A razor?"
"Achieving a threateningly close shave! Six closely arranged blades delve into the depths of the pores, providing a smooth shave from root to tip! Removes old keratin for smooth skin that lasts until evening!"
Casually, Anis turned on the TV in the commander's room, and at the same time, a commercial began to play. Glancing at the screen, he realized that the product in the commercial was the same as the one delivered by Yan.
Although the commercial claimed it was a new release—why did she deliver such a thing?
Suddenly, a letter is noticed inside the package. Moore picks it up and extracts a single sheet of stationery.
"Hmm..."
"What does it say?"
"Ah... if I had to sum it up... it seems to be a formal thank you for securing the budget. "
When Neon asks, Moore casually shrugs his shoulders.
Presumably, using the profits as capital, they somehow managed to increase it—there are several ways and methods to do it, but that seems to be the case.
When he casually turned 2.2 million cigars into ash without any seeds or traps, it was quite a tight situation. Nevertheless, a formal thank-you was sent.
Let's use it gratefully right away. It's the perfect time; his stubble has grown nicely. It's an opportune moment to confirm the smoothness of the shave.
He decides to change into clean clothes as well. With a razor in hand, Moore walks towards the closet, takes out the stored clothes, and heads to the shower room.
He often forgets, but this room—the commander's room—is originally Moore's private space. It doesn't matter how he dresses—however, as mentioned earlier, it's almost a shared space rather than a personal one.
Lately, he no longer enters the shower room completely naked. It's a bit of an improvement.
When the shower room door closes, Moore loosens the tightly tied shoelaces of his boots. Feeling the liberation as if the restraints were lifted, he takes off his short-sleeved shirt and combat pants.
Soon, with all skin exposed, except for prosthetics and the artificial recognition ticket hanging from his neck, he, holding the razor, moves directly under the showerhead and touches the panel embedded in the wall.
Warm water pours down from above, washing away the dirt accumulated during the ground mission. In the process, he casually checks his face in the mirror in front of him.
"...I look terrible."
This job was quite eventful. No, it would be rare if the mission wasn't eventful.
Black stubble grew around his mouth and chin, connecting to sideburns. It exuded a wild charm, and with a bit of grooming, it would probably look good—no, it would look good, but in his case, it just intensified his rugged appearance.
The injury that occurred from the eyelid to the eyebrow of his right eye had healed. He then shifts his gaze to the chest displayed in the mirror. Only the traces of a gunshot wound aimed at the heart remained, and the skin had completely closed.
The injury from the enemy's bullet embedded in his right leg—will take a little more time to heal. There's still a slight lingering pain. However, that's all. He should be able to run around tomorrow or the day after.
"...It's good that I'm sturdy."
While applying shaving cream around his chin and mouth, he mutters.
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"...By the way, Commander, you always seem to be getting injured. Isn't that strange?"
"...Strange? Isn't it natural for Master not to stop fighting even if he gets injured? Isn't it too late to say that now?"
Although it has been a few days, the carbonated water tasted special in a reassuring space.
Anis, confidently sitting on the sofa, casually questions the peculiar points of Moore, our commander, to her squadmates using abstract expressions.
Neon, who had been inserted into the magazine rack in the corner of the commander's room, which had been set up unnoticed, responds while sitting on the sofa.
Anis then shakes her head left and right.
"No, no. Well, it's not wrong... But, not that. Commander has lost his right leg, right eye, and left arm, right?"
"Yes, that's right, but..."
"...And he's been hospitalized, right? However, have you ever heard about people visiting him or family matters?"
Anis questions without much significance, and Neon, narrowing her leaf-green eyes, furrows her brow slightly in thought.
"...I don't remember hearing that. Come to think of it..."
"See? ...Why do you think that is?"
"Maybe Master intentionally hasn't mentioned it?"
"...Ah, that's possible..."
Moore is generally indifferent to himself. It is evident that even if he sustains serious injuries during a mission, he does not worry too much—only if it hinders combat, etc. As known, once prosthetics are attached, he immediately starts preparations on both physical and mental levels to return.
Above all, even if he's said to be hospitalized, he's a person who is discharged in less than two weeks. He has never been under the care of a hospital for an extended period before, and the early discharge has led Anis and Neon to suspect that he may have neglected to contact family or acquaintances.
──Commander, since you're on vacation, would you like to take a little break?
──... A break, huh...
──Yes. For example, how about going home to your parents' house?
──... Home...
Listening to their trivial conversation, Rapi suddenly recalls the exchanges stored in the memory system with Moore.
It was during the period when he was given a one-month break.
At that time, with a casual remark from her—Moore had carved deep vertical wrinkles on his forehead, as if he had crushed several bitter insects in his mouth.
Certainly, the topic of family or his hometown seemed to be taboo for Moore back then, and it was uncomfortable—Lapi thought at the time. However, in the current deeper relationship, she now realizes that the interpretation was incorrect.
It wasn't an uncomfortable expression.
Rather, what should she say? It's difficult to express, but maybe—
"...Were you tracing memories?"
Rapi doesn't know how Moore grew up, what kind of childhood he had, or who his parents and family were. They don't know because he doesn't talk about those things. However, it's strange.
Occasionally, humans may recall their families and feel nostalgic.
Especially in a life and job like this.
In Moore's case, there's almost no mention of home, family, or parents.
They trust and rely on him.
However, the background— the upbringing that shaped Shaw Moore as an individual—is not visible.
It didn't take long for the question to turn into a doubt in Rapi's mind.
──Hey...! Look at the TV!
──...Is this the main headquarters of Misilis...?
While Rapi was lost in thought, Anise and Neon, showing a surprised expression, directed their gaze toward the TV screen.
Reacting to that, Lapi also cast her crimson eyes towards the screen—what is being displayed is probably the current scene.
In front of the Misilis headquarters, a large crowd has gathered, raising a big banner and chanting.
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They say, "Metis with NIMPH."
They say, "Nike with NIMPH."
They say, "Nike with control."
They say, "What is free will to Nike."
They say, "Ensure the safety of the citizens of Arc."
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The scene where they, both men and women, gathered in large numbers turned out to be powerful, to put it mildly.
"...What on earth is happening?"
"...When they gather like this, it's a bit scary, isn't it?"
"..."
While they showed various reactions, the sound of water from the shower room ceased.
As the relay footage returned to the studio and some experts began to comment, a tall figure returned to the commander's room.
"...It's been a while since I felt refreshed. The shaving sensation was excellent."
It was Moore, now cleanly shaven, with the previously grown stubble completely gone.
Not completely naked. He was still in combat pants and boots, exposing his upper body skin and prominent muscles as he returned, wiping his head, a mix of a few white hairs and black hair, with a face towel.
"...Did something happen?"
He must have noticed the strange atmosphere. When Moore asked, Anis and Neon explained briefly, and then his deep brown eyes were directed toward the TV screen.
"I see. There were things I wanted to ask Chairman Syuen as well. ...Let me try contacting her."
Especially regarding the matter with Exotic—he muttered to himself.
He didn't care about his own injuries, but he couldn't tolerate exposing his subordinates, these girls, to danger.
With a cigarette in his mouth, not lighting it, he tapped on the mobile device one after another.
It seemed that he was able to communicate with Syuen.
Gradually, several deep vertical wrinkles began to appear on his forehead.
"...She's coming to the Forward Base."
Soon, Moore uttered words mixed with a sigh. Without even needing to guess who it was, the girls could only tilt their heads in confusion at the incomprehensible situation.
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Author: The Commander in the main game is the same, but the background is empty, isn't it? In conversations with Nike and in character casts, the topics about home and family are extremely scarce... (Well, it's also revealed in Anise's character cast that she has no memories, though.)
