What did he do.

I could hardly picture Yehyeon so enraged that the words would leap out of his mouth like that. In private he was gentle; in office, he was soft-spoken.

Is he actually angry?

I shoved the scraps of produce on the cutting board into a corner and met Ami’s eyes.

“What did he do to rile the Commander up like that?”

“The trigger was a two-week vacation.”

Ami hooked an elbow on the counter and explained in a bright, ringing voice.

“He normally comes in at ten and leaves at four.”

“Excuse me?”

“But he took two weeks off during a busy season.”

...So he does work, right?

I gaped at the unimaginable shift-work hours. Coming in at ten and leaving at four left almost no time to work. He could not possibly skip lunch, and as far as I knew, his job was desk work—not fieldwork.

Walker and Aki, however, were not surprised. They seemed to take it in stride. Ami kept explaining while I fluttered in disbelief.

“He’d had a lot piled up already.”

“...That makes sense.”

“We didn’t touch his scandals because they were private, but the Personnel Director’s flashy scandals didn’t start overnight. Even so, he’s supposed to meet people as part of his job, but he was never around. Yehyeon kept grumbling about it.”

“So he took two weeks off at a bad time.”

“Right. He’d managed to skate by with some hellish talent for surviving scandal, but he touched Yehyeon’s bad mood at the wrong time.”

I could understand why Yehyeon would be furious. I wondered how he had kept his temper for so long. The memory of the first day came back: everyone panicking when Director Ju left work and then came back. Even Ska had been startled by the Personnel Director. It had been an event worth being shocked over.

Aki, who had been listening quietly, slowly shook her head.

“When the Commander gets angry, he’s terrifying.”

“Ska told me the gist.”

Ami’s eyes lit with glee.

“After a business trip, he came back to the office and Yehyeon stared at the monitor without expression for a long time. Then, in a flat voice, he said, ‘What is this?’”

“He’d seen the vacation request from Director Ju.”

“Yeah. Yehyeon watched that screen for a long time, then quietly went down to HR. The Personnel Director’s secretaries say they want to erase what happened next from their memories.”

“How are you still employed?”

“Ju is a genius at reading and handling people.”

The wide-eyed senior summed it up simply.

“At the time, Director Ju managed to pull off recruiting Will, and that barely bought him Yehyeon’s forgiveness.”

William Walker threw another rag across the kitchen.

The kitchen was mostly cleaned. The curry was done. Walker hoisted the huge pot—he refused my offer to help.

Rather than pry further, I busied myself with the dishes. The two seniors helped clumsily. We carried dinner down the cool corridor—a scene that made the ruined world feel like it belonged to us alone.

We ate in what had once been the Gothic art exhibition hall. We used things that previously would have been marked “Do not touch.” We dragged an old exhibit desk and chairs out to sit at, and I set the curry on a walnut desk, letting drops fall like sacrilege.

Still—how did they manage to bring Walker in?

And what kind of scandals would make Yehyeon spit that line?

When I asked casually while plating curry, Ami laughed.

“Director Ju is the greatest homme fatale I know.”

“Huh?”

“Watch yourself, rookie.”

Aki tossed the warning at me flatly, staring at my round eyes.

“You’re kind of androgynous. You never know when the Director might reach out with his charms.”

“For me?”

“Some Badgers got tangled up and had a hell of a time because of him.”

“But for me?”

“Heh. Somehow I don’t think you fit his taste.”

Ami muttered to herself as she dragged over a chair for the others coming to the exhibition hall.

“If it was his type, he’d have made a move ages ago... And Yehyeon didn’t warn Hilde separately, either.”

Why would that matter?

“Think it’ll taste good?”

Trevain thumped my back before I could ask another question. I blurted something odd, then straightened, seeing the seniors gathered in the hall. They’d spent some time cleaning up and personal maintenance before coming here. Comfortable in civilian clothes but weapon-ready, they filed into the old exhibit furniture and sat.

Only the senior called Bobby was absent; she was on watch in the situation room. At safe points, people take turns manning the situation room. There was too much new information to absorb.

We ate. I shoved aside the memory of the two-tone-haired researcher, details about Ju, and the info on safe points and D Zone into a corner of my mind. Under Richard Green’s scolding barrage, I silently shoveled warm curry down my throat.

***

The worst part was dealing with scraps.

Ami had said that—handling garbage and leftovers, everything done by our hands. People hated it, and it was inevitable. I could deal with the unhygienic work: finish fast and wash up.

The most terrifying thing, though, was Richard Green’s shooting lesson.

On our first evening in D Zone, he pulled me outside after cleanup, shoved his gun into my hands, and started an intensive shooting lesson. Ami argued that we had been tense more than ten hours and I should be left alone to rest; Leeho argued that a bit of rest would improve concentration. # Nоvеlight # It was all in vain.

And I had no talent for shooting.

Months without practice made everything feel foreign. There were no shortcuts like the driving and swordplay instincts that had surfaced before.

“Your mentor never even taught you the basics of shooting, did he?”

I thought I had done reasonably well considering how long it had been, but at the end of the crash lesson Richard Green’s voice was flat with disappointment.

“You lack the basics of a recruit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Your shooting is average.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try harder.”

“I haven’t seen your swordsmanship, but given your shooting, I’d expect your sword skills to be similarly average. You don’t look as talented as the other rookies who came with you.”

“...I’m sorry.”

Still, shooting was at least something I could improve.

“There’s no point in dragging this out. It’s late.”

“I’ll work harder.”

“Work a lot.”

“Say one more word, Richard, and the halfwit will start crying.”

Trevain snickered. Green issued a curt command, not caring for Trevain’s jeer.

“You aren’t fit for long-range support. For now, you’ll be the driver.”

Broken and bruised, I obeyed. I walked back into the building like a condemned man. Darkness was settling; a cold wind brushed the corridor. My legs felt leaden as I crawled toward the makeshift cot.

After a quick wash, I barely moved from that cot for a long time. A crushing wave of self-loathing came over me. I had never felt this dejected in front of Yun—Yun simply didn’t expect anything from me, so there was no such disappointment.

Ami and Leeho did their best to console me. Before Leeho went to swap watches with Bobby, he said, chewing an energy bar, “No one meets that man’s standards.”

“Even geniuses like Aki and William get nagged by Richard. Don’t worry about it, recruit.”

“You’re doing fine, Hilde!”

Ami dragged her cot next to mine and peered down at my gloomy face.

“Most rookies wouldn’t even make it this far. You’re exceptional for that. You’re doing really well considering the circumstances.”

“Thanks. But it’s true I’m no help as long-range support.”

“Did you spend the time others were learning to shoot playing around? No.”

Ami was blunt.

“The order was just switched. That’s our brother’s doing. Don’t beat yourself up, Hilde.”

If not for Ami, I likely would have suffocated. William Walker and Aki weren’t people who consoled well; Leeho and Ami looked after me, their kindness a salvation. I pulled myself together.

Ami even gave me an impromptu lecture.

“Clips are as important as the gun. If the magazine doesn’t feed properly, the gun won’t fire. Keep checking magazines.”

“I’ll remember.”

“Did your mentor teach you weapon maintenance?”

“No. He checked my gun for me but told me not to draw it because I might hit friendlies with my shooting. That was it.”

“I see. Zeroing is the start. Don’t hold it too tight. From a prone fired position, shoot five rounds at a target ninety meters away. Look at the shot group, then adjust the sight so you hit the spot you want next time.”

I understood. Whether my problem was zeroing or simply lack of skill, I couldn’t tell. But Ami didn’t scold my poor shooting.

“Maybe your zero was set by your mentor and doesn’t suit you. The distance between your eye and the sight matters. It’s better if you zero it yourself later.”

After the useful lecture, I reviewed the steps and prepared. I decided to get up at five a.m. and went to sleep, relieved that as the youngest I’d been spared the final watch. I resolved to avoid causing trouble tomorrow.

Would I be driving that wreck of a military vehicle again? Probably not—hopefully there’s another vehicle somewhere in the building. With that thought, I drifted off.

***

I woke at three a.m.

Aki shook me awake.

“Get up. Now.”

“The building is completely surrounded.”

The senior’s gruff voice slapped my ears.