Chương 77: 31.Friendly Discussion 31-2

The first time Harvey Knox made me think this person might actually be usable — which was rude of me, but accurate — was the evening after the Forest School groupings went up. Not romantic. Not atmospheric. No sunset, no fate, just the semi-open maintenance corridor behind the Lower House mixed dorms that perpetually smelled of machine oil, and a row of tool cabinets that looked like they'd graduated before any of the students.

I stood there holding my pack, my mental state roughly matching the contents: a complete mess.

"Are you going to a tropical rainforest survival exercise," Harvey said, crouching down without looking up, "or running away from home to attend a budget stationery fair?" He turned my bag upside down. The next second, my belongings underwent public execution, dropping to the floor around his feet one by one.

Moisture barrier bags, medical tape, replacement filter tips, electrolyte tablets, quick-dry shirts, two coils of rope, energy bars, basic purification tablets, three packs of jerky, two dozen cherry colas, and three light novels. One of the novels landed face-up with its cover in full view, title printed in letters that refused to be ignored: That Time the Editorial Department Lost Their Minds and Made This Light Novel Title So Long Harvey finally looked up at me. The expression was difficult to describe.

Closest approximation: a combat engineer opening a supply crate on the battlefield and finding a live chicken inside.

"…You're serious."

"I'm fourteen. Is buying light novels illegal?"

"No." He picked the book up with two fingers, like handling evidence.

"But in an environment with a strict total weight limit, bringing this into a firestorm zone generally indicates the owner intends to finish volume two before dying." I grabbed it back and dusted off the cover.

"It's psychological sustenance. People like you who only get emotionally attached to wrenches wouldn't understand."

"First, I don't get emotionally attached to wrenches. Second, if your psychological stability depends on cherry cola and a book title that reads like a public declaration of giving up, I'd suggest writing your will now. More efficient."

"Your bedside manner is genuinely terrible."

"Thank you. It's kept me alive so far." He said it without a shred of shame, with something close to professional pride. I started to roll my eyes, then stopped halfway. Because Harvey had already begun sorting my things, moving fast and precise, like his brain had a factory-installed algorithm for how to prevent idiots from getting themselves killed. Left pile, right pile, and a small third cluster he'd set apart on its own, like a holding area for the condemned. I crouched down to look.

"What's the classification system?"

"Left is what you actually need. Right is optional. Middle is what will slow you down, get you killed, or make your teammates quietly curse you." I looked at the middle pile. One and a half dozen cherry colas. I immediately moved to shield the remaining half dozen.

"No. That's the floor." Harvey looked up. Expressionless.

"Reason."

"Sugar, caffeine, fluids, mental stabilization."

"You said all that last time."

"Which means you should recognize it as a complete argument."

"All I'm hearing is pathological attachment to artificial flavoring." I stared at him. He stared back. Two seconds later, he pushed half a dozen back from the middle pile, leaving six in the condemned zone.

"Maximum twelve."

"Done."

"I'm not finished." He added: "Contingent on removing this." What he held up between two fingers was a metal insulated cup. Nice one — bought at the surplus store, impact-resistant, cold-retention, graduated markings. I'd felt very civilized purchasing it yesterday.

"Why?"

"Heavy and loud. If you trip in the rainforest and this hits a rock, the sound will personally invite everyone within thirty meters to witness your death."

"You say that like I'm definitely going to trip." Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"Third group breach in heavy armor class, you caught your left foot on the door frame, your right foot on your own shoulder strap, and went into the impact pad face-first. That's not speculation. That's documented." I went quiet. Damn, was this guy's memory specifically calibrated for humiliation?

"…You actually remembered that."

"Because it was spectacular."

"Drop dead."

"After Forest School. Stay alive first." He said it in that same flat tone, like reading off part numbers. But for some reason, the irritation stuck in my throat suddenly lost its edge. Harvey tossed the insulated cup back at me and handed me two soft collapsible water pouches instead.

"Use these. Empty, they compress flat. Full, they don't catch light. Leave the pretty cup in the dorm and go back to being civilized when you get back."

"That's kind of insulting — are you saying going to Forest School means I stop being human?"

"You can be human." He looked down and coiled the rope into standard storage loops.

"Just don't be luggage first." I really did want to hit him with a cherry cola sometimes. The worse problem was that I was starting to understand what he meant. That in itself was a little alarming.

"Hey." I poked his shoulder.

"Why are you bothering with all this?" Harvey's hands paused. Wind came through the semi-open corridor, carrying that pre-dinner heat that hadn't decided whether it was warm or just unpleasant. Somewhere on the distant field, someone was still running laps, footsteps as regular as a particular form of cruelty to youth. He didn't answer right away. He picked up my roll of medical tape, looked at it, and frowned.

"This isn't waterproof. Replace it."

"Don't dodge the question."

"I'm not."

"You obviously are."

"I just think addressing the fact that your feet will rot from moisture is more practical than exploring my noble character."

"Nobody said anything about your noble character. I'm asking whether you secretly obtained some kind of certification in How to Be Insufferable While Remaining Indispensable." Harvey finally smiled. Not big. Not the kind that would do anything to anyone's heartbeat. More like he'd finally acknowledged that the person in front of him was a nuisance, but not a hopeless one.

"Because you actually listen."

"What?" He tossed me the waterproof tape, tone unchanged.

"I said, because you actually listen. You don't retain it the first time, you push back the second, you get difficult the third — but you generally do it in the end. That's easier to work with than the type who's full of pride and keeps charging into walls." I stared at him for a moment. I genuinely couldn't tell if that was a compliment or an insult.

"…Are you praising me?"

"I'm doing a risk assessment."

"And the result?" Harvey looked at me, reached over, and retightened the loose strap on the side of my pack, his fingers moving cleanly through a knot that wouldn't loosen on its own but could be yanked free fast if things went wrong.

"The result is that if you stop trying to fit a thirteenth can of cola in there, your survival odds improve considerably."

"You really know how to kill a moment."

"Thank you. I have confidence in that too." I was about to respond, but when I stood up, the shoulder straps — freshly adjusted — settled against me completely differently. Not that old sensation of everything dragging downward like something had grabbed the back of my neck. Solid. Weight sitting close to the body. Even two steps felt lighter than before. I stopped. Took two more steps. Harvey didn't look up, like he'd already known this would happen.

"Notice the difference?"

"…A bit."

"Not a bit. A lot."

"You're annoying."

"Complain when you're still alive." From anyone else that might have sounded like a curse. From Harvey it came out as something awkward and almost like a guarantee. I'll keep criticizing you until you're capable of surviving. That was the translation, roughly. Damn. This person delivered goodwill like he was sanding you down with rough-grade paper.

I pushed That Time the Editorial Department Lost Their Minds and Made This Light Novel Title So Long back into the inner layer of my pack and pressed the memory card between the pages while I was at it. Harvey's eyes caught it — sharp as ever — but he didn't ask. His gaze paused for one second, then moved away. One second. Short enough to be imagined. But I knew he'd seen it. And he knew I didn't want to explain. And he chose not to ask. That meant more than anything polished would have.

I crouched to finish packing the last few items. Outside the corridor, the sky was sliding toward dark, and the Lower House mixed dorms were lighting up one by one — a battered, patched-together ship that was still, somehow, afloat.

"Harvey."

"Yeah?"

"If I actually do something stupid in Forest School—""Drop the 'if'."

"Let me finish." I gave him a look, then lowered my voice for the rest.

"Would you pull me back?" Harvey didn't answer immediately this time. He just latched his toolbox shut — a clean click, like something else getting sealed inside with it. Then he stood, half a head taller than me, and looked down without warmth in those grey eyes, but without the usual deflection either.

"Depends."

"Hey."

"If you're the one walking toward it, I'll tell you first." He said.

"If someone else pushes you, I'll pull you out and remember who did the pushing." I blinked. Still the same difficult delivery. But somehow — and I couldn't explain it — that was more reassuring than don't worry, I'll protect you would ever have been. Probably because Harvey wasn't the type to make promises casually. When he said depends, he meant it. When he said he'd tell me off, it would be unpleasant. But when he said he'd pull — I actually believed he would. I swung the pack onto my shoulders.

This time it sat right, not that yesterday version that had seemed personally committed to taking me down with it.

"Same for you," I said. Harvey raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"If you ever get taken out by a broken part, a rotten system, or your own terrible personality—" I crossed my arms and tried to sound like I meant business, "—give me some warning. I'll consider pulling you out. And laughing at you while I do it." Harvey looked at me. Two seconds of silence. Then the corner of his mouth moved again.

"Learn to buy the right medical tape first. Then we can talk about rescuing people."

"You are genuinely—""Let's go." He picked up the toolbox and turned toward the dorm entrance.

"Six tomorrow morning, I'm checking your pack. Missing something you should have, I'll tell you about it. Extra thing you shouldn't have, I'll also tell you about it."

"Wait, that's completely unfair—""Fairness isn't a resource available at military academies." He dropped that line without looking back. I stood there, holding a pack that had been reorganized into something almost unrecognizable, watching his retreating back, and felt the sudden urge to laugh. This world was strange. I'd always assumed that real understanding was supposed to be the elevated kind — the kind where you didn't need words.

What I'd ended up with instead was: the moment he opens his mouth I know I'm about to get criticized, and I'll do it anyway. Well. In this school, finding someone whose mouth was terrible but who'd tighten your straps for you — that was probably already good luck. I put my hand in my pocket and found the cherry cola I'd hidden away from the confiscation, the cold aluminum sitting against my palm like something cheap and reliable. Then I went after him.

"Hey. Tool-head."

"What?"

"If I've only got eleven cans tomorrow, does that mean one less criticism?"

"No."

"What about twelve?"

"Twelve cans, twelve criticisms."

"Are you actually evil?!"

"Sure." He finally turned his face sideways, voice still completely flat.

"The kind that takes away the extra luggage from idiots." I laughed. And this time, it was real.