Releasing the synchronization magic brought a sensation of receding into the distance. It was like backing out of a long, narrow tunnel. As her lonely body tugged at her consciousness, the connection between AB and the golem stretched like a strand of spider silk pulled to its limit.

Then it snapped.

Captain AB returned to reality.

AB opened her eyes on the mat. She had laid it out in the room in case she fell and hurt herself while synchronized.

It also served as a mat for stretching.

“Phew.”

Exhaling deeply, AB briefly hugged her arms. Beneath her uniform, she felt soft flesh.

There was nothing wrong with her sense of touch. This was definitely her own body, not the golem. Frequent use of synchronization magic sometimes left her unsure whether she was in the golem or her real body, so she had to perform this simple test.

Once she had checked, she shuffled across the soft mat on her knees and out of the room.

Outside lay a cramped, dark, cluttered office. It was a drab room packed with everything her mission required, with everything else excluded to an almost pathological degree.

Palm-sized “windows” crowded one wall like a honeycomb. Most were dark, as though showing the night. Only two “windows” held even a trace of light.

One showed a blue sky and an open expanse of wilderness. The other was dark and hazy, as though covered in storm clouds.

AB removed the key from her biometric terminal and inserted it into the slot beside the hazy “window.” The gray clouds swirled, gradually resolving into a scene...

Soon, Tantalus’s dining hall appeared in the window. The darkness had yet to clear, leaving the entire view beyond it indistinct.

“The Progenitor... What on earth has gotten into her?”

Her intentions were impossible to guess. But one thing was certain: the Progenitor was still in the bottomless pit, and she had wanted to learn to cook.

That desire alone suggested that she would be staying in the bottomless pit for a while. There should be no trouble for the time being.

More pressing was the need to deal with the golem’s confinement inside Tantalus. AB moved on to her next task.

Sitting facing the “windows,” AB closed her eyes and concentrated. The air trembled, and another set of laws began to overlay the world around her.

She was a soldier of the Military State, but the magic she used differed from standard-issue magic. It was the manifestation of her own world, requiring neither spells nor incantations to alter reality.

Unique magic. Morning Glory.

An annual flower that bloomed only in the morning and closed during the day.

Morning glory vines made of mana slowly grew around her entire body. They resembled both a beautiful climbing plant embracing her tenderly and a hungry snake coiling around her to swallow her whole.

It made no difference which. Not as long as she could fulfill her duty.

AB drew up her mana. Nourished by it, the morning glory grew a bud beside her cheek. Soon it opened into a beautiful flower of fresh purple.

Preparations complete, AB opened her eyes and spoke into its pistil.

“This is Captain AB, Military State communications officer. UL, incoming call from AB.”

Words no one could hear.

Words that could never reach anyone from this remote, isolated place.

Yet the morning glory, with its power of “synchronization,” carried the message to another flower blooming somewhere in the world.

Then, as though someone had been waiting, a voice arrived from far, far away.

『AB! I’ve been waiting!』

The exuberant voice was unchanged from a few days ago. AB answered the voice coming from the other end.

“UL. Connection confirmed.”

『It’s been ages! Six days, twenty-one hours, and thirty-four minutes, to be exact! A little longer and it would have been a whole week! Don’t make me worry, AB!』

“Thank you for your concern, but I had no reason to contact you. My sole available ‘window’ was restrained, leaving me with no new information.”

A clap sounded from the other end.

『Oh, right! You said almost all your ‘windows’ were broken, didn’t you? Did the last two break as well?』

“Negative. However, the final unit monitoring the interior of Tantalus has been restrained. Could you perhaps supply another ‘window’?”

『Hmm. Unfortunately, you’ll have to wait. As you know, our ‘windows’ are terribly difficult to make. They’re not exactly eager to make more... Especially when they break so easily.』

AB had originally possessed forty-nine “windows” in total. That was the limit she could handle, and a generous allocation from the Military State in consideration of the peculiar nature of Tantalus, the bottomless pit. The outlaws there could tear even human beings apart with ease; they would hardly leave the golems alone. She would need spares.

The prediction had perhaps been all too accurate. Forty-seven of those many “windows” had been easily destroyed, leaving only two.

But AB had something to say in her defense.

“They are under my jurisdiction, but I am not solely responsible. Trainees destroying ‘windows’ was hardly uncommon in Tantalus, but none ever did so with his paranoid thoroughness. In the first place, the responsibility lies with General Patraxion for failing even to disarm a criminal upon arrest...”

『Ahaha. That kind of talk will get you in trouble. We may not belong to that branch, but you still shouldn’t speak of a general like that.』

UL cut her off at just the right moment. Realizing she had nearly vented her feelings at the blameless UL, AB took a deep breath and calmed herself.

“... I will correct my conduct.”

『No, no! It happens! We’re communications officers, not emotionless vampires! Though I suppose we’re not so different when it comes to never seeing sunlight!』

The self-deprecating joke was UL’s attempt to ease the tense atmosphere.

Uncomfortably aware that she had imposed on the other officer, AB changed the subject.

“What is the status of the mana herb shipment I requested last time?”

『Oh! It should be leaving soon! But you know the rule, right? Communications officers must never use mana herbs! An inspector will be dispatched to make sure of that!』

Ever gentle, UL never spoke harshly to AB. If even UL emphasized “never,” then it truly was something to avoid.

But AB knew that the very person saying this had gone to every effort to secure those mana herbs for her.

That was why she could not bring herself to ask for the shipment to be canceled because the convict laborer had betrayed them. She could all too clearly picture how happy UL must have been to receive her request.

While she was choosing her words, an alert sounded on UL’s end. Orders had arrived. A flustered voice came through the morning glory.

『Oh. Just a moment. Urgent orders.』

Too long to be called a report, too short to count as a personal chat. It was time to end their private conversation.

AB straightened her clothes and spoke.

“My apologies for interrupting your busy schedule, Captain UL.”

『Not at all. It was good to hear from you after so long. Later, let’s... talk again.』

The wistful voice receded, and the morning glory’s petals began to droop. UL’s voice lingered like an echo, faintly poignant.

『This is Captain UL, Military State communications officer... Your request...』

The voice faded. With that, the morning glory blooming on AB’s shoulder wilted. Its vines broke apart strand by strand, as though dried and shriveled.

As they fell, they dissolved into the air like mist.

Unique magic was unique. The mental image held by one individual differed from everyone else’s.

This had been an immutable principle from the moment the mystery called magic first took root in the human body.

But what if people with similar aptitudes were gathered together, their mental images honed through strict, standardized education?

Could they not learn the same magic?

The Military State had actually accomplished it. Its communications officers were carefully selected from secondary military schools and raised through specialized training.

Their magic naturally differed in form, but it shared one common property.

Synchronization.

With this magic, communications officers could communicate with one another without machinery or magic circles. Using a biometric terminal and a key, they could also connect to specially manufactured golems.

Considering that even the shoddiest communications equipment was as large as a building and astronomically expensive, communications officers were a Military State success story, greatly reducing that burden while providing mobility.

However, people with that talent were so rare that communications officers became captains immediately upon commissioning, regardless of age or experience.

Though even as captains, all they could command were golems, making them closer to rank-and-file soldiers than officers.

“Keep up the good work, UL.”

Wishing happiness for the person who had been closest to her, AB turned her head.

A single small lamp lit the stifling space. Papers and coded messages lay scattered across the cramped desk.

Clothing packets eliminated even the need for a wardrobe, and canned beans left no need for other food. Everything she needed to survive fit inside a single cupboard.

Beyond that, there was nothing to adorn her life.

No comfortable sofa to lie on for a moment.

No magazine full of nonsense that drew more scoffs than laughter.

Not even a window through which to glance outside.

Nothing.

This was a room without windows. There was no opening to the outside, not even a window.

Drawing back the curtains to greet the sunlight, opening a window to let in the breeze—such things were impossible from the start.

For Captain AB, communications officer, the only permitted “windows,” her only means of looking out at the world, were the golems.

A communications officer’s room had to be drab. Anything that drew their eyes away would surely distract them from their communications duties.

To receive supplies, to perform their duties, or even to observe the world for a change of pace, they had to use the golems, their own private windows.

That was their sole means of interacting with the world.

The only respite they were permitted was... talking with other communications officers. Even that was not easy.

AB went to the sink and washed her face. Drying it with a towel packet, she looked at herself in the mirror. A neat uniform and cap, a bob cut trimmed to match, swaying softly. Perhaps because she never saw sunlight, her skin looked pale even under the dim light.

It had once had a slightly sallow cast, but that had disappeared thanks to her recent, involuntary stretching.

Not that she wanted to feel grateful for it.

Her thoughts returned to the “windows.” AB sat back down and looked through them.

The golem on the surface watched passing clouds and the distant wilderness.

The golem in Tantalus sat in a corner of the dining hall, gazing quietly into its gloom.

Staring blankly at the view like a golem herself, AB suddenly murmured,

“... Should I go back?”

As though entranced, AB reached out. After briefly wavering between her two remaining windows, she took the key to the golem inside Tantalus.

Then, without realizing it, she began stretching. Her body remembered the stretches she had performed endlessly over the past three days in order to synchronize.

While loosening up her legs, Captain AB suddenly remembered something.

“Oh. It was untied.”

AB ground her teeth at the memory of her past humiliation.

The more closely one resembled the target of synchronization, the higher the synchronization rate. That was why synchronized-type golems had human forms and senses similar to those of humans.

Naturally, synchronization required adopting a posture as close to the target’s as possible.

Even if the target was doing the splits.

When she inserted the key into her biometric terminal, the synchronization magic resonating with her told her she had to do the splits. Captain AB would then have to clench her fists and spread her legs, trembling all the while.

There was a saying that when you gazed into the abyss, the abyss gazed back into you. After operating a rigid golem day after day, Captain AB’s body had somehow grown as stiff as one. It was only natural that she would lose her flexibility, shut away in her room doing nothing but controlling golems.

For someone so inflexible, this new trial was unbearably harsh. But trapped in her windowless room, AB had no choice but to overcome it.

The first day.

She pressed both feet against the wall and pushed her body back. Holding her breath, she pulled at the wall, but her legs formed only an awkward obtuse angle.

For a golem, doing the splits was merely a matter of rearranging its components. Only AB’s body felt pain. Experiencing the unfamiliar sensation of her real body hurting more than the golem, AB screamed.

The second day.

Perhaps it was thanks to a full day of what could only loosely be called stretching. Her range of motion had improved since the day before. As a side effect, she had been unable to bring her legs together since morning, but that was a truly minor issue. In any case, her synchronization rate was relatively high, allowing her to maintain the connection.

And the first thing Captain AB saw after finally connecting to the golem through all that painstaking effort...

Was the speaker, placed just beyond her reach.

Something inside Captain AB snapped.

The third day.

Some things could not be achieved through effort alone. Repeated stretching made the body more flexible, but lying flat with one’s legs spread was not a level one could reach in a day or two. The body was honest; it did not allow cramming.

But she could not give up. If she remained trapped like this, she would fail her mission. Besides, the thought of one of her “windows” closing for good was horrifying.

And so, thinking of the man who had tied her up, AB continued her vengeful splits.

“Petty criminal... I won’t forget this humiliation.”

Though it was the Progenitor who had restrained the golem this time, that was nothing compared to her accumulated grievances against him. No, if not for him, she would never have been restrained like this in the first place.

Vowing revenge, AB connected to the golem in Tantalus.