Looking back on it, it was that day.

That day, Nao’s whole world cracked, revealed a rotten center, and collapsed.

---

“Nao-kun, hurry on home. It’s Taikeirei, you should relax and spend time with your family!”

Nao smiled and hefted the bag onto his shoulders. “Kaasan needs some things for dinner. I’ll relax later.”

“My, what a good boy!”

Nao said his farewells and headed back across town. It was maybe a thirty-minute walk to his house, but the streets were packed today, and he had to walk slower to avoid stepping on others. Or indeed being stepped on.

A few kids got ahead of the crowds with some jetpacks they’d probably snatched from passing junk trucks and cobbled back together. They went spinning through the air overhead, hooting and hollering like the hooligans they were. Nao thought he recognized them from school.

“Be careful!” one of the adults on the street called out. “You boys are going to break your bones with those things!”

“Oh, leave them alone. Boys will be boys.”

The crowds thinned a little at the town square, or at least they formed loose clumps with small slipways between. A load of trucks had come in that morning to spread favors for the festivities, so here kids helped themselves to piles of electronic sparklers, filter glasses, static-shock gloves, and all kinds of other stuff. Nao stopped to pick up a couple of sparklers. Hidori would like to play with them.

While he was squatted next to the neat stacks, perusing the selection, he heard a few older men speaking nearby in low tones.

“The runner we sent ain’t come back yet, and EMs still won’t go through. On Taikeirei of all days.”

“I heard a lot of small towns have been experiencing coldspots lately. Honinukishi’s trying to sue—they had an outbreak during a coldspot.”

Nao picked out a few different sparklers. A third person butted into the conversation.

“Well, it makes sense for Honinukishi to have coldspots. They’re in the red band, and Lord knows they have no tower techs. But here? Strange if you ask me.”

Nao stood up. One of the piles trembled and came apart. Sparklers rolled and spilled to the paving stones.

A second later, feedback screeched in his ears and the ground reared beneath his feet. He fell, scuffed his hands and knees. Something hot and wet ran from his ear and dripped off his chin. It spattered on the stones and he realized it was blood.

The earth seized again and buildings all around him imploded.

Nao sat back on his calves and blinked, unseeing, unhearing, at the scene before him. A hand poked from a pile of broken slabs of concrete and wood pillars, around which the dust was still billowing out. It seemed to beckon him. He got up and went.

The woman it belonged to was missing her head. In fact, her head was nothing more than a red stain on the ground.

Nao stumbled back, tripped, and blacked out.

---

When he woke, it was dark. Or, it was nighttime. But on the ground, everything was awash in firelight, fingers and tongues of flame licking through piles of wreckage. Somewhere, someone was sobbing. Another cried for help.

His body was weak. Nausea licked at his insides. Every heartbeat made his entire skull ache.

Nao regained his feet at last and coughed. His throat was raw from the smoke already. He couldn’t have cared less.

He followed the sound of voices. The first person he came to had been half-crushed, and when his legs were freed, it was clear he’d never use them again.

The next was a little girl. She was uninjured, for the most part. Nearby, both of her parents had bled out. One of their corpses was on fire.

Everything after that is black, like a scratched section on a disc. All Nao can recall from that time is the feeling of blood on his hands and face, warm and then cold.

He must’ve pulled more than a hundred people from the ruins of their homes that night.

He finally made it to his own street. Ahead he could see his house. It was by no means in good shape, but it hadn’t collapsed.

Someone else was walking down the road, with a heavy limp like they’d twisted an ankle. That person—where had he seen them? Who were they?

The earth shivered. Nao’s legs moved ahead of his thoughts. “Hey, watch out!”

His palms connected hard with the other’s back. Under him, the ground rolled again and pulled a blanket of bricks firmly over him.

The last thing he saw was a wide pair of eyes of the most brilliant hue.

What color had they been?

That, too, is gone now.

That was the day Nao’s life fell apart, but the rest of it just caved in from the aftershocks.

What’s happening? Well, right now, he’s training with his new Captain, Shiniama Rin.

Rin, like most kids from the green band, has ghostless eyes—eyes a shade of aquamarine Nao’s never seen before—clear skin, and hair as smooth as silk and twice as expensive to care for.

His expression is as dull and distant as morning fog. Something in his ridiculously colored eyes (contacts, Nao bets) puts off an air of superiority.

He’s also tall. So tall that Nao has to lift his chin just to look him in the eye.

“What?” Nao asks—trying not to grind his teeth too hard.

Rin looks away. “Nothing. Maybe pay more attention to the lesson than to me?”

Here and now, while Rin runs off to go steal more kills, Nao makes himself a promise.

Someday, he’s going to knock that fucker’s teeth in. With relish. Hell, with the whole pickle.

For now, he puts his ass in gear and sheaves away.

Their training area, like usual, is a simulated city block. Solid concrete buildings offer anchors and cover—for them and for the enemy. In a setting like this, it’s also exceptionally easy to ram into a building mid-sheave if you don’t know what you’re doing. It happened to Nao once, and after that, he worked his body past the point of exhaustion to make sure it never would again.

So far, it hasn’t.

By the time the lesson’s over, Nao’s covered in sweat, splattered with cruor, and almost sick with vertigo. He stabs his codana into the concrete and bends over, hands on knees, to catch his breath.

“Wow, Nao-chan, you don’t believe in mercy, huh?”

Nao lifts his head. At least this newcomer is one he can get along with—though he can’t fathom why in hell Wen Xulong is friends with Rin of all people. “They’re training dummies.”

“Still.” Wen Xulong hands him a water bottle. “If you fight like that when we graduate, the RAIM will be wiped out in no time. You’ll put the whole industry in an early grave.”

“Cybersecurity won’t end just ‘cause the RAIM are gone.”

Wen Xulong flicks his forehead. “I’m joking, Nao-chan.”

Nao straightens. A sheaveline anchors in the concrete floor, and Hanaka drops in. The only sign of effort anywhere on his person is the ahoge poking out from the top of his head. He brushes it back in place and walks over. “Slacking off, you two?”

His lilt sours Nao’s mood. “No, but you must’ve been.”

“Nao-kun, you got a therapist yet?”

Wen Xulong cuts in. “Alright, Hanachan, leave him be. . .”

Nao lowers his head and massages a hand over his forehead. He pays special attention to the temples.

Why, why, why did they lump him in with these Selzar idiots?

The simulation cuts out. The cruor vanishes from Nao’s skin—a welcome relief—and the ‘buildings’ sink back into the floor. Rin joins their unfortunate little group, and Mr. Reidson walks in from the side door.

He looks at Nao and his brow puckers.

Nao looks back with a similar expression.

“One hundred, ninety-four kills. Really, Nao?”

Hanaka and Rin both turn alarmed gazes on him. Wen Xulong on the other hand only sighs and hangs his head.

Nao crosses his arms, bites back some choice words, and instead says, “They’re training dummies.”

Mr. Reidson’s mouth draws into a fine line. “Half credit, Nao.”

It’s a testament to Nao’s self-control that he keeps his mouth shut in response.

“As for you three,” Mr. Reidson says to the others, “you did fine. Hanaka, your form is excellent, but you need to work on your strength. Wen Xulong, you’re a little hesitant when making decisions. Work on that.”

Nao waits for Rin’s verdict.

Mr. Reidson looks at Rin and says, “Shiniama. Keep up the good work.”

Rin nods in acknowledgement.

If it were possible to die of rage, Nao would have disintegrated on the spot.

“Nao.”

He fixes his face and faces Mr. Reidson. “Sir.”

“Come to my office after class.”

Great. He really needs another lecture right now. Just perfect.

“Yes, sir.”

At the end of the day, when the rest of his team gets to go back to their dorms and rest, Nao makes the trip to Mr. Reidson’s office.

It’s not the first, and while he sincerely hopes it will be, he also knows it won’t be the last.

In most of his classes, Nao does just fine. Reidson’s the only one who gives him shit.

The door handle creaks when he turns it, as if it’s just as tired of him as he is of it.

Reidson’s filing away papers when he comes in, so he leans on the wall next to the door and waits. He ponders what Reidson will open with. Maybe “you’re too reckless, it’ll get you killed someday”. Or “you need to take this seriously or it’ll get you killed someday”. However he opens, Nao knows it’ll end with him getting killed someday.

Reidson puts away the last of the papers and takes his seat again. He steeples his fingers, then rests his mouth against them and looks at Nao for a very long moment.

At last he says, “You’re too angry for your own good, Nao.”

He waits for the inevitable ‘and it will get you killed someday’. But—like everything lately—Reidson defies his expectation.

Nao says nothing. Sure, he’s angry. They stuck him with transfers from Selzar and didn’t even put him in charge. Now he’s stuck with an asswipe of a captain who has no more than three facial expressions—from what he’s observed—and somehow manages to make everything he’s struggled so hard for look effortless. A rich, green band ice prince.

Nao hates ice princes. He hates rich people even more.

And the green band?

Reidson blows out a sigh and puts his face in his hands. “Rest up, Nao. Tomorrow, you’re getting a taste of what war really looks like.”

“Sir—”

Reidson lifts his head and glares. “No arguments. I’m aware tomorrow’s your day off. I frankly don’t give a crap. If I have to beat the sense into you, that’s what I’ll do. You’d best be ready to roll at 0800 hours.”

“. . .Understood, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

0900 hours.

The belly of the slingplane vibrates under the soles of Nao’s boots. Outside the cabin, smoke fills the air.

“Masks,” Reidson says.

The five of them—Nao’s wonderful team plus Reidson—all put on oxygen masks.

For the sake of their learning, as Reidson put it, today they’ll assist in an active battleground. Rin’s still their captain, but Reidson’s command takes precedence over his if he decides to employ it.

Nao can’t stand either of them, so it makes little difference to him.

Hanaka elbows him in the side. “Nao-kun, you’d be much more handsome if you didn’t try to kill everyone with your eyes.”

“You’d be more handsome if I were blind.”

“Cut it, you two.” Rin’s voice carries the faintest hint of annoyance. Or exasperation. Maybe both.

Hard to tell when his face never changes. He looks more like a statue than a living person.

Nao looks outside again. They’re descending now, and the wrecked scenery on the ground is a little clearer than before—though not by much. He catches flashes of glitch, flickers of fire. Many of the buildings are damaged or collapsed. Feedback shrieks and makes his head cramp.

He gets one glimpse of a humanoid figure through the smoke, one formed solely of glitch.

A feral kind of anticipation seizes his gut. Now that the day’s come, he has to admit—he’s a little glad. Reidson’s problems with his attitude have given him a golden opportunity.

He’ll kill them all.

The same way they indiscriminately killed almost everyone he loved.