Story Reader / Festival Event Story / To the One and Only You / Story
How are you feeling right now?
You open the mystery box to find a single set of coordinates pointing to a conservation area on the Pacific coast.
Following the directions, you arrive at the remote spot, only to hear a familiar voice from behind, "Better prepare yourself mentally for something thrilling." Before you can even turn around, a hood is pulled over your head without warning. When it's finally removed, you're already zipped into a heavy thermal suit.
Heh. There's the awareness. Enough stalling, then.
With the hood yanked away, your vision clears to reveal a breathtaking and terrifying sight: the curve of the horizon at the edge of nightfall, with your feet perched on the rim of a hot air balloon's basket.
This is no ordinary balloon. You recognize it as a modified transport container, designed for low-cost, transoceanic cargo delivery. Based on this, your current position must be...
Your brain barely has time to process the staggering altitude before an overwhelming surge of momentum steals your breath.
The red-haired Construct gives you no time to protest. In one swift motion, she grabs you and leaps from the edge of the world. Even plunged into darkness, you can sense the impish grin spreading across her face.
How's that for a surprise!
Her voice crackles through the communicator in your helmet. The fact that you haven't jolted awake confirms this isn't a dream. You'd guessed it might be skydiving, but you never expected it from such an extreme height—a surprise that is perfectly, characteristically Vera.
From humanity's first jump from 30,000 meters to the Golden Age, stratospheric skydiving was nothing extraordinary. But in today's world, where parachuting is reserved for missions, taking the plunge purely for the thrill of it feels like a radical novelty.
Hold your horses. The main event's about to start.
After plunging through a bank of tropospheric cloud, an elongated blue arc materializes against the darkness below. It's not a distant galaxy from the depths of space, but the stubborn, living bioluminescence of the coastline, stretching out in a silent, radiant welcome.
The luminous waves beat against the shore in time with the ocean's own breath, their ethereal glow pulsing like a slow, steady heartbeat—an enchanting, almost dreamlike vision.
You can't see the full view from the ground. And from Babylonia, this faint glow is practically invisible.
But here? At this exact altitude? This is the only place you can truly see it.
As you descend into familiar gravitational conditions, the heavy atmospheric-entry helmet is removed. The breathtaking scenery unfolds before you with staggering clarity.
For a long moment, you are utterly captivated, lost in the mesmerizing glow of the sea, until your falling speed has reached a terminal velocity that can no longer be ignored.
Parachute? When did I ever mention a parachute?
If you want the real thrill, you have to dive without a net.
Oh, I suppose I forgot to mention. My frame has a little upgrade: a single-person atmospheric entry module. Unlike a certain Commandant who charges headfirst into danger, I actually plan for survival.
So? Go on. Beg. If I'm feeling generous, I might just give you your life back as a birthday present.
What's this? "Life finds a way"? But don't think for a second that means I'll go easy on you.
At an altitude of roughly 6,000 meters, Vera finally catches you. In one fluid, brutal motion, she tears your thermal suit away, letting the freezing air slam into your thinly clothed body.
Instinctively, your limbs lock tighter around the Construct, desperately seeking the warmth from the energy pulsing at her core. Combined with the adrenaline screaming through your veins, the contrast creates a bizarre, feverish heat from within.
You're learning. At least you know to grab the nearest lifeline now.
You'll have to beg me more often from now on. Understood?
Your adrenaline is peaking, yet a strange, profound calm settles over you. This isn't the relief of a near-miss; it's the pure, unadulterated focus of an extreme athlete, reveling in the very heart of the plunge.
There it is. I knew our little Commandant wouldn't play along.
What, did you expect me to coddle you? To whisper, "Oh, little Commandant, please be careful"?
Disobey me, and you take your punishment. It's that simple.
But Vera doesn't embrace you. Like a falcon securing its prey, she grips your shoulders and drives you both downward. The world blurs as you accelerate, approaching the speed of sound, and you feel the terrifying, exhilarating sensation of your soul straining to keep up.
This is your last chance. Do whatever it takes to win me over.
She's visibly taken aback for a moment, then lets out a familiar chuckle.
That's more like it.
This time, the sensation is one of being violently thrown outward, only to be wrenched back into yourself as the red-haired Construct materializes in your path. She catches you with a force that feels less like a rescue and more like an impact, slamming your soul back into your falling body.
The prolonged, frigid descent has seeped deep into your bones. You press your face against the Construct's chest, desperately seeking the warmth radiating from her core.
But the part about not having a parachute for you? That's true.
Her frame deploys a specialized wingsuit, its design clearly custom-made, a silent testament to the considerable effort she invested in this "surprise." The deceleration is smoother than you'd feared, but it still presses heavily against your organs.
After a skydive that spanned over ten breathless minutes, Vera builds a crackling bonfire on the shore. As she roasts fresh seafood, you huddle close, the heat slowly chasing the deep-seated chill from your limbs.
So? Best birthday surprise ever, or do I win the award for most heart-stopping?
Sounds like you're having the time of your life. What do you say we go right back up and do it again?
Vera sits nearby, silently watching you devour the food. The only sounds are the crackle of the fire and the crash of distant waves. Then, with a sharp motion, she stabs the empty skewers into the sand.
Tell me, Commandant. Was there ever a single second up there you thought I'd actually let you go?
But you weren't so calm when you were clinging to me for dear life.
Tch. Don't flatter yourself. I don't save you because you have a silver tongue.
And my claim on you doesn't require your permission. Remember that.
