What the Hell Are Those Guys
"—That concludes my report. And…"
Meursault, whose confinement-that-wasn't-really-confinement had finally ended, finished his brief report to the Commander and added,
"Today is Lord Haydam's training simulation day."
"Today, is it?"
"Yes. If you leave now, you'll arrive in good time."
Even after saying so, the Commander showed no sign of putting the report down, so Meursault asked again.
"You're not going to watch?"
"No reason to."
The Commander set the papers down with a soft thud and answered.
"Haydam will win anyway."
"…Even doting fathers get mocked when they go too far, Your Excellency."
Despite Meursault's perfectly valid—and thoroughly rude—observation, Commander Hayden only gave a quiet snort of laughter.
To Meursault, who knew none of the background, he must have looked like the most shamelessly soft-hearted parent alive.
Haydam is a regressor, huh…
In truth, the Commander believed it more than he let on. If Luna Moon had been a player, as Haydam claimed, then her child could hardly be an ordinary boy.
A player's child turns out to be a regressor. Will Daphne's child also become something special?
The thought made him glance thoughtfully at Meursault for a moment.
A child between that man and a player might be a little dangerous.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
The Commander answered with perfect nonchalance.
"Because it's unexpected."
"What is?"
"Meursault, do you think Haydam will lose?"
"Haydam is ten years old. The cadets are reserve officers about to graduate. But…"
Meursault's brow furrowed slightly; a faint smile touched his lips.
"It's strange. I don't think he'll lose either."
"Your eye for people is still sharp."
"That doesn't change the fact that Your Excellency is a hopelessly doting father."
"And you're still insolent."
Lightly brushing aside whatever else Meursault was grumbling, the Commander turned his gaze out the window toward the distant silhouette of the military academy.
The Second Apocalypse…
If another end of the world was truly approaching in the not-so-distant future—
and if Haydam really was a regressor who had returned from that future—
Luna Moon. Your child will save the world.
The Military Academy's training simulation.
In an age when the true enemy was alien monsters rather than other humans, pitting cadets against one another might have seemed hopelessly outdated.
Yet the reason they still ran these anti-personnel drills was simple: every so often, a suppression force would run into people from another zone. After the apocalypse, humans were already an endangered species, so the urge to kill one another was rare—but not extinct. The maniacs from the Knife Zone were complete psychopaths beyond any common sense, and sometimes refugees starved of resources or barred from returning home by crime or politics would try their hand at raiding. That was why the training existed.
And, of course, the reverse was also true: when our zone ran short, we would have to go raid someone else. Planting a flag in the enemy team's base carried that exact meaning.
In short, this exercise was designed to make cadets taste the ugliest bottom of human nature.
Which meant that even if the opponent was a ten-year-old child, they were expected to give it everything they had.
I had actually been worried the academy cadets might go easy on me…
Looking at those eyes, I don't need to worry about that.
For some reason, every cadet selected to face me was glaring with pure hostility.
Why, though?
Because I said the academy was a waste of time and I had no intention of enrolling?
Because I used my father's influence to gather the best cadets just so I could measure my combat power?
Or because I told them to all come at me at once since I could handle them alone?
Too many possible reasons.
Anyway, if they were going to take me seriously, that worked in my favor. At least no one would be able to claim I only won because I was the Commander's son.
If this had been a real entrance exam instead of a demonstration, I would have just coasted on my father's name and been done with it.
"You all know the rules of the training simulation, but since Lord Haydam is participating for the first time, I'll give a brief explanation before we begin."
One of the three instructors chosen as referees and supervisors—the one wearing a red cap—stepped forward.
"The rules are simple. To win, you must either annihilate every enemy or plant your own flag on the opposing team's flagpole. Any impact registered by the sensors will be judged as a critical wound or death. Situations the machines cannot determine will be reviewed by us instructors via drone. This is only training, so if you judge the situation too dangerous, do not hesitate to declare surrender."
That last sentence wasn't usually part of the briefing. They had clearly added it because I was the Commander's young son.
One of the cadets raised a hand.
When the instructor gave permission, the cadet spoke.
"We've all experienced this simulation field before, so we're familiar with the terrain. Lord Haydam is using it for the first time. For fairness, shouldn't we switch to a different map?"
The instructor glanced my way and answered in a flat voice.
"…Lord Haydam stated that any zone would be overwhelmingly advantageous to him, and that for fairness the exercise should take place on terrain the cadets already know. The decision is final. No changes."
"…Excuse me?"
The cadet who had asked looked blank for a second, then flushed crimson as he realized he had just been dismissed. The other cadets began to murmur in disbelief. Platon, the one I had met before, was staring at me with those blue eyes as if he wanted to tear me apart.
Still a bunch of greenhorns.
Getting this worked up by a ten-year-old before the exercise even starts… wiping them out shouldn't be hard. A snake that's already furious forgets to protect itself while fixating on landing a fatal bite.
"What the hell is with that brat?"
Before the exercise officially began, one of the cadets vented as they moved into their starting zone.
"His father is the Commander—he's not even a soldier himself. Where does he get the confidence to stand in our own backyard and claim he can beat us?"
The others clearly agreed, but a senior cadet raised a hand for quiet, mindful of listening ears.
"Watch your mouth. The instructors can hear you."
"Didn't you see how ridiculous even the instructors looked?"
The complaining cadet raised his voice deliberately.
"His Excellency is going too far! Ordering us to fight a ten-year-old kid… He must think the future officers of this academy are a joke!"
The others, sharing the same indignation, began to speak up one after another.
"He claims he can take us all on alone, yet he refused to change the field. Isn't he just setting himself up to make excuses later—that he only lost because we fought on familiar ground?"
"What if he actually tries that?"
"Then he still loses. We should just be grateful no one ordered us to throw the match."
"We're all busy with training as it is—seniors included. This is a complete waste of time!"
"I heard Lord Haydam thinks the academy itself is a waste of time. Doesn't that mean the Commander agrees with him? The Commander didn't even graduate from the academy!"
"Settle down."
When the atmosphere threatened to boil over, Platon—who had been listening quietly from the rear—stepped forward.
"I understand you're angry, but rage right now accomplishes nothing. You couldn't say a single word to Lord Haydam's face, yet you're talking like this behind his back. Is that the pride of academy cadets?"
"Th-that was…"
"I misspoke. I apologize."
"Sorry."
Once the cadets looked properly chastened, Platon continued with a more serious expression.
"Listen carefully. When Lord Haydam said he would face us alone, I also thought it was absurd. But after thinking it through, I realized he had no other choice."
"No other choice?"
"First: no matter how skilled we are, our teamwork with Lord Haydam—who has never trained with us—would be nonexistent. Judging by how you feel about him right now, any cadet assigned to his team would have been equally uncooperative."
"…"
Having just been insulting the boy themselves, the cadets could only nod in reluctant understanding.
"Second: protecting the weakest member—Lord Haydam—would consume far too much of our offense and defense. Pairing him with cadets would be inefficient. And if he were injured during the exercise? The cadets who failed to protect him would be in an impossible position."
Heads nodded again.
Ha… these thoughtless idiots are supposed to become officers someday.
Platon exhaled a quiet sigh and pressed on.
"Third and final: alone, Lord Haydam can hide among the terrain as much as he wants. Places we can't even pass through, that small body of his can slip into without a sound."
"Ah… when you put it that way, it makes sense."
"Therefore, the only strategy he can realistically pursue is to sneak into our base and plant his flag. Completely wiping us out is impossible, but catching us off-guard and raising a flag is not. In that light, fighting on terrain we know well is actually advantageous for him as well—we'll grow careless because it's familiar. His deliberately insulting remarks were meant to make us angry and narrow our vision."
When Platon finished, the surrounding cadets looked as if a great revelation had dawned on them and offered soft applause.
"Ooooh… as expected of Senior Platon! That actually explains all of Lord Haydam's comments."
"So he was already executing his plan the moment he faced us. He wasn't looking down on us out of pure contempt."
"…"
In truth, Platon had spoken with Haydam face-to-face in the principal's office, however briefly. He knew perfectly well that Haydam's disdain for the cadets was completely genuine.
Knowing that doesn't help. Anger and carelessness are poison to any operation. If even one cadet injured Lord Haydam out of malice, there would be no going back.
So instead of the truth, Platon said this:
"Yes. He's as sharp as the rumors claim. If Lord Haydam is taking this exercise that seriously, then the least we can do is face him with equal seriousness. His Excellency approved this training so that Lord Haydam would understand the academy is not a waste of time. And this exercise benefits us as well."
"How so?"
"Can any of you honestly say that if you met a young civilian from another zone during a real suppression mission, you would neither lower your guard nor feel pity?"
"Ah…"
"Therefore, we must defeat Lord Haydam with everything we have—for many reasons. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir!"
Watching the cadets answer with full-throated energy, Platon allowed himself a faint smile.
As long as they didn't grow careless, there was no way they would lose to a ten-year-old child—not even by the slightest chance.
"I'll set an ambush near the flag and snipe him the moment he appears. The rest of you will advance on Lord Haydam's base as loudly and angrily as possible. He needs to believe our entire force is on the move so he'll confidently sneak toward our flag. Stick together so he can't count your numbers."
"Yes, sir."
"Planting a flag in his empty base would be easy, but then he would learn nothing. So we'll pretend to dance to his tune… and then stab him in the back."
The moment he finished speaking, the starting buzzer blared.
Platon gave a small nod, signaling the beginning of the operation.
"Go. Drive the rabbit toward me."
"Roger that!"
When I spotted the cadets approaching my base, I actually doubted my own eyes.
What the hell?
Why are those idiots bunching up so perfectly for me to slaughter them?