A white light flooded the world, then flickered away. It felt like a flash of daylight. Then, a tremendous explosion, as if the earth itself were splitting, erupted, followed by a pillar of fire and a hemispherical red light. Even far from the epicenter, the ground shook like an earthquake from the shockwave. It was so strong that ships on the sea rocked to the ground.
Those who had fled the capital on field trains, those who had abandoned their country and boarded Allied Forces warships as refugees, stood afar, watching the end of their homeland.
It was the moment when a splendid, brilliant, and heinous tragedy was revealed to the world.
“It’s all over. You kept fighting a fight you couldn’t win from the start... while deceiving and exploiting us.”
It was an unimaginable force. It was like the revelation of the Apocalypse. They were stunned by this overwhelming spectacle, as if witnessing the destruction of the world for the first time in their lives. As the saying goes, seeing is believing, and even without a detailed explanation, they knew what it was. The empire, which they had been fooled into believing would last forever, its strength, its pride, had finally crumbled.
"We weren't fooled. We weren't victims, we were the perpetrators. The rations we received were wheat and grain stolen from other countries."
It was the muttering of an old man wearing a bowler hat.
The huge cloud pillar surrounding the explosion looked like a hurricane engulfing a city, or like Satan descending to earth.
“What a time when such a terrible weapon was possible.”
“Grandpa, is it an angel? It has a crown on its head.”
“Yes. He is the apostle who came down to judge.”
“Why are you judging?”
"They say our country started a war. They've hurt many people. He's come down here to punish them."
An old man's sighing voice and the chattering of a child clutching his wrinkled hand were heard. Beneath the warship's Allied Forces flag, a middle-aged woman in a worn hood collapsed, fell to the deck, and sobbed.
"What did we endure and persevere for? To ultimately crumble in vain before a stronger force... Ah, my son. Why did you throw yourself into battle?"
People's reactions varied: some cried, some panicked, some prayed for the dead inside.
Most of those who chose to be rescued and survived were ordinary citizens. While experiencing their own worries and fears, they were relieved to be alive.
"Will we be taken prisoner? Will we be locked up in concentration camps like the defeated Esat people?"
"We'll have to bear it all. That's the price we have to pay."
They wanted to live.
The nation often likened Medea United Kingdom to a vile lynx. Children would fold paper airplanes from flyers depicting lynxes in red soldier uniforms and fly them. Even if they were headed to a place where the allied forces, the axis of evil, and the black-haired witch reigned as Queen of the lynxes, even if they were subjected to the same discrimination and prejudice that the Esatians suffered because they were Frogens.
For those living in misery, it didn't matter who reached out to them.
They just wanted to survive in this harsh time of war.
"We must live again. We must atone for our survival, and as adults, we must teach our children properly."
A teacher who lost his job teaching Frances at school muttered as he wiped his glasses with a glasses cleaner.
“La Belle Epoque. May the beautiful era return.”
It was a night without a single star.
The waves, dyed in the deep night, rippled.
How much time had passed? The hazy sea fog gradually cleared, and light began to mingle with the waves. Commander Rockefeller, aboard the Frogen Navy battleship, stood on deck, smoking a cigar. The brilliant sunlight rising over the horizon illuminated the general's eyes, steeped in the depths of a long war.
Above the ship, a large military aircraft piloted by Johanna was flying through the lavender sky.
In the officers' quarters of the Frogen warship, a man in the uniform of the Medea Allied Forces expertly brewed coffee using a steam machine.
"Lieutenant. Your coffee-making skills are extraordinary. I'll appoint you as my coffee master."
Noah, sitting at the table, lifted his coffee cup from his lips and smiled with wide eyes. He wore a neat, unwrinkled military shirt, befitting a nobleman and high-ranking officer. Jeffrey, now a lieutenant in the Allied forces, raised an eyebrow with a disapproving expression.
“They even put a coffee machine in the officers’ quarters. I can’t tell if this is a warship or a luxury cruise ship.”
"It's a machine your country patented. Belford just didn't utilize it properly. What good is pasta as combat rations? It's not like you can lure the enemy into naturalizing with food. Hmm, would it be possible against Medea's army?"
He sharply criticized Belford County's incompetence.
Noah lifted his chin and asked Jeffrey, who was sitting across from him with his coffee.
"Lieutenant Groenendael. What are your plans after the war? Do you plan to settle down in Medea? The war correspondent said the Harrison family would take you in, vouching for you."
"No. I intend to continue to operate as a member of the Allied Forces. We need to capture Duke Konrad and his forces, who have fled to the Kappel Federation. Even after the war ends, there's still much to do."
“You’re busy.”
Jeffrey clasped his hands together and placed them neatly on the table, intending to have a serious conversation. A shadow fell between his eyebrows, cast by the light.
“You were planning to die right there? You were planning to blow yourself up.”
Noah remained silent for a moment. The soldiers ordered to kill Noah, who had shot the Emperor, were members of the "Dawn of Lycanthrope" who had participated in the operation. Mastiff quickly realized that Noah had deliberately created an "emergency" and ordered him to be dragged away. Thus, Noah met Jeffrey and Esmeralda, who were waiting in the passageway. Jeffrey, accepting the pause in conversation as a sign of acceptance, narrowed his eyes.
“Don’t do that.”
"What."
"I heard your Princess is dead. Do you think she'll be happy about that? As long as you live, do your duty faithfully. That's why I saved you."
Noah looked displeased as he watched Jeffrey preaching with a stern, priestly face.
“She's not dead.”
Jeffrey, sitting across from him at the table, opened his eyes wide. His blue eyes were filled with worry.
"Then where on earth is she? I'm asking because no matter how hard I try, I can't hear any news about her."
“Why are you curious about that?”
“Then it’s not possible?”
From Noah's perspective, he was still an irritant. He wanted to kill him, even if only a little. However, as a more mature man after marriage, he resolved not to be so narrow-minded and jealous. In fact, he was more likely trying to keep it a secret. After some introspection, he realized he seemed like a child who threw a tantrum, insisting he only play with him.
Having completed self-objectification and become quite compassionate, he took a sip of coffee and slowly shook his head.
“If Diana had died, I wouldn’t be here.”
“What happened?”
“She fell asleep.”
“You fell asleep...”
“She was shot. She lost consciousness after the surgery and never woke up.”
Jeffrey's gaze suddenly darkened. He couldn't say he was glad Diana wasn't dead. Noah's calm tone made his stomach churn, and his head throbbed. Noah's fingers traced the table. He appeared expressionless, but a gloomy atmosphere seemed to overshadow him. In reality, he was constantly plagued by anxiety and depression.
"It's been a while. The doctors said there was no chance of waking up."
Jeffrey, who once had a wife, thought of Celine and ran a worried hand through his jet-black hair.
“Were you thinking of trading your life for it?”
"I don't know. I secretly thought she wouldn't come back. I'm the type of person who doesn't understand such meaningless sacrifices. But she tried to do it. She got shot trying to save me."
Noah wore a forlorn smile that at first glance seemed self-deprecating. Jeffrey turned his head and watched the morning dawn through the round swivel window.
“Marriage is such a subtle thing.”
“Celine? You hated her.”
"I neither liked nor disliked her. We were only a couple on paper, but as we got closer and talked, my perspective began to change quite a bit. At the moment of her death, she left a will asking me to save Princess Diana."
“So you like her?”
“Do you only have two emotions: likes and dislikes?”
"I don't care about other people's feelings. I'm not even curious about them. I tend to interpret and understand them when necessary."
“I already knew. That’s why you survived.”
"But it was different with Diana. I guess your feelings are of that kind too. An unexpected variable."
"You're not completely emotionless. You just lack interest, so you don't know anything specific beyond the basics. It's important to understand your woman's emotions, but..."
Jeffrey, holding a coffee cup, continued speaking while savoring the aroma of the coffee.
"Without give and take, it's like a one-sided sermon, with one person talking and the other person just listening. For sincerity to reach a deeper understanding, it's important to honestly convey your feelings. Whether it's positive or negative, or the feelings you feel when you see the other person."
Noah's long fingers were tapping on the table.
“How I feel when I see her...”
He, who had been humming without much emotion, suddenly stopped moving his hands. Every time he saw Diana, he felt a variety of emotions, but... There were also quite a few impure aspects.
“You want me to say that?”
“What is that?”
"There is."
He shook his head proudly, not wanting to reveal his true impurities to that boring, old-fashioned man.
“I want to be the perfect husband.”
Jeffrey chuckled and put down his coffee cup.
"A perfect person doesn't need anyone else. It's okay to be honest with her. She might already know."
Noah pondered his harsh words.
Noah, having reached the conclusion that Diana might be the one, drank the rest of his coffee in one gulp, quenching his parched throat. Jeffrey, watching him bite and release his lips anxiously, asked.
“What did you like about the Princess?”
Noah couldn't shake the feeling that he was being questioned, but if he didn't answer correctly, he'd probably hear something like, "You're not fit to be a husband." He thoughtfully reflected on his memories of her.
"Entirely."
“You’re being rude.”
Jeffrey, unable to receive a satisfactory answer, clicked his tongue with a pitiful look. "What better answer could there be?" Noah asked, one corner of his mouth tilting up in a crooked smile.
“Why are you asking a question that even my father-in-law wouldn’t ask?”
“As a brother-in-law, I cannot entrust my sister-in-law to a man I cannot trust.”
"There are too many. I can't pinpoint them all. I could list all the things I dislike about you in a report format."
Jeffrey, who had always had a look of disapproval on his face, chuckled. Noah, leaning leisurely against the back of his chair, asked.
"You did that? An expression of honest emotion."
“In the end, it didn’t work out.”
With those words, Jeffrey rose from his seat. The whistle sounded, signaling anchorage.
"I'm leaving now. If your sincerity gets through, maybe she'll come back. You've been waiting so desperately for her."
Left alone, Noah stared at the coffee pooling at the bottom of his cup. What sincerity should he convey to her now-distant consciousness?
A commotion could be heard, indicating the ship was fully anchored. Outside the hold, the harbor of Jayton, Medea's gateway city, appeared. His gaze drifted along the coast, then turned back to the table. There lay the letter Jeffrey had left behind. Noah picked it up and unfolded it.
He felt a strange sense of unease and stillness. His cloudy blue eyes slowly lowered, and his tightly shut lips twisted slightly.
"Colonel, the head of the Medea Immigration Office is waiting for you."
A PFogen officer opened the door and came in, calling him.
He didn't answer for a long time. His posture, still and motionless, holding the letter, made him look like a painting on a wall.
“Let’s go, Colonel.”
Noah, who had been sitting upright, only sat up after the officer called him two or three more times.
"Yes."
He walked slowly out of the room.
Towards the world that awaits him, the world that awaits him.
"My unusual friend.
I, pretending to be ignorant, always sought answers from you. How to live, how to die. Now that I've realized this, I can write to you not as a questioner, but as a friend who walks alongside you.
You, who know well how to live in this world, become the one who begins. I will gladly become the one who ends it. So that killing someone will not become the only way to survive, so that there will be no more people like me.
I am deeply grateful to you for teaching me the value and meaning of existence. I hope you can spend the rest of your life with someone you cherish. If there is a next life, I hope we can meet as true friends.
- From Major Mastiff Argentino.
Those who had fled the capital on field trains, those who had abandoned their country and boarded Allied Forces warships as refugees, stood afar, watching the end of their homeland.
It was the moment when a splendid, brilliant, and heinous tragedy was revealed to the world.
“It’s all over. You kept fighting a fight you couldn’t win from the start... while deceiving and exploiting us.”
It was an unimaginable force. It was like the revelation of the Apocalypse. They were stunned by this overwhelming spectacle, as if witnessing the destruction of the world for the first time in their lives. As the saying goes, seeing is believing, and even without a detailed explanation, they knew what it was. The empire, which they had been fooled into believing would last forever, its strength, its pride, had finally crumbled.
"We weren't fooled. We weren't victims, we were the perpetrators. The rations we received were wheat and grain stolen from other countries."
It was the muttering of an old man wearing a bowler hat.
The huge cloud pillar surrounding the explosion looked like a hurricane engulfing a city, or like Satan descending to earth.
“What a time when such a terrible weapon was possible.”
“Grandpa, is it an angel? It has a crown on its head.”
“Yes. He is the apostle who came down to judge.”
“Why are you judging?”
"They say our country started a war. They've hurt many people. He's come down here to punish them."
An old man's sighing voice and the chattering of a child clutching his wrinkled hand were heard. Beneath the warship's Allied Forces flag, a middle-aged woman in a worn hood collapsed, fell to the deck, and sobbed.
"What did we endure and persevere for? To ultimately crumble in vain before a stronger force... Ah, my son. Why did you throw yourself into battle?"
People's reactions varied: some cried, some panicked, some prayed for the dead inside.
Most of those who chose to be rescued and survived were ordinary citizens. While experiencing their own worries and fears, they were relieved to be alive.
"Will we be taken prisoner? Will we be locked up in concentration camps like the defeated Esat people?"
"We'll have to bear it all. That's the price we have to pay."
They wanted to live.
The nation often likened Medea United Kingdom to a vile lynx. Children would fold paper airplanes from flyers depicting lynxes in red soldier uniforms and fly them. Even if they were headed to a place where the allied forces, the axis of evil, and the black-haired witch reigned as Queen of the lynxes, even if they were subjected to the same discrimination and prejudice that the Esatians suffered because they were Frogens.
For those living in misery, it didn't matter who reached out to them.
They just wanted to survive in this harsh time of war.
"We must live again. We must atone for our survival, and as adults, we must teach our children properly."
A teacher who lost his job teaching Frances at school muttered as he wiped his glasses with a glasses cleaner.
“La Belle Epoque. May the beautiful era return.”
It was a night without a single star.
The waves, dyed in the deep night, rippled.
How much time had passed? The hazy sea fog gradually cleared, and light began to mingle with the waves. Commander Rockefeller, aboard the Frogen Navy battleship, stood on deck, smoking a cigar. The brilliant sunlight rising over the horizon illuminated the general's eyes, steeped in the depths of a long war.
Above the ship, a large military aircraft piloted by Johanna was flying through the lavender sky.
***
In the officers' quarters of the Frogen warship, a man in the uniform of the Medea Allied Forces expertly brewed coffee using a steam machine.
"Lieutenant. Your coffee-making skills are extraordinary. I'll appoint you as my coffee master."
Noah, sitting at the table, lifted his coffee cup from his lips and smiled with wide eyes. He wore a neat, unwrinkled military shirt, befitting a nobleman and high-ranking officer. Jeffrey, now a lieutenant in the Allied forces, raised an eyebrow with a disapproving expression.
“They even put a coffee machine in the officers’ quarters. I can’t tell if this is a warship or a luxury cruise ship.”
"It's a machine your country patented. Belford just didn't utilize it properly. What good is pasta as combat rations? It's not like you can lure the enemy into naturalizing with food. Hmm, would it be possible against Medea's army?"
He sharply criticized Belford County's incompetence.
Noah lifted his chin and asked Jeffrey, who was sitting across from him with his coffee.
"Lieutenant Groenendael. What are your plans after the war? Do you plan to settle down in Medea? The war correspondent said the Harrison family would take you in, vouching for you."
"No. I intend to continue to operate as a member of the Allied Forces. We need to capture Duke Konrad and his forces, who have fled to the Kappel Federation. Even after the war ends, there's still much to do."
“You’re busy.”
Jeffrey clasped his hands together and placed them neatly on the table, intending to have a serious conversation. A shadow fell between his eyebrows, cast by the light.
“You were planning to die right there? You were planning to blow yourself up.”
Noah remained silent for a moment. The soldiers ordered to kill Noah, who had shot the Emperor, were members of the "Dawn of Lycanthrope" who had participated in the operation. Mastiff quickly realized that Noah had deliberately created an "emergency" and ordered him to be dragged away. Thus, Noah met Jeffrey and Esmeralda, who were waiting in the passageway. Jeffrey, accepting the pause in conversation as a sign of acceptance, narrowed his eyes.
“Don’t do that.”
"What."
"I heard your Princess is dead. Do you think she'll be happy about that? As long as you live, do your duty faithfully. That's why I saved you."
Noah looked displeased as he watched Jeffrey preaching with a stern, priestly face.
“She's not dead.”
Jeffrey, sitting across from him at the table, opened his eyes wide. His blue eyes were filled with worry.
"Then where on earth is she? I'm asking because no matter how hard I try, I can't hear any news about her."
“Why are you curious about that?”
“Then it’s not possible?”
From Noah's perspective, he was still an irritant. He wanted to kill him, even if only a little. However, as a more mature man after marriage, he resolved not to be so narrow-minded and jealous. In fact, he was more likely trying to keep it a secret. After some introspection, he realized he seemed like a child who threw a tantrum, insisting he only play with him.
Having completed self-objectification and become quite compassionate, he took a sip of coffee and slowly shook his head.
“If Diana had died, I wouldn’t be here.”
“What happened?”
“She fell asleep.”
“You fell asleep...”
“She was shot. She lost consciousness after the surgery and never woke up.”
Jeffrey's gaze suddenly darkened. He couldn't say he was glad Diana wasn't dead. Noah's calm tone made his stomach churn, and his head throbbed. Noah's fingers traced the table. He appeared expressionless, but a gloomy atmosphere seemed to overshadow him. In reality, he was constantly plagued by anxiety and depression.
"It's been a while. The doctors said there was no chance of waking up."
Jeffrey, who once had a wife, thought of Celine and ran a worried hand through his jet-black hair.
“Were you thinking of trading your life for it?”
"I don't know. I secretly thought she wouldn't come back. I'm the type of person who doesn't understand such meaningless sacrifices. But she tried to do it. She got shot trying to save me."
Noah wore a forlorn smile that at first glance seemed self-deprecating. Jeffrey turned his head and watched the morning dawn through the round swivel window.
“Marriage is such a subtle thing.”
“Celine? You hated her.”
"I neither liked nor disliked her. We were only a couple on paper, but as we got closer and talked, my perspective began to change quite a bit. At the moment of her death, she left a will asking me to save Princess Diana."
“So you like her?”
“Do you only have two emotions: likes and dislikes?”
Noah covered his mouth and chuckled at Jeffrey's heavy-handed rebuke. He was a man who had always lived believing emotions were unnecessary. He couldn't care less about the emotional ties between that dull man who only spouted sermons like a sergeant major and Noah's wife's sworn enemy, her half-sister. Even a sensitive poet would feel the same.
“I already knew. That’s why you survived.”
"But it was different with Diana. I guess your feelings are of that kind too. An unexpected variable."
"You're not completely emotionless. You just lack interest, so you don't know anything specific beyond the basics. It's important to understand your woman's emotions, but..."
Jeffrey, holding a coffee cup, continued speaking while savoring the aroma of the coffee.
"Without give and take, it's like a one-sided sermon, with one person talking and the other person just listening. For sincerity to reach a deeper understanding, it's important to honestly convey your feelings. Whether it's positive or negative, or the feelings you feel when you see the other person."
Noah's long fingers were tapping on the table.
“How I feel when I see her...”
He, who had been humming without much emotion, suddenly stopped moving his hands. Every time he saw Diana, he felt a variety of emotions, but... There were also quite a few impure aspects.
“You want me to say that?”
“What is that?”
"There is."
He shook his head proudly, not wanting to reveal his true impurities to that boring, old-fashioned man.
“I want to be the perfect husband.”
Jeffrey chuckled and put down his coffee cup.
"A perfect person doesn't need anyone else. It's okay to be honest with her. She might already know."
Noah pondered his harsh words.
Noah, having reached the conclusion that Diana might be the one, drank the rest of his coffee in one gulp, quenching his parched throat. Jeffrey, watching him bite and release his lips anxiously, asked.
“What did you like about the Princess?”
Noah couldn't shake the feeling that he was being questioned, but if he didn't answer correctly, he'd probably hear something like, "You're not fit to be a husband." He thoughtfully reflected on his memories of her.
"Entirely."
“You’re being rude.”
Jeffrey, unable to receive a satisfactory answer, clicked his tongue with a pitiful look. "What better answer could there be?" Noah asked, one corner of his mouth tilting up in a crooked smile.
“Why are you asking a question that even my father-in-law wouldn’t ask?”
“As a brother-in-law, I cannot entrust my sister-in-law to a man I cannot trust.”
"There are too many. I can't pinpoint them all. I could list all the things I dislike about you in a report format."
Jeffrey, who had always had a look of disapproval on his face, chuckled. Noah, leaning leisurely against the back of his chair, asked.
"You did that? An expression of honest emotion."
“In the end, it didn’t work out.”
With those words, Jeffrey rose from his seat. The whistle sounded, signaling anchorage.
"I'm leaving now. If your sincerity gets through, maybe she'll come back. You've been waiting so desperately for her."
Left alone, Noah stared at the coffee pooling at the bottom of his cup. What sincerity should he convey to her now-distant consciousness?
A commotion could be heard, indicating the ship was fully anchored. Outside the hold, the harbor of Jayton, Medea's gateway city, appeared. His gaze drifted along the coast, then turned back to the table. There lay the letter Jeffrey had left behind. Noah picked it up and unfolded it.
He felt a strange sense of unease and stillness. His cloudy blue eyes slowly lowered, and his tightly shut lips twisted slightly.
"Colonel, the head of the Medea Immigration Office is waiting for you."
A PFogen officer opened the door and came in, calling him.
He didn't answer for a long time. His posture, still and motionless, holding the letter, made him look like a painting on a wall.
“Let’s go, Colonel.”
Noah, who had been sitting upright, only sat up after the officer called him two or three more times.
"Yes."
He walked slowly out of the room.
Towards the world that awaits him, the world that awaits him.
"My unusual friend.
I, pretending to be ignorant, always sought answers from you. How to live, how to die. Now that I've realized this, I can write to you not as a questioner, but as a friend who walks alongside you.
You, who know well how to live in this world, become the one who begins. I will gladly become the one who ends it. So that killing someone will not become the only way to survive, so that there will be no more people like me.
I am deeply grateful to you for teaching me the value and meaning of existence. I hope you can spend the rest of your life with someone you cherish. If there is a next life, I hope we can meet as true friends.
- From Major Mastiff Argentino.
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