Training Camp – Crimson Valkyrie
The heavy thud of Kaito and Max's footsteps echoed along the dirt road, scarred with blast marks. Worn tents lined both sides, marked with wooden signs that read:
"TRAINING ZONE – ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK"
The acrid smell of gunpowder mixed with dust, stinging their noses.
Kaito scanned the surroundings, his brow furrowed.
"This place… is this really part of the school? It looks more like a military base."
Max, hands shoved casually into his pockets, answered in his usual laid-back tone.
"Well, they call it an 'extracurricular activity.' But you already know… this school doesn't exactly follow the normal definitions."
Before Kaito could press further, a shrill laugh boomed across one of the fields.
"Ahahahaha! Excellent! Once more—this time, with more despair! Let me believe you are truly standing on death's edge!"
Both Kaito and Max turned. At the center of the field stood a pale-blonde teenage girl, gripping a pistol painted a vivid shade of violet. Her uniform had been modified into something resembling stage attire: a black blazer with long coattails like a maestro, a blood-red tie, and high leather boots.
She raised the pistol and fired at a wooden target.
DOOR! DOOR! DOOR!
But instead of ordinary bullets, neon-green, blazing red, and deep purple rounds burst forth. Each shot exploded into glittering smoke, like miniature fireworks.
Kaito gaped.
"…Is this a circus show or a combat drill?"
Max patted his shoulder with deadpan calm.
"That's Ivara. Be careful. If she sees you as part of her 'audience,' you might get dragged into the act."
Sure enough, the moment Ivara noticed them, she spun dramatically, raising her hand to the sky as if bathed in a spotlight.
"Ohh~ at last, fresh spectators! And look who's arrived—a stranger, his face a blank canvas of mystery!"
Kaito pointed at himself, bewildered.
"…Me?"
Ivara twirled closer, the pistol spinning on her finger like a baton. She stopped just half a meter in front of Kaito, smiling broadly, eyes glimmering with an uncanny light.
"Exactly! You! That face is a canvas begging to be painted with drama! Tell me, mysterious man—what's your name?"
Kaito shuffled back half a step, awkward.
"Kaito. The new teacher."
The moment the word "teacher" left his lips, Ivara clapped her hands together and burst out laughing.
"Ahahaha! A new teacher! What a perfect role! A teacher, lost upon the stage of hell! Straight out of a classic tragedy!"
❝Tragedy? Hey, don't go predicting my death already!❞ Kaito swallowed hard, silently.
Max sighed, voice flat.
"Ivara, tone it down. You're just confusing him."
Ivara snapped her fingers with theatrical flair, turning toward Max.
"Oh, Max! The stoic mechanic, forever the cold spectator in our grand play. Relax—this is merely the warm-up!"
She lifted her pistol skyward and fired.
DOOR! A violet round burst into a smoke cloud shaped like a comedy-tragedy mask.
Ivara bowed gracefully to Kaito, one hand on her chest.
"Allow me to introduce myself—I am Ivara! Actress of battle, dancer of bullets, poet of explosions! They call me… The Laughing Gun!"
Kaito stared flatly, muttering under his breath.
"…That stage name is… unnecessarily long."
Ivara leaned closer, her face mere inches from his, whispering with a thin smile.
"No name is too long… when your life itself is the stage, teacher."
Kaito shifted sideways, uncomfortable with the invasion of personal space.
❝What is she… some bizarre cross between a circus clown and a mercenary?❞
Max stepped in, voice even.
"We're just passing through. Don't bother the teacher, Ivara."
With another twirl, Ivara spun away, waving dramatically.
"Oh, don't worry! I won't interfere. I merely wanted… to ensure he understands where he's stepped."
Her tone dipped into something more serious, though still layered with theatrics.
"Teacher Kaito… this school is not a place of learning. It is a stage, where broken souls perform in their own grotesque ways. I, Ren, Jaret, Lysander—we are not ordinary students. We are actors in a play of madness. And you, my dear teacher… have just been cast as the leading role."
Kaito narrowed his eyes.
"…The lead role, huh? That's usually the one who dies first."
Ivara only laughed louder, raising her pistol.
"Ahahaha! Excellent! You already understand your part! Worry not—I'll make sure your scene is… colorful."
She fired into the ground at his feet.
BANG! A green round burst into sparkling fireworks.
Kaito jumped back, startled.
"HEY! What the hell!?"
Ivara bowed once more, pistol smoking in her left hand.
"Merely an opening salute, teacher. Consider it… your very first standing ovation."
Her laughter echoed long after Kaito and Max left the field, her manic voice bouncing between the tents. Kaito's shoes thudded against the sandy ground, while Max strolled as calmly as ever, hands tucked in his pockets.
Kaito exhaled a long breath.
"…Max."
"Hm?" Max replied curtly.
"This place… what is it, really?" Kaito's gaze swept across the ragged tents, where students wielded blades in practice or laughed while setting off makeshift explosives. "Don't tell me this is still considered a 'school facility.'"
Max glanced at him briefly, expression unchanged.
"It's a training camp. For those belonging to Crimson Valkyrie."
Kaito halted, voice rising. "Crimson… what?" His brow furrowed.
"Crimson Valkyrie. A military organization within this school. You could call it… an extracurricular club," Max answered flatly.
Kaito scoffed, folding his arms.
"A club? What part of this looks like a club? This is a mercenary barracks! And you never thought to mention this earlier?"
Max shrugged.
"I figured you'd figure it out on your own. Easier to see than to explain."
Kaito clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to curse. He shot Max a sharp glare, but the boy ignored him entirely.
As they walked on, Kaito spotted a cluster of students near a pile of discarded tires. Among them, one boy—about fourteen, with messy black hair and a cold, blank expression—sat silently atop a tire, staring emptily at nothing.
Max gestured with his chin.
"That's Erick."
"The one just sitting there?" Kaito asked, frowning.
"Yeah. Antisocial Personality Disorder. He doesn't care about anyone… except one person he sees as his brother—Lysander. If not for that, he'd probably never acknowledge anyone."
Kaito studied Erick. The boy's gaze was utterly lifeless, yet his fingers tapped his knee in a precise rhythm.
❝That stare… vacant, yet focused. Like an arrow without a target.❞
Not far away stood another boy, around sixteen, brown-haired, wearing a military-styled uniform. He muttered constantly under his breath, as though conversing with someone unseen. Suddenly, he snapped into a crisp salute to thin air.
Kaito raised an eyebrow. "And that one?"
"Marven," Max replied. "Schizophrenia. He hears the 'voice of a commander' in his head. That voice dictates his every move in battle. To him, the orders are real."
Kaito watched as Marven marched three steps, halted, bowed his head, and saluted again. His lips moved in a whisper.
"Yes, Commander… understood… advancing on the left flank…"
Kaito's chest tightened. His eyes hardened involuntarily.
And then—faint echoes surged through his memory.
"Commander! The troops await your orders!"
"One word from you, and we'll strike the target!"
"Don't falter, Young Commander. Our lives hinge on your decision!"
The flashback lasted mere seconds, but his pulse quickened. He swallowed, tearing his gaze away from Marven.
❝That voice…❞ His thoughts darkened. ❝The title I buried. The youngest commander… a name I hated, yet secretly missed.❞
Max noticed the shift in his face.
"You look different."
Kaito quickly straightened, sliding his hands into his coat pockets. "It's nothing. Just… déjà vu watching that boy."
Max studied him a moment before facing forward again.
"Then consider this your first lesson. This isn't a normal school, teacher. Every student here isn't just learning—they're weapons, waiting either to be aimed… or to explode."
Kaito exhaled sharply, his gaze flicking between Erick, frozen in silence, and Marven, still obeying his phantom commander.
"…This school," Kaito muttered, "is more like a minefield than a classroom."
Kaito walked slowly beside Max, his eyes fixed on the two students Max had pointed out—Erick, still perched on the tire, and Marven, muttering orders to thin air.
He decided to approach Erick first.
"Erick, right?" Kaito's voice was calm, almost casual.
The boy gave no response. His gaze remained straight ahead, vacant, but the steady tapping of his fingers against his knee abruptly stopped. A silence hung in the air. Then, with almost mechanical slowness, Erick turned his head. His cold, unblinking eyes locked onto Kaito.
"…You don't look like him."
His voice was flat, stripped of emotion.
Kaito frowned. "Him? Who?"
Erick turned back without another word. His fingers resumed tapping—faster this time. Tap… tap… tap-tap-tap.The rhythm was sharp, like coded signals.
❝He talks like… fragments of a puzzle,❞ Kaito thought grimly.
Max gave Kaito's shoulder a light pat.
"Don't push. Erick only talks to Lysander. Everyone else… this is the best you'll get."
Kaito sighed, then shifted his attention to Marven. The boy was pacing with rigid precision, as though reenacting a battlefield drill. His head tilted suddenly, as if listening to an invisible voice. His lips moved again.
"Understood, Commander. I'll secure the right sector… no one breaches the perimeter."
Kaito stepped closer, raising his voice.
"Marven! What exactly are you training for?"
Marven's eyes snapped up, wide and unnervingly bright, as if he'd only just noticed Kaito's presence. A wide smile spread across his face, but it was hollow, unnaturally stretched.
"Teacher! You hear it too, don't you? The Commander's voice! He just said… 'hold the right flank!'"
Kaito instinctively fought the urge to recoil. That smile wasn't the joy of greeting someone—it was the unwavering conviction of someone who believed in something no one else could see.
Suddenly—
DING!
The camp's alarm bell rang out.
An instructor's voice thundered across the grounds:
"Scenario drill: the base is under enemy assault! Unknown hostiles! All units, assume defensive positions!"
Chaos erupted instantly. Students scrambled—some dove behind cover, others hefted makeshift weapons, while shouts and orders flew back and forth.
Marven sprang into action without hesitation. Dropping to a crouch, he pressed his ear against the ground, listening.
"Three sets of footsteps… fifty meters out… approaching from the west!" he called out, pointing sharply.
Just seconds later, the instructor's voice confirmed:
"Enemy unit breaching from the west sector!"
Kaito's eyes widened. "He… was right?"
Meanwhile, Erick rose silently from his perch. His posture was straight, composed, like a soldier on standby. He walked toward a group of panicking students, his movements efficient, unhurried. Without a word, he shoved one student to the side, then kicked a wooden barrel forward, positioning it as cover. His eyes fixed sharply on the entry path.
The displaced student looked at him in shock.
"Why shove me—?"
BLAM!
A training mine went off exactly where the student had been standing.
Everyone froze. Erick's expression never changed. His gaze remained cold as he muttered,
"…Don't faint."
Then he turned back toward the incoming threat.
Kaito stood rooted, stunned. Erick and Marven—two boys locked in worlds of their own—had, in an instant, transformed into something else. Instinct sharpened into precision. Broken minds becoming living radars and guardians.
And then—
A flash tore through Kaito's memory.
"Commander! Orders, quickly! The squad is trapped!"
"Kaito—give the signal, or we'll all fall here!"
"You're young, but you're our commander. Decide, and we'll follow you!"
The battlefield of his past rose before him, thick with smoke and fire. He saw his younger self—barely in his teens—standing amidst chaos, trembling, yet with dozens of eyes fixed upon him, awaiting his command.
"Unit Alpha—hold the west! Unit Beta—shield your comrades, even if it costs you your lives! No one falls here today!"
The chorus of voices echoed back in memory:
"Yes, Commander!"
Kaito remembered how icy his hands had been… and yet how unwavering their trust in him was.
He shut his eyes, holding his breath. ❝Why does it feel like I've stepped back into that very moment? Standing in the center, surrounded by children who fight like soldiers…❞
Max's voice cut sharply through his haze.
"Now you see it, don't you? They're ill… but dangerous. Erick protects without reason. Marven fights under orders no one else hears. And yet… both are effective."
Kaito opened his mouth to respond, but—
BZZT!
The vibration of his phone snapped him back. He pulled it from his coat pocket, and the screen lit up with a message.
[Mila]: How is Miraka? Did she survive?
Kaito froze. His heartbeat spiked.
"Mila…? Miraka…?" he whispered, voice tight. His eyes narrowed at the glowing screen.
Max glanced at the phone briefly, then turned his gaze back toward Erick, saying nothing.
Kaito's grip tightened around the device. The words burned on the display:
[Mila]: How is Miraka? Did she survive?
A chill ran through him. His blood felt ice-cold.
❝Miraka…? Survive what? What connection…?❞
Before he could type a reply—
DING! DING! DING!
A deafening alarm blared across the entire camp. Sirens spun, casting crimson light against the sky. The instructor's voice roared over the loudspeakers:
"WARNING! Level-three simulation activated! Enemy units: autonomous combat robots! All students—full alert!"
The ground trembled. From beyond the gates, hulking machines emerged—towering two meters tall, forged of black steel. Their crimson eyes flared, weapons spinning to life with a deadly whirr.
The Battle Begins
Students scattered in panic, scrambling for cover. Kaito instinctively stepped back, old military reflexes flaring awake.
❝A simulation… but it feels far too real…❞
Marven pressed his ear firmly to the ground.
"Six… no, seven units incoming. Commander says—ambush the left sector! Move!"
He sprinted toward the wooden barricades, crouched low, his movements sharp and precise as if following invisible orders. With practiced efficiency, he fired a wooden rifle loaded with paint rounds. The shot struck a robot's sensor dead-on, sending the machine staggering as its systems flickered.
Kaito stared, astonished.
"He's… actually reading enemy movement through ground vibrations?"
Erick stood motionless in the midst of the chaos. When one robot opened fire with rubber bullets at a nearby student, Erick moved in a flash. He yanked the student back, then shoved a steel drum forward as a shield. The impact rattled off the makeshift cover, but Erick advanced regardless, his expression unchanging.
"Don't faint," he muttered coldly, before driving his boot into the robot's leg joint, forcing it off balance.
Then, with a shrill laugh, Ivara burst into view. She vaulted forward, twin pistols spinning in her hands. Instead of straightforward fire, her rounds erupted into bursts of color, miniature fireworks lighting the air.
"Hahaha! Welcome to my stage, you rusted tin cans!"
She spun like a ballerina beneath the spotlight, firing at robot sensors with theatrical acrobatics. Each hit sent her targets glitching, convulsing as their coordination broke down.
Kaito closed his eyes briefly.
❝She fights… like a dancer on the battlefield. Insane—but effective.❞
Then—THOOM!
The ground shook as a heavy boom echoed across the camp.
Ren emerged, dragging behind him a portable artillery piece from who-knows-where. His face was relaxed, lips humming a cheerful tune.
"Yo, let's put on a fireworks show!" he declared gleefully.
With alarming speed, he assembled an improvised grenade launcher from metal pipes, paint cans, and gunpowder. His hands moved deftly, as if piecing together a toy.
Beside Kaito, Max muttered under his breath.
"And that… is Ren. Don't bother asking where he gets his supplies."
Ren cocked the launcher, shouldered it, and fired a massive canister straight at the lead robot.
BOOOOOOM!
The explosion roared, flames surging skyward as shards of metal rained down. Some students cheered wildly; others screamed in terror.
Ren's laughter rang out, eyes blazing with manic delight.
"Beautiful, isn't it!? Nothing matches the symphony of explosions!"
Kaito stood frozen, watching it unfold—Erick shielding others without hesitation, Marven commanding phantom troops with uncanny accuracy, Ivara turning war into theater, and Ren reducing machines to fire and rubble.
And in his mind, shadows of the past surged forward once more.
"Commander Kaito! Enemy units are breaching the perimeter!"
His younger self raised a hand high.
"Left flank, hold your ground! Right flank, don't let them breach the barricades! Focus—all eyes on me!"
The thunder of artillery, the screams, the stench of gunpowder—it all returned, vivid and suffocating.
Kaito's eyes opened again, his breath heavy.
❝Is this… coincidence? Or fate mocking me? Why do they remind me so much… of my old unit?❞
Amid the chaos, Kaito felt the vibration in his pocket once more. He glanced down at his phone.
[Mila]: Answer me, teacher. Miraka… she's safe, isn't she?
Kaito clenched his fist, the roar of explosions around him melding with the pounding of his own heart.
❝Mila… what is your connection to her?❞