With positive thoughts, I was about to follow the junior to change seats when—
Knock! Knock! Knock!—
A clear knocking sound despite the noisy classroom.
Sharp. Rhythmic. Official.
The kind of knock that instantly kills conversation.
Where have I heard that before? Where was it? Ah... when I barged into my platoon leader's office?
Yeah. That same cold, disciplined tapping that made every soldier sit up straight.
"Hmm? Everyone, quiet for a moment. Who's there?"
"We're from the Imperial War Ministry. We sincerely apologize for interrupting the lecture, but may we come in?"
"Eh? Ah, yes! Please enter!"
The classroom door opens, and suddenly a group of Imperial Army officers pour in.
Not one or two—an entire formation, stepping inside with rigid posture and polished boots.
The temperature in the room drops instantly.
Behind them, senior Marcus was fidgeting nervously, clearly at a loss.
What the hell did he do to get dragged along?
But why would War Ministry officers come to the Academy?
My mind starts running through possibilities faster than I can breathe.
Maybe they're looking for a deserter? No, that would be military police, not officers.
Pass.
Deserters get tackled, not politely asked for.
Or perhaps they're here to recruit volunteers for the Imperial Army? That's strange too, since the war is over.
Even stranger, officers wouldn't show up in the middle of a class for recruitment.
I didn't hear anything about an officer shortage during my nearly three years on the front lines.
If anything, too many officers died trying to play hero.
"I apologize again, Professor. It's an extremely important matter."
"Not at all. You are the glorious spears and shields protecting the Empire, so of course I understand. But, may I ask why you've suddenly come to my lecture?"
The leading officer scans the room slowly before speaking.
"Is there a student named Leon Adelheit in this classroom?"
Eh? Who? Leon Adelheit? That's me, isn't it? No matter how I think about it, that's me.
My name is practically glowing in my mind like a giant warning sign.
But I've already been discharged. I've permanently cut ties with the military.
I folded my uniform, saluted for the last time, and walked away.
So why are they looking for me? Why? Did I do something wrong when I was discharged?
I frantically rack my brain to recall what happened before my discharge.
My heart starts pounding as I dig through every stupid thing I might've done.
I did get into a few things, but they were things all discharged soldiers did.
Nothing extreme—just typical "I survived" stupidity.
For example, sneaking out a few military items or writing "I'm going home" graffiti.
That's practically tradition.
Or maybe gossiping about commanders and engaging in slightly risqué talk.
Everyone did it. Even the commanders did it.
It was really nothing. It would be ridiculous to come after me for that.
If that's the reason, then half the army should be in chains.
"Leon Adelheit... Is it perhaps this returning student from the 19th class?"
"Yes, that seems right."
"That student... There he is. Leon? It seems you have visitors."
At the professor's gesture, all the students turn to look at me.
Every head turns in perfect synchronization, like a flock of startled birds.
At the same time, the officers at the front also turn their gaze toward me.
Their eyes are sharp—too sharp for a peaceful academy hallway.
"Sergeant Leon Adelheit?"
"...Yes. I was Sergeant Leon Adelheit, but..."
Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!—
The sound of boots echoes through the room like thunder.
Damn it, don't march in such perfect unison even inside the classroom!
We're in a lecture hall, not a parade ground!
You're scaring our innocent freshmen!
Look at them trembling—it's like they think a war just broke out.
And don't come so close to me!
What are you trying to do, haul me out by force in front of everyone?!
I was just about to get friendly with my fellow freshmen, and now this!
Seriously—couldn't this have happened after I finally blended in a little?
Wait, what's with the pistols on your hips?!
Did you come to frighten the students?!
This is the Academy, not a battlefield! Who walks around like that on campus?!
"Sergeant Leon Adelheit. Voluntarily enlisted as a private in April of Imperial Year 219. Served for three years in the Luzens War. Promoted to sergeant and discharged in July of Imperial Year 222. Is this correct?"
"Yes, yes. That's me. But why are you doing this? I've already been discharged and am no longer part of the army, so there's absolutely no reason for you to come looking for me like this."
My hands instinctively rise a little, like I'm being accused of treason.
I'm already scared even though I haven't done anything wrong.
These officers—not just junior officers, but field-grade officers—make it worse.
They're the kind of people who walk into a room and your spine straightens by reflex.
I remember that when people like them came looking for soldiers during my service, things rarely ended well.
No one ever said, "Good job," when these guys showed up.
It was always something like, Why is your uniform dirty? Why is your formation crooked? Why is your existence an eyesore?
Getting chewed out for being a mess, getting your soul ripped out for being subpar, and so on.
Their voices still echo in my nightmares.
I'm starting to feel PTSD. Please, I'm begging you, disappear quickly. Please…
Just turn around, pretend you didn't see me, go back to wherever you came from—anything!
Snap! Snap!!—
Suddenly, the group of officers all salute me at once.
All of them. At the same time.
Their angles are so sharp I feel like I could cut myself just by touching their hands.
It's so synchronized and precise that for a moment I forget how to breathe.
What in the world…
Why are officers saluting me?
"Sergeant Leon Adelheit. First, we express our respect for your dedication to the Empire. It has been decided to award you the Medal of Honor in eternal recognition of your contributions to the Empire."
"...Eh?"
The sound that escapes me isn't even a real word.
More like my brain tripped over itself and fell flat on its face.
Wait. Award what? And to whom?
Surely they're not talking about me.
There must be another Leon Adelheit standing behind me.
A heroic one. A competent one. A version of me who didn't run away to the military because of a rejection.
But the officers' serious expressions don't waver.
Award… the Medal of Honor?
To me?
The same me who barely survived by clinging to life like a cockroach?
The same me who spent most of the battlefield praying not to die?
My mouth opens and closes like a fish tossed onto land.
No, there's no way. Absolutely not.
There must have been a mistake in the paperwork.
Or maybe the officers came to the wrong building..
Or the wrong Academy.
Or the wrong dimension.
Yet here they are—standing stiff, saluting sharply, staring straight at me as if I'm some legendary hero.
Me.
Leon.
The guy who ran away because he couldn't handle a rejection.
My legs suddenly feel oddly weak.
What kind of insane misunderstanding is this…?