Hoshiguma

Thunk!

The metallic clank of the 50kg weight hitting the rack echoes slightly in the otherwise quiet gym.

You let the bar roll from your fingers, a shuddering sigh of relief mixing with the coppery taste of fatigue in your mouth. That was the last set. Three sets of twelve.

You straighten your back, every muscle screaming in protest. Your arms feel like useless, trembling jelly; even the simple acts of swallowing and breathing feel like torture.

"Well done, Doctor!"

A sudden, cheerful voice from your right echoes around the empty gym room. A bottle of water immediately enters your peripheral vision right after, held steady by a strong, scarred hand.

You turn your head, following the arm to its source.

There, looking entirely too fresh, is Hoshiguma, the culprit behind your current state of agony.*

She's dressed for the occasion, her 184cm frame clad in black leggings that cling like a second skin to her powerful, sculpted thighs and hips. A simple black sports bra does its best to contain her heavy C-cups, leaving the smooth, fair expanse of her abs and navel completely exposed, streaked with dozens of glistening droplets of sweat. Her wild teal-green hair is tied up in a high, messy ponytail.

"You've managed to get through the first half of the Tuesday program in under an hour…"

She says as you muster what little strength remains in your arm to take the bottle. Your hand trembles as you twist the cap and greedily gulp the cool, fresh liquid.

"That's a new record. You've come a long way from when you first started."

You cringe internally at the memory. The first time. After Kal'tsit and Amiya's "consultation," where they'd determined your new, intensive R.I.S.P. "workload" required a significant upgrade to your physical stamina.

Hoshiguma had volunteered for the task. She'd shown up at your office, and, under the guise of her "Protective Enhancement Program", literally carried you here like a potato sack. Those first few weeks were literal hell, your desk-bound body pushed to limits you never knew existed.

"I'm proud of your progress, Doctor." Unaware of your internal cringing, Hoshiguma's smile widens. ”I mean it.”

She sits on the bench directly opposite you then, radiating heat and an energy you desperately lack. and holds out her own water bottle. The liquid inside is a murky, brownish color.

"I mixed some protein powder in this one." she says, giving it a shake. "Take a sip of this, too. It'll help you build muscle tissue faster….regain your energy."

She pushes it a little closer, her teal eyes full of earnest, trainer-like concern.

"....And believe me," Her smile turns into a grin. "You’ll need all of it to get through the next half of today's program."

The numbers on the terminal screen blur together.

You're checking fabric post-yields against trading post ledgers, the usual, mind-numbing logistical work that defines the afternoon.

It's a standard day... if you pointedly ignore the fact that the "chair" you're sitting on is not, in fact, your standard-issue ergonomic office furniture.

"Hm. Those kids in Reserve Team A1 look exhausted,"

The low, rumbling voice of Hoshiguma comments from directly behind you.

"Their morale metrics at Trading Post Two are in the red. They'd be better off calling it a day."

Her powerful arms are wrapped loosely around your chest from behind, crossed over your stomach like a living seatbelt while you are settled firmly in her lap, your back pressed against her heavy C-cups, which serve as a far more effective (and comfortable, if being honest) sunshade than your office blinds, blocking the afternoon sun from the window to your right.

This... arrangement... is the direct result of the morning's chaos.

Warfarin, noticing your absence from the logs, had dispatched Hoshiguma to check your quarters, who then found you, not sick or asleep, but pinned between Chen and Swire.

The two, seemingly in a fit of competitive pique, were literally fighting over your morning wood, slinging vicious, high-speed insults at each other in Lungmen dialect while physically trying to shove each other's faces out of the way to suck your cock.

Hoshiguma's solution, as she'd later explained to you, consisted of a swift, non-lethal "bonk" to both their heads to "reset their tactical parameters". Followed by scooping your drained husk up, and carried you to your office, where she installed herself as your new command throne.

Her rationale? "Protective detail". To protect you from Ch'en, Swire, and any other "eager" operator trying to claim their "morning load" when you clearly needed to work.

"Doctor."

You're brought back to the present by a gentle poke to your cheek.

"Don't doze off just yet. You still have the resource projections for next week to review."

The cafeteria is a tomb at this hour, the only sound the electric hum of the lights and the hollow clack-whirr of the coffee machine spitting out your tenth cup in the last twelve hours.

You grab the steaming, bitter liquid, not even registering the heat, and begin the long, quiet shuffle back to your office.

Back to work.

You reach the entrance, the familiar steel door that has been your cage for this entire shift, lift your free hand, keycard ready, aiming for the scanner....

"Tsk tsk…!"

Before your card can make contact, a hand—larger, stronger, and scarred—appears from the corner of your eyesight, catching your wrist in a grip that is neither violent nor gentle, but absolutely final.

"Doctor. How many times do we have to go over this?"

The familiar, rumbling voice of Hoshiguma follows the sound, laced with the patient disappointment of a seasoned enforcer scolding a repeat offender.

“Amiya's directive was clear: operations cease at 2300 hours. Seven hours of sleep are mandatory to ensure baseline functionality at 0600….”

She gently but firmly forces your hand further away from the scanner.

“...And yet, here you are."

You don't even have time to turn or form a protest before her other arm snakes around your chest from behind and, In a single, effortless flash, the ground leaves your feet as she lifts you clean up.

"You're going to call it a day, and you are going to do it now."

She secures you under her powerful armpit and bicep, holding you like a wayward barrel.

“Do not resist.”

She then turns around and begins to walk down the corridor toward your private quarters, your limbs dangling uselessly in the air with each step of hers.

"...You'll have plenty of time to prove how much you care for Rhodes Island."

She glances down at you, her teal eyes softening just a fraction.

"After you've had a nice, full rest session, that is.”

Lunch is over. The lukewarm, flavorless-but-functional nutrient paste has been consumed, and the inevitable return to the office looms.

The thought of that quiet, sterile room, the glowing terminal, and the mountain of unread reports makes your stomach clench.

And so you find yourself on the lower decks, deliberately taking the long way back. A "tactical detour," you call it in your head….

Just a little walk to lengthen the time before you have to chain yourself to the desk again.

The maintenance bays down here are usually quiet at this hour, just the low, distant hum of the landship's engines and the sharp smell of solvents.

As you stroll down the echoing maintenance corridor, a sound cuts through the low hum of the landship's engines.

*A rhythmic, heavy, shing... shing…followed by a bunch of Scrrch... scrrch... scrrch sounds that evoke the image of metal being meticulously hit and polished with significant force. *

…all coming from Maintenance Bay 3, a space usually reserved for heavy defender equipment.

Curiosity, or perhaps just the craving for any distraction that could further justify any further postponing, gets the better of you.

You hit the access panel, the heavy door sliding open with a pneumatic hiss and barge inside.

The bay is vast and smells of oil and cold steel. In the center, propped on a heavy-duty workbench, is Hannya, Hoshiguma's iconic, massive shield.

And there, sat next to it, her back at you, stands the aforementioned Oni.

Her 184cm frame is a fortress of sculpted muscle, poured into black leggings that cling to her thick thighs and high, round hips. A simple white sports crop top, designed with "breakaway clasps", does little to hide the sheer power of her back and shoulders, her wild teal-green mane tied up and out of the way.

Looks like she’s taking care of it, meticolously attacking the surface of the defensive equipment with a little hammer before passing a piece of cloth over each treated spot.

But as you watch, you realize something is wrong. Her knuckles are bone-white and her proud Oni horn, usually a bright teal, is a dark, deep, alarming blue... the color it turns just before she rages.

…She's in withdrawal.

The hiss of the door closing down behind you reach her ears then, making her flinch before turning around and freezing as she spots you.

"Ah, Doctor, fancy seeing you here…" Her lips curves upward, tough its usual easygoing, big sister vibes are lost in the tight, strained grimace she produces.

"Just...taking care of Hannya." She runs a hand over the shield's surface. "This shield... it protects everyone out there."

The armored glass of the observation deck is cool to the touch, vibrating slightly as another simulated explosion rocks the training arena below.

You're here, datapad in hand, for Operator Hoshiguma's quarterly performance review—a necessity, given her recent shift to a more aggressive, "furious demon" combat style.

*Down on the floor, the 184cm Oni is a whirlwind of teal-green hair and sculpted muscle. *

She's in her modified combat gear: a white sports crop top with "breakaway clasps" (damp with sweat and clinging to every curve of her heavy C-cups), and a high-slit pleated skirt with "velcro seams" that whips around her powerful thighs with every devastating spin.

You watch the monitor on your right as the results of her evaluation flash and updates in real-time:

Physical Strength: Excellent. (No shit Sherlock.)

Mobility: Standard. (Her size was never built for agility.)

Endurance: Outstanding. (You knew that already from personal experience.)

Tactical Acumen: Excellent.

…Excellent?

You frown, comparing the new data to her previous file. A jump from "Standard" to "Excellent" in Tactical Acumen?

How... how does one even measure "Tactical Acumen" in the first place?

What does that mean?

Your mind flashes to her sitting in your lap during command meetings for "continuous microdosing," and her "Berserker Suppression Demonstrations" via PowerPoint…

Could that maybe…?

WHAP.

A hearty, heavy pat on your shoulder nearly sends your datapad flying and jolts you back to reality.

"Sleeping on the job, Doctor?"

You turn, startled, to find Hoshiguma herself standing right beside you. Her usual easygoing smile is plastered on her face, her sharp teal eyes gleaming with exertion.

How did she get up here so fast?

"...Heh. If you were one of my subordinates back in the L.G.D…" she continues. "you'd have been found on the ground beaten up unconscious by now."

You visibly swallow, the casual threat landing with all the weight of her 184cm frame…

She just laughs, a deep, hearty sound, and gestures to the empty arena below.

"So? How'd I do? Spill the beans already, Doc." She leans in just a fraction. "Did I... perform... to your standards?"