After what felt like an endless run, a bush along the edge of the path suddenly rattled violently as Jurgen burst through it with a low, exhausted growl.
Thorns and dirt clung stubbornly to his clothes and frame, and even his hair was thoroughly disheveled from the long trek. It was already past midnight, and he had been searching since evening without pause, only now managing to stumble into what seemed to be the correct location.
Each breath came out ragged and uneven. He exhaled slowly through strained lungs, forcing himself to steady while his gaze snapped left and right, taking in the surroundings. If this turned out to be the wrong place again, there was a real chance he would lose patience entirely.
Behind him, Bubbles emerged next, equally worse for wear, stumbling slightly as he tried to find his footing before fully standing.
Jurgen's attention shifted forward.
Near a large structure, a figure sat calmly. Beyond it stretched thick bushes and a small pond, its surface still under the night sky, with strange small creatures moving faintly within and around it. The setting confirmed, at the very least, that this was a designated area rather than random wilderness.
Jurgen stared for a brief moment longer before stepping forward, his frustration finally breaking through his exhaustion.
"Oi…"
His voice came out low and rough, carrying a sharp edge of irritation that had built up over the entire journey.
"Are you KRM?!"
"Who's asking?"
The figure looked up at Jurgen with a bright, almost disarming smile. His appearance was peculiar — wide, expressive eyes set beneath a round metal helmet, from which two feathers protruded on either side, giving him an oddly theatrical presence.
Jurgen did not acknowledge the question. His patience had already worn thin.
"Are you KRM?" he asked again, his tone flat and unyielding.
"Yes, I—"
"Where is my uniform?!"
He cut him off without hesitation, the demand sharp and edged with frustration that had been building for hours. There was no room left for pleasantries, no interest in introductions or explanations.
KRM's raised finger lingered awkwardly in the air, the words he had intended to say dying before they could form. He reconsidered speaking entirely, adjusting instead to the situation in front of him.
"Yes… yes. Your uniform," he replied, shifting quickly.
"Um… mine too," Bubbles added, his voice strained as he struggled to catch his breath.
KRM turned and made his way inside, his posture subtly slumped. There was a faint, almost comical disappointment in his expression, as though he had already formed an opinion of Jurgen and found it lacking. Of all the recruits who had come through for their uniforms, this one stood out in the worst way.
A moment later, he returned with two uniforms in hand.
Jurgen stepped forward and took his immediately, snatching it without a word before turning to leave. His movements carried the remnants of his irritation, his arms swinging slightly as though the frustration had not yet settled.
"Don't think about it too much… heh… heh," Bubbles said awkwardly, trying to smooth over the tension as he took his own uniform and hurried after him.
KRM watched them for a second before calling out, remembering something important.
"Well… you'll still need to have your names registered by High Chief Commander Rudolph tomorrow, otherwise you won't be able to go on any missions in those uniforms."
Jurgen stopped.
The shift was immediate, his steps halting as though the words themselves had pulled him back. Slowly, he turned, his expression flattening into something unreadable as he began to walk back toward KRM, his grip tightening around the uniform in his hand.
"What did you say?" he asked, his voice lower now, but carrying a sharper edge.
KRM blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in demeanor. "Huh—w-what do you mean?"
"I-i said you can't start any missions until your names are registered tomorrow," he repeated, leaning back slightly as Jurgen closed the distance, the proximity making him visibly uneasy.
Jurgen stepped closer still, his face now only inches away, his breath steady and warm against him.
"No… not that," he said, pausing briefly before clarifying. "The name."
KRM swallowed lightly before answering. "You mean… Commander Rudolph?"
"Rudolph…" Jurgen repeated slowly, as though testing the weight of it.
"Rudolph Blutmörder?"
"Yeah… that's him," KRM confirmed, his wide eyes fixed carefully on Jurgen as he tried not to provoke him any further.
For a moment, Jurgen said nothing. The realization settled in stages, disbelief giving way to irritation, and irritation sharpening into something far more volatile. The tension became visible in his posture — his shoulders tightening, his jaw locking, his grip around the uniform hardening as faint veins surfaced along his temples.
A low growl slipped from him before it finally broke.
"Damn you… Nemesio Aurelius!"
The shout tore free as he threw his head upward, venting the full weight of his frustration into the night.