86 - Volume 6 - Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2 

LIFE’S BUT A WALKING SHADOW 

“Next up, point 183–570. Enemy estimated to be a platoon-size group of Ameise.” 

“Enemy unit confirmed by sight. One platoon of Ameise… Including three targets.” 

“Roger that. Gunslinger, opening fire.” 

At the old United Kingdom border, in the Legion territories along the southern regions of the Dragon Corpse mountain range, preparations for the next offensive were underway. Armored detachments composed of heavy-class Legion units were being concentrated on the front lines, while preparations for an airborne offensive were being made behind them. 

On the horizon between the silver skies and the blinding white snowscape, three Zentaurs and a platoon of Ameise were crouched on a steep incline facing west as the snow piled over them. Their orders were to remain on standby. These combat machines had no concept of tedium and remained idle—without displeasure or boredom—as they awaited the command to attack. 

It was then that the sudden clang of a high-speed, high-density hunk of metal digging into armor rang into the air before the sound was absorbed by the snow. One of the Zentaurs crumpled powerlessly to the ground, having been shot through its central kernel. 

The nearby Ameise turned their composite sensors in the direction of the Zentaur that had fallen over like a marionette with its strings cut. And as they did, the remaining two Zentaur units were shot down one after another. These high-speed, armor-piercing rounds traveled at an initial velocity of 1,600 meters per second—faster than their fire could echo. 

By the time those Ameise turned to acknowledge the Zentaurs’ fate, they didn’t have so much as a spare moment to relay news of the enemy attack to their Supreme Commander unit. The Ameise were left utterly helpless against the volley of 88 mm rounds fired with laser accuracy, fired as fast as their automatic reload mechanism could operate. 

“Suppression of targets and peripheral units is complete, Sir Reaper.” 

“Roger that. Kurena, change position. Your next target is a feint. Ludmila, point 202–358. Presumed to be an armored unit consisting primarily of Löwe. Please confirm.” 

“One moment, please. Malinovka Company, a change in position. Move to point—” 

As she listened to Shin’s exchange with the Malinovka Company’s commander—the Sirin named Ludmila—Kurena raised Gunslinger from its sniping position. She was in the middle of a forest of black conifer trees, their tops like spears brandished against the heavens. Like the thorns on a dragon’s spine. 

Dense snow, which had fallen off the nearby branches as the recoil of her shots shook the air, slipped off her unit’s fuselage. Snow wouldn’t melt in this temperature, so it remained white and powdery. The sky above this forest in the contested zones, which was relatively close to the Legion’s territory, was indeed sealed off by a layer of silver. It was likely that behind the Eintagsfliege that formed this argent veil were their commander units, the Rabe. 

And so in order to keep her silhouette hidden from them, her Juggernaut’s armor was dyed white in camouflage paint. Still, the moment she fired, the 88 mm turret’s thunderous boom would expose her position. As such, before those annoying airborne lookouts closed in on her, Kurena used the thick branches as cover to quickly and cautiously shift Gunslinger’s position. 

Shin, who was also scouting out the contested zones, and the Alkonosts that were in charge of confirming and recovering their targets were also repeating a cycle of taking cover and changing position. Their force for this series of ambushes—which consisted of the Spearhead squadron and a single company of Alkonosts—was relatively small, and so they had to go about their mission while avoiding open hostilities as much as possible. 

“A job well done, Lady Gunslinger. Darya, withdrawing.” 

She’d received a transmission over the Sensory Resonance from the Sirin in charge of scouting out ahead—Darya. She had pink, braided hair and looked even younger than the other Sirins, which were all made to look like young girls. 

They’d cooperated at the Revich Citadel Base and were working together even now that they had moved to the reserve base. Thanks to their many repeated joint operations, Kurena and the rest of the Processors had grown used to working in tandem with the Sirins. The overall forces set to participate in the Dragon Fang Mountain operation were smaller than before, but the invasion force itself wasn’t much different compared to the plan’s original draft. 

That said, Kurena still wasn’t used to handling these girls, who deemed themselves disposable existences. 

“But truly, you would be better off leaving this duty to us. These may be the contested zones, but we’re still operating near Legion territories. This mission is far too dangerous for human lives.” 

“It’s not like…you can pull off the stunts I can, right?” 

She’d almost called them disposable but stopped herself in time. She didn’t want to say it. Those were the same words the white pigs directed at the Eighty-Six. But the Sirins were different from the Eighty-Six. 

We’re not like these things. We might be similar, but we’re not like them. 

“…That might be true. We’ve specialized in melee combat so far, so we don’t boast the same sniping prowess you do, Lady Gunslinger. But if you would lend us your firing data and Juggernaut so that we may analyze your sniping techniques, we may be able to study them accordingly. And once we gain enough combat experience…” 

Kurena pursed her lips tightly at that suggestion. 

“There’s no way…” 

This is all I have. This battlefield is the only place where I’m allowed to be by Shin’s side. I’d wished he’d take me back with him the day I fall in battle. Ever since then, Shin and I stopped being equals. I was no longer a savior; I became someone looking to be saved. I can’t support Shin… He won’t rely on me. Even now, when he’s being tormented by something. So at the very least, this… There’s no way… 

“…I’m giving this up to anyone.” 

“Roger. Spearhead squadron and Malinovka company, withdrawing from the battle area.” 

Shin sighed as Lena’s order to withdraw arrived from the reserve base’s command center. As always, the image of a white world was projected onto his optical screen. It had been half a month since he’d made his decision. Some part of him couldn’t help but feel that he was running away from her. He occupied himself single-mindedly with the preparations for the operation, hiding in the fighting and everyday tasks that accompanied it. All in an attempt to postpone the task he’d realized he had to do. 

He needed to do something he was incapable of doing so far; he needed to imagine his own future. 

But even though he understood this, half a month had passed, and he still had no idea what he was actually supposed to do. He knew he was just standing still and doing nothing, but he couldn’t move. 

He had no goal to strive for, after all. Nothing he wanted to do. Nowhere he wanted to go to, no vision of himself he wanted to become. Though he asked himself these questions relentlessly, he couldn’t come up with a single answer. He had nothing save the crippling emptiness he felt at all times. 

The only thing he could truly feel was the sense of urgency burning in his heart. The moment he’d become aware of it, the emotions surged up, compelling him to do something. 

“You’re allowed to wish for it.” 

So she said. And he wanted to respond to those words. But he came up empty… 

“I have nothing, Lena.” 

He’d whispered those words too softly to be picked up by the switched-off Para-RAID and wireless. Lena said she wanted happiness for all. But that was… 

“What should people who can’t wish for anything do…?” 

What should those who can’t answer that prayer do…? 

Apparently, having images of flower fields drawn over the dining hall walls was something all of the United Kingdom’s frontline bases had in common. 

“Seriously, how do you keep coming up with these operations?” 

The reserve base at the United Kingdom’s second front line was the Eighty-Sixth Strike Package’s current post. It was surrounded by forests and mountains, which were nourished by a large river. In contrast to the barren impression the words northern land might invoke, the United Kingdom was blessed by nature’s splendor. There were plenty of naturally occurring ingredients to cook with. 

Raiden spoke through a mouthful of fish stew, which had been carefully simmered to bring out the full flavor of the ingredients… It might’ve been a bit too flavorful to someone who wasn’t used to it. Lena smiled at him. 

“Back when I commanded the Brísingamen squadron and during the large-scale offensive, I had to fight while making use of anything I had. Though, I’ll admit this time I took a little…well, a big chunk out of the system developer’s sleep.” 

She tried not to think too much about the objects Vika sent in addition to the items they were going to use. 

Theo, fork in hand, added: 

“By the way, I hear Anju and Kurena are going to be separated from the rest of the unit during the Dragon Fang Mountain operation. And so are the sniping and surface-suppression forces for the other squadrons.” 

“I’ll admit I can’t exactly show my worth inside the enemy fortress,” Anju said. 

“I’m pretty sure I can hit my marks even in cramped places, though,” Kurena said grumpily. 

Raiden sighed in exasperation. 

“That’s why we’re using that skill of yours to crush the enemy units.” 

“This time, the United Kingdom can’t afford to lend us any forces to cover for us while we charge in… Having you two keep the enemy pinned down from the rear while we head in will be more helpful for us than having you come with.” 

After hearing those words from Shin, Kurena beamed with pride. 

“Right! Leave it to me!” 

“…My goodness, girl, you are a simpleminded one…,” Frederica remarked with a hint of exasperation. “I should hope you do not find yourself wrapped around some vile man’s little finger.” 

“Excuse you?!” 

As Kurena jumped up to her feet, knocking back her chair with a thud, Shin, Raiden, and Theo started shuffling their shares of the United Kingdom’s unique salted mushrooms onto Frederica’s tray. 

“Aaah! What are you all doing?!” 

“You went a bit too far this time, Frederica,” Anju said gently. 

“Hmph! See that? Shin, Raiden, and Theo are on my side!” 

Kurena puffed out her chest. Contrary to the childishness of her words, that gesture accentuated her mature curves, which prompted Frederica to growl angrily. Looking over that exchange, Lena chuckled. The Eighty-Six had all seemed depressed ever since the battle at the Revich base, but it appeared they were starting to recover. 

In truth, nothing had really been resolved. But they seemed to have switched gears since coming to this frontline base—to the battlefield. Shin and the other Processors were regaining their cheerfulness and their combat prowess. They may have been youths in their mid to late teens, but they were still Eighty-Six—warriors who had survived the Eighty-Sixth Sector for years. Being able to quickly adjust their mindsets was a skill they naturally had to develop. 

“And it’s not just you two. The rearguard and Vanadis’s attached unit are gonna be staying behind…” 

A boisterous “You got it, Li’l Reaper!” cut Raiden off, who turned his glance to a nearby table. Shin ignored that shout. Lena turned her gaze to Shin, but he didn’t look back. It occurred to her that since they came to this base, Shin hadn’t spoken to her outside of work-related issues. He looked down in contemplation, pretending not to notice her eyes on him. 

When was the last time they had spoken? Ah, right, after the grand conference, in that snowy, starlit garden. When for but a moment, he’d shown her the dismissive…yet puzzled expression of a lost child. 

What was that all about…? 

“Shiden’s people, huh…? I know the United Kingdom’s main force was done in pretty badly, but will they really be enough for defending HQ?” 

“Hey, Li’l Reaper! Don’t ignore me! I know you can hear me!” 

“You don’t have to repeat yourself. I can hear you just fine. Just sit quietly and be a good guard dog, like always.” 

“Ah-ha-ha-ha! Ya finally admit it, huh?! Don’t ya worry. My unit will be keeping Her Majesty here safe and sound. Unlike you, Li’l Reaper!” 

The two of them seemed to have begun some kind of lively, pointless argument. The sight of them squabbling made a smile play over Lena’s lips and pushed that momentary, nagging anxiety to the back of her mind. 

For a time, at least. 

The room’s primary function was an office belonging to a member of the royal family, but it still acted as a frontline base. As Lerche entered the chamber, which was much drearier than any other in the palace, she found her master was still gazing at a holographic electronic document hovering in the air. 

“Your Highness, the base is soon about to enter lights-out. You should prepare for bed… Or rather, I believe you ought to take a break first. I’ll pour you some tea.” 

“Thank you… But before that… Hey.” 

Removing the glasses he wore for desk work, her master silently called her name. 

“Lerche.” 

He spoke to her with a casual tone, but Lerche pursed her lips. Sirins weren’t equipped with any senses aside from hearing and sight and had no functions for breathing or digestion. But the sole exception was their ability to change their facial expressions. 

Vika stared at her with his cold, violet eyes as she stood still in front of the office’s door. Lerche thought she could understand why those who sought to slander this man called him a serpent. When he looked at her like that, it felt like something utterly inhuman had her locked in its gaze. A cold-blooded, captivating, black serpent. The way his Imperial violet eyes glared at her, as if seeing into her very soul, was indeed terrifying. 

“What did you tell Nouzen during the last operation?” 

“…Nothing in particular.” 

“You’re lying. He’s been avoiding you ever since that final charge. And he lacks the sensitivity to be repulsed by you all because you’re a bird of death or a mechanical doll. Which means he’s not avoiding the Sirins; he’s avoiding you. And the cause for that must be something you said. Am I right?” 

Her expression grew strained. This was a question coming from the man who granted her both her consciousness and her purpose. She had to answer. As his creation, as one who acknowledged herself as his sword, she couldn’t allow herself to refuse. And yet… 

“Your Highness… Even I have words I wish to keep to myself.” 

I—this lone Sirin by the name of Lerche—am a failure that could not become the girl called Lerchenlied. Even though I am made from her remains, produced by a wish to re-create her, I am but a useless vessel that failed to capture her essence. 

Yet despite the fact that Vika let her stay by his side as his personal guard, she couldn’t tell him what she had told Shin. Her proclamation that as someone who was no longer alive, she could never achieve happiness alongside another…meant so long as Vika was at her side, he would never find joy. 

The backups of the Sirins’ neural networks and quasi-personalities were stored in the production plant. Even if a Sirin was destroyed in battle, they could easily be reproduced. But that wasn’t true for Lerche. Her brain structure and quasi-personality could not be reproduced. No backups existed for her—the sole copy of Lerche’s mind and personality only existed within her cranium. 

Lerche…was Lerchenlied’s only vessel. 

This wasn’t caused by any kind of technical limitation, however. It was what Vika wanted. Lerchenlied willingly surrendered her remains to him to become a Sirin, but that was only because that was her master’s, Vika’s, wish. At the very least, that’s what Vika believed. And so when it came to Lerchenlied and her alone, he believed her revival should be a onetime affair. Should Lerche break at this point, Vika would let her soul be free. 

So she couldn’t tell Vika she called herself a fake that could not bring anyone joy when he cherished Lerchenlied so much. Never. 

Vika scoffed at her. 

“I know that much. I never inputted a directive to always obey my orders when I initially programmed you, you know…? I’m asking you despite that. What did you tell him?” 

He wasn’t ordering her to answer him. He was asking her to answer. 

Lerche contorted her face in anguish. All the Sirins were given the capacity to change their facial expressions, despite being weapons. They were given human faces, voices, eyes, and skin. In all honesty, these features were unnecessary for combat and only served to lower the rate of production. And despite that, research was put forth into reproducing those features using artificial materials. 

The basis for the Sirins’ concept was a mechanical body born of Vika’s desire as a child to create a new living vessel for his dead mother. That idea was reinforced for battle and simplified for mass-production purposes. 

And even though they were mass-produced combat machines… Even though they were only pale imitations of a true human form…they were still dolls that could have become the mother he lost or the girl he loved. They were dolls that could have become human. 

Surely, as their creator, he did not wish to see them being sent out to battle and treated like spare parts. So how could she refuse him, when he showed so much affection for them? She would have to answer. Even if that answer would go on to hurt him. 

“…By your will, Your Highness.” 

“I guess it makes sense that in the half month we’ve been stationed here, we’d collect this many of ’em.” 

The Eighty-Sixth Strike Package’s Reginleif maintenance crew included a large number of Eighty-Six servicing staff. Sergeant Guren Akino and Corporal Touka Keisha, who were in charge of servicing Undertaker, were two such examples. 

“I mean, it’s hard ’cause the Legion don’t want us to reuse or recycle their remains. Especially when it comes to the combatant types like the Löwe. They fry their central processors along with the rest of their functions to protect confidential data. But since these things are more for logistical support, only their central processors are wired to fry themselves… So in theory, we should be able to cobble something together by recycling their remains.” 

The remains of countless ruined Legion units lay scattered in an unused hangar. Guren spoke to Shin, who had shown up for a status report, while pointing his thumb at the wreckage. He was a tall man with reddish hair that had grown faded from exposure to sunlight, and a pair of blue eyes that had something of a sarcastic glint to them. 

Touka was a pureblood Sapphira with flowing golden hair who looked entirely out of place in the maintenance crew’s brusque overalls. As she spoke, her fair, dainty features softened into a smile. 

“But on its own, it’s all technology that’s been in use since before the war. Even the Federacy utilized it, so I suppose the Legion don’t really care about us having it. That helps us in operations like this, though. Saves us the hassle of having to make them from scratch.” 

Both of them were part of the maintenance crew that used to be stationed in the same base as Shin in the Eighty-Sixth Sector. At the time, Shin would constantly wreck his Juggernaut, so he had to come to them for servicing quite often. As such, they remembered Shin even years down the line. 

“But heh, to think you’d end up being captain. To think that little squirt from back then grew up to be this guy.” 

…Still, they had stood on equal footing during his first year after being drafted. Being treated this way, as if he were a child, was irritating. Guren smirked at the way Shin eyed him wordlessly. There was a hint of bitterness to his smile. 

“But really, you only got bigger, didn’t you? You still break the Reginleifs as much as you used to break the Juggernauts. When it comes to that, you haven’t changed in the slightest.” 

Shin blinked a few times at that statement. 

“…I haven’t?” 

He was in the same base as Guren seven years ago. Back when he was still convinced that he was to blame for Rei trying to kill him. And at the time, he also believed, somewhere in his heart, that the way his comrades kept dying and leaving him behind…was somehow his fault. The truth was that they had constantly been dispatched to the most dangerous battlefields. 

But since then, he’d grown. His voice had changed. He’d found a few comrades who lived through battles with him, and he thought he’d changed in all sorts of ways. He did believe that. But… 

He hadn’t changed? Ever since those days? Really? 

Guren smiled, without realizing the doubts sprouting up in Shin. 

“Yeah. You’re a good bit stronger than you were back then, and you look more dependable… But the way you plunge into danger is all the same. The way you fought always made me wonder if you had a death wish or something.” 

Even as he left the hangar, Shin was still weighed down by Guren’s words. Touka, who had stood next to them, cracked a smirk but didn’t deny what he said. 

Had he really not changed? Not in the last two weeks, since he’d realized he needed to change… But ever since the Eighty-Sixth Sector? Really? 

“Shin.” 

The United Federacy base corridors were always complicated, as if they were fashioned after a labyrinth of some sort. Arriving at a junction of the corridors, Shin stopped and looked at the one who called him: Kurena. 

Before even realizing who she was, Shin furrowed his brows in puzzlement as he asked: 

“…What’s with that look?” 

“Huh…? Ah!” 

Kurena glanced down at her outfit and suddenly turned red. That said, Shin didn’t see what about it warranted embarrassment. Her uniform’s jacket was off and draped over her arm, and her blouse’s necktie was undone. Shin didn’t personally care very much but had to ask since it was still technically a violation of military regulations. 

“This is, er, ah… It’s nothing!” 

Kurena was, for some reason, very flustered about this. As she swung her arms around in some meaningless gesture, Shin easily realized with his kinetic vision that one of her hands was gripping some kind of purplish-silver choker. 

…Come to think of it, Kurena and Anju were scheduled to have some support-type equipment they’d received for the upcoming mission checked. For whatever reason, no one was willing to explain what kind of equipment it was. Frederica, Lena, and oddly enough, even Vika refused to speak of it in front of him. He’d once asked Marcel about it, who simply stiffened in silence with a very pale expression. 

Somehow regaining her composure, Kurena continued their conversation. 

“Forget that. Um… Hey, Shin.” 

She looked up at him with her golden eyes. 

“Are you, like…panicking right now?” 

“………” 

Shin squinted with one of his eyes. 

…Dammit. I was trying to hide it so no one…so Lena wouldn’t notice. I didn’t want it to influence how they see me. 

Her heart heavy with concern, Kurena looked over at Shin, who was scowling like he’d just had an open wound touched. He’d likely made this face upon realizing that Kurena could tell he was struggling with something. He couldn’t accept making anyone—namely Kurena—worry about him. 

He’ll always…only see me as a troublesome little sister, won’t he? 

“…Sorry. Is it bothering you?” he asked. 

“No, no, it’s fine. That’s not what I meant. I just wanted to tell you something.” 

When did she realize how panicked Shin seemed to be? It was when they came to this base in the United Kingdom, sometime during the two weeks they’d spent training for the upcoming attack. The heat of combat was when Kurena got to spend the most time with Shin. That was when she was even closer to him than Lena, and helpful to him in the one way she alone could—as a sniper. 

She could tell Shin was panicking. That he was trying go somewhere far away, somewhere that wasn’t here. As if something was pressing him, urging him to hurry up and go, even though Shin himself likely didn’t know where that place might be. And so he went nowhere. He was stuck in place, and that lack of progress only served to heighten his panic. 

Despite the fact that if he didn’t know where to go, he wouldn’t have to go anywhere to begin with. 

“Er… If it’s hard on you, you don’t have to force yourself to change.” 

For a moment, Shin’s eyes widened ever so slightly. Kurena looked straight at him as she continued: 

“Ever since we left the Eighty-Sixth Sector and came to the Federacy, everyone’s been telling us not to be ourselves. But we got this far by being who we are, you know? So I think it’s fine if we stay like this.” 

And upon saying that, Kurena realized: What she was trying to say wasn’t You don’t have to change. It was Please don’t change. Because if they stopped being the Eighty-Six and became something else… 

You’d choose to be somewhere that isn’t the battlefield… The only place I can be with you. 

“So I think you don’t have try to change if you don’t want to. You don’t need to make that pained expression. I think we can just stay the way we are.” 

Please don’t change. Stay the way you are. I don’t think we can make that choice the way we are now, but I still want our relationship to stay like this: as fellow Eighty-Six who will fight and die together on the same battlefield. 

“I don’t think you need to change.” 

Shin’s expression hardened. It seemed he’d just understood something. 

“…Right. We’ve been doing just fine so far.” 

Even if they someday lost all their strength and fell in battle, they would at least know they fought to the very end. That was their sole source of pride, and even if they became the kind of person who could only wish for that fate, it was in no way a mistake. Living and dying like that wasn’t something be ashamed of. 

That was how they had survived the Eighty-Sixth Sector, a place of certain death. They’d decided to hang on to their pride, and they didn’t want to discard it. So it wasn’t a mistake. In no way, shape, or form was it a mistake. And yet… 

“Still, it’s not that I don’t want to change. I have to. I realized I have to wish for something. So…” 

It wasn’t a mistake. They could stay the way they were, if they wanted to live alone. Or with someone who shared their way of life, like another Eighty-Six. But that wasn’t true if they wanted to live alongside someone else. Because that way of life would go on to hurt that person. 

Shin looked away from those desperate, clinging golden eyes, knowing full well how cruel it was to do so. 

“We can’t stay the way we are.” 

Something was off about Shin. That’s what Lena had been feeling over the last few days. On the surface, there weren’t any problems to speak of. His drafting, preparation, and reports for the upcoming operation were all in order, and he was as calm and collected as ever. 

But it felt like something was bothering him. She couldn’t shake that feeling, nor could she figure out what the issue was. And so Lena decided to bring it up herself. 

“Do you think something’s been bothering Shin?” 

“Why don’t you ask him instead?” 

Looking up from her seat in her office, she found Raiden sitting on the small, nearby sofa, holding a teacup in one hand and regarding her with an utterly exasperated expression. As if to say What are you asking me for? 

Lena frowned at his response. Shin wouldn’t answer that question even if she asked him, and that’s why she asked Raiden, who was Shin’s closest friend. Maybe if Raiden was the one bringing up the question, Shin would actually answer it… Raiden would deny that, of course, but the thought that Shin would tell him something he wouldn’t be willing to share with her made her quite unhappy. 

“What about you, Shiden? Did he tell you something?” 

“…Your Majesty, you must be really up against a wall here. Does it look like that Li’l Reaper and I get along well enough to have a heart-to-heart? You know we don’t.” 

True enough, whenever they met, the two of them started arguing and bickering like little children. 

“I always thought it was like they said: You have to be close to argue with someone…” 

“Nah, nope, no chance of that. Me and the Li’l Reaper just straight up don’t like each other. Like a wolf and a tiger, we’re natural enemies. We don’t get along on a genetic level, me and him.” 

“…Wolves and tigers aren’t natural enemies, and the tiger’s gonna come out on top there. Which one of you is supposed to be which anyway?” 

Outright ignoring Raiden’s quip, Shiden stuffed another tea cake into her mouth and munched down on it in a distinctly noisy, impolite manner. 

“But yeah, even I can tell something’s off about him. Not like he’d talk to anyone about it. You could just order him to do it, Your Majesty. You’re his commanding officer.” 

“That’s…” 

That was true. If a subordinate of hers was showing problems that might interfere with the operation’s success, it was her duty to either ask him about it and address the issue or order him to resolve it on his own. And if both weren’t possible, she would need to remove him from the operation. 

“…That’s not what I mean.” 

She wanted him to depend on her as a friend, not as a commanding officer… Lena drooped her shoulders. 

Still, a commanding officer had their duties to consider. 

“Shin, if anything is bothering you, I’m willing to lend you an ear.” 

“What’s this all of a sudden?” 

Lena didn’t know how to steer the conversation toward the topic, and so she decided to just go ahead and cut to the chase. Shin answered her question with a puzzled expression. Frederica, who happened to be in Lena’s office at the time, heaved an exaggerated sigh for some reason. 

“You just look like you’ve been brooding over something for a while now. I’m willing to listen if you’d like to talk about it, or I could increase the frequency of your regular counseling sessions.” 

“Aaah…” Shin made a pained expression for a moment. 

But he soon stifled that emotion and shook his head. 

“It’s a personal matter. I wouldn’t even say it’s bothering me, per se.” 

“But it’d be an issue if it ended up interfering with the operation…” 

“I believe I’ve always shut those things out during combat operations… Or was there some kind of problem?” 

Lena was at a loss for words. Truth be told, Shin’s capacity for completing operational objectives was without fault. But she couldn’t shake the feeling there was something forced and fabricated about the expression he now wore on his pale, generally stoic face. He looked the same as always, but something was different. As if something was wavering behind that facade, but he had to keep that bottled up in front of Lena. 

“Well, no, there weren’t any problems, but…” 

She couldn’t come up with anything to refute that. And as Lena fell silent, Shin still didn’t tell her anything. Meanwhile, Frederica looked at the both of them wordlessly with a dubious expression. It was then that a knock on the door broke the awkward silence. Annette peeked into the room. To compensate for the shortage in manpower, she and Grethe had also arrived at the front with the rest of the Strike Package. 

“Lena, is this talk gonna take long? I need to borrow Captain Nouzen once you’re done. You know, for that matter.” 

Lena gave a perplexed nod while Shin eyed her questioningly. It was a matter she’d discussed with Annette before, but it wasn’t really something they couldn’t talk about in front of other people. 

“Yes, but you can discuss it here, too.” 

Annette cracked a smile. 

“Come on. Let’s assume he has to tell me that it’s too hard to implement during the operation. Do you want him to say that in front of his commanding officer…? I doubt the captain would care, and he’d probably say it anyway. But be considerate of him.” 

That was true. 

“Yes, you’re right… Then go ahead, Captain. My apologies.” 

Shin sighed as he left the office with Annette. It might have only been by way of coincidence, but he was saved. When Lena asked him if something was bothering him, he was very much startled. He didn’t want her, of all people, to notice something was wrong with him, but apparently, it showed on his face regardless. 

The image of her bothered expression and her concerned silver-bell-like voice surfaced in his mind again. 

“If anything is bothering you, I’m willing to lend you an ear.” 

…But I can’t tell you. 

How could he tell her he could never make her wish come true? That he wanted to change himself but didn’t know how to go about it? That he didn’t want to be a burden to her… That he didn’t want to hurt her again? 

“That’s about it for our intentions. What’s your take on it as the commander on the scene? Lena told me not to approve it if you thought it would get in the way of completing the operation.” 

“I don’t think it’ll get in the way of the operation, but…” 

Annette led Shin to one of the several, loud warehouses that were filled with ammunition and energy packs prepared for the upcoming operation. Shin answered her question, standing in one of the corners as he read through the electronic document she handed him. 

“A Reginleif’s combat maneuvering can damage your body if you’re not used to it… I think it’ll be harsh on a noncombatant such as yourself, Major Penrose.” 

Annette shrugged casually. 

“Even Frederica’s boarded a Reginleif before, right? If a little kid can take it, I don’t see why I can’t.” 

“…Roger. I’ll pick someone to ferry you. I recommend you familiarize yourself with it ahead of time, Major. I can arrange training sessions for you, too, if you want.” 

“Thank you. That’s very thoughtful of you,” Annette said. 

She then started teasing him a bit. 

“I figured you’d hear me out, though. You always used to give in eventually whenever I’d ask you something ridiculous.” 

She said this while knowing that Shin didn’t appear to remember a whole lot about their past. What he did remember seemed to be the most trivial, unimportant memories. His responses were always either a casual I don’t remember or a curt maybe. She’d expected the same thing now, but Shin had fallen oddly silent. 

“…Captain?” 

“I wouldn’t really…” 

Shin looked away, and so she couldn’t quite meet his gaze. 

“…I wouldn’t really have agreed if you’d have asked me something truly ridiculous…Rita.” 

Anette’s eyes widened in surprise, but the next moment, she lowered her brows as a wistful smile played over her lips. 

“Right, I’m not just Major Penrose, am I?” 

Rita. That was what Shin had always called her before he was sent to the internment camp. Her parents were both deceased—one had died by suicide, while the other had perished in large-scale offensive—and she never told Lena about this nickname. After learning that Shin didn’t remember her when they’d reunited, she thought no one would ever call her by that name again. 

“Did you remember anything about me?” 

“Not completely. I feel like there’s more stuff I can’t remember than stuff I can, but…” 

Shin took a single, short breath. 

“But the truth is, I’d never lost those memories. So I thought I should apologize for not remembering until now.” 

“That’s fine. It’s not your fault you couldn’t remember… And if you had remembered everything, I’d have to be the one to apologize.” 

Suddenly sensing a gaze on them, they looked around only to find Fido peeking in on them from behind the shadow of one of the containers. Annette shooed it away with a wave of her hand. A Scavenger couldn’t possibly have a will or emotions of its own, but the way its large, round optical sensors seemed to be looking at them gave the impression it was worried about Shin. It was pretty cute. 

As something of a trivial note, Fido was the same name Shin had given his pet dog growing up. His simplistic naming conventions hadn’t seemed to mature any. 

Annette couldn’t tell exactly when he’d remembered more about her, but he’d probably been waiting for the right moment to mention it. Lena had been somewhat tormented recently by the fact that Shin seemed to be brooding over something, so maybe it was related to this change in his mental state. 

Yes, Lena. Right now, Annette wasn’t the childhood friend of the young man standing before her…but Lena’s friend. 

“Oh, and about earlier. I figured if I didn’t interfere, things would get annoying, but don’t worry Lena too much. The fact that you’re being weird has been weighing on her for days now. She had to work up some courage to ask you that question, so don’t snub her too much, okay?” 

“………” 

Annette realized, with a hint of exasperation, that his habit of giving the silent treatment whenever things became inconvenient for him hadn’t changed any. It’d been ten years, and he still acted like a small child. 

But that was probably because, in a way, he really was still just a kid. Shin was an Eighty-Six who served five years on a battlefield where he was fated to die. He shouldn’t have had a future and didn’t need to think about what would happen when he became an adult. 

So he couldn’t become this thing he’d never even thought about. The adults were the first to go, and so only the children were left in the Eighty-Sixth Sector. They didn’t have parents or teachers or older siblings to serve as an example to them. 

It was then that Annette realized: 

That’s…really bad. 

Not knowing where you’re going. Having to live while not even knowing what you want… 

“Hey, I hope I’m just overthinking this, but… Could it be that what’s bothering you is…” 

Suddenly, the bloodred eyes before her cooled. Having experienced this change in Shin’s attitude for the first time, Annette swallowed nervously. 

“…the Legion?” 

“Yeah… Sorry. My squad’s probably going to deploy now.” 

Which meant he had to go. 

“Right. Take care out there.” 

Even a few minutes after Shin left, Lena was still overcome by an awkward mood. Frederica, who had kept quiet until now, parted her lips to speak. 

“…Nothing good will come from being in such a hurry, I say.” 

Turning around to face her, Lena found that Frederica’s bloodred eyes weren’t fixed on her, but rather, they were tracing Shin’s movements from across the thick concrete wall. 

“Shinei is not as strong as you may believe he is. Nor does he understand himself… He is full of doubts, that one, and has been for quite some time. And so rushing him for an answer would only serve to further corner him…” 

“………?” 

Shin…wasn’t strong? 

“That can’t be right…” 

“Surely, you remember the moment you first met Shinei.” 

Lena blinked once. The first time she met him? Next to the Juggernaut memorial? No… 

“You mean when we fought off the Morpho, right?” 

“Aye. Think back to how Shinei was at that time. He was… The way he acted then—that, too, is a part of Shinei. A side of himself he never would have wished to show you.” 

She recalled the voice she’d heard back then, on that battlefield of lycoris flowers. The person she’d spoke to in the past—Shin—was… 

At that moment, a shrill alarm blared through the small office. 

“What is this?!” Frederica exclaimed. 

“This alarm…!” 

There shouldn’t have been a hunt today, but several units were dispatched to the contested zones, creating a diversion meant to obfuscate their plan. And the squadron that’d been deployed was… 

“They’ve been hit by a Legion counteroffensive and were forced to retreat…!” 

When Shin reached the hangar, several of the Spearhead squadron members were already present. He followed Kurena’s crimson hair as she rushed ahead to the standby room and called out to Guren. The force they had on alert in case of emergency had already been deployed, but the enemy’s numbers were too vast. They didn’t have enough firepower to hold the line until their scattered allies could retreat to safety. 

“Guren, the Spearhead squadron is deploying… Are we ready to go?” 

“’Course you are. I wouldn’t be much of a maintenance worker if poking around the Legion’s remains made me forget about servicing the rigs, now would I?” 

Turning his gaze, Shin caught a glimpse of Touka clinging to Undertaker as she was finishing loading ammunition onto it. Fido and the rest of the Scavengers lined up as they were being loaded with spare energy packs, magazines, and other armaments that were exclusively used by some of their units. 

“There’s a blizzard out there… Watch yourself.” 

“Right.” 

Shin nodded and, as he walked off, unfurled his scarf for a moment to attach his RAID Device. Wrapping the scarf around his neck again, he activated the Sensory Resonance. The Strike Package didn’t have many officers, and so staff officers were regularly given rights to command. Shin didn’t call out to the commander, though; he merely Resonated to get a grasp of the situation before briefing. 

The situation was pretty bad. The squadron members’ transmissions came in rapid-fire, their voices overlapping in the confusion: Second platoon’s isolated. Out of ammo. We’ve been run aground. Requesting rescue… Second Lieutenant Irina Misa, KIA. 

The face of that mature girl who had served as Rito’s vice commander in the Claymore squadron surfaced in Shin’s mind. Unlike Rito, she was docile and obedient. She was, alongside Rito, one of Shin’s squad mates in the Eighty-Sixth Sector before he was moved to another squadron. She had been at Rito’s side until the large-scale offensives. 

He recalled her reserved smile and the occasional conversations they’d had. But it was only a faint recollection, and as his mind sharpened in preparation for battle, the memory did little to stir up any emotion. He banished that thought to a frozen corner of his mind. 

There was no need for emotion now. His mind, whetted like a keen blade, told him as much. As he entered the briefing room, a voice called to him from the side. 

“Shin.” 

It was Lena, who was struggling to catch her breath. Her RAID Device was attached to her neck, as expected. As their tactical commander, she of course heard the death report. Her silver eyes clouded over with profound grief. But in the next moment, she’d suppressed it with her own force of will. 

“We’ll begin the briefing as soon as everyone’s gathered. It’ll be quick, so you’ll be able to set out ASAP.” 

“Roger.” 

He opened the door and let Lena walk in first. The squadron members who were already there filed into the room at once. The nervous footsteps and voices of those ones who were late in making their way to the hangar could be heard in the background. 

Shin watched her argent hair stream past as she walked by, and it was then that he realized: Lena was currently grieving. Her words and attitude did nothing to show it, but that was only because she’d suppressed her emotions as part of her duty as a commander. But Irina’s death pained her. 

And yet he couldn’t feel any sorrow. Of course, part of it was because his mindset had switched over in preparation for battle. The battlefield didn’t offer any respite to mourn the death of a friend. Sorrow and grief were for when the battle was over—otherwise, one would simply follow that dead comrade to the grave. Shin knew that all too well from seven years of fighting. 

And yet there was more to it than that. For the Eighty-Six, death was a way of life. An Eighty-Six dying was to be expected, par for the course. It was true for everyone… Even for Shin himself. A part of him truly believed this… 

Shin felt a small shiver run through his body. He could only see himself as a monster. A monster that walked a lonely road to the battlefield, paved by the corpses of its comrades. Only a monster would take the death of those around it for granted. 

He thought he’d realized by now that this was no way to live—that living as if one might die the next day, rushing toward death, stepping over corpses, and thirsting for the end…was no way to go through life. He thought he’d realized he had to have hope for the future, even if he couldn’t imagine it. 

But it felt as if someone had grabbed him by the hand. As if the moment he tried to move forward, someone had taken hold of him so tightly that he couldn’t shake off their grip. But when he turned around, he found himself face-to-face with his own self—a shorter, younger Shin, from before his voice had even cracked. It was the Shin who had just set foot in the Eighty-Sixth Sector, when people had only started calling him Reaper because everyone always left him behind and died. 

The young Shin smiled at him. After all… 

I’d be better off living as if I might die tomorrow, thinking death is just a way of life for the Eighty-Six. I’m better off not thinking of the future I’ll never have—or any future at all. 

And you’re the same. You’re off to court death in the Eighty-Sixth Sector, along a road paved with corpses. 

A monster obsessed with death. 

“………!” 

He’d become aware of a lie he’d told himself, and it filled him with dread. But even that emotion was pushed aside the next moment, almost automatically. This was carried out by his consciousness, which had become too used to the battlefield and was now more mechanical than human. 

The reason he couldn’t cast aside his identity as an Eighty-Six wasn’t because he couldn’t give up on that pride. It was because somewhere in his heart, he still wished for that fate. That fate of dying for certain at some point… 

It was snowing when they deployed to support the retreating unit, just like Guren had said. This blizzard had apparently been raging since before dawn. The white veil inhibited their optical sensors’ visibility, and their aiming systems and laser sights weren’t faring much better. But those conditions applied to the Legion, as well. The Spearhead squadron was commanded by Shin, who was capable of pinpointing the enemy’s position without relying on sight, so in a sense, they actually had the advantage. 

The mountain breeze at times blew the snowy wind down on them in sheets, and a virgin forest of conifer trees loomed ahead like a dark shadow in the blinding white. If they went through that forest, the wind wouldn’t be as intense. 

Shin’s Undertaker cautiously led the Spearhead squadron through the dark, trailless road. The snow was solid in the subzero climate and made crunching sounds as they stepped through it. The proximity of the ghosts’ wails alerted him that they had infiltrated the combat zone. 

He checked the radar screen, which just barely managed to pick up the blue blips of their allies, and called out. 

“Rito.” 

The Sensory Resonance connected. This confirmed the person he was calling wasn’t dead or unconscious, but Rito’s response came almost alarmingly late. As if he’d been paralyzed with so much fear that his voice couldn’t immediately come out. 

“Cap’n.” 

The tone of his voice—Shin had heard it countless times on the battlefield already. It was the trembling voice of a person who was stricken with fear at the sight of another’s death or the prospect of their own death. 

“Cap’n, I…I can’t be like them. Like the Sirins. I don’t wanna end up like that, so I…” 

Shin looked up in his cockpit. Rito was still haunted by that event. The image of those girls, who had been laughing as they died meaningless deaths, felt like a reflection of the Eighty-Six’s looming end. Like proof that their oath and pride to fight to the very end was meaningless. He’d grown to doubt the one thing he had to support who he was. “Rito, retreat… Take everyone who’s still alive and escape the combat area.” 

He’d told him coldly: You can’t fight as you are right now. Those who had their spirits broken by the fear of death and the madness of battle, who doubted themselves and froze up, had no place on the battlefield. And if Rito didn’t listen to him, he would die and get the other Processors in his squadron caught up in it. 

“…R-roger.” 

“We’ve got Shiden…the Brísingamen squadron coming in from the rear. Regroup with them for now.” 

Rito somehow managed to nod in reply and had his group fall back. Shin stepped forward as if to take their place and switched the Sensory Resonance over to his subordinates. 

“All Spearhead squadron members, we’re about to enter combat. Judging by their positioning, we should expect a force of Grauwolf and Stier, each of them in a group the size of a battalion. And…” 

He squinted upon hearing something: a chilling scream that echoed in his ears like a thunderclap—like the booming of a cannon—even at this distance. They signaled the ones that had assimilated the neural networks of the war dead: Black Sheep, and their advanced versions, the Sheepdogs. 

And then there were the commander units of the ghostly army, whose voices rang out even louder and clearer than the soldier units. These were the ones that had absorbed the brains of the dead shortly after their passing and still retained the intelligence, knowledge, and memories they had in life. 

“…There’s a Shepherd. Likely a Dinosauria.” 

The Dinosauria were steel monstrosities that boasted the greatest firepower and armor of all the mass-produced Legion types. Shin’s squad advanced through the snowy forest while maintaining a gap between each unit. They aimed to engage this powerful enemy cautiously and moved through bumpy terrain that wouldn’t allow its large frame much foothold or freedom of movement. 

It was then that the thick snow that had piled over one of the large rocks dotting the terrain unnaturally slipped off. A large shadow had leaped out of the pale powder, revealing its massive, metallic form through the curtain of white. 

It had quite literally wedged itself beneath the thick snow. Even with a height of four meters and an overall weight of one thousand tons, its massive form still moved with the silence unique to the Legion. It lunged toward Undertaker’s flank as the Juggernaut led the rest of the squad. 

It fell for it. 

“Fire!” 

All of his squad members were alerted ahead of time to its hiding place and immediately fired at it. Shin dodged the Dinosauria’s charge with an almost rolling motion as a barrage of 88 mm APFSDS (Armor-Piercing Fin-Stabilized Discarding Sabot) rounds peppered it. 

Shin knew the enemy would be gunning for Undertaker and used himself as bait to allow for this perfect counter. But the Legion’s reaction speed allowed the Shepherd to avoid it. Its colossal frame leaped into the air and, upon landing, kicked up a dense mist of snow. The conifer trees that were struck by its casual ramming snapped and fell over with thundering noise. 

The Dinosauria then turned the two heavy machine guns sitting atop its turret, each of them aiming at a different target. The 155 mm cannon turret and its coaxial secondary armaments all locked onto separate targets. The Juggernauts dispersed, evading its lines of fire. Shin moved Undertaker while keeping his gaze on the metal monstrosity, turning his Juggernaut so it would be able to overtake the Dinosauria’s blind spot per established tactics. 

The way it attacked just now… 

This Dinosauria seemed to act as if it knew how Shin and his squad would move. While both nations employed Feldreß, the design philosophy behind the Federacy’s units was different from the United Kingdom’s. And since they operated on different concepts, their fuselages were also designed differently. The strategies they could adopt differed as well. 

The Barushka Matushka employed a long-range, 125 mm caliber turret and a high-fidelity weapon-control system to down the enemy with intense firepower that was shot with laser-sharp accuracy. The Reginleif, in contrast, specialized in high-mobility combat. Even when deployed on the same battlefield and terrain, the position and strategies they could adopt were different. 

And this was the United Kingdom’s battlefield. The Legion in this region faced off and adapted countermeasures that would be effective against Barushka Matushkas. And yet this Dinosauria seemed to accurately read the actions and movements of the Spearhead squadron and their Reginleifs. 

Which meant… 

“It’s an Eighty-Six.” 

“Looks like it.” 

Shin quickly replied to Raiden’s low grumble. The ones most familiar with the Spearhead squadron’s—with the Eighty-Six’s—tactics were other Eighty-Six. And they were the most combat-seasoned and experienced people in the surrounding countries who could be made into Black Sheep and Shepherds. 

And to top it all off… 

Shin squinted. This Dinosauria, this howl… 

This voice… 

It was familiar. It was someone who fought at his side in the Eighty-Sixth Sector for some brief period of time. The final words the ghost was howling nonstop weren’t familiar in and of themselves, so they likely didn’t die before Shin’s eyes. But… 

“Save us.” 

Kaie, who had wished for something similar at some point, was already gone. Most of the Black Sheep were now deemed obsolete and replaced with the more efficient Sheepdogs. Which meant Kaie, who had been made into a Black Sheep, was now discarded. But a few others were still trapped, it seemed. Some of those who were made into Shepherds still remained. 

I have to take them back. I promised I’d take them with me. And I think that promise…is something I don’t need to doubt. 

“Raiden… I’ve got this one. As always, I want you to handle the surrounding enemies and take over command as you cover for me.” 

But Raiden’s reply was tinged with doubt. 

“Wait, weren’t we just covering for the others while they retreat? We need to hold our position until Rito’s squadron gets to safety. All we have to do is stall this thing. We don’t have to go to the trouble of destroying it.” 

“It’s an Eighty-Six… I want to take it back.” 

Raiden fell silent for a moment. 

“…Roger. But don’t do anything crazy. I’ll have the rest of the squad cover for you.” 

“Once again, he seems intent on taking down a Dinosauria all by himself.” 

Frederica whispered bitterly as she gazed at the map, which could only show the battle between Undertaker and the Dinosauria taking place several kilometers away in the form of blips. 

Lena looked down, sensing the fear in Frederica’s whisper. The Legion could perform at a level that far outmatched what humans were capable of. But even among them, the Dinosauria was the strongest type. A Feldreß piloted by a human couldn’t normally hope to stand a chance against it. 

Shin had deemed it necessary to use melee weapons to strike against the Dinosauria’s and the Löwe’s weak spots. Lena didn’t intend to argue against his reasoning. Even though she was experienced at commanding battles, she had no experience facing the Legion head-on and no right to doubt Shin’s choices. Not when he survived seven years of fighting the Legion to the death. 

But she couldn’t help but feel concerned. She could hear the other Processors in his squadron shouting, “Nouzen, get some distance from it.” “We can’t shoot at it when you’re that close.” “We’re begging you, fall back.” 

Shin didn’t respond, of course. 

He was likely too focused on the battle to hear them. Just like when he faced the Phönix in the underground terminal… And when he risked his life fighting against the Dinosauria possessed by the ghost of his brother, Rei. 

Whenever he became like that, Lena got a bit scared. It was like he was willingly teetering over the edge of death… And someday, he might really fall off and never return. 

“…Shin.” 

He always had the strength to fight and survive. But recently, he seemed… 

“Are you really all right…?” 

The enemy’s front armor was thick enough to deflect even a shot from its own 155 mm smoothbore gun at point-blank range. A Reginleif’s 88 mm cannon couldn’t hope to penetrate it. It kicked up powder snow and stomped over the cold ground, its massive weight mowing down the trees as it charged toward Shin. 

Shin piloted Undertaker wildly to avoid it, using the assorted rock formations and protrusions—and even the trunks of the nearby conifer trees as footholds. As he dodged the Reginleif’s fire, he tried to get a clear shot at the thinnest points of its armor. 

It had to have originally been an Eighty-Six. It seemed to be forcibly rushing through the conifer forest, which would normally be unfitting terrain for a Dinosauria, but despite what seemed to be a careless demeanor, it picked its positions carefully, hiding its rear-top armor from sight at all times. It was wary of the Juggernaut’s light weight and mindful of its established tactics of reeling itself up structures with a wire anchor and using that elevation to shoot from above. 

Defeating it would prove difficult. 

Even if the areas except the frontal armor could be penetrated by the 88 mm cannon, and the pile drivers in the Reginleif’s legs were capable of busting through its top armor, he still needed to be extremely fast. Fast enough to damage anyone who wasn’t a Processor greatly accustomed to fighting at this velocity. 

But while it was a difficult battle, it was still possible for the Reginleif to come out on top. At the very least, it was nothing compared to when he fought his brother in that aluminum coffin. 

Its two revolving machine guns were a nuisance, since they fired a consistent barrage of bullets. He launched HEAT shells set with proximity fuses and successfully destroyed them. He then carefully approached the Dinosauria and cut down one of the legs supporting its one thousand tons of weight. 

Somehow, he could tell its counterattack was coming. He avoided the kick from its stake-like leg without even looking at it. He then dodged a second and a third kick by making small leaps, but then his right rear leg sank deep into the frozen snow. 

“Tch…!” 

Undertaker stopped in place. Its leg was caught in the snow. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. As the 155 mm turret swerved to aim at him, he activated his trapped leg’s pile driver to forcefully eject it. The 57 mm pile driver detonated gunpowder, jettisoning the trapped leg out of the snow. In the meantime, he used his remaining three legs to hop to the left, escaping the line of fire. 

Then the roar of the tank turret’s fire and the shock waves of the shell grazing against it screeched against Undertaker’s armor. The Dinosauria’s main turret would need some time to reload after firing, and the secondary armament to the right of the turret couldn’t aim at him from this position. Both of its machine guns were already destroyed. 

This meant that at this moment, Shin was free to fire without any counterattack. His sights were already set to track his line of sight, and he placed his finger on the 88 mm turret’s trigger— 

Suddenly, there was an alert: Rear right leg pile driver damaged. 

This shrill alarm sound, intended to warn the Processor, dragged Shin back to his senses. Shin’s eyes widened in realization. Right now, he was once again about to become the very image of a war machine—a death-obsessed monster. 

Like a monster heading for its own death on the battlefield, he all too easily forgot those words bidding him to return alive… 

And that moment of realization was an opening. That alarm blaring in his ears allowed the enemy to close the distance to him. And the Dinosauria’s large form, which, at that range, filled the entirety of his optical screen, swung back and raised its leg like a weapon. 

“…!” 

He reflexively yanked the control stick back, forcing Undertaker to jump away. It was too late to dodge, but this attempt to at least minimize the incoming shock came less from a conscious decision and more out of reflex. Both of its legs left the ground as it leaped aside, and the next moment, there came the quake of impact. He raised one of Undertaker’s legs to block the blow, but the sound of it snapping along with its wire anchor filled his ears. The control system blared out a screeching alert. 

And then Shin blacked out. 

“Huh…?” 

What just happened? 

Lena couldn’t immediately process what she’d just seen projected onto Vanadis’s main screen. Something she couldn’t believe had just taken place. Something she never would have expected, that went beyond her understanding. 

Undertaker’s blip was blown back from its position, in a different direction from where it was going a moment ago. It moved against its Processor’s control and was tossed aside like a piece of trash, rolling on the ground for a few moments before stopping. It remained helpless and still on the ground, even with the enemy bearing down on it right before its face. 

Shin was just…hit by an attack…? 

Wehrwolf and Laughing Fox stood in the Dinosauria’s way as it prepared to launch another attack. They both fired at it, drawing its attention. It was programmed to prioritize the most threatening targets first. As they did, other Juggernauts hurried over to Undertaker’s side. 

Undertaker’s blip remained still on the radar screen. Its signal hadn’t faded, so it wasn’t fatally destroyed. But it wouldn’t move. Its Para-RAID wouldn’t connect. 

Marcel moaned in frustration. 

“Why didn’t he…?!” 

Lena felt the same way. He could have dodged that blow. He should have dodged it. Lena knew he could, since she saw him do so during many a training session, and in both large and small battles. The Reginleif moved with a speed that would damage the body of a normal pilot, but Shin operated it with ease. 

No, it went beyond what she saw he was capable of. For five long years, he operated that metal coffin that couldn’t even withstand machine-gun fire, and even so, he lunged into the enemy ranks, engaging them with melee weapons without taking a single fatal blow. For five years, he survived the Eighty-Sixth Sector. 

He would never take a direct hit from a single Legion. Even if it was a Shepherd. 

So…why? 

But Lena remained stupefied for only a moment. She soon turned to one of the control officers. The Reginleif was equipped with multiple systems the Juggernaut—which was supposedly a drone—didn’t have. 

“How are his vitals?!” 

“We’ve got a read on them. His pulse, blood pressure, and breathing are all within permissible range. But he’s not responding to the alerts…” 

Frederica offered her own commentary, her face pale with fear. Her crimson eyes let out a ruby glow—proof that her ability was in operation. 

“It doesn’t seem like he’s suffered any major injures. He is only unconscious, I believe. Raiden and the others are also calling out to him, but he is not responding.” 

“Hurry up and retrieve him! Shiden, deploy the Brísingamen squadron and cover for them!” 

Regardless of culture and country, hospital rooms always seemed to have a sterile, white color to them. And so when his eyes opened, he was faced with the sight of a ceiling that registered in his foggy mind as unknown and, at the same time, somehow familiar. As a rule, hospital facilities were kept sanitary in order to prevent infections. For that reason, they were made white, so filth would stand out. 

Realizing he was overcome with pointless, meaningless thoughts, Shin pushed his hands against the sheet and sat up. Feeling the unpleasant sensation of something being stuck to him and noticing a shadow at the edge of his field of vision, he raised his hand to his forehead. It was met with the dry sensation of a piece of adhesive tape, meant to hold up a gauze. Apparently, he’d been cut above his left eye, near his scar. 

It was a scar he’d gotten during his battle with his brother. They were deep in Legion territory at the time, without any medical facilities in sight. His wound had been stitched closed by an amateur’s hands, and so it left a scar. 

He had fought a Dinosauria Shepherd that time, too, but… He wasn’t distracted and didn’t look away from his massive opponent during that battle. Shin couldn’t help but grit his teeth in frustration. He dug his fingers into the skin of his forehead. 

That had never happened before. Not once had he ever lost concentration because of a question weighing on his mind and let an enemy get the better of him. 

Shin could hear the sound of the hard fabric of a military uniform stirring behind the thin curtain surrounding his bed… Someone sitting at his bedside woke up. 

“Oh? You’re finally awake?” 

As soon as he heard those words, the curtain was pulled open casually. His eyes, which had grown used to the dimness of the cockpit and the darkness of his closed eyelids, were momentarily blinded by the brightness of the lamp. Shin reflexively squinted and found himself staring into a pair of oddly colored eyes. One of them the color of deep indigo and the other as white as snow. 

The owner of those eyes raised her hand casually and waved at him. She had brown skin and unkempt crimson hair. 

“Yo.” 

“…What are you doing here?” Shin asked with one eye shut. 

Shiden cackled at him, not minding his attitude. 

“Who were ya expecting to find here? And heh, talk about thankless greetings, eh, Li’l Reaper? Raiden’s handling the reports instead of you, and Her Majesty’s cleaning up your mess, so I came here to watch over ya… I mean, I’m the one who pulled you outta of that battlefield, y’know?” 

“………” 

Looking around, he realized he was in the reserve base’s hospital ward, in a room for lightly injured patients who didn’t require intensive care. He’d been stripped out of his thick armored flight suit, since it likely got in the way of his treatment, and a spare uniform was folded on the side table. Upon noticing the pale-blue fabric placed casually over it, Shin moved to touch his neck. He couldn’t feel his scarf, of course. It had been taken off when they treated him. 

Shiden’s gaze fell on the scar running across his neck, but she made no remark. 

“The doctor said ya didn’t hit your head, and there’s no signs of a concussion. But they want you to rest here for a day or two to be on the safe side. They did sew a few stitches into ya, after all.” 

She poked her thumb in the direction of her forehead to illustrate. Then her smile disappeared as she asked: 

“Do you remember what happened?” 

“More or less.” 

He could remember it so clearly, he wished he could forget. 

“…What about the Dinosauria?” 

“That’s the first thing you ask…? Well, yeah, it’s a Shepherd. And an Eighty-Six at that… Sad to say, but it got away. Our objective wasn’t to defeat it anyway.” 

“How’s my Juggernaut?” 

“Looks like they can fix it, one way or another… Though yer mechanic… Uhhh, Guren, was it? He was screaming bloody murder, so make sure ya pay him a visit later. He said you’re still breaking yer rigs all the time and haven’t matured after all.” 

“Yeah…” 

Jumping back killed most of the impact, but his rig still took a direct kick from a Dinosauria. The fact that he got away with reparable damage was a godsend. 

“Makes sense he’d say that. I put him through trouble again.” 

This time, Shiden was the one to regard him with one eye closed. 

“Do you say that knowingly or what? They don’t care about the rig being damaged; they care about you getting hurt. Dumbass.” 

Shin was carried straight to the medical center, while Undertaker’s broken form was carried into the hangar alone. Guren’s surprise only made sense. He saw Undertaker’s wreckage, but Shin wasn’t there. 

“…I can’t believe you’d pull that kind of stupid mistake. Hey…” 

She leaned her upper body forward on her folding chair. Shiden looked up at him with eyes that showed no sign of ridicule or laughter. It was the cold eyes of someone who had survived many years in the Eighty-Sixth Sector, even if she didn’t spend as much time there as Shin had. 

“…are you really all right?” 

“………” 

Shin looked down, averting his gaze. He knew it even without her saying anything. 

He wasn’t all right. 

He didn’t know what future to aspire toward or what to wish for. For all the time he spent agonizing over it, he couldn’t find anything to wish for. Or any way to fill that emptiness inside him. He knew he couldn’t keep living while rushing to his death, but he realized he was obsessing over the death that surrounded him. He thought he was facing death straight on, but that was just an excuse to avoid having to wish for the future. 

And now he wasn’t even able to detach himself during battle, which he’d always been capable of until now. So far, during combat, he was always able to let go and forget everything, but this agony was holding him back. Right now, he had to doubt himself. He couldn’t say there weren’t any problems with him anymore. 

“This isn’t just because of what happened in that citadel base, is it…? That was a nasty sight, for sure. It looks like what we might end up being. But ya shouldn’t be thinking about that now. It’s pointless. At least for now.” 

Shiden narrowed her heterochromatic eyes coldly. 

“Lemme tell ya this. The way you are now, we can’t let you be part of the attack force in the next operation, Operations Commander. I’m gonna ask Lena to have you remain on standby at HQ. Considerin’ your ability, you ought to be back at the base anyway, commanding the battle from a distance… It’s the same thing ya told Rito. If ya can’t stay focused during battle, yer only gonna be a burden to everyone else.” 

“I know,” he replied bitterly. 

She was right… It really was the same thing he’d told Rito. Shiden scoffed as she regarded Shin. 

“Hmph, you really are in the dumps, aren’t ya…? You’re not even talkin’ back to me… Anyway, take your time and rest. Stay here for a couple days and don’t think about any of that shit. Also, Lena’s getting hysterical over you, so make sure ya patch things up there… Ah—” 

The sound of heels hurriedly clicking over the floor approached them. Someone seemed to have rushed into the room. 

“Shiden! They said Shin woke up…” 

Lena ran into the room, completely forgetting her officer’s dignity and ladylike manners, and stopped dead in her tracks upon seeing Shin. She blushed for a moment, observing him out of his flight suit and in just his undershirt, but she shook her head to drive those thoughts from her mind. Her silvery eyes then moistened with tears. 

“Shin… Thank goodness…” 

Her gaze froze a bit before his eyes, and her delicate features contorted painfully at the sight of the gauze and the wound beneath it. Shin then realized she could see the scar on his neck. His scarf had been taken off with the rest of his flight suit, after all. 

He promptly brought a hand to his neck in an attempt to hide the scar. He didn’t tell Lena it was his brother who had inflicted it on him and had no intention of sharing this with her at all. To that end, he didn’t want her to see it. That reflexive movement made her hold her breath for a moment. Shin, who was looking down at the time, didn’t notice Lena’s sad reaction. 

“Your injuries…” 

“It’s just this cut on my forehead. Nothing else.” 

He could tell he had a number of other small wounds, but he didn’t mention them. He hardly felt any pain at the moment. They were all minor injuries, and Shin didn’t even acknowledge them. 

“You say that, but I can see the bandages… I swear… The military doctor said you’re to rest for the next couple of days, so return to your room and do just that.” 

“…I’m sorry.” 

“Yes, I’m afraid you won’t get away without a scolding this time, Captain… What happened? This isn’t like you.” 

“Ah, Your Majesty. I already gave him a talking-to about that, so don’t chew him out too much.” 

Shiden butted in on their exchange, but Lena ignored her. Being looking down upon left a bad taste in Shin’s mouth, so he rose from the bed and put on his uniform’s top. 

“My mind wandered…and I lost focus. It won’t happen again.” 

“‘Lost focus’…?” 

Lena hesitated for a moment but eventually decided she needed to reprimand him as a commanding officer this time. She raised her fair eyebrows and spoke to him with a slightly severe gaze. 

“This is because of whatever’s been bothering you lately, isn’t it? That’s why you tripped up. Am I wrong?” 

“………” 

“I told you it’d be a problem if it ends up influencing the operation. I asked you to resolve this by attending further counseling sessions, or by consulting with me if you can’t work this out on your own… I’ll listen to you, no matter what you have to say. That’s my duty… And it’s what I want. You look like something’s hounding you, like you’re being pushed against the wall… Everyone’s worried about you. And so am I… What’s wrong, Shin?” 

As she spoke, her grimace gradually softened, and she simply looked up at him earnestly with her argent eyes… But Shin averted her gaze. 

He couldn’t tell her he was a harmful factor to the world she desired. That he was still headed for death instead of the future she wished for. That he didn’t belong at her side right now, and that even though he wanted to change this, he didn’t know how. 

He didn’t want her, of all people, to know about the emptiness eating away at him from the inside. 

“Nothing.” 

Lena grimaced anxiously. 

“You can’t say that when you’re making that face. Telling someone might make you feel better—” 

“There’s nothing.” 

“You’re lying… You always say that, but you weren’t fine, were you? If you’re in pain, I wouldn’t mind lending you an ear… No, I want you to tell me. I, um, want to support you, and…” 

Shin grew irritated at their unproductive exchange and lashed out in a severe tone. 

“There’s nothing… It has nothing to do with you, and I have nothing to tell you.” 

And only then did he realize what he had said. Lena’s large eyes widened, seemingly frozen on him. And then they moistened, as if a crack had run through those alabaster depths. 

“…Why do you say that?” 

Her voice contained a chill he’d never heard before. 

“You say there’s nothing, but it’s obvious from your face that something’s wrong. You look like you’re in pain, like you’re in agony, but you never say anything. Don’t you want to talk to me…? Am I really that unreliable? Am I really not good enough to help you? Aren’t we…?” 

Tears spilled from her eyes and ran down her white cheeks. One after another. Shin looked on with shock as her tears flowed freely like water breaching a dam. He knew he had to say something, but his mind was reeling, and he failed to come up with anything. 

And as Shin remained speechless, Lena’s expression crumbled in front of him. 

“Aren’t we fighting together…?” 

Her question reverberated out like a scream. And without waiting for an answer, Lena turned around and ran off. 

“H-hey! Your Majesty… Lena!” 

Shiden followed her in a flustered hurry. The sound of her heavy military boots gradually grew distant. And yet Shin couldn’t move. He simply remained where he was as the sound of their footsteps left him behind. 

*   *   * 

How long had he stood there? As the tumult and the sound of their steps died down, Shin eventually came to his senses. Even if he wanted to go after her, Lena was long out of earshot. He heaved one loud sigh and informed the doctor in the infirmary that he was going to his room before leaving. 

As soon as he left the infirmary, a voice spoke to him from the side. 

“You’re not going after her, Nouzen?” 

“…You were watching?” 

Vika leaned his back against the wall adjacent to the infirmary’s sliding door and shrugged casually. 

“Callous as I am, even I know to not intrude on certain awkward situations. I can tell my words aren’t always welcome.” 

Vika then turned his gaze down the corridor, signaling the direction Lena took off in. Shin answered after heaving a short sigh. 

“I know I need to apologize.” 

He knew this was definitely his fault, but he couldn’t tell what he did wrong. He’d lashed out at her, and that was clearly a mistake. He’d hurt her, and that was wrong. But what hurt Lena weren’t his insensitive words, but the exchange right before that. And he couldn’t tell what he did wrong there. 

If he was to judge it simply from what Lena said, the problem was in the fact that he hadn’t told her anything. But the problems he was struggling with right now weren’t related to Lena. He didn’t want to cause her needless concern, to be a burden to her. He didn’t want her to know about this anguish he was going through, which felt all the more pathetic the more he put it into words. 

“Apologizing when I don’t even know what I did wrong…would just hurt her more.” 

All he’d done was hurt her. Back then—and now as well. 

“That makes me…so sad.” 

Vika cocked his head, his fair face bereft of his usual smile. 

“You’re a surprisingly cowardly one.” 

His comment caught Shin completely off guard. 

“Cowardly…?” 

“Yes, and I don’t mean in terms of battle. If anything, you’re fearless to the point of recklessness on that front, and that is dangerous in its own way, I think. But anyway…” 

With his back still against the wall and his arms crossed, Vika leaned forward and regarded Shin with an upward glance. They were roughly the same height, but Shin was just a bit taller than Vika. Because of that slight height difference, Vika was looking up with his Imperial violet eyes into Shin’s bloodred ones. They were an almost artificial, monstrous shade of purple. 

“Even as a third party in this, I can tell. Something is halting your thoughts.” 

He was pretending to be deep in thought, so he wouldn’t actually have to think. 

“It’s not that you don’t know what you did wrong. You just don’t want to think about it. You were like that concerning your family, too, now that I think of it. It’s not that you couldn’t remember; you just didn’t want to remember. You didn’t want to open old wounds… You say you don’t know what you did wrong, that you couldn’t remember. But I think that, in fact, you don’t want to. You don’t want to hope.” 

“That’s…” 

Being told all this made him instinctively try to deny it. To say he couldn’t hope for a future, that he had no future. This was how he thought, but he’d realized the truth was that he actually didn’t want to wish for one. He believed death was just a way for the Eighty-Six to not hope for a future. 

In that case, he then also had to admit that the way he felt, that thinking he had no future, was wrong. He was about to hope for a future and the wishes it contained…but he couldn’t allow himself to desire them. And the moment he realized this, Shin unconsciously covered up those feelings, pretending nothing had happened. 

But the owner of those violet eyes laughed, not missing that flicker of emotion. 

“Right, I haven’t told you yet, have I…? I knew your father. I’ve even spoken to him. Your father, Reisha Nouzen, was a researcher of artificial intelligence, much like Zelene. Would you like for me to tell you of our exchange? You would do well to hear me out, assuming it doesn’t touch upon any open wounds.” 

“………?!” 

Those surprising words made Shin’s breath catch in his throat. 

“Be a good boy…Shin…” 

He couldn’t recall right now. But he knew he actually did have memories of them. His mother’s voice and the smile on her lips. His mother, his father, his brother… All those faces and voices. Yes, he remembered them all. And he realized, at the same time, that he didn’t want to remember. 

And it wasn’t just that remembering them would make him loathe those memories. It was because he knew those memories were all too similar to the things he’d wish for. It was the kind of happiness Lena described. He realized his memories and the happiness she spoke of were alike, and that was why he couldn’t allow himself to remember them. 

Hence, he didn’t want to think about that happiness. He didn’t want to remember it. Because what if he remembered, reached out for it, wished for it, only for it to once again be…? 

That scared him. 

“…That might be true.” 

“You finally admit it… People your age would rather die than let others see their weaknesses. But that only bothers those around you. If you’re hurting, then say so. And with regards to Milizé, I’ll just go ahead and say it since it’s becoming too irritating to watch—but it’s the same problem with her. You say you don’t want to be a burden to her, but your refusal to rely on her only comes across as lack of trust, and that causes her pain.” 

The prince shrugged, unaware that what he just said both didn’t suit his age and came across as condescending. 

“You should apologize to her if you can… And this is speaking from experience, but if there’s anything you ought to tell her, you should say those words while you still have the chance. Because once that chance is gone, all that’s left is regret.” 

“…You’re being awfully kind today, Serpent of Shackles.” 

Shin gave a sarcastic response in an attempt to spite him, but Vika didn’t seem to mind. 

“Yes… Because of Lerche.” 

Shin squinted at the sound of that name. 

“That seven-year-old told you something she shouldn’t have. So think of this as an apology. I wouldn’t normally be this concerned about your inner turmoil, but after hearing she helped trigger this, I couldn’t stand by and ignore it.” 

And then Vika spoke, with a voice devoid of emotion, as if gazing at something that had gone too far and was now out of reach. 

“And here you want to find happiness with someone.” 

“………” 

“It makes no difference to me what you really think. But if that’s truly how you feel…” 

Shin then realized that Lerche was, indeed, based off the girl who was Vika’s milk sister. Vika never told him of her, but Lerche shared a bit. Who was it, really, who wished to become happy alongside someone…? 

“Even if you don’t want to wish for happiness, do you really think not wishing for it will spare you from sorrow…? It won’t. Whether you yearn for happiness or not, you will experience loss, and loss hurts. It is the most unbearable pain of all.” 

The Serpent Prince smiled slightly. And as he did, he continued speaking with deep-seated, honest anger. 

“And the person you long for is still alive. In which case, if there is anything you need to tell her, I suggest you say it now. For if you lose her…you will never be able to tell her anything again. But I’m sure you’re painfully aware of that.” 

For all of Shiden’s concerns, this was another country’s base, one that was unfamiliar to her. The United Kingdom’s culture was, to begin with, rather different from both the Eighty-Sixth Sector and the Federacy, and so was the fundamental layout of its structures. And this reserve base was built to be intentionally confusing, so as to mislead intruders, meaning its structure was that much harder to navigate. 

Lena was wearing clumsy pumps and wasn’t any good at running, so how far, really, could she have gone? After searching every corner, Shiden eventually caught up to Her Majesty, who was slumped over a desk in the corner of an empty briefing room. Grethe was sitting next to her, apparently surprised by her unusual demeanor. Raiden was standing a distance that was neither too far nor too close to Lena, apparently bothered that he was not able to break the silence. He looked at Shiden and mouthed a question. 

What happened? 

Shiden replied likewise. 

She had an argument with that asshole Shin. 

Oh, so that’s why. 

Raiden concluded their short, wordless exchange with a weary shrug. Shiden felt similarly. It was visible with a glance that something was bothering Shin. He normally kept his feelings bottled up, just like Shiden herself did, so she sympathized with him. But lashing out at Lena, of all people? 

Shin seemed composed at a glance, but the truth was that he had a fairly short fuse. It was hard to notice this, since whenever he didn’t like something, he’d quickly fall silent. On top of that, he was indifferent to those he didn’t know well, even if they directed hostility toward him. 

And the fact that Shin and Lena had argued…meant he had been unable to keep up that indifference and tone and got mad. This probably went to show that Shin saw Lena as someone close to him—or perhaps, someone he wanted to become closer with. 

But that aside, Her Majesty was sitting there before Shiden’s eyes now. It was hard to tell if she even noticed Raiden, who was hesitating to speak; Shiden, who had rushed into the room after her; or even Grethe, who was sitting by her side. She sat still, with her head hung. Her long, silver hair was splayed out like a butterfly that had soaked its wings in the rain. 

“Um… Are you all right, Your Majesty?” 

Her head still slumped, Lena muttered a reply, her voice muffled. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“…What are you apologizing for?” 

“I mean…” Lena sniffled. “A commander crying in front of her subordinates, just because one of her soldiers turned her down…” 

Apparently, she thought it was disgraceful. Grethe, who was sitting beside her, cracked a bitter smile. 

“It almost feels like you’re blaming me here.” 

Lena raised her head in surprise at that unexpected statement. 

“…How come?” 

She spoke awfully casually given how straitlaced she usually was, but no one, Grethe included, seemed to mind. Grethe replied, that same smile on her lips. 

“A commanding officer doesn’t display emotions in front of her subordinates. That much is certain, but the truth is, a commanding officer is something you become when you’re much older than you kids are. Only when you’re at an age where you can control your emotions a bit better, to an extent. That’s why people can expect that we won’t shout or cry.” 

One became an officer usually after completing their higher education, meaning they would reach the lowest office rank of second lieutenant in their twenties at the earliest. Even then, they were treated like a greenhorn by veteran noncommissioned officers and commanded a unit only with the aid of these officers. 

It took at least a few years, depending on one’s individual abilities, to reach the rank of first lieutenant or captain. One wouldn’t be promoted to the rank of field officer before their thirties. A first lieutenant or captain in their teens was terribly unusual, to say nothing of Lena, who was a field officer. 

“The fact that you had this responsibility forced on you when you’re still young and don’t have your emotions sorted out yet just goes to show how messed up this whole situation really is… It’s our fault—the adults’ fault—that we couldn’t fix things before it came to this. So you don’t have to steel yourself like that.” 

Lena lowered her brows pathetically. 

“But I’m…supposed to set an example for the Processors…” 

Lena realized that, when all was said and done, this was what she found hardest to bear. She honestly didn’t care about her dignity as an officer, but she didn’t want the Eighty-Six to be disillusioned with her. She didn’t want them to see her as this…fragile princess who would burst into tears over the slightest amount of pain. 

She had shed pathetic tears several times already in front of Shin, and that made her even more desperate to not come across as a crybaby princess. She wanted to show them this wasn’t who she really was. 

“They all know you’ve done well, so no one would think badly of you over a few shed tears. If anything, they might think you’re more endearing for it… Right?” 

She turned a teasing glance at Raiden, who blatantly ignored her. She was obviously referring to someone who wasn’t here, but Grethe didn’t go any deeper. Lena then answered the question. 

“I had an argument with Shin.” 

Saying it only saddened her again, because her eyes filled up with tears once more. 

“He looked like something had been bothering him for a long while now. I thought he was still hung up about the last operation, but recently, he’s been acting even stranger. So I told him I’d lend him an ear, if he was willing to talk.” 

The Bloodstained Queen then sniffled like a small child. 

“But he said it was nothing. He wouldn’t tell me anything… He won’t rely on me.” 

Both Grethe and Raiden had a silent, nonverbal Oh… cross their minds. Yes, of course Lena would be hurt by that. 

Captain Nouzen really is a boy through and through…, Grethe mused. 

I ought to drag that idiot here and have him switch places with me. Raiden’s thoughts on the matter were a bit different. 

“He said he doesn’t want to talk about it with me… That he doesn’t want to speak to me.” 

“Goodness…” Even Grethe had to roll her eyes. “That’s… Yes, I see. But I’ve already told you this before, right? Disagreeing and arguing is natural. If you didn’t argue, I’d have to wonder if you two were too distant. The more two hearts clash, the closer they become. If you can fight and make up…you might be better off doing so while this war rages on.” 

“She’s right, Your Majesty. You told me yourself that you gotta be close to argue.” 

“………” 

But Lena didn’t think so in this case. 

“…If I were Raiden…” 

Lena herself was surprised at how much her voice came across as pouty and childish. 

“If I were Raiden or Theo, Shin would have spoken to me. He’d have counted on me.” 

Unlike me. Those last two words were so unsightly that she somehow managed to bring herself to swallow them. In fact, whenever he spoke to Raiden, Theo, Anju, Kurena, as well as Marcel, his contemporary from the officer’s academy, Lena found she was somehow out of place. She even felt that way sometimes with Fido (who couldn’t speak), Vika, and Dustin. 

He seemed different with them as opposed to how he normally was when he talked to her. His expression was different around them. He was more abrupt, noncommittal, inattentive, and…yes, unreserved. Like he wasn’t holding back. Like he was talking to an equal. This was the feeling Lena got, and it frustrated her. 

“Well…I dunno about that.” Raiden regarded her with a bitter smile. 

It was a surprising, odd smile that held deep regret. He looked up at Lena with this wry, somehow bittersweet smile. 

“In the end, we’re just Eighty-Six, same as him. But he’s our Reaper… And that’s why we might be able to fight by his side, but we can’t do anything more for him… Like you can.” 

“Cap’n.” 

As he headed for his room in the residential sector of the base, Shin stopped as he found Rito waiting for him. 

“I heard you got hurt… It was my fault, wasn’t it? I’m sorry.” 

“…No.” 

Shin shook his head lightly. It wasn’t Rito’s fault. He couldn’t blame him for his state of affairs. He was as full of doubts and misgivings as Rito was, after all. Rito looked straight at Shin with his large, agate eyes, their depths rife with regret and pain. 

“Cap’n. About the next operation…the Dragon Fang Mountain attack, er…” 

“…Would you rather stay behind at HQ?” 

Shin finished Rito’s sentence, since he was stammering in hesitation. It was a frightening operation, considering how much larger the Legion’s forces were in comparison to theirs. Even having just Rito not take part was a painful blow… But Shin wasn’t going to force someone who didn’t want to fight into battle. Anyone who went into battle against their will… likely wouldn’t return. 

But to Shin’s surprise, Rito shook his head firmly. 

“No, it’s the other way around, Cap’n. Don’t take me off the operation. I’ll…work this out before it’s time to deploy.” 

“But…aren’t you scared?” 

Wasn’t he afraid of the death that awaited him at the end of battle…? Of the fate in store for the Eighty-Six? 

“I am scared.” 

Rito eventually answered, his white, pallid lips pursed. And he said this while refusing to gloss anything up, with his gaze still as timid as before. And yet… 

“But I…I can’t run from battle, after all. I hate how shameful that sounds.” 

An Eighty-Six who chose to fight to the very end could never accept doing something as unsightly as running away. They could never lapse into something so deplorable. 

“I don’t want to…cast away my own identity.” 

Even if he still doubted what that identity was.