Chương 88: 35.Kushima Sisters 36-1

I paused. Not because it was particularly funny. Because she'd actually played along. And hadn't completely fumbled it.

"Don't," Jess said from above, still laughing.

"If you actually learn our brand of chaos, Harvey will die first."

"He won't die," I said.

"He'll just complain until the whole building wants to hang itself collectively."

"Close enough." Another stretch of quiet. This silence felt different from before. Not awkward, not the hollow kind that happens when strangers get crammed together with nothing real to say. More like a bunch of sharp-edged things that had finally been shoved into the same box—not settled in properly yet, not locked into place, but at least temporarily not cutting each other open. I rolled over. The bed frame gave a soft creak.

"Kushima."

"Mm."

"If you hear someone running in the corridor at night, it's not necessarily an emergency. Could just be someone who forgot to bring in their underwear again." Immediate protest from the upper bunk.

"Hey. That was an accident."

"You accidentally sprinted four floors."

"The wind was strong!" From Maki's side, a brief pause—then I caught a sound. Very low, very short. Like a laugh. Or maybe just something that slipped out before she could stop it. I stared into the dark for two seconds, then forced my mouth back to neutral. Fine. At least she wasn't made of wood. From somewhere outside came the long, trailing note of a distant night whistle. Three days from now we'd be walking into that forest—into that hellscape that lost its mind every seventy-two hours.

Once we were there, whose bed was folded neatly and who got which shower stall would all shrink into nothing. But not yet. Right now we were still here, still figuring out how to cram ourselves into the same space without driving each other past the breaking point, still learning to trade insults while slowly memorizing where everyone kept their gear, how fast they moved, whose voice sounded steadiest when answering back in the dark. Annoying.

But also, marginally more like an actual team than we'd been a few days ago. I closed my eyes and listened to the ceiling fan struggling overhead, making its thin, labored sound. That reflexive hostility to having a stranger in the room hadn't completely faded—but it didn't cut the same way it had this morning. Forty-eight hours until the live-deployment drill officially started. This morning, the Student Council suddenly announced that afternoon classes were cancelled.

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings. The moment the news hit, the entire first-year block went off. Some people cheered on the spot. Some started guessing which instructor had finally grown a conscience. Others were already scheduling afternoon plans—nap time, laundry runs, covert snack raids to the commissary. The hallway sounded like someone had opened a pressurized can—noise everywhere, loud enough that my ears wanted to file for discharge.

I just wanted to roll my eyes. If this school were actually that generous, it wouldn't be called the United Interstellar Military Academy. They'd have renamed it the Federal Charity Orphanage years ago. When the Student Council suddenly cancels classes, there's always something fermenting behind it. Either some procedure is about to screw you, or the system's found a more presentable way to screw you. Sure enough, it wasn't until noon that the official notice came down. The afternoon wasn't free time.

It was first-year Family Visitation Day. … Of course. I'd noticed something off near the school gates that morning. The crowd kept growing—civilians in street clothes standing outside with bags, flowers, boxes. If you didn't know better, you'd think some patriotic organization had organized a rally to cheer on the Federation's future pillars. Heartwarming family reunions weren't exactly my scene. In that kind of setting, everyone else was seeing family.

I was more like an invasive species that had wandered into someone else's living room. Since it had nothing to do with me, I made the sensible decision to retreat to the dorms—at minimum, avoid the atmospheric bombardment of group hugs and how have you been conversations. I didn't even make it to the dorm entrance before I spotted two people standing by the door who were clearly not students. One man, built like he could straighten our room's warped bed frame with his bare hands.

The other was a woman, and that was the bigger problem—not just familiar, but familiar in the specific way where her face looked like someone had taken Jess, aged her up fifteen years, and adjusted her expression to resemble a functional adult. I stood there for two seconds with one thought in my head. Oh. Jess, you're about to have a bad day.

I had zero interest in crashing someone else's family reunion, and even less interest in getting dragged into some pointless this is my roommate / oh she always looks half-dead introduction sequence. So I turned around without hesitation and headed straight for the stairs. When you have nowhere else to go, the roof is usually a decent option. Windy, quiet, far from people.

As for whether it was suitable for other purposes—the Federation had apparently considered that concern, because the rooftop perimeter was wrapped in an absurdly high iron mesh fence. Looked like they were afraid some overstressed student might decide to help reduce the system's overhead. I pushed open the roof door and walked straight into a slap of wind. The air up here was considerably cleaner than below—none of that proprietary dorm blend of laundry powder, sweat, and cafeteria grease.

Wind poured through the mesh, yanking my uniform hem in every direction. The sky was bright enough to hurt. From the distant school gate, voices carried faintly upward like a pot about to boil over. Then I saw her. Upper House uniform. Black hair. High ponytail. For half a second I thought: How did Maki beat me up here? Then she turned around. Shit. Wrong person. The resemblance was there—especially the bone structure around the eyes. Put them side by side and no one would say they were unrelated.

But the presence was completely different. Maki was cold, flat, precise—a clean utility blade. The person in front of me was something else entirely. She stood in the wind as if she'd been bolted to the concrete, and even her gaze carried weight—like she wasn't up here for the breeze, but to see who was going to have a bad day first. I scanned downward reflexively. Wrong tie color. Upperclassman. My body reacted before my brain caught up. Heels together, spine straight, salute first.

"Good afternoon, ma'am." She looked at me and didn't answer immediately. That half-second of silence was worse than a direct reprimand. Not because her expression was harsh, not because she was throwing her rank around—but because the way she looked at people felt like cross-referencing a file. Not seeing you, exactly. Determining whether you were worth remembering. Then she smiled. Perfect. Smiles like that usually carry two messages. First layer: Hello, junior. Second layer: You're fucked, junior.

Wind swept past and lifted her high ponytail. She pressed one hand against it, gaze still on me, like she'd finally matched my face to whatever entry she had in her head. Her first words were:"You're Hoshino Shimo?" Her voice wasn't loud—almost flat, actually. But it wasn't Maki's clean, processed calm. This was something higher up the food chain—the sound of someone who knows she doesn't need volume because people below will stand at attention anyway. My spine tightened without permission.

"Yes, ma'am." She watched me for two seconds, that hint of a smile still in place, looking less and less like good news.

"That explains it," she said. …Explains what, exactly? Finish the sentence. I hated people who only delivered half a thought. Either they were being deliberately cryptic, or they were looking for trouble. Looking at her face, I suspected she was comfortable with both.