There was a time when the body could sense that dawn was only moments away. Dark, yet not dark. Silent, yet not silent. Only the air changed, and the birds had not yet begun to sing. The wind flowing through the outskirts of Portos Harbor carried that subtle threshold with it. Misaki and Aira had tethered their horses in the brush beside the road and stepped into the forest path. The ground beneath their feet was damp with fallen leaves. Misaki had just finished her records and stood up from her encounter with the imperial scouts the night before, and had only just returned her pen to the leather satchel. The weight of the satchel remained unchanged. It had already been proven throughout this journey that ninety percent of its contents were writing materials. A branch grazed her cheek. Misaki brushed it away with her hand while her eyes followed Aira's silver braids ahead of her. Even in the thin moonlight, Aira's hair alone seemed to glow white. With the practiced movements of an experienced escort, she avoided branches, read the ground, and muffled her footsteps. "Let's split up here," Misaki said in a low voice. Aira turned immediately. Her aquamarine eyes met hers in the moonlight. Wariness, lingering drowsiness, and the instincts of a bodyguard all mingled in that gaze. "I want to get a closer look at the supply depot. I need you to hide the horses and count how many sentries are on the perimeter," Misaki continued before Aira could open her mouth. "If we go together, the risk of discovery doubles. It's the logical choice," Misaki added. "…………" Aira closed her mouth. Her face showed she was searching for a counterargument, but none came. Misaki had done something similar in her past life—she would line up numbers and reasons before anyone could object. She was aware it was a bad habit of a PM trying to convince stakeholders. She was aware of it, but this time it worked. Aira nodded reluctantly. "…I understand. But—" Aira said. "If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, move in," Misaki said. "Please don't say things like that without warning," Aira said, her voice half relieved and half frustrated. Misaki gave a small nod and stepped into the brush. That instant. *Rustle, rustle, rustle, rustle.* The parchment in the leather satchel asserted itself with full force. Misaki stopped. Aira stopped. Both of them froze, and for several seconds, they looked at each other's faces. "…So ninety percent of your luggage really is paper," Aira said. "Everything I need is in the quantity I need," Misaki replied. "But still—" Aira began. "It is," Misaki said firmly. Misaki cradled the leather satchel in both hands and carefully chose her footing to avoid dried leaves as much as possible, moving forward slowly. With each step came a subtle sound. It was far from perfect silence. But in her past life too, the night before a death march, she had crammed three bags with nothing but writing supplies. Habits ingrained in the body didn't change easily. Feeling Aira's exasperated gaze on her back, Misaki disappeared into the depths of the forest. --- On the outskirts of Portos, there was a section where abandoned houses and abandoned warehouses stood in a row. They appeared to have once been used as temporary storage for cargo, with five or six wooden buildings standing at intervals. In what should have been an almost unused place, three imperial army supply wagons were parked around a campfire. Misaki lay flat in the brush. The ground was damp. The smell of mud reached her nose. The dew from the previous night lingered on the weeds, and her belly felt cold and clammy beneath her. But Misaki didn't move. A soldier was unloading cargo from one of the wagons. Four wooden boxes, two long objects wrapped in cloth. The wheels of another wagon were sinking deeper than the first—meaning the cargo was heavier. Food or metal. She counted the intervals between the soldiers changing positions. One person changed places every twelve minutes. Numbers from her past life began to move in her head. This supply frequency wasn't once every three days. It was every other day. Based on the types of wagons, the transport to the front lines was distributed. Not concentrated in one place, but flowing through multiple routes. The empire's logistics officer was cautious. Or perhaps the design assumed information would leak. *(Assumed information would leak—)* The moment that thought crossed her mind, Misaki's pen paused slightly. She pulled parchment from the leather satchel and wrote frantically with mud-covered hands. The sensation from her past life's logistics system delay analysis came directly to her hands. She wrote numbers. She drew diagrams. She drew arrows. Estimating the depot's position from the way the wagons were loaded was almost the same structure as bottleneck analysis in inventory management systems. She didn't notice the branch overhead. She was too focused. When she shifted her body slightly, a low branch came down over her face. A leaf struck her forehead, and then a thinner branch tapped her nose with a soft *pat*. *(…Bug Report: Obstacle detection function failure results in scout self-destruction)* Words she used to write habitually when reporting system failures in her past life floated through her mind. Misaki didn't move a muscle and slowly pushed the branch aside. Her hand, smudged with mud and sweat, returned to the parchment. Even in another world, her past life's habits remained intact. The back door of the abandoned house opened. Misaki's hand stopped. In the moonlight, a figure in a gray cloak emerged. The hood was down. Beside him stood an officer in imperial military garb. The officer said something. She couldn't hear. The figure handed over a bundle. The officer took it and checked the contents. Paper. Two, three folded parchments. The officer looked them over and nodded slightly. His profile caught the moonlight. The figure's profile became visible. Misaki's entire body went rigid. Royd Valner—once the right hand of the elderly Prime Minister Gaius, supporting national affairs, a man expected to lead the next generation of this nation. In the final memo left behind by Gaius after thirty years as Prime Minister, there was a single line: "I leave it to Valner." Misaki had quietly drawn that line as a supplementary line of trust. As a figure who might one day be relied upon as someone capable of supporting this nation next. She had never met him directly. But the man whose name Gaius had inscribed was now handing documents to an imperial officer. The papers the officer received had diagrams visible on them. Troop deployments, supply routes—she couldn't tell at this distance, but it was clearly military intelligence. Again. Only those two characters fell quietly into the depths of her body. With Kasiesu, it had been anger. Even now, remembering that man's calculating smile made her chest burn with a searing sensation. But this was different. Not anger, but something heavier filled her body. That Gaius had trusted this man, and here he was—. Gaius had written "I leave it to Valner," and Misaki had quietly drawn that line as a supplementary line of trust. As a figure capable of supporting this nation next. She felt like she might cry. Misaki clenched her teeth. Then she struck her own cheek once, sharply, with the back of her hand. *(Record. Now is the time to record.)* Her trembling hand moved across the parchment. Royd Valner, estimated age, cloak color, build. The officer's features, the insignia on his coat, which imperial unit—she could see the emblem. She wrote. The size of the bundle, the way it was folded, the naturalness of the handover. He was practiced at this. This wasn't his first time. She timed the exchange. About thirty seconds before the two parted. The officer returned into the depths of the abandoned house. Royd walked toward the forest direction. Record over emotion. It was a habit from her past life—no matter how cornered she was, she would continue writing system failure reports. No matter how much her body trembled, she would record the facts first. Emotion could come later. Now she wrote everything. Misaki wrote. Even with mud and sweat on her hands, even if the characters became somewhat illegible, she wrote. --- "Misaki," Aira said the moment they regrouped. In the darkness, Aira's eyes were sharp. She looked at Misaki's face for a moment, then closed the distance without hesitation. There was no wavering in that movement. When Aira sensed something as a bodyguard, she always seemed taller. "I'll explain later. First, let me organize the records," Misaki said. Misaki rearranged the parchment in the darkness. She lined them up in order. Date, time, location, content. The habits of project management mechanically advanced the organization of information. She could feel her hands trembling. Aira said nothing. She simply stood beside Misaki. Then, without a word, she placed her hand on Misaki's shoulder. Misaki stopped moving. It was warm. Aira's hand was small, but it was definitely there. Misaki looked up. Aira was looking straight at her. Concern colored her aquamarine eyes. She didn't ask. She didn't rush. She was simply there—that intention came through clearly. "…Thank you," Misaki said. That was all. She decided in that moment to tell Reon everything. There had always been a sense of obligation to inform him of Royd's betrayal. But at the same time, she imagined how much pain Reon would suffer when she told him. When Reon, who had long admired Gaius, learned the meaning of Gaius's words "I leave it to Valner"—. Misaki was slightly surprised that she had come to anticipate Reon's pain so far ahead. Could mere obligation allow her to see this far? The answer was already there. It was there, but she was still afraid to acknowledge it. "The organization is complete," Misaki said. She returned the parchment to the leather satchel. As she stood up, four dried leaves fell from her head all at once. Aira began picking them up, one by one. "More are accumulating," Aira said. Her voice carried exasperation, but also relief. Misaki silently offered her head. Aira carefully removed the remaining leaves. For a while, that continued. She was aware they were doing something odd. In the night forest, within the encirclement of the imperial army, being helped by her escort to remove leaves from her head. And yet, Aira not laughing about it was something Misaki was grateful for tonight. --- When they entered the detour route, Aira raised her hand. "The sentries ahead have increased," Aira said. Misaki confirmed it. From three to five. Five torchlight glows visible between the trees. The spacing was tighter. A frontal breakthrough was impossible. Misaki pulled out a map from the leather satchel. She held it up to the moonlight. Her finger traced the north side of Portos Harbor. There was a river. A thin line flowed north of the harbor. One of the tributaries of the Ferm River. It was written small as "Hagel Stream." "We can go through here," Misaki said, pointing at the map. Aira leaned in to look. "We detour north along the stream and return to the road from the forest's edge. Based on the sentry placement, the area along the river should be lightly guarded," Misaki said. "…However," Aira said quietly. She had the face of someone reading ahead. "There's a possibility we'll have to walk through the water, isn't there," Aira said. "There is," Misaki replied. "How much," Aira asked. "Probably up to the knee," Misaki said. Aira looked up at the sky. Slowly, without making a sound, she gazed upward. Her silver hair flowed backward. Her face held the quiet emotion of despair. Misaki looked down at her own clothes. They were muddy. Quite extensively. Because she had been lying flat, the front was almost entirely one color. "It won't make much difference now," Misaki said flatly. Aira, still