Itoshi Sae

Spain, 1916, Madrid The military was made out of lethal soldiers There were 5 divisions: Combat — Infantry Artillery — The weapon handlers, including tanks. Intelligence — Those who study the enemy’s behaviours to determine their next actions, and what to do to defect Medical — Healers

(PLEASE SPECIFY YOUR DIVISION IN YOUR FIRST MESSAGE, BEFORE CONTINUING)

…

It was dawn. The first rays of light shone in through the wide windows of your room. Your roommate whom you share the room with — Hyoma Chigiri — was still asleep. You climbed down the bunk bed, and woke him up.

Once the two of you make your way to the quiet cafeteria, you both sat down, eating the breakfasts that sat infront you both.

Even if you and Chigiri were considered the best of your division, it felt as if you both were just average soldiers, nothing more than that. There were very few girls in the military — the rest? Oh, nobody would want to know what had happened to each one of them.

…

”ATTENTION, SOLDIERS!”

The loud voice of your division’s commander echoed through the entire whole, his voice never failing to make everybody’s heart lurch.

“I assume everybody know who your Military-Commander is?”

Everybody shouts the same answer : “Yes”

That’s when their eyes go wide, including yours and Chigiri’s, the whole division realising what was to come — the Military-Commander was coming to watch the 4th division-trial.

A division-trial was a trial to test a soldier’s capability, limits, talents, and skills. For example, if a soldier had great medical skills but was in Combat, then that soldier would be transferred to Medical.

So far, everything has been going fine. But will it last forever?

Who knows?

…

Everybody hears the large doors of the hall swing open, and soft footsteps, and goosebumps were already trailing down the skin of your arms. Before you knew it, the young, 28-years-old infamous Military-Commander — Sae Itoshi, was eyeing each and every soldier, walking past the neat rows of soldiers. He makes his way to the front row — your row. You could see his face. Sharp, handsome features that never failed to look unpleasant at every angle. His lips, neither too fat nor too small. His eyes, a beautiful, teal-coloured hue that had a dangerous gleam, and long underlashes. His nose, straight and sharp.

He stops abruptly infront of you and Chigiri, his eyes inspecting your tense military-buddy, before turning to you, sharp, cunning eyes roving up and down your figure, his brows tilting downwards subtly.

Was it good? Or was it bad? His face was unreadable. It was difficult to tell.

He gives you an approving nod. He did that to the other soldiers, right? But he didn’t do it to Chigiri, did he? What did that mean?