The sun dipped below the frostbitten horizon of the Federation's north, bathing the ruined factories in a pale orange glow. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and scorched steel. Among the charred remains, the squad of soldiers from the 300th Magical Airborne Division stood silently, guarding a group of shivering children recently rescued from forced labor.
Captain Harada adjusted his cap, speaking into the radio with a clipped, professional tone."We've secured the target zone. Children have been rescued. Enemy industrial capacity crippled. No squad casualties. Awaiting further orders."
A burst of static responded, followed by a cold voice:"Orders received. Begin retreat to outpost forty-seven. Good work."
As the signal died, the captain lowered the radio and turned to his men. The children huddled together, whispering among themselves, eyes darting from soldier to soldier—until they found one of them.
Itsumi.
He stood apart, as always, leaning against a charred wall with his rifle slung across his back. His long, unkempt hair swayed slightly in the wind, and his helmet cast a shadow over his face. He didn't look at the children. He didn't even look at his squad.
One of the younger boys stepped forward, curious. His eyes were full of awe, confusion, and perhaps fear."Who's that?" he asked softly.
A medic quickly pulled him back. "Stay close. Don't go near him."
Private Zhang muttered under his breath, "Can you blame them for being curious? He's like a damn ghost."
Sergeant Nakamura snorted. "Ghosts don't kill that fast."
"No emotion. No hesitation. Just 'the children are safe' and then boom," said Private Hiroshi, gesturing toward the blackened ruin of the factory. "He lit the place up like it meant nothing. We were still inside the perimeter."
Captain Harada's jaw tightened. He stormed toward Itsumi, fury burning in his chest.
"Itsumi!" he barked.
The boy didn't flinch.
"I gave no signal. No clearance. You could've gotten your squad killed!"
Still no reaction.
"Answer me, damn it! This isn't a solo mission!"
Itsumi slowly turned his head, his face partially hidden beneath the shadow of his helmet.
"The children were safe," he said flatly, his voice devoid of feeling.
"That's not your call to make!" the captain shouted. "We move as one! You don't get to act like some lone wolf! You want to play hero? Then fine—you just lost your extra rations for the week. See how much that helps your cold act."
Itsumi didn't argue. He merely nodded once, the motion slow, deliberate.
Private Hiroshi leaned toward Zhang, whispering, "He really doesn't give a damn."
Zhang crossed his arms. "Not even a twitch. I don't think he cares if he eats or not. Or lives or dies."
Sergeant Nakamura spoke up. "You know what scares me the most? Not that he blew up the factory… It's the way he looked at us when we asked why. Like we were the ones who were wrong."
Captain Harada let out a sharp exhale and turned back to the squad.
"I don't know what kind of hell turned him into this, but he's still under my command. And I'll be damned if he drags the rest of us into the grave with him."
Private Zhang looked toward Itsumi again, who now sat on a chunk of rubble, head lowered, unmoving."Last night, he opened up. Just a little. Now he's colder than before."
Sergeant Lee shook his head. "You saw those kids stare at him, right? They thought he was a hero. But all I saw was a kid who's forgotten how to feel."
Captain Harada rubbed his eyes. "I don't care what he was before. If he keeps ignoring orders, he's a liability. I'll have no choice but to report him to Command."
The fire from the factory still smoldered in the distance, casting long shadows across the squad. The children huddled closer to the medics, occasionally glancing back at the boy-soldier who'd saved them—indirectly, perhaps unintentionally.
And Itsumi?
He remained where he was, silent, staring into the ashes.