The Trainee's Letter
Imperial Western Transcontinental Magic Train, sleeping car.
"Leaving home... boarding the train..."
I leaned my head against the window, letting the train's vibrations rumble through my forehead. That made my voice come out faint and shaky as it escaped my lips.
It had been two days since I boarded. The train, which departed in the afternoon, kept chugging along even after the sun had set and risen again. I'd caught a few winks in between. That's why I'd splurged on the sleeping car in the first place.
But even after waking up, my mood was still heavy. Or maybe it felt even worse after sleeping on it.
They say the most despairing moment at boot camp isn't arrival day, but the next morning when you open your eyes and face reality. On the first day, you're too shell-shocked to feel much disgust. Or so I've heard.
Of course, I hadn't set foot in boot camp yet...
Maybe the long travel time was stirring up negative emotions already, creeping in like mold.
"Ah."
Then I stopped singing. It wasn't just that the more I sang, the more pathetic I felt.
Through the window, as the sun rose and dawn broke, I spotted a cityscape in the distance.
Varite. The city near the Imperial Western Military Band Training Center.
...In other words, this world's Nonsan.
As that realization hit me with fresh despair, the train barreled on relentlessly. How much more time passed?
Eventually, I arrived at Varite Station. Nonsan... no, Varite.
I got off with a choked voice, following the announcement. A few other passengers disembarking for the same place caught my eye. Most of them piled out together from the same car. Judging by the car's position and their exhausted looks, they'd been crammed into the standing-room third-class section.
Seeing them, I couldn't help but feel a pang of regret.
'Ah, if only I weren't a noble, I'd be riding with them.'
You might think that's crazy. But think about it. Everyone in this world has stunning looks. Even the third-class folks, ragged as they were, were gasp-worthy beauties.
I'd missed out on a packed train full of gorgeous big sisters. If Mom hadn't seen me off, I might've snuck into third class...
My mother, Laura, was military through and through, but also an honorable noble. She'd praise frugality, but turn a blind eye to slumming it? No way. With money to spare, squeezing into third class would've been the latter—unforgivable.
I could've argued it saved unnecessary spending, but that'd just bump me to second class, dozing in a seat. Third class was hopeless.
So I'd behaved and taken first class.
"...Huh?"
I sighed inwardly and kept walking... then froze when I spotted someone collapsing far ahead.
'Should I help...? Nah, never mind.'
But that thought didn't last. Confirming she'd come from the very front car, I turned away.
Anyone on a magic train knew what that meant. She—and everyone in the front car—were the 'batteries' powering it.
Not all battery slaves were criminals serving sentences. But collapsing from mana depletion? Definitely a heavy offender, whatever the charge.
The goddess I'd met recently babbled about rewarding my virtuous life... but I wasn't soft-hearted enough to pity hardened criminals.
I ignored the woman on the platform and went my own way.
×
I arrived in Varite with time to spare. I'd left plenty of buffer for any issues.
So I took in some sightseeing—might not get a chance for a while—and headed to the rendezvous thirty minutes early. An imperial military-crested carriage waited in the open lot.
"Miss Yura Konstantia, correct?"
A sharp-featured woman with a slightly venomous edge to her tone. Long blonde hair cascading down, she stood by the carriage and turned to me.
"Y-yes. That's me. ...Do you know me?"
I answered, a bit flustered. Her face didn't ring any bells, no matter how I racked my brain.
"First time seeing you today. But you're the last enlistee left."
"Ah..."
Last one? And thirty minutes early? Sure, plenty plan to arrive early just in case. But not everyone does. Coming an hour ahead wasn't standard Imperial etiquette either.
"Didn't expect everyone this early."
"Let's board. A bit ahead of schedule, but we're all here—better to head out."
I followed her into the carriage. Glancing at her shoulder, I saw a lieutenant's insignia.
"And to correct one thing, 'everyone' isn't quite right."
"...?"
Just before opening the door, she glanced back with that line.
What did that mean? Before I could ask, she flung the door wide.
"Elisia Ulvan, Yura Konstantia—two souls. All prospective enlistees aboard confirmed. ...Private Sarren, depart in one minute."
"Yes, ma'am!"
Inside, aside from the driver, there was just one other person. That explained why I was the last and why 'everyone' was off.
...But really? Just two?
Sure, factors to consider. Most band trainees were commoners, advancing from the ranks—no city muster for them, just nobles. Nobles could skip officer school and go straight to band training. Like me.
Usually, though, nobles did officer school first, then band extras. Nobles avoid band duty. Few ditch all else for instant enlistment into bands.
Plus, separate centers in west, north, east—splits the numbers.
Still, two total? Including me? Avoidance this bad?
Honor-junkie volunteers might like skipping school for quick deployment... Or maybe it's because it's dire that they dangle that ace to lure nobles? Hence the freakish officer/NCO/noble/commoner mashup?
"Sit over there."
"Ah, thank you."
Snap out of it—I hustled to one side per the lieutenant's order.
Someone sat next to me. Elisia Ulvan, my fellow enlistee.
I snuck a peek, sizing her up...
'Whoa, those tits.'
This world's women run bigger than Korea's on average. But hers? Huge even here. Staring point-blank, how could I not gawk?
Queen-chested short-cropped tan tomboy! She knows her tastes.
A softer-faced, shorter-haired, slightly younger Mom vibe—super tasty... Wait, that sounds wrong. Felt like a hopeless incestuous scum, so I switched gears fast.
"...?"
She noticed my stare, gave an awkward smile, and nodded shyly.
Fragile aura at first glance. Tomboy archetype: rowdy usually, cute flashes. Nah, BS.
If anything, she fits this world's stereotype. Tomboy: 'masculine woman.' Roles reversed here. In my terms: 'feminine man.'
Angras Empire's macho—nobles enlist for honor, more than 21st-century Korea. 'Masculine' praise? Bad. Like 'pretty-boy wuss.'
Even modern Korean military rags on cute newbies. Imperial army? Non-officer? Sexual harassment central. Officers not immune—military BS ignores rank.
Suddenly, pity welled up. I'd pay to be there, but by local values? Surrounded by dudes groping.
Shuddering at that nightmare, the carriage lurched into motion. Silence fell inside.
Elisia sat ramrod straight, tense. I probably looked the same.
"You two hoping for the special track?"
"Yes, ma'am!"
"Y-yes! That's right!"
The lieutenant broke the ice. Elisia's voice cracked a bit.
Band training: general or special. Sounds fancy, but special's for 'why basics for instrument pros?' Noble favoritism loophole.
Mastery costs big. Earth music eats cash—instruments, lessons. Here? Worse. Finding teachers? Noble turf.
Not all nobles learn instruments; some flunk officer school into general track.
Band diehards? Probably skilled. Lieutenant assumed as much.
"Yes. That's correct!"
I nodded, beat late. No way general for me.
Special track: elite noble privilege vs. uppity commoners. Key diff? Less hell. Why flip a free feast?
"Instruments?"
"Percussion!"
I answered the lieutenant confidently. Still civilian? Polite from her. Soon superiors for months. Show guts—can't hurt.
"...Hm?"
Her reaction felt off.
"Percussion...?"
She frowned faintly. Unease hit me. Did I screw up?
Ah, 'percussion' issue? Goddess translation perk—maybe not foreign words.
"Percussionist!"
I boomed again.
"No, like, what instrument..."
"Uh... percussion...?"
Her baffled look persisted.
"Percussion has types, right? Snare drum, vibraphone, toms, timpani... Not doing all, obviously."
"...Wait, don't have to?"
"Why... multiple instruments?"
"So one is fine...?"
Silence again.
Maybe she's weird? Glanced at Elisia—mouth agape, staring.
For real? One snare pays bills? Percussion heaven? Valhalla for musicians?
"Wh-what do they even teach kids in the Konstantia house...?"
The lieutenant muttered, voice quivering like her ears doubted.
...The modern cheat-fantasy daydreams I'd spun post-reincarnation as Yura Konstantia were shattering into a form I never wanted.