White, Transparent, and Soft (1)
When told to remove my outerwear and wait, I was briefly flustered, but the scenario I had imagined never came to pass.
—
[Noise]
So relax your expression.
Nothing happened.
—
The recruit induction center was the first step in turning civilians into soldiers.
War was a machine, and humans were its cogs; the training center's role was to carve raw metal into gears with teeth and grooves.
An old man who had been waiting beside the non-commissioned officer grabbed my face without hesitation.
It fit entirely in one hand.
The old man, apparently a military doctor, skillfully inserted his hand into my mouth and pried it open.
Eeh.
He seemed to be checking the condition of my teeth.
“Good.”
He then took hold of my eyelids.
Since I widened my eyes to match, it wasn't long before he repeated what he had said moments earlier.
“Good.”
Only then did my face regain its freedom.
Waiting expressionlessly for the next examination, the military doctor shot me a sidelong glance.
‘…Ah, one of those types.’
They existed sometimes.
People who tormented others just to confirm their own position.
He pulled out a rubber mallet. It was a sight I was all too familiar with.
“Sit.”
“Yes.”
He tapped the joint above my knee, and my foot shot upward in an involuntary reflex.
In the process, my loose orphanage shoe came off, and both the military doctor and the non-commissioned officer looked slightly taken aback.
With the shoe gone, my bare foot was naturally exposed.
White and transparent.
Soft in appearance.
“Put it back on.”
“Thank you.”
Perhaps because he was quite flustered, the military doctor made the mistake of kindly picking up my shoe for me.
The reason such kindness was a mistake was because this place was the military.
He should have scolded me instead.
The only reason he let it slide was because I was a child—and a rather cute one at that.
This appearance had many advantages.
Aside from the possibility of being sold off as a nobleman's concubine, it was undeniably beneficial in every other way.
The military doctor regained his composure.
“Close your eyes.”
“Yes.”
He roughly poured something over my head.
My scalp stung terribly.
“Done.”
—
[Noise]
I heard the story later, but apparently what had been poured onto my scalp was a harsh insecticide.
I checked my hair and scalp afterward, but there was no particular damage.
This must be the minimum correction applied to a beautiful girl.
The reason this insecticide and disinfection process took place at the recruit induction center was because this war was a trench war.
The most terrifying enemy in the trenches wasn't enemy bullets, but vectors of infectious disease.
The ground was filled with rats, insects, filth, blood, and corpses.
Rain fell from the sky.
And finally, on people's heads, there were lice.
Not the teeth in one's mouth, but wriggling, crawling larvae—extremely small and harmful.
Truly… it was hell.
—
The final step appeared to be receiving supplies.
“Take it. Next!”
The non-commissioned officer who indifferently handed me a uniform, helmet, and military boots called for the next recruit.
Looking around in an awkward posture, I spotted a makeshift changing room.
It was a shoddy space made by roughly tying together hollow iron rods and ropes, then hanging white cloth from them.
If someone were determined to peek, there would be no way to resist.
Honestly… just the act of undressing this body filled me with revulsion.
‘Even the first time I showered, I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt.’
There was no choice.
Steeling myself, I headed straight for the changing room.
Slowly removing my clothes and folding them into a square, I began awkwardly putting on the uniform.
Why would a man from South Korea who had already completed his military service start putting on a uniform so clumsily?
The old military adage explained it in his place.
One size fits none.
A size that fits everyone fits no one.
Haa…
I let out a deep sigh.
I rolled up the uniform sleeves twice and tied the boot laces as tightly as possible.
Yet it still hung loosely.
Even the helmet couldn't be adjusted for size, making it impossible to wear on my head.
Leave it behind? Military supplies? That would be defective behavior. The very fact that I couldn't wear the helmet on my head was already defective.
Left with no choice, I stuffed the helmet into the backpack I had received.
When I stepped out of the changing room, a tall person was waiting near the exit.
They were probably an administrative officer.
I saluted crisply.
“Chloe Winterland.”
“Yes.”
“Go out through Gate 3 and board Train 7 to the training center.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
I walked straight out of the induction center.
.
.
.
Acrid mana smoke.
The blue smoke looked fascinating at first, but it didn't seem healthy, so I held my breath with all my might.
After some time, shouting echoed.
“Move it! You maggot bastards! Don't dawdle!”
I turned my head toward the sound.
A non-commissioned officer was shoving recruits into a cargo train like luggage.
‘Judging by the rank, probably a sergeant. Just like in Korea.’
Seasoned officers wouldn't dirty their own hands with such tasks. Well, that was only natural.
I naturally joined the line heading into the cargo car.
Glancing sideways to check the entrance, I saw faint lettering.
‘40 people, or 8 horses.’
It was absurd.
The non-commissioned officer had taken position right beside the cargo entrance and was roughly shoving recruits inside.
I was pushed in similarly.
The non-commissioned officer who pushed my back wore a startled expression, but quickly returned to a blank face.
‘Oh, nice expression collected.’
The floor was sparsely covered with straw that reeked terribly, and there were no windows.
I quickly claimed a corner of the cargo car, a spot where I could at least lean against the wall.
Clunk.
Before long, the train began to move.
The whistle blew.
It occurred to me now—how ironic that a train carrying recruits to the battlefield would sound a whistle.
When you think of whistles, there are usually certain things that come to mind.
Seeing all these random thoughts surface, I really must have become a private second class.
‘Might as well sleep.’
Before I could even consciously decide to sleep, my eyes slid shut.
Fatigue had apparently accumulated without me noticing.
***
Clunk, screech—!
An unpleasant noise.
My rear had lost all sensation, and my nose was numb to the stench.
I woke up in the worst mood possible.
Still, thinking that it was better than being penetrated by a man improved my mood somewhat.
‘Unexpected.’
The few humans who had boarded with me were keeping their distance.
I had assumed at least one would try to approach.
Because such things had been commonplace at the orphanage.
I still remembered the time a newly arrived orphan had confessed within three days.
…Probably because this frail, small body didn't appeal to the normal tastes of adult men.
A pretty little doll—that was likely the extent of their appreciation.
Shouting came from outside.
“Everyone off! Crawl out right now!”
Non-commissioned officers, instructors—they were all the same.
Always.
The sunlight stabbed at my eyes, and my eardrums, unaccustomed to shouting, trembled violently.
Plop.
My feet touched the muddy, sticky ground.
Rolling my eyes to survey the surroundings, I spotted a sign that read “7th Replacement Training Center.”
More shouting.
“Don't dawdle! I'll give you ten seconds! Ten, nine…!”
It wasn't directed at us, because people began pouring out of the cargo car in a rush.
None of us had eaten or slept properly for an entire day.
“I am Master Sergeant Gerhardt! Starting today, for the next eight weeks, I am the chief instructor of the training center that will turn you maggot bastards into humans!”
A large man with a scar on his mouth began introducing himself.
“From the moment you arrived here, you are no longer imperial citizens! Nor are you people! You are nothing but His Majesty's expendables! Those who rebel! Those who fall behind will be executed on the spot!”
Words meant to instill fear.
Execution seemed like an overreach, though.
A typical repertoire.
I remembered hearing similar things on the training ground as well.
No matter the era or world, military organizations always had plenty of these rigid-brained humans.
Shouting rang out again.
“Everyone form two columns! From now on, we march to the training center! Anyone who falls behind will be left behind on the spot!”
…Ugh.
Did they have to shout everything?
It was quite unpleasant.
Like my head was ringing.
Anyway, we began marching out of nowhere.
I had been foolish to think they would drop us off right in front of the training center.
The ill-fitting boots kept gnawing at my heels, and the backpack full of supplies weighed heavily on my shoulders.
‘…Looks like I can take the helmet off.’
Honestly, I had been prepared to get scolded, so it was somewhat unexpected.
No, they simply hadn't noticed me yet.
Being on the shorter side, when lined up in two columns, my figure completely disappeared from the front view.
How long had we walked?
Just as my stamina was reaching its limit.
In the distance, a building surrounded by bleak barbed wire began to come into view.
At the entrance hung a slanted signboard with the cringeworthy phrase: “The Fatherland Trusts in You.”
“Everyone halt!”
The moment we reached the main gate, the instructors stopped us.
“From now on, we will conduct a baggage inspection!”
Well, I didn't really have anything worth calling baggage, so… it should be fine.
‘Since I didn't bring anything in the first place.’
Following instructions, I set my bag down on the ground.
One of the instructors immediately approached me.
Ah, this felt ominous.