Chương 82: 33.All Accounted For 33-2

Then stopped. He didn't speak. Neither did I. Because we'd both seen it— Maki Kushima in white uniform, sitting at our desk with pen in hand, our supply sheets spread in front of her, half a can of cherry cola nearby. The scene looked wrong from every angle. Like an unauthorized cross-division transaction. Harvey stayed quiet for about two seconds.

"Did I get the wrong room?" Jess called out immediately:"Nope. Welcome to Group 144's temporary psychiatric ward. New Upper House patient admitted today."

"Jess." I pressed my fingers to my temple.

"I'm setting the mood." Harvey ignored her. His gaze moved from Maki's face to the revised sheet, then back to mine. The look was unambiguous. Explain. I would have liked to make it sound good. Reality didn't cooperate.

"Cyrus is hospitalized." I stepped aside to let him in.

"Transfer applicant. Upper House—Maki Kushima. She showed up on her own, currently revising our planning sheet and cutting my cola supply." Harvey took that in without visible reaction, walked over, and dropped the storage bag on the desk.

"How much did she cut?"

"Three," Jess answered instantly. Harvey nodded.

"Not enough."

"Fuck off." Maki looked up at Harvey.

"Harvey Knox?"

"Yeah." He looked back.

"You're the one who applied to transfer in?"

"Yes."

"Reason."

"Group 144 has clearly defined gaps that can be filled." Harvey went quiet. I knew him too well—well enough that a barely perceptible shift in his eyebrows told me he was already running through a hundred-point mental file labeled ways this Upper House girl might become a problem.

"Upper House doesn't usually come down here out of charity," he said.

"I'm not here for charity," Maki shot back, fast.

"Then what for?"

"To join a team whose current success rate is above average, but whose structural gaps will compound mid-to-late stage." Harvey looked at her for two seconds.

"Plain speech."

"I'm here to plug the holes," she said. Jess made a sound like watching two scalpels strike sparks. I quietly shifted half a step aside, thinking: Good. Now I'm not the only one who feels like she talks with a ruler. Harvey picked up the revised supply sheet and scanned it. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. The room went silent. He read fast but thoroughly—every column probably running simulations in his head.

I recognized that mode, so I didn't interrupt. Maki didn't speak either. She just sat there, back straight, eyes steady on Harvey, like waiting for oral exam results. Jess drifted close enough to whisper:"Does this feel like two different-brand tactical computers trying to read each other's drivers?"

"Yeah," I murmured back.

"And I'm not sure which one crashes first." Harvey flipped to the last page, eyes stopping on Decision order not to be determined by volume. He looked at me. I got there first.

"I didn't write that." Jess's follow-up was immediate and precise.

"But it's completely accurate."

"Shut up." Harvey's mouth might have moved slightly—whether it was a smile was debatable. Then he shifted attention to Maki.

"You revised all this?"

"Yes."

"You cut the second hard fire-starter to one primary and one replacement core, assuming my kit has a spark module."

"Correct."

"If it doesn't?"

"Then my assessment was wrong and needs correcting before departure." Harvey nodded—no approval, no rejection—and kept reading.

"Water tablets redistributed, no single-point failure. Night watch broken into defined roles. Cola kept at nine cans…" He paused there and looked at me.

"You actually agreed?"

"I negotiated," I said with dignity.

"She started at ten," Jess supplied helpfully.

"And whose side did you take?"

"The side of fairness and justice."

"Bullshit, you were entertainment-seeking the whole time." Harvey ignored us, set the sheet back down, and tapped one column.

"This is wrong." I straightened immediately.

"I knew it—" Maki looked down. Harvey was pointing at tools and repair.

"Replacement fasteners should be six sets, not four. In high-humidity rainforest environment, failure rates for pack hardware and attachment points will run higher than your paper estimates. Especially if someone treats their pack like a mobile garbage depot—" He glanced at me. I was immediately offended.

"Did you two coordinate this attack on me?"

"No," Maki said.

"But he's correct about that," she added. I closed my eyes, feeling a specific nerve above my temple begin its resignation process. Harvey pointed to another column.

"Also this. You've compressed the shared medical kit too tightly, assuming Jess has full mobility throughout." Jess heard her name and raised her hand.

"Excuse me—I may look durable, but treat me like a medical vending machine and I will break down." Maki looked at the sheet for half a beat. Then picked up her pen and annotated directly: Shared medical kit: split two-tier configuration. Primary managed by McCallow, secondary carried by Hoshino or Knox. Prevents single-point incapacitation. She finished and looked up.

"Like this?" Harvey glanced at it.

"Works." Two words. But I knew him well enough—that was high praise. Jess clearly knew it too, looking around with theatrical reverence.

"Historic moment. Harvey gave a works on the first pass. Kushima, congratulations on clearing the tutorial."

"Because she brought her brain," Harvey said evenly.

"Is that a compliment to her or an insult to us?"

"Not mutually exclusive." … Very Harvey. I leaned against the desk, watching them trade moves—one cold, one flat—and felt something strange surface. Maki and Harvey were nothing alike. White uniform, speech like formatted documentation. Gray eyes, mouth like sandpaper. But in how they looked at things, there was unsettling consistency—neither believed in good enough, both defaulted to worst-case scenarios, both buried survival in the details. Harvey would call you an idiot first, then fix it.

Maki skipped the insult and converted errors directly into numbers. Damn. If this combination actually locked in, we'd probably survive. It would also probably take years off my life. Harvey pulled the replacement liner from the storage bag and tossed it at me.

"Yours. Up half a size. The shoulder seam was too tight—it'll chafe once you sweat." I fumbled the catch, nearly dropping it.

"Don't just throw things without warning—""Not catching is your problem."

"That's harsh," Jess observed.

"But accurate," Maki added. I turned to look at her, incredulous.

"You're already taking his side?"

"I'm not taking sides. I'm confirming the description matches reality."

"You know how much that makes people want to hit you?"

"I've received two similar assessments today."

"Because you earned them." Harvey finished the entire sheet, pressed it back down, finger stopping on our group designation.

"Alright. On paper, you're halfway there." I raised an eyebrow.

"Halfway?"

"The other half is practical." He looked at her.

"Equipment room this afternoon. Bring your own pack. Ten minutes to show me load distribution, personal first-aid kit, and night-access sequence. Can't do that, don't join—a name on the roster with nothing behind it is dead weight." Brutal. Also reasonable. Maki didn't even twitch. Just nodded.

"Understood."

"And," Harvey added, "don't bring decorative garbage Upper House people love. This isn't a photo shoot." Jess nearly laughed. I looked at Maki, waiting to see if she'd finally show irritation. Instead she simply pulled her military pack closer, unclipped the top flap, and let us see inside. No gleaming accessories. No premium items too precious to touch. Just compressed clothing, waterproof organizers, collapsible water bladder, data pad, multi-tool, and tightly packed practical supplies. Harvey looked once.

Said nothing. Just made a quiet sound: "Mm." Somehow that "mm" sounded more like a pass than the earlier "works." Jess drifted over and whispered:"Hoshino."

"What."

"I suddenly feel like our group is starting to look like an actual team." I looked at the revised supply sheet, Harvey's replacement liner, Maki's open data pad, and that cherry cola with half a life left. Two seconds of silence.

"Don't plant flags yet."

"Fair." Jess corrected immediately, clearing her throat like delivering a mildly cursed prophecy.

"Let me revise: I feel like our group is starting to look like a team that will argue constantly, but might not die too fast."