Better off dead, those ones.

Sweet and sour daily events with the girls, that's what this is!

Your combat record is acknowledged—yes, the absurd, comic-book-level results.

But my command staff does not, in any way, rate you.

Understand why, Sergeant Io?

Sunken cheeks. Deep hollows. Jaw thin and sharp, teeth spaced oddly wide, a strange modeling.

An elderly man, still adjusting his rumpled uniform, making do with a semblance of order.

Lieutenant Colonel Yuaris Barley, managing the Karaaf Front Army escape plan from Oxanun.

Sergeant Io remains rigidly at attention before him.

"Yes, no, Lieutenant Colonel."

"Is that so? Don't understand, then. No, not even interested. No worth in thinking about it."

"Indeed, I've never thought about it."

You abandoned your original mission. Repeatedly launched unauthorized operations on your own."

Yes, no. My sortie was not a unilateral decision.

I have obtained approval from the Syndicate Assault Team detachment command unit.

That is the reason for abandoning orders?

I acknowledged the existence of a higher-priority mission. I volunteered under duress.

You fool!

Yuaris slams the desk. Io watches from a distance, unbothered.

Avatar support responds on its own. Io merely watches the event unfold, relaxed.

Around Yuaris, his aides and officers are still struggling—some collapsed over desks, others over terminals, unconscious.

Overworked, clearly.

You seem desperate to stand out, don’t you?

The media reports on you daily. Still not enough?

As for my personal assessment, I find it troubling.

There are plenty of other matters worthy of reporting, yet—

for instance, the expanded production capacity for the Karaf virus treatment drug."

Oh, Sergeant Io just jabbed in.

The drug remains officially unannounced. The military is withholding information so tightly that Natalie, fed up, has begun her own investigation.

Yuaris lifted her nasal bridge in a sharp, unmistakable sneer—difficult to read, but unmistakably the expression of a nervous colonel’s fury.

"Corporal, you’re getting ahead of yourself..."

"Yes, Colonel."

He no longer even says no. Avatar Io shows no intention of stepping back.

Currently, Io’s assignment is in limbo. Details were glossed over, but Sergeant Io—classified like a ten-year-old secret—has no clear unit affiliation, and now that he’s been exposed to media scrutiny beyond any reasonable limit, he’s too volatile to move without consequence.

Even without that, the results achieved so far are substantial. The operational capability of this mission is something every frontline unit would kill to possess.

That’s why Sinclair and the other units serve as cover, allowing him to act with impunity. Blue Goblet explained it as such—undertaking difficult missions, delivering results, despite the risks.

Io found the prospect of an interesting assignment more compelling than Lieutenant General Yuaris’s approval.

He was a spiteful old man, after all.

“Think before you speak, Corporal.

I am not a politician. If you show no regard for military order, even Diamond Frame will not spare you.”

Diamond Frame.

He’d skipped over the explanation, but it was one of the medals slated for Io. The official name was more formal, more obscure—something he’d forgotten.

Only fifteen have ever received it in the long history of the Sitalskia Coalition Forces—twelve of them posthumously.

Living Diamond Frame. A nickname recently coined for Io.

Yes, Lieutenant. I’m not a news anchor.

I’m good with a firearm. Less so with the media.

Yuaris inhales deeply, rubbing the space between his brows.

I understand your frustration. I know you’re angry at their insolence.

But you’re a soldier. Do you comprehend what I’m saying?

Yes, Lieutenant.

Io replies, utterly indifferent.

Seems like wasting any more time would be pointless.

Apologies for taking up your valuable time.

—Go. I don’t want to see your name in a report for a while, Corporal!

Yes! Understood!

Exiting the operations room, where scattered documents and newly added equipment and wiring sprawl haphazardly.

Outside, Crewk stands with arms crossed, waiting.

Avatar support has been severed. Io shrugs, showing her shoulders.

The golden princess should have been squeezed harder than Io by now—yet she shows no sign of strain.

“Corporal, what of the lieutenant colonel?”

“Screamed loud enough to be heard. Didn’t you hear it?”

“Fufu… ah, right. Kuk, kuku, fufu!”

Pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, she fails to suppress the laughter entirely. Her shoulders shake.

As everyone knows, the circumstances of 3552 are clear. She could not possibly hold any fondness for Youaris.

“But honestly… I don’t see it as a good thing.

It’s odd for me to say it—after all, I’m the one who sparked the fallout with Freezer.”

“Is it my excitement with Sinclair that bothers you?”

Why do you insist on fighting so much? You’ve already worked enough, surely.

They start walking. Crewk has press duties ahead. Io has a meeting… or rather, an event.

We’re departing for the Audar continent within a week.

— Enough already, Sergeant. I don’t want you… doing anything reckless.

Crewk’s usual composed tone replaced by a thin, trembling voice.

You’ve crossed dangerous bridges before, no matter how many times.

That’s exactly why I say it’s enough.

War is inherently like a crashing wave—no single soldier’s desperate charge changes the outcome.

…Watching you makes my whole argument feel like it’s crumbling.

They exit the command facility. Gray sky and black cityscape stretch endlessly ahead.

A food truck stood outside the facility. Selling hot dogs to passing soldiers, it seemed.

The female vendor descended from her cart, waving both hands and chattering excitedly at Io and Crewk before shoving a heavily sauced hot dog into each of their hands and retreating.

She waved back over her shoulder. Crewk smiled awkwardly. That fleeting expression—so unguarded, so childish—was unmistakable.

No. Perhaps it was simply age-appropriate.

"Haha, looks like you're treating us, Sergeant. Civilians are cooperating. Let's accept their generosity."

"Is that what you're into, huh?"

"Indeed. Probably third on my list of favorites in the world.

Especially these—massive sausages. Nothing beats the moment you finally tear through one that's too tough to bite.

The juice that spills out when you do—"

Crewk gestured wildly, then abruptly stopped, clearing his throat with deliberate exaggeration.

—Ahem. Regardless, this is valuable rations. Eat every last bite, Sergeant.

I’ll convene a disciplinary board if you waste it.

—Cut me some slack. That damn Michelle’s been unbearable.

Before he even finished speaking, Crewk took a greedy bite. The sausage bounced erratically, uncut.

Something about eating junk food while walking—wasn’t that indecent? He’d said something like that during the last dive, though.

Even if she is a girl, she’s in her growth phase—ravenous.

They continued down Oxanun’s main street. Each facility had its own character, but all belched smoke, fouling the road.

A city built for war. The atmosphere was grim under unfavorable combat conditions, yet the passersby, recognizing Io, greeted her with cheerful shouts.

Foo! The assassin’s passing by! Where’ll you smash next?

What’s so special about a lizard’s ass hole?

Sergeant! Again with the scavenging? Don’t blame me if you’re denied boarding on the return transport for exceeding weight limits!

You fool! I remember your face—just wait till I file a complaint with the unit!

Laughter erupts. Whistles pierce the air.

Io and Crewk cut through the crowd.

You’re strange. …No, perhaps it’s natural.

Our unit, ready to give up at Carver Ve, now breathes again thanks to you and Corporal Carlyle.

Everyone forgets the overwhelming disadvantage of the battlefield when they see you.

Crewk’s eyes glitter. Not the look of a stray dog met by chance.

You’re familiar. I’ve missed you. Not Natalie—but you’re close enough. Io offers a vague smile.

Suddenly, Io speaks aloud.

"Second Lieutenant—do you think you're special?"

"What's with the sudden question? I don't get what you're implying."

"Do you believe you possess power? The kind that could influence the massive wave you speak of—the one you call 'to strike'?"

"Absurd. I'm just one of countless second lieutenants in the Cytalskia Coalition Army."

If influence is what you mean, you're far superior. Crewk said that.

A monster who, despite being alone, repels defeat and turns local losses into victories.

"Apologies. I said something strange."

"Stop. We've already shown each other our most pathetic sides since Carver Ve arrived.

Say whatever comes to mind. …Oh, of course—don't mention this to other officers."

The moment of parting arrives. Before the hotel seized by the military. The deployment site for Unit 3552.

Unit 3552 receives VIP treatment unworthy of its status. Treat the media-favored child soldier unit carelessly, and public backlash against the military spreads fast.

Lucky you. Crewk had said with a grin earlier.

"The unit is undergoing physical conditioning. It's superficial at best, but they won't just be fed without effort."

"Then you have an important task ahead, Lieutenant."

"Yeah... heavy. Smiling and waving at the camera beside the mayor of Oxanun. Very difficult...

You're keeping Natasha waiting, it seems."

"Something about a consultation."

"A consultation?...Hmph. Whatever.

Watch yourself in front of her biometric camera. No room for slack."

Ioh muttered with a playful edge.

"Is this about the 'Choco Rush' operation?"

?! ……?!?! Why do you know! Natasha?! Is that it?!

Let’s hurry. Keeping her waiting isn’t polite.

Wait, Sergeant!

Ioh bolts forward, fleeing. No reason a physical should lose to a crutch.

——

Natalie had collapsed face-down over a shoddy round table.

A whiskey bottle and glass lay beside her. Uncharacteristically, she was drinking hard.

Scattered across her room were documents, data storage units, handwritten notes, and loose sheets.

No lock on the door, littered like this… not like her at all.

Events of this kind usually signaled something significant. Ioh tensed.

Hey, asleep? Hey.

No response. Ioh shakes her shoulder.

Wake up.

Her hand grips his arm. She lifts her face.

Wild, unkempt hair. The eyes peeking through the strands. An odd intensity.

“…Ioh.”

“What’s this mess?”

“Sorry… I called you here, like this.”

“What happened?”

Natalie says nothing. She lowers her head again.

Then her fingers drift aimlessly, pointing at a single sheet of paper tossed onto the bed.

Ioh picks it up, sits on the chair. A list of numbers. A place name scrawled endlessly.

No—this isn’t a list. A unit designation?

“Numbers-only unit designations. The Child Soldier Unit, right?”

Like 3552. Child Soldier Units are given only numbers.

A quick glance confirms this paper records Child Soldier Units and their deployment zones.

“All of them—defensive lines. Or just slightly behind.”

Her speech is slurred. Peering closer, Ioh sees she’s crying.

“Paid a specialist… to find out.”

All frontline units are retreating—slowly, inch by inch—pulling back from defensive lines. Orders to fall back have been issued.

But they don’t have that.

……What do you mean?

Do you know what’s happening in Audar right now?

People are flooding in. Naturally. No one anticipated losing an entire continent. The government hasn’t absorbed them all.

The people sent from Oxanun live like drifters—no food, no shelter.

Ioh waited for Natalie’s words. She swallowed her frustration in one thick gulp, pressing the whiskey bottle straight to her lips.

A rough, deep pull.

In Karaf—joining the child soldiers is standard for orphans. Or those with some other problem preventing them from living with their parents.

They have nothing. Yes. They’re still children. Naturally.

Basic literacy. No vocational skills. Nothing but knowledge of how to use a firearm.

I see, I see, Io murmured.

Even grown adults are in such a state—what about the child soldiers?

I can predict it. They’ll turn to crime to survive. Using only what little they know—how to handle a gun.

Slums will form immediately. Mafia will exploit them. Public order will collapse.

And the government will have made the same prediction.

So the kids are… “better off dead,” is that it?

Hey, hey, hey, Io grunted.

This is too dangerous a subject to handle. Even an underground game wouldn’t touch it.

I tried to report it. Headquarters blocked me.

My official clearance from Fletcher was revoked. I’m on indefinite leave now.

3552 will be in Audar in one week.

Only 3552! Just them! They’re the ones recognized by civilians!

Natalie screamed, sliding off her chair and landing on her backside.

Completely drunk, she couldn’t stand. Io helped her up and managed to get her onto the bed.

I don’t know what to do anymore.

Natalie clung to Io. Her body, usually so resolute, trembled.

This isn’t just heavy. This is amateurish.

Io began cycling through thoughts.