The Federation fleet continued its long, tense march toward Solomon.
Engines roared in rhythm, shaking every hull plate as if the entire armada held its breath.
Amid the steady hum of war, Gary Lin sat against the cold wall of a cargo bay, the system's holographic interface flickering before him.
His eyes were dull with fatigue.
"Alright, system," he muttered, "three summons done. One slot left. You better not give me something weird this time."
> [Initiating Slice of Life summon...]
[Randomized entity: Shirogane, Miyuki.]
[Origin: Shuchiin High — Political Romance Timeline.]
Gary frowned.
"Wait—Miyuki Shirogane? As in that Shirogane? The student council president?"
> [Affirmative. Assigned to Federation Fleet, Administrative Division. Perk: 'Absolute Resolve' — efficiency increases under mental strain.]
Gary sighed.
"Overachiever kid in a war zone. Great. At least he won't slack off."
He rubbed his face.
"Man… Kaguya Shinomiya was supposed to be marrying Lelouch soon. I can already smell the drama from here."
The system chimed softly.
> [Summon placement complete.]
And somewhere else in the Federation fleet—
a bright blue light flashed in an empty corridor of a communications ship.
---
Shirogane Miyuki gasped as the world around him twisted.
One second he'd been leaving the student council room, mentally listing homework deadlines.
The next, he stood in a cold metal corridor surrounded by alarms, blinking red lights, and soldiers shouting over comms.
"W–what the hell—?!" he stumbled back, hitting the wall. "Is this… a movie set? No, impossible—this feels too real."
The air reeked of ozone and engine oil.
He looked around, heart racing.
"Okay, okay, calm down, Miyuki," he muttered, clutching his chest. "Think logically. Situation analysis: Unknown location, uniformed personnel, no immediate hostility. But—why do I understand their language?!"
He looked down.
His uniform had changed — Federation blue, officer-class trim.
A name tag read: Lt. Miyuki Shirogane.
His eyes twitched.
"I've skipped so many steps in life!"
Before he could scream, a technician ran past him, dropping a clipboard. "Lieutenant! Admiral Revil's request is waiting! Move, sir!"
"R-Revil?! As in—wait, I'm a lieutenant?!"
Shirogane tried to keep up, stumbling after the man. "Hold on, I just got here—someone explain what's going on!"
But the technician was already gone.
Left alone, Miyuki leaned on the wall, exhaling shakily.
"Okay… deep breaths. I don't know how I got here, but… if I panic, I'll lose control. People are relying on me now. Even if I don't understand why."
He straightened his posture, face pale but determined.
"I'm the Student Council President of Shuchiin," he whispered to himself. "I've handled deadlines, exams, and Kaguya's mood swings.
I can handle this… whatever this is."
The system interface shimmered faintly behind him, invisible to all but Gary Lin.
> [Subject adapting under stress. 'Absolute Resolve' activated. Efficiency output: 112%.]
Back aboard his own ship, Gary smirked faintly, watching the readout.
"He's panicking and still outperforming trained officers," he muttered. "What a maniac."
Then, under his breath—
"And Kaguya's probably somewhere furious her fiancé's fighting a war he didn't sign up for."
The fleet engines thundered as Solomon's distant lights flickered on the horizon.
Among the thousands of soldiers preparing for battle, one high schooler was adjusting his borrowed collar and muttering equations under his breath, trying to calculate how not to die.
The system blinked one last message in Gary's vision.
> [Slice of Life summon synchronization complete. All entities active.]
Gary exhaled, leaning back.
"That's all three…for slice of life" he murmured. "Let's hope they survive long enough to make this worth it."
groaning under the weight of war. Hundreds of ships trailed across the black, engines dim, banners muted, every soldier aboard aware that Solomon waited ahead — the fortress of Zeon, the heart of the storm.
Inside one of the rear logistic carriers, Gary Lin sat slouched in his pilot seat, half-awake, eyes flicking between fuel readouts and an empty mug of cold coffee. The vibration of the ship's drive core hummed in his bones. Around him, everything smelled of recycled air, sweat, and exhaustion.
He rubbed his temple, muttering to himself. "We're marching to hell, and the map's written in smoke."
No one answered. Not his crew, not the Federation radio, not even the endless stars.
Only one voice ever did — the voice in his head, crisp, calm, machine-perfect.
> [One Sci-Fi Summon Remaining.]
Gary stared at the text floating over his console. The past three summons — Oreki, Isagi, Shirogane — had each rewritten the board in quiet, unpredictable ways. Revil's strategies felt sharper, cadets fought like wolves, and the fleet's coordination had become unnervingly precise.
The world adjusted to his interference like water to a stone dropped into it — smooth, inevitable, dangerous.
He exhaled through his nose. "Alright. Let's make another mistake."
The cockpit darkened, monitors flickering to blue. Lines of digital light spiraled outward, converging around him in a pulse that matched his heartbeat.
> "Special Summon: Sci-Fi Unit. Confirm execution?"
Gary yawned, not impressed by the theatrics. "Yeah, yeah. Just… drop her somewhere that won't explode the ship."
> "Acknowledged. Aligning temporal node. Adjusting dimensional bridge…"
The lights pulsed brighter, then folded inward like a collapsing star. The noise stopped. The glow vanished. The cockpit was quiet again — just Gary, the hum of the ship, and his own uneasy heartbeat.
> "Summon complete," the system whispered. "Designation: Samus Aran. Integration point — Luna II Research Sector 09."
Gary frowned. "Luna II? That's not even near the front line."
> "The battlefield," said the system, "will come to her."
He didn't like that answer.
---
On Luna II, alarms shattered the quiet of a deep-space research hangar. Scientists shouted over each other as the containment field ruptured, throwing arcs of static through the air.
A sphere of white light bloomed above the reinforced deck, and from its center, a figure descended — a woman encased in radiant armor, gold and crimson reflecting the sterile laboratory lights. Steam hissed from the floor beneath her boots. The air temperature plummeted.
Security forces rushed in, weapons drawn. The woman didn't move. Her visor glowed faint blue as she scanned them, silent and steady.
"She's… she's not in the registry," one of the engineers stammered. "Not Federation, not Zeon— hell, not human."
Another scientist typed furiously, only to freeze when the computer filled its own fields:
> Model: SA-00
Codename: Samus Aran
Classification: Federation Combat Operative (Unassigned)
Origin: [Restricted]
No one had entered those words. They simply appeared.
"She's writing herself into the system," a technician whispered.
Samus turned her head slightly, as if she'd heard him. The motion was small, but it carried weight — the quiet power of something that belonged to no timeline, no origin, and no limit.
Her voice came through the helmet's speaker, low and modulated.
"Mission parameters… incomplete."
Then, she walked past them.
---
Hours later, the Federation command network was alive with encrypted messages.
The Luna II scientists sent their first report in disbelief:
> Subject SA-00 active. Power output surpasses all known mobile suit records. Neural latency near zero. Recommend immediate integration — designation "Metroid Protocol."
The high command's reply was short:
> Approved.
The whisper spread through the ranks faster than any official announcement — of a golden ghost in Federation colors, a woman-machine hybrid whose weapon could pierce Minovsky interference.
No one knew her origin. No one dared to ask.
---
Gary Lin didn't hear about any of that. Not yet. He sat in his cockpit, half-asleep, the system's gentle chime breaking the silence.
> "Summon successful. Integration stable."
He sighed. "Stable, huh. Until she decides to shoot us all, probably."
> "Her existence," said the system, "ensures balance. Zeon pursues evolution — the Federation now pursues augmentation."
Gary smirked faintly. "So, we're countering Newtypes with cyborgs. Great. That's gonna end well."
> "Balance requires sacrifice," the voice replied.
"Yeah," Gary muttered, "and I'm always the one cleaning it up."
Outside the viewport, Solomon glimmered faintly in the distance — a fortress waiting for its storm.
---
Back on Luna II, the storm had already found its spark.
Samus Aran stood at the edge of the lunar hangar bay, her visor reflecting the dark expanse of space.
Technicians whispered behind her, unsure whether she was a weapon, a woman, or a warning.
"Target confirmed," she said quietly, eyes fixed on the far light of Solomon. "War zone ahead."
Her thrusters ignited with a burst of blue fire, and in the next instant, she was gone — cutting through the void like a meteor, heading straight toward the front.
---
Gary Lin didn't see it. He only felt the faint tremor in the ship's hull, as if the universe had just shifted by a fraction. He didn't know why he smiled then — maybe it was nerves, or fatigue, or something deeper.
He muttered under his breath, "System… what the hell am I turning this world into?"
The system's answer came softly, almost kind.
> "A world that no longer knows what counts as human."
And the fleet kept marching on toward Solomon — unaware that somewhere between stars, a new legend had already taken flight.