White, Transparent, and Soft (3)
The training program at boot camp usually lasts eight weeks.
At first you learn how to march, how to pivot, how to recite your rank and name, and how to maintain your gear.
Polishing combat boots and wrapping puttees are especially brutal.
If you can’t get it right, the drill instructors start beating the recruits with batons and boots.
They repeat the process until it sticks.
Next comes firearms.
They called it “making friends with an old bolt-action rifle,” but it was nothing like the friendly explanation.
Disassembly and reassembly, sight alignment drills, live-fire exercises… it was the kind of training that made you truly understand why magic couldn’t stop bullets.
Probably because it had been so long since I last held a gun.
On top of that we learned trench construction, field maneuvers, NBC defense, and how to charge over the top under artillery support.
Far too much to cram into eight weeks.
After the graduation ceremony and branch assignment, you’d be shipped off to the front lines or the rear.
The branch I wanted was obviously artillery.
Medic was impossible with my level of magic aptitude, but artillery only required enough power to charge a single shell. That was all it took to pass.
Defense and reinforcement spells were nearly useless for me anyway, so artillery—safer than scouting or sniping—was the best option.
It was the only realistic way to stay in the rear.
Yes. That’s right.
Because I didn’t go to the rear, I was able to meet you again. So it wasn’t all misfortune.
When we passed through the training camp gate, we immediately formed neat ranks.
Sergeant Gerhardt stepped onto the platform and bellowed. There were no microphones or amplifiers, yet every last one of us could hear him clearly.
I was glad I stood far from the platform.
“Anyone with magical aptitude, step forward and form a single line! Then follow that man over there!”
“……”
“Answer properly!”
“Yes!”
Including me, eight of us. We all looked roughly the same age; one of us was a girl.
They were probably in similar situations to mine.
We lined up single-file behind one of the instructors.
The other kids didn’t seem to care about his glare; they were already whispering among themselves.
Only I stared straight ahead in silence.
My attitude must have pleased the instructor, because he walked straight past me and roared at the others.
“Shut your mouths! Follow me!”
Silence fell at once.
That was how we were led by the instructor Sergeant Gerhardt had indicated to a separate barracks.
The second-floor hallway looked eerily similar to the ones I’d seen in the Korean military.
It genuinely felt like PTSD was about to kick in.
The instructor opened the door to one of the squad bays.
“Get in.”
“Yes.”
I answered and stepped inside.
The sight that greeted me was… tolerably ordinary.
Rows of two-story wooden bunk beds stretched on like an endless chicken coop. It didn’t look like a place humans should live.
When I said “tolerably ordinary,” I meant it wasn’t as bad as I had feared.
Rough burlap sacks stuffed with dry rice straw for mattresses, bare wooden planks… no lockers, no footlockers.
From the wooden shelves and nails hammered into the walls, it was clear we were meant to hang our uniforms, helmets, and bags there.
The air was thick with a damp, sour smell, boot polish, harsh insecticide, and the faint ozone of blue magic smoke.
My mood plunged straight into the abyss.
“Today at 1200 hours we recorded your aptitudes. We will now pre-select your desired branches and begin the corresponding training. Be ready.”
Thud.
The instructor slammed the barracks door shut behind him.
Two months in a place like this.
It felt hopeless.
The other kids had already formed little groups.
Three who seemed to be from the same orphanage were already chattering away, while another three were awkwardly exchanging greetings.
I had zero interest in making pointless friends, so I sat quietly on a bunk and watched them.
Still, for several kids from the same orphanage to have magical aptitude… that was an extremely rare occurrence.
“U-um…”
A hesitant voice came from beside me.
When I turned, I saw a girl about my age.
Ah. Three, three, and the two of us. Eight total.
Three groups had already formed.
How were girls the same age supposed to talk to each other again?
…Hmm.
No matter how I thought about it, the only speech patterns that came to mind were the ones used by the bitches who used to bully me in the orphanage. Not exactly helpful.
This girl had quite a pretty face. She might be in a similar situation to me.
No, I shouldn’t overthink it.
Once we left the training camp we’d never keep in touch anyway.
Even in the Korean army, no matter how close you got during basic, contact gradually dried up after you were assigned to different units, right?
Let me repeat: I have no intention of making friends.
Wait a second.
That’s right. What if I did this instead?
What if I built a solid friendship with her, then got hurt right in front of her eyes?
Of course I wouldn’t do anything wasteful like permanently damaging this lovely girl’s body.
Just enough to leave no scars, nothing life-threatening. That would be sufficient.
A wonderful expression might appear on her face.
I turned toward her.
“Hi.”
“Ah… h-hi…”
She was stuttering.
Shy personality?
Then she must have agonized quite a bit before speaking to me.
Since all the other kids had already formed groups, maybe she felt a sense of crisis.
If I leave it like this the conversation will never get anywhere.
I spoke first to the hesitant girl.
“What’s your name?”
“…Anais. Anais Shen.”
“I see.”
“A-and you?”
“Chloe Winterland.”
Her expression brightened a little.
“You’re from an orphanage too…”
“Yeah.”
Sudden dad joke…?
Ah. She must have realized that “Winterland” was a regional surname.
Which meant she was probably an orphan as well.
Was her face lighting up from the feeling of “let’s get along since we’re both orphans”?
Did she feel some sense of kinship?
Kinship…
Well, it wasn’t a bad kind of interest.
A slightly brighter expression would create a much more entertaining contrast later than a timid, hesitant one.
“U-um, hey.”
“Yes?”
“Today… can we sleep together…?”
“No.”
Anais dropped her head, looking disappointed.
It was rather cute.
Since she’d managed to fluster me, I decided to award her extra points.
She looked like she’d make quite a decent toy.
Still, asking to sleep together out of nowhere surprised me.
She must be terrified of her first time in the military.
In that case, she was probably one of those forcibly conscripted after the enlistment officer’s magic aptitude test.
Since her looks weren’t exceptional, they must have sold her for a high price.
Once an orphan has been adopted once, the chances of being adopted again drop close to zero.
Whatever orphanage she came from, it was clearly far more vicious than mine.
This level of ruthlessness is what I’d call professional.
I almost felt respect for the orphanage director I’d never even met.
They probably fed the children rice soaked in water, didn’t they?
If the chance ever came, I’d love to meet them in person.
“U-um, hey.”
“Yes?”
“Is it okay… if we become friends?”
We’d only just exchanged names, and she was already declaring friendship. It made me suspect—rather rudely—that she probably hadn’t had any friends back at the orphanage.
And I suspected that guess was correct with high probability.
Normally you learn at least basic social skills in an orphanage, yet this girl had none whatsoever.
Either the orphanage itself was trash beyond imagination, or the children in it were trash. One of the two.
In this case, probably both.
Either way, this is quite an enjoyable situation for me.
A timid girl meets her first friend in the military—only to witness that very friend suffering right before her eyes.
Just imagining it makes my mouth water.
I hate dying. I hate getting hurt. But I can’t give up on expressions like that.
The stomach I’d been kicked in earlier gave a faint throb.
Keeping my face carefully neutral, I turned to Anais.
“Sure. Let’s be friends.”
“Really?!”
“Yeah. I needed someone to talk to, too.”
The part about needing someone to talk to was one hundred percent sincere.
I would steadily raise Anais’s favorability, then get hurt right in front of her.
That should be enough to satisfy my dark little desires in moderation.
Time passed like that.
After finishing a meal that tasted even worse than the ones at the orphanage.
I already knew from my previous life that military food was terrible, but experiencing it firsthand was still shocking.
To think there could be a meal worse than rice soaked in water and bread hard as stone.
It felt like confronting an urban legend in the flesh.
Anais sat beside me, staring intently at my face.
She’d been chattering nonstop while we ate… Had she noticed something?
I was so annoyed I only half-listened.
Just as Anais seemed about to speak again, the door opened at the perfect moment.
Creak. Thud.
One of the drill instructors stepped inside.
“Tomorrow morning we will conduct a magic aptitude examination. Memorize that.”
Bang.
Slamming the door on purpose—his hobby really was vicious.
The atmosphere instantly became noisy.
Still, we already took the magic aptitude test with the crystal orb…
No way.
What kind of magic aptitude test would the military come up with?
In the army, they complicate simple things and simplify complicated ones with half-assed methods.
Why reclassify recruits whose aptitudes had already been determined?
After thinking for a moment, I reached a conclusion.
They’re going to make us use it ourselves…?
…Magic!
Was I finally going to get to use it?!