The opening of Voices of a Distant Star caught Shota completely off guard. It wasn't anything like the fantasy he'd built up- no immediate brawling, no mecha blowing things up in space. Instead, it was hazy, almost ethereal, as if the story refused to explain itself… and demanded that you simply follow along.
And before he could even think about changing the channel, the sheer beauty of the visuals and the force of the opening theme- "Sorrow of Departure"- had already seized his attention with a grip he couldn't ignore.
The scene shifted, and the protagonist, Noboru, appeared. The narrative rewound to introduce the two of them back in middle school, in that phase where everything feels enormous: the school, the choices, the future, the first feeling you don't even know how to name yet.
July, 2046.
Noboru was the kind of kid with effortless energy- a bright grin, that spark of someone who still believes life will work out simply because he wants it to. Mikako beside him was vivid and beautiful, but there was something in the way she watched the world that made it feel like she already knew too much. A handful of shots was enough to hang that sweet adolescent tension in the air: the shyness, the closeness, the sense that one more touch would change everything.
At the curve of the school staircase, they bumped into each other talking about their high school entrance exam scores.
"So… we're getting into the same school?" Noboru asked, trying to sound casual, but letting hope slip through.
"Of course we are!" Mikako answered, her voice lifting with excitement, her face lit by anticipation.
But the next cut held on her gaze a heartbeat longer than it should have- and that joy seemed to slide away, as if behind her answer there was a farewell she didn't yet have the courage to say.
Shota frowned.
He'd seen the PV. He knew Mikako would go to space with the human fleet, leaving the planet to fight the invaders. And here the anime was, right at the start, planting a promise like a flag in the ground: We'll go to the same school.
A promise like that in this kind of story only existed for one reason:
To break your heart.
He barely had time to finish the thought before the scale changed- an abrupt zoom that felt like the world itself was being pulled backward. A wide shot swallowed the screen, and Shota was swallowed with it: a colossal ship rising from the ground.
The space cruiser Lysithea ascended with impossible majesty, punching through clouds and heading into the void. Around it, black mecha units wheeled in formation, escorting the vessel like shadows made of steel. Thrusters carved bright streaks through the sky, and the machines moved with quick, elegant maneuvers- too beautiful to feel purely "technical."
"...That's gorgeous."
Shota's heart kicked harder, and the first thought that surfaced was ridiculous and inevitable: That would make an amazing figure. If they released one… he'd buy it.
In the episode, Mikako and Noboru talked about the ship and about how the city had opened public selection to recruit people capable of reinforcing the fleet. For Noboru, it sounded distant, almost like trivia. He spoke lightly because he'd already accepted the obvious: he was just an ordinary kid, not someone the Lysithea would ever choose.
But Noboru couldn't pretend the same way. As she watched the ship climb, her eyes trembled with something that didn't match the conversation- anxiety, urgency, fear… as if the future were accelerating and she couldn't keep up.
Later, at dusk, Noboru walked his bike along the street. Mikako kept pace beside him, hands clasped behind her back, her whole body carrying the quiet weight of someone who wants to say something but can't find the right moment. Noboru talked about everything- the sky, the stars, adventure, the universe- as if it were all an invitation.
Maybe he was happy not because of space… but because she was there.
"That ship's leaving the solar system, right?" he said, thrilled by the idea of the impossible.
"Mm-hm." Mikako answered without lifting her head.
"They say it's to chase the aliens that attacked Mars."
"Mm-hm…"
"You… don't you think that's incredible?" Noboru asked, finally noticing the sadness in her voice.
"It's not that…" Mikako hesitated, as if chewing through her own chest. "It's just… a little… it's…"
That was enough.
Shota already knew.
She'd been chosen.
And it wasn't that she didn't want to go- going meant leaving him.
What surprised Shota was how much it hurt him, too. He'd turned on the TV expecting adrenaline, and suddenly he was trapped in a story about adolescent feelings- so delicate, so carefully handled, it was hard to escape. The blend of art and music made it far too beautiful to dismiss as "just drama."
Without realizing it, he started assembling an ending in his head, trying to soothe himself.
"Okay. She goes with the Lysithea, they win quickly inside the solar system, she comes back to Earth and reunites with Noboru… and then they go to the same school and everything's fine."
Simple. Comforting. For a few seconds, he almost believed it.
The bustling city. The two of them running for cover from a sudden downpour. Light splitting the clouds open like a seam. And then the setting narrowed into something small and intimate: a neighborhood konbini, the glass door fogged, the street outside wrapped in a thin curtain of rain.
Sheltered from the weather, they began to play at the future. They talked about high school, clubs, what life would be like- like imagining it together was enough to make it real.
It was so sweet Shota forgot entirely that he'd wanted "fight scenes." He was smiling to himself, that stupid, helpless look you get when you watch two teenagers edging closer and you start rooting like it's the most important thing in the world.
Then the cut came.
The sky tore open, and seven mecha pierced the clouds like blades- the same image from the PV, but now weighted with meaning. And down below, perched on the bicycle, Mikako leaned toward Noboru's ear and whispered, with a trembling gentleness that sounded like an apology before it could even be understood:
"Noboru… I'm going to pilot one of those…"
The line burst the warm little bubble in an instant.
Because "pilot one of those" could only mean one thing: she'd been chosen. She would leave with the Lysithea- outward, to other worlds in the solar system, to hunt the invaders. And it meant the high school promise- the clubs, the routine, the "normal" life- was already breaking before it could even begin.
Shota felt his chest tighten, like he'd been snagged on a splinter.
And he hated having to admit it, but he was sad.
"Relax… stories are like that. Ups and downs," he tried to convince himself. "She'll only be gone for a while. It's still inside the solar system. Maybe she comes back in a month, and then it's fine- she can still start school with him."
But without noticing, his focus had already shifted completely. He wasn't watching to see whether the fights looked good anymore. He was watching to see whether the two of them would survive the distance- and what distance does to people.
The anime had built it patiently: every shot, every pause, every promise planted with care… all of it laying the foundation for what came next.
And Shota fell all the way into the story.
…
April, 2047 - Mars.
The words appeared onscreen, and for a moment he almost lost control of his expression.
The last timestamp had been July 2046, right after the entrance exam. Now it was April of the following year, and Noboru was on Mars, training in combat with her mecha.
Nine months.
Nine months apart.
Which meant the promise of "going to the same school" had already been broken. No appeals.
"Okay… high school is three years," Shota breathed, clinging to anything he could. "If she comes back before the final year, you can still say… well. It still counts."
But as he watched the training sequences- the black mecha slicing across the Martian sky, the impact of each movement, the choreography heavy with force- his mind was already somewhere else.
Nine months without seeing each other.
That wasn't long-distance anymore. That was planetary distance.
One on Earth. One on Mars.
Could something so fragile and precious- an adolescent feeling you barely dared to touch- endure time? Endure absence? Noboru surrounded by new people, living a life Mikako couldn't reach… would he keep waiting? Or would he move on?
The moment Shota started asking those questions, he'd already stepped into the trap the story wanted.
Because what Voices of a Distant Star tested wasn't only courage in battle. It was a crueler question:
If two people love each other, but they're separated by a distance you couldn't cross even if you spent your whole life walking… can that feeling survive?
Mars was portrayed like a cold, beautiful dream. Meteor belts. Dust-light clouds. A sky bending in iridescent colors under alien light… and above it all, Mikako's black mecha- elegant and solitary, like a work of art in motion.
Shota didn't blink. His hand curled into a fist without him noticing.
Mikako's narration returned- and Shota realized it wasn't just stray thoughts.
They were messages.
Text messages.
Her only way of reaching Noboru.
She wrote in a light, almost cheerful tone, describing daily life and painting landscapes with words as if she could turn longing into a travelogue: craters on Mars, storms on distant planets, views so vast they felt like miracles. The sequence kept shifting settings, every frame more beautiful than the last, as if the entire universe were being shown to someone who couldn't be there.
And then, after a journey too long to fit inside a human mind, the signal finally arrived.
On Earth, Noboru's phone vibrated.
He jolted awake like he'd felt the call in his bones, and stared at the message the way you hold a treasure that might crumble if you squeeze too hard.
Shota felt his eyes sting. His throat scraped, and he held his breath so he wouldn't give himself away to anyone- as if anyone there could see him.
"...This is… heavy."
Their distance wasn't only space.
It was time.
Near Pluto, Mikako sent another message, so honest it sounded almost like a prayer.
"Noboru… if we never find these aliens… then it would be better to just go back to Earth."
And like every flag planted in hope, the answer came swift and cruel.
Alien signals appeared near Pluto, and the attack on the human fleet was immediate. Combat erupted across the screen: mecha against huge, viscous creatures, missiles tracking targets in thick trails, thrusters carving white scars through the void- until, at last, a blow from an energy blade cleaved the darkness with brutal, breathtaking beauty.
It lasted only seconds- less than a minute- and Shota barely breathed. His mouth fell open, blood rushing, chest burning.
Sadness became adrenaline.
"Go! Tear them apart!" he blurted, too loud, unable to stop himself. "Mikako, finish those things off and go back to Earth! Go back and keep your promise with Noboru!"
But reality returned with its usual coldness.
Caught off guard, the human fleet had no choice. To escape, they activated an interstellar jump- displacing to an unknown region a full light-year away.
And that was when Shota understood the horror hidden in the scene.
After taking down the enemy directly ahead of her, Mikako received the order to return immediately: the jump would occur in seconds. Still maneuvering in combat, still trying to rejoin formation, she reached for her communicator in desperation, as if she had to say something- anything.
Shota frowned on instinct.
"Why now? In the middle of a fight, you're really going to text the guy…?"
Then it hit him.
A light-year.
Her message traveled as electromagnetic waves.
Light.
Signal.
A light-year meant a full year just for the signal to arrive.
If she didn't send that message before the jump- and the fleet truly leapt that far- then anything she tried to send afterward would reach Noboru on Earth no sooner than…
a year later.
A year to receive a single text.
A relationship cut not only by planets, but by time.
And when that idea settled into Shota's mind, the unanswered question became even crueler for it:
Who… could keep love alive like that?