## Story 1 ![24-1.png](/uploads/24_1_fe9a522b1f.png) There is no light in this dark, cramped discipline chamber. No sound.

Only a lone boy sitting in melancholy silence.

Time and again he has disobeyed the military's rules and substituted his own judgment for theirs.

It seems he will never change.

Just then, a cry rings out.

"Chow's here!" calls a cheerful voice.

It is his comrade from the squadron, bearing both a steaming dish of food and an innocent smile.

He is one of the only people who bothers to speak to the unapproachable boy, and he does so without
a hint of artifice or concern. The food-bearing soldier is honest, bright, and beloved by the rest of
his squadmates, which is likely why he'd been assigned to monitor the discipline chamber.

"Good to see you again!" he says.
"But golly, I sure hope this war ends soon."
"In fact, if I had one wish, it would be to bring peace to
the entire world."
The soldier's eyes glimmer as he talks.

The boy responds with an
uninterested grunt.
What a stupid thing to say, he thinks. This world will never know peace. It's a fool's thought. ## Story 2 ![24-2.png](/uploads/24_2_e86cc1155e.png) When the boy is finally released from the discipline chamber, he finds the rest of his unit engaging
in a lively party...

And the cheerful soldier who brought him food is at the center of it all.

"All hail our hero!" the other men cry.
"We would expect nothing less from one of his lineage!"

The squad raises their glasses high and cheers the soldier.

He was indeed a hero; for while the boy had run off to enemy territory
in search of revenge, he risked his life to save those of his comrades.

The soldier looks up and sees the boy staring at him.
His smile widens as he begins to wave.

The boy's hand waves back of its own accord before the mind behind it snaps back to reality and forces
it down. No doubt this moment of weakness is because he is surrounded by such good cheer.

His face turns a bright red at the folly of his actions.

As he stares, the soldier makes his way through the various circles of conversation and approaches the boy.

"Got plenty of food over there!" he says. But this kind offer only raises the boy's ire.

He is angry to see his comrade praised for saving lives.

No. More than angry. He is enraged.
"Fighting and dying for someone else is stupid!" he hisses.

The soldier falls silent.

Finally, he manages to give the boy a small, troubled smile. ## Story 3 ![24-3.png](/uploads/24_3_5f92a150c0.png) The boy is surrounded by enemies in the middle of a torrential downpour.

Again he has abandoned his orders and his squadmates and chosen to attack on his own.

The sound and fury of the rain play to the strengths of the surrounding enemy, for he can only make out dim
shadows in the dark.

His foes tense, preparing to strike. But then...

"I've got you!"
The friendly soldier appears at his back, weapon in hand.

The boy's fighting spirit suddenly blazes in his eyes.
For the first time in their existence, the two fight with—and for—each other.

Their enemies falter in the face of this furious attack, and soon abandon the fight altogether and flee
into the dark.

Proud of their victory, the boy breaks out into a sharp grin and turns to his companion...
Only to have a gout of red splash across his face.

The other soldier has been pierced by a single bullet.

Blood flows from the wound, mingling with the rain before painting the earth.
Pale and shaking, the soldier slumps to the ground.

"Why? Why did you help me?" the boy asks.
The soldier reaches out for the boy, his hand shaking from cold and fear.

But he manages a faint smile all the same.
As he attempts to speak, the boy presses his ear to his lips so as not to miss a single word.

He grips his hand tightly, as if that can somehow tether this vanishing life to the cold reality of the world. ## Story 4 ![24-4.png](/uploads/24_4_e9b2918d18.png) Days have passed since the operation's end.
Uncountable people have come to pay their respects to the fallen soldier.

Some knelt. Many wept. But all spoke of him in the most glowing of terms.

"I once saw him save a dozen civilians from certain death."
"He saved my life, as well as my whole squad."
"He was a hero who lived up to his family's name."

But the boy remembers what he said.
The last words he ever spoke as his life left him in that falling rain.

"I hated fighting. I was always...afraid."
"But I had to live up to my family's expectations."
It was a confession of his true self—the one he had kept hidden for so very long.

He asked the boy to keep his words a secret.
And then, with blood still wet on his lips, he died.

"Now he can return home a hero."

The soldier had such a bright and carefree smile.
The boy always thought him a fool—a man who chased ideals that could never become reality.

But he, too, had been trapped by the machinations of his family
and left to be blown about by the whims of life.

Thinking of this, the boy closes his eyes, mourning the soldier as
he stands motionless behind his newly dug grave.

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