Chapter 822: line with translation of chapter title

NO. 191: Sa Nushu

'Ultraman Max', after the planning for 'Ultraman Nexus' was axed, returned to the original concept of the 'Warrior of Light', a Tsuburaya creation named after 'super-light-speed' as the 'fastest and strongest Ultraman'.

The red giant of light from the M78 Nebula, bearing the identity of a planetary civilization observer—

——This setting likewise returns to the Showa era.

Meanwhile, its design itself is based on Ultraman Seiji.

Standard hexagonal angular yellow crystal eyes, chest and shoulder armor plates, with a head protrusion hiding a spear-like McSchum Sword; Ultraman Max and Ultraman Seiji can be said to share a lineage, yet their attitudes toward humans are starkly different.

Compared to Seiji, who is overly friendly toward humans, Max is a more neutral, rational being.

When dealing with disputes, he believes that rather than indiscriminate interference, letting the humans, as Earth's natives, figure out a solution themselves is more appropriate.

He only intervenes when humans, relying on their own strength, reach their limit.

Before that, he would wait for the opportunity, hoping humans would forge the future with their own strength.

However, this difference in handling style does not bind his temperament.

According to an unnamed Seiji-surnamed Ultraman, Uncle Max is much easier to get along with than his father; when he occasionally returns to the Land of Light to report duty, he also tells some amusing stories to the juniors.

But none of that matters.

Under the Hei'an Fighting Ritual, all beings are equal; whether Seiji or Max, they are equally flattened, the latter being flattened to an impressive degree, making everyone have to admit that the title 'fastest and strongest' is ultimately an outdated label.

In the not-too-distant future, it will be knocked down again.

Fortunately, this label also comes from humans; the Ultras wouldn't casually put such a high hat on their own kind, so naturally there's no talk of their image collapsing.

It's worth mentioning that not only humans view the Ultras through a filter.

At least for the vast majority of aliens helped by the Ultra Warriors, that brief moment still shines with a brilliant, eye-catching posture, often worth remembering.

Koof is one of those aliens.

He once walked the end of his life, receiving friendship from young Earthlings amidst hostility and oppression.

He also once begged the neutral‑seeming yet stance‑showing Ultra Warrior to let him witness the future he hoped for.

That future—where even showing his alien form he could befriend Earthlings, transcending appearance and stance prejudices—was one he would sacrifice his life for.

At that time, he actually didn't know what the Ultra race was, just as his initial name for Ultraman Max was: 'that red giant'.

Only after arriving in this world—where dreams seemed to have come true, with a beautifully protected ecology and open acceptance of alien beings—did he, by chance, learn from the news about the group called 'Ultraman'.

From there he also confirmed the existence of Ultraman Max.

He is indeed not a fan of Aomo Lindun, but he admits he is a fan of Max.

Or more accurately, it should be 'SaNushu'.

This hometown pronunciation is called 'longing'.

Whether facing setbacks or hitting rock bottom, it is a distant beacon one wants to keep rushing toward.

It also lets him, after watching two certain 'brawl'-type Ultra IP works, still cheer for Max and all the Ultras without being affected.

Since he never cared about combat power, he knows better than anyone that some things cannot be changed by strength alone; what matters is a spirit of determination.

At the same time, he also has considerable affection for the horse girls.

After all, immersed in the culture of the Boundary Gate District, his workplace is even in the underground of the Tresen branch campus.

He also often observes, as a bystander, those girls' training and growth, becoming acquainted with several of the horse girls, and occasionally turns on the sports channel to watch familiar‑named figures running on the road to their dreams.

In such moments, he is undoubtedly also a fan of the horse girls.

But that may perhaps be only a fleeting longing.

When a giant dumb cat hoists him onto its shoulder like a construction worker carrying sandbags, he thinks silently.

'I think you can still expect a bit more from them.' It sounds like a voice from nearby, indeed coming from beside him, yet it actually resonates in his mind, and surprisingly, no one else is mixed in.

His naturally drooping gaze unconsciously turns toward the blue‑furred area.

He also understands in his heart that this is a private call Aomo Lindun has opened just for him:

'Sorry, those earlier remarks were just a joke,' a voice softer and even more childish than the impression, 'They wanted you to relax, but instead it backfired; please give them a chance to make amends.'

Such sincere and patient words instead made Koof fall silent for a few seconds, then he suddenly asked: 'Can you tell my mood?'

'I wouldn't say I can see it, just that I have a feeling.'

'I have a horse girl under me who usually shows no expression; to judge her mood I can only rely on subtle body movements and minute changes in her gaze.'

'Miss Miura Bourbon, right?' Koof immediately knows who he's talking about.

'That's right,' Aomo frankly admits, 'Although for you inorganic beings with true faces, Bourbon isn't the same kind, for us… the difficulty of sensing her emotions is not markedly different from sensing yours.'

'Even when judging by details, the result often falls short of expectations; fortunately, after getting along for a while, I vaguely found a feeling frequency.'

'Not growth of mental power but finding a feeling frequency?'

'Yes, finding the frequency.'

The dumb cat's steps are steady and swift, its big black eyes fixed on the distant training field; the eyes behind the sockets are dotted with dark red and Hei'an to sharpen its vision.

'In this world, not only do many people have innate excellent spiritual perception, but many source energies also drive mental power growth during cultivation.'

'For such people, mastering technique is more important than enhancing ability.'

'I see, so you've learned to catch mental fluctuations?'

'Not yet that far, but it does yield a bit of result that can lift continued motivation; however, that's off topic—I just mean, please don't so lightly abandon your past perseverance.'

'No need to take it so seriously?' At this point Koof instead feels it's making a mountain out of a molehill: 'I just can't stand it for a moment.'

'Even if it's just minor pressures in life, one wave after another stacking can force out a fatal gap,' Aomo calmly said, 'I guess Mr. Koof has probably been bothered by this topic more than once today.'

'……Indeed that is the case.'

'So an apology is needed; you can return to your original channel afterward, but before that I still have a doubt that needs your proof—Is the dean still alive? Where is she?'

'In my laboratory, located underground of the university's teaching building, it should be guarded by a Magma Star person.'

'I suppose so; then go receive the apology you deserve.'

Wait!

Please speak, Mr. Ke Fu.

'You… why did you specially take time out of this tense moment to explain things to me?' He finally couldn't hold back, asking the question he had wanted to ask for a while.

No matter how kind a person is, they wouldn't, in such a race‑against‑time moment, give someone this kind of trivial basic psychological counseling, even if they could multitask.

Ke Fu had already settled in, having been integrated into this world for a long time, and had grown accustomed to being an ordinary visitor here rather than a special existence.

But in his interaction with the other party, he once again received that treatment—the very treatment that had always made him sensitive.

'Ah, it seems I was still rather obvious.'

Aomo Lindun's voice resonating in his heart carried a hint of a wry smile.

'That's right; I heard you say before that you're not my fan—you just voted for me.'

That voice, tinged with a hint of youthful immaturity, remained polite even now, even gaining a touch of solemnity:

'But although I didn't have the chance to vote for you, I think I am indeed your fan.'