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Gunn Killingworth never bothered to knock on the office door of the theater teacher. Other people -- especially those who knew Ms. Johnson's reputation from turning sweet to horrifyingly nasty when crossed -- would have. The gym teacher of Hillworth Grammar, who always ostensibly came to look up on his protege Drew and, apparently, make sure his secretary was doing well with her new educational career, did not bother. He simply opened the door and locked it behind him without bothering to check, kept his sunglasses on as he always did even though they were 1. inside and 2. it was coming up on winter. Looked at Ursula Johnson and leant against the door: it was something they didn't talk about, but she had never seen him so tired.

It wasn't as though Barren Pines and the plan wasn't getting to her. She'd simply had to deal with lovestruck teenage boys before, and -- memorably, unfortunately -- Sailor Castor. Normal things. Things she'd been doing for ages, ever since she came to Destiny City. Being in charge here with Obsidian was something completely different. She'd even been caught in the process of scribbling costume designs for Princess Nia, an ill-starred production if ever there was one, on her blotter when he came in.

"I can't ******** summon you from these premises, Lieutenant," he began, instead of saying hello. "If you have anything to do, finish it off in exactly sixty god damned seconds, and then we can begin."

Begin what?

He moved forward from his position against the door -- she swore that she had caught him leaning against it for more than a few seconds, as though it needed to carry his weight. "This school is a ******** hole," he muttered, though that was more than a little unfair as he had been the mastermind behind it -- but he'd looked exhausted. He was keeping his glasses on. His usually military ramrod posture looked a little -- softened around the edges, as though he was trying to keep it up and it looked as though he was trying.

Usually the General-King looked effortless. Not today.

"Ursula," he said. "You've been with me a long time now. Since this all began. You were -- after Khaldun. My second lieutenant. Probably the one who showed the most god damned ******** promise, which hasn't changed, considering the cannon fodder I've been getting has all been sixteen year old girls with frilly ******** panties -- Ursula."

He was looking at her. And, quite slowly, he reached out his hand to her, as though she were meant to take it, just like the time that he had shown her the crystalline grave inside of the Negaverse subspace. His voice was low and quiet when he said: "I've waited too long to do this, Lieutenant."

"You'll be the first."

He lead her around her desk to stand in front of him, her hand in his much larger one. You'll be the first. This was definitely an "oh, god," moment. Possibly an "OH GOD!!!" moment with lots more exclamation marks; whatever the case was, he was holding her hand. He smelled unexcitingly human: tobacco, because it was Charonite, and the faint whiff of tiredness and sweat. You'll be the first. It was very nearly romantic. Probably to Nealite it was utterly romantic --

Only then his hand slid down to her wrist and the world around her shifted. There was that slightly nauseating feeling of the teleport, and then there they were in the Negaverse cave cathedral, before the stark throne. Smelling the dust. Feeling the emptiness. Not that romantic, but, hey, you made romance whereever you found it, right?

"Lieutenant," he said. "What would you give for the Negaverse?"

(This was odd lovetalk.)

"I know," he said.

They were standing there. At least her 'teacher uniform' was now replaced with her Negaverse uniform, which was neat as a pin and didn't comprise button-up polyester, and there he was decked out in his General-King uniform with the cloak he'd ripped off so that he and Khaldun could give her the kiss of life (something that was still a squicky topic). And this was the moment when he would possibly kiss her, or at least confess how he felt, or confess and THEN kiss her --

"So I'm promoting you."

He dropped her hand.

This was not a kiss nor was it a confession of love. He said, "You're ready. I know you're ready. Ready to be a ******** weapon, Nealite, ready to command a legion of mostly frankly ******** idiots and weed out the weak to encourage the strong -- we may have corrupted two senshi, but we can't sit on our ******** laurels. Astraea's out there, and she's getting more every ******** day. The Barren Pines project's taking a while to bear god damned fruit. So."

He was already rolling up his sleeve. He wore no gloves; her sleeves only came up to her forearms, edged with lace, but he reached out and pushed that one up too past her elbow. He gripped her forearm, causing her to mimic -- though his forearm was a lot more brawny than her own.

"Every time I do this, I'm feeding you energy," he said. It looked as though he probably shouldn't; a little greyish around the edges, tired. "Every ******** time -- we didn't get born goddamned Shitennou, Nealite, we had to earn it." (Back in the old days, without those newfangled computers and condoms and Playstations.) "Bit by ******** bit. And every time I do this, you get a little less human. Embrace it. Don't be afraid. Don't show one god damned sign of fear. You'll start to see clearer, hear more. This is why we collect star seeds, Nealite. To fuel ourselves. To keep on ******** going, all right?"

He was angry -- he was sharing information and he was angry; it was Charonite, he always got irritable sharing anything. "Are you ready? This'll hurt. If you're still remotely in pain I'm not ******** going through with this, all right. This can knock you the ******** out and I need you at one hundred and ten god damned percent, Ursula."

There was the underlying: because I'm not.

She never could have prepared herself enough. It wasn't like the corruption of her star seed. That had been -- just about -- gentle, that long year ago, the first time that she had begun to understand what this was all about. This shock travelled straight up her arm and directly into her chest as though it was giving her star seed a battery bolt -- and it felt like fire, it felt like whipping, it felt as though there was a vein from forearm to her heart that was pure liquid pain.

She'd been in too many battles, even mostly healed from the Castor c**k-up. It surged through her, and she felt herself stumble -- saw a bright light, a little too bright, as though there was a floodlight in her eyes. Like an optometrist's light, shone so directly you could briefly see the veins in your own corneas. There was the vague feeling that he had caught her, but what was dominant was the pain.

And then it was over, though she swore to God that she smelled something burnt. And she'd changed. And he was right. There was power. It was as though her sight had been sharpened, her muscles all given a shot of steroids. Her hearing refined. Even the way she felt things -- the cloth underneath her fingertips, the way each muscle in her body was tensed.

Also: new outfit.

"Congratulations," he said, still holding her in his arms. "Captain Nealite."

He straightened her up, saluted her crisply as only Charonite could, and stepped back so that he was out of her personal space (sigh). "You'll find you'll have another, much more ******** useful power," he said, "so don't find yourself god damn abusing it, Ursula. You can now enter and leave this place whenever you want, and you'll be able to teleport -- you'll find it ******** exhausts you, but you can. So long as you've goddamn been to the place before. You won't be able to do it in your human ******** form, all right?"

He folded his arms. "If you haven't got any questions, you're dismissed. Feel free to let the other members of this gang of goddamned idiots know you've been promoted -- and remember, they're your subordinates now. No ******** giving them orders unless it's through me, but if they give you lip, I expect you to ******** act on it. This is a god damned military organisation. You have to be strong."