“Isina, Isina, Isina!”
“Salvia... I can hear you perfectly fine if you call my name once.”
“I have a question!”
The moment I spotted Isina in the morning, I ran toward him, calling his name in an overly dramatic fashion. Looking fatigued, Isina trudged toward me with his usual calm demeanor.
“What is it, Salvia? What’s on your mind?”
Despite his tired expression, his voice was as gentle as ever. Isina always spoke to me like he was dealing with a child, exuding a warmth that made him seem almost caring.
Hearing that tone, I couldn’t help but hope that, unlike the original story, Isina might actually feel some attachment to me as his subordinate.
Perhaps the original story’s tragic narrative—where a subordinate’s death meant nothing more than a passing thought, only for a new recruit to remind the male lead of the deceased—might not play out here.
“Isina, I’ve been thinking about something lately...”
“Alright, let’s hear it.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about death.”
“Death?”
The abrupt heaviness of my statement made concern flicker across Isina’s face.
Though, knowing him, it was hard to tell if the concern was genuine or just another part of his flawless expression control.
“Yes. We’ve seen so many of our comrades die, yet we’ve always moved on, brushing off their deaths lightly. So... if I were to die...”
I looked up and met his deep green eyes.
“If I died and the people around me forgot about me, treated me as if I were nothing... I think that’s what scares me the most.”
I was trying to say that I was afraid he’d dismiss my death just as carelessly as the Isina from the original story: “Well, death happens. What can you do?”
“W-why are you even thinking about something like that, Salvia?”
Isina stammered, looking genuinely flustered. His reaction gave me a flicker of hope. He seemed genuinely taken aback by my words.
“It might be a pointless thought, but I just wanted to be sure. I wanted to know if there would be people who wouldn’t just let me go, even after I’m gone.”
“Salvia, there are definitely people who would grieve for you. Look at Aquila or Karon—they’d probably struggle to even function without you.”
He didn’t know why I was bringing this up, but he regained his composure quickly, his voice steady and reassuring.
“And don’t say things like ‘if I die.’ It’s bad luck, alright?”
His soothing tone only encouraged me to press further.
Trying to keep my voice steady, despite the nervous tremble creeping in, I asked, “Then, Isina... how would you feel if I died?”
“...Why are you asking me that?”
“Well, because you’re my senior officer, and also...”
Trailing off, I chose my words carefully, speaking in a way only Isina could understand.
“Because when it comes to emotions, you’re... straightforward.”
Beneath his kind exterior, Isina was someone who formed no real bonds with others—at least, that’s how he was written in the original story.
I was essentially telling him that I understood the kind of person he was and that it was okay for him to show his true self to me.
“......”
But instead of answering, Isina remained silent, his gaze fixed on me for what felt like an eternity.
“Isina...?”
“...Sorry, Salvia. I need to go.”
“What?”
“I just remembered something I need to finish back at the barracks.”
Without another word, he turned and walked away, heading back toward the dorms with long, deliberate strides.
To anyone watching, it was obvious he was avoiding the question.
As if he couldn’t even pretend to say something like, “Of course, I’d never forget you. You’re so important to me.”
“...Isina!”
I couldn’t let it end like this. Ignoring his clear attempt to brush me off, I ran after him and blocked his path.
“Why... why won’t you answer me?”
“Salvia.”
“Is this like the other day, when I asked if you’d help me if I told you the truth, and you said no? Is it the same thing?”
Isina looked down at me with an expression I’d never seen before—his eyes darkened, almost pitying.
“...Salvia, like you said, I’m straightforward when it comes to emotions.”
“Then...”
“You already know—I have no reason to help you.”
With that, he turned and walked away.
This time, I didn’t chase after him. I stood there, rooted to the spot, watching his figure disappear into the distance.
“How could he...”
My face twisted as I stared at the space where he’d been.
He could’ve at least said something like, “You’re my junior. Of course, I’d care.” Even if it was hollow, even if it was a lie, wasn’t that what people were supposed to say?
Instead, Isina had been brutally honest, confirming everything I feared.
He was as detached as I’d thought. My death would mean nothing to him, and I was just another passing subordinate in his eyes.
“Damn it...”
I buried my face in my hands.
The idea that my relationships here were different from the original story? A delusion.
Sure, Aquila and Winter didn’t love me the way they had in the original, but that didn’t really matter. Aquila, as my only peer, was already loyal to me in his own way. Winter was a model senior, always doing his part.
But to know that the senior I had leaned on the most—the one I had come to trust—saw me as no more than a replaceable junior? That stung.
Isina was the same as ever. He hadn’t changed.
He wouldn’t care if I died, wouldn’t grieve for me, wouldn’t remember me as anything more than a passing name.
And that realization cut deeper than I wanted to admit.
***
Isina’s attitude toward me left me feeling utterly betrayed.
And now, that feeling of betrayal had snowballed into insomnia.
“Ugh...”
It was undoubtedly the middle of the night, but I still couldn’t sleep.
Military life is supposed to be exhausting enough that you fall asleep the moment your head hits the pillow, with hours flying by in the blink of an eye. But no matter how tired and drained I felt, I couldn’t drift off.
Images of my fallen comrades flashed through my mind.
My fellow recruits: Linia, Cal, Magne, Johann, Billy, Hippo...
The four from Reina’s batch, the two who were swept up in the Crown Prince attack right after enlistment and were tasked with cleaning upon arrival... And Jaiden’s batchmates—three or four of them, I think, were killed too. Not to mention Benny’s comrades: Shine, Muscle, and one other I couldn’t recall at the moment.
And then there was Corporal Denin, who died when I was still a Private.
Oh, and Dory, who died just last week.
This content is taken from fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm.
“Sniff, hff...”
I wasn’t sure if I was crying because I was sad or because I was angry, but tears started to fall.
Sure, I shouldn’t be mourning the deaths of my comrades so suddenly now, after all this time. This wasn’t sadness—it was rage.
The thought of other people becoming just as numb to my death as I had to theirs filled me with anger and resentment.
I even gave up my name.
In order to live in this world, I’d sacrificed the most precious thing I had: my original name, my true identity.
I still remember how, in the early days after my reincarnation, I would repeat that name to myself before falling asleep.
But now, I couldn’t even remember what it was.
That name was more than just a name; it was the essence of who I had been in my original world.
Now, all I had left was this world—and the only people I knew here were my comrades.
If even they forgot about me, it would be as if I had disappeared from both worlds.
“Hff...”
Trying not to wake Benny or Angel, I stifled my sobs under the blanket.
And then, a thought crossed my mind: Is this depression?
I was well aware that my current mental state was far from normal. But what could I do about it? It’s not like I could visit a therapist in the middle of this hellhole.
In the end, I spent the entire night crying into my blanket, unable to sleep.
***
The lack of sleep was taking a toll on me, and it didn’t take long for others to notice.
“Salvia, are you sick?”
“No.”
I shook my head, denying it, but Aquila reached out and cupped my face in his hands, studying me closely.
“You’ve got dark circles under your eyes.”
“I’m just tired, that’s all.”
“You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
As expected, Aquila was incredibly observant.
“Maybe...”
I replied half-heartedly, making it clear that I wasn’t interested in discussing it further. Aquila, sensing my reluctance, didn’t press me for answers.
It’s not like I can tell him the truth anyway...
How could I explain that my insomnia was caused by my inability to escape the original story’s trajectory, combined with the sting of Isina’s betrayal?
But just because Aquila backed off didn’t mean the matter was settled. Even someone I hadn’t spoken to much recently stopped in their tracks upon seeing my face and approached me.
“Salvia, how was your meal today?”
“...Pardon?”
It happened as Aquila and I were leaving the dining hall. Out of nowhere, Isina spoke to me in his usual gentle tone.
It was so unexpected that I had to double-check that it was indeed Isina talking to me. But there he was, looking at me with a kind expression.
As I wavered on my feet, Aquila steadied me by grabbing my arm. I turned to Isina, staring at him with a puzzled look before responding.
“The meal was... the same as always, wasn’t it?”
“Hmm, I see. Now that I think about it, I don’t recall seeing your favorite pudding on the menu lately. It’d be nice if they served it this week, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes... but...”
The last time we’d spoken, the atmosphere between us had been tense, awkward. I had been avoiding him, and he had seemed equally hesitant to engage with me. Days had passed without us exchanging a single word.
And yet, here he was now, acting as if nothing had happened, talking to me with an almost unnerving kindness.
How could I not find it strange?