Chương 133: 50. Expectation 50-2

After confirming the notification, we didn't move out immediately. We spent nearly an hour reorganizing gear into extraction configuration. This time felt different from every other time we'd packed. Every previous time, the question had been: how do we make it less likely to die. This time it was: how do we avoid dying like idiots in the final stretch because we got sloppy. Academic Affairs said the Jäger (Hunter) units had suspended offensive operations and would assist with student extraction as needed.

That sounded very humane in theory. In practice, I trusted that statement roughly as much as I trusted the school's official line about fostering teamwork and resilience. Which was about half a point out of ten. The other half was only there because I was in a generous mood today.

"Extraction point is the northwest outer platform," I said, reading the new overlay.

"Not too far. At our current condition, conservative pace puts us at five to six hours."

"Then we walk conservatively," Kushima said.

"No rushing. Getting injured now isn't brave. It's stupid."

"I want that as an official squad rule," Harvey nodded.

"Learn to follow it first," I told him. We stripped most of the hideout's cover, leaving only minimal camouflage. Not out of sentiment—there was just no point. This place had gotten us through the last night. Job done. Before leaving, I looked back once at the rock overhang and the semi-sunken shelter we'd carved out. Genuinely, objectively ugly. But it had kept us alive until noon today. So I said a quiet, private thank you to it. Not out loud, obviously.

If Jess found out, she'd spend three days laughing and permanently log it into my personal hall of shame. Once we were actually moving on the extraction route, the atmosphere was completely different from yesterday. Not lighter. Looser. Yesterday we'd walked with every muscle braced, breathing like even the air might set something off.

Today the formation was still intact, scanning was still there, rhythm and pace control were still there—but the pressure that had been wringing everyone from the inside had mostly let go. We even saw a Jäger (Hunter) on the first stretch of broken rock. One unit. Standing on high ground not far off, black all-terrain armor still looking like cold metal that had no business existing in nature. It saw us. Didn't raise its weapon. Didn't move toward us. Just stood there, like a quiet road marker.

Harvey's whole body locked up.

"... I know the notification said they stopped, but I still want to swear at that thing."

"Understandable," I said. Jess squinted at it.

"It looks exactly like one of those serial killers who suddenly retires and starts doing volunteer work." Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

"That analogy is uncomfortably accurate," Roy said. D looked at the Jäger (Hunter) once and said quietly:"It's checking if anyone's fallen behind." I'd clocked that too. This wasn't pre-hunt observation. It was verifying the extraction group was intact—whether anyone needed guidance. Completely procedural. And somehow worse. Because it meant they could flip from predator to proctor in under a second.

Like the person who'd been dropping stun rounds on you three days ago just clipped on a lanyard and was now saying, right this way, watch your step. Federal education. Genuinely fucking avant-garde. The Jäger (Hunter) eventually just raised one hand, pointed toward a more stable slope path, and turned to move higher up.

"... Was it just giving us directions?" Roy looked like his operating system needed emergency maintenance.

"Yes," Akari said.

"That's so—""Disgusting?" I offered.

"... Yeah."

"Welcome to understanding how institutions actually work." We ran into two other groups on the way back. The first was smaller than ours. One look at their faces told the whole story. We held distance, made eye contact, and kept moving. No posturing, no robbery attempts, not even trash talk. Everyone was too exhausted. Too exhausted for hostility to feel worth the energy. The second group was something else entirely. One of them spotted us and immediately raised both hands.

"We're not looking for a fight. We're genuinely not." Harvey laughed under his breath.

"What is this, post-apocalypse etiquette?" I nearly lost it too, but held onto the bare minimum of squad-leader composure.

"Neither are we," I said. Both groups went their separate ways—two sets of ghosts who'd crawled out of different parts of the same war, too tired to bother hurting each other. Honestly, this kind of peace suited us better than any dramatic reconciliation scene. Nobody had the bandwidth for meaningful handshakes right now. Getting home and sleeping was more important. By the time we were approaching the extraction platform, the sun had started its descent.

There's something strange that happens when you know you're actually going to make it back. Your mind starts producing a very peculiar kind of rebound. For instance: D, who had been about as talkative as load-bearing architecture, turned his head toward me on a relatively flat stretch.

"After we're back," he said.

"Barbecue?" I genuinely thought my hearing had gone.

"... What?" Harvey lost it completely.

"Hold on—we just crawled out of a death forest and your first life plan is meat?" D's tone was the same one he used for logistics reports.

"I made a reservation." Silence. Jess turned to look at him first.

"When did you make a reservation?"

"Before the assessment."

"You booked a restaurant before coming out here?"

"Yes."

"Why?" D considered this with apparent sincerity.

"Because if I made it back, I'd want meat."... Okay. That logic was airtight and I had no response. Roy stared from behind, visibly shaken.

"You can do that? Just—pre-book your post-survival meal as psychological preparation?"

"That's not psychological preparation," Harvey said.

"That's a man making strategic investments in his future."

"Stop narrating my decisions," D frowned. Then he looked at me again.

"So. Are you coming?" Being asked that directly, that simply, I paused. My mind didn't go to barbecue first. It went to a bed. A pillow. Hot water. A quiet room. A full night's sleep with no trip-wires, no stun rounds, no carnivorous vines sniffing at the entrance, and nobody's leg cramping at 0300 requiring the donation of my forearm. So I answered honestly.

"I'm sleeping first. Four days off—I'm going straight to bed when I get back." Harvey nodded with religious conviction.

"Correct. Completely correct. I endorse this policy. I personally intend to sleep until next semester." I ignored him and kept my eyes on D.

"Sleep first. Then food." D looked at me for half a second.

"Fine," he said. Jess immediately produced the smile that meant trouble.

"Ooh—sleep first, then keep the date." I caught that instantly.

"What exactly is that tone?"

"Nothing. I just think it's very wholesome."

"There's nothing wholesome about it. It's called physiological recovery."

"Right, right. Physiological recovery, followed by barbecue. Very healthy. Very normal."

"Jess."

"What."

"Say one more word and my first move when we get back is filing a request to have you assigned to four days of supplementary trench-digging practicals."

"You're genuinely evil."

"Thanks. I'm the captain." Akari, who had been walking quietly beside us the whole time, eyes on the path, actually spoke up with her characteristic flatness:"She does need sleep." I blinked.

"... Why are you joining in?"

"Because for the past two days, you've looked like you're running on willpower and temper alone."

"Is that a compliment?"

"It's a description."

"That's so unromantic," Harvey sighed. Linde spoke up from the back—a rare occurrence.

"Your standards for romance are embarrassingly cheap." Roy, with complete earnestness, felt compelled to add:"Although from a team psychological recovery perspective, a post-recovery meal does have documented positive effects—""Stop." I raised a hand.

"Please don't turn barbecue into a report."

"... Right." The whole squad laughed. Not the big, bright kind of laughter. The tired kind. The light kind that finally leaks out from somewhere deep in your chest. Like something that had been compressed for two weeks had finally found an exit that wouldn't break anyone on the way out.