13:30.
The midday sunlight filtered gently through the leaves of a towering tree on the outskirts of Glaxina. The sky was still clear, though faint traces of smoke from the battlefield lingered in the far distance.
Before a modest, modern-Japanese style house, two figures stood—one of them carrying an unconscious teenage girl in his arms.
"Well… finally here."
Mag exhaled, immediately unlocking the door of his pale-gray painted home. "Come in, Sensei," he said casually, glancing at Kaito.
Kaito gave a curt nod. He was still holding Mila, her weight borne more from worry than from actual heaviness. His gaze was serious, but softened by a hint of relief. The interior was unexpectedly clean and serene—far from the "armed delinquent" image Mag usually projected.
"Lay Mila in the bedroom—first door on the right," Mag instructed, pointing.
"Understood."
Kaito moved toward the room with deliberate care, as if carrying something fragile.
But before he could step inside—
"Oh, Teacher," Mag called out with a teasing grin, "don't try anything with Mila, alright? She's not ready to have a kid yet."
Kaito froze in the doorway. His eyes narrowed, and he slowly turned to Mag—a look that said: You're seriously saying that now?
Mag only laughed, his shark-tail swaying up and down like he was playfully stirring the air.
"Just kidding, Teacher. Don't take it too seriously… You should start acting like you live here permanently."
Kaito inhaled slowly, then allowed the faintest smile before finally entering the room.
It was simple—white walls, a small window facing the backyard, and a green mattress tucked into the corner. He laid Mila down gently, adjusting her posture so she would rest comfortably.
As he turned to leave, his eyes caught on a plain photo album atop a small bedside table. No title, no markings.
"Just an ordinary collection of memories…" he murmured to himself, though his gaze lingered a little too long—as if it might pull old memories from the shadows.
Memories of sitting in a war strategy room at age thirteen, surrounded by skeptical senior officers… and silencing them with a flawless battle plan. A commander—not by choice, but by circumstance.
Kaito exhaled, stepping back into the hall.
In the living room, Mag was hanging his weapons on a rack bolted to the wall, his tail swaying lazily like a cat's.
"Take a seat, Sensei. Relax. It's a small place, but comfortable," Mag said, pointing toward a brown sofa.
Kaito obeyed, resting his palms on his knees. His eyes slowly swept the room—a small glass coffee table, stacks of military strategy books, and… a stuffed dolphin toy on the upper shelf. Unexpectedly, Mag's softer side was well-hidden.
"I'll make some tea. Ginger or regular?" Mag called from the kitchen.
"Regular," Kaito replied shortly.
A chuckle drifted from the kitchen. "I like the flavor of victory myself… shame it's not sold in stores."
Kaito smiled faintly. For all their lives surrounded by weapons, these kids were still just… kids, in their own way.
That afternoon, amidst the fresh scars of battle, the little house felt warmer—peaceful, if only for a moment.
Silence settled in. Only the ticking clock and the gentle hum of a wall fan filled the air. Kaito leaned back slightly, reaching into his pocket with a steady hand.
He withdrew a sleek black phone—the one that had once belonged to the late Flying Instructor Alke. Though ownership had changed, the weight of its mysteries remained.
The screen lit up, revealing a gallery filled with photos—Alke with past instructors, students from different schools, even Governor Zaid himself.
"Alke… you're like a ghost now. Everywhere, yet no longer someone I can talk to."
He scrolled, folder by folder… until his eyes stopped at a strange file name:
my.investigation.zip
"Hm?" he muttered, tapping it.
A prompt appeared: Password Required.
"What exactly were you investigating, Alke?"
Before he could dig further—
Knock, knock, knock.
Kaito rose, alert. He stepped to the door and opened it slowly.
Standing there was a young woman in a white maid uniform with a black apron, complete with synthetic cat ears and tail. In her hands—a casually held M14 rifle. Her eyes were sharp, though her expression carried a trace of awkwardness.
"Wait—shouldn't you be in the bedroom?!" Kaito blurted, startled.
"Huh? Bedroom? I just got here," the girl replied, clearly confused.
"Oh, Mita—come in," Mag's voice called from behind Kaito, instantly shifting the mood.
Kaito stiffened. "Mita? Not… Mila?"
The girl stepped inside, rolling her eyes, her cat tail swaying like an exclamation mark.
Mag leaned close to Kaito and whispered, "Teacher, that's Mila's younger sister—Mita. Unlike her big sister, she's no student council president. She's just… a freelance cleaner for Oxoford and Glaxina."
Kaito gave a small nod, unsure how to respond.
"Please, have a seat, Teacher. You too, Mita." Mag entered with a tray holding three cups of tea.
"Thank you," Kaito said politely.
Mita simply snorted and sat opposite him, taking her cup. She sipped slowly, then narrowed her eyes at Mag.
"What's with your weird accent?"
"Got used to it ages ago," Mag replied, his shark-tail swaying lazily. "It's part of my soul."
"Your soul's weird."
Mita set her cup down, stood, and suddenly leveled her M14 at him.
"Just relax, especially if there is a small child next to you"
Mag said, still in his usual flat tone.
Mita turned—and spotted a little girl, no older than kindergarten age, in a white dress and black hijab… with a fluffy cat tail. She was curiously tugging at Mita's own tail.
"Ahh, Nana…" Mag crouched, wagging his shark-tail. "Here, kid—play with this instead."
Nana immediately switched targets, hugging Mag's tail with delight.
"…Thanks," Mita muttered, returning to her seat and crossing her legs.
Mag joined her, studying her expression. "So—you're here for Mila?"
"Yeah. Heard from Taylor she fainted after the fight. I'm worried."
Mag smirked. "Sure that's the only reason?"
Mita's forehead beaded with sweat. "Y-yeah, that's it."
"You're lying."
Her posture stiffened.
"You came here because Mila took your car without permission. And… you're curious about the new flying instructor, too."
"Eh—" Mita turned her face away, saying nothing.
"Telepathy?" Kaito wondered privately.
Mag tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "And that thought you just had about Sensei and Mila… way too perverted."
Mita flushed slightly and avoided eye contact.
Just then, Kaito's phone chimed with a new message—from Governor Zaid:
"Kaito, please teach Biology to the 1A Glaxina students. Their minds are in good shape… though a bit perverted. Good luck."
Kaito sighed and stood.
"I have to go. The Governor wants me to teach Biology."
Mag chuckled. "Careful, Sensei. That class is full of talent… and unusual talents."
Kaito straightened his old blue jacket, adjusted his tie, and walked to the door—his stride firm yet unhurried. The aura of a former commander still clung to every step, even when headed to a classroom.
"Teaching kids, huh? More nerve-wracking than a trench war…" he thought as the door closed behind him.