Leaves rustled beneath the warmth of the afternoon sun. A woman dressed in a black robe with white sleeves knelt before several makeshift graves.
She knelt not in prayer, but as a final show of respect to the fallen, as was the custom she had been raised with.
Her long black hair fluttered in the wind, her emerald eyes glimmering in the sunlight. From behind her, she heard a bush rustle, and from it emerged a young man.
He wore the same robes, a sword hanging at his waist just like hers. His features were unremarkable—plain, almost forgettable.
The only thing that stood out was the slight trace of facial hair. Aside from that, he was entirely ordinary.
"You're the new recruit," he said, his voice low. "Sato, if I'm not mistaken."
She rose to her feet and turned, bowing respectfully before replying, "You're correct. My name is Nanae Sato. How may I be of assistance, Officer Hibiki?"
"It's nothing. I just came to tell you that the detachment is almost ready to head back, so you should hurry before you get left behind," he said, gesturing for her to raise her head.
"Of course, sir," she replied as she straightened. "I'm almost finished."
"Forgive me for asking, but who exactly did you bury here?" he asked. "All the civilian casualties were buried elsewhere… or did you find more bodies?"
"These aren't the bodies of civilians," she said with slight hesitation. "They are the bodies of the enemy."
"Why go through all the trouble of burying them separately?" he asked, puzzled. "You could have used a single mass grave like we do on other missions. What benefit is there in giving them proper burials like our fallen comrades?"
"Forgive me for speaking out of turn, sir," she said, meeting his gaze, that glimmer in her eyes unwavering, "but I believe compassion is a core ideal for a warrior."
"Where does that belief come from?" he asked, staring back into that vexing light.
"Warriors who lack compassion often lose themselves in their pursuit," she said, her gaze steady. "It leads to violence without cause—and to hollow hearts. If a person wants to remain true to their beliefs, they can't let compassion wither in the heat of battle."
"But as warriors, we were taught to cast away any emotion that breeds weakness," he replied. "Because it will strike back at you as fiercely as your desire to keep it. So why cling to it?"
"Even if compassion can be dangerous when given to the wrong person, that doesn't mean we should abandon it entirely," she said.
"Whether it is a child, a farmer, or a fighter… whether enemy or ally—compassion is something to be given to all. Only then can our ideals grow beyond blind pursuit into something truly transformative."
"So what ideal is it that you seek?" he asked.
"Though it may sound foolish… I want to bring change to this world," she said, her gaze faltering slightly. "Not because of personal reasons or inherited beliefs—but because it's a promise I've made to myself."
"And I'll stand by it, no matter the cost."
He looked over the graves—hastily made, imperfect, yet touched with care.
"It's easy to say that now," he said, turning back to her. "But you're not the only one. Many have joined with the same goal… only to die young or live long enough to abandon it."
"We don't give up compassion because we want to," he continued. "We do it because it makes the road easier. If you know what's good for you, you'll abandon that promise before it breaks you."
He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Give it a few years… and you'll be just like the rest of us."
A small smile formed on her lips.
"Then why don't we put that to the test?"
His brow furrowed, but he said nothing.
"If we ever return here in a few years, and I've abandoned my dream like you say I will—then you win," she said. "But if I haven't, then I win."
"Until then… let's stick to that."
"That's an odd request for your superior, don't you think?" he asked, slightly flustered, his gaze shifting away.
"It might seem like it," she replied, "but I like testing my beliefs against others. It's what gives them substance."
She paused, her expression softening slightly.
"And what I hope… is that when we meet here again, I'll have changed your mind."
"So that maybe… we can look ahead together."
It's an understatement to say that she swept him away—and her promise stood. All the young Ichiro could do was accept his defeat.
From that day onward, a new hope grew within his battered heart. Whenever he looked at her, he saw nothing but a future too vast to put into words.
He wanted to follow her, to guide her, to surpass her—but she had already won him over in every sense of the word. And on the day that was promised, he gave his heart to her in defeat.
What are dreams in the face of a soul-crushing reality? Nothing but a hindrance—that was his belief.
Yet from then on, uncertainty no longer felt insurmountable.
It became nothing more than a hurdle to overcome when faced with the compassion of a dreamer.
"Why am I remembering that at a time like this?" he thought as he shot through the forest canopy, weaving past branches.
Looking over his shoulder, he saw Ryuji in pursuit. Then, ahead—beyond the trees—a cliff face came into view, and something in him snapped into place.
In an instant, he turned and charged. The shift was so abrupt Ryuji barely had time to react.
A slash across his cheek was all he managed to avoid before both of them landed on the grass below.
"Well, this is a surprise," Ryuji said. "It was clear you were luring me toward a more optimal battlefield—but now you've suddenly stopped."
"Who's to say this isn't the field I intended?" he replied, his expression firm, but carrying a faint uncertainty.
For a moment, he glanced over his shoulder and thought, This isn't good. I can't let him figure it out—or he'll exploit it completely.
He was right to be cautious. Just beyond the canopy, in a cave near the cliff, he could sense the faint presence of a child.
Questions flooded his mind. How did he get there? Is he another one of them?
The uncertainty disrupted his focus, and Ryuji immediately picked up on it.
"What's got you so worried?" Ryuji asked, noticing the bead of sweat trailing down his cheek. "Or am I finally pushing you past your limit, you senile fossil?"
A slight grin formed on his face. "Or is it something else entirely… like the child hiding in that cave?"
He gritted his teeth, saying nothing.
"I'm right, aren't I?!" Ryuji shouted.
A low, derisive laugh followed.
"This is getting interesting," he said, his grin widening. "So what happens next… and how does this change the outcome?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"I'm dying to find out."