The corridors of Block B seemed to vanish, swallowed by the void. The silence was absolute, so hollow that a single drop of water from the ceiling pipes echoed like a metallic strike—sharp and intrusive to those who remained awake.
Inside Cell 9-B, however, reality felt a fraction more human. Amae's heavy snoring merged with the distant hum of static machinery, creating a dissonant harmony that served as a lullaby for exhausted souls.
Behind Nugia's eyelids, the world blurred. Reality dissolved into a vast expanse of blue water, a shoreless mirror reflecting a boundless sky. Here, silence was the only companion, and the gentle ripple of water was the only proof he still possessed a body.
In the distance, a faint blue glow fractured the horizon.
Nugia stepped forward. He chased the light with a calm rhythm, but strangely, no matter how far he walked, the glow remained distant—an optical illusion of the soul. The light vibrated, forming the hazy silhouette of a girl his age. There was only the sound of water meeting silence; not a single word was spoken.
"Reyna?" his mind called out. "No... Meyra?"
Nugia's thoughts swirled. The shadow felt like pieces of a wet puzzle; impossible to fit together.
Suddenly, the sky—crafted from billions of grains of sand—began to collapse. The sand fell like a soft rain upon the spot where the silhouette stood. Nugia stopped walking; he ran. Each strike of his feet against the water's surface sent out expanding ripples, bringing an alien sense of peace to his chest.
He had to reach her. Before the sand buried the memory entirely.
"Wait!" Nugia cried out. His voice rippled, creating reflections of sound that echoed over and over.
The girl's shadow vanished instantly, leaving behind a rain of sand that now drifted toward him. As Nugia raised his hand, the grains fell into his palm.
In an instant, his world spun. A fragment of memory detonated, dragging him back to a place he once called 'home'—warm, familiar, and excruciatingly painful.
"Nugia, don't keep pressing against the window. Your breath is fogging the glass," a heavy yet gentle voice broke the warmth of the house.
Little Nugia turned away from the frozen glass. The aroma of mushroom soup and the sweet scent of bread filled the room, greeting his small, slightly reddened nose. "Father, is it really that cold outside? I saw a bird drop ice crystals from its wings earlier."
The broad-shouldered man chuckled, a deep, raspy sound like the shifting of ancient oak. He set down his book and gestured for Nugia to come closer. As the boy sat on his lap, the man ruffled Nugia's hair with a rough but soothing palm.
"The cold out there can freeze your blood in seconds, Champ. That's why we must be grateful for the Azure Heart." The man pointed toward the village center through the window. "Without that stone, our village would be nothing but a forgotten grave of ice."
Nugia stared into his eyes, seeking answers to a curiosity that never faded. Outside, the blizzard began to rage; inside his father's embrace, he felt immortal. But warmth is the ultimate traitor.
Suddenly, a high-pitched siren wailed, tearing through the blue dimension and the warm memories in his head. Instantly, a thick, crimson light flooded Nugia's vision, dragging him back into a tragedy long locked away; his memory vault was smashed open, forced by a bitter reality.
The world was no longer calm. The world turned red and metallic, smelling of iron.
A woman he knew so well—a figure whose face was always blurred in his dreams—now lay stiff upon the once-sacred snow. The wicker basket in her arms was crushed. The bread, whose warmth he had breathed in moments ago, was scattered across the white expanse. The bread slowly grew cold, in sync with the blood that flowed, seeping into the snow and turning into horrific red crystals.
"Don't... cry... find... a way... live..." she whispered brokenly. Her voice was nearly swallowed by the roar of war machines in the distance.
Little Nugia crawled, his frozen fingers reaching out into the hollow, cold air. He only wanted to touch that hand one last time.
But before his fingers could reach, a cold iron hand gripped his neck. His oxygen was cut off. Nugia was jerked back violently, his feet dragging across the snow, leaving grooved tracks toward a Steel Truck that roared like a blood-hungry monster.
"MOTHER!"
Nugia bolted upright. His scream was hoarse, trapped in a dry throat. His heart hammered, pumping the remnants of the nightmare's horror through his veins. He looked at his own palms—still empty, still cold.
***
CYCLE 04.00.
The dormitory siren shrieked, piercing his ears. Red lights began to flash brutally, incinerating the blue fragments in his mind. The reality of Sector 7 was back to claim his life.
Nugia remained frozen on the edge of the bed as a shadow knelt before him. "Your breathing is a mess. Save the horror for later, or you'll die in the first lap," the unit leader said, grabbing Nugia's foot. She pulled his loose laces and tied them tight with a sharp snap.
Nugia could only stare at Zilla's silver hair. His tongue still tasted the iron of blood on snow, but her small hands were warm—just like the aroma of mushroom soup from his dream.
"Focus on the red light. If we're late, we're punished!" she commanded. Meyra and Reyna were already waiting at the door. Amae was still buttoning his shirt, his eyes half-closed.
Then, they moved. Marching stiffly through the dim corridor, merging with the grimy walls that had long since swallowed their humanity.
"Sound off, begin!" Jean barked. His eyes scanned the line, sharp as a sniper's laser.
"ONE!" Drog shouted. "TWO! THREE!" The counts exploded in succession, intentionally loud to fake alertness for the instructor.
By the time the count reached "FORTY!", Meyra was elbowing Amae's ribs repeatedly—trying to force back a soul still left in the dreamworld.
"021!" Jean's voice shot out like a bullet, calling the number etched onto the metal bracelet on Amae's wrist. But the target didn't budge; Amae was still asleep in an impossible standing position.
"CADET 021!" This time it wasn't a bullet, but a cannon blast right in front of his face.
"READY! TWENTY-TWO!" Amae startled awake, his voice raspy. Still stuck in the dream, his mind instinctively shouted the number after his own unit ID, as if performing a personal roll call.
The corridor went dead silent. A few cadets from other units muffled their laughter.
"Idiot! Forty-one, not twenty-two!" Meyra hissed like a razor blade against Amae's ear. "This is a unit count, not your ID number!"
"FORTY-ONE!" Amae barked instantly, trying to fix his mouth's coordinates while his face turned beet-red, burning with shame under Jean's death stare.
Jean didn't respond. He simply walked slowly, the sound of his boots hitting the concrete floor sounding like a countdown to execution. When he stopped right in front of Amae, the air in the corridor seemed to freeze, leaving only the scent of cold sweat and thick fear. Jean didn't strike him, but his gaze was far more painful than physical impact—a silent insult to those who still brought 'sleep' into the battle line.
"A wrong number here is a wrong coordinate on the battlefield," Jean's voice was low, yet it echoed through the silent hall. "And a wrong coordinate means death for the comrade standing next to you." He glanced briefly at Meyra, signaling that her whispered help had not gone unnoticed. Jean turned slowly, his hand giving the brief command they all loathed. "Block B, out. Marathon. Twenty extra laps for Unit 009."
The lobby door was always agape, spewing out the extreme dawn air. Sometimes it felt like a crocodile's maw; other times, like a cave hiding the treasures of a mattress and pillow.
Without protest, they moved in unison, leaving the warmth of the dorm for the frozen concrete outside. Every footfall against the ground felt like a needle of ice piercing through their soles, forcing their lungs to work double-time to inhale the thin oxygen.
In the field, Nugia ran with eyes that still held the remnants of the 'Blue Dimension,' letting the pain in his legs incinerate the memory of warm bread that had now turned to ash.
The dawn air of Sector 7 began to torture them. Every time Amae inhaled, it felt like swallowing thousands of tiny razor blades slicing through his throat. In front of him, the backs of his unit-mates rose and fell with a heavy rhythm—all because of him.
"Amae... you're taking responsibility in the dorm later!" Meyra snapped between ragged breaths. The 'Lioness's' voice was usually annoying, but this time, there was a palpable note of exhaustion.
Amae saw Drog—the strongest giant—beginning to drag his feet; even for them, this pace was not normal. He saw Nugia running with a face as pale as a corpse, as if his soul was about to slip away.
From the other units, the jeers began. "Twenty-two! Hey, math cadet, still alive?!" The laughter cut deeper into Amae's pride than the freezing air.
Amae looked down, pinning his gaze to the boots hitting the concrete in a torturous rhythm. Each thud of his friends' footsteps was no longer a sound, but a strike to his chest with every narrowing breath. He had a thousand apologies, but the oxygen in his lungs was too precious to waste on sound—in PETERUMMAN, an apology is trash if your comrade's legs are already shaking because of you.
Ahead, Zilla led in a killing silence. She intentionally slowed the pace, ensuring her unit didn't scatter despite being showered with the disgusting laughter of the units overtaking them. Zilla's silence was more painful than any whip; she didn't scold Amae, she simply carried Amae's burden on her own shoulders.
"Sorry..." Amae whispered, a word that died instantly against the wind. In that moment, he vowed that the heat blurring his vision wasn't sweat, but a guilt slowly freezing into a grudge against himself.