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Katanas clashed between mentor and student—a routine iaijutsu bout, unremarkable save for the distracted, sloppy footwork of one student, who nearly stepped into the arc of a killing stroke.
“What are you doing, Al?!” barked Kentaro Nagi. “Have you forgotten your basics?!”
Al barely dodged the fatal blow, breath catching as he wiped sweat from his brow. “N-no, sir! I…”
“You are sloppy,” Nagi swiftly sheathed his katana.
“Sorry, sir…” Al muttered, eyes averted.
Nagi sighed and shook his head, then gestured toward the bench. “What’s really on your mind, son?” he asked, his tone gentler now.
Al followed suit, sliding his katana into its sheath. Eyes downcast from the failed session, he softly replied, “It’s nothing, sir.”
“Alois Bernholt,” Nagi said firmly. “I’ve known you since you were a boy. Do not lie to me.”
“It’s not really a ‘what’ situation…” Al sighed. “More like…a ‘who’, if that makes sense…”
“Well whoever this is, you need to figure it out soon. We have important business coming up with the Japanese Government—overseeing their end of the ECP and Project Exodus.”
Nagi met his gaze, voice calm but underscored with steel. “Whenever you’re ready to talk, I will be there for you. Remember that.” He paused, then added, “Distractions are effective in combat. Effective…and dangerous. A distracted soldier is a dead soldier. Best to remember that too, okay, Al?”
---
A week later — Kasumigaseki district, Central Tokyo, Japan
“Thank you for coming by, Colonel Elma. I appreciate it,” Brigadier General Nagi said with a firm handshake, then gestured her inside.
“Hi, Princess! How’s it poppin’?” Al stood up from the couch to greet her. “Welcome to the wonderful country of Japan! And to this amazing apartment complex!”
“Apartment complex?” Elma raised an eyebrow. “Really? I find it quite simple.”
“Well eeexxxxccccuuuussssseee me, Princess. Simple? Nah, this place has style. You just don’t have the taste to appreciate it.”
“I must’ve left my taste in my other uniform,” Elma replied dryly.
“Stop it, you two. Behave,” Nagi cut in, pointing at them both. “I’ve got government business to handle. You two—keep it clean, keep it in your pants, and, again, behave. I’ll be back.”
Elma blinked. “In our what, exactly?”
“What?!” Al puffed up, arms crossed. “Come on, sir, seriously? Give me some credit. I’m a gentleman… when I want to be.”
“Al, don’t look at me like that,” Nagi smirked. “Remember what I told you when you were younger. This is serious. I don’t want either of you to have any accidents. If you do—It’ll be your responsibility!”
“Yes sir!” Al mock-saluted. “No accidents, no incidents, no explosions. We’ll behave…mostly.”
Elma rolled her eyes as Nagi left.
Once alone, a silence settled. Al suddenly felt the tension. Damn, this is no good…
He stepped out onto the balcony to clear his head. Leaning over the railing, he watched cherry blossoms flutter on the breeze, his expression half-lost.
Elma eventually joined him, eyes drifting to the trees. “They’re blooming uniformly. Consistent with the seasonal models.”
“You really know how to kill the mood, you know that?” Al chuckled.
“I’m just stating the biological reality,” Elma replied, arms crossed.
“Sure,” Al gestured her closer, “and I’m stating the emotional one.” He leaned on the railing with a crooked grin. “These blossoms? They’re like a sword strike—beautiful, fast, and over before you know it. A reminder: nothing lasts. So don’t waste time sitting on your hands.”
Elma blinked, slightly taken aback. “That’s... unexpectedly philosophical. Coming from you.”
“Hey, I contain multitudes,” Al said with a smirk.
“You’re full of something, that’s for sure,” Elma teased.
He laughed, then grew serious. “Nagi used to say the cherry blossoms were about impermanence. Life’s short. So what do you do? You live. You take your shot. You say the thing you’re afraid to say, do the thing you’re afraid to do.”
Elma looked away, voice soft. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not,” Al admitted. “But pretending it is? That’s the first step.”
They shared a long look.
“No time like the present. It’s why it’s called a ‘present’... like a gift.”
“A gift, huh…” she murmured, her eyes flickering.
“Cherry blossoms mark the start of spring,” Al said even softer. “New beginnings. Second chances. Hope.”
Without realizing it, their heads tilted slightly closer…
“Colonel,” Nagi’s voice rang out. “Cabinet members want to speak with you—something about the Ares Prime and mimeosome tech.”
Elma snapped to attention. “Yes, sir. Of course.”
She turned and walked away. Al lingered on the balcony, adrift in the moment.
Nagi returned, side-eyeing him. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”
Al flinched. “S-sir…?”
“The cherry blossoms,” Nagi clarified. Then, glancing in Elma’s direction, he added, “Remember that quote from that movie you loved? ‘The flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all.’”
Al grinned faintly. “I thought you said that was a load of crap when I was seven.”
“I lied,” Nagi winked. Then, with a thumb jerked in Elma’s direction, he added, “Here’s another one: ‘You don’t meet a girl like that every dynasty.’ Or in this case…every planet.”
Al groaned, face burning, hands over his eyes—but that dumb smile still slipped through.
---
Unbeknownst to them, Elma hadn’t quite left.
She lingered just around the corner, having caught every word.
For a moment, she said nothing—just stared ahead, her expression unreadable.
“The flower that blooms in adversity…”
The words echoed in her mind.
“Life’s short. So what do you do? You live. You take your shot.”
Especially after everything that happened to the planet where I was born.
For a moment, she envied the brevity of his kind’s lives—the urgency that demanded decisions, the rawness of reaching for something before it slipped away.
Her people, with lifespans that stretched across centuries, had the luxury of time—to plan, to pause, to build quiet fortresses around their hearts.
Their long lives, and the boundless technologies passed down as direct descendants of Samaar, had gifted them comfort, safety, and the illusion of mastery—not only over their universe, but over others. With time on their side, they had come to revere stillness, to resolve conflict with care, to walk the path of peace as sacred instinct.
But even peace, so dearly held, could become a prison.
That patient quietude, that devotion to harmony, hardened into fear—fear of disruption, of risk, of the unknown.
And in that fear, growth slowed. Hearts closed.
The courage to begin again fell silent, waiting.
It was that very fear—the fear of decisive change—that paved the way for their fall, when the Ganglion and the Ghosts finally struck.
Second chances, she thought. What did that mean for someone like me?
Years of duty and restraint weighed heavily on her.
Could she truly embrace the chance to start anew?
To risk vulnerability?
To let someone in—maybe even him ?
Growth wasn’t measured in lifespan. It was about courage—whether your time was brief or long, you had to be willing to let go.
To bloom again in adversity.
She glanced back toward the balcony, her usual resolve wavering ever so slightly. A faint warmth tugged at her lips—almost a smile. Almost.
And somewhere, beneath it all, her heart stirred with a quiet hope she hadn’t dared name.
With a soft breath, she adjusted her collar, squared her shoulders, and turned on her heel.
The path ahead was uncertain.
But for the first time in a long while, it felt possible—
—to take the shot.
She turned, her footsteps steady as she moved toward the Cabinet members waiting.