The Officers' Meeting

Outside the conference hall on the top floor, where the officers' meeting was already well underway, Meursault checked the time, then the pistol tucked inside his coat, and spoke.

"It's been about an hour since the meeting started. Their tension and focus should be starting to slip. We go in now."

The words had barely left his mouth before he knocked on the conference room door.

...Huh? Why did he just check that he had a gun?

Knock, knock.

"Meursault. I've brought him."

From inside came the familiar voice of the Commander.

"Enter."

The moment permission ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was given, Meursault threw the doors open without the slightest hesitation, and I stepped inside.

Eight pairs of sharp eyes locked onto me at once — and, simultaneously, system messages rose before my vision.

Just like the game.

The title effect had taken hold on four of the eight. Of Cola Area's officers, four belonged to the pro-Hayden faction, the other four to the pro-Daphne faction. The pro-Hayden officers, in particular, were comrades who had fought on the same battlefields as Luna Moon. So of course it worked on them. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pro-Daphne officers simply lacked enough goodwill toward Luna ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Moon for the title to apply — which didn't mean they didn't know who she was.

Meursault, who mainly handled tactics, supply, and accounting for the military, seemed written as either never having met Luna Moon the military doctor, or simply having no interest in any woman besides Daphne.

"Hah…"

Just as I'd expected, the moment they saw my face, it wasn't only the pro-Hayden officers who thought of Luna Moon. Distinct emotions began to surface across the weathered faces of the old officers watching me.

"So in the end…"

The first to speak was the white-bearded leader of the pro-Daphne faction.

"You found that military doctor's child."

The quiet words had barely fallen when, as if on cue, officers from both camps began pouring out their own.

"I thought the resemblance was a coincidence — you're saying he's truly that woman's son?"

"'That woman'? How dare you speak of a hero of the subjugation campaigns that way!"

"Calling a deserter a 'hero' seems rather generous, doesn't it?"

"Wh-what? A deserter? A deserter? You insane—"

"Leave it. People who never set foot on a battlefield yet revere some woman as pureblood nobility could never tell a hero from a deserter anyway."

"What did you just say? A woman who never set foot on a battlefield?!"

Voices rose on both sides — until the oldest-looking officer of the pro-Hayden faction spoke, his tone low and cold.

"Have you all gone senile? Raising your voices when His Excellency is present."

At that, the conference hall fell dead silent.

Commander Hayden, seated at the head of the table, wore an expression that suggested he found the entire scene merely interesting.

So this isn't the first time Luna Moon has come up in an officers' meeting.

I thought so because what I saw on the Commander's face wasn't anger or dismay, but familiarity — and because the old officer had scolded them not for mentioning Luna Moon in front of the Commander, but for raising their voices. Hayden even had one corner of his mouth curled in a faint smile, enough that I wondered whether he'd been waiting for them to bring her up.

"May I speak now?"

"My apologies."

"My apologies."

Only once the officers had bowed their heads so low their foreheads nearly kissed the table did Commander Hayden continue. He beckoned me over. When I took my place at his side, a hand rough with calluses and scattered scars closed around my shoulder.

"Allow me to introduce him. This child's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠name is Heydam Goodman. My only son."

At the name Heydam Goodman, the pro-Daphne officers' faces twisted. Only their faction leader simply nodded, expression unchanged.

In the silence that followed, the Commander's remaining eye drifted lazily across the officers.

"I've found the child I lost. Will no one offer congratulations?"

"Not at all. Congratulations, sir."

"Congratulations."

Even the pro-Daphne officers who had been making faces weren't so tactless as to withhold the words. I thought the introductions might wrap up without me needing to say a thing — until the Commander, still smiling as he looked over his officers, turned his head toward me and asked,

"Well then, Heydam. You tell us."

Huh? Tell them what?

"Was your mother a deserter, or a hero?"

Everyone in the room except me went rigid.

This bastard…

I'd wondered why he'd sat there so calmly while they were one second from tearing into each other over whether Luna Moon was a deserter or a hero. He'd been waiting to resolve a sensitive problem without getting his own hands dirty.

I was still a ten-year-old child. No officer here would seriously hold whatever answer I gave against me. So Commander Hayden was killing two birds with one stone — hearing what I thought of my mother, and testing my problem-solving ability — asking me as casually as if he were inquiring about today's lunch menu.

Well, it's not a bad thing for me either. No — if anything, I need this.

What child, after all, would hear "your mom was a deserter" to his face and not feel something about it? And yet by asking for my thoughts, the Commander had effectively handed me a chance to sell myself in front of every officer present.

Most of them were watching me with open curiosity, waiting to hear what I'd say. Only the one officer who had actually spoken the word deserter was breaking into a cold sweat.

Is Luna Moon a deserter, or a hero?

At its core, the question was really this: Is there a problem with calling Luna Moon a deserter? In other words, he was asking me to decide whether or not to punish the man who had insulted my mother.

Commander Hayden could have punished that officer on the spot for calling her a deserter. Easily.

But he hadn't. Not even with absolute power in his hands. And judging by the atmosphere, the deserter controversy wasn't new to this room either.

So there's a reason he never made an issue of it until now.

Think it through. If the Commander had punished a pro-Daphne officer over that remark, the pro-Daphne faction would have gained the perfect pretext to attack my mother's origins. At the very least, a rumor would have spread through the ranks: An officer got thrown in the stockade for pointing out that Heydam Goodman's mother was a deserter.

The claim that Luna Moon was a deserter existed because, instead of mustering out properly, she had gone into hiding to avoid scrutiny for a while — and died there. Circumstance didn't make desertion any less desertion. And if Luna Moon being a deserter became a real problem, it would hurt me too. What soldier would trust the child of a deserter?

So my mother could not be a deserter. And at the same time, she could not be a hero either. If I called Luna Moon a hero, the pro-Daphne faction's response was as predictable as sunrise. They would paint me as an emotional, unfair little brat who punished an officer at first meeting for calling his mother a deserter.

Which left only one answer I could give.

"Whether people think of my mother as a deserter or a hero… what matters is that I am, without question, Your Excellency's son. Isn't that so?"

The satisfied smile that settled on the Commander's mouth told me that had been the correct answer in his mind as well.

"Did you hear that?"

He looked straight at the officer who had spoken the word deserter, twisting his lips.

"Heydam will forgive your rudeness. So you, in turn, will not make an issue of his mother's past."

"Ah— y-yes, of course."

The officer stammered his reply in a panic — and the Commander's gaze grew colder still.

"Is that all?"

"Pardon? Ah— I apologize for my rudeness, young master Heydam. I am truly sorry."

Even to my eyes the apology was quite formal, yet the Commander's expression remained sharp as a blade.

"I said, is that all?"

"Y-yes…? I mean…"

As the officer floundered, still failing to grasp what the Commander wanted, Meursault — standing by the entrance — drew the pistol from inside his coat and, without a moment's hesitation, shot him.

The gunshot cracked against my eardrums, and the first thought that hit me was this:

So that's why he checked the pistol.

I watched the officer crumple across the conference table with a dull thud, blood erupting from the hole in the center of his forehead as he died on the spot.

Holy shit.

What the hell was this.

The other officers' faces were flooded with pure horror. Every one of them looked ready to demand whether Meursault had lost his mind — but someone beat them to it.

"My, Meursault. What is the meaning of this?"

Commander Hayden asked as if he had been waiting for exactly this.

"Not only drawing a weapon in my presence, but shooting a superior officer. Are you in your right mind?"

He rebuked Meursault at once, but his tone was so mild that anyone listening would have known this was precisely what the Commander had wanted. Meursault, who had just gunned down a superior officer, holstered his weapon without so much as a flicker of expression and dropped to one knee.

"My apologies. Young master Heydam had already shown mercy and forgiven the rudeness — and yet the man could not even manage a word of thanks to the end. I found the attitude intolerable."

"And that makes shooting a superior officer acceptable? Confine yourself for a while."

"I am grateful for Your Excellency's lenient judgment."

With that, Meursault left the conference hall — whether to actually go serve his confinement or not. The absurd little play vanished as quickly as a blink, and silence settled over the room once more. Only the corpse of the shot officer twitched intermittently on the table.

Something hot brushed my cheek. When I touched it, my fingers came away red. The man had been sitting close; some of the blood must have sprayed onto me.

This insane dictator NPC bastard…

As if I didn't already have too few NPCs worth using, he'd gone and killed one over a missing thank-you.

Of course, the thank-you is just the excuse.

Failing to thank me was nothing but a pretext. The Commander had clearly wanted to put a bullet in a pro-Daphne officer who insulted Luna Moon for a long time. At a glance, the officer who'd called her a deserter right in front of the Commander might look like an idiot — but given how freely the officers had discussed Luna Moon in his presence, Hayden had simply never intervened when the pro-Daphne faction spoke disrespectfully of her. Just as I had refused to answer whether she was deserter or hero, it was a question the Commander himself had never been able to answer lightly.

But now he had no choice but to act. Because I — the son of him and Luna Moon — was sitting right here. He had planted fear in his officers to establish my authority. And the one who had actually carried out the execution was Meursault. No arrow of blame would ever point at the Commander.

A very clever move, really.

Thinking that, I wiped the blood from my cheek with my sleeve — and felt eyes on me. It took only a moment to realize the officers weren't staring in horror at their psychopathic dictator of a Commander-father.

They were staring at me.