The air inside the tent smelled of high-end lavender perfume and expensive ink. Commander Elena sat behind her desk, her short ginger hair framing a face that was set in a menacing, predatory stare.
She was having a staring contest with Reine Vangalf.
Reine was winning. Not because he was brave, but because he wasn't actually looking at her. His eyes were locked on the crust of bread in his hand with 100% total, unwavering focus. To him, the bread was the only thing in the universe that was real. The war, the loop, and the angry woman in front of him were just background noise.
Argol Orlon started to sweat. "So, uh... Commander? W—"
"Reine Vangalf, right?" Elena interrupted, her voice like a sharpening stone. "I've spent the last ten minutes reading your file. Or should I say, your comedy script?"
Reine took a slow, methodical bite. Crunch. He didn't even blink.
"You're a Third-Class Novice," she continued, leaning forward. "You barely passed the squad entrance exams after a dozen attempts. Your combat scores? Well... they're insulting. My pet cat, Barnaby, has a more impressive mana signature than you, and Barnaby is currently a rug in the corner who can't even catch a paralyzed mouse."
She gestured to a fat, orange cat sleeping near the tent pole. Barnaby didn't even wake up; he just let out a wet, rhythmic snore.
"Barnaby has better footwork than you, Vangalf!" Elena added, her voice rising. "Barnaby has better tactical awareness! And yet, I am told that you—a boy who is currently staring at a piece of wheat like it's a long-lost lover—somehow drove off a Sovereign Knight?"
Reine swallowed a mouthful of dry crumbs. "The paperwork must be wrong, Ma'am," he said, his voice flat. He hunched his shoulders, pulling the bread closer to his chest and shielding it with his elbows.
"CADET REINE! ARE YOU IGNORING MY AUTHORITY TO FOCUS ON A CRUST OF BREAD?!" Elena roared, slamming her hands on the desk.
"NO, MA'AM," Reine replied, his eyes still glued to the bread. "I AM MERELY ENSURING THE STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY OF MY RATIONS. LOOSE CRUMBS ARE A SECURITY RISK."
"ARE YOU SAYING THE ARMY IS INCAPABLE OF BASIC MEASUREMENT?!" Elena's face turned an exaggerated shade of red. She leaned over the desk, exasperated. "And for the love of the Gods, stop clutching that thing! I am a Commander of the Western Front! I am not going to steal your bread!"
Reine didn't move. He just gripped it tighter. That's exactly what someone who wanted to steal my bread would say, he thought.
Argol Orlon, seeing the situation spiraling, leaned over the desk toward Elena's ear. He whispered loudly: "Ma'am... please... you shouldn't mess with him. He's... he's Vanguard Vortex Level 4."
"Vortex Level 4?" Elena repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. "Did you seriously expect me to believe a department with a name that stupid actually exists?! DO YOU THINK I'M AN IDIOT? "
The Commander's shout echoed through the tent. Argol's heart stopped. He turned as white as a sheet, his eyes darting to Reine. She said it. She said the forbidden words. She exposed the truth.
Argol began to tremble violently. He's going to kill me, Argol thought, his mind racing through 100 ways a Level 4 Specialist could "redact" an adjutant who failed to keep a secret. He's going to use that bread to choke me to death.
But Reine was still just staring at his bread, lost in thought, processing the fact that his secret was "out" while simultaneously wondering if the bread had a hint of honey in it.
Elena sighed, falling back into her chair, exhausted by the two idiots. "I'll deal with your nonsense later. Tonight, the camp is holding a feast to celebrate the victory. I'll be presenting you, Vangalf, and Orlon with a gift for your... 'heroism.'"
"A FEAST?!" Reine shouted, his eyes finally snapping to hers.
"A GIFT?!" Argol screamed, still half-convinced he was about to be executed.
"QUIET!" Elena bellowed. She stood up, grabbed both of them by their collars, and marched them toward the tent flap. "GET OUT!"
With two swift, well-aimed kicks, the Commander literally booted them out of her office. Reine and Argol tumbled into the mud outside, landing in a heap of tangled limbs.
Argol immediately scrambled backward on his hands and knees, looking at Reine with pure terror. "Sir! I—I didn't mean to! She just started yelling! Please don't 'redact' me! I have a family! I'll do better in the next loop—I mean, the next mission!"
Reine stood up, brushing mud off his tunic, still holding his bread. "I'll think about your punishment after the feast, Argol. For now, we prepare for the most dangerous mission of all: Unlimited Buffet."