Chapter 45: The Friction with SANA

Chapter 45: The Friction with SANA

✿———✦———✿

“I don't know how my heart manages to stay strong right now, because my focus is on becoming a researcher... exploring the universe, just as I've always loved to do.”

The following day, the Moon Tracker Team traveled to Okayama. The atmosphere was thick with a professional, clinical coldness as we entered the regional branch of the Japanese Astronomical Agency. Momiji had managed to pull strings—her family’s legacy in the agency, spearheaded by her grandfather’s former chairmanship, acted as our golden ticket. Without it, a ragtag group like ours wouldn't even have been allowed to polish the lenses of their telescopes, let alone attend a high-level seminar.

The first session was a grueling marathon of data and theories. As we filtered out of the auditorium for the midday break, the exhaustion was palpable. We had thirty minutes to refuel before the second half began.

“I need caffeine or I’m going to start seeing constellations on the floor,” Mitsuki muttered, though he still managed to adjust his collar in a nearby window reflection.

We were making our way toward the lounge when we encountered another group. They were impossible to miss. While we were dressed in a mix of casual attire and business-casual laptop-bag chic, they were a unified front. Their uniforms were charcoal grey with navy accents, sharp and tailored to perfection. On their left breasts, a silver emblem gleamed: SANA.

“SANA?” Kiriha whispered, her eyes scanning their outfits with a mix of professional critique and suspicion. “Probably an attempt to sound like NASA’s superior sibling. Look at those emblems. They’re high-grade.”

The air shifted as they approached. They didn't just walk; they occupied the hallway. At the center of their group was a girl with a sharp, mocking grin. Her name tag read Ishikori Suisei, Vice Captain.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in from the computer labs,” Suisei said, her voice dripping with a calculated, elitist venom. She stopped directly in front of us, her eyes tracing a path of judgment from our shoes to our faces. “The amateur hour has arrived. Computer Science graduates, right? Tell me, are you here to fix the Wi-Fi, or are you just here to clutter the laboratory with your lack of pedigree?”

I felt a familiar sting in my chest. She wasn't entirely wrong about our credentials, but the way she said it made my blood simmer. I was just a cafe owner who spent my nights reading cosmology papers I couldn't afford a degree in. I looked at Kazuaki, but his face remained a mask of stone—nonchalant and entirely unbothered.

“Don’t let them get to you,” Yorishiro whispered, placing a steadying hand on Momiji’s shoulder. “They’re just trying to psych us out.”

But Momiji was already vibrating with fury. “What are you staring at, Suisei?” she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. “The last time I checked, data doesn't care about the name on your diploma.”

Before Suisei could retort, the crowd of SANA members parted for their captain. Amagai Terasumi stepped forward. She had short, sensible hair and an expression that suggested she found the very air we breathed to be an inconvenience. Her gaze flickered over us, lingering for a moment on Genki—specifically on the phoenix earrings and necklace that caught the sterile hallway lights. It was as if she were assessing whether the bird of immortality belonged in such an ‘elite’ space.

“Suisei, don't waste your breath,” Terasumi said, her voice like a sheet of ice cracking.

A tall man with a ridiculous, gravity-defying hairstyle stepped out from behind Terasumi. Muneyuki Kaneshiro. He smirked as he spotted Genki and Momiji. “A nun-octor? Why aren't you in a temple or a clinic, Gen-chan? Is the medicine not paying well enough?” He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “And you lot... what do you actually know about the cosmos? Using ‘Grandpa’s’ name to sneak into a restricted seminar?”

Kaneshiro leaned in closer to Momiji. “Is that how it works? A little insider trading to pad your CV? You’re all just tourists in a world built by professionals.”

“Watch your mouth!” Konoha snapped, stepping forward despite her small stature. Momiji’s eyes flashed with a lethal intent.

Kaneshiro just chuckled, seemingly energized by our anger. “Oops, did I strike a nerve with the former chairman’s granddaughter? It must be nice to have a silver spoon to feed you all those classified coordinates.”

Mitsuki suddenly stepped forward, striking a dramatic pose despite Kiriha’s hand already reaching for his collar. “Hah! Fufufu... you dare challenge my knowledge of the celestial dance? You are nothing but flickering candles before the brilliance of the writer of destiny! You aren't even worthy of—hey! Let go!”

Kiriha dragged him back by the scruff of his neck. “Quiet, you chunibyou. You’re making it worse.”

“Shut up,” Kaneshiro sneered. “You’re all just a collection of hacks.”

Konoha had finally had enough. She lunged forward, giving Kaneshiro a sharp shove that caught him off balance. He stumbled back, his smirk faltering for a split second before transforming into a snarl. “Hey, you little brat! Watch it!”

Suisei laughed, a high, tinkling sound that grated on my nerves. “Why are you even here? A group like yours would be better suited at a gadget repair stall or a tech support desk. Have you no shame, showing up here without a single astronomical publication to your names?”

“Exactly!” Kaneshiro added, regaining his footing. “Go back to your little computer workshops and fix some tablets. That’s your real level.”

My knuckles were white from clenching my fists. It wasn't just about the research anymore; they were trying to strip away our dignity. Their grey uniforms felt like a wall, a sign of their status as an official group directly under JAXA’s direct supervision. They weren't just researchers; they were a government-sanctioned elite.

Terasumi, the captain, finally spoke again. Her voice was quiet, but it commanded absolute silence. “Enough,” she said. Each word felt like a surgical strike. “Why do you feel the need to compete with... this? It’s beneath you.”

She didn't even look at us as she turned. Her dismissal was more painful than any of Suisei’s insults. It was the absolute lack of recognition that we even existed as peers.

“Ehhh! Wait for us, Sumi-chan!” Suisei called out, scurrying after her leader.

Momiji stared after them, her chest heaving. “So arrogant... that captain... and their fake NASA fan-club.”

Kaneshiro lingered for a moment longer, casting a shadow over us. “Don't get too comfortable. Privilege only lasts as long as your grandfather’s reputation, Momiji.”

Momiji raised her fist, truly ready to swing, but Kaneshiro flinched and hurried away, his bravado disappearing the moment Terasumi was out of sight.

Throughout the entire exchange, Kazuaki had been a statue. His nonchalance was unnerving. While we were burning with indignation, he seemed to be existing in another dimension. Finally, he spoke.

“Let’s go,” he said.

His voice was calm, firm, and entirely detached from the drama. As he started walking, some of the female SANA members who had stayed behind couldn't help but stare. Kazuaki possessed an undeniable, cold charisma that even the ‘elite’ couldn't ignore. I saw the sparks of jealousy in the eyes of the remaining SANA men as their female colleagues lingered on Kazuaki’s silhouette.

I followed him, but my heart was a heavy knot in my chest. I watched the back of his head, feeling the familiar, sharp sting of resentment. How could he be so calm? Was it because he knew he was better than them, or was he just that hollow? I tried to push the thoughts of him and Yukifuyu out of my mind, but in this high-pressure environment, every secret felt like it was simmering just beneath the surface.

Then, my eyes caught a glimpse of someone at the end of the hall, wearing the charcoal grey of SANA, standing near the JAXA officials.

My heart stopped.

It was Ageha.

She stood there, her posture identical to Terasumi’s, her silver SANA emblem catching the light. She wouldn't look at us. She was talking to a high-ranking JAXA supervisor, her face set in a professional mask.

Now I understood. This was why she couldn't join the Moon Tracker Team. She wasn't just a researcher; she was part of the elite squad we had just been humiliated by. She was bound by a JAXA contract that placed her directly under the supervision of the very people who looked down on us. She wasn't just a bystander; she was on the other side of the war.

Momiji saw her too. I heard the sharp intake of breath beside me. The betrayal hung in the air, unsaid but suffocating. We were the amateurs, and our friend was the elite.

“Next time, Kaneshiro...” Momiji whispered, her eyes burning with a fire that had nothing to do with astronomy. “I won't stay quiet.”

The war for the moon had just become a war of pride, and the lines were drawn in charcoal grey.

✿———✦———✿

As the second session of the seminar approached, the Moon Tracker Team retreated to the lounge. The space was a cacophony of hushed professional debates and high-brow laughter, a stark contrast to our own internal uncertainty. Surrounded by elite teams in their crisp, charcoal-grey uniforms, we looked like a group of museum tourists who had taken a wrong turn into a high-security briefing. Our casual clothes felt like a loud confession of our outsider status.

Mitsuki, ever the firebrand, stood in the center of our circle, trying to stoke the embers of our motivation. “If not now, then when? Have faith in the Author—in me!” he proclaimed, his voice escalating with the theatrical flair of a fantasy protagonist. We couldn’t help but chuckle at his chunibyou antics; for a fleeting moment, he truly made us feel like the main characters of an unfolding epic.

The ice had just begun to thaw when Konoha suddenly cut through the laughter. “Hey... isn’t that the lanky guy from before?” She pointed toward the far end of the room.

There stood Kaneshiro, the SANA member who had been the source of our irritation earlier. His tall frame was unmistakable, topped with hair that defied gravity, looking like the rings of Saturn caught in a windstorm. He was currently creeping along the wall, glancing over his shoulder like a thief who had forgotten his own getaway plan.

“Hey, Saturn-hair! What do you think you’re doing?” Momiji shouted.

Kaneshiro bolted upright, instantly smoothing his uniform and striking a pose like an actor caught mid-rehearsal. “Uhum... eh, sorry about earlier,” he said, offering a practiced, hollow cough.

“What do you want now?” Momiji snapped, her irritation bubbling back to the surface.

“Forgive me for interrupting your... gathering,” he said, his voice dropping into a flamboyant, stage-ready baritone. “I am Muneyuki Kaneshiro, Head of SANA’s Exoplanet Division.” He gestured grandly, leaving us staring at him in utter confusion. Was this man actually serious?

Momiji folded her arms, unimpressed. “Didn’t ask. Already knew.”

Kaneshiro’s grin faltered into a faint, awkward smile. He glanced left and right, ensuring no grey-uniformed peers were within earshot, before leaning in. “I was just acting back there. To fit in with the group, you know? My apologies if I was... a bit much.”

We stared at him, caught between bewilderment and amusement. This man had just performed a 180° degree personality flip—from an arrogant elitist to a cheerful, albeit frantic, long-lost acquaintance. His gaze then shifted to Genki, his expression melting into a mix of regret and genuine fear.

“And Gen-chan... I’m really sorry for what I said. Please, don’t tell that monster about this. I know I said I don’t remember who he is, but I know that cold senior is incredibly sensitive if anyone bothers you.”

Genki merely gave a small, confused nod—she didn’t even know which “monster” he was referring to. Momiji let out a long, weary sigh. “Actually,” Momiji explained to the rest of us, “Genki used to be university classmates with several SANA members, Kaneshiro included. She studied astronomy first, but the pressure was suffocating, so she switched to medicine.”

A wave of resentment washed over me as Momiji continued. “Genki was bullied on campus because she didn’t fit their social mold and preferred the silence of the library to their elitist circles. Honestly, Genki, the lanky tower here, and I have known each other for a long time. Our families have deep roots in the National Astronomical Agency.”

I was stunned. I had always thought I was the one who brought Genki into our fold. As it turned out, Genki and Momiji shared a history that stretched back years, and even Kaneshiro was a piece of that childhood puzzle—a trio born from the legacy of the stars.

“Hey, for the record, I never participated in the bullying!” Kaneshiro interjected, waving his hands defensively.

Momiji arched an eyebrow. “Then what was that performance in the hallway, Saturn?”

“That was... camouflage! If I don’t play the part, SANA will turn on me next. My position would be history,” he whispered frantically.

We all rolled our eyes. It was hard to buy into his ridiculous excuses, yet there was a pathetic sincerity in his cowardice.

“Is that so?” Momiji asked, her tone sharp.

Kaneshiro shrugged, seemingly bored with our judgment. “Look, I don’t want the trouble. SANA is an apex predator environment. You either act like them, or you get eaten. Just... if you see me mocking you later, ignore it. It’s all a mask!”

Konoha smirked. “Don’t worry. We’ve been ignoring you since the moment you opened your mouth.”

Kaneshiro looked wounded, pointing a finger at her. “You! You’re tiny, but your tongue is a literal blade!”

We suppressed our laughter. It was clear that Kaneshiro lived in a world of high-stakes social theater. SANA was composed of the wealthy and the over-educated—an elite squad where image was everything. Kaneshiro was simply a man trying to keep his head above water in a sea of charcoal-grey suits.

After promising to “return to character” the next time we met, Kaneshiro beat a hasty retreat. True to his word, he began sneaking away like a comedic ninja from an old anime, checking over his shoulder every few steps to ensure his SANA teammates weren’t watching. It was so absurdly theatrical that the tension in our group finally snapped, replaced by genuine amusement.

As we prepared to head back into the seminar room—with Kazuaki, Yorishiro, and Mitsuki leading the way—the heavy atmosphere had vanished.

“Seriously,” Konoha muttered, shaking her head. “That lamp-post of a man is absolutely bizarre.”

We laughed, our spirits lighter than they had been all day. Thanks to Kaneshiro’s ridiculous double-act, we were ready to face the elite—and the moon—with a newfound sense of defiance. Kazuaki remained as stoic as ever, but even he didn’t seem to mind the shift in energy as we followed him back into the den of the “Trackers.”