Commander Kisaragi didn't like retreating. Anyone who'd seen her flight records knew she was the type of person who tried one more maneuver, one more adjustment, one more calculation before giving up. But this time, she didn't hesitate.
"We're aborting the mission," she said, voice firm through the comm.
Misaki felt the words knock something out of his chest. "Commander, we can still—"
"No," she cut in. "We almost dropped out of orbit. Thruster failure and prototype malfunction in the same window? We can't risk the crew or the vessel. Mission terminated. Prepare for re-entry path."
Alvarez floated beside the prototype, running his hands over the emergency clamps. "She's right," he muttered, though it pained him. "We got enough data to keep the board busy for weeks. ISS-2 will still be here tomorrow."
Junpei gripped a rail and exhaled slowly. "Man… we barely touched the thing."
Misaki's jaw tightened. He wasn't angry at Kisaragi. He was angry at the situation—at the machine that lagged, at the thrusters that died, at the universe for reminding him that space was not impressed by enthusiasm.
But he didn't argue. There was a time to push, and a time to listen.
The shuttle stabilized, thrusters humming with new life. Earth drifted into a more comfortable position beyond the window—still huge, still beautiful, but no longer threatening to swallow them whole.
"Everyone secure for descent," Kisaragi ordered. "ETA: twenty-seven minutes."
Misaki and Junpei floated back to the main cabin, helping each other strap into the seats. Their movements were slower this time—not because of inexperience, but because exhaustion was quietly sinking its teeth into their limbs.
Junpei closed his eyes once he was buckled in. "I really thought we'd get to finish at least part of the disassembly."
Misaki stared at the curved Earth below them. "I thought we'd get more out of it."
Kisaragi overheard, but didn't turn. "You got enough. More than most trainees get in their first month."
Alvarez snorted. "Hell, more than most engineers get in a year. Consider today… educational trauma."
Misaki almost smiled. Almost.
The shuttle rotated slowly, aligning for atmospheric entry. The hull vibrated as friction prepared its fiery welcome.
Then the descent began.
The cabin lights dimmed automatically. Heat shields glowed faint orange. The roar of plasma against the exterior filled the silence—an ancient sound, like wind tearing through a canyon.
Misaki gripped the armrests. His stomach lifted, dropped, twisted, spun. Not painfully, but unmistakably. His body felt like it was remembering gravity while simultaneously fearing it.
Junpei groaned beside him. "Ugh. This part is… different."
Misaki swallowed bile. "It feels like being squeezed in a tube of toothpaste."
Alvarez barked a laugh from the cockpit. "You'll get used to it!"
Kisaragi added, "Or you'll learn to pretend you're used to it. That's what I do."
They broke through the clouds in a blaze. Cape Sōya's landing site stretched out below them—wide, metallic pads gleaming with lights.
The landing was smoother than expected. A soft thump, a few bounces, and Hikari-03 came to a rumbling halt.
Silence settled.
The mission was over.
Misaki unbuckled slowly, letting his feet find something that resembled balance. His legs felt wrong—stiff, rubbery, like the bones were late returning from orbit.
Junpei tried to stand and instantly wobbled. "Whoa—my body forgot how walking works."
Kisaragi passed them with a small grin. "That feeling? Get used to it. If the prototype gets fixed quickly, you'll be back up there sooner than you think."
Misaki tried to take comfort in that, but something in his chest felt hollow. He wasn't afraid of going back. He was afraid of failing again. Of proving himself too inexperienced for the life he'd dreamed of.
Alvarez clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't look so guilty, kid. Nothing up there went wrong because of you. Machines break. Thrusters fail. That's why we test."
Misaki nodded, but the knot didn't ease.
They were escorted to the debrief chamber—a sterile room with far too many chairs and far too many people.
The Incident Committee was already assembled.
Representatives from JAXA, NASA, ESA, CNSA, the Indian Space Research Organization, and of course AstraLink's own board of directors—all seated in a semicircle like judges in a cosmic courtroom.
Misaki swallowed hard.
Kisaragi led them in. Alvarez gave the room a curt nod. The pilots filed in last.
A tall man in a navy suit, representing JAXA, spoke first. "We've reviewed preliminary data. The thruster malfunction occurred six seconds after the prototype's arm lagged. Chief Engineer Alvarez, was there any indication of a software conflict?"
Alvarez crossed his arms. "There was no warning. No temperature spike, no feedback loop alert. Arm lag was likely due to predictive motion error—also something we'll look at."
"And the tether failure?" someone from NASA asked.
Kisaragi answered. "Metal fatigue. The tether was approved for field testing but not prolonged strain. The moment the orbital vector shifted, it was over."
Misaki felt heat rise in his cheeks. He wasn't being interrogated, but the room felt like it was pressing down on him.
He forced himself to stand straight.
The committee spent nearly an hour dissecting every second of the incident. Every sound, every shift in momentum, every piece of telemetry data.
In the end, they didn't blame anyone.
Not yet.
The report would take days.
When the meeting finally adjourned, the crew was released back to the main campus.
By the time night settled, everyone was too exhausted to talk. The mess hall was quiet, the kind of quiet that comes after adrenaline fades and fatigue takes the throne. Misaki and Junpei grabbed trays of curry and rice, but neither ate more than a few bites.
Junpei finally broke the silence. "Honestly… I thought the worst part of space travel would be losing a wrench. Turns out it's paperwork."
Misaki huffed a small laugh. "I thought the worst part would be the fear. Turns out it's the walk afterward."
They finished their food slowly, mechanically.
Outside, the dorm lights shimmered against the cold Hokkaido night. A thin wind carried the smell of the sea.
At the entrance to the residential wing, Junpei stretched. "I'm crashing. Wake me if the committee decides to exile us."
Misaki nodded. "Good night."
They separated, the hallway feeling too quiet now.
Misaki entered his room, shut the door, and leaned against it. His muscles ached, his head throbbed lightly, and his thoughts were a tangled mess.
He pulled the curtains open.
The stars sparkled above AstraLink like distant, indifferent spectators.
He stared at them for a long time.
He wasn't afraid of going back into space.
He was afraid of not being good enough.
But beneath that fear… another feeling stirred.
Determination.
Tomorrow would bring meetings, evaluations, lectures, and probably a dozen pointed questions from engineers who thought they could have done better.
And Misaki would face every one of them.
Space had not welcomed him gently.
But he was coming back.