"An Elite Corps guard, beaten to a pulp by an applicant? You useless bastard!"
Bedrick kicked the guard roughly.
There were plenty of other guards nearby, but no one stopped Bedrick. For an Elite Corps guard to lose to a General Corps applicant in front of hundreds was an unprecedented disgrace. No matter that he was a freshly appointed rookie, it was an unforgivable blunder.
'Damn it.'
Bedrick raked his disheveled hair back roughly.
In a test scored simply by how long you held out, an applicant had beaten an Elite Corps guard outright. This couldn't be undone. He had to be taken into the Elite Corps.
The trouble was that this year's intake was already full. The entrance ceremony was the day after tomorrow. Adding one more recruit here made no sense. Because of one vermin bastard, things had gotten nastily tangled.
Just then, someone caught Bedrick's fist. It was Selin, the subordinate Bedrick favored. Selin spoke with an expressionless face.
"You should settle the situation first."
"And how am I supposed to settle this? The Elite Corps quota is already full."
"There's one squad that's short on its quota, isn't there?"
"A squad short on quota?"
Bedrick looked at Selin with narrowed eyes and asked. Selin nodded placidly.
"Yes. The 42nd Squad."
"The 42nd Squad? That trash can?"
Bedrick scrunched up his face hard.
The 42nd Squad was made up of the men Bedrick most despised — the so-called trash can. Bedrick wasn't the only one who hated the 42nd Squad. Every guard outside the 42nd Squad shunned them. It was because they were all, to a man, problem cases.
"Yes, the 42nd Squad is one person short."
An Elite Corps squad was normally made up of seven members. The 42nd Squad, however, currently had six. One squad member had vanished during a mission, and the 42nd Squad's leader insisted he wasn't dead but missing, stubbornly keeping the slot vacant.
"There's no way that crazy drunk would take him—. Ah, right. He won't take him."
"Yes, the 42nd Squad leader won't take him."
"But I'll have filled the slot legally."
"Yes."
The reason the 42nd Squad leader could throw his weight around like that was that the Elite Security Corps captain was unusually protective of him. But after the recent incidents, even the captain's standing was precarious. On top of that, the entrance ceremony was the day after tomorrow. Every high-ranking figure at the school was on edge. If the 42nd Squad caused a problem in a situation like this—
"Good. As expected of you, Selin."
Bedrick beamed, as if he'd never been angry at all.
"What about that?"
Selin pointed at the fallen rookie and asked. Bedrick's gaze settled coldly.
"Get rid of it. Somewhere out of my sight."
The instant Bedrick's order ended, guards came out and dragged the blood-soaked rookie off like baggage. Watching with indifferent eyes, Selin found himself wondering.
Between the rookie Bedrick had marked and the man about to be thrown into the 42nd Squad, whose future was more tangled?
'The latter, surely.'
Selin nodded without a moment's hesitation.
***
"Friend! You're seriously amazing!"
Kellin was practically tearing up, as if he'd won himself. It was quite a lot to take.
"Did you see Bedrick's flustered face? To think I'd live to see Bedrick's face crumple! He muttered something about an internal meeting, but he's got no choice but to take you into the Elite Corps. Even Bedrick can't undo a test that's already been held!"
It seemed he'd keep up the racket if I left it, so I gently changed the subject.
"So, are you giving up this year too?"
Kellin's noisy mouth stopped dead. Kellin smiled bitterly.
"Seeing you made me realize it. In the end, it was my ability that fell short. I'm going to take the General Corps."
"You're giving up?"
"No. People get promoted out of the General Corps now and then. If nothing else, I'm genuinely diligent. I figure the odds are actually better for me this way."
Kellin grinned. His face was bruised, but somehow he looked unburdened.
"I see."
"Isn't this usually where you say something like, 'It'll work out'?"
"I'm no good at empty words."
"You're an interesting fellow."
Kellin cackled with laughter.
Just then, the Elite Corps guards who'd vanished returned. The goateed man, who earlier had been scowling like a vengeful spirit, was now wearing a strangely sly smile for some reason.
"Looks like he's got something up his sleeve, friend?"
Kellin said worriedly, but I didn't particularly care. Whatever scheme a mere Security Corps man cooked up, how dangerous could it be?
"Grave! Congratulations on passing into the Elite Security Corps."
Unexpectedly, the goateed man acknowledged my pass readily. And yet that sly smile only grew thicker.
"Come to think of it, there happens to be a squad with an open slot. I'll handle your squad placement right now. You're in the 42nd Squad."
The 42nd Squad—.
The goateed man waved a hand as if he had nothing more to say, and the rest of the guards began clearing the testing ground. Kellin burst out in indignation.
"Fuck! The 42nd Squad?! That vicious bastard! Petty right to the very end!"
"Is the 42nd Squad a bad place?"
"Bad doesn't begin to cover it! In the Elite Corps they say if you're assigned to the 42nd Squad, you may as well just resign!"
"Resign? Why?"
At my question, Kellin let out a long sigh.
"Normally an Elite Corps squad is made up of seven men, but the 42nd Squad's been at six for ages. The squad leader's been stubbornly insisting that the missing member will come back."
"Does stubbornness work for that?"
"It doesn't. There've been several recruitment rounds since. Every newbie assigned to the 42nd Squad couldn't last even a week and resigned on their own. You be careful too, friend."
Kellin warned me seriously. But I wasn't worried. I'm a man who survived the front. Whatever these fellows pulled, there was no way it could top the men back on the front.
Just then, a crude curse burst out from one side.
"The fuck — a replacement? What kind of bullshit is that?"
When I turned my head, a vicious-looking man with blond, close-cropped hair was glaring at Bedrick. His face suited a thug or a hoodlum more than a guard.
"Milo, mind your manners."
"Manners? Bullshit. Ptooey. You think you can handle it? Our squad leader won't sit still for this."
At this Milo's jeering, the corner of Bedrick's mouth quivered.
"I merely filled the slot in accordance with regulations."
"Our squad leader's not too fond of regulations."
"The 42nd Squad leader is a squad leader all the same. He can't break the rules of the Elite Security Corps."
"Is that your will? Better write it down in advance."
Milo bared his teeth and grinned. Bedrick's face went slightly pale, and he ignored Milo rather than deal with him any further.
"Eep, Mad Dog Milo! Damn it! Friend! Quit, even now! Some guys ended up crippled after crossing him!"
Kellin shouted with a frightened face.
'Mad Dog, huh.'
This Milo seemed to relish the title "Mad Dog" — he even wore an iron dog collar around his neck.
Mad Dog was a nickname used pretty often on the front. The number of "Mad Dogs" I'd met alone ran into the double digits. Every one of them puffed himself up about being a Mad Dog. But not one of them was a real Mad Dog. They were just men putting on a crazy act.
'How about this one.'
I found myself growing curious.
"Which one's the bastard called Grave?"
Milo asked, sweeping a vicious gaze around. Kellin shot me a hurried look. Ignoring Kellin's signal, I raised my hand.
At the sight of me, Milo screwed up his face entirely. The signs of fury were vivid. Vicious enough to make me wonder if we had some grudge between us.
"Follow me."
Milo said it shortly and turned away at once. Kellin grabbed me and whispered.
"Friend! Mad Dog Milo's a truly dangerous guy! Run, even now!"
Kellin warned me seriously again. We'd only just met, yet I could feel the sincerity in his voice. A rare good sort. So I, too, rarely, put empty words on my lips.
"I'll wait for you in the Elite Corps."
At that, Kellin's eyes grew misty. As I walked off, Kellin hurriedly threw up a salute to me. A funny guy.
"Like hell. Hurry up."
Milo spat the curse roughly. I walked along behind him. Milo seemed quick-tempered — his stride was short, and he kept muttering something to himself. He really did look half-crazed.
The place I arrived at, following Milo, was a warehouse anyone could see was no longer in use. Even at a glance, the air about it was savage.
'An initiation.'
Hazing was common wherever you went. I'd been through it a few times myself, but this was the first time it started with no explanation at all.
"Get in."
Milo went straight into the warehouse. The inside was dark, with no lights. It was fairly eerie, but I followed in without hesitation. The interior was surprisingly comfortable. There were liquor bottles all around, and even a bed. They seemed to use it as a hideout.
Thud! The door shut with a heavy sound. Milo locked the warehouse door. Milo loosened his shoulders, looking at me. Crrk — a savage sound came.
"This warehouse went out of use because the materials rotted from the damp. Nobody uses it, and it's a place where you could die and no one would notice."
A place where you could die and no one would notice, huh—.
"A fine place."
"Yeah, a fine place."
Milo pulled out a wooden club from somewhere. A deeply foul club, stained dark red here and there.
"The 42nd Squad has a long tradition."
Milo spoke, swinging the club lightly through the air.
"What tradition?"
"The tradition of beating you the fuck out until you resign."
It was what I'd expected, so I nodded lightly.
"An initiation."
At that, the sharp corners of Milo's eyes twitched. Hazing was familiar to me, but I had one question.
"Why are you angry?"
"Why am I angry? Hah—."
Milo bared his teeth like a rabid dog.
"You're not a blond beauty."
Not a blond beauty? At the bizarre reason, my eyes scrunched up on their own. Milo spat on his palm. Ptooey.
"The only one who gets to be my junior is a blonde with a puppy-dog face — cold on the outside, but warm on the inside, a beauty!!"
Milo shouted in a voice brimming with fury. What a needlessly specific demand.
Still, he meant it. Milo was genuinely furious that I wasn't a blond beauty.
'A reject.'
If anything, it was a relief. It was easier for me when he came at it this way too.
"Good timing, as it happens. I had something to teach as well."
"What, teach? Teach what?"
"Senior re-education."
"Senior re-education? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"All right, I'll count to three. Flatten yourself before then and I'll go easy. One."
"What the—"
"Three."
My foot drove into Milo's gut. Milo couldn't even scream as he rolled across the floor.
An ordinary man would have passed out on the spot, but Milo, even reeling, somehow tried to get up. He seemed to have a tough hide.
He'll be satisfying to hit.
"All right, Milo. Let's begin your senior re-education."
I gripped Milo's head and whispered.
***
There's a famous saying: if you want to know a person's true nature, give them power. Because gripping power brings out a person's true nature. It's the reason the world is full of bad seniors.
That said, even a bad senior is rarely a bad person from the start. He simply went uneducated.
No matter how bad a senior is, he turns gentle once he's educated. With a little senior re-education, even a reject bastard who wants a blond beauty for his junior could become a fine senior.
"Right, Milo?"
"Woof woof! Woof! Woof!"
Milo had become a good boy.