Reconnaissance (1)
After Lieutenant Mauer declared he would entrust me with assassinating the officer, I devoted myself entirely to recovery.
To be precise, there was nothing else I could do but recover.
My body was constantly drenched in sweat, and even walking a short distance made my heart stutter between stopping and racing.
Senior Sergeant Misty stood beside me at all times. Whenever I tried to rise, she fixed me with a murderous glare.
Thanks to that, I had no choice but to lie obediently in bed all day.
Even combining my previous life with this one, I could not recall spending so much time confined to a bed.
I turned my head slightly toward the table beside the bed.
There lay a single envelope bearing a familiar name.
Anais Shen.
It was the very letter Lieutenant Mauer had mentioned.
I’m getting curious.
Still, there was nothing I could do about it.
I had to focus on recovering first.
.
.
.
It took four full days before I could walk without anyone’s assistance.
On the morning of the fifth day, Senior Sergeant Misty tossed a thick winter coat and a cartridge belt onto my bed.
“...You still haven’t opened the letter?”
“No.”
“I believe it would be best if you read it.”
“Is that an order?”
“It is not.”
“Then I’ll open it later.”
In truth, I could already guess the letter’s contents.
The name Anais Shen was written on the envelope, and Senior Sergeant Misty’s expression had been grim the entire time.
It was almost certainly news of her death.
She had been assigned to the annihilation platoon that Recruiter Klaus Müller had begged me to avoid at all costs.
A frail, socially awkward child could not possibly survive long there.
Especially on the front lines.
It was more surprising that she had lasted even a single day in that environment.
Yes. I felt absolutely no guilt over Anais Shen’s death.
...Not only that, I even tried to use her death.
To draw attention. To witness other people’s distorted expressions. For nothing more than those reasons.
Still, even for an orphan without parents, wouldn’t they normally send a death notice to her friends or the orphanage director?
Why send it to me?
...Request.
Ah, that’s right. The pitiful girl named Anais Shen must have truly considered me her friend.
Even though I had sold her to Lieutenant Julian Weiss’s platoon just to survive… she had kept thinking of me as a friend.
Really.
This is perfect.
What sort of expression had she worn right before she died?
Had she died hideously, cursing her past self for choosing to enlist and taking the magic aptitude test?
Or had she comforted herself that she had played her part, that it was time to return to heaven and meet her parents?
Had she died rejoicing that she would finally be freed from this wretched life?
I was desperately curious about the manner of her death.
Ah, careful. Expression management.
I had nearly slipped.
Senior Sergeant Misty was still watching me. I had to pay meticulous attention to my outward appearance.
She kept her gaze fixed on me, closed the distance, and held out the envelope.
I simply stared at the envelope now resting before me.
“...Please read it now. There won’t be time later.”
“......”
“Private Vinterland, this is advice meant for you.”
“...Understood.”
I immediately immersed myself in the performance.
I widened my eyes as though seeing the name on the envelope for the first time.
Imitate the emotion. Imitate the thought.
Repeat it enough times, and the emotion becomes real.
The girl who had awkwardly copied the V sign, the girl who had asked if I was nervous, the first friend I had made upon arriving at the training camp.
Her name was Anais Shen, a connection from the past that had been severed when she was assigned to Lieutenant Julian Weiss’s platoon.
That Anais Shen had sent her first letter only days after deployment. Perhaps this marked the beginning of a long and beautiful friendship.
I deliberately summoned positive thoughts.
Nevertheless, the anxious feeling stirring in one corner of my chest! That is the key!
My fingers lacked strength, so the edges of the envelope crumpled several times.
Senior Sergeant Misty moved as though to open it for me, but I politely refused.
I had to be the one to open it. I deliberately created that atmosphere.
Only then would the scene become perfectly, tragically complete.
Thud.
I tore the envelope open.
To Chloe.
I was assigned to Lieutenant Weiss’s platoon.
Of course you already know… since you were there too.
I was scared at first, but everyone is kinder than I expected.
Lieutenant Weiss looks suspicious when he narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t seem like a bad person.
Oh, I taught the platoon members the finger sign you showed me.
Victory and peace.
V!
I’m still practicing it.
When I showed the platoon, they all gave me strange looks.
But after I explained what it meant, a few of them tried it with me.
I’ll show you properly when we meet again someday!
Oh, that’s right.
I don’t think I ever thanked you.
Thanks to your recommendation, I was able to join Lieutenant Weiss’s platoon.
Does this mean I’ve become a little bit special too?
Thank you.
— Anais Shen
I stopped reading at that point.
Something felt strange inside me.
I did not recognize this sensation.
Anais Shen, Private.
Affiliation: Annihilation Platoon under Lieutenant Julian Weiss.
Second day after assignment.
Killed in action during an operation.
Body recovery: Impossible.
Deceased’s request: If I die, please locate my personal effects and deliver them to my only friend, along with this letter.
Observation had confirmed the death.
Just as that wicked old man Schrödinger had locked a cat inside a box, I—a wicked beautiful girl—had simply locked Anais Shen inside Lieutenant Weiss’s platoon.
The only difference was that I was no coward, so I had opened the box and confirmed the death with my own eyes.
What I needed now was an exquisitely crafted expression.
A frail beautiful girl learning of her friend’s death—skin pale, fingertips trembling, lips completely bloodless.
Adding a single tear as seasoning would make it flawless.
I tilted my head slightly.
Silver hair, damp with sweat, slid down my cheek. The hand holding the letter shook.
I waited until the exact moment I knew my voice would crack if I spoke.
Then I opened my mouth.
“This girl…”
My voice came out exactly as I had predicted—slightly cracked and tearful.
Good.
Very good.
Senior Sergeant Misty’s expression shifted faintly. The performance was landing.
“It seems she thought of me as her friend.”
I paused deliberately.
Stopping the words was crucial.
If I explained every emotion I was performing, the feeling would become cheap.
I had to let her misunderstand on her own. Let her imagine freely.
A truly excellent writer makes the reader imagine for themselves. Therefore, I—the actor seeking catharsis—was the author of this play.
How much pain must this child be feeling right now? How much regret? How fiercely must she be blaming herself?
I guided Senior Sergeant Misty to ask all those questions herself.
All that remained was to fold the letter with trembling hands and press it gently to my chest.
With that, my performance was complete.
Now only the enjoyment remained.
“Private Vinterland, are you all right?”
“...Yes.”
“You don’t look all right.”
“Then I’ll make an effort to look all right.”
Senior Sergeant Misty’s face twisted.
Ah, wonderful.
Truly a magnificent expression.
The face of someone who doesn’t know how to treat a wounded person, the face desperately trying to offer comfort, the face afraid that any action or clumsy consolation might inflict an even deeper wound.
I felt as though I had fallen in love with human expressions.
Right now I am looking only at you, of course.
Please don’t doubt me.
...You say I made that expression while explaining it?
No, I understand.
I said I understand.
Please stop describing what kind of expression I made with your mouth.
Human expressions are truly fascinating.
The better the person, the deeper and richer the flavor of their expression. The worse the person, the shallower and more bitter it becomes.
There is only one reason.
People lacking humanity usually understand only their own emotions and show no interest whatsoever in others.
Senior Sergeant Misty was clearly a good person. No—a spirit.
“You don’t have to pretend to be fine right now. There’s no need.”
“......”
“It’s all right to have expectations. It’s all right to cry. It’s all right to exist as a child rather than a soldier.”
Dangerous.
Ah, that had been truly dangerous.
My real expression had nearly surfaced.
“Is that so…?”
“Yes.”
“Then… may I be not okay for just a little while?”
Senior Sergeant Misty nodded.
I buried myself in her arms and wept.
I cried loudly, bitterly, without restraint.
I cried until the perfect beautiful girl’s face was smeared with tears and snot, until it became ugly.
This scene would surely become a beautiful picture.
And not long after, I experienced death myself.