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September 5th marked Marlstān Remembrance Day for the end of the war.
The conflict was over, and governance under the new government had begun. It was the dawn of a new era of peace.

Of course, public order would not recover overnight, and it would take many years to restore the battered infrastructure and devastated industries. The lives lost would never return.
Now began a new battle called reconstruction. Relying on foreign companies would make things easier, allowing access to both tangible and intangible forms of aid, but at the same time there was the risk that foreign capital might take too deep a root and siphon national interests abroad in the long run.
On the other hand, if they tried to manage reconstruction solely on their own, it would take an awfully long time.
A difficult problem.

This wasn’t something that could be brute-forced with psychokinesis, and I myself had no intention of running around for years for Marlstān’s sake. The people of Marlstān would have to take the time to solve it with their own hands.
Still, wouldn’t it be a little exciting if, in the shadows of that reconstruction, there were whispers like: “Apparently espers are fighting against threats to the nation,” or “There’s a secret organization battling the World Shadow in secret”?

After the battle in the Sanctuary, Medu-chan was brought back to the hideout by her comrades.
It was half a day later that Hishām, having finished the declaration of the new government’s establishment, came to visit the hideout. Talks were held, and it was decided that Medu would become Hishām’s adopted daughter. As for the other members of the Liberation Front, each would be placed with foster parents once suitable ones were found.

Hishām never tried to force the matter. He never rushed them.
He said the Arinātaya Liberation Front didn’t need to disband, that they could continue living in the hideout as they always had, and even offered to arrange for the land rights to be made official.
But when he bowed deeply and said with all sincerity, “I want children to grow up under the care of parents. Please grant this selfish wish of us adults,” everyone was moved and nodded in agreement.

He was such a proper adult, I felt ashamed of myself listening to him from afar.
Watching him, I couldn’t help but think that perhaps even without my interference, the conflict would have come to an end before long.

When leaving the hideout, Hishām expressed his thanks to me, though I wasn’t sure what for.
Maybe he’d realized I was the one who’d dispatched the Japan-made former-terrorists. Maybe he was referring to the brief time I’d looked after Medu and the other children of the Liberation Front. Or maybe—even the sleeping pills.

The final decisive battle for Marlstān’s liberation (between the revolutionary organization and the military regime) ended with hardly any real fighting.
Apparently, someone had laced every bit of food under military control with sleeping drugs, and the soldiers, having dozed off, were bound one after another, leaving the regime headquarters captured without bloodshed.
It was believed to be the work of insiders, but the scale was far too large for just a few. Its strangeness gave rise to rumors that espers had been involved, but the veracity was never clear.

If such an esper really did exist, I’d love to scout him. Surely he’d be a man worthy of being the boss of a secret organization.

And so, the commotion surrounding the small Middle Eastern nation of Marlstān settled where it ought to.
The road ahead was endless hardship. Yet with small joys, hopes, and bonds in their hearts, they would continue forward—

Edward Marrington was a graduate student in the medical department of Marineland National University. He had a background in engineering, having transferred from that faculty, and was well-versed in machinery.
Because of that, Edward had been tasked with researching a medical device recently gifted by the small Middle Eastern country of Marlstān. For Marineland, which placed great emphasis on medicine, it could become a major breakthrough.

Marlstān’s conflict had ended just one month ago. Following the first postwar elections, the leader of the revolutionary organization had become prime minister.
Soon after the end of the war, Her Highness the Duchess of the Serene Principality declared friendship with Marlstān, which had stirred interest across Marineland.
The device Edward was handling was that Marlstān-made medical machine.

At first glance, it looked like a telescope. But when dismantled, the inside was made up of intricate precision parts, with many oddly shaped, unfamiliar components whose purpose was unclear. The only thing he could determine was that it apparently ran on liquid fuel. The supplied fuel, including spares, came with an expiration date of three months.

Judging from the machining precision, it was hard to believe that a small country that had endured five years of conflict could have produced it. Either they had imported machine tools along with technicians, or else it was actually foreign-made, merely disguised as Marlstān’s.

As for its performance—it was nothing short of revolutionary.
Just one second of exposure to a patient, and it induced perfect general anesthesia.
The anesthesia would never wear off until twelve hours had passed, and it carried no side effects or physical burden whatsoever. The fact that the device was rigorously safeguarded to prevent exposure for more than one second stirred a bit of unease, but the performance was outstanding.
That such a highly advanced and peaceful instrument would come from a war-torn country was astonishing.

If mass-produced, it would undoubtedly revolutionize the medical industry.
What Edward was required to do was uncover its principles and confirm its safety. They couldn’t afford medical accidents from using a device of unknown mechanism.

After running the dismantled parts through a 3D scanner, Edward decided to take a break. The laboratory, with its air conditioning and humidity control, was comfortable, but staying indoors too long was stifling.

Leaving the lab, Edward bought a tuna sandwich, tea, and a newspaper at the campus store, then sat down on a bench in the university courtyard for an early lunch.
The newspaper’s front page carried delightful news: Her Highness Grand Duchess Ermentrude Bates had caught her first horse mackerel of the year. Edward’s lips curved in a smile. No one in Europe could rival Lady Ruu’s beauty—dressed in a gown, holding up the tail of her catch with a peace sign.
Fishing was a national pastime in Marineland, one of its main industries being fisheries, and even the ducal family enjoyed it. But Lady Ruu was notoriously bad at fishing. The fact that a single catch made headlines spoke volumes. It was endearing.

Soothed and entertained by the gentle episode, Edward turned the page—and his eyes caught on the word “Marlstān.”
It was an article reporting that the power grid in Marlstān’s capital, Arinātaya, had been restored, and telecommunication infrastructure had come back online.

Edward tilted his head.
Strange. Too fast.

Laying power lines might be feasible, but the essential power plants shouldn’t exist.
Just two weeks ago, he’d read that Marlstān’s water purification and power generation facilities had been dealt catastrophic damage, and that restoring infrastructure would take at least a year.

And then a thought struck him.
It felt a little like Marineland.

About a year ago, Marineland had drastically reduced electricity rates.
The announcement had been attributed to the completion of new power facilities—but there had been no word of any such construction, and the location of the supposed new plant remained unclear.

A sudden declaration of friendship with a distant foreign nation by Lady Ruu…
Similar power facilities…
Could it be that the ducal family was secretly concealing some classified technology capable of producing massive amounts of electricity with ease…?

His imagination ran wild.
It was as entertaining as the time he’d read a gossip piece claiming that Lady Ruu’s intelligence had declined because her overwhelming beauty was a curse.
Ever since the reality of psychic powers had been revealed a few years ago, Marineland too had experienced incidents involving rampaging stone giants. Absurd gossip and conspiracy theories could no longer be dismissed outright. The boundary between science and the occult had blurred.

Perhaps the Marlstān-made medical device he was studying was also a product of the occult.
Edward laughed at his own wandering thoughts, folded the newspaper, tossed it into the trash together with the sandwich wrapper, and returned to the laboratory.