The soldier stood still.
His rifle was slung over his shoulder, untouched. His uniform — dark green, foreign — was cleaner than Tae-Jun's blood-soaked fatigues, but his eyes… his eyes looked just as lost.
Tae-Jun didn't speak. He couldn't. His throat was dry, his body screaming in pain.
He tried to lift his rifle. Failed.
The notebook lay between them, in the dirt.
The enemy knelt.
Picked it up.
Read.
Just one line.
> "I wasn't scared. Not really."
His eyes lifted again, meeting Tae-Jun's.
No words were exchanged.
Only breath.
Only tension.
Then — slowly — the boy reached into his satchel.
Tae-Jun flinched.
If this was the end, he'd at least see it coming.
But instead of a weapon, the soldier pulled out a silver water flask.
He placed it on the ground… and pushed it forward, within reach.
Tae-Jun blinked.
What was this?
A trap?
A mockery?
But thirst won. It always did.
He dragged himself forward, biting back the pain. His fingers wrapped around the metal — cool, real, not imagined. He drank like a man being reborn.
The soldier didn't move.
Didn't smile.
Didn't speak.
Instead, he sat down on a broken slab of concrete, five meters away, watching Tae-Jun like someone studying a wild animal. Not with fear. Not with pity. Just curiosity.
---
The sun began to rise, casting light over the torn earth — bodies, shrapnel, ruined helmets. A world split in two.
Two soldiers.
Two enemies.
One battlefield.
No orders.
Only instinct.
---
Tae-Jun took a shaky breath and pulled the notebook back into his lap.
The pen still worked.
> Entry Two.
I should shoot him. I know that. I've been trained to.
But he gave me water.
And right now… that feels more human than anything I've seen in weeks.
We don't speak the same language. But maybe that's better.
Words can lie. Actions can't.
He looked up again.
The soldier was still there.
Watching. Waiting.