Chương 118: 46.Jäger 46-2

If it had stopped there, I might've lied to myself: eight people, two Jäger (Hunter)—still manageable. The Evaporation Forest doesn't sell cheap fantasies. By evening, we made a temporary night position in a half-burned depression near the forest edge. No tent—a low hide carved from burnt roots, thermal sheeting, and lava shell. Harvey expanded alarm wire to three rings, using water bag clips, metal strips, and vibration sensor line. The tall boy added thermal sensor to outer perimeter.

Short-haired girl took low-light watch. D and Akari split first guard. Setup was leagues better than night one. Should've bought breathing room. I'd just settled against still-warm stone, ready to risk fifteen minutes of borrowed time, when the outer alarm went off. Ting. Thin. Petty. Everyone snapped awake.

"Outer ring, low contact," Harvey reported. D didn't stand, just repositioned his shield. Akari already had her rifle up, watching forest black as spoiled ink. Ten seconds. No entry. No plant scrape. No student rush. No insect buzz. Just quiet.

"Probe," Akari said. I swore under my breath. The Jäger (Hunter) weren't raiding camp. They were knocking. Like someone tapping your door at midnight, then walking away. Making sure you never knew if the next tap would be the boot through the frame. Five minutes of nothing. Jess had just loosened her shoulders when the second ring hit. Right-rear this time. Ting— The short-haired girl nearly launched.

"Right-rear thermal flash—something close then gone."

"They're measuring our response time," Maki said.

"They're using us for insomnia training," I said through my teeth. The next three hours, we barely stopped. Outer alarms every twenty minutes, then ten, then five. Sometimes just a brushed line. Sometimes a dart hitting metal somewhere distant—pff, then nothing. Once Akari called a silhouette left, took D and Jess out to check; found only a burnt vine segment, shot through and deliberately hung. They were playing. Not we've got you playing. Let's see how soft we can make you playing.

Sleep got chopped into fragments. Every time consciousness started sinking, something yanked it back—sound, alarm, order, gear shifting, or just the gut certainty of something outside. By the second rotation, everyone's nerves were rotting. Jess blew first. She ripped off her neck guard, voice tight: "If you've got guts, come in and hit us straight! All this circling and tapping—are they Federation etiquette instructors?" D, against the opposite wall, sounded heavier.

"Stay cool."

"I am cool," Jess said.

"I just very much want to disassemble a black tin can into teaching materials."

"That's exactly what they want," Akari said, still watching the dark.

"You bolt out, they stop knocking."

"Could you say something less irritating for once?"

"I could. I'm choosing not to right now." Good. Even those two were grinding against each other. Meaning everyone's head was smoking. I was about to cut in when sitting up drove a knife into my side. I swallowed the sound, stayed against the wall instead of trying to play functional hero. Maki shoved a water packet into my hand, eyes cool.

"Drink."

"What I want to drink is Academy blood."

"Not on the supply list."

"Shame." Outer ring again. Nastier this time. Not a line brush—a dart fired directly at the outermost water bag clip, sending metal ringing off a root. Everyone in the hide went to maximum alert. The short-haired girl finally swore under her breath. The tall boy slumped against the wall, eyes closed but not sleeping, like he was negotiating with himself about crashing entirely. Akari, still watching outside, said suddenly: "Two."

"Two what?" I asked.

"Two Jäger (Hunter)," she said.

"One running actual recon. One running rhythm disruption. They're rotating, so we never get a clean window." I stared at those too-regular heat trails in my memory and slowly tightened my grip on the knife handle. Perfect. Forest School had finally decided to release something that actually hunted. I stared at her profile for two seconds. She said it in that same flat tone, and somehow that flatness was what pissed me off most. Like a nail, driving the truth I didn't want to admit straight into the wall. Right.

We hadn't "driven off two Hunters" during the day. We'd just let them know: Team 144 plus D's squad were worth slow-cooking. When the last pre-dawn alarm went off, it took actual willpower not to unleash a string of profanity that would contaminate the air. D stood up and planted his shield in the ground.

"Keep this up and someone will screw up before morning." Nobody argued. Because it was true. All eight of us could bicker, crack, and fray—but we wouldn't quit. The problem was that not quitting didn't mean not snapping. The first lesson the Jäger (Hunter) had taught us last night was exactly that. They weren't in a rush to knock us down. First they turned us into people who slept badly, judged slowly, snapped easily, and dragged wounded and gear around.

Wait for you to crack first, then pull the squad apart through the fracture. I leaned against the stone, eyes burning dry, brain somehow getting clearer instead of foggier. This approach wasn't working. At least not if we kept taking it like this. The rainforest gave you resupply in the day, insomnia at night. The Jäger (Hunter) didn't kill—and were deadlier for it. I looked at Akari. She was already looking at me. Dead-fish eyes in the dark like two sleepless panes of glass—flat, annoyingly sharp.

"You thought of it too?" she asked. I pulled my mouth sideways, throat dry as packed ash.

"Yeah," I said.

"This isn't a winnable game."

"Mm." The outer ring chimed again, very politely. Hi everyone. The night's not over yet. I pressed my hand against the faintly throbbing wound and let out a slow breath. Perfect. By morning, none of us looked alive. Not the haha, I pulled an all-nighter kind of alive. More like defective products that had been roasted by a Purgation Gale, then prodded all night with invisible forks, barely maintaining human shape through sheer stubbornness. The Evaporation Forest had no refreshing mornings.

Air still hot, ground still baking. The skeletal trees standing in dawn grey looked like a row of corpses hung up for saline drips. Worst was the quiet. After a full night of Jäger (Hunter) harassment, this quiet didn't feel like rest—more like someone had sheathed their knife and stepped back to watch you snap your own nerves. I hadn't slept at all.

Not out of dedication—mostly because my lower left abdomen had spent the night reminding me every so often: hey, you took a hit a few days ago, maintain appropriate reverence. Plus the alarm chimes had gotten under my skin until even casual metal noise made my molars ache. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Harvey was crouched at the perimeter dismantling alarm wire, face worse than usual.

Jess sat against burnt roots, neck guard half-hanging, dark circles under her eyes. She looked like a blade someone had taken to the forge and was refusing to admit had gone dull. Maki was recounting water and meds. Still precise—but that precision was starting to look like a lid clamped over her temper. D's side wasn't better. The tall boy's eyes had gone glassy; the short-haired girl clutched her rifle, staring at nothing like even being angry took too much effort.

D himself looked steady, but that was because his build naturally suggested he could carry a building through insomnia. The calmest was Akari. She stood on a half-fused rock ridge with the Type-99 in her arms, dead-fish eyes on the scorched forest ahead, like last night hadn't been Jäger (Hunter) harassment—just someone running a very boring metronome next to her ear. Part of me found her infuriating.

Another part had to admit—having someone whose emotional state resembled still water was marginally safer than eight people losing it simultaneously. Unfortunately, safety rarely survived breakfast. The short-haired girl broke first. She slapped her empty water pouch down—not loud, but enough to make everyone look.

"We can't keep moving like this," she said. Not a complaint. The kind of honest truth squeezed through teeth after holding it in all night. Jess fired back immediately: "Congratulations on discovering the Evaporation Forest isn't a resort."

"That's not what I meant!" The short-haired girl snapped up, words coming fast.

"I mean if this keeps up, we're going to—we're going to make mistakes in broad daylight! That was only one night—they did this to us in one night. What about after?"

"After, we keep getting pushed," Jess said, mouth twisting into something ugly.

"Welcome to Federation curriculum design." The tall boy pressed his hand over his eyes, voice rough as swallowed ash.

"If we weren't two squads merged, we wouldn't have drawn two Jäger (Hunter) at once." The air shifted immediately. Not surprise—the kind of shift when everyone's already thought it and nobody's said it first. D looked at his teammate.

"Enough."

"No, it's just true," the tall boy ground out.

"One was bad enough. Now there are two. Because the system still sees us as two separate squads. What's the point of this cooperation if—""If what?" Jess cut in, leaning forward, eyes hunting for a place to stick the knife.

"Yesterday at the ravine, if we hadn't had HUD door access, you'd still be outside letting a Purgation Gale finish your education."

"And what about you?" The short-haired girl's voice rose.

"If Akari hadn't dropped the left-slope team, Team 144 would've been nailed to the ground yesterday, right?"

"Right, so what?" Jess's eyes sharpened.

"So now you're keeping score on who saved who more? Want me to make you a spreadsheet?"

"That's not what I—""You'd better not be, because that's exactly what it sounds like." D finally stood up. When D stood, the air got difficult. Not because he said anything—because his build, once upright, made the whole scene feel like a breathing wall had appeared, forcing everyone to remember gravity.

"Both of you, shut up," he said, low. Jess looked at him and actually paused half a beat. Then, with impressive disregard for self-preservation: "Wow. That line coming from you really does sound like the bunker talking." D's mouth twitched—probably suppressing a laugh, probably suppressing the urge to plant her in the ground. Stopping halfway was the worst thing. Because everyone was operating at that brittle, hair-trigger setting where one more nudge kicks them over.

If you don't crush it completely, the fire just finds another seam. The tall boy said quietly: "It's just the truth. Since we merged, resources are thinner, movement's slower, we're a bigger target, and now the Jäger (Hunter) come in pairs. If this keeps going—""Keeps going how?" Harvey finally opened his mouth. Still crouched, alarm wire in his hands, voice cold as bomb disposal.

"Split up," the tall boy said. The short-haired girl didn't echo it. Didn't deny it either. Jess actually laughed. Real laughter—not happy, the cold kind that made you want to hit her.

"Finally. Someone said the stupid thing out loud."

"Who are you calling stupid?" The short-haired girl snapped around.

"Anyone who thinks splitting while being tracked by Jäger (Hunter) is a good idea," Jess said, eyes going sharp.

"You think separating makes you safer? No. Just makes their job easier."

"Better than all eight of us getting dragged down together!"

"Oh? So now you're scared of being a liability?" Jess let her gaze slide deliberately toward me.

"Be specific—scared of being dragged by the Jäger (Hunter), or scared of being dragged by the casualty?" The temperature dropped. The short-haired girl's face locked up. The tall boy's expression shifted. There it was. Once that's in the air, no amount of walking it back erases the mark. Everyone knew the math—a Jäger (Hunter) hit didn't draw blood or break bones, but it turned you into an hour of dead weight. The cruelest part wasn't the pain.

It was forcing everyone to look at the calculation they'd been pretending wasn't there. D stepped forward, voice dropping completely.

"Jess." Jess looked up at him. Didn't back off.

"What."

"Don't push it toward the worst version."

"Then tell your people not to go there first."

"I did."

"Clearly not enough." Both sides' tempers started feeding each other. Maki closed her clipboard with a sharp snap. Not loud. Very clean. When she stood, her expression hadn't changed—but I knew her face well enough to know she wasn't calm anymore. She was using calm to strangle something.

"Enough," she said. The short-haired girl started to say something. Maki looked at her first.

"If you want to start calculating whether a casualty is worth carrying, return the analgesics, saline, and coagulant patches used in the bunker. Then give back the Jäger (Hunter) rounds you avoided because Team 144 called the thermal pocket on the right." She said it very quietly. Quietly enough that every word landed like a ruler. Straight across bone. The short-haired girl opened her mouth. Closed it. Jess stopped smiling. Not because Maki was particularly vicious about it.

Because the way she did it didn't feel like anger directed at you—it felt like someone reading an incident report you couldn't dispute. I'd been about to let her keep going, but D's side hit its second flashpoint. This time it was D himself getting hit. The tall boy looked up at him, voice urgent and hard.

"What about you? You knew eight people would draw two Jäger (Hunter). You still kept us on the forest edge last night. Did you figure—we've got enough firepower, enough shield, we can push through?" D's brow pressed down.

"I never said that."

"But that's what you did!"

"What I did was the most stable configuration available at the time."

"Stable?" The tall boy laughed—worse than crying.

"Nobody slept. That's your stable?" I looked at him and found the urge to snap back draining away. Because he wasn't arguing. He was genuinely close to the edge. One night without sleep, spent being tapped at like a caged animal by something you can't see—it breaks half your brain. Not the stupid half. Sometimes just the filter half. The part that knows which things you shouldn't say stops working, and everything comes out. The short-haired girl followed, voice audibly shaking.

"If this keeps up, we'll destroy ourselves. Not the Gale, not the plants. This rhythm will kill us first."

"So?" Jess was right there.

"You want to split up? Or negotiate with the Jäger (Hunter) about scheduling harassment windows?"

"I said that's not what I—""You'd better figure out what you mean!"

"Then what about you!" The short-haired girl broke.

"You argued all night! Every alarm, you wanted to charge out! You think holding you back wasn't exhausting?" That landed clean enough that Jess actually froze. Oh. There it is. I'd barely finished the thought when Jess smiled. I knew that smile. The one that showed up right before she started actually cutting.

"Sure," she said, standing slowly.

"So now I'm the one dragging the squad. Want to say it louder? Maybe the Jäger (Hunter) outside will applaud you." D moved between them.

"Both of you, step back."

"Move," Jess said.

"Drop your shoulders first."

"Who do you think you're giving orders to?"

"Someone who's been awake so long they've started taking it out on their teammates." For a guy who didn't say much, D could be impressively vicious when he landed one. Not just the short-haired girl—Jess went completely off. I watched them tilt toward a live demonstration of how Federation education ferments students into each other's weapons, and finally pushed off the burnt root. Left side lit up immediately. Good. Proof I was still alive and capable of managing other people's breakdowns.

"Everyone shut up." I didn't shout it. Just dropped it into the space, quiet enough that it cut. Probably because I didn't usually lower my volume when I was actually serious. Everyone looked. I stood against the burnt root, aware I probably looked like a corpse that had been roughly sutured and was insisting on attending morning formation. Nothing to be done about it. Among everyone here, the one who most resembled a team lead—at least on Team 144's side—was still me.

"You want to settle accounts, fine," I said, keeping each word clear.

"Start with who dragged who into the bunker before the Purgation Gale hit. Who called the thermal pocket on the right. Who dropped the left-slope suppressor. Who ate the first tranquilizer volley with a shield. Who changed whose dressing last night. Who stayed up all night running alarm wire. Count it all." Nobody interrupted. Because that wasn't a question. It was a ledger. I took half a step forward. The wound told me not to be theatrical. I held it, just moved my eyes across the group.

"When you're done counting, if you still want to split—say it now," I said.

"But before you do, finish the daydream. What happens after? Who runs night watch? Who reads the thermal pockets? Who checks the HUD for live doors? When a Jäger (Hunter) turns you into furniture for an hour, who guarantees the rest don't become scrap at the same time?" The short-haired girl's lips moved. Nothing came out. The tall boy didn't answer either. Because everyone already knew. Nobody. Not right now. I exhaled, throat full of ash.

"Our biggest problem right now isn't who's more annoying," I said.

"It's that this is exactly what they want. The Jäger (Hunter) didn't bite down last night—not because they're merciful, but because we crack ourselves first. That's cheaper for them than ammunition." Then the person who'd been holding back the whole time finally moved. Not D. Not Maki. Akari. She picked up her rifle, set it back on her knees, dead-fish eyes as flat as ever, voice as level as someone reading quarterly figures.

"Hoshino's right," she said. Somehow, coming from her, that landed harder than D shouting ten times. Because Akari didn't waste words. When she chose to speak, it meant she'd decided: this is worth saying. She looked across everyone.

"Splitting now only benefits the Jäger (Hunter)," she said.

"Separate, and each squad becomes a solo target again. Nobody gets easier—we just lose the shield, the sniper, the HUD routing, the medical redundancy, the close-angle coverage." She paused, leaving room to breathe.

"And," she added, "your mental state is bad right now. Bad enough that if this continues, today someone steps into a thermal pocket before any Jäger (Hunter) has to fire." Too direct. Direct enough that even Jess just glared and didn't fire back. D looked at me, then at Akari, and drove it home.

"Since both leads have said their piece, I'll spell mine out plainly," he said.

"Anyone who still wants to split isn't being brave. They're sleep-deprived and want to test a theory with their own life. You want to test it, wait until the three weeks are up and write a report. Don't drag everyone else into the experiment now." After that landed, the room finally settled. Not because anyone suddenly matured. Just because once the anger burns through, the most annoying thing is always the same: you still have to come back and figure out how to survive.

The short-haired girl was the first to drop her head, shoulders still tight.

"…I wasn't really trying to break off."

"I know," I said.

"I just—""I know that too." The tall boy scrubbed his face, voice all grit.

"We really can't keep going like this."

"Correct," I said.

"That's the most useful sentence anyone's said today." Jess slumped back against the roots, mouth still sharp but no more throat-cutting.

"Congratulations, everyone. We spent all night plus a near-brawl to confirm the profound conclusion that 'we can't keep being chased like this.'""If you'd shut up for two minutes, we'd have reached it faster," Maki said.

"Wow, Maki, even your insults sound tired today."

"Because I am tired." That actually stopped me for half a second. Maki didn't usually say that kind of thing out loud. She normally turned tired into extra coldness, more tables, sharper orders. Hearing her just state it was a better indicator of how bad things were than all the yelling. I looked at her. She didn't look back, just opened her clipboard again and wrote two lines. Annoying. Get this lot tired enough and even the one I rely on as equipment started acting human. I pulled my eyes back to the circle.

Eight. Nobody walking out. Nobody scattering. Everyone at the edge. That wasn't fine. That was one more night of this and someone will do something dumb.

"All right," I said.

"Then we talk about the real problem." No one sniped. Because after the blowups, you always ended up back here anyway. I crouched and sketched a crude map in the ash.

"Right now we know three things. One—the Jäger (Hunter) are hard to counter with what we've got. Not untouchable, just not worth trading shots with. Two—they carve our formation by day and our sleep by night. Three—sticking to the forest edge in this pattern only gets us worn down first." D nodded once.

"So?" Before I answered, Akari was already looking at me. Those dead-fish eyes were flat, but it was obvious she was waiting for me to say it. She'd thought it too. I let one corner of my mouth move.

"So from now on," I said, "we stop thinking about how to beat them." The short-haired girl looked up. So did the tall boy. Jess frowned. D folded his arms. Maki's pen paused. Akari didn't move, but her gaze sharpened—not brighter, just more focused. I tapped the ash with the blade tip.

"The Academy said it from the start—survive three weeks," I said.

"Not kill the Jäger (Hunter). Not stage an endgame hero drama. With these weapons and this sleep, we can't outfight them. So the game isn't figuring out how to trade blows—" I looked up at the scorched forest, still breathing Gale heat.

"—it's figuring out how to give them nothing worth shooting at." The room went quiet. Not because it sounded impressive. Because everyone knew it was right. Once you flip the direction, the road ahead is still bad. Just no longer the sit here and get rattled to pieces kind of bad. Akari spoke.

"Good," she said.

"So we don't hunt Jäger (Hunter)." I met her eyes and finished it.

"We hunt time." Nobody argued. Because by this point, everyone understood. Keep running the way we had been—with this kit, this sleep, these injuries and this tempo—we'd break ourselves first. And that's what the Jäger (Hunter) liked best. Not when they had to take the first bite. When the prey rotted on its own.