From Shadows to Stew Pot
“Surprised?”
“How could I not be? Why on earth would they suddenly make me the supply company commander?”
Soldiers did all sorts of jobs, sure, but this felt like a stretch with zero connection.
“To explain: while you were on leave, Lieutenant, the army kicked off a corruption audit.”
“Is that so?”
“The Finance Department ran it—no escape, they dug deep.”
The Intelligence Agency had gotten audited too, judging by how Eden shook his head like he was utterly fed up.
Well, it was bound to blow up eventually.
Korea or here, militaries rot the same way.
“You must’ve had it rough, sir.”
“Not me—the operations folks are probably losing their minds. Anyway, during the audit, the 1st Division’s supply company commander got caught red-handed and purged.”
Cooking army slop to get rich was common as dirt, so Palan could picture the scam easily.
“Then they should send someone who can actually cook. Why me?”
“The supply commander doesn’t cook. It’s about procuring ingredients and such—stuff that ties into merchant houses. As an Oclo, you’re the perfect fit…”
Eden trailed off, like even he didn’t buy his own reasoning.
“Eh, just accept it. You can’t logic your way through this army.”
“Feels that way. Any defectors or traitors to investigate this time?”
“None on the docket. You asking first means you enjoyed it, huh?”
“Not at all. Never again.”
After nearly dying, wanting a repeat would make him a lunatic.
“Shame. Still, tip me off if you spot anyone shady. You’ve got a knack for it.”
“I’ll take that as high praise, sir. Thank you.”
He’s not wrong—I probably do look gifted.
Truth Eye exposed Sadis’s true nature. It’s a blatantly overpowered cheat skill.
“Give it a shot. Might be the safe life you wanted.”
“Sigh. I don’t know the first thing about cooking. But I’ll try.”
Eden was right—it was safe. Supply commanders didn’t see frontline action.
Back as a grunt, kitchen duty looked like hell. Officers get the honey, though, right? Eternal truth: enlisted suffer, officers feast.
“Is the wagon waiting outside?”
“Wagon? Figure it out yourself. Why ask me?”
“I thought you’d arrange it.”
“Last time was mission-critical. This isn’t. Rich boy wants a free ride too?”
“Ha… haha.”
Audit season or not, this guy screamed “investigate me first.”
* * *
“Young master, we’ve arrived.”
After the long haul, the wagon door swung open.
“Truly above and beyond, dragging all the way to the west unannounced.”
“Not at all. Lady Countess will rest easy knowing I escorted you personally.”
“Take it slow on the way back. Grab something tasty with this.”
He pressed a generous ten gold into the driver’s palm.
“Th-this is too much.”
“Prices are up these days. Take it easy.”
“Thank you so much!”
The driver’s voice brimmed with gratitude.
Winning hearts is this easy.
“Safe travels.”
“Until next time! Stay well!”
Leaving the beaming driver behind, Palan headed for the 1st Division’s main gate—his new posting.
“Sir!”
“ID, please!”
The soldier stood ramrod straight. Private First Class, by his insignia.
“Lieutenant Palan Oclo, newly assigned supply company commander.”
“Verified!”
As he reclaimed his ID and moved to pass, a sudden curiosity halted him.
“Mind if I ask something?”
“Sir, yes sir!”
The kid’s voice could wake the dead.
Rookies overflow with energy.
“How’s the food? Be honest—I want real feedback.”
“The chow, sir?”
“Yeah, relax and spill.”
“It’s… edible—”
The private started with the textbook answer, but a veteran nearby shot him a look.
“Don’t bully the rookies—seniors, you tell me. Need the truth to make changes.”
He pivoted to the corporals and sergeants.
“Frankly, it’s always dry and skimpy.”
“Least four days a week, we shell out personal cash at the canteen.”
One cracked open the floodgates—complaints poured out.
Worse than I thought.
‘This much?’ We’re doomed.
No clue why they’d dump this on him.
“Got it. I’ll do what I can.”
No empty words—dead serious.
Grunts starving on slop? Too pitiful.
He’d suffered the same garbage meals in his old life; he wanted to help.
“Thank you, sir!”
“We’re counting on you, Captain!”
“Don’t get hopes up. Carry on.”
Quick salute, then off to the support battalion where supply company bunked.
Here we are.
Support battalion HQ, flanked by the massive mess hall.
Lunch rush—troops streaming in and out.
“Buildings look decent. Livable upgrade.”
Brief impression done, he entered HQ and climbed to the ops room—admin central.
Her, the chief?
A woman buried in papers at the far desk.
He approached quietly, checked her captain’s bars, raised a salute—too late, she spotted him.
“Huh? Who’re you?”
“Sir! Lieutenant Palan Oclo, reporting as new supply company commander.”
“Oh.”
Like she’d seen a ghost, she bolted up.
“Something wrong…?”
“Why so late? I’ve been waiting! I’m Ops Chief Captain Ciel. Drop the formals—cool?”
What’s with her?
This captain’s energy is off the charts.
And she’s already casual.
Harmless vibe, though—good enough.
“Music to my ears. Thanks for the welcome.”
“Gotta. Manpower crisis here. Desk’s over there.”
She pointed right next to her.
Oof, awkward.
Turn your head—bam, eye contact with the chief. Worst seat in ops.
“Supply commander in ops, not the kitchen?”
“Your office is there, but you’ll handle more than chow. Better here.”
Why extra duties? Baffling, but first day—superior’s call. He nodded.
“Battalion commander around?”
“CO? Sigh.”
She exhaled like bad memories surfaced.
“Problem?”
“Purged with your predecessor. Stuck me with acting CO on top.”
“Ah…”
Explained her frenzy.
What’d those two skim to get yanked mid-war?
Live honest, folks.
“I’m interim supply too, so I’ll hand over. Brace for grind.”
“I’ll manage.”
“Good posture. Greetings first—let’s roll.”
Army life: no skipping intros, busy or not.
Afternoon blurred—battalion hops, regiment HQ, faces memorized.
“No weirdos, so you’ll settle fine.”
“Seems so.”
Noble blood? Everyone oddly friendly.
“Dinner plans?”
“You?”
“Mess hall since interim. Officer’s diner if you want.”
Loaded question.
“Mess hall for me.”
“Good—schmooze while eating.”
Quitting time, but dinner excuse glued him to the captain en route to the mess.
“Sir!”
“Sir!!”
Salutes erupted on entry.
Officer in grunt space—awkward, inevitable.
“At ease, eat up.”
Ciel waved them off, hit the kitchen.
“Sergeant.”
“Sir! Chief.”
A middle-aged cook in whites turned at her call.
“New supply CO here. This is Supply Sergeant Gordon. You’ll work together—say hi.”
“Welcome, sharp-looking sir. Sergeant Gordon.”
“Lieutenant Palan Oclo. Pleased.”
“Likewise, sir.”
Handshake—forearm like a tree trunk.
Frontlines material.
Headlock from that? Lights out.
“Reports to him starting tomorrow. Lend a hand.”
“My pleasure.”
Easy rapport—old pals.
“Don’t cramp us. Let’s eat.”
“Roger. Morning brief. Good night.”
Tray in hand like any grunt, following Ciel.
“Thanks. Appreciate it.”
“Sir! Enjoy.”
Mystery meat main snagged, empty table claimed.
“Special menu day—decent spread. Not bad, right?”
First question before fork-up.
Quick scan of the slop.
One bread slab, quarter spud, two meat scraps. ‘Special’?
Pathetic next to 3rd Division’s chow.
“Honest take: it’s dire.”
“Yeah? This is top-tier.”
“Really?”
“I eat anything. Poor kid days.”
“Ah…”
Backstory kills debate.
“Dig in casual.”
“Enjoy your meal.”
Bread first bite.
Rock hard.
Warm, but quality trash.
Not picky noble— this gets tossed normally.
Garbage.
Next: alleged meat.
“Urk—cough! Went down wrong…”
“Tissue?”
“Fine.”
Chew hit—gag reflex. Relaxed, he’d have spat.
What’s this taste?
No real meat. Ten percent, tops?
Potato’s the winner.
Never thought potatoes best meal ever.
“All done?”
“Yeah, ate en route—stuffed. Ha.”
Tasteless truth, but she’d licked her plate clean—no candor possible.
“Fair. Best day’s grub wasted.”
Teasing? Nah—pure sincerity in voice and face.
Drag her home for a real meal someday.
Gotta hit a local joint later.