[Blue Archive] I am the Trinity Checkpoint Chief – Chapter 16

The Engineering Department has been out of contact for days.

Just in case, I headed toward their rundown building, but all I saw was a tightly shut automatic door and a single line of text projected as a hologram.

[Closed for the time being]

“…”

When I first saw the message, two thoughts crossed my mind.

The first was, Damn, these guys must’ve given up because they couldn’t finish their work. The second was, As expected of Millennium, even while slacking off and going AWOL, they still manage to put up a hologram.

But at the same time, doubts crept in. Sure, leaving behind a single message and disappearing is a common occurrence even at Trinity, but there wasn’t even a padlock on the main gate or a shutter pulled down.

The internal network was still accessible, and they’d even left a few posts on the community board. For a supposed “escape,” there were too many loose ends.

Trinity’s the kind of place that’d chase down deadbeats with tanks—would they really be this sloppy? My gut, honed as a checkpoint captain who’s survived over a decade, told me these tech nerds were still in the building.

They were probably holed up, pretending to have fled, while obsessively working on something.

So, last night, I tried something akin to infiltrating. Well, calling it that is generous—it was more like hopping on a train at dawn to see if the conspiracy theories about their department were true.

And I definitely saw it. A warm, soft glow emanating from deep within the Engineering Department’s building. Beyond the tightly shut automatic door, a light spilled out from the hallway, illuminating the medals and awards their seniors and juniors had earned.

Oh, a gentle, enduring light that not even the Academy of Technology could uncover in the dark of night! I boldly shouted:

“Sakura-san?”

“…”

“You actually picked up the phone for once. I heard people complaining in reviews that you guys never answer.”

“…I’m sorry…”

Alright, alright. At least this first-year knows how to respect their seniors.

The friend sniffling on the other end of the line was, I think, Toyotomi-san. A glasses-wearing girl with bright yellow hair I’d seen when visiting the Engineering Department.

She’s a lifesaver of a junior. I’d called their department over a hundred times since morning, but every single call was met with an AI voice saying, “We’re unable to take your call at the moment…” I was seriously considering grabbing an L85 and storming in.

If she hadn’t called me, I might’ve actually done it, but thankfully, I could choose the path of peace.

I owe a lot to Sayuri-san. While half-listening to her ramble about Toyotomi-san—starting with her glasses brand and spilling into a full background check—I managed to spark an idea bright enough to light up a filament in my head.

And so, I finally got a call. Others might be fuming, unable to even get a single commission through, but I pulled it off.

The method was a bit unorthodox, though. I sent an email from my student account saying, “Hey, I’m so-and-so running a research project at Trinity. I’m struggling with a tokamak design and need some advice.” Sure enough, I got a call back almost instantly. According to Sayuri-san’s phone timer, it took exactly 3.14 seconds.

I smacked my forehead. Ritsuko-chan was right—I’d forgotten that these guys have no interest in anything outside mechanical engineering but go absolutely feral for it, like they’re high on something. She kept shouting, “Amazing! Incredible!” in awe.

Poor Toyotomi-san, listening to all this, could only sniffle.

“It’s not Toyotomi! I have a name, you know—Toyomi Kotori!”

“Got it. I’ll remember next time, Toyotomi-san.”

“#$@)#&#(@]!!!”

Toyotomi-san was pissed.

“…What is this?”

“It’s a contract! Utaha-senpai said it’d be awkward to explain verbally, so she told me to bring this!”

“For a contract… it doesn’t exactly look legit.”

What Toyotomi-san handed me was something labeled a contract but read more like, What the heck is this?

A piece of paper with Department Head Shiraishi Utaha’s name scrawled across it—honestly, even for someone like me, who’s handled all sorts of bizarre paperwork at the checkpoint, this was a questionable format.

I’ve seen plenty of signed documents, but this? It’s hard to describe. It doesn’t clearly outline a client-contractor relationship, so it’s not quite a contract. But since it demands my signature, it’s not just a notice either.

Thinking too hard about this won’t help. Let’s just call it a “document.” The Engineering Department head probably slapped a name on it and called it a day.

So, the content. Apparently, they’re making something insanely cool, mind-blowing, and totally unheard of by Trinity Academy standards, and they’re asking me not to spread rumors about it.

The rushed writing style is obvious, but as expected of a club president, the phrasing is pretty polished. Especially the second line: “No student would believe someone claiming to have seen paradise with their own eyes.” It’s a clever metaphor, using a famous Trinity saying to essentially say, “Keep your mouth shut and don’t blab.”

I thought Shiraishi-senpai was only obsessed with machines, but she’s surprisingly literary. If she’d spent her school days at Trinity writing poetry, she might’ve made a name for herself in high society. Toyotomi-san started talking.

“You should probably tell that to Shiraishi-senpai directly at the Engineering Department! By the way, the fifth point she mentioned questions the fundamental trust needed for people to live in a harsh world. There’s a theory tied to it called the Teapot Theory, proposed by a mathematician from Trinity Academy long ago!”

“Uh, and?”

“You’re curious about the Teapot Theory, I see! It’s a metaphor created to critique religions that support the existence of a god. It states that if someone claims there’s a teapot so tiny that even the best telescope can’t see it floating in space, the burden of proof lies with the claimant!”

“So when was it made?”

“Oh, you’re curious about that too! The exact date is unclear, but the prevailing theory is that it was created by an atheist mathematician to critique Trinity Academy’s system, which began ostracizing non-religious people after the First Triad Council. Though the mathematician’s name is unknown, they left significant contributions to philosophy and logic, leaving their mark—”

This is a great way to kill time.

When Sayuri-san described Toyotomi-san as a “maniac for explanations,” she was fuming, and I figured she’d been burned a few times while I was away. But hearing it firsthand, it’s not that grating.

Of course, my ears might just be desensitized from dealing with obnoxious jerks. Toyotomi-san’s relentless trivia dumps aren’t exactly jerk behavior, but in terms of word density, it’s close.

Still, if you let her go on, even the most patient student would get annoyed or offended. Since Toyotomi-san doesn’t yet know her limits, I’ll have to set them for her so we can wrap this up without hurt feelings.

“…So, if I sign this, you’ll tell me what you’re working on?”

“…His proof of 1+1=2 is a famous debate topic at Millennium Science School—wait, what?”

“I’m asking what you’ll do for me if I sign this.”

“Uh… what should I do…?”

Oh, even monkeys fall from trees sometimes. Toyotomi-san, flustered, started mentally sorting through her options. I should’ve brought the kids along for this.

I was a bit worried about her earlier, but now I just want to shout. I made the Millennium explanation queen flinch! I can control my emotions!

That line reminds me of some cat character. Where did I hear it?

“Done thinking?”

“…!! N-no, I mean… I’m not sure what you want exactly…”

“Guess your department head didn’t brief you on that. Typical first-year, huh? Or is it just a Millennium thing?”

“…”

Checkpoint work is simple—check student IDs and decide whether to lift the gate. Sounds easy, but even for a cushy student council job, it’s no walk in the park. The questions jerks throw at you always exceed your imagination.

Even if you’re a freak who’s memorized the entire Trinity Academy Border Inspection Code, you’re still a socially inept kid if you can’t answer a question about finding a bathroom in the 100-km-wide unofficial DMZ.

Of course, Toyotomi-san isn’t a thoughtless jerk or a kid, but I’m saying this out of concern.

“I don’t want much. Just tell me what you’re making with our Hifumi-chan…”

“…”

What’s with that teary-eyed look?

Did I mess up? Was my tone too harsh, or did my words stab her in the heart? Did saying “Millennium kids are like that” hurt her pride?

No, I just spoke off the cuff. I didn’t say anything specifically to piss off Toyotomi-san. It’s just normal stuff people hear, right?

No matter how I thought about it, there was no reason for her to be upset, so I looked at her with genuine curiosity. She flinched, and tears welled up in her glasses like little teardrop marks.

“…”

“Uh, whoa? I-I’m sorry, okay? So, uh… whoa?!”

She’s crying. I’m screwed. Totally screwed.

Of all places, we were meeting in the middle of a café, and thanks to Toyotomi-san’s tears, all eyes were on me. A few students even looked shocked seeing Trinity’s logo.

Forget Hifumi-chan or whatever—I had to grab some tissues to calm her down first.

On the train back to the dorm, a sort of debate broke out. Sayuri-san and Ritsuko-chan, who’d teamed up against me, were harshly criticizing my behavior toward Toyotomi-san.

“You were too harsh, senpai. You do this to Satsu-chan sometimes too, and she says it stresses her out a lot.”

“Ritsuko-chan, we agreed to keep that a secret. But yeah, this is totally senpai’s fault. Why’d you do that?”

“Look, I was just talking, okay? Is my tone that bad?”

“I doubt there’s anyone at the checkpoint who doesn’t know how sharp your tone is. I’ve known you for years, and while everything else changes, your tone never does. Did you properly apologize to that club member?”

“Yeah, of course I did…”

Good lord. I had no idea my tone had such a bad reputation. I’m genuinely shocked. The way Sayuri-san talks about it, like some karmic explosion, it seems there’s been a lot of resentment.

I know my personality is more hot-blooded than calm, but I’m pretty careful with my words. Honestly, I only say about 10-20% of what I want to. I can’t cut back any more than that—do I need to take a class to fix my tone?

“Even when I talk to you, senpai, you’re usually fine, but sometimes you just bam—drop a verbal haymaker out of nowhere. I can’t exactly call you out on it every time.”

“Ritsuko-chan’s got a point… So, should I change my tone?”

“No need to go that far. Like Ritsuko-chan said, just tone down the random outbursts. Wanna test it with me? Imagine a junior you don’t know stole your emergency fund. What would you say?”

“Damn bitch?”

“…This is exactly why people complain about your tone.”

Ugh, Sayuri-san gave up on me. She probably thinks I’m beyond redemption.

But I’m normal, right? I sorted things out with Toyotomi-san. She stopped crying pretty quickly, and we parted on good terms. She even whispered what they’re doing with Hifumi-chan.

Sure, I might’ve been a bit too harsh with Toyotomi-san, so I decided to speak a little softer next time. I made up my mind about that.

Whatever, whatever. Whether I become a third-year or get another promotion, my tone will probably soften with time. If my tone’s as sharp as a unicorn’s horn, like Sayuri-san says, it’s Gehenna’s fault. I should write a complaint letter to the Pandemonium Society.

“If you do that, senpai, you’ll probably get a complaint letter right back from them.”

“Then I’ll send another one. If they send one back, I’ll send another. We’ll see who gets the last word. I’ve got more time, so I’ll win.”

“Having too much time isn’t something to brag about, senpai.”

Sayuri-san never lets me have the last word. She’s smarter than me, so I can’t argue much.

Still, I feel a bit guilty about Toyotomi-san. When she whispered about building an awesome self-propelled gun, she looked genuinely excited, but still. She cried, so how could I not feel something?

Next time the Engineering Department calls me over, I’ll bring something for Toyotomi-san as an apology. As the setting sun reflected off my phone screen while I searched for what tech nerds might like, the train announcement played:

[This station is the Millennium Learning Centre. Millennium Learning Centre. The exit is on the right. Please mind the gap between the platform and the train. For those visiting Millennium Center, please use Exit 3…]