Déjà Vu
It was the early hours, long before dawn had even begun to brighten the sky, yet my room was blazing with light.
The bedcovers were tossed about in disarray, and blood splattered across the floor.
At the center of it all, I was on my knees in front of Iris.
"I’m sorry... I didn’t know it was you..."
"Leader, please don’t do that! I’m really fine!"
Iris looked flustered, genuinely startled by what I’d done.
Her face was still red as a beet.
"It might have even been... re-reward..."
As she hauled me up by force, Iris muttered those words under her breath.
For a second I wondered if I’d heard her wrong, so I asked her again.
"What did you say?"
"Ah, nothing. Anyway, I’m really fine."
Iris laughed it off awkwardly.
That red face of hers kept getting on my nerves.
"...You’re really okay? Your face is still bright red..."
"That’s because I’m embarrassed! There’s absolutely no weird meaning behind it!"
"Jesus—!"
When I pointed out the color of her face, Iris suddenly shouted and flailed her hands.
Had she always been this loud?
"Mmph—?!"
Instinctively, I reached out and covered her mouth.
Her eyes went wide at my sudden move, but the moment I spoke, she quickly regained her composure.
"Don’t make such a racket. You’ll bother the neighbors."
"..."
As Iris slowly nodded to show she understood, I let go and relaxed my hand.
My palm felt damp for some reason, so I wiped it absently on my pants and focused.
I’d only just moved here, and I had no intention of getting the landlord out of bed in the middle of the night just to hear him complain.
"..."
Maybe I’d gotten lucky, because I didn’t hear the landlord coming down to the half-basement.
Only then did the tension finally leave my body, and I could slump down onto the floor.
"Shit... thank God..."
"I’m sorry, Leader."
"No, you’ve got nothing to apologize for. In the end, I’m the one who caused this mess."
"..."
I waved a hand at Iris, who had come over beside me and crouched down without a word, telling her not to mind it.
She only stared at me quietly, saying nothing at all.
With no reaction from the other side, I suddenly felt awkward for no reason.
Thinking quickly, I tossed out a suggestion to Iris.
"Mm... should we go back to sleep?"
"Yes."
"Good. Then I’ll turn off the light."
The moment I got her answer, I shot up and flicked the switch off.
Click—
The room fell back into darkness.
It was too embarrassing to keep looking at Iris’s face, so I threw myself onto the bed, trying to avoid her as she lay on the futon spread out on the floor.
Poof—
"Huh."
The sensation under my head was far too soft to be a mattress.
Alarmed, I turned my head—and froze.
"What is it?"
"..."
Iris’s red eyes were looking at me from behind, and her arms were wrapped around me.
Stunned into silence, I could only stare at her as she smiled faintly and said, "Let’s call it even for the price of you hitting me by sleeping together tonight."
"...Yeah, yeah. I’m the guilty one here."
Hell, I didn’t even know anymore.
I gave up resisting and let the encroaching sleep take me.
All I could hope was that, when I opened my eyes, I wouldn’t be greeted by some mortifying situation.
.
.
.
.
.
Fortunately, no problems awaited me when I woke up.
Given that this was a gender-reversed world, it was only natural to be careful about sleeping beside the opposite sex.
Even if that person was a comrade who’d walked through life and death with me, I couldn’t ignore the sticky gaze directed my way.
Or maybe it was all just my imagination.
Breakfast, as usual, was just ramen thrown together in a hurry.
Since eating something too spicy first thing in the morning would only upset my stomach, I went with the mild version.
Iris, on the other hand, insisted on the spicy kind right to the end, claiming that mild ramen was an insult to ramen itself.
I still couldn’t quite believe she was French.
She drained every last drop of broth, yet there wasn’t a single change in her complexion.
Was she naturally built to handle spicy food?
Anyway, I had things to do, so I finished the dishes quickly.
After a light wash-up, I sat down in front of the computer and looked at the monitor.
I’d already asked Iris not to come into my room unless I gave permission, so I had no need to worry about being interrupted.
Today was Sunday.
Since it was the weekend, maybe there’d still be people awake even if I started the broadcast early in the morning?
"Ah, whatever."
Deep deliberation was never really my style.
Without the slightest hesitation, I clicked the button to start streaming.
.
.
.
.
.
"A community?"
What, had someone posted about my stream or something?
Even so, for a tiny streamer who’d only just started yesterday, this level of attention was excessive.
As I watched the viewers banter back and forth in chat, I gradually pieced together what was happening.
According to the chat, right after yesterday’s stream ended, someone had posted to a community packed with military nerds.
The post apparently explained my short bio and the stories I’d told on stream.
A war veteran sharing real combat stories from the field.
On top of that, I was a man with a rare look—white hair and red eyes.
Interest surged quickly inside the community, and the result was a flood of curious newcomers mixed with skeptics who wondered whether I was just playing a character.
The chat was moving at a speed that made yesterday look like a joke.
"Ugh..."
I could read it if I concentrated, but it was still hard on the eyes.
I remembered there was supposed to be some function for slowing the chat down, but since I had no idea how to use it, there was nothing I could do.
While I rubbed at the corners of my eyes and killed time, a donation alert rang out.
"What are you planning to do today, streamer?"
"Well... how about I just keep telling stories like yesterday?"
The moment I said I’d spill more stories, the chat burst into flames.
As I watched the messages scroll by, I realized the viewers were split.
Some were positively thrilled, but a fair number were suspicious that I was lying.
Well, that was only natural.
A man who looked like he’d never even held a gun in his life was claiming to be a war veteran.
Being doubted was perfectly reasonable.
The noisy chat quieted down before long.
It seemed those who’d doubted me had decided to hear the stories first and judge for themselves afterward.
I could feel their determination to see whether there were holes in my story or not.
I decided to meet that demand head-on and opened my mouth.
"All right then, what story do you want to hear? Or if you’ve got a simple question, that’s fine too. Throw me a donation and ask."
I had to make money somehow.
The moment I put on a thick face and started asking for donations, the muttering viewers began sending them one by one.
For the first question about my weapons, I searched my memory and came up with an answer.
"If you’re asking which gun I used most often... it’d be the Mk. 18. Strictly speaking, though, it was a modified version."
"Wasn’t that a gun the U.S. military used?"
"Yes. American-made."
At the start of the war, I’d used a modified AK issued by Solomon’s regular army, but after the United States began providing military supplies, we were able to receive modified Mk. 18s.
Of course, that was only after I’d been assigned to Cerberus Squad.
Ordinary infantry units that weren’t being sent into special operations mostly carried AKs.
There were ammunition compatibility issues, and the number of Mk. 18s we received wasn’t exactly large.
Still, people who didn’t know those circumstances would naturally have questions.
Sure enough, skeptical comments started pouring in.
I answered them calmly, without panicking.
"I started out with a modified AK, too. I only got the Mk. 18 later, after I was attached to special forces."
"Special forces all of a sudden?"
"Not even sure you know how to fire a gun, lol."
"For real, haha."
Once the doubt started, it kept circling back on itself and growing fangs.
Still, it didn’t bother me all that much.
It was exactly the kind of reaction I’d expected.
"Then do you think I don’t know how to shoot a gun?"
When I asked that back, someone threw out another question.
"5.56x45mm NATO."
The answer came without the slightest hesitation.
"AN/PEQ-15 laser designator, tactical light, canted sights, dot sight, suppressor, roughly speaking."
And so, after about thirty minutes of holding a congressional hearing with my viewers—and dragging out the medals, photos, and military service records from my room—the controversy finally died down.
I should’ve just shown the evidence from the start.
Goddammit.