I met Axel Almer on my first day at the officer academy. The reason? Simple—our seats were close. That's it. But now, I'm genuinely grateful for that chance encounter with the guy I'd call my best friend.
Post-Inspector War reconstruction prioritized cities, leaving rural areas like my hometown in the dust. I don't resent it—delayed urban recovery would've stalled government functions, food, and supplies. Still, even in this "stable" era, reconstruction's incomplete. With no jobs and hunger looming, I enrolled in the officer academy. My grades weren't enough for elite courses like strategist or four-star, so I picked from rear support, maintenance, communications, or pilot. Being only good at physical work, I chose pilot without hesitation.
The pilot course splits evenly: twenty-five general entrants like me, twenty-five juvenile academy grads. The grads teach; we learn. Axel became my teacher.
Watching Axel in class shocked me. Juvenile academy grads are elite, but him? He aces lectures, outshoots the instructor on his first try, and dominates Inspector drones in simulators while others struggle to walk. During our first real-machine drill, someone's mistake cost us 500 push-ups. While classmates—guys and girls—whined or cried, Axel gritted his teeth and powered through without a complaint. His skill felt unreal, like a veteran soldier posing as a student.
That said, Axel's not perfect at everything. Melee training? He's not the best. In his first spar with the instructor, he got knocked out. …Though, expecting a student to beat an instructor is already absurd. Axel took the loss hard, diving into melee with more focus than other subjects, but his win rate's still around 30%. Rumor has it our instructor's a former martial arts champion, so Axel's still a freak in his own way.
He's not flawless. Axel's obsessed with self-improvement but half-hearted about helping classmates. If it's between boosting his skills or looking after us, he picks himself every time. I don't know why he's so driven, but sometimes, during training, he has this look—like a cornered beast. Something's up, but prying's not my style. I'll wait for him to open up.
Nearly a year into the academy, just before advancing to second year, the accident happened. A shuttle carrying third-years crashed, cause unknown. Only survivor: third-year valedictorian Kyousuke Nanbu. A talkative juvenile grad broke the news. I'll never forget Axel's face—grief, frustration, anger, acceptance, and… hope, all tangled together. Then it hardened into resolve. He probably didn't realize it, but he and Kyousuke, both stoic self-improvers, clicked. The second-year valedictorian's a clown, so Axel and Kyousuke's serious vibes meshed well. Losing nearly all his seniors hit Axel hard, despite his usual aloofness.
For a month, he wasn't himself. But he bounced back—then trained even harder, like something was chasing him. His already insane skills got sharper.
Axel doesn't seem to have many outside connections. Even I, no social butterfly, have family and friends back home. Axel? Never mentions any. Well, except for that time machine researcher he exchanges letters with.
All said, Axel's my best friend, no doubt about it.