Mast hadn't expected Helm to go that far. Her anger only grew. She snorted, turned her head, and stormed off with heavy, angry steps.
"...Whatever!"
Even Anchor couldn't watch anymore.
"Helm, you went too far."
Arguments were normal. But pulling rank like that was over the line—especially when Mast had worked so hard for the banquet, running around and taking care of everything.
Helm knew deep down she wasn't entirely in the right, but couldn't swallow her pride. She stubbornly forced out a justification.
"We're soldiers. Soldiers must obey orders from their superiors without question."
Anchor frowned. "But we're in the same unit. Aren't we friends?"
She couldn't understand what Helm was doing. She hadn't been like this before—always caring about her subordinates, always the first to help out. But now, it was like she'd turned into a different person.
Helm went silent for a moment, lips tight, and said stiffly, "I'm the officer. You're the subordinates."
"...I see," Anchor replied, suddenly getting it. She rummaged through her pockets, then tossed something at Helm.
Plop—!
Helm didn't dodge in time and got hit right in the face.
Anchor turned and bolted.
Meanwhile, on the other side—
Mo Chen suddenly heard a strange noise coming from the cabin. He pushed the door open and had just stepped inside when he ran right into someone—colliding full-on. The first thing he felt was a pair of sudden OOs pressing directly against him.
Caught off guard, Mo Chen grabbed the person by the shoulders, but they stumbled, tripping over their own feet and falling straight onto him. Thankfully, Mo Chen's core strength held up, and the whole "falling to the ground with someone on top" cliché didn't happen.
His hands, however, naturally landed on a pair of handles—just that these handles were... quite big.
Among all the Nikkes Mo Chen had seen, this one was top-tier.
But when he saw her face, Mo Chen was shocked.
A starfish?!
Did Cthulhu get isekai'd here, or did he accidentally wander onto the set of Suicide Squad?
"Ahhhh—!"
The other person let out a scream.
Only then did Mo Chen realize: it wasn't some kind of starfish monster. It was just Helm, with a starfish stuck to her face.
When did she develop such a bizarre sense of aesthetics? He'd seen people wear masks, sure, but never a starfish.
Could it be some kind of cosmic starfish possession?
Mo Chen quickly grabbed the starfish and yanked it off. Helm's stunning face was finally freed, though she still looked flustered and immediately started wiping her face, trying to get the sticky residue off.
"It's okay now. You're fine."
Mo Chen reassured her.
"It was a starfish."
Helm finally saw what it was and let out a breath of relief.
It was a starfish—or rather, a starfish toy. There was no ocean near the Ark, and barely anyone had ever been to a beach. Naturally, there couldn't be any real live starfish around.
"C-Commander…"
When Helm realized the person in front of her was Mo Chen, her vision nearly went black. They'd just seen each other earlier, and now here he was again—catching her in such an embarrassing situation.
What was worse… had he overheard what she said to Mast and the others?
Helm hesitated for a moment, then asked nervously, "Um, Commander… did you, by any chance, hear..."
"Nope. Didn't hear a thing," Mo Chen said. "Wind was too loud up on deck."
"I see…" Helm seemed slightly more at ease.
Then she saw Mo Chen flash an innocent, dazzling smile.
"And I also didn't hear anything about you planning to use me to raise funds or anything like that."
Helm froze. Her pupils shrank as she whipped her gaze toward Mo Chen, and her flawless face turned bright red at a visible pace—like a freshly steamed shrimp.
The banquet had reached its final stage: fundraising.
Helm went up first to deliver a closing speech.
For some reason, though, the usually composed and professional Helm seemed distracted. She misspoke several times without even realizing it.
When the speech ended, the guests lined up and approached the large glass donation boxes on stage one by one.
Each dropped something inside and stepped off.
The line lasted a while.
In the past, all five donation boxes would be stuffed full. But today—not even three were filled. Two were completely empty.
After the fundraising officially concluded, the organizers gave the usual closing thanks.
But before the whole thing was even over, guests had already started trickling out.
"…It's getting less and less,"
Burningum looked out over the three half-filled donation boxes from the stage and sighed, visibly disheartened.
Helm remained silent.
The results of the fundraiser had been within expectations. Despite everything that happened, Helm didn't want to blame anyone else. This was her responsibility as captain.
It was foreseeable: the funds for maintaining Admire would be cut in half.
Fundraising had already been tight before. Now, with another 50% slashed, Helm didn't even know how she'd keep Admire operational.
Would it really become, like they said, a rotting ship?
She even started to regret it.
If she'd known it would turn out this way, maybe she should have swallowed her pride—just like Mast and the others had said. Even if it meant begging. But her pride wouldn't let her bow and scrape to others.
That was the last shred of dignity she held onto.
At that moment, Burning noticed Helm's expression and realized she might've misunderstood, quickly trying to explain.
"Ah—no, I was just talking to myself. Sorry."
"It's fine."
Helm shook her head, though her mood was clearly down.
That night—
Inside the crew quarters of Admire.
Cold moonlight shone through the round porthole, lighting up the dim corners of the room. There were two large beds not far apart.
The noisy and dramatic Mast and Anchor were sprawled out, fast asleep in every odd pose imaginable: half their bodies still on the bed, one arm and one leg dangling off the side.
Empty drink cans littered the floor, though none of them were alcoholic.
Helm quietly covered the two of them with blankets. She whispered a soft, "I'm sorry," then turned and left the room.
The next morning Helm, unexpectedly, overslept.
As a Nikke, she barely needed sleep. And she was always punctual—up early every day, never once sleeping in.
Helm sat up, rubbing her aching forehead and muttered, "Could it be I've just been too exhausted lately?"
Just then, bam—the door slammed open and two figures burst in, shouting in joy.
"Captain! The Lawrence family just donated ten billion credits!"