Valenti continued, "So only Quicksilver Needles in a state of 'Bullet Time' can stand against monsters like Chelated Beings—from the data, a Chelation Disease patient's strength rapidly rose to ten to sixty times its original level after an episode and remained that way for one to two weeks.
"Think about it: an adult could lift at most around 50 to 75 kilograms, but a Chelated Being—especially one transformed from a healthy adult—could easily lift anything under four tons. An ordinary person needed twelve to sixteen seconds to cross a hundred-meter track, but for a Chelated Being, that was no more than an instant—how could ordinary people possibly fend off an enemy like that?
"Humanity needs Quicksilver Needles. At the very least, it lets the two sides fight on more equal footing." Valenti spoke gently. "That is why we exist."
Hesta thought seriously for a while. "How long does a Quicksilver Needle's 'Bullet Time' have to last before they meet the standard for the battlefield?"
"Four hours," Valenti answered. "There is strict timekeeping during operations, and everyone rotates tactics constantly to ensure each Quicksilver Needle's safety as much as possible."
Hesta finally understood. "Then do you know how long Miss Chiba's Bullet Time lasts?"
"Haha, of course. Almost everyone here knows."
Hesta looked at Valenti curiously.
"Seventy-six hours and forty-three minutes," Valenti replied. "In that regard, Masaki is a legend."
As they spoke, Valenti led her to a stop before the door to Room 403.
Valenti handed Hesta a keycard. "This is your dormitory. Swipe yourself in."
Hesta held the card near the scanner beside the handle. After a clunk like interlocking gears, the door sprang inward. Hesta pushed it open and stepped inside. The gray floor appeared to be made of some kind of hard resin, and the rubber soles of her shoes made an unpleasant sticky sound against it.
The living room looked to be around twenty-four or twenty-five square meters. A large window roughly two meters tall occupied the wall directly opposite the entrance. Outside, the sun was already setting. The south side of the room lay in the shadows of the evening light, but beyond the window, more than a dozen enormous plane trees swayed their newly budding crowns in the shifting light and breeze. There were no tall buildings in the distance, and she could see the horizon where the woods met the sky at a glance.
A large rectangular white table stood in the middle of the living room. Books, a pen holder, and little objects whose purpose Hesta could not guess were scattered along its edges. Several mirrors propped against the corners of the table leaned precariously, as though they might fall and shatter at any moment.
As she passed them, Hesta reached out and nudged the mirrors farther inward.
Beneath the window stood a long, old fabric sofa. Supporting herself on its backrest, Hesta knelt on the cushions and gently pushed open the window.
The evening breeze before nightfall carried a trace of chill, but the oil-painting-like view before her briefly soothed her anxiety and sorrow.
To her right was a protruding balcony converted into an open kitchen. Cheese, ham, cucumbers, and cherry tomatoes had likewise been tossed messily onto the cutting board, while several sauce-stained bowls and plates were piled in the sink beside it.
Hesta turned back. "Will I be living here from now on?"
"Yes. Someone will bring your basic luggage later," Valenti said.
Hesta looked away. There were five doors beside her, but only three bore nameplates. Paper posters were pasted on two of them: one showed a rock band, while the other depicted an elderly man bent over a desk, writing.
"Your room is the one by the window, on the west side."
Following Valenti's gesture, Hesta gently pushed open the door to her single room.
The furnishings inside were very simple: a bed, a wardrobe, a wall cabinet, and another south-facing window. Beyond it stood the same row of more than a dozen plane trees.
"If you need anything else, just email Mr. Weir in logistics. He'll do his best to meet your daily needs."
Valenti placed a sheet detailing the residence rules on Hesta's bed.
"Besides that, we've already sent your basic information to Miss Fletcher, who lives next door. She'll officially transfer positions in the second half of the year. During this time, she'll help you get familiar with daily training life. Do you have any other questions, Miss Hesta?"
"...You can call me Jane." Hesta lowered her eyes. "I do have a question... If my Bullet Time doesn't exceed four hours, what can I do?"
"Oh, there are plenty of things you can do." Valenti smiled and pointed to herself. "For example, you could do clerical work within the base like me, or become an accompanying team doctor—but those are things you won't need to consider until after you turn fourteen."
Hesta wanted to ask for more details, but Valenti's phone rang. She answered it, waved to Hesta, and walked out of the room.
Golden sunset reflected in her eyes. With her uninjured left hand, she picked up the "Residence Guidelines" Valenti had left behind, read it briefly, then tossed it aside.
In the twilight, Hesta was the only one left in the small single room. She slowly sat down on the soft bed and gently stroked the quilt beneath her.
At eleven that night, Valenti finally finished organizing this season's data documents in her office. Working hours like hers were uncommon in District 3, but rather than making steady progress bit by bit every day, Valenti preferred setting aside an uninterrupted block of time and finishing everything at once.
As she was about to shut down her computer and leave work, she noticed a new email in her inbox. It was from Mr. Weir in logistics, listing all the new items the Quicksilver Needle recruits had requested from logistics as of that day.
Logistics shared this information with the Psychological Support Center where Valenti worked.
Normally, during their first half-year at the training base, recruits rarely made material requests.
On one hand, AHgAs provided extremely thorough daily necessities, enough to cover nearly every detail of life. On the other, most of the children had only recently survived horrific accidents and remained in a state of extreme anxiety and unease, with no attention to spare for anything else.
Only once they gradually integrated into life here and developed a measure of trust in AHgAs would they ask to purchase little things beyond basic necessities. This behavior, along with the items themselves, was information Valenti and her colleagues needed to watch closely in their daily work. It also served as a basis for assessing the recruits' mental states.
As usual, Valenti scanned everyone's shopping lists line by line. However, when she scrolled to the bottom of the item table, she let out a soft sound of surprise.
Jane Hesta's name was written in the final entry—she had submitted a request on her very first day.
Jane Hesta's Request Email
Hello, Mr. Weir,
This is Lavette from the student apartments. Since new trainee Jane Hesta does not know how to send emails, I am writing her first logistics request on her behalf.
Miss Hesta needs a small cast-iron chair, preferably dark green; a semicircular side table made of natural wood, the kind suitable for placing beneath a windowsill; a double-sided jacquard rug large enough to hold both the side table and cast-iron chair, preferably white with green patterns, either semicircular or square; some wire; red, green, and black cardstock; and a bell jar with a wooden base suitable for placing on the side table. Thank you.
Lavette
Wishing you well.
Before you continue