*This is a side story not related to the main plot, you may skip this if you wish
General Student Council
A conference room thrown into chaos.
Chief Administrator Nanagami Rin was wiping cold sweat from her brow with her sleeve.
The clock struck exactly 6:00. Even considering that several department heads had to rush in from outside D.U. in response to the Chief Administrator’s urgent message, convening a meeting just thirty minutes after the incident was remarkably swift.
It was unprecedented for the entire upper echelon of the General Student Council to attend an emergency meeting. When was the last time an emergency meeting was held after the Defense Director’s downfall? This meant that every department head, including the Administrator, deemed the situation a significant threat.
Light. There was light.
A powerful flash originating from the Trinity area illuminated all of D.U. The subsequent tremor was just a bonus. Roads and trees were twisted, and the streets inside and outside D.U. were paralyzed, but that was a problem that would take just a few days at most to resolve.
The real issue wasn’t that.
What in the world were that flash and earthquake?
There was no way to ask Trinity directly. Since the coup, they had severed ties with the General Student Council and blocked any information from leaking through the media. Chronos School had long been expelled, and the press had no choice but to tread carefully around Trinity.
All the Administrator knew was fragmented information: the Tea Party had been disbanded, and a single student had seized its power. In truth, she didn’t even know what kind of student she was or what purpose drove her rebellion.
All she knew was a name: Yamatsu Hikari.
Perhaps, one could speculate, she had gone to great lengths to separate Trinity from the General Student Council.
The large-scale communication network blackout and the return of students dispatched to Trinity by the General Student Council had caused a severe information shortage. The borders were open, but few could pass through. The only connection to the outside world was a single trade route via waterways.
The General Student Council reached this conclusion: Trinity had locked its gates.
Something was being planned, but what, they didn’t know. Spies sent to the Defense Department came back empty-handed. According to the Deputy Defense Director, aside from banners hung on every street, everything seemed normal.
Rumors suggested that Trinity had been recruiting highly educated individuals from major academies like Millennium, but the facts remained unverified.
If true, today’s incident was likely the result of a highly secretive plan by Trinity’s upper echelons. But continuing this line of thought, the General Student Council was missing the most critical piece of the puzzle.
What did Trinity’s radiant achievement signify?
What was today’s light and tremor for?
To put it more succinctly—
What did Trinity gain from this?
“…It’s only a matter of time, Administrator Rin. We’ll find out soon enough. Even for Millennium’s Veritas club, thirty minutes is too short.”
“Momoka, but—”
“Worrying won’t change anything. There’s nothing we can do.”
It wasn’t just worrying. Data recorded from various General Student Council offices had been sent to Millennium’s Veritas club for analysis. They promised to analyze it as quickly as possible, so a response should come by the end of the day.
The reason for the Administrator’s anxiety was the psychological pressure from the lack of information.
If the General Student Council President were here, what would they have done? Well, a superhuman who once held the Defense Director’s dreams would likely have already assessed the situation and devised a response. At the very least, they would have moved in a direction the current General Student Council couldn’t fathom.
For the Administrator, the pain came from having no choice but to wait.
Ring-ring-ring!
“Oh, I’ll get it… Rin-senpai, it’s Veritas. The director’s calling directly and asking for you. Should I hand it over?”
“Yes, yes. I’ll take it now.” A lifeline had been thrown to her.
In that brief moment, the Administrator realized how invaluable Millennium Science School’s superior technology was to her and the General Student Council, and she felt gratitude for their willing cooperation. With trembling hands, she took the phone.
An unfamiliar voice.
“This is Chief Administrator Nanagami Rin.”
“This is Akeboshi Himari, Director of Veritas. We’ve finished analyzing the data, so I’m calling to report.”
There was a slight tension in her voice—or at least, that’s what the Administrator thought.
Something big had definitely happened.
“Yes, I heard about the situation. So, what’s going on?”
“To be honest, among the datasets we’ve been asked to analyze, this one stands out. The sound was louder than any other acoustic record, and the light was brighter than the largest billboard at Millennium Science School. But that’s not the important part.”
“Then…?”
“At Millennium Science School, the Engineering Department periodically collects and tests air samples to monitor for toxic substances leaking from ruins. After today’s incident, the Seminar requested an immediate air test from the Engineering Department.”
“What were the results?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. 78% nitrogen, 21% oxygen, some miscellaneous elements, and… carbon and cesium.”
“The last two elements sound significant.”
“Exactly. Carbon-14 and cesium-137 are well-known radioactive isotopes. Cesium, in particular, is surprising because it’s never appeared in previous records. Theoretically, it wouldn’t be produced without nuclear fission of uranium or thorium. It’s definitely related to the incident.”
“I understand… So, what does Veritas make of this data?”
Himari’s trembling intensified. There was something she was afraid to say.
But the Administrator—and the General Student Council—hadn’t gleaned anything actionable from the information so far. Knowing her own limitations, she had entrusted the analysis to Veritas and was now listening to Himari without any preconceptions.
Fortunately, Veritas’s director was experienced enough to understand this.
“…After discussions with the Engineering Department and the Seminar, Veritas has concluded that this was an experiment with a new type of thermobaric weapon.”
“…The same kind of weapon the Defense Director tried to detonate?”
“No, something stronger… and likely on an overwhelming scale. A scale no academy has ever attempted before.”
Himari fell silent after that.
It didn’t matter much. The Administrator wasn’t so shocked by the voice on the other end that she couldn’t focus, but a more pressing task had emerged than continuing a call with an outsider from Millennium.
In her mind, it was likely an endless debate.
She gave a brief response and hung up. A new topic for the emergency meeting had materialized, and countermeasures needed to be devised. As someone capable of calculating the power and damage of a thermobaric weapon, the implications of the incident were clear.
Trinity had created a monster.
Only then could the Administrator evaluate the name Yamatsu Hikari. The mother of a monster could only be a monster herself.
She didn’t know why or how they had resurrected something like a thermobaric weapon. She didn’t want to think about it. The problem staring her in the face was that a red alert had been raised for the security of the General Student Council and Kivotos.
Nanagami Rin gripped the microphone and, with difficulty, opened her mouth.
“…Esteemed members of the General Student Council, as someone standing on a bloodless battlefield, as one bearing responsibility, I am duty-bound to inform you that the General Student Council faces the greatest geopolitical crisis in its history.”
“…”
“With confidence, I can tell you all that this geopolitical crisis, though currently known only to us, will soon spread far and wide… and it will impact D.U. and all of Kivotos for decades, perhaps permanently. Just as the Defense Director once did, a single student’s attempt to establish order has become a tremendous danger to us.”
Amusingly, no one in the General Student Council could contradict the Administrator’s words.