Chapter 3: Transfer Request
April 7th, 2145 – Military Academy Command Office
The scent of paper and old metal filled the small room. Lena stood straight before the officer's desk, her transfer request gripped firmly in her hands.
"Handler Division?" The admin officer raised an eyebrow as he flipped through her file. "You're not due for active placement for another two weeks, Cadet Milizé."
"I understand," Lena said calmly. "I'd like to apply for an early handler assignment."
He frowned, tapping a finger on the page. "That's an unusual request, especially from your family. Most nobles aim for logistics or rear command."
Lena didn't blink. "I want to serve where I can make a difference."
The officer paused. His eyes flicked to the Milizé name, then back to her face.
Eventually, he sighed. "I can push it through. The Eighty-Six units are always short on handlers. But once you're in, there's no backing out."
"I know," she said. "Please do it."
He stamped the papers without another word.
As Lena stepped out of the office, sunlight caught her face. She closed her eyes for a second, letting it wash over her.
The first piece was in place.
---
Later That Evening – Private Study Room
Lena hunched over her desk, reviewing archived tactical reports. She wasn't looking for names—just patterns. She couldn't reach the Spearhead Squadron yet, but she could learn what kind of handlers had worked with them before. How they'd failed.
Each report read the same: Detachment. Miscommunication. Losses.
No empathy. No understanding. Just commands flung from behind safe lines.
She shook her head. "They never stood a chance."
This time, things would be different. Not because she remembered—but because she would do better.
---
Same Time – Handler Division Headquarters
Across the city, Commander Aldrecht tossed a file onto a growing pile. He didn't even glance at the name.
"Another noble brat trying to play hero," he muttered.
Beside him, his assistant skimmed the file. "Lena Milizé. High scores. Exceptional communication aptitude. Her father's a high-level intel officer."
Aldrecht scoffed. "She'll crack within a week."
Still, the name tugged at something in his memory—an old file, long since buried.
He didn't bother to check.
---
April 8th – Internment Zone 86, Outer Barracks
The Spearhead Squadron's daily cycle ran like clockwork. Patrols. Repairs. Maintenance. More patrols.
In the stillness of the hangar, Shin sat silently beside his Reginleif, cleaning the rifle mounted beneath the cockpit. His motions were precise, his thoughts distant.
Raiden walked over and leaned against a support pillar.
"You barely sleep these days."
Shin didn't respond.
Raiden let the silence stretch. "You're going to burn out."
"I don't plan on staying alive that long," Shin said plainly.
Raiden flinched, then gave a bitter chuckle. "Same old Shin."
Nearby, Theo and Kurena worked on their machines, the faint sound of tools clinking echoing through the space.
"Think we'll get a new handler soon?" Theo muttered.
"Who cares?" Kurena said flatly. "They all leave in the end."
Shin didn't say anything. He didn't need to.
To him, handlers were already ghosts.
---
April 9th – Republic Central HQ, Assignment Board
Lena stood before the assignment screen. A list of handler positions scrolled past in sterile blue.
Unit 525 – Processing...
Unit 447 – Assigned
Unit 586 – Open...
Unit 586 – Confirmed: Cadet Milizé, Vladilena
Lena's heart skipped.
Not Spearhead—but close.
A nearby unit. Still frontline.
She took a steady breath.
This was where it began.
---
That Night – Milizé Estate
Vaclav poured himself a glass of wine as Lena reported her assignment.
"586?" he said thoughtfully. "That's a brutal one."
"I know," Lena said. "I need to be there."
Vaclav didn't argue. He simply nodded and raised his glass.
"Then do better than the rest."
Lena raised her chin. "I will."
He studied her for a long moment, then smiled faintly.
"Your mother would be proud."
---
End of Chapter 3