Ch 48: Gunshots and haircuts and chance encounters, sometimes resignation.

From Snow White, a single bullet was passed down.

Even though it was the beginning of a rare vacation, Anis and Neon, who wanted to have breakfast together, rushed to the commander's office, and Moore talked about what happened after they left the room last night.

"...Hmm... No matter how you look at it... it's a typical .45 ACP bullet. The year of manufacture and the factory..."

"Eh? You can tell?"

"I can tell that much. Anis, don't you know? Look, there are letters and numbers engraved on the bottom of the cartridge case. This tells you the year of manufacture and the factory."

"Oh, I see."

Anis, who had plated the menu of combat rations onto a disposable tray and was eating chili con carne with a synthetic resin spoon, responded with a vacant expression.

Occasionally, she glanced at Moore. She remembered her disgrace from last night very clearly. She watched him closely, but he didn't tease her or show any sign of it. She ate her breakfast with a mixture of relief and frustration.

On the other hand, Neon carefully examined the base of the bullet casing she had picked up through the lens of her glasses, comparing it with her knowledge to identify the year of manufacture and the factory. Eventually, she widened her eyes in surprise.

"...This bullet was manufactured around the time of the First Invasion. It's valuable."

"...Is that so? I hadn't checked, so I didn't know... Oh, yeah, you're right... it's kind of scary to think it might not fire. If the explosives have absorbed moisture or degraded, it could be dangerous."

Neon leaned forward and showed the bullet she had picked up to Moore, who was skillfully continuing his meal with only his right hand, and a furrow appeared on his forehead.

She wished they wouldn't have conversations that only they, master and disciple, could understand from morning onwards. With that thought in mind, Anis chewed her perfect breakfast somewhat grumpily.

...She was still feeling  uneasy.

The emotions she had felt during the recent mission welled up within her. She was aware of it. He was generally unsociable—or rather, his emotions rarely showed on his face. Anis had recently learned to gauge his mood based on the number of wrinkles on his forehead.

His facial features were rugged, but she thought it was a shame. He was tall, too. If he showed a little more expression, he would probably be even more popular. Well, being too popular would be troublesome, though.

(Tl Notes: Ohhh~~~ for WHO though?)

"...Sigh..."

"What's wrong?"

"No... it's nothing. Oh, by the way, Commander, can I ask you something?"

After letting out a deep sigh, Anis immediately turned her head left and right, shaking it loosely. Then, she suddenly looked at Moore's head and came up with an idea.

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"Feels like I'm mowing the lawn."

"Have you ever mowed a lawn before?"

"Nope, never."

Seating him on a chair placed in the parking lot in front of the base headquarters, Anis draped a cape around him. She then started up the borrowed hair clipper, a rare possession among her few personal items, and began to buzz Moore's black hair.

The raspy sound of the clippers shearing the slightly grown, stiff black hair filled the air, while Anis hummed a tune, seeming to be in high spirits.

"... Having fun?"

"Yeah, it's enjoyable. I rarely get the chance to cut human hair, you know."

"I see..."

She knew his hairstyle well. It was a short soft mohawk, fitting for a young military man. Both sides of the head were shaved short, leaving only a slightly longer strip of hair along the central ridge. It was a clean, practical style, easy to maintain and wash.

Moreover, it was easy to cut. Shave the sides, trim the top with a synthetic resin comb and clippers, and it was done. Given some effort, it could be finished in about ten minutes.

―I can't do much more than this.

She couldn't support Moore like Rapi, with her exceptional skills and combat abilities. She couldn't engage him in lively discussions about firearms and ammunition, like Neon.

She probably wasn't very helpful to him, but at least... Anis thought, as she continued trimming his black hair.

Once she neatly trimmed the central ridge, the haircut was complete. She felt a little reluctant, but she would suggest it again when his hair grew out.

"I'm done, Commander."

Holding a hand mirror in front of him to inspect the finished part, she asked for his approval. Moore nodded after tilting his head from side to side, indicating that it was fine.

"Thank you. It goes without saying, but it looks much neater than when I do it myself."

"...Huh? You mean you've been doing it yourself until now?"

Surprised, Anis inquired, and he nodded in confirmation.

"I couldn't ask someone else to do this kind of thing."

"I see. Then, can I do it for you from now on? I'll do it for the price of one bottle of carbonated water."

"...How about two bottles? If you're doing it, I'm more than willing."

"Sure thing. It's a deal. I'll take care of the cleanup, so go take a shower early."

After removing the cape, Anis sent Moore off, feeling quite refreshed. She seemed to be in a better mood, humming to herself as she finished cleaning up.

She took the hair-covered cape back to her quarters and tossed it into the washing machine in the laundry room. Some time passed, and then...

"Oh, I forgot. I need to return this."

...Anis realized that she had forgotten to return Moore's personal possession—the hair clipper. She grabbed it and made her way to the adjacent base headquarters building, aiming for the commander's office on the second floor.

Since they had made an agreement that she would continue to cut his hair in the future, Moore probably wouldn't mind her holding onto it. But personal belongings were personal belongings.

When she reached the front of the commander's office, the door opened automatically. Anis, still in good spirits due to their agreement, entered with a smile on her face...

"Commander, I came to return this—"

"Oh, Anis. I apologize for the trouble."

...and was left utterly speechless upon encountering Moore, who had just come out of the shower.

He was completely naked.

He was so unabashed that Anise's recognition was delayed. He had a face towel draped around his neck and, incidentally, a dog tag hanging down, but other than that, he wore nothing.

He proudly displayed his muscular physique without reservation—his eight-pack abs, oblique muscles, and thick chest, all under the glaring sunlight.

(Tl Notes: Dayumm~~~ you can grate cheese with that.)

His left arm was missing, but his thick right arm, tensed with those muscles that matched its counterpart, could crush any woman's resistance and leave her helpless if he ever embraced her.

Unintentionally, Anis's cheeks flushed, and her gaze moved downward involuntarily.

The muscles resembling ancient greek sculptures emerged on his lower abdomen—just below that, in the pelvisregion, a profoundly imposing and manly presence emanated. As her eyes fell on the long, thick barrel of his anti ship rifle, Anise let out a voiceless scream, her eyes rolling back in her head.

(Tl Notes: ...The author knows how to make us jealous and self concious.)

"─ I don't really mind being seen, you know."

"─ I MIND!!"

Despite Anis's protest against Moore, who covered his wild and rugged physique with his clothes, he seemed perplexed, not understanding why she was so upset.

This was their second unwanted encounter. Perhaps due to the impact of seeing him more clearly than before, Moore's full body image had been deeply engraved in Anis's memory circuits, leading to many nights where he appeared in her dreams. In these dreams, he would embrace her, his low and sweet voice gently whispering in her ear—

A secret she would never share.

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Several days later, Moore found himself aboard the Ark Express train running through Ark. Despite being on vacation, he was dressed in his military uniform—there was no better way to prove his identity. However, he wore it because he didn't own any proper civilian clothes, leaving those who knew his circumstances utterly speechless.

The newly polished captain's insignia, two silver vertical rectangles arranged side by side, shone on the collar of the young soldier's uniform, making him unavoidably conspicuous. Moreover, the absence of his left sleeve made it apparent that something was missing.

People around him couldn't help but cast sympathetic glances at him, thinking he was a wounded veteran. This made Moore feel somewhat uneasy.

"─ Mister, did you get hurt?"

"─ Huh? Ah, yeah, a little. I accidentally fell."

A young boy, accompanied by what seemed to be his mother, asked Moore, who was seated to his right. It was a question that an adult should have refrained from asking, but children had the privilege of being unreserved. Moore, not bothered by it, responded nonchalantly and tactfully.

"Hmm. Why don't you ask a policeman for help? He might stick it back for you, you know?"

"Haha. I doubt even a policeman could find it."

"I-I'm sorry. My child here..."

"Oh, no, please don't worry about it."

While the mother apologized, Moore waved his right hand, indicating that he wasn't bothered. Eventually, the train began to slow down and smoothly slid into the station platform.

It seemed to be their destination. The mother and child got up to leave.

The boy, led by his mother, offered a hesitant salute with his left hand as he exited the train. Moore gave a wry smile and demonstrated a precise and proper salute in response.

Shortly after the mother and child disembarked, the train doors closed, and the scenery outside the window started to move again. Moore let out a sigh.

"...I hope they don't aspire to wear these kinds of clothes..."

The military uniforms, functional but crude and unrefined, were apparently admired by the young boys.

Leaning back against the seat, Moore allowed himself to be swayed by the train's movements, muttering words that came to his mind without much significance.

"─ Standing armies must be abolished over time..."

These were words from the first article of the third section of "Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Sketch," written by the philosopher Immanuel Kant in the 18th century.

"...A distant ideal and a pipe dream."

His murmured words carried a hint of resignation.

When he sensed the train gradually slowing down, Moore realized from the announcement that they were approaching his destinated station. 

He immediately raised from his seat.

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Author Nikke: In the next story, finally, other members of the unit, like Nikke, will be involved...