"He's not like us."
That thought crept into the minds of every soldier in the 300th Magical Aerial Squadron, even if no one wanted to say it aloud. Still, in the downtime between missions, during cold meals or when the stars were too quiet, someone always broke the silence.
"Did you see how he just stood there when the Federals tried to flank us?" grunted Sgt. Nakamura as he took a bite of the miserable tuna paste ration. "Didn't even blink. Just turned, aimed, dropped three of them like it was nothing."
Pvt. Jin-Ho, a young Korean conscript with a nervous energy, nodded quickly. "He doesn't even look around. Like he already knows where they are before they fire."
"I swear," said Cpl. Wei Zhang, spitting to the side, "I saw him take out an entire squad from the treeline—alone. They didn't even get the chance to shoot back. It was like watching death walk."
The group fell silent for a moment. The only sound was the crackle of the low fire and the dry crunch of rations being chewed.
Lt. Kenji Sato, one of the more senior mages, rubbed his temples. "You ever talk to him?"
Everyone shook their heads.
"He never talks back," said Jin-Ho. "Once, I offered him some soup. Just looked at me, then turned away. Like I wasn't even there."
"He's always sitting somewhere by himself. Tree, rock, wall—doesn't matter. He stares into space like he's waiting for something. Or someone," muttered Wei.
"Probably doesn't want to remember any of us," Nakamura said. "Probably expects us to die before he does."
Kenji leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I don't blame him. We're the ones charging with bayonets yelling banzai, hoping our barriers hold long enough to take out one or two before we blow ourselves up. He just shoots from a hill. Picks them off. Clean. Precise."
Wei scoffed. "Yeah, and still racks up more kills than the rest of us combined."
"You know what freaks me out the most?" said Jin-Ho, his voice dropping to a whisper. "When he gets surrounded. He doesn't panic. Doesn't scream. He just... moves. Cold. Mechanical. Like it doesn't matter how many there are—he's already won."
They all went quiet again.
The air was heavy. Not with fear—but with discomfort. Itsumi wasn't just a strange soldier. He was something else entirely. Something molded by war. Shaped by silence. Sharpened by necessity.
"He's not like us," Kenji repeated softly. "We fight to survive. He fights because... maybe that's all he knows."