The Trash Returned from Warhammer

”To victory—cheers!”

The ceiling light cast a warm glow over a table cluttered with various frozen foods. Misato Katsuragi raised a chilled beer high, and without waiting for Shinji to clink glasses, she impatiently poured the entire contents into her mouth.

The icy liquid surged down her throat, making her whole body shudder with excitement.

”Hah! Life really is lived for a glass like this!”

Her pleasure was visible to the naked eye. Sitting opposite her, Shinji silently surveyed his surroundings.

Misato Katsuragi’s lifestyle was, frankly, decadent to the extreme.

Trash was scattered everywhere in the room; the air held a faint scent of fermenting food; several pieces of female underwear were tossed carelessly on the sofa; and a strange-looking penguin was currently staring at him.

Having spent years crawling through blood and viscera, an Astartes was not a germaphobe, but in moments of leisure, they would still buff their Power Armor until it shone like a mirror.

”Sorry about the mess, you caught me before I could tidy up. Well, it’ll just go back to being like this in a few days anyway.” Misato sat cross-legged on her chair without a shred of decorum, beer in one hand and a meatball in the other.

”Just make yourself at home. One of these days I’ll take you to the shopping district to buy some daily necessities.”

”There is no need for such trouble. As long as I have a room to stay in, it is enough.” Shinji ate a few fish balls himself. The distinct, layered flavors felt somewhat foreign to him, prompting him to speak a bit more: ”I took a general look when we returned today, and now I have a question.”

”Shoot.” Misato tossed an empty can aside and cracked open another.

”As the ultimate fortress for intercepting the Angels, why does Tokyo-3 contain such a large number of non-combatants? There are shops, schools, even entertainment venues. Does this still resemble a fortress?”

Shinji was genuinely baffled.

Five-year-old children cannot take up guns to fight Xenos to the death; what kind of ”fortress” was this? Faced with an existential crisis for the species, shouldn’t the entire planet’s population be mobilized to fight until the last man?

”Ah... well.”

This pointed question actually stumped Misato.

She suddenly realized this kid’s logic was entirely different from a normal person’s—he was the problem child of all problem children.

”Uh, probably because besides NERV staff, there are also family members here.”

”Family members do not exist in war. The Angels will not show mercy just because they are non-combatants. NERV has actually expended massive resources to build shelters for them.” Shinji spoke with pained conviction.

He didn’t understand why the human government hid the existence of the Angels. The appearance of the Third Angel couldn’t be kept secret; news would spread sooner or later. They should be concentrating resources to turn the entire planet into a fortress, with all manpower and materiel serving the war effort.

”That’s not right. Work is work, and life is life. If you keep the string pulled tight constantly, people break.” Misato sat up a bit straighter, entering ”lecture mode.” ”We fight the Angels specifically to protect a beautiful life. It’s because life is beautiful that we fight so hard.”

”No. Combat is for survival. The will to live is an instinct etched into the depths of one’s genes.”

”No, no, no. If we lived in a hellscape, we might as well just be wiped out by the Angels.”

”Even an ant clings to life; this only proves the pressure from the Angels isn’t great enough yet, leaving humanity with room to breathe.” Shinji’s expression was grim. Despite an apocalypse looming, these people were living far too comfortably.

”But a war concerning survival allows for no leisure. That is disloyalty to the mission.”

’Aaaargh, this guy is so troublesome!’

Misato rubbed her head in frustration. Pilots more or less always had psychological issues, but this kid’s problem was massive—his worldview didn’t even seem human.

Where did he come from? A world where you die if you stop fighting?

”People aren’t tools, after all. Even cattle and horses need to be fed enough grass to work.”

”Not tools, but currency. For victory, for survival, anyone can be sacrificed.” Shinji remained unmoved. Over a century of service had forged a completely different worldview.

In the 41st Millennium, every individual was a gear in the Imperial war machine. From the slaves of Forge Worlds to the Astartes, everyone sacrificed everything for the war. Even the High Lords of Holy Terra often worked themselves to death. To halt a Hive Fleet’s advance, the Imperium would proactively create a dead zone by fire-bombing dozens of planets into extinction.

”Well...”

Originally, Misato had felt a twinge of guilt, thinking she was using Shinji for her revenge. Now, she felt a bit dazed.

’Who is using whom here? If he were in charge of the Operations Department, wouldn’t he be a hundred times more ruthless than me? This is iron-blooded to a fault!’

”Regardless, life and work stay strictly separate! If it weren’t for the couple of drinks I get after work, I wouldn’t bother working overtime! And you’re going to school tomorrow!”

Seeing she couldn’t out-argue Shinji, Misato chose to be stubborn.

”School?” Shinji blinked, hearing a foreign term.

”Of course. We don’t know when the Fourth Angel will show up; you have to find something to do.”

”That does not include meaningless activities like school.”

”Meaningless? No way. You’re only fourteen; you’ll end up illiterate.”

”Illiteracy does not hinder my ability to fight Angels. Furthermore, my knowledge is more extensive than you imagine.” Shinji snorted disdainfully.

He was a Librarian; he never expected to be called illiterate.

For some reason, seeing the boy’s serious expression, Misato almost believed him. She scratched her cheek. ”You can’t just stay home all the time.”

”Impossible. This is my schedule.” As he spoke, Shinji slid a piece of paper over. Misato looked down, and her mouth twitched violently.

Four hours of sleep. Morning: Physical training. Afternoon: Pilot simulation. Evening: Deep research into the Angels.

She didn’t know if Shinji could maintain such a schedule, but she would certainly go insane.

”I don’t care! You have to go to school! You’re my subordinate, you can’t talk back to your superior!” Misato resorted to her authority, adding: ”Besides, it won’t do any harm. It’s not like it’ll make you stupid.”

Astartes valued order and command. From the current situation, he was indeed Katsuragi Misato’s subordinate.

Moreover, she had a point; doing this wouldn’t have a negative impact.

Shinji silently took back his schedule and went back to eating fish balls. Misato stole a glance at him, suddenly realizing she had found the ”knack” for dealing with him, and swung her legs happily.

”Now, don’t be so quiet. If you’re interested in the Angels, I’ll tell Ritsuko. Maybe she can find something new from the Third Angel’s remains.” Misato offered a carrot before switching to a curious tone:

”But Shinji-kun, the more I interact with you, the more ’unique’ you seem. Have you suffered some kind of trauma?”

’Unique was an understatement; he was utterly discordant.’

She had initially thought it was a case of ”chunibyo,” but he didn’t even act like a person from Earth.

Shinji remained silent. He wasn’t weak enough to bare his heart to others, and he knew he was different. Unless there was a second visitor from the 41st Millennium, he wouldn’t find a peer in this world. As for trauma, he dismissed it with disdain. To those heavy memories—

One year is suffering. Ten years is trauma. A hundred years is just a habit.

He didn’t believe anyone returning from the 41st Millennium would act like a local.

’Doesn’t want to talk?’

Misato opened her third can of beer, her face slightly flushed. She sensed something peculiar from the boy.

It was heavy, but not hopeless. Like an old man with countless stories, making one want to listen.

”Let’s put it another way. Even if you’ve had terrible experiences, what keeps you going?”

”Faith,” Shinji answered without hesitation.

”Huh?”

Misato paused, remembering her question when she delivered the censer earlier.

It wasn’t that strange. After the Second Impact, odd cults had popped up all over Earth; lately, there were even people worshipping the Angels.

”Heh, I guess that’s normal. Even inside NERV, people say the Angels are messengers sent by God to punish humanity...”

”Damned false gods! They must be purged!”

Misato jumped, startled. She looked at Shinji suspiciously, seeing that his anger didn’t look faked.

”Uh, my mistake. So, which god do you believe in?”

Shinji perked up, straightening his back, his expression pious and solemn.

”The Emperor, of course. He is the guardian of all Mankind, the beacon of hope for humanity in a dark galaxy. The most blessed death is to return to the Golden Throne...”

In the far-off 40th Millennium, almost every Astartes was a servant of the Emperor.

Shinji wasn’t a Chaplain, but he didn’t mind praising the Emperor’s greatness. If the people here had such steadfast faith, the Angels would be nothing to fear.

Misato kept blinking, realizing the boy had suddenly become talkative.

’Is there a religion on Earth that worships an ’Emperor’? Why have I never heard of it?’

Though she was confused, she began to feel that this god named ”The Emperor” felt very real, not like something made up on the spot.

’I should have the Intelligence Department look into it later. But I’ve found another way to get this kid to talk.’

Misato narrowed her eyes, keenly noticing something. Shinji continued talking at length. To be honest, having returned mysteriously and being unable to feel the Emperor’s light, he had been somewhat anxious. But as he spoke, he eventually stopped.

The reason was simple: after five cans of beer, Misato Katsuragi had fallen asleep.

”So disloyal. If the Inquisition saw this, she’d likely be purged.”

Shinji glanced at the sleeping woman. Through the loose collar of her T-shirt, he could see a bit of skin, but he quickly withdrew his gaze and looked out the window.

The city was incredibly peaceful, dotted with lights. Scaffolding had been erected on buildings caught in the crossfire; it didn’t look like an apocalypse at all.

He reflected on his clash of ideas with Misato. She wasn’t entirely being unreasonable.

Things were different, after all.

Though he didn’t want to admit it, the most familiar things in his memory were gradually drifting away, and the differences were becoming more pronounced. This world did face extinction, but it was fundamentally different from the 41st Millennium—at the very least, it lacked that suffocating, crushing sense of total despair.

’A difference in power scales? I couldn’t change much in the Galaxy, but here, I am enough to protect the world.

Truly... a damned sense of leisure.’

Shinji looked down at his hands, then at the snoring Misato, who was mumbling in her sleep.

”Goodnight, Shinji-kun.”

He didn’t answer. This woman wasn’t nearly as flighty as she appeared; he could sense the fear and hatred she kept hidden.

’I am here, so I shall make the best of it. I am no longer in the war-torn Galaxy. Following the Emperor’s guidance, I should move forward.’

Shinji seemed to have found his answer and no longer resisted. He simply draped the jacket from the sofa over Misato, tidied the room, and turned off the lights.

’Goodnight.

-

-

-

”This is our new transfer student, Ikari Shinji. Please get along with him.”

The next day, Shinji stood at the podium wearing a white short-sleeved shirt and black trousers. The hunched old teacher, Mr. Yamamoto, adjusted his glasses and pointed to an empty seat in the middle of the classroom.

”Shinji-kun, please take a seat there.”

”Yes.” Shinji stood ramrod straight, looking at the dozens of youthful faces below.

This was Class 2-A of the First Municipal Middle School of Tokyo-3. NERV headquarters had transferred his records directly.

’No signs of special training detected. Age matches. No threat.’

Scanning the room, most people looked down under his gaze. Only one person met his eyes.

Shinji turned his head slightly toward the window seat. A girl sat there with chin-length, ice-blue hair, bandages wrapped around her head, and eyes as crimson as blood.

She was slender, appearing fragile as glass, her skin extremely pale, glowing with a white halo under the sunlight.

She possessed a stunning beauty, yet she was cold as a snow sculpture, expressionless and radiating an aura that said ”stay away.”

’Strange. Why does this aura give me a sense of kinship?’

Shinji raised an eyebrow, unsure where this sense of closeness came from. He gave the girl a long look before walking toward his seat.

Last night, after Misato had fallen asleep, the ”dishonest” Blood Raven had peeked through some files in her room. One of them concerned this person.

The First Child: Ayanami Rei.