Rear Admiral Sangonomiya Kokomi stood on the prow of the RIS Watatsumi, the largest aircraft carrier in existence and the flagship of the Imperial Inazuman Flotilla. Kokomi's pinkish-blue iridescent eyes surveyed the distant horizon, where the sun was bringing with it the last shreds of dusky sunlight. Her pink hair glowed in the sunset as the carrier sailed forth, the wind whipping every graceful strand among her hair.
The Inazuman Navy's Vice Admiral, Nagano Yukiko, bounded up beside Kokomi. "Beautiful, isn't it? It's the kind of time where you just want to relax with a cup of coffee~" The ever-perky Yukiko chirped, her brown eyes wild with happiness. Kokomi smiled. This was the kind of innocence war destroyed; more than the terror and flashbacks it inflicted, the two Pontic-Inazuman wars had mutilated a cheeriness that had been retained within Nagano Yukiko. Fire to Kokomi's own stone, she compensated for Kokomi's overflowing aloofness with a liveliness that knew no bounds.
Kokomi sighed. She could still remember her first command, the destroyer Ushio, firing the three fateful torpedoes that had shattered the hull of the Pontic submarine Chelyabinsk, condemning all 110 men within the nuclear submarine to a crushing death from the Astraen Sea's forgiving grasp. She shook her head to clear the dark memories from her head - it was bad enough that the Chelyabinsk haunted her every night in her dreams, and she did not need to delve into that nightmare even awake. Besides, it was a day for celebration - the Empress' birthday, the day the Empire of Inazuma had been blessed by the divine one, Amaterasu Omikami-sama.
The Empress. Just thinking about her sent a fresh wave of headaches to Kokomi's already troubled mind. The Empress had always fancied Kokomi since they were both mere children playing in the hallways of Tenshukaku, but Kokomi had not reciprocated. Undaunted by Kokomi's less-than-sympathetic response, she had been pursuing Kokomi's hand ever since.
The AC-700 Sentinel overhead sent out a warning that was broadcast through every ship in the battle group clearly, the Watatsumi not an exception. A Pontic air formation was rapidly approaching from 100 nautical miles, and Kokomi looked up instinctively, barely able to make out the iconic silhouette of a Polikarpov Po-31M. That could only mean two things: Either an entire Pontic air flotilla was conducting an exercise, or for the first time in thirteen years, the sound of gunfire would ring through the expanse of the oceans, the cities would echo with the tramp of boots and the sobbing of loved ones, and the Valkyries would once again return to what had forged the nation of Inazuma - war.
And as klaxons blared and fighter jets aboard the Watatsumi were frantically rearmed, the answer was clear to Kokomi.