Chương 132: 50. Expectation 50-1

The second-to-last morning arrived courtesy of the ache deep in my bones. Not birdsong. Not sunrise. Not some refreshing morning breeze symbolizing hope's arrival. I woke up in a highly educational physical state: my right shoulder felt like someone had quietly wedged a rusty screwdriver into the joint, my left leg like Jess had taken another bite out of it during the night, and my back had the structural integrity of paper folded four times, thanks to sleeping pressed against the rock wall all night.

The first coherent thought when I opened my eyes: —Still alive. My apologies to everyone involved. The hideout was quiet. Outside, dawn had barely broken. What filtered through the half-rolled thermal cover wasn't golden morning light, but a cold, ash-washed white. Like the sun had intended to report for duty properly, took one look at this hellscape, sighed, and risen anyway.

Jess was curled diagonally in front of me, compression bandage still wrapped around her leg from last night, sleeping in that distinctively chaotic way of hers—like a cat still picking fights with the world in her dreams. Harvey was slumped near the entrance, hand somehow still gripping his trip-wire, refusing to let go even unconscious. Like someone might steal his collection of bent metal and frayed cord while he slept. D sat propped against his shield, head low—asleep, or running on absolute minimum power.

Linde and Roy were deeper inside, both sleeping lightly; Roy's brow was still furrowed, like he was running resource reports in his dreams. Akari looked the least like someone who'd been sleeping. She was posted near the viewport, arms crossed, head tilted slightly—a blade temporarily sheathed but not quite relaxed. And Kushima. She was awake. The moment I moved, she looked over. Calm eyes, steady expression.

Like she hadn't spent the night crammed into a hole but had just finished a quiet shift in a fully equipped medical bay.

"You're up," she said quietly.

"Yeah..." I tried to push myself upright. My right shoulder immediately registered a formal complaint.

"Hurts."

"Good. Means the nerves are intact."

"When are you going to learn how to comfort people like a normal human being?"

"You've survived this long. Do you still need comforting?" Hard to argue with. So accurate I wasn't sure whether to thank her. I sat up slowly, lifted one corner of the thermal cover, and looked outside. The world had not improved its attitude toward the living. Scorched slopes, cracked stone, the distant rainforest smeared in charcoal by the firestorm. But unlike the past few days, that pressure—the constant weight of something about to crash down on your head—had thinned. Not gone. Thinned.

Like a rope pulled taut for too long, finally easing off by one notch.

"Do we send out a perimeter sweep today?" Linde had woken at some point, voice still carrying morning roughness but already back to her usual mode. I was about to answer when Harvey came back online. He blanked for three seconds first, like a dropped signal. Then jerked upright, one hand to his head, the other still gripping the wire.

"What time is it—did anyone step on my—oh. Still alive. Thank god. I dreamed D used his shield to wheel me out with the dirt." D lifted his head slowly, voice rough with sleep.

"Keep going and I'll make it happen."

"Good morning to you too. Your wake-up greetings remain as load-bearing as ever." If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Jess surfaced next, opening with full energy.

"Who stepped on my foot?"

"Nobody stepped on it," I said.

"That's the debt you owe the ground for everything you put it through yesterday."

"Please. You yelled at us so hard my legs gave out."

"That means I have leadership charisma."

"That means you're loud." Good. Everyone still had enough left to snipe at each other first thing in the morning. Collective psychological status: not fine, but functional. We ran through the morning routine—same rhythm as before. Water first. Then injury checks. Then joint movement before we all locked up into planks of old wood. Finally, discussion about pushing a short external sweep to confirm the evacuation route perimeter.

Kushima delivered her assessments like reading a prescription while working on D's leg brace.

"D can walk, but no hard pushes today. Jess has nerve tension in the calf—running's fine, explosive pivots aren't recommended. Hoshino's right shoulder is inflamed, slightly more swollen than yesterday—""Why are you always so detailed when it's me?" I protested.

"Because you're the most trouble." She didn't blink.

"Roy's dehydration recovery is at seventy percent. Linde's shoulder mobility is at eighty. Harvey—" She looked at him.

"Still talking that much. No issues."

"I'm reserving the right to pursue legal action for that diagnosis," Harvey said. Akari pulled her attention from the viewport and added, without looking at him:"You'd need to get out of here alive first."

"... Right. Thanks for the reminder. All the women on this team have a gift for ending a person's existence in one sentence." Honestly, not an inaccurate assessment. By late morning, we hadn't gone far—just a short external loop with me, Akari, and Linde checking the perimeter blind spots. D wanted to come. Kushima stopped him with a single look. Her stated reason: you're a valuable mobile shield unit, not a free expendable. He sat back down.

I filed that away quietly: If Kushima ever decides to change careers, she could command a senior officer program on eye contact alone. Outside was quieter than yesterday evening. Too quiet. No sign of other groups. No fresh Jäger (Hunter) patrol marks. The kind of quiet that wasn't safety—more like the aftermath of a storm when every living thing is still deciding whether it's safe to move. We were back at the hideout by late morning, approaching noon. Everyone had just finished the second water distribution.

Roy was deep in constructing another table—Remaining Water and Ration Bar Adequacy for Final 36-Hour Survival Period—and I was genuinely wondering if he was going to compile this entire assessment into a formal report for Academic Affairs when we got back. And then, in that exact moment— Every HUD lit up simultaneously. Not alert red. Not thermal-zone orange. Not anything Jäger (Hunter)-related. A clean, quiet blue-white notification bar. All eight of us stopped moving at the same time. I looked down.

[ACADEMIC AFFAIRS NOTIFICATION] [CURRENT FOREST SURVIVAL ASSESSMENT: EARLY TERMINATION] [ALL STUDENTS: PROCEED TO DESIGNATED EXTRACTION POINT WITHIN 24 HOURS] [Jäger (Hunter) UNITS: OFFENSIVE OPERATIONS SUSPENDED — STUDENT EXTRACTION ASSISTANCE AUTHORIZED AS NEEDED] [REPEAT: ASSESSMENT CONCLUDED — PROCEED TO EXTRACTION POINT WITHIN 24 HOURS] Silence. Dead silence. I could have sworn the wind outside stopped. Then— Harvey's head hit the rock wall. Not on purpose.

His body just went offline like a puppet with cut strings. Thud.

"Ow—" He pressed a hand to his skull, voice caught somewhere between laughing and crying.

"Is this real—?" Jess had been sitting upright staring at her HUD. The next second she dropped flat onto her back like a cat that had finally closed for the day.

"... Fuck." One word. But that word was carrying at least half the psychological damage from the past two weeks. D lowered his hand slowly. Set the shield aside. The tension that had been holding him upright seemed to drain out all at once. He didn't speak, just bowed his head and let his shoulders drop. Linde leaned back against the rock and closed her eyes, like checking whether this was a dehydration hallucination. Roy stared at the notification, mouth opening and closing, until he finally managed:"...

It's actually over?" Akari was the steadiest, as always. But she wasn't completely still. She read the notification for two full seconds, then let out a very quiet breath—like finally acknowledging that the stop button had been pressed. Kushima set down the bandage she'd been holding. Checked the notification once more, then said in that same unhurried voice—the one that was somehow calm in a way that made you want to cry:"Alright. No spacing out. Assessment is over, so we rebuild the extraction plan now.

Our current objective is: do not do something stupid on the last leg home." I'd meant to say something appropriate. Something leader-shaped. Instead, my body moved before my mouth did. I leaned back against the rock wall and slowly slid down until I was sitting. My legs just went out. Not injury. Not exhaustion. It was that thing that had been pulled tight for so long you'd almost forgotten it was there—and the moment the words assessment concluded cut through it, everything came down together.

"... Hoshino?" Jess tilted her head.

"I'm fine," I said with great conviction. Then, one second later:"I just really want to sleep for three days." Harvey's hand shot up immediately.

"Seconded. I want to sleep in a bed that doesn't grind into my spine, with air conditioning, and absolutely no one waking me up with plants, stun rounds, or tactical planning."

"That sounds like a noble's wish list," Jess said.

"No," D said finally, voice low.

"That's called basic human rights." That was so correct I almost applauded.