"Achoo!"
At the military base on the Death Coast, Mosquito, standing beside a warehouse, suddenly sneezed without warning. Sniffling, he muttered under his breath.
"Fuck, who's got a crush on me behind my back now..."
Hearing that sneeze, the ratfolk underling beside him hurriedly took off his own coat and attentively draped it over Mosquito's shoulders.
Though he was not cold in the slightest, Mosquito appreciated the gesture.
Honestly, although he had not spoken highly of this lackey he had taken on when talking to Fang Chang, that was mostly just talk.
It was probably like fathers complaining to other fathers about how useless their own sons were. Naturally, such words could not be taken seriously.
To be fair, the guy was a little timid, looked a little sleazy, lacked spirit, and especially lacked the spirit of an ace pilot, but he did have quite a few merits.
For example, he knew how to read the room and how to handle people.
While there was no hope of having someone like him inherit his legacy, he would make a decent candidate to train as the CEO or CSO of Goblin Technology.
In short, everyone had their use!
Thinking that, Mosquito's urge to show off flared up again, and he beckoned.
"Jerry, come here."
He had casually made up that name at the ratman's own request.
According to the man himself, it was to cast off the mark that the Boro Province had left on him, better integrate into The Alliance's society, and avoid entering the cycle of a thousand races and a thousand gods ever again.
Although Mosquito himself was an atheist and did not believe any of that, he had still granted his underling's request. After all, he hoped the guy could live like a proper person.
The survivors