TOMY 06

Chloe hesitated for a moment before lowering her voice.

“Why my face?”

“…It’s nothing.”

“Is it that bad?”

“……”

“…That bad, huh?”

To be honest, she looked like a corpse, but Alvin simply turned his gaze toward the window. There was a trace of basic courtesy in that reaction, but perhaps it was clearer than words.

Flustered, Chloe rubbed her face. For a man who rarely spoke first to even block her path like that, she figured she must look pretty terrible.

For some reason, her energy drained, and she spoke again.

“Was it loud last night?”

“Loud enough to know there was a fire.”

She silently nodded.

“Looked like it was put out quickly.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t a big one.”

At some point, Chloe had begun to let her guard down around this enemy soldier. So without much tension, she kept talking—and before she knew it, she let something slip.

“But still, it feels strange.”

“What does?”

“I mean, at dawn, I really—”

She abruptly came to her senses and shut her mouth. Her pale face hardened instantly.

“…What am I even saying to you right now?”

Of all people, someone from Fitzmark.

Chloe sighed in self-reproach and brushed her short hair behind her ear. But Alvin seemed less interested in the cut-off conversation and more in something else. Watching her faintly trembling fingertips, he asked,

“Do you not sleep much? Do you stand night watch or something?”

“No. Not really. I’m not medical staff or a soldier.”

She admitted honestly that she mostly handled odd jobs around here, then added,

“I’m just a bit… nocturnal…”

Her voice trailed off, but Alvin nodded as if he understood.

“So that’s why your face looks like that sometimes.”

“Like that? I don’t think I look that terrible.”

Then she heard him mutter toward the window,

“Does she really not understand context at all?”

Chloe awkwardly lowered the hand that had been rubbing her face. Her gaze turned cold again. Words like that still stung.

Alvin glanced at her and said,

“What. Do you need to hear that you’re pretty from me too?”

“It’s not that. No need to say something you don’t mean.”

Chloe sighed in resignation. In the end, she decided she must have just hallucinated from lack of sleep.

Before she knew it, Alvin was staring at her again. He didn’t know everything, but at least one thing was clear—Chloe was genuinely in a bad mood today.

Putting the fire incident behind them, peaceful days continued for a while at the Wellington Medical Base. The military withdrew, leaving only a few behind. The medical staff focused on treatment, the patients on recovery, and Chloe on maintaining cleanliness.

The small incident that broke that peace occurred a few days later—on the 211th day since the war began.

Soldiers scouting the perimeter found an enemy soldier collapsed and bleeding. He claimed to be a deserter, but was transferred to a nearby unit for intense interrogation. That heightened response was likely due to the disturbance at the base a few days earlier.

Chloe glanced at the man lying miserably on the bed and muttered,

“I wonder if they tortured him.”

“……”

“Doesn’t it look like it?”

He definitely hadn’t looked like that when they first found him.

“Alvin. Sorry, but could you check on him once in a while?”

“Why should I?”

A faint irritation flickered in Alvin’s eyes, as if to say, now you’re asking me to do this too?

Chloe hesitated slightly. They had grown somewhat comfortable talking to each other, but she still hadn’t forgotten the look he gave her when they first met—that overwhelming presence that was anything but ordinary.

Still, she had more allies here. There was no need to fear him.

Lowering her voice, she whispered,

“Do people from Fitzmark not know the word camaraderie?”

Alvin narrowed his eyes and curled one side of his lips.

“That’s not something you should be saying. If we started bonding here, which side do you think would be in trouble?”

He reminded her of their positions. Chloe nodded a couple of times.

“Exactly.”

“……”

“If someone like me—an Edelrin civilian—takes care of a traitor from your side, how would that look?”

“……”

“It would just brand him even more.”

He wasn’t a traitor—just a common deserter. But Chloe subtly twisted the wording in her favor.

Soldiers wounded in battle wouldn’t look kindly on someone who ran away. They had been separated to maintain order, but no one had expected something like this.

At this rate, she had a bad feeling he might get beaten to death by his own people during the night.

“I just don’t want to deal with another corpse because of something like this.”

After staring at her for a while, Alvin said,

“Now that I think about it, you’re quite considerate. A perfect fit for a place like this.”

“Oh, stop it. That’s embarrassing.”

Chloe accepted the sarcasm calmly. Alvin let out a faint chuckle, then gave a short nod.

For today, the representatives of the two sides decided to stop their subtle sparring here. A peaceful agreement.

Somewhere far away, the battle still raged. The sound of shelling echoed faintly, but the front lines remained locked in a stalemate. Ignoring the distant noise, people here took their afternoon naps.

Alvin calmly scanned his surroundings, then began to walk. He stopped in front of the deserter’s bed and nudged his shoulder.

The soldier recognized him and tried to sit up, clutching his abdomen.

“Gah—”

“Let’s talk outside.”

Cutting him off quickly, Alvin glanced around once more. Then they quietly stepped outside to avoid prying eyes.

Standing beneath a tree, they noticed a guard watching them, but he didn’t seem to find anything worth stopping.

Only after confirming no one was listening did Alvin finally speak.

“Ducrein. Did they torture you?”

“Just got hit a few times. It’s nothing.”

“Edelrin people are soft.”

Meaning: a few punches wouldn’t be enough to make someone spill military secrets. If this were Fitzmark, they’d have started by cutting off a few things.

It wasn’t entirely wrong—but Ducrein stayed silent. “A few hits” had actually been far from easy.

Alvin glanced at the bandaged wound on his side.

“That injury?”

“Derek shot well. There shouldn’t be any aftereffects.”

“Don’t trust that. He’s a bad shot.”

Ducrein lowered his head at Alvin’s mildly irritated expression.

Alvin continued,

“You know about the fire magic used by the 1st Division recently?”

“Yes. We found out later. It shocked us too.”

“They must be out of their minds. Our own survivors were there.”

“…Yes. I know.”

“If they can’t aim properly, they shouldn’t use it at all.”

After speaking coldly, Alvin narrowed his eyes.

“That bastard… might’ve done it on purpose.”

“…Sir, did something happen to you that day?”

Ducrein asked cautiously, puzzled.

Alvin didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his gaze elsewhere.

There, Chloe was talking with the base staff.

The person who had kindly guided him here.

“……”

Her pale skin looked like she had rarely seen sunlight. In contrast, her pitch-black hair, neat features, and sharp expression gave her a tense appearance.

As she gestured lightly, the long sleeve covering her wrist slipped back to her elbow, revealing skin even paler than her face.

Despite the harsh sunlight, she always wore long sleeves and pants. Her short hair looked roughly cut by her own hand.

Having observed her closely, Alvin felt he could guess her intentions. In a place filled with short-haired men, she was trying not to stand out—trying to avoid being objectified.

It was a smart strategy. But he almost wanted to tell her—it wasn’t as effective as she thought.

The loose clothes and short hair didn’t make her look like a man. If anything, they made her look younger—like a girl.

Watching her handle rowdy soldiers with just a few words, she didn’t seem particularly young, though.

As Alvin kept staring, lost in thought, Ducrein carefully asked,

“Do you know her too, sir?”

Alvin nodded.

“An Edelrin civilian.”

“…What?”

“That’s what she keeps insisting.”

He let out a short, incredulous laugh. She certainly looked out of place here—especially the awkward way she carried a rifle.

What puzzled him was why someone like her was here at all.

Ducrein scratched his head, hesitating before speaking.

“Sir… she’s not just a civilian. I mean, she is, but…”

“But?”

“I didn’t recognize her at first either, but… she’s a playwright. Probably a composer too.”

Alvin looked at him for a moment, surprised. Then he let out a quiet laugh.

“…That explains it.”

“Pardon?”

“She’s prickly when she talks. Haven’t you noticed?”

Ducrein looked confused.

“I’ve never actually spoken to her…”

“She’s like a hedgehog.”

“Has she been rude to you, sir?”

Alvin tilted his head slightly, thinking it over, then shook it.

“No. It’s not exactly that.”

“But sir… she writes children’s plays. Fairy tales.”

“……”

Alvin fell silent.

He turned to look at his adjutant with a baffled expression.

“That woman… can she really compose bright major-key music?”

“Pardon?”

He couldn’t imagine it.

If anything, Chloe seemed like the type who would only write in minor keys—cold, sharp, and merciless.

Children wouldn’t gain dreams and hope—they’d hit reality head-on.

And she’d probably say calmly: Sorry, but that’s just how life is.

“…Then how do you even know that?”

Alvin asked, still doubtful.

Ducrein answered more confidently this time.

“She’s been to Fitzmark several times—to check on stage productions.”

“…I see.”

“My daughter loves that kind of thing.”

Ducrein grinned at the thought of his daughter. The smile itself wasn’t bad—but with his battered face, it only looked pitiful.

Alvin, now understanding, looked at his young adjutant—who had married early after an accident—with a faintly exasperated expression.