Hiroki stared through the porthole at the cosmic meat-grinder outside. Cold sweat beaded and slid down his temples. Enemy ships swarmed like locusts, blotting out the stars, their energy beams weaving a net of annihilation so dense it made his scalp crawl. Between the strands of that net loomed titans that could freeze any mortal soul—Doomsday Beasts. Every swipe of their claws, every torrent of light they spat, turned defence ships many times their size into drifting scrap and silent fireballs as easily as crushing eggs.
The Uchiha still kept the Ninja's inborn silence and battle-ready poise, yet scarlet Sharingan reflected the inhuman horror outside, and even those eyes couldn't hide a flicker of shock. This was nothing like any war they knew. Hiroki howled in his mind, a roar that nearly blew the lid off his skull: 'System! System!!! This is the effing tutorial zone?! Where's the little dog that's supposed to wander into the corridor? This is an entire starfleet gang-banging a space station! This is your so-called "beginner quest"?!'
"…When did I ever mention a beginner quest?"
"Damn it!" Hiroki buried his face in despair, swamped by the helplessness of a salted fish. "Fine, fine…" He wiped his face, knuckles white. "Don't play dead. The plot's gone off the rails, hasn't it? Otherwise how would I end up with a 'last-man-standing' commission?"
He exhaled a long, complicated breath, as if trying to vent every last trace of absurdity and dread. Sweeping his gaze over the Uchiha elites—still on guard, still trained to move despite the shock—he drew a sliver of comfort from the steel nerves forged by generations of slaughter. They didn't understand the mechanical horrors outside, but "mission" and "battle" were coded into their genes.
His stare finally fixed on the far end of the unknown corridor, the look of a man who'd already come too far to back out.
"Can't really turn tail, can I? Quest failure won't punish me… but I might still get a bad review…" he muttered, giving himself an excuse. More importantly, ten thousand points and the shop's temptations dangled ahead like a carrot.
"All right." As if passing final sentence, he jerked his chin up. The voice he'd honed over decades in Soul Society—part lord, part actor—rang out while he swept his arm forward:
"Target: main control deck! Move out! Protect our client, Station Master Asta!" "Yes, Lord Hiroki!" Fifty Uchiha answered in unison, their low, murderous chorus echoing through the metal bridge, scattering a little of the cosmic chill. Invisible killing intent unfurled with their steps.
The path to the control deck was no stroll. The fodder the players mocked as "trash mobs"—Antimatter Legion nihility drones—now fought with terrifying efficiency. They poured like black tides from vents, cracked bulkheads, even weightless hatchways. Cold, swift, single-minded in destruction.
A common Ripper's speed and strength matched a low-tier Seat Officer's Shunpo burst; its simple shield swatted high-level Fire Release from Three-Tomoe Uchiha like a bothersome fly. Heavily armed Crushers swung power-lances that screamed through the air and left craters in the deck.
Brutal, brief, lethal skirmishes flared in narrow corridors, open bays, zero-grav machine shops. The Uchiha's prized Body-Flicker and Sharingan foresight met their match. They mixed Soul Society Kido with Ninjutsu—Wind Release and spirit-pressure blades to shear shields, Lightning to paralyze core links—four-man squads forming a cross of offence and defence, inching forward under cold, programmed counter-fire.
Hiroki watched a squad led by two Three-Tomoe and backed by two Two-Tomoe gang-tackle a Crusher. After heart-stopping seconds and several exchanges they finally shredded its core with a combo Kido—Bakudo bind, Hado cut.
His heart felt clutched by icy steel; his brows knotted. No way! Minimum line-up was Two-Tomoe elites, average Seat Officer strength, yet to kill a mob players one-shotted on first meeting they had to bust out Susanoo?!
Scout Fugaku faced a four-legged Crusher wreathed in baleful red light. Its claws tore space; Fugaku's Shunpo and blade-work were pinned. With no choice he unleashed a surge of spirit-pressure; black rib-cage Susanoo half-formed, blocking the death-blow, then a spirit-packed bone fist smashed the monster into sparking scrap. Hiroki's pulse hammered.
Yet Uchiha depth and Hiroki's "bring-everyone" gamble paid off. Bloody and slow, but with numbers and two Captain-level anchors—Fugaku upfront, Shisui sweeping behind, every flash-step a last-second rescue—they ground on like an unyielding reef amid the Legion's waves.
Casualties cropped up—a Two-Tomobi caught by a beam, armour shattered, arm blackened; another hurled in zero-g into a bulkhead—but quick medical Ninjutsu fused with Kaido kept death at bay. No fatalities… not yet.
They'd fought through the space station for who knew how long, cutting down wave after wave of attackers, until the squad finally burst through a heavy bulkhead door and the view opened wide. A vast hangar—platform—stretched before them, and beyond it the passage to the core. At the far end of that passage rose a huge lift platform: an elevator. Yet the control panel that should have granted entry pulsed a merciless crimson: ACCESS LOCKED.
Hiroki stared at the maze of biometric scanners, numeric keypads, and blinking ports full of indecipherable symbols, utterly dumbfounded.
"'Key-card'? 'Authorization'? What the hell?" he muttered. The proud son-in-law of the Shihōin Clan who could call wind and rain in Soul Society now stood helpless before a human gadget. "Fugaku, Shisui—either of you pick locks? Uh… I mean, hack this thing?" The two men exchanged blank looks. Asking these old-school samurai-style Uchiha bosses to crack an electronic lock was like asking them to solo another Doomsday Beast. While Hiroki scratched his head and wondered if he should have Fugaku melt the key-slot with Amaterasu, the heavy alloy doors hissed and slid open.
A gust smelling of gun-smoke—residue of the Antimatter Legion—and… some light, flowery soap wafted out. Four silhouettes appeared in the doorway, forming a stark, almost absurd standoff with Hiroki's grimy, blood-and-sweat-reeking party.
In front stood a short-haired gray-eyed girl, curiosity (and caution) shining in her eyes, twirling a very street-style… baseball bat? Beside her, a pink-haired bundle of energy carried a compact energy bow and wore a wow-so-many-weirdos look. A cool, slender young man—Dan Heng—gripped a dark-cyan energy spear (Jiyun), sweeping his alert gaze over Hiroki and the silent, murder-aura squad behind him, pausing a heartbeat on Fugaku and Shisui. Last came a poised red-haired woman whose hair blazed like sunset—Himeko. She spoke first:
"Who are you people? Station defense? Or…" Her glance raked over their unmistakably non-station, non-standard gear, the unspoken accusation clear.
Hiroki's mind raced. Outlandish as this bunch looked—especially the gray and pink duo—Dan Heng seemed competent, and the redhead radiated command. He slipped into professional merc-captain mode, gave a slight bow, and answered in a steady voice:
"Misunderstanding. We're third-party security hired by Station Master Asta under emergency contract. Name's Hiroki, captain. Our job is to keep her safe. As for the rest of the station…" He let the sentence hang, implying it was outside his brief.
Himeko's appraising gaze swept over Hiroki and the silent, battle-hardened "mercenaries," weighing truth and the source of their killing intent. The bat-girl—Stelle—eyed the Uchiha's Sharingan and whispered, "Wow, they're so cool!" March 7th quickly clapped a hand over her mouth. Dan Heng never looked away from Fugaku—mountain-heavy presence—or Shisui, whose aura flickered like a spatial rift.
At last, perhaps convinced or simply out of time, Himeko gave a curt nod. "Understood. Station Master Asta's in the command sector. She's under pressure; I hope your 'protection' proves effective." The word carried weight.
"Roger." Hiroki inclined his head. "Time's short; we'll report in." He stepped aside, inviting them out with a veteran's tip: "We cleared a lot of 'obstacles' on the way to the lower platform; it's safer."
"Thanks for the heads-up." Himeko didn't waste words. She led March 7th, Dan Heng, and Caelus out of the lift, brushed past Hiroki's team, and strode away. Stelle, dragged by March 7th, glanced back and muttered, "That leader's kinda hot—is the short-blade guy his secretary?" (meaning Izumi). Dan Heng's final backward glance burned into Hiroki's memory—a warning about unknown power.
Hiroki's group entered the spacious lift. The station's high-capacity elevator swallowed Hiroki, Shisui, Izumi, and a handful of elite Three-Tomoe guards with room to spare.
The remaining Uchiha, under Fugaku's command, began throwing up a hasty defense line.
The car rose and quickly delivered them to the core: the command module.
The doors opened on chaos far heavier than the battlefield outside. The vast space reeked of disinfectant, blood, scorched metal, and thick anxiety. Terrified, injured researchers huddled like quail in the safer corners. Uniformed security and defense staff dashed about while urgent orders, muffled groans, and overload alarms wove a symphony of despair.
"Sector C confirmed clear! Power conduit severed—everyone out!"
"Initiate emergency quarantine—seal all Sector-C hatches! Code Beta-Seven!"
"Station Master Asta! Fleet report: Iron Guard Seven, Guardian Array Third Division… all signals lost! Main fleet casualties past seventy percent! Engine array can't hold!"
"Tell them to hold the line! The Stellaron Express is almost through the jam! Reinforcements are coming—this station lives or dies now!"
"Sector E! Major secondary detonation—fire spreading to core fuel reserves! Fire-suppression offline!"
...Sever all conduits in Sector E! Bring the backup reactors online! Initiate forced physical separation! Coordinates Zeta-Nine—move!
At the heart of the chaos, in front of the command console, a lone girl stood unbending. Pink hair in a neat side-tied ponytail framed a face that still held a softness befitting her age, yet the frail-looking figure radiated a composure far beyond ordinary. Station Master Asta—the young mistress of Herta Space Station—was issuing life-or-death directives with ruthless speed and clarity. Her voice was quiet but carried, cutting through every other noise to become the lone anchor in a sea of panic.
Watching her single-handedly force order onto the maelstrom, calmly processing a string of calamities that would crush most commanders, Hiroki hesitated. The self-styled "slacker family head" found himself subdued by her presence, almost embarrassed to break into the breakneck flow of her orders.
But a job was a job—ten thousand points on the line.
He sucked in a breath, shoved down his unease, and elbowed past two engineers reporting shield-field losses, stopping a pace behind Asta. He fought to sound professional, steady.
"Ahem… Station Master Asta? Sorry to interrupt, but the contract stands. Hiroki, emergency hire. We're the security team you summoned under the Cross-Dimensional Safety Guarantee Protocol—objective: keep you alive. Please confirm and evacuate with us immediately."
Asta didn't even glance back, words rapid-fire: "Shift defense grid to Delta-Four, concentrate fire on the Antimatter Legion buildup in the eastern quadrant—wait, what did you say?" Only then did she realize someone had spoken to her; she'd caught none of the "bodyguard" part. Her eyes stayed on the tactical holo, where hostile red blips were bleeding across the board.
Hiroki raised his voice. "Station Master Asta! We're the mercenaries you called! Hiroki's the name—getting you out is our prime task!" He all but shoved a worn goatskin scroll—the inexplicable "mission credential" the system had dumped into his arms—into her hand.
The words "mercenaries" and the scroll finally snagged a sliver of her attention. She flicked her gaze over Hiroki and the hard-edged squad behind him—especially the unsettling calm in Shisui's eyes—then took the scroll. It felt warm, nothing like paper. A quick scan of its contents—
"Eh?!"
Blood-shot pink eyes snapped wide. She rubbed them, read again, mouth parting in a small gasp. "It actually exists? This contract?! I thought it was some prank hack—Ms. Herta's run a couple of those lately…" She whipped her stare between the parchment and Hiroki as though he were a museum exhibit. "You're really… the 'cross-plane security contractors' the mystery clause dredged up?"
"…What in the—?" A mental stampede of curses thundered through Hiroki. What name? Why can't I see a thing on this scrap? Encrypted? Or is the damn system shafting me again?
He coughed, brushing off her bewilderment. "Existence doesn't matter. Your safety does, Station Master. Please come with us now—the outer defenses won't hold." He jabbed a thumb at the viewport: outside, a Doomsday Beast was carving a crippled frigate in half.
Yet Asta looked from the scroll to the inferno beyond, the fire of responsibility flaring hotter. She slapped the parchment onto the console, eyes blazing with near-fanatic resolve.
"No. I stay." Her voice cracked upward, ironclad. "I am the station master of Herta Space Station—Ms. Herta's life-work, the dream of every researcher aboard. While there's the slimmest chance, I stand or fall with it!" She skewered Hiroki with a razor gaze, equal parts reckless gamble and pure elite-heiress confidence. "Can your team defend this station? Hold the core until Ms. Herta arrives to turn the tide? I'll. Pay. Extra!"
Ding! Emergency shift detected; client's will strongly expressed. Generating bonus mission: Defend the Last Bastion.
Revised objective: prevent destruction of Herta Space Station core (main control module plus adjacent support systems; maintain ≥50% functionality) until Stellaron Express intervenes or the Antimatter Legion main force is repelled.
Bonus reward: 100,000 points. Accept / Decline?
The system chime detonated in Hiroki's skull—angelic number, apocalyptic difficulty.
"A h-hundred grand?!" His lungs forgot how to breathe. The figure ignited pure greed—until a Doomsday Beast's chest-beam sliced a heavy destroyer like warm butter in his peripheral vision and doused the flame to ash.
"Gah—" Hiroki felt his heart hemorrhage. Rich beauty, oh great Asta, you're not adding money—you're adding my life! I'd love the fee, but even if I throw in my whole clan we'd just be garnish! I really, truly can't do this!