The Last Christmas (1) Extra

It was the Eve of Erini-es's birthday.

The dormitory of the 'Praying Nuns'.

A silence so heavy it was almost deafening. Normally, this time of day would be bustling with the unit, but today, it was anything but. The Eve of Erini-es's birthday — the only day when soldiers were granted rest.

Yanne, the sergeant first class, sat at the table, watching Eve with a vacant gaze as she stared blankly out the window. The unit was located far from the city in the suburbs, so the view outside was a perfect, snow-covered world untouched by a single soul. Eve's eyes seemed to follow the slowly falling white snowflakes, or perhaps the faint streetlight that was the only one turned on.

"......"

Her gaze was dazed, as if entranced by something.

"Eve, what are you looking at?"

"......"

Eve's gaze remained fixed on the window.

Ah, she hadn't heard that.

Just as he was about to call out again, Eve answered.

"Sergeant Yanne, Violet said Elia is..."

"Elia?"

"...I should have gone after all."

She was worried.

Worried that Violet wouldn't bring Elia back.

"You said you were preparing cake, right? Trust me, oppa, I can't believe it?"

"N-no, it's not that... I'm just worried."

"Irien, among us — Yanne, Treval, Violet — Violet has the highest chance. So don't worry."

Eve's expression was still uneasy. Yanne thought, She can't be honest about it. When Eve stammered, her heart exposed, Yanne hid his expression of wanting to die from cuteness as he spoke to Eve.

"Let's finish cleaning up before the kids arrive."

"Yes."

Good girl. Watching her immediately stand up and diligently organize the shelves with a satisfied expression, the sliding door creaked open.

"Eve, I'm here!"

"Eh, of all times, why does this tomboy have to come first."

"Come in, Irien. Put the bags down with me."

Eve, who had been sitting softly on the shoulder of Irien, who had come carrying things in both hands, led her to the chair in front of the heater. Irien, who had been stubbornly refusing, eventually had her things taken away and sat obediently near the heater.

"Wow~ As expected, our captain has a warm heart too. You're going to melt~"

"Hey, tomboy. Did you bring the gifts properly?"

"Yanne, you're going to die? Am I a delivery kid? You haven't been beaten up lately?"

"Yeah, no. And you, that's a top-tier move. If it's a military court, it's death penalty. Admit it? Yeah, admit it."

"You immature little parasite."

When Yanne replied with a teasing tone, Irien responded as if fed up.

"By the way, where's Treval? You came alone?"

"Treval said he'd be a little late because he went to buy decorations for the tree."

"You... you left Treval behind because you didn't want to pick decorations."

"Correct. I'm Irien, a pitiful girl but not girly."

"Shut up."

Even in the commotion, Eve continued to organize the shelves silently.

"Eve~ You can organize ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tomorrow, so come here."

"To cook, I need to clean up a bit more-"

"-Shut up! This joyful Eve of Erini-es's birthday... Can it be that 'Eve' is missing from Irien's seat~!"

"You're a killjoy, tomboy."

"Yanne bastard."

Irien grabbed Eve's hand that was heading back to the shelves and forcibly pulled her to the heater.

"Eh-, Irien, I haven't finished cleaning yet-"

"-Tomorrow, tomorrow, there's tomorrow, right~!"

Eve, who had been pulled near the heater, showed a troubled expression, but it didn't look bad. Irien suddenly hugged her tightly. Eve, in her arms, flailed her lost hands, then looked at her.

"Ho ho ho~♥ Look at this? This one is really cute and warm."

"I, Irien. Why are you being embarrassing."

"Hmmm hmm, good. Really good. Warmer than the heater? I can understand why you're so precious to that kid who doesn't feel pain or tears."

"You're a pervert, Irien."

"Shut up, you."

With a stinging remark, Yanne chuckled and took a sip of the warm cocoa he had placed on the heater. This one was too sweet too.

"So, what about that ice guy?"

"He went to pick up Violet just now."

"Isn't it 'Don't look at the eyes of those who are frozen'? That's what they say, right?"

"Kuk kuk, you sound just like her? You have enough qualifications. You should be the next captain."

"You bastard."

When Irien imitated Elia's voice in a low tone, Yanne laughed out loud.

"Why do you hate it so much? Isn't it a love-hate relationship?"

"Hey, really dying? Why would I be such a witch-"

"-Irien."

Suddenly, Yanne's teasing face vanished.

Witch. The word that followed Elia like a tail.

"Ah, damn it! I know, I know! It's just that it's hard to get close to that girl!"

When they first performed the mission together, Irien had disliked Elia. She was insensitive to death. Was this the 'witch' she'd heard about in rumors? The attitude of treating her squad members' deaths as consumables was so repulsive it made her sick.

But when she first visited the grave of the fallen Corporal Lupas, she saw it.

"Sorry, forgive me, forgive me...!"

It was a day of bad rain, drizzling.

Kneeling in the muddy ground,

Embracing Corporal Lupas's grave-

The elf with golden hair sobbing.

'...Witch?'

She couldn't believe it.

But it was clear.

That small, familiar back.

It was definitely the back of the-

person she thought had no feelings of pain or tears-

the witch.

"Tsk tsk, she's doing it again."

The old grave keeper passing by said that.

"...You've seen it often?"

"Seen it often? Don't say that. She does it every week. How many years has it been... She wakes her up when she falls from exhaustion after crying like that."

"How many years..."

"See? From here to the end."

The old man pointed with his finger to a section of the grave.

"It's a grave she personally dug and maintains. Over 300 of them."

"...I, I see."

She wasn't insensitive to death.

She had been thoroughly broken and dulled.

The mask of the witch. That mask had been forged by their deaths.

"She polishes the gravestone all night, and when the morning sun rises, she goes home. I tried to attach a horse to help, but she refused. She said she had to do it herself."

The reason she was always absent from the unit on weekends.

To Irien, who witnessed that story firsthand, the emotion was one of shame so deep it had no end.

"So if you know, treat her well. Sending such a young girl to war, what kind of world is this that's gone mad... ."

The old man clicked his tongue and walked away.

Irien wanted to apologize.

For the harsh words she had said.

But she never got the chance.

When would she apologize.

When would I...

"Eve, so what about ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the food you brought?"

In Eve's voice, she stopped her reverie.

The momentary darkness that no one noticed lifted,

and a smile returned to her face.

"Ah! That's right. First, though~"

She took out a bottle of alcohol from the bag she had brought.

"Ta-da! I brought this. Eve~ Make a cocktail~"

"I, Irien! You said alcohol isn't allowed inside the unit, right?!"

"-Ah, I don't know, I don't know! Can't hear! Anyway, everyone's on vacation, no one's there, make some alcohol! Alcohol!"

Yanne ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠smiled at the two's fuss.

How long had it been since he felt this good leisure.

It was something he couldn't have imagined before.

"...When Elia comes, hide it properly."

"Don't worry! If anything, feeding that ice guy is a good idea! Nothing melts ice like alcohol."

"Hey, is that true? Everything seems like full military gear."

The lively room.

'They're all changed.' Yanne thought.

The Praying Nuns.

A special operations unit under Londinium.

A counterinsurgency squad at the front line of the Sector 09 ruins.

A 5% desperate survival rate.

And 60 battles.

Surviving 60 battles by piercing through despair.

Recognized for achievements, all promoted and sent to the rear.

'The witch...'

Someone said.

The witch used the squad members as sacrifices to survive.

But whether true or not, it was a lie to us.

At least the total casualties of the 'Praying Nuns' were only 2.

Yanne recalled Elia's small back.

'If that's the witch, being taken by the witch isn't so bad.'

No, rather, she was close to a saint.

He respected her in many ways.

Enough to feel a faint love.

'And the dead can't speak.'

And the reason their lives always stood out.

Simple. Because corpses couldn't open their mouths.

Yanne shook off his thoughts.

Speaking of which, at this time...

A carol would be playing on the radio.

He turned on the radio on the shelf next to the heater.

When the bleak news came, Yanne changed the channel.

Soon, a gentle carol played.

"...Eve?"

Eve with an anxious expression.

"Eve, are you okay?"

"...Ah! It's nothing."

A trembling voice.

But since she said she was fine, there was nothing more to say.

"Here, eat~ This is made by me."

"It looks delicious."

"Ahng~ Chew."

Irien picked up a peach from the jar with a fork and brought it to her mouth.

"H, there, there, if I put it down..."

"Ah! Chew! If I feed you, you can eat it now!"

With a pouty expression, waving her hand as if angry, she pushed the fork again, and Eve hesitantly opened her mouth. Irien looked at Eve eating the peach jar with a face full of anticipation. The sweet scent of the peach jar filled her heart with sweetness.

"How is it?"

"...Delicious."

"Right? Hey, feed this to that ice guy. Okay?"

A faint pink flush appeared on Eve's face. The love overflowing from Eve's smile was felt directly. 'This really isn't good for the heart,' Irien thought. It was literally a pain that made the heart hurt. But it was a happy kind of pain that wrapped around the deepest part of the heart. She would welcome this pain anytime.

"Hah, sigh. Eve, it's no good. You're too cute, so come marry me."

"...I, Irien, what is this-"

"Hey, drunkard. Dance to the carol."

"Parasite. You really want to end it with me today?"

A magical connection. Yanne engraved all these brilliant flows in his eyes. Sharing time with them felt like a dream. From the radio, a lazy jazz-style carol flowed. Outside the window, white snow fell heavily.

I don't know who it would reach,

but at that moment, Yanne thought.

'May it be a happy Christmas.'

[Come in. Except the ice guy.]

Yanne glanced at the snow ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pouring in by opening the door,

and flipped the small wooden sign made by Irien herself.

And after that, how many minutes had passed?

The siren began to wail.

The doomsday siren that would end their peace.