12 Prairial (Month 5) 12016 Muish Calendar (Sol. 12, 1616 CC)
Issen-Maritime, a town between Otaheit and Mykal, Kingdom of Mu
A man with brows furrowing in concentration as he was deeply engrossed in his desk work barely registered a timid cough and the knocks at his office door. However, as the tapping and calling persisted, it shattered the focused silence of the room enough to prompt him to look up and call out whoever was on the other side. The door slowly creaked open at his words, revealing a subordinate with a nervous air. As he shuffled on his feet, the subordinate managed to stammer out, "Mister Leclerc, sir, there... uhm, guests at the front desk. Military men."
Raising an eyebrow at the information, the man decided to answer immediately.
"Hmm... Very well. Show them my office."
Shortly after, the door opened wider, revealing three soldiers clad in immaculate brown tunics embellished with white wing insignias above their left pockets. The emblems on their caps and the distinctive glint of pride in their eyes signaled to the man that these were men who belonged to the skies—the Kingdom of Mu's Royal Flying Corps. To the man, whose company is among those who provide the Kingdom's aerial warfare units with flying machines that allow them to soar so freely in their domain, their crisp uniforms and confident strides are somewhat familiar presences.
Having come all the way from the capital city, at the forefront stood a captain, while flanking him were two younger men. As the man rose from his desk, straightening his posture to greet them, his eyes quickly settled on the brown-haired 20-year-old-something lieutenant standing to the right side.
"Acier!" he exclaimed in a delighted tone. "How long has it been?"
The man's face lit up with a grin as the three men took turns exchanging handshakes with the man. When the young lieutenant's turn came, he spoke with an equally cordial air.
"Ah, yes, it's been a while, Roche, my Cousin. Good to see you again."
"Welcome, gentlemen of the military. Please make yourself comfortable," Roche gestured to the couches. "What brings you to my office today?"
Instead of immediately taking a seat, however, the captain cleared his throat and stepped forward. The twisting of his torso amidst his gesture drew Roche's attention to a satchel bag that the man brought with him.
"Thank you for your warm reception, Mister Leclerc. Today, we came here to hear your thoughts on something. Something familiar, but also rather peculiar, we might say."
He reached into his bag and retrieved a folder, placing it on the desk in front of Roche, and gestured for the man to take a look at it. Roche's fingers instinctively reached for the folder with curiosity as he flipped it open.
"Dreaming Child...? Huh, the military came up with a design study for a next-generation fighter plane, I suppose?" he muttered at first.
A quick glance at the first pages was enough to send a jolt of surprise through him. Then, when he came across the photos, drawings, and specifications, his eyebrows shot upward.
"...It's from the Holy Milishial Empire? ...Alright, this is a bit confusing. Captain, what exactly is this document?"
"What you are seeing is the copy of technical documents our diplomats acquired during the recent Eleven Countries Leadership Conference. The Holy Milishial Empire presented them to our delegation, claiming it to be an aircraft design they'd been working on. In short, as they're seeking to expand their exports to the aviation industry, they're offering to sell this plane to us, with the possibility of a production licensing."
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