Kenji was still telling himself that the white breath from last night was "just the lingering tension from combat." He'd decided that. He'd made that decision, yet the body temperature of Lina as she lay collapsed in the grass remained faintly imprinted on his right arm, refusing to leave. Every time he turned over in bed, he remembered it. Honestly, he hadn't slept at all. The Soot Furnace Pavilion's mornings came early. When the bell of the Daybreak Fortress's communal dining hall—that cluttered stone and wood place where all fortress personnel gathered for breakfast, lunch, and dinner—rang out, warriors streamed in. Kenji, dark shadows under his eyes, sat at the edge of a table scooping up a rich stew of forest mushrooms. This morning's stew was slightly saltier than yesterday's. Kenji vaguely thought that perhaps Hana's mood was a bit rough. Lina's figure was nowhere to be seen this morning. She was probably preparing for training. That was fine. If they faced each other, he'd remember that body temperature. If he remembered the body temperature, his excuse of "combat tension" would waver. And wavering would be a problem. Just as Kenji brought the spoon to his mouth, footsteps approached. A young soldier, apparently the fortress's messenger, stood there with a leather notebook tucked under his arm. Late teens or early twenties. He had a serious face, and his posture was oddly straight. "You are Satou Kenji, correct?" the messenger asked. "Yes," Kenji replied. "This is your first assignment as tactical advisor. In the records room on the second floor of the Akatsuki Tower, please organize and analyze three years' worth of reconnaissance records and submit your findings on a single page by today," the messenger said, flipping through his notebook smoothly. He spoke in a recitative tone—he'd probably memorized it. Kenji froze for a while, spoon in hand. (Paper work?) He'd been transported to another world, received a gift called the Foresword, fought Voids, taken on the unprecedented position of tactical advisor—and his first assignment was this. Organizing records. Summarizing findings on a single page. Kenji scooped up another spoonful of stew. Delicious. Really delicious. Hana's skills were genuine. "Understood. Where is the records room?" Kenji asked. "The Akatsuki Tower—the stone tower in the center of the fortress—go up to the second floor, and there's a door at the end of the corridor. It's unlocked," the messenger replied. After the soldier left, Kenji poured the remaining stew into his stomach and stood up. (Same feeling as making the convenience store shift schedule, probably.) He decided that was the case. Decided that, and headed toward the Akatsuki Tower. --- The second floor of the Akatsuki Tower was smaller than he'd expected. The moment Kenji opened the door at the end of the stone corridor, he let out a small sound. Not quite a shout—more like an "ah..." that leaked from the back of his throat. Ledgers. Stacked. Crammed onto shelves along the wall. But even the shelves couldn't contain them all; more were piled on the floor. Scattered in all directions, chaotic, yet clearly stacked with the intention of "someone brought these here"—a mountain of leather-bound ledgers. Three years' worth of reconnaissance records meant exactly that. Morning light streaming through the window made dust particles float in the air. Kenji stood in the doorway for a while, gazing at the mountain of ledgers. (Well, but I guess I have to do it.) The messenger had given him a simple map explanation. The position of Daybreak Fortress, the spread of the Silent Forest, the erosion territory to the west of the fortress, the location of White Fang Chasm to the northwest—a canyon said to be the trace of a dimensional rift. Kenji committed only that to memory, then pulled out a chair and picked up the first ledger. Ergalian. Barely readable. He'd struggled with learning the characters during his first week, but now he could manage daily conversation. The handwriting in the ledgers was messy, but the record format was standardized. Date. Location. Number of Void appearances. Damage status. Retreat or annihilation. Kenji flipped through pages, organizing the layout in his head. (Matching dates, locations, and numbers. This is just like convenience store inventory records.) He remembered those nights at the late-night convenience store, cross-referencing order lists with actual inventory numbers. It was then he'd first learned that product movement had "waves." Sales numbers differed by day of the week. They changed with the weather. They changed with the seasons. "Numbers have habits"—Kenji had learned that through his body over many years. And now, of all times, it was useful. About an hour later, Kenji had three ledgers lined up and was copying the appearance points onto a map. He could probably go to the top floor of the Akatsuki Tower and ask the commander Celia directly—Celia Astrid was apparently called "made of steel and ice" behind her back, according to Lina—but honestly, Kenji didn't have the courage to go to that person and say "excuse me, could you teach me how to read this map?" Even at forty, that strange tension when talking to important people never went away. So he continued alone, steadily. Past noon, while chewing on black bread delivered from the dining hall, Kenji finally finished roughly organizing three years' worth of records. He laid out the ledgers on the floor, marked points on the map, and numbered them in chronological order. His back ached. The chair wasn't comfortable. The only saving grace was the pleasant breeze coming through the window. And then— Kenji's hand stopped. His eyes traced the points he'd marked on the map. Northwest. Southeast. Again northwest. Southeast. (Are these... moving?) The Void appearance points were shifting at regular intervals each month. The fortress warriors had written "sporadic threats" in their reports, but to Kenji's eyes, it looked different. To eyes trained in reading inventory waves at the convenience store, this "scatter" seemed to have a pattern. Not random. Northwest to southeast. Back to northwest. As if slowly rotating around something central— --- The moment Kenji picked up a quill to summarize his findings, he stopped. Before the blank page, he thought for a moment. The weight of what he'd noticed suddenly pressed down on him. "The Void appearance points may not be completely random but rather circulate in an elliptical pattern around some kind of attraction point"—if that were true, then a central point of appearance would exist. Checking the map. Northwest direction. White Fang Chasm—approximately twenty-five kilometers northwest of the fortress, said to be the trace of a dimensional rift—was there. Next to it, another location name that Kenji had written caught his eye. The Ruined City of Zolhen—the ruins of a silver mine city in the middle of the Ash Ridge Mountains, a place rumored to be the source of Void generation. The two points were positioned almost directly overlapping at the center of the ellipse. Kenji set down the quill. He looked up at the ceiling. He stared at the ceiling for about thirty seconds. (This isn't... a bad thing, is it?) He remembered the deliciousness of the stew. He remembered the hardness of the black bread. He also remembered Lina's body temperature a little. He remembered yesterday's encounter with the Void. He remembered the convenience store night shifts. After remembering all of it, he looked at the map once more. It was still overlapping. "Well, I might be wrong anyway," Kenji muttered to himself in the empty records room. The stone walls absorbed the sound, leaving it silent. Through the window, he saw a single bird flying south toward the forest. A low wind sound drifted from the direction of the forest. Then Kenji picked up the quill again and began writing his findings. He wrote the opening line "I may very well be mistaken, but" carefully and properly. "When three years' worth of records are arranged by date and appearance point, there is a possibility that the appearance points are shifting at regular intervals from northwest to southeast. If correct, a central point of appearance would exist, and the area near White Fang Chasm or the direction of Zolhen could be candidates. However, this is merely an amateur's assessment, so I would appreciate confirmation from specialists." He used "probably," "might," and "amateur's assessment" a total of three times. His hedging was thick. That was Kenji's writing style. --- When he stepped into the corridor at dusk, the messenger was just walking toward the records room. "Can you submit it?" the messenger asked. "Here you go," Kenji replied. He handed over a single page. The soldier took it and read it right there. Kenji leaned against the corridor wall and gazed out the window. In the fortress's training ground—the Iron Treading Plaza—a few warriors were doing evening self-training. The magic-dampening formation carved into the ground of the Iron Treading Plaza glowed faintly in the evening sun. (My back really hurts...) Long hours of writing work pressed down on a forty-year-old's back. Today's record organization seemed to take more of a toll on his body than yesterday's encounter with the Void. He found that rather sad. "..." the messenger said. The soldier's expression changed. His eyebrows rose slightly. His mouth tightened, and he read from the beginning again. Then he looked up at Kenji. Kenji kept his gaze on the window outside, naturally thinking "well, if I got it wrong, that would be embarrassing." The soldier said nothing, gave a small bow, and hurried toward the Akatsuki Tower. His pace seemed slightly faster than when he'd arrived. Kenji watched him go and stretched his back. Suddenly, that night in the grass came to mind. Lina was beside him, white breath disappearing in the moonlight—and while making excuses that it was "combat tension," he'd spent today staring at maps in this records room. And he'd made a discovery. The reason he was here became slightly, vaguely visible. He couldn't fight. He couldn't use magic. The Foresword—a gift that let him see two seconds into the future during combat—he still couldn't control it properly. But his eyes, trained to read the patterns in numbers, had been honed by fifteen years of convenience store night shifts. Never would have expected this. But if it could help someone—well, maybe it wasn't so bad, Kenji quietly thought. --- As he walked down the corridor heading back to the residential quarters, footsteps chased after him. The messenger had returned. His breathing was clearly more labored than before. It was obvious he'd climbed up and down the Akatsuki Tower stairs. "Satou Kenji," the messenger called. "Yes," Kenji replied. "The commander says she wants to speak with you directly tomorrow morning," the messenger said. Kenji's stomach sank deep. He knew that sensation well. It was exactly the same as when a senior coworker had told him "the manager wants to talk to you" at the convenience store—that unique way the stomach dropped without knowing the reason. What did I do, what's this about, am I in trouble—that kind of gravity that came without explanation. (The commander, huh...) Celia Astrid. The fortress's highest military commander. The person whose smile was said to be scary behind her back. "...Understood," Kenji said. The soldier left, and Kenji was alone in the corridor. Looking up at the top floor of the Akatsuki Tower, he saw a thin light flickering. A figure with long silver hair seemed to be standing near the window of the stone tower's peak, but it was too far to see clearly. Kenji looked away and headed toward the residential quarters. In his room—a small individual quarters on the first floor—he sat down on his bed. On the wall was a scorch mark left by the afte