Amid the relentless roar of gunfire and shouts, Taylor crouched behind a moss-covered slab of broken concrete. Her breathing was ragged, fingers locked tight around the grip of her red-gray minigun, its barrel still radiating heat.
Just one more shot—one clean headshot—and…
"Taylor," came a sudden voice beside her, making her flinch.
A Juantice Team student in a black tactical helmet, SMG at the ready, was guarding her rear.
"You sure White Wolf will come to help?"
Without glancing back, Taylor replied, still locked on her target.
"If they don't show… I'm going home."
"What!? That's not even an answer, idiot!" the soldier snapped. "Let's just hope Mag gives them the green light to join the fight…"
Before they could share a bitter laugh, the sharp crack of a bullet split the air.
BANG!
The Juantice soldier collapsed instantly. A small, neat hole marked his helmet—thankfully only the effect of combat serum, no blood—but enough to knock him unconscious.
Taylor's eyes widened.
"Oi! Don't you dare pass out, bro! Hey! Stay with me! DON'T LEAVE ME NOW OF ALL TIMES!" She shook him hard.
The soldier stirred weakly, whispering through shallow breaths:
"...Be… hind you…"
Taylor's reflexes took over—she spun around, minigun raised.
Standing before her was a boy in a dark-green varsity jacket with a small wolf-head emblem on the chest. His sunglasses reflected the orange flare of distant explosions. A gold chain rested loosely around his neck. In his right hand, he carried a SCAR rifle. His posture was far too casual for someone in the middle of a battlefield.
"Faif…" Taylor muttered under her breath.
Faif arched one eyebrow.
"So, I finally find Mila's vice-captain—the one they say is tough. Hm. Your face? Nothing special." He spoke flatly as he tapped his earpiece, switching comms.
"Iqbal, target sighted. Initiate Plan B—Platoon B, execute before White Wolf gets here."
Over the comm, Iqbal's voice was brisk and sharp:
"Good. Do it now. Don't let them regroup."
"Copy." Faif cut the line, switched channels.
"Nathan. Time to exe—"
A loud snore came through.
"Oi, Nathan!? Wake up!"
"Don't bother me while I'm sleeping, man!" came the grumpy yell—then the line went dead.
Faif looked skyward, exhaling heavily. "Why does he have to lead that platoon? Isn't there literally anyone else?"
Wh en his eyes returned to the front, Taylor was gone.
"What? Where are you?"
"I'm behind you," came Taylor's calm voice.
The barrel of her minigun pressed cold against Faif's back.
"Role swap—my turn now," she said lightly.
Faif only grinned.
"Oh… nice move. But—sorry, buddy—you just walked into my trap."
"What?"
A shadow came from her right—WHAM! Taylor was side-kicked hard, sent sprawling.
A boot slammed down on her chest before she could rise. Looking up, she saw a Munadhi Team student—red-and-light-green jacket, FAMAS in hand, eyes cold and emotionless like a machine that had run out of power.
More Munadhi soldiers closed in.
"Now. Take her," Faif ordered casually, arms folded.
But then—
BANG! BANG!
Two shots ripped through the air. One Munadhi soldier staggered back several steps.
All eyes snapped toward the source.
From the left ruins emerged a squad of Glaxina students in pristine white uniforms, led by a tall boy in a spotless white jacket, black mask over his face, silver shotgun in hand.
"…Anata…" Taylor breathed in relief.
Anata met Faif's gaze with calm steel.
"We will still aid our allies. Even if peace between our schools is already planned, that's no excuse to retreat when our alliance is under pressure."
Faif chuckled darkly.
"Heh. Peace? That's just a bedtime story."
In a flash, he fired at Anata.
Anata dodged with nimble precision—his leap almost ninja-like.
"I wonder…" he said while rolling forward, "how the first generation of our gangs ever managed an alliance with yours. Just looking at you—yeah, I don't see compatibility."
Faif smirked, rifle steady.
"Don't compare the old guard to us. We're the drama generation."
Gunfire erupted—their duel bursting into a blur of acrobatics, taunts, and deadly accuracy.
Meanwhile, Glaxina forces stormed into Munadhi ranks, freeing the pressured Juantice soldiers.
Taylor, recovering from being pinned, rose again—breathing hard but eyes fierce.
Then a voice cut into her headset.
"Taylor! Get to Mila while you still can!" Kaito's tone was urgent.
"Teacher?!" she gasped.
"Southwest! She's in danger—and only you can reach her in time!"
"Yes, sir!" Taylor gave the battlefield one last glance—then sprinted into the storm of bullets.
Metal clanged as Anata's shotgun met Faif's SCAR again. Amid shattered walls and chaos, they were the eye of the storm. Sweat dripped, bruises spread, but neither's gaze wavered.
Faif blocked a bayonet thrust with his rifle stock, then kicked Anata's knee—throwing him off balance. Before he could fire, Anata swiped the barrel aside and slammed Faif's shoulder with his shotgun's butt.
They broke apart—breathing ragged, dirt and cuts marking both, but eyes unshaken.
"I used to think," Faif said, voice low, "that maybe we could have peace… that our schools could live side by side."
Anata's smirk was faint. "And now you think that was just a stupid dream?"
"It stopped being a dream when too many of my friends died or vanished after last year's gang war," Faif replied—no sarcasm this time, only an old wound speaking.
Anata's shotgun dipped slightly. "We've wanted to kill you too—not because you're our enemy, but because we need to avenge them. That loss… it piles up—in the head, in the chest. And now here I am, fighting you, just because this world won't allow peace."
Faif drew a deep breath, then raised his rifle again. "But why… why can Max and Mag still be friends?"
Louder now: "One thing I still don't get. Why can Max and Mag be so close? Max—he's probably the most broken person among us. His upperclassman—like an older brother—vanished in the war, his best friend too, and he once tried to end his own life from despair. But somehow… he can just relax and bond with Mag."
Anata froze briefly, eyes distant. "I've wondered that too… Mag barely talks to anyone except his younger siblings. But when he met Max, he… changed. More open. Warmer. Still—two former enemies… why would they trust each other?"
"Tch. Maybe we're just too stubborn," Faif said with a crooked grin, lunging forward.
Their fight surged again—each strike sharp, each dodge narrow. They traded blows until both stood panting, the larger battle's gunfire fading in the distance.
"You know," Faif said, glancing at the sky, "I'm starting to think… maybe Max and Mag aren't just helping each other. Maybe they're saving each other—from their own loneliness."
Anata looked upward too. "Maybe… but why does it feel like… none of us can be like them?"
"Because we're too stubborn," Faif shrugged.
"And too good at fighting," Anata chuckled.
"Then let's keep this smart fight going," Faif said, reloading.
"With pleasure," Anata replied, cocking his shotgun.
They charged again—two souls burning with vengeance yet secretly respecting each other's will to endure.
---
The noon sky still shone bright, yet the battlefield had turned to a grim, dusk-like haze. Gunshots, shouted orders, and the crunch of boots on rubble blended into a symphony of chaos.
Among the wreckage, Mila and Guy still exchanged fire from opposite cover. Both were exhausted, sweat and dust clinging to their faces. Mila's gaze never left the man across the way—a brimmed hat on his head, a gray coat over his shoulders.
"He's fast, but I'm starting to read his pattern… So why do I feel… glad to meet him here?"
Guy calmly reloaded his revolver behind debris, glancing up at the sky.
"Heh… finally, I get to fight the girl most mentioned in the reports," he muttered. "But focus—stick to the main plan."
Then came the thunder of rotor blades.
Munadhi reinforcements arrived—several helicopters landing with plumes of dust, troops spilling out armed to the teeth.
Guy glanced briefly. "Oh? They made it."
But from the opposite flank—fast-moving shadows. Glaxina students… and a hooded figure in white robes with a black hoodie beneath—some wielding Karl rifles.
Guy's eyes narrowed. "…Assasint."
Gunfire exploded—Assasint and Glaxina tore into Munadhi, Primanoel, and S.G Force forces, reversing the tide.
Guy finished reloading—but Mila struck first.
CRACK!
Her kick slammed into his side, hurling him to the ground. His revolver skittered away. She leveled her MP5 at his chest.
"Out of breath, headshot-boy," she said coldly.
Guy coughed lightly—then chuckled.
"Hehehe… I surrender. Go on—make the day dramatic."
Mila's finger tightened on the trigger—but before she could fire—
BANG!
A sniper shot split the air. The entire battlefield froze.
Mila's head tilted upward. "That… sounded like Max's SPR sniper."
Guy stood slowly, expression serious. "No doubt. His bullet's signature."
Mila opened comms. "Teacher! I heard an SPR shot—was that—"
"Look up," Kaito's voice replied.
A helicopter descended above them, Glaxina's emblem on its side.
All eyes turned skyward.
Max stood at the doorway, SPR rifle still hot. Mag was beside him, arms folded. Behind them—Kaito in casual clothes, headset still on.
Taylor, just arriving, nearly teared up.
"Finally… those two are here."
Max leapt down, striding forward. His voice rang clear:
"Soon, our schools will make peace. And yet you still fight? Go home—before I send you to join the ones you've already lost."
"Iqbal," came the comm order, "Faif—pull everyone out. Now."
Faif, still facing Anata, eased back. "You're just delaying your loss, Anata."
"Funny—I was thinking the same," Anata replied.
Retreat began. Max turned to Mila. "I'll take full responsibility for this mess."
He walked off after the Primanoel troops. Guy, still on the ground, threw his hands up.
"Quick! Arrest me!"
Mila blinked. "Are you… stupid?"
"Just do it—it's for—"
Max glanced back, raising his rifle toward Guy's head. "Guy. What did I say?"
"…Yeah, yeah," Guy grumbled, backing off.
Once the enemy was gone, Mag looked at Mila.
"Kid, why didn't you call me?"
She almost smiled—but exhaustion won. "Sorry… I rushed."
"Hmph… Strongest student or not, still reckless," Mag teased.
"Forgive me…" she murmured—before fainting.
"Mila!" Kaito was off the helicopter in seconds, headset removed, kneeling at her side. "Mila! Stay with me!"
Mag watched quietly.
"…Never thought the famously cold, unfeeling teacher could look… human."
The man in question had once been the youngest commander—at 13, leading veterans in a major war. The name "Commander Kaito" had frozen enemies in place at the sound of his steps. But now…
"Watch your words. You're still my student," Kaito said sharply, eyes flashing with his old commander's edge.
Mag raised both hands. "Ehehe… sorry, Teacher."
"Forgiven," Kaito said, lifting Mila in his arms. "Let's go home."
"My place," Mag offered. "It's safe there."
And so, they left—after a long day filled with wounds, laughter, grudges… and a reconciliation not yet fully whole.