The soft hum of the battleship's lab lights flickered slightly as the Kaiju carcass from R22 lay dissected behind radiation-proof glass. Dozens of specialists in suits surrounded it, jotting notes, extracting samples, and mumbling theories about evolving neural structures and metalloid tissue. One thing was clear:
These Kaiju were changing. Fast.
Kael didn't care.
He sat in the control bay with Tyren, half-reclined in his chair, lazily scrolling through a flood of landing requests from various squads across the intergalactic fleet.
"Unit 04... Denied."
"Unit 88... Denied."
"Unit Aurora... Nope."
He sighed, stretching his fingers.
"You ever feel like everyone suddenly loves us now?" Tyren smirked, glancing at the screen.
"They love Ravager," Kael muttered. "And the thought of glory. Not us."
Tyren leaned over. "That one's from… Sector R? Wait, that's—"
Before he could finish, Kael absentmindedly clicked 'Grant Access' and moved on to the next.
Tyren stared.
"Bro... did you just approve that squad?"
Kael blinked. "What?"
"You clicked 'Accept' like a tired intern hitting email spam. Do you even know who you just invited?"
Kael glanced back at the screen, brows raised. "Squad R-73... Doesn't ring a bell."
Tyren gave a slow, dramatic shake of his head. "That squad's infamous for one reason—and no, it's not because of their battle record."
Just as Kael opened his mouth to ask, the door slammed open.
Ryssa stormed in like a warhead, fury lighting up her steps as her long coat fluttered behind her.
Her crimson eyes were narrowed to slits.
"Kael!" she barked.
He instinctively sat up straighter, surprised at the sudden entrance.
"You—you approved a landing request from Squad R-73? Are you out of your mind?!"
He raised a brow. "It was an accident."
"Accident?!" she snapped, grabbing the front of his coat. "That's the 'Accident' squad you let land. Do you even know—"
But then she saw Tyren.
Instantly, her grip loosened, and she stumbled back half a step, straightening her uniform and clearing her throat with forced calm.
"Apologies," she said softly. "That was... unprofessional."
Tyren leaned on the console, watching her like a hawk. "Now I really wanna know. What's the problem with this squad?"
Ryssa's eyes darted away. "They're undisciplined. Loud. Distracting."
Kael folded his arms, tilting his head. "Distracting how?"
She turned red.
Tyren narrowed his eyes. "Wait a second. I think I remember them now. Weren't they called the 'Siren Squad' or something like that?"
Ryssa looked away again.
Kael leaned back. "You stormed in here, nearly broke my collarbone, because I approved a squad that's known for being... loud?"
Ryssa spun on her heel and whispered, "Three out of five are models."
The room fell silent.
Tyren coughed, trying not to laugh. "You're kidding."
Ryssa, now visibly flustered, crossed her arms. "I thought Kael would... you know... be interested."
Kael blinked.
"I'm not a hormonal cadet," he said flatly. "And even if I was, I don't need validation from some overly hyped combat doll squad."
Ryssa's expression flickered between relief and more embarrassment.
"You really thought I'd drool over pretty faces?"
"Well—no—I mean—" she stammered.
"Are you jealous?" Tyren grinned.
"No!" Ryssa shot back.
Kael stood and walked past her, muttering over his shoulder, "Call off their clearance if you don't want them here. Or escort them yourself. I'm going back to the bay."
Ryssa followed a few steps, hesitating. "Wait—Kael... I didn't mean to—"
But Kael kept walking. His voice floated back, emotionless:
"Get serious, Ryssa. This isn't a playground. It's R22."
And then he was gone.
---
Later that night, Ryssa sat alone in her quarters, hand gripping the armrest tightly.
She'd seen Kael endure near-death battles, isolation, and betrayal without flinching.
But that flat rejection? It cut deeper than she'd expected.
She wasn't sure what she wanted from him.
But she didn't want to lose whatever they had—no matter how small.
Not again.