[Blue Archive] I am the Trinity Checkpoint Chief – Chapter 12

I just returned after submitting a leave request to the Tea Party president.

Nagisa-sama seemed a bit puzzled about me taking a sudden leave without prior notice, but when I explained that I’d be upgrading the cannon to give those Gehenna kids a proper thrashing, she seemed somewhat convinced. I just got word that my request was approved.

Right now, I’m riding Hifumi-chan back to the checkpoint. Between Trinity Comprehensive Academy and Gehenna Academy lies a massive natural forest. Driving through dozens of kilometers, gazing at a forest that feels like it stretches beyond the horizon, never fails to fill me with awe.

Look at that—the scent of phytoncides is filling the driver’s seat, putting me in a great mood. Maybe I should’ve brought the kids along after all.

I don’t know about other students, but for stressed-out folks like me, this is practically a drug. A drug, I tell you.

You’d think the Gehenna kids would calm down if they breathed in more of this stuff, but I don’t get why their aggression never seems to fade. At least lately, the provocations have died down a bit since the Disciplinary Committee stopped throwing tantrums every day.

Hifumi-chan rattles along, and the recoil from the unsecured howitzer adds to the jolts.

It’s not that the road isn’t properly paved—it’s just a dirt path. I’d love to file a petition, but how much budget would it take to pave a road stretching over a hundred kilometers?

I keep quiet because I’m scared of getting saddled with the blame. It’s common sense that if you submit a petition to the higher-ups and it backfires, it’s your head on the chopping block.

If you call this bureaucratic, I don’t have much to say in defense. But after getting rejected once, you don’t dare bring up the same idea for months, right?

Anyway, around the checkpoint, the three of us swept the dust, leveled the ground, and worked it like a mountain trail, so there’s no real inconvenience. Of course, students coming from Gehenna don’t get to complain.

“…Nice.”

For the next week, I’ll be staying at Millennium Science School. While getting Hifumi-chan’s howitzer repaired, I’m planning a major overhaul. From the worn-out engine to the rear cabin space, I’m going to give it a complete transformation.

I stationed a few checkpoint kids on duty in case of a surprise attack from Gehenna while we’re gone.

At first, I thought no one would volunteer, so I was ready to pick them myself. But when I offered unlimited cocoa for a week, everyone raised their hands. In the end, we had to draw lots to decide the shifts.

While I was at it, I gave each of them two or three packs of cocoa, and they were thrilled. I’ve been wondering for a while—why do they all love cocoa so much? It’s not even that sweet.

Sure, I like it too—I’ve got a tumbler full of it wedged next to the steering wheel right now—but still. The more they drink, the less is left for me, and my share keeps shrinking.

If this keeps up, I should’ve just stayed a checkpoint chief, sipping cocoa with the three of us instead of getting promoted to captain.

Clunk, slurp. Thinking about cocoa made me crave it, so I stopped the vehicle for a bit and opened my tumbler. They say cocoa tastes best with cacao nibs, but I can’t do that—too worried about diabetes.

The rattling gradually subsides, and I can see the road flattening out. That means we’re almost at the checkpoint. I step on the gas, and soon enough, the checkpoint building comes into view.

Alright, I packed all the gear last night and gave a rough handover to the kids taking over the checkpoint shifts. The luggage is all loaded onto Hifumi-chan, so I just need to pick up the kids and head out.

Millennium Science School, or just Millennium for short.

Known as the academy of cutting-edge science and romanticism, it was founded to tackle the “Millennium Problems,” but those were forgotten less than a decade after the school’s establishment.

With a student body in the five digits and hundreds of clubs vying for attention, it’s one of the three major academies alongside Trinity and Gehenna. But, true to its engineering roots, it has next to no political influence.

They prioritize research and development, but if your skills or results fall short, your club gets axed immediately. Unlike Trinity, there aren’t social barriers like those in high society, but it’s a cutthroat meritocracy.

What do you call this? While we’re out here running diesel engines, they’re tinkering with reactors, yet their antics are no different from kids. They build machines like pros but still let the student council president run the show without any plans to change it.

Why do I know so much about this? I visited once in middle school for an exchange program. Was it less than three years ago? I made a couple of friends, but the last time we talked on MomoTalk was nearly two years back. Wonder how they’re doing.

“Senpai, there’s a tollgate ahead. They’re telling us to slow down.”

“Huh? Oh. It’s this crowded, and they’re setting a 30 km/h speed limit? I can barely hit 20.”

“Guess the folks who built the road didn’t expect it to get this packed.”

Exactly—it’s insanely crowded. To borrow an expression Sakurako-sama’s been using lately, it’s hella crowded.

It’s not even an 8-lane road—it’s 16 lanes, and yet cars are weaving in and out with nowhere to go. It’s a perfect example of what happens when industrialization hits a densely populated area.

In that sense, Trinity’s way better than Millennium. Most people walk, and unlike Millennium, they’re not all crammed into one or two cities, so the streets are often quiet.

A traffic jam while riding Hifumi-chan? That only happens if I’m passing right by the Tea Party office or if something’s getting wrecked on the road in real time.

“That’ll be 1,700 yen.”

“Pricey, huh. You sure you’re not skimming a bit off the toll?”

“I’d love to, but that’d land me in jail, let alone fired.”

“Haha, nice comeback!”

“…”

“…That was a joke, right?”

After crawling through the tollgate and paying the fee, I was greeted by surprisingly smooth roads. Come to think of it, the road went from 32 lanes to half that and then widened again… makes sense.

I was just griping about Millennium’s traffic after getting stuck for a bit, but that’s kinda dumb of me. There are way dumber students out there—like the Pandemonium Society leader, or that Iroha-chan, or that blockhead of a superior.

Damn.

Now I’m pissed. Thinking about it, that checkpoint over there’s got the Pandemonium Society’s fancy flag flying high, yet they just let Gehenna kids sneak-attack ours? That’s infuriating.

If I spot that jerk’s face while patrolling Gehenna’s streets, I’m unloading a full clip on them, that traitor.

“Senpai, you mad?”

“…Nah, nah. Well, yeah, but I’m gonna floor it and blow past this.”

“You’re already at 110.”

Oh, right, the speed limit here’s 110. I miss Trinity, where the roads were so empty you didn’t even need speed limits.

Fast yet leisurely, the rumbling Leyland-made Hifumi-chan pushed deeper into the heart of the high-tech science city.

Finding the Engineering Club’s room in Millennium Science School’s buildings is surprisingly easy.

It’s not like they guide you with holograms or advertise with neon signs like you’d expect from a sci-fi city. The building is just massively huge.

“It’s fucking huge.”

“Don’t cuss. And even then, it’s smaller than the Tea Party office.”

“Come on, Sayuri-san, you let other cusses slide but get strict about this one… Wait, it’s almost as big as the Tea Party office?”

Wow, it’s a seriously colossal building. You don’t need to visit the Tea Party office to know how big it is—just the numbers tell you. How can a building’s diameter be measured in kilometers? Honestly.

Even if it’s essentially the administrative hub for the Tea Party, I mean, come on. Aside from the Red Winter palace, there’s probably no building in Kivotos bigger than this except for Sanctum Tower.

Do they store airships in there or something? It’s not just pedestrian paths—there are parking lots for cars, tanks, and even planes. As expected of a gathering of Millennium’s science geeks, they must get a ton of commissions.

The parking lot is full of expensive-looking vehicles. There’s even a tadillac—one wrong bump, and I’m bankrupt. Gripping the steering wheel like it’s my first driving test, I carefully found a spot.

Luckily, the spot next to me had just a Crusader tank, so I could park with peace of mind. Why feel safe next to a tank? Because if we collide, only Hifumi-chan gets wrecked, and the tank won’t care. If the blame’s mostly on them, that’s a win, right?

After a brief farewell kiss to Hifumi-chan, I headed into the club room. The grandeur outside wasn’t a joke—the massive hangar ceiling looms over twenty meters high. By height alone, it could stretch from our checkpoint to our trenches.

Glancing at the blueprints plastered on the walls as I passed, I couldn’t make heads or tails of them. I haven’t studied physics since kinematics in school, and aside from “mV,” I couldn’t recognize a single term. These machine-obsessed girls live up to their reputation, don’t they?

So what does that make me?

“Senpai, don’t get too intimidated. By rank, there’s only one student here higher than you.”

“This isn’t about rank, Sayuri-san—it’s about my brain coming up short. Did you understand that stuff?”

“Yup.”

“…You did?”

“It was just a standard railgun blueprint. The only unusual part was that it fires coins instead of regular metal projectiles, but otherwise, nothing special.”

…Holy crap. Last time, I cussed out a rare Gehenna-made SSR howitzer, but I didn’t expect to cuss out a person. Sayuri-san, why didn’t you transfer to Millennium? If you’d majored in mechanical engineering, you’d have earned a Meister title like it was nothing.

Ritsuko-chan looks like she didn’t understand a thing, so from now on, I think I’ll feel closer to her than Sayuri-san. Sayuri-san… she belongs somewhere higher up.

“What did you do before coming to the checkpoint, Sayuri-san? Ritsuko-chan, you’d know, right?”

“Sayuri-san was always a top student. She was known as a prodigy in the neighborhood. She’s gotten a bit dumber since joining the checkpoint, though.”

“You know you’re insulting me too, right? And Ritsuko-chan, my brain’s still sharp, okay?”

“So how’s your recent exam performance? You were crying your eyes out last time.”

Oh, that time. Sayuri-san went to take an exam with a cheerful face but came back with swollen eyes, sobbing in the lounge for two straight hours. Even Ritsuko-chan, who’s usually great at handling Sayuri-san, panicked, and I was no help either.

She never told us why she was crying, but maybe now’s my chance to find out…

“…I could’ve gotten a perfect score, but I missed one 2-point question…”

“…”

“…Senpai.”

That’s cheating, Sayuri-san. While everyone else is stressing over getting a C or D, you’re crying over missing one question? That’s practically bullying us. We can’t be friends anymore.

But as a dignified second-year, I have to give Sayuri-san a chance. Every student should at least have the freedom to say which question they missed and cried over.

If it’s something like question 30, I’ll have to kill her, but let’s hear it out.

“Which question was it?”

“…Number 1.”

…

As the three students walked deeper into the club room, only the sound of their footsteps echoed. No one spoke, mostly because we were all trying not to burst out laughing.

To protect the pride and dignity of our Trinity Comprehensive Academy checkpoint elite, Minami Sayuri-san, and to spare Ritsuko-chan the embarrassment of admitting she got the same question wrong.

Of course, Sayuri-san was trembling with a bright red face, but that’s not my problem.

Probably.

Once Sayuri-san calmed down from her embarrassment, we naturally made our way to the workshop. Three students were working on something—probably the so-called “Engineering Sisters.”

As we approached, they noticed us and stopped working. Each had such distinct personalities that there’d be no mistaking them. Purple-hair, Glasses-girl, and Puppy-face. No way I’d mess up their names.

“What’s up… or rather, you don’t look like Millennium students.”

“We’re from Trinity. We heard about the Engineering Club. They say no one fixes machines as well as you guys.”

“Well, it’s just the three of us, but yeah, that’s right. We’re the Engineering Club. I’m Shiraishi Utaha, the club president.”

“I’m Nekozuka Hibiki.”

“Toyomi Kotori here!”

They look like they know their stuff. I don’t know much else, but the club president’s face screams “I’m great at building machines.” My trust in their ability to fix Hifumi-chan is skyrocketing. If they can modify it as I planned, that’d be awesome.

It’ll work out.

“I’ve got a commission for you.”

This is the moment Hifumi-chan goes under the knife.