Chapter 47
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 47
Chapter Title: Why Are There So Many People Looking for Me?
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Why are there so many people looking for me?
I thought I'd misheard. What? A medal? From the Navy Marshal?
This has to be them trying to mess with me. Yeah? That's right. They're getting revenge.
They just tossed out that example of special rations and said, "Oh, now go figure out the money on your own!" and got pissed when I did!
"Your expression doesn't look good. Is something wrong?"
Even the Crown Prince's face was saying, "No way would the Navy give a medal to the son of an Army Marshal."
I can tell exactly what Navy Marshal McRaven is thinking.
"Of course, I'm grateful that the Navy Marshal is looking out for me. But to suddenly award a medal to some random noble while pushing aside the soldiers who fought their hearts out... That's what's bothering me."
"Ah, don't worry about that. The Navy has separate medals for combat achievements and other merits. You're receiving the latter. The brave naval officers who fought have already received theirs."
Damn it. That makes it even weirder. The Reinhardts have been serving in the Army for three generations!
For me to suddenly go, "Oh! I helped the Navy a ton! Thanks!" and accept a medal?
Later on—way later—our family's descendants will think of me and say, "Richi Reinhardt. He bore the Reinhardt name but took a medal from the seals! The traitor!"
I don't like seals. Not because the Navy sucks or fights worse than the Army or anything like that. Just... I don't.
It's a matter of likes and dislikes. So I really don't want their medal.
And it wasn't even for anything big—just "Feed them ice cream! Hee hee!" and now a medal?
This is petty revenge. What else could it be? I'll remember this, seal commander!
"What I did was such a small thing. If you're going to do that, wouldn't it be better to give it to the shipyard workers who toiled to build the battleships, Your Highness?"
"There's some logic to that. Alright, I'll mention it to the Navy Marshal. Of course, he'll insist on giving you a medal anyway."
It's not a big deal anyway—just the Navy Marshal trying to mess with me a bit.
The Crown Prince seems to find it amusing, sitting there like, "Why not just take the medal?"
No way, right? Your Highness, you're not pro-Navy, are you? Oh please. You've got to be Army!
"Even if it's offered, I'd like to politely decline out of consideration for the others."
Let's end the Navy talk there. Please! Stop it! No more seal stories!
But the Crown Prince seemed genuinely fascinated by the ice cream incident, no matter how I looked at it.
What on earth made you think to feed them ice cream? Did you figure those sea dogs who hate anything but booze would fall for some weird dainty young ladies eat? And so on.
His eyes were sparkling as he asked questions, and I couldn't just ignore the Crown Prince.
I couldn't exactly say, "Actually, I'm a possessed soul. In my old world, providing special rations to sailors was the most important thing. Ice cream caused all sorts of chaos, you know?" That would be insane.
If I did, it'd be, "Yeah. Royal insult." And I'd get dragged off to the underground dungeon—no trial needed.
So I just spun it as a change of perspective: when things are tough and exhausting, nothing beats something sweet! Stuff like that. The Crown Prince nodded like, "I see."
Whether he bought it or not, who knows. You can't read the minds of the high and mighty.
"Anyway, Richi."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Whether it's the Army or the Navy, you've distinguished yourself in this one area. Not in frontline command, tactics, or strategy, but in rear-line support—manpower, supplies, morale, and training."
The Crown Prince stroked his chin and eyed me closely.
What? Why that look? It's like staring at prey right before a beast devours it.
"You're in your first year at the academy, right?"
"Yes."
"You've got a long way to go before graduation."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"That's fortunate."
Your Highness. When you say something out of the blue like that, how am I supposed to react?
At least give me a subject and tell me if it's fortunate or not.
"Your face says you're wondering what I mean by fortunate. It is fortunate. Very fortunate. If you were a frontline commander like Erwin, the hero of this battle, you'd have to give up either the academy or the field."
"...That's true."
"But rear-line work is different. You can handle both without dropping the academy. So it's fortunate—for you, for the military, and for the Empire."
...I had a vague feeling this was coming. I was sort of prepared for it.
But hearing it straight like this? I hate it. Ah, I don't want to work. I just want to do nothing and play.
In truth, the moment I chose rear-line duties, I dimly realized I could juggle school and work.
My brother dropped out after his first year at the academy and went straight to the frontlines.
Dad calls it "graduating," but I hear he spent more than half his time on active duty.
So I never expected to coast through four years at the academy unscathed.
But anticipation and hearing it from someone else are worlds apart.
Ah, I suddenly want to whine, "I don't wanna work. I'll do it after I graduate!"
"Your Highness."
Baron Pierneman sidled up beside me.
"Why aren't you appointing Richi Reinhardt right away?"
Surprising. The baron had never been so direct before.
He always made me figure out the answers myself, but now he's stepping forward like this.
That Richi kid really is something. The future looks promising.
"Did you see his face earlier?"
"...Not closely."
"It was obvious. 'This is annoying, but I have to do it. I knew it was coming, but now that it's here, I don't want to.' Smart head, real talent, but still immature at hiding his feelings."
Plenty to learn. But unlimited potential. That's why we'll put him to work.
But that's not my job. Do I really need to step in?
"If I pushed him now, I'd look like a tyrannical lord forcing work on him too soon."
"He doesn't seem that rude."
"Joking, joking. Still, there'd be a hint of that."
"Then is that why you didn't appoint him?"
As if. If there was no one else to use Richi, I'd snag him myself.
The reason I held back is because someone else wants to use him anyway.
"His Majesty already headed to the frontlines, didn't he? He'll meet this battle's hero, that officer Erwin. Do you think Erwin will keep quiet? Or talk about Richi? I bet the latter."
"His Majesty will appoint the Reinhardt second son right away."
"Exactly. So why should I step in first?"
Elevating a promising young talent as a key Imperial figure? That's for Father.
He'd never let a fine prospect waste away.
But no need for me to go first and earn Richi's resentful glare.
An Emperor's command outweighs a Crown Prince's, after all.
"Richi!"
The moment I returned home, Mother pulled me into a hug. She burst into tears, and each sob made my chest ache—I had to fight back my own.
"Are you okay? Anywhere hurt? Where?"
"I'm fine, Mother. Not even a tiny scar. It's embarrassing, really."
"Embarrassing? Your grandfather, your father, your brother—they all suffer so much! You don't need to go to the frontlines and get hurt too! Just stay safe and quiet—that's enough!"
All I could do for my screaming mother was hold her tight.
She must have been terrified. The moment I went forward, that mess happened.
And with the 1st Cavalry Division routed and my regiment missing? Even worse.
"The Lady was very frightened."
The head maid approached with a wry smile and explained.
She was already on edge, then heard I'd gone beyond the frontlines to fight.
She nearly lost her mind and was about to write Father begging him to do something about her youngest.
The Reinhardts are a proper military family. Mother knew what she signed up for marrying in.
She knew how to be a soldier's daughter-in-law, wife, and mother.
So she never showed it outwardly when Father or Brother went to war.
But with her late-in-life youngest—me—it was too hard.
For Mother, who never meddled in Father's work no matter what, to say that much...
I felt guilty. Real mother or not, I'm her real son.
"Mother."
Saying I achieved great merit or became a hero now would be idiotic.
To reassure her now, as her child, there's one thing to do.
"I'm home safe."