Tatsumi woke with a sharp inhale, his breath uneven as his mind replayed the events of the previous night. The battlefield still clung to him—the clash of steel, the shouts, the scent of blood and scorched metal. His body ached, muscles stiff from relentless combat, but it was his mind that bore the heaviest weight. No matter how many battles he fought, no matter how many enemies he struck down, the weight of it never lessened.
He sat up slowly, the dim morning light filtering through the fabric of his tent. For a moment, he simply breathed, grounding himself in the present. He flexed his fingers, feeling the slight sting of cuts and bruises earned in the heat of combat. The war had changed him. He had always known it would, but now, with each battle, he could feel parts of himself slipping away—uncertainties replaced with hardened resolve, compassion tempered by necessity. How much more of himself could he afford to lose? He wasn't sure if he even wanted to know the answer.
The REDs had grown. Even without stepping outside, he could feel the shift in the air, hear the changes all around him. He hadn't needed to take a full tour of the base to recognize it. Even now, outside, the faint sounds of morning drills echoed across the camp—new recruits being put through their paces, their shouts of determination mixing with the rhythmic commands of their instructors. Engineers worked tirelessly in the R&D sector, the whir of machinery and the occasional metallic clang punctuating the morning calm. The scent of breakfast wafted from the mess hall, mingling with the damp earth and fresh air. This was no longer just a band of mercenaries or revolutionaries fighting against the Empire. It was something more. Something bigger.
Tatsumi ran a hand through his hair, exhaling as he processed it all. He had left the REDs for a time, believing his place was solely with Night Raid, but now he wasn't so sure. This army—this growing force—was proving to be more than just a means to an end. They were becoming a power in their own right, a movement that could rival the Empire's rule. But what kind of future were they forging? Would it be any different from the one they were trying to destroy?
And yet, with power came the ever-blurring lines of duty, survival, and morality. Last night had been a clear reminder of that. They had fought against Suzuka, against Seryu and her twisted sense of justice. Enemies with their own convictions, their own beliefs. He had seen what war did to people, twisting their ideals, hardening their hearts. Would the REDs—would he—be any different in the end?
He thought back to Scout, to the way the young man fought with reckless energy, how he had laughed even in the midst of chaos. Was that just his way of coping, or had he already accepted the reality that Tatsumi was still struggling with? Then there was Mine, determined and fierce, risking herself time and again without hesitation. Everyone had their own way of enduring this war. He just had to find his own.
Tatsumi clenched his fists. He had to believe they were fighting for something greater. That this war, brutal as it was, still held a purpose worth seeing through.
A cool morning breeze drifted through the tent's entrance, carrying with it the distant sounds of the waking camp. The soft murmur of voices, the scrape of boots against gravel, the occasional bark of an order—it was all so normal, yet every person out there was preparing for another battle, another mission that could be their last.
He took another breath, steadying himself. He had survived another night. He could still move forward.
As these questions swirled in his head, he barely noticed where his feet had taken him. He turned a corner, stepping past a row of tents, and then—
Tatsumi froze in place, his breath caught in his throat. He had seen many horrors on the battlefield, faced countless enemies, and endured the weight of war—but nothing could have prepared him for this moment. Even before his eyes had fully registered the figures before him, a chill ran down his spine, as if his very soul recognized something that his mind refused to accept. The world around him seemed to slow, the distant sounds of the camp fading into nothingness. His thoughts raced, tangled between disbelief and the desperate hope that somehow, impossibly, this was real.
Sheele and Bulat stood before him, alive.
His mind struggled to process what he was seeing. It wasn't possible. It shouldn't have been possible. He had mourned them, carried their memories in his heart, sworn to honor their sacrifices. And yet, here they were, standing in front of him as if death had been nothing more than a fleeting inconvenience.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Bulat said with a smirk, crossing his arms over his broad chest. His voice had the same warmth as before, the same easy confidence that Tatsumi had always admired.
Tatsumi swallowed hard. "I... I don't understand. How?"
Sheele smiled gently, tilting her head in that absentminded way she always had. "It's a long story," she said, her voice just as soft and kind as he remembered. "But we're here now. That's what matters, right?"
Tatsumi wasn't sure. His heart pounded as he took a hesitant step forward, as if afraid they would vanish the moment he got too close. They seemed so real—flesh and blood, breathing and speaking like they had never left. But there was something different about them. The Sheele and Bulat he remembered had been taken from him, cruelly and too soon. These two—while familiar—felt changed. Their eyes held something deeper, something hardened, as if they too had walked through hell and back.
Bulat let out a chuckle, walking over and clapping a hand on Tatsumi's shoulder. "Relax, kid. We're not going anywhere. Let's sit down. You look like you need it."
Tatsumi let himself be guided to a nearby bench, his legs feeling unsteady. He kept his eyes on them, afraid to blink, afraid that if he did, the cruel reality of the world would rip them away from him again. The moment felt so fragile, so surreal, that even the smallest gust of wind could shatter it.
"You've grown a lot," Bulat observed, leaning back with a satisfied nod. "I knew you would. You were always stronger than you gave yourself credit for."
Tatsumi exhaled sharply, his emotions swirling into a tangled mess. "I don't feel strong," he admitted. "Not after everything. I just keep going because... I have to. Because if I stop, it feels like everything we fought for will disappear."
Sheele reached out, placing a comforting hand on his. "That's why you're strong," she said simply. "Because you keep going. Even when it's hard. Even when it hurts."
Her words struck something deep within him. He had doubted himself for so long, questioning if he was making the right choices, if he was truly capable of carrying on the legacy of those who had fallen before him. Seeing Sheele and Bulat again made those doubts resurface—but at the same time, their presence reminded him why he fought in the first place.
Bulat gave him a knowing look. "It's easy to get lost in the darkness, Tatsumi. But you haven't. You've kept moving forward. That's what separates you from the ones who give in."
Tatsumi lowered his gaze. He had dreamed of seeing them again, had longed for a chance to tell them how much they meant to him. And now that they were here, he didn't know what to say. His throat tightened with the weight of everything he wanted to express but couldn't find the words for.
The moment with Sheele and Bulat lingered in Tatsumi's mind long after they parted ways. Even as he walked through the base, taking in all the changes, their words stayed with him. He had barely begun to process their presence—whether it was a miracle, an illusion, or something else entirely—when Bulat suggested he take a tour of what the REDs had built in his absence.
"Come on, kid," Bulat had said with a grin. "You'll want to see how much we've grown."
Now, walking alongside Bulat, Tatsumi found himself amazed by the sheer scale of the expansion. The REDs had transformed from a ragtag mercenary force into something more organized, more structured—almost like an army. But there was something different about them, something that set them apart from the Imperials or even the Revolutionary Army. They weren't just fighting to win battles; they were fighting to build something lasting, something that could endure beyond war.
Their first stop was the boot camp.
Tatsumi stood at the edge of the training grounds, watching as recruits pushed themselves through grueling exercises. Some were former Imperial soldiers, defectors who had chosen to fight against the corrupt regime rather than die for it. Others were civilians who had taken up arms after losing everything to the Empire's cruelty. Under the strict supervision of seasoned veterans, they were drilled in combat techniques, survival tactics, and unit cohesion. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and determination, and the sounds of training weapons clashing filled the space.
"They train hard," Tatsumi observed, watching a group of recruits sparring under the watchful gaze of a stern instructor.
"They have to," Bulat replied. "We don't have the luxury of half-measures. Everyone here knows what's at stake. If they're not strong enough to fight, they won't survive."
Tatsumi nodded, understanding all too well. The battlefield didn't allow for second chances, and these people weren't just training to fight—they were training to live.
Next, they visited the R&D lab. Inside, engineers and scientists bustled about, working on modifications to existing Teigu, developing new weapons, and—most intriguingly—melding RED technology with the unique properties of this world, forging advancements neither side could have imagined. Tatsumi's eyes widened as he spotted a prototype weapon resembling Pumpkin but with a distinctly RED twist—possibly incorporating elements of the Engineer's sentry technology. Workbenches were cluttered with half-assembled contraptions, blueprints pinned to every available surface, and sparks flew as welders worked on new armor enhancements.
"We're not just adapting," Bulat explained. "We're evolving. Every battle teaches us something new, and our tech only gets better. We're making weapons that can bridge the gap between worlds."
Tatsumi marveled at the ingenuity on display. This wasn't just about power—it was about innovation, survival through progress.
The mess hall was their next stop, a sprawling area filled with long tables and the constant murmur of conversation. The scent of cooked meals filled the air as soldiers, mercenaries, and former Imperials sat together, some laughing, others eyeing each other warily. The divisions of the past hadn't disappeared completely, but at least here, under the REDs' banner, they could sit at the same table without killing each other.
Tatsumi's gaze drifted to the far end of the hall, where a group of former Imperials and soldiers who had turned against the Empire sat together, quietly discussing something among themselves. It reminded him of the old days—before everything had changed.
"Not everyone here trusts each other yet," he noted.
Bulat chuckled. "That's war for you. But give it time. We're all in this together, whether we like it or not. This place is more than just a war camp—it's where people learn to trust again."
Their next stop was the POW camp. The atmosphere here was markedly different—tense, almost suffocating. Enemy soldiers captured in battle were held in reinforced enclosures, some staring blankly at the ground while others watched their captors with barely concealed hatred. Some had already been turned, choosing to defect rather than face execution. Others still resisted, their loyalty to the Empire unshaken.
Tatsumi walked past a cell where a former Imperial officer sat hunched in a corner, his uniform ragged, his once-proud expression now shadowed with uncertainty. Was he thinking about his past decisions? Was he considering switching sides?
"We're not butchers," Bulat said firmly. "We give them a choice. Some take it. Some don't. But we're not like the Empire—we don't kill for the sake of it."
Tatsumi felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The war had blurred so many lines, and every decision carried consequences. Could true peace ever be achieved with so much bloodshed behind it? Would these prisoners ever truly integrate into a new way of thinking, or would they remain enemies forever?
The final stop was the farm. It was perhaps the most surprising sight of all—a vast expanse of cultivated land where crops grew under careful supervision. Water systems had been set up, and workers toiled under the sun to maintain a steady food supply. It was a sign that the REDs weren't just surviving. They were planning for the future.
Tatsumi walked along the perimeter, watching workers carefully tend to rows of crops. The sight of green fields amidst a world of war was surreal. A group of young recruits were being taught agricultural skills, learning how to maintain self-sufficiency in ways that didn't involve a blade or a gun. It was humbling, a stark reminder that victory wasn't just about defeating an enemy—it was about building something worth protecting.
"Food's more valuable than gold out here," Bulat said with a grin. "Can't fight on an empty stomach. And when the war's over, people are going to need something to come back to."
Tatsumi let out a small laugh, nodding in agreement. He looked over the farm, the mess hall, the training grounds—everything the REDs had built. They weren't just a faction anymore. They were something more.
"This isn't just a base," he murmured. "It's a home."
Bulat clapped a hand on his shoulder, his expression proud. "Damn right it is. And it's worth fighting for."
Tatsumi stood there for a moment, absorbing it all. The REDs weren't just preparing for war—they were preparing for what came after. And maybe, just maybe, that was something worth believing in.
"Is this real?" he asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
Sheele and Bulat exchanged a glance before Bulat grinned. "Does it matter? We're here now, Tatsumi. And we're proud of you."
For the first time in what felt like forever, Tatsumi allowed himself to smile—just a little. The ache in his heart didn't disappear, but for a fleeting moment, it felt a little lighter.
He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "I wish you both could've seen everything that's happened since... since you were gone. It's been a hell of a ride. Night Raid kept fighting, but things changed so fast. I changed. We lost people, made allies I never expected, and now... now I'm standing here with you again. I don't even know where to begin."
Bulat leaned forward, his expression patient. "Then start from the beginning, Tatsumi. We've got time."
Tatsumi hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He spoke of his battles, the hardships he endured, and the people he fought for. He told them about the missions Night Raid had undertaken, the near-death encounters, and the moments of camaraderie that kept them going even in the darkest times. He described the pain of losing comrades, of watching good people fall, and the burden of carrying their will forward. Through it all, he spoke of the weight on his shoulders, the constant struggle of fighting not just for survival, but for a future where this bloodshed would no longer be necessary. Every loss, every hard-fought victory, and every moment of doubt came spilling out as he laid bare the road he had traveled since their deaths.
Sheele listened quietly, her fingers lightly tapping against her lap as she absorbed his words. "You've been through so much," she said softly. "But you're still here. And that means something."
Bulat grinned. "I knew you'd rise to the challenge, kid. You always had it in you. But these REDs... they sound like quite the crew."
Tatsumi chuckled despite himself. "You have no idea. They fight like lunatics, but they're some of the best people I've ever met. They don't just fight for survival; they fight for each other. It's different from Night Raid, but in a way, it reminds me of us."
Sheele smiled at that, nodding in approval. "Then it sounds like you found another family."
Hearing those words, Tatsumi felt something settle within him. Maybe she was right. Maybe, despite everything, he wasn't as alone as he had once feared.
The moment with Sheele and Bulat lingered in Tatsumi's mind long after they parted ways. Even as he walked through the base, taking in all the changes, their words stayed with him. He had barely begun to process their presence—whether it was a miracle, an illusion, or something else entirely—when Bulat suggested he take a tour of what the REDs had built in his absence.
"Come on, kid," Bulat had said with a grin. "You'll want to see how much we've grown."
Now, walking alongside Bulat, Tatsumi found himself amazed by the sheer scale of the expansion. The REDs had transformed from a ragtag mercenary force into something more organized, more structured—almost like an army. But there was something different about them, something that set them apart from the Imperials or even the Revolutionary Army. They weren't just fighting to win battles; they were fighting to build something lasting, something that could endure beyond war.
Their first stop was the boot camp.
Tatsumi stood at the edge of the training grounds, watching as recruits pushed themselves through grueling exercises. Some were former Imperial soldiers, defectors who had chosen to fight against the corrupt regime rather than die for it. Others were civilians who had taken up arms after losing everything to the Empire's cruelty. Under the strict supervision of seasoned veterans, they were drilled in combat techniques, survival tactics, and unit cohesion. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and determination, and the sounds of training weapons clashing filled the space.
"They train hard," Tatsumi observed, watching a group of recruits sparring under the watchful gaze of a stern instructor.
"They have to," Bulat replied. "We don't have the luxury of half-measures. Everyone here knows what's at stake. If they're not strong enough to fight, they won't survive."
Tatsumi nodded, understanding all too well. The battlefield didn't allow for second chances, and these people weren't just training to fight—they were training to live.
Next, they visited the R&D lab. Inside, engineers and scientists bustled about, working on modifications to existing Teigu, developing new weapons, and—most intriguingly—melding RED technology with the unique properties of this world, forging advancements neither side could have imagined. Tatsumi's eyes widened as he spotted a prototype weapon resembling Pumpkin but with a distinctly RED twist—possibly incorporating elements of the Engineer's sentry technology. Workbenches were cluttered with half-assembled contraptions, blueprints pinned to every available surface, and sparks flew as welders worked on new armor enhancements.
"We're not just adapting," Bulat explained. "We're evolving. Every battle teaches us something new, and our tech only gets better. We're making weapons that can bridge the gap between worlds."
Tatsumi marveled at the ingenuity on display. This wasn't just about power—it was about innovation, survival through progress.
The mess hall was their next stop, a sprawling area filled with long tables and the constant murmur of conversation. The scent of cooked meals filled the air as soldiers, mercenaries, and former Imperials sat together, some laughing, others eyeing each other warily. The divisions of the past hadn't disappeared completely, but at least here, under the REDs' banner, they could sit at the same table without killing each other.
Tatsumi's gaze drifted to the far end of the hall, where a group of former Imperials and soldiers who had turned against the Empire sat together, quietly discussing something among themselves. It reminded him of the old days—before everything had changed.
"Not everyone here trusts each other yet," he noted.
Bulat chuckled. "That's war for you. But give it time. We're all in this together, whether we like it or not. This place is more than just a war camp—it's where people learn to trust again."
Their next stop was the POW camp. The atmosphere here was markedly different—tense, almost suffocating. Enemy soldiers captured in battle were held in reinforced enclosures, some staring blankly at the ground while others watched their captors with barely concealed hatred. Some had already been turned, choosing to defect rather than face execution. Others still resisted, their loyalty to the Empire unshaken.
Tatsumi walked past a cell where a former Imperial officer sat hunched in a corner, his uniform ragged, his once-proud expression now shadowed with uncertainty. Was he thinking about his past decisions? Was he considering switching sides?
"We're not butchers," Bulat said firmly. "We give them a choice. Some take it. Some don't. But we're not like the Empire—we don't kill for the sake of it."
Tatsumi felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The war had blurred so many lines, and every decision carried consequences. Could true peace ever be achieved with so much bloodshed behind it? Would these prisoners ever truly integrate into a new way of thinking, or would they remain enemies forever?
The final stop was the farm. It was perhaps the most surprising sight of all—a vast expanse of cultivated land where crops grew under careful supervision. Water systems had been set up, and workers toiled under the sun to maintain a steady food supply. It was a sign that the REDs weren't just surviving. They were planning for the future.
Tatsumi walked along the perimeter, watching workers carefully tend to rows of crops. The sight of green fields amidst a world of war was surreal. A group of young recruits were being taught agricultural skills, learning how to maintain self-sufficiency in ways that didn't involve a blade or a gun. It was humbling, a stark reminder that victory wasn't just about defeating an enemy—it was about building something worth protecting.
"Food's more valuable than gold out here," Bulat said with a grin. "Can't fight on an empty stomach. And when the war's over, people are going to need something to come back to."
Tatsumi let out a small laugh, nodding in agreement. He looked over the farm, the mess hall, the training grounds—everything the REDs had built. They weren't just a faction anymore. They were something more.
"This isn't just a base," he murmured. "It's a home."
Bulat clapped a hand on his shoulder, his expression proud. "Damn right it is. And it's worth fighting for."
Tatsumi stood there for a moment, absorbing it all. The REDs weren't just preparing for war—they were preparing for what came after. And maybe, just maybe, that was something worth believing in.
The morning light filtered through the worn-out blinds of the REDs' medical ward, casting soft beams across the sparse but functional room. Tatsumi had been wandering the base, still processing everything he had seen, when he heard it—the unmistakable sound of Mine's voice, sharp and filled with irritation.
"I swear, if you poke me one more time with that weird glowing needle, I'll—!"
"Ach, fraulein, you must hold still! You haff lost a significant amount of blood. I am simply making sure you do not drop dead on us, ja?" Medic's calm yet slightly maniacal voice countered hers, unfazed by her growing frustration.
Tatsumi paused outside the doorway, glancing inside just as Mine groaned and pulled the sheets over her head. Medic stood beside her bed, completely unbothered, adjusting his gloves with clinical precision.
"I am a doctor. I know what is best for you," he continued with a smug grin, reaching for another vial of some ominous-looking serum.
"That's debatable!" Mine shot back, sitting up with a scowl. Her pink hair was an absolute mess, and despite her best attempts to look intimidating, she more closely resembled a disgruntled cat that had been woken from a nap.
Scout, who had been leaning casually against the opposite wall, snorted. "Y'know, for someone who got saved last night, ya sure got a lotta attitude, princess."
Mine turned her glare to him. "Excuse me?! You wanna say that again, loudmouth?"
"I think he said you should be grateful, ja?" Medic chimed in, smirking. "And perhaps take better care of yourself. I vould rather not haff to put your insides back together every veek. It is messy, you see."
"If you weren't so damn creepy, maybe I'd actually trust you!" Mine huffed, crossing her arms as Medic simply chuckled.
Medic adjusted his glasses, the light reflecting off them for a brief moment. "Creepy? Nein! Zis is simply the face of a medical genius. If you vould just relax, I can finish checking your vitals, and you can stop trying to claw me like a feral animal."
Mine huffed. "Maybe I wouldn't have to if you didn't keep jabbing me with random syringes. What the hell even is in those things? One minute you're healing me, the next I feel like I can run a marathon, and then I crash so hard I feel like I got hit by a truck!"
"Ah, zat is the beauty of medical science! The effects are... fascinating, ja?" Medic grinned, pulling out yet another vial filled with a glowing blue liquid. "Zis vone, for example, enhances blood circulation und speeds up muscle recovery!"
Mine eyed it with deep suspicion. "And the side effects?"
"Ah, minor details, minor details!" Medic waved a hand dismissively. "You may feel a slight tingling, perhaps some increased aggression, und... well, zat is why ve experiment!"
Mine recoiled. "Yeah, no. Keep your freaky 'experiments' away from me!"
Scout cackled. "Aw, c'mon, princess. Maybe you'll hulk out or somethin'. Could be funny."
Mine grabbed the nearest pillow and flung it at him. "Shut up, you moron!"
Scout caught the pillow with ease and tossed it right back. "Sheesh, temper much? Bet ya wouldn't be so grumpy if ya got a good night's sleep."
"I would've if a certain mad doctor hadn't decided to run 'vital checks' at the crack of dawn!" Mine snapped, shooting another glare at Medic.
"You call it inconvenient, I call it proactive," Medic replied, giving a nonchalant shrug. "Besides, I find it amusing to see your blood pressure spike in real-time. Truly fascinating!"
Heavy, who had been passing by the doorway, poked his head in with a blank expression. "Tiny girl complains too much. You are alive. Be happy."
Mine groaned in exasperation while Scout doubled over laughing. Medic simply hummed, already scribbling something down in a notebook—probably another one of his 'theories' that Mine was determined never to be a part of.
A sudden clatter made everyone pause. Engineer, who had just entered carrying a tray of food, gave them all an unimpressed look. "Y'all raise more hell in here than a saloon on a Friday night. Let the girl eat before she kills someone."
Medic grinned. "Ah, an excellent idea! Proper nutrition is key to a full recovery."
Mine gave Engineer a grateful nod before shooting Medic a wary glance. "Just as long as he's not the one serving it. I don't trust what he puts in anything."
"Zis is slander!" Medic exclaimed, clutching his chest dramatically. "I am a professional!"
"You're a lunatic!"
"Potato, po-tah-to," Medic said with a shrug.
Tatsumi, who had been watching the exchange in silence, couldn't help but smile. After everything that had happened, this moment—this ridiculous, chaotic normalcy—was a welcome relief.
For a brief moment, the war felt distant, and Tatsumi let himself enjoy it.
