Nozomi loved humanity and the mission given to her.
She loved her mother.
These statements had little to do with each other, of course.
(Contains spoilers for the first 100 days, and implied spoilers for Second Scenario).
Nozomi Kirifuji loved her mother.
She loved her mother so, so much.
Her face flushed with the warmth of her love as her mother stabbed needles into her, injecting and taking and analyzing and shaping and recreating. She consumed forbidden book after banned story that her mother gifted her. About the outside world, about the flora, fauna, nature, weather, biomes, cultures, histories.
Some of them came with bloody endings. But those beautiful pockets, those gentle twinkling reminders of the love in other’s hearts—she adored those parts of humanity the most.
Most of all, she adored the stars.
She wished she could spend night after night, telescope in hand, gazing at what the stars held. The pictures did nothing to satiate the deep, burning desire she had to cup each light in her hands, map out their connections, and chart a path of her own through their celestial beauty.
When she went to school, she’d came in armed with all the stories her mother shared of the outside world. She’d talk about the stars, about the weather: rain, mist, sun, snow.
When she came home drenched in water from a dirty mop bucket, a peer’s mocking attempt at recreating the weather she loved so much, she learned what not to share with others.
Nozomi had so many dreams, hopes, passions sealed within her heart. Sometimes she found herself speaking to a window, as if expecting someone to be listening on the other side of the glass. She didn’t know why, but she always felt disappointed no one responded.
Someone should be there, right?
Then her head hurt, then everything fogged over, then she forgot again.
When the experiments stopped, Nozomi accepted it as her fault. When her mother committed suicide after having her life’s work torn from her, Nozomi resolved to join her one day.
“I’ll be back, mom!”
Nozomi smiled at a photo of her with her mother on the table set right by the door. Out of consideration for her loss, her relatives paid the rent for the apartment she lived in until she finished high school. She still had no plans for the future beyond occupations which no longer existed in the TRC, but she held some interest in medical research. She could follow in her mother’s footsteps—
No.
She had to.
She headed out the door, and on her way to school. The closer she treaded to campus, the more classmates she spotted.
They all seemed so happy to be around one another. To talk, to share in little life events and happy stories about how they spent their weekend. Going to karaoke, finding a cute new trendy cafe…
Sometimes, Nozomi wished she could reach out and make herself a part of that.
But she couldn’t.
Not until—
Nozomi made it to class.
As usual, she finished her homework early and her immaculate note-taking helped her through the coursework today. As soon as the final bell rung, she jumped out of her seat and hurried to the school library.
Many considered the school she went to as one of the best in the Tokyo Residential Complex. A private academy known for its high achievers and difficult entrance exam, Nozomi spent weeks studying and subsiding off her neighbor’s rolled eggs to get in.
But, to be honest, she cared little for the advantages it gave her. She only wanted to go because of their library.
The school co-owned the library with a prestigious university, which contained a number of books difficult or impossible for the public to access due to the information contained. A woman who worked the desk on certain days named Mari Arino, though, was a friend of Nozomi’s mother, and out of sympathy occasionally let the young girl ‘borrow’ select books she normally couldn’t give out to anyone other than select individuals.
That day, Ms. Arino organized some papers at the front desk, and Nozomi smiled as she plodded up to the counter, glanced back and forth, and faced the woman with expectant eyes.
Some begging later, she obtained a book she wanted to read for ages and ran home. Though “read” may have been a bit of a stretch.
Instead, she studied, waited, drew until the lights turned off, and the city plunged into “night”. She used a thin paper to sketch her fake stars onto, so thin that when she held it up, the little glow-in-the-dark paint splotches she’d splattered on lit up and made a night sky all their own.
A sky she always wanted to see the way the old world saw it. She wanted to live on Earth’s surface, everyone safe and happy as she traveled out to the countryside with her mother, as they found a remote place in the woods where they’d see every color and gleaming light the galaxy had to offer its beloved residents.
Nozomi re-created this sky from the book only she got to see.
From the world, it seemed, only she cared for.
She folded the drawing and held it to her chest, if only to protect it from the tears streaming down her face.
What did she do wrong? How did she fail, even after she tried so hard? She could’ve brought the stars back to her mom before it was too late if she’d listened better, if she improved her results, if she managed to meet any of the metrics set for her.
If she managed to channel a miracle—a tall ask for a child, but Nozomi truly believed she could’ve done it if she tried harder.
Perhaps this was her punishment. A lonely life, with naught but fake stars and broken promises to haunt her.
Nozomi wished.
She wished upon a fake star.
If she somehow managed to earn a second chance, another path towards making things right and fulfilling the dream her mother clung to with such conviction, Nozomi would take it, and she’d never look back on the scraps of her life left behind. Perhaps, if she succeeded, she’d finally earn the right to live it.
Nozomi snuck into Kamakura Hospital on a mission.
She’d had it stuck in her mind for ages—the details of her mother’s project, her mission, and why those in charge tore it away from her. Or at the least, vague ideas regarding why they did so. Nozomi learned all she could during her scant trips into the depths of the facility, beyond what the public saw into every grimy corner.
But now she’d find the truth.
She’d see it all, with her own eyes, what her mother died for.
Rule one to infiltration: act with confidence. Over the years, Nozomi learned to read what adults wanted from her, what provided them comfort and assurance, respect, trust. A smile, a wave, a ‘It’s been a while, hasn’t it?’ and other safe topics before she slipped right along.
People liked nice, friendly girls. It was all Nozomi knew how to be. Really.
Maybe there was nothing nice or friendly about lying and sneaking about, but when it came to her mother, Nozomi would do anything to prove her work hadn’t been for nothing (even if she’d given up, even if she’d altered her daughter forever leaving the young girl to pick up the pieces even if even if) and that the mission put before Nozomi, oh so important, remained within her grasp.
The mission, right?
Nozomi thought about it. Held it to her heart with pride. But in those shadowed corners of her mind, she wondered when she imagined her dreams coming true, how much weight they held without anyone to love her for it.
A higher purpose, an honor! She loved humanity! She’d fight for them!
Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe she had nothing other than one deep connection dyed with love, anger, and emptiness.
Though to admit that would be to admit to a mask of loneliness, and however pathetic it sounded, Nozomi felt content leaving the thought to lie alone until it died.
The darkened hallways swirled.
She’d wandered into a part of the hospital she’d never been in before, the atmosphere alone choking her out with its intensity. Its desire to be protected from prying eyes.
Nozomi steeled herself and continued. Light shone from under a door, and various shadows moved about the fragment of light. She held her breath and listened, for the whispers, for the hushed secrets.
“Are the pods stable? How about SIREI?”
“He’s programmed with his instructions. Before the subjects awaken, he’ll guide the situation accordingly.”
“Are we sure they’ll fight, though…?”
“It’s either fight, or die. Every living being has a survival instinct. Even if they get ambushed right away, they’ll have plenty incentive.”
“I suppose—we’ve poured so much into the Special Defense Unit. All we can do now is hope.”
“Mhm. All right, let’s go check on the deployment process. Then we’ll bring them to the ship and begin take off.”
Nozomi’s breath hitched. The two voices walked to the door and opened it, Nozomi running and hiding behind a corner before they caught wind of her. As the scientists left, the door swung closed, and she lunged to catch her foot in it before it shut fully.
She slipped in, taking in the almost surreal sight of walls full of complex, beeping machines, odd pods built like beds, and the still bodies within them.
Boys and girls who seemed to be roughly around Nozomi’s age slept within them, with all kinds of styles and presentations. Her peers nonetheless. Nozomi’s head spun as she took it all in—her world swerved to and fro.
Back, and forth, and back again…
She lurched and put a hand on a pod for balance. It contained a boy in a plain hoodie too big for him and a streak in his hair, and she put a hand over her mouth.
This wasn’t normal—of course she’d figured there must’ve been some replacement for her mother’s project, but why did seeing them with her own eyes bring about such nausea? Her head pounded. Her ears ached, and only when she sat down and heaved a few times did she contain herself.
Whoever those people were, they planned to deploy these people now. The Special Defense Unit she’d heard bits about.
Nozomi tried to ignore the pulsing, complicated feelings in her. Of course she didn’t hate strangers for accomplishing what she failed to do. Of course she didn’t resent them for succeeding, her mother putting her failure above her daughter, above their mission.
Of course. Nozomi was nice, wasn’t she?
And she…
She had something to prove, too. Maybe not just to humanity like she told herself, but to a dead, cold body.
Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a single unoccupied pod. The metal plate above it held words long since blotted out with tape.
Nozomi Kirifuji loved her mother.
She loved her mother so, so much.
More than the mission? More than herself? She loved many things more than herself, and she’d come to love more and more. That very love which tore her apart seam from seam drove her to dive into the empty pod and cover herself with a sheet, hoping if she died fighting for a goal always out of reach, that she’d at least join the stars she so badly wanted to see.
Maybe her mother would be there.