Alice

It's been a few weeks since I transferred from All-Stars to Jatkosota.

Yes, that's right.

Jatkosota.

The school where my sister lived, stayed, and died. Her home for the last three years of her life, three years which should've been ended in an honored graduation, and an honored career as the Sensha-do instructor to Jatkosota instead of being suddenly cut short of her goal to become influential in the world of Sensha-do, to have her own style recognized in the Federation, or rather, the entire world, as an influential, honest true style of Sensha-do that even the giant powerhouse schools like Kuromorimine or Pravda had enough cause to fear.

Instead, she died an early death.

I'm currently living in Mika's room. Surrounding me, is my personal belongings, which aren't much beyond my clothes and a couple of things Mika gave me before she left.

April 18th, 2016.

I never forgot it. To this day I would always look out the window and ask myself: If you were me, what would you do?

And now I know. I now know what do do.

And now I'm here. Thing is, I realized that I simply don't want to be at All-Stars. Sure. It's rich, it has Centurions, Pershings, Chaffes, and the honest damned Karl-Gelrät, but I didn't need the hard punchers. I didn't need heavy tanks. I didn't need first gen MBTs. I didn't need artillery, let alone an entire dammed self-propelled siege mortar that is so dammed slow Jeremy Clarkson's Geoff prototype could beat it in a race.

And the fact that the Geoff could go only 10mph isn't helping things.

I only need to finish my sister's work. What she was doing with passion, she cherished, and loved.

What fate had cruelly cut short.

Further, beyond my bag which is now serving as my wardrobe, everything remains unchanged. Mika's stuff is unchanged, that is. I still see her notebooks on Sensha-do, filled with details that if published, would be so excellent that even the worst bitch in the world could not criticize. The Säkkijärven Polka style. One that should've been revered and honored amongst Sensha-do crews and commanders alike as the absolute best tactic that could ever be developed when outnumbered, outgunned, and so on.

Living in Mika's room sent me further waves of sadness. And a desire. A desire to finish what she left behind. To finish her work. The Säkkijärven Polkka style, shortened to the Säkkijärven style.

Her legacy that should be honored.

Her obsession over all things Finnish was kind of expected. There was a bunch of kanteles on the wall.

When I came to Jatkosota, I brought the kantele that she had been playing when she died. The one with a 45mm gash in it.

I also brought over my letters to her. And a second, brand new kantele which I found at a local yard sale and bought it because it was made in the same country as Mika's instrument. And crazy as it seems, I figured out how the heck to play it. It's not hard.

I spent the last couple of days practicing the Säkkijärven Polkka on my new instrument, because I'm here to finish her business. Her unfinished work, her own style. And the fallen torch that I have picked up, and will now carry to its final sacred destination. Your recognition amongst the globe.

As a Sensha-do master.

The Säkkijärven Polkka, the style of Sensha-do that made Jatkosota such a formidable opponent on the battlefield.

Mika-chan, if you're reading this, I hope that it's a comfortable plain where there is no cold, pain, or storm on the next side.

If you're watching, Rest In Peace, sister. I promise that I'll finish it for you.

Because you deserve it.

And I hope that you forgive the gunner who accidentally killed you with that 45mm. I guarantee, she didn't intend it. I forgive her. And I hope that you do.

I hope so.

Truly.

Youko

Sometimes in life, things go a little bit crazy. Crazy enough that you're first kicking a wall and swearing in every swearword that Finland had to offer, and then have to watch a person my age grieve over the loss of her sister, whom we also loved like one. And when you have to see the dejected looks of your best friend, the one you've known from childhood, sink into a pit of depression while you stood by helpless, unable to do a thing.

Sometimes things go south do damn fast that you wonder why could fate be that cruel on them.

Today was one of those days.

Thirty-first of August, 2019.

When Mika, our beloved and respected commander, suddenly died to a stray shot in practice, sending us, her loved ones, and family reeling over. Now, over a year since, and we still feel it.

For Makoto Sakurako, it hit her far harder than most. I know why. My friends know why. The team, the school, they all know why, but they never talk 'bout it because it's too painful, especially since Makoto herself had been the gunner. The gunner who fired that stray shot. Ever since, she had left off practice, stopped going to school, and stayed in her room for a solid month. She's never been the same ever since. While I know, while she knows, and everyone knows what happened, they look at her with compassion rather than hate.

It was never her fault. But, her innocent and bubbly personality became the killing blow. She blamed herself for the accident. She believed that everyone hated her, and that she deserved it. When the accident happened, she had turned herself in to the police handling the case. Instantly.

They had dismissed her for the event being an "unfortunate accident". But my father, whose brother was actually the policeman on scene, he returned changed. Why he never told us. Either way, Makoto, my best friend that I'd known since my childhood, felt responsible.

Lately, she had been attending school again, going to practice as usal, but the Makoto Sakurako that I'd known since childhood was gone. After the accident, Makoto left my side. And everyone's. Now, I don't blame her. If she wanted to I'll be ready to welcome her back with a hug.

I wish that someone, especially Alice, Mika's younger sister, to come to her and forgive her for all that has happened. While technically she was not liable, she didn't believe it.

Every time I approached her, she would turn around in the other direction. It often pains me that, innocent she is, she never got past it. She's crying alone and I cannot help.

And that's why I recommended Alice to attend Jatkosota after she announced her intention to transfer.

Because Makoto deserved it.

She did.

A/N:

This is a side story that I just kinda... whipped up in one sitting. Yeah.

Actually, this is the sequel to CrabbyCakes's "Love, Alice" oneshot. He made a few suggestions, as well.

I hope that you enjoyed this tale of Alice going to Jatkosota to basically uphold her sister's legacy.

YeAh.

Anyways. Next chapter's likely comin' up next month. I've got my two other stories to whip up.

Bye!