The sun hung low over the Okinawan coast, a molten coin sinking into a sea of liquid amber and bruised purple. The ceremonial fanfare had long since faded, leaving only the rhythmic sigh of waves and the lonely cry of a distant gull. Perched on a weather-smoothed rock at the water's edge, Pathro absently traced the contours of a handful of cold, wet pebbles.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
He sent them skipping across the glassy surface, one after another, each stone a fleeting thought cast into the growing dark. They danced four, five, six times before vanishing into the twilight.
I am finally a soldier, huh.
The title felt foreign,a stiff uniform he hadn't grown into yet. His muscles remembered the strain of the Icetomb, his nerves the searing breath of the Ichigan's blast. His mind, however, was still cataloging the quiet classroom, the repetitive drills, the hierarchical certainty of being a cadet. That identity had been a shell, but it was a familiar one.
His gaze drifted beyond the horizon, to the invisible line where sea met sky. Deeper questions, the kind the academy discouraged, surfaced in the quiet.
Why hearts?The official data was clear: Zunans derived no nutritional sustenance from human cardiac tissue. Yet their hunger for it was a biological imperative, a craving etched into their very essence. It was a predator's precision without a predator's logic. The Purge made a grim kind of sense in that light they weren't exterminators; they were gourmands, savoring a limited, precious resource. Even humans husbanded their cattle.
He rolled another pebble between his fingers, its surface cool and perfect.
History says it's a cosmic law. Zunan. Woven into reality.The Flaming Being's explanation, passed down for seven centuries. To Pathro, it sounded less like a revelation and more like a full stop. The ultimate conversation-ender. Don't ask why the sky is blue; it just is. Don't ask why monsters crave your heart; the universe says they must.
A faint, determined smile touched his lips.
True or not, it doesn't change my calculus.The pebble flew from his hand, a white streak in the dim light. My goal is to end them. All of them. To do that… He clenched his fist, feeling the latent power thrum in his veins. I need to become the strongest. In this reality, only the will of the strong becomes law.
The conclusion was still settling in his mind when the air above him cracked.
A figure plummeted from the darkening sky, landing a few meters away with a ground-shaking THOOM. Sand and dust geysered upward. Pathro's eyes snapped shut on reflex, his body tensing not in fear, but in recognition of the sheer, graceless force.
"What are you doing out here, reminiscing all by yourself?" Kaile's voice cut through the settling cloud, brash and familiar.
Pathro blinked grit from his eyes, fixing her with a flat look. "You sandblast me and that's your opener?"
She ignored the jab, dusting off her sleeves. Her crimson eyes held an uncharacteristic softness in the sunset glow. "Were you… thinking about your parents?"
The question, so direct, landed with more weight than her impact had. Pathro looked back at the water, his voice quieter. "Just wondering what it feels like, is all. The others… Toshiro, Mikari… they're already talking about buying houses, setting up trusts. A salary to spend on people who are waiting for you." He shrugged, a gesture meant to seem casual that didn't quite succeed. "They have a place to call home. I just have a room number."
Kaile watched him for a long moment, the pity in her gaze shifting into something more like understanding. "Words are cheap," she finally said, her tone losing its edge. "But if I had to try… it feels like repaying a debt. A good debt. One you're grateful to owe." A small, private smile appeared. "My mother… she believed in me when I was just a loud kid with a bad temper. She worked her hands raw so I could dream of being more. I'm going to make the rest of her life so comfortable she forgets what struggle ever felt like."
Pathro absorbed this, a gentle, genuine smile softening his features. "A satisfying debt, huh?"
"Exactly. Now stop being such a melancholic loner. I'm going to see her. You're coming."
"Nah, I'm good here. You go ahead."
Thwack!
Her knuckles connected with the top of his head with practiced precision."I wasn't asking," she stated, hands on her hips. "Get your lazy, philosophizing backside off that rock. We're moving."
Pathro rubbed his scalp, a wry grin finally breaking through. "Alright, alright! Geez. Lead the way, tyrant."
She didn't walk. She simply moved, becoming a blur of motion along the coast. Pathro followed, the world dissolving into a streaked tapestry of fading color and rushing wind. In less than a heartbeat, the salty air was replaced by the rich, earthy scent of soil and growing things.
They stood at the edge of a wide, meticulously kept field, rows of tall corn stalks rustling in the evening breeze like whispering sentinels. At the field's heart sat a traditional wooden house, its lights glowing like a warm jewel in the gathering blue.
"This is it," Kaile said, her voice suddenly small.
Pathro took in the serene landscape. "Your mother must be quite the farmer."
The pride in Kaile's reply was unmistakable. "She is."
She hesitated then, her hand hovering over the door latch. For five years, since January 3rd, 2015, this door had been a boundary between her old life and her new one. She took a breath that seemed to steady her very soul, and slid it open.
The scene inside unfolded with the slow-motion clarity of a cherished memory.
A woman in a simple apron stood at a counter,her back to them. At the sound, she turned, a ceramic plate slipping from her fingers. It hit the floorboards with a crash, shattering into harmless pieces. Her hands flew to her mouth.
"Kaile…? Is that really you?"
The voice that answered was thick, trembling, and utterly vulnerable. "Yes, Mom. I'm back."
Then she was across the room, a blur of red hair and relieved tears, crashing into her mother's arms. The older woman held her fiercely, her own tears falling into her daughter's hair. "My sweet girl… look at you. Oh, look how you've grown. It felt like forever."
Pathro lingered in the doorway, a silent witness. He felt no envy, only a profound appreciation for the sacred geometry of the moment the perfect circle of reunion after five long, linear years. The raw, uncomplicated love in the room was a force as tangible as any Zunan's blast.
When they finally parted, sniffling and laughing, Kaile's mother noticed the shadow in the doorframe. She wiped her eyes, a new, mischievous light entering them. "Kaile, aren't you going to introduce your… friend?"
Kaile's face flushed a spectacular shade of crimson. "Mom! He is not my boyfriend! This is Pathro. From the academy."
Pathro stepped forward, offering his hand with a respectful nod. "It's nice to meet you, ma'am."
Her mother took it, her grip surprisingly strong. A warm, knowing smile spread across her face. "A boy friend from the academy! I'm shocked. My daughter is so… spirited. If you can handle her, you know, you'd make a perfect–"
"MOM!" Kaile yelped, burying her face in her hands.
Her mother's laughter was a bright, clean sound that filled the house. "Alright, alright! Why don't you two sit. I'll make some coffee." She vanished into the kitchen, humming.
Kaile collapsed onto the worn couch, groaning. "I am so sorry. She can be… a lot."
Pathro just chuckled, the unfamiliar warmth of the home seeping into him. "It's okay. It's nice."
---
Somewhere in Shinjuku, the evening had deepened into night. Kaori lay curled on her living room couch, a paperback novel held open but unread in her hands. The words were a blur; the story was just a shape to hide behind. The silence of the apartment was a heavy thing, recently filled with too much absence.
The jangle of keys at the door was a welcome intrusion. Her father shuffled in, his shoulders rounded under an invisible weight. In his hands was a flat, square box that radiated a familiar, greasy comfort.
"Ah, welcome back, Dad," she said, her voice a quiet murmur. It wasn't the vibrant greeting of before, but it was steadier than it had been, a voice in rehabilitation.
He offered a tired smile. "Back to your novels, I see. Good." He placed the pizza box on the kotatsu with a soft thud and sank into the armchair opposite her, releasing a long sigh. "Brought dinner. Hungry?"
"What kind?"
"Your favorite. Pineapple."
A flicker, a ghost of her old self, crossed her face. She closed the book, sat up, and flipped open the carton. Steam wafted up, carrying the scent of melted cheese and sweet fruit. "Wow," she breathed, the word full of a quiet, genuine appreciation. "Looks delicious." She lifted a slice, cheese stretching into golden strings, and took a small, careful bite.
Her father watched her, his heart a tangled knot of grief and pride. Kaori is strong, he thought. It's only been a month since Akari… The thought of his wife was a fresh, raw wound beneath the bandage of daily routine who had died from a road accident. She hadn't even begun to heal from that. And now Yoshika… He saw the dual shadows in his daughter's eyes the stark, new horror layered over the deeper, lingering ache. Two profound losses, stacked one upon the other.
He let out a sigh he tried to shape into contentment. She was already reaching for a second slice, a tiny act of normalcy that felt monumental.
"Are you just going to keep staring?" Kaori asked around a mouthful, a faint, familiar spark in her tired eyes. "Because I will finish this whole thing myself."
He chuckled, the sound rough but real, and pushed himself to his feet. "All yours. I'm not hungry." He paused at the bottom of the stairs. "I'll be upstairs if you need anything."
Kaori looked from the pizza to him, her gaze clearer. "It's Sunday, right?"
He stopped, his hand on the banister. The days had bled together into a grey continuum. "Sunday?" he asked, genuinely unsure.
"Church is on Sunday," she stated, her voice firmer now, a decision made. "Remember to take me with you."
For the first time that evening, a real, warm smile broke through the fatigue in his eyes. She was reaching for a ritual, an anchor in the form of faith. It was a step. A brave one. "If you say so. Be ready by six, then. Just don't forget since this is Friday."
He disappeared up the stairs. Kaori watched the empty space for a moment, then picked up her novel again. She took another bite of pizza, the tangy sweetness a small, definite point of pleasure in the quiet room. The story still couldn't fully capture her, but the act of trying of turning a page, of tasting a familiar flavor felt like laying a single brick on the long road back to herself.
---
Under a sky now dusted with stars and a sharp, silver crescent moon, Pathro and Kaile touched down on the compacted earth of a secure island. The air here was different crisp, filtered, humming with a low-grade energy that spoke of advanced technology and heavy shielding. This was Shikoku Island: Junior Division Operational Base.
Pathro's senses automatically mapped the terrain. Rolling forest, a perimeter fence that vibrated at a frequency meant to dissuade more than physical intrusion, and at its epicenter, a monolithic structure of darkened alloy and composite glass that speared into the night.
"So this is the junior ops base," Pathro mused, hands in his pockets. "Kinda expected more… fortification. Bigger walls."
Kaile was already walking toward the central spire, her form a confident silhouette against the building's glow. "Why? The only thing stupid enough to attack a garrison of super-soldiers is another super-soldier. Walls are for the last war. Our best defense is in the lobby."
As they approached, the scale became truly imposing. It wasn't just tall; it was dense, a vertical city designed with a severe, purposeful geometry that screamed unlimited budget and zero aesthetic compromise.
"Pictures in the handbook did not do this justice," Kaile admitted, tilting her head back.
"Couldn't agree more," Pathro said, a smirk returning. "The design goes hard, though. All business."
The entrance was a wide, recessed portal of polished black metal. Inside, the atmosphere shifted to controlled, hyper-efficient bustle. Soldiers and staff in various uniforms moved with purposeful speed across a vast, atrium-like lobby. The air thrummed with low conversations, the melodic chimes of arriving elevators, and the soft, pervasive glow of holographic directories and status boards.
"Busy," Pathro observed, his eyes tracking the flow of personnel.
Kaile's gaze darted, scanning signs until it locked onto a clean, well-lit counter marked INQUIRIES & INDUCTION. "There. Come on."
They approached the counter, where a young man in a sharp, grey administrative uniform looked up with a practiced, neutral smile. "Welcome to Shikoku Base. May I have your names for induction, please?"
"Kaile Hado. And this… dude… is Pathro Kitsimoyo," Kaile said, gesturing.
The clerk's fingers danced across a translucent keyboard. A terminal beside him chimed, casting a soft green light across his face. "Right, of course. The top of the Shindo class." He turned, retrieving two sleek, black wristbands and two matte-finish, slate-gray communicators from a secure drawer. "Your identification and your lifeline."
He handed them over. "For you, Cadet pardon me, Soldier Hado: Elevator Bank Five, eighth floor. Your quarters are Room One. For you, Soldier Kitsimoyo: Elevator Bank Three, ninth floor. Also Room One."
Pathro turned the communicator over in his hand. It was disturbingly light. "And these?"
"Your mission interface, sir," the clerk explained. "All assignments, briefings, priority alerts, and tactical updates will be routed through it. Location, timing, threat classification everything you need will be there."
Kaile frowned at her device, flipping it. "Where's the charging port?"
The clerk smiled, a hint of amusement touching his professional demeanor. "A common question from new inductees. These don't use conventional electrical charge. They are synced to your bio-signature and metabolize trace meta-energy. Your own meta energy keeps them powered. Furthermore," he added, "their base battery, thanks to our Materials Science Division, has an operational lifespan of approximately three years under constant, maximum use without any meta-energy input at all."
Pathro raised an eyebrow. "Three years? Who tested that? Someone sat there watching a phone for three years?"
The clerk gave a nervous, professional laugh. "The methodology, as I understand it, involved a soldier with temporal-dilation abilities creating a accelerated time-field around a test unit running a looped video. For us, it was a three-day experiment. For the phone inside the field… it was three years of continuous operation."
Kaile nodded slowly, impressed. "Of course. With the diversity of powers, someone out there can probably mutter at time and make it speed up. Makes sense."
Pathro slid the wristband on it auto-sized with a silent hiss and pocketed the communicator. "One more thing. Kiligaku Keizo. Toshiro Iwasake. Where are they quartered?"
A few more keystrokes. "Both are in your wing, sir. Soldier Keizo is in Room Two. Soldier Iwasake is in Room Four."
Kaile's eyes lit up with understanding. "So the rooms are ranked. Which means on my floor, Kasumi is in Room Two."
The clerk checked. "We have three Kasumis in the system, but yes, Soldier Kasumi from your academy is assigned to Room Two on the eighth floor."
"They kept the academy ranking," Pathro concluded, the logic clicking into place. It was a cold, meritocratic welcome. Your performance, quantified into points,
... power, intellect, tactics, knowledge dictated your address. His 2012 points had earned him Room 1, ninth floor. Kiligaku, with 2007, was next door. Toshiro (1954) down the hall. Kaile (1895) led the women's division, with Kasumi (1893) as her runner-up, just as Kobayashi's 1997 had likely secured him the top room in the Omake wing.
"Well," Kaile said, turning towards the gleaming column of Elevator Bank Five. "Guess I'll catch you later. Don't get lost."
"You either," Pathro replied, heading for Bank Three.
The elevator was silent and impossibly fast. As he ascended, the gentle pressure in his ears was the only sign of motion. I thought there'd be another speech, he mused, watching the floor numbers flash by. Some final pep talk. But I guess the ceremony was the show. This… this is the work.
The doors sighed open on the ninth floor. A long, softly lit corridor stretched before him, doors spaced at regular intervals. At the very end, marked with a simple, understated 1, was his.
He approached, the wristband on his arm tingling faintly. A panel beside the door lit up. He didn't need to swipe; it read his biometric signature. The light shifted from soft red to a calm, welcoming green.
Click.
The door unlocked,sliding silently into the wall.
He stood on the threshold, looking into a neat, spacious, and utterly impersonal room. A bed, a desk, a window looking out over the dark, silent island. A blank canvas.
My life as a soldier begins now, I guess.
He stepped inside.The door slid shut behind him with a final, soft hiss, sealing him into his new reality.
What an odd feeling.