Aftermath

Our missions had always been divided into two parts. One was fighting the Abyss, Fallen Apostles, or the end of the world to the bitter end; the other was figuring out how to deal with the aftermath of every disaster. Most of the time, once we reached the cleanup stage, I wanted nothing more than to rush back out and fight the Abyss, Fallen Apostles, or the end of the world again...

Like now.

"So after the initial count, the number of drifters and their descendants we can resettle has reached an encouraging... ten percent, right?"

I raised my head from the reports covering the entire desk and felt my jaw trembling.

The Time-Space Administration special inspector standing before the desk looked as if he was about to cry. "We did our best."

Please do not speak in that tone like a rescue attempt had failed. If possible, please try a little harder! Otherwise, the one who needs emergency treatment will be your boss, me!

After the grand campaign shamelessly named the World Liberation War ended, resettling the drifters stranded in this world and their descendants became our most urgent task. The ideal and most straightforward solution was naturally to send everyone back where they came from, let them return home to get married if they needed to get married and see their wives if they needed to see their wives. But the results of the survey shocked everyone: the population that could be repatriated like that was unbelievably small!

Most drifters who could be directly repatriated belonged to the "New Races" that had entered this universe within the last fifty years. Their first generation was mostly still alive, though already in their twilight years. These elderly people who longed for their homeland were quite willing to return home, and