My Desertion Would Be Faster Than Heros’ Obsession

If a Crown Prince Appears in a Military Story, Problems Arise

It’s something I’ve always known, but April is truly a madwoman.

“Guys… you won’t believe this. I just found a fruit fly in the dormitory,” she announced with a tragic tone, as if delivering heartbreaking news.

“This must be because you’re keeping the dorm filthy. How else could a fruit fly even exist here?”

XX, we clean this place every day. What am I supposed to do if one fly gets in from outside?

Of course, I couldn’t say that out loud. Instead, I broke into a cold sweat and pretended to attentively listen to her. Beside me, Yuri stood expressionless, clearly accustomed to this kind of situation.

“Now that I know there’s a fruit fly, this place feels so filthy I can’t bear to stay here…”

“We’re sorry,” Yuri and I replied in unison.

“We’ll correct it immediately.”

April smirked, raising the corner of her mouth.

“Good. You both agree this place needs to be cleaner, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then start cleaning right now. Don’t stop until there’s not a speck of dust left.”

XX!

Just because she found a single fruit fly, we had to scrub every corner of the dormitory. She’d inspect it by running her finger over surfaces, and if she found even a speck of dust, we’d have to start over.

And that wasn’t the worst of it.

“Did anyone hear an animal sound just now?” she asked.

“N-no, I didn’t hear anything,” I stammered.

“Hmm, I’m pretty sure I heard something… It must mean an animal got into the base.”

“I… I didn’t hear anything…”

“So, are you saying your senior is lying?”

“N-no, ma’am!”

“Then is it inside or outside?”

“Uh… both?”

Her bizarre obsession with detail didn’t stop at pointless conversations. If she claimed to hear an animal, she’d make the entire platoon patrol until they found it.

One time, after scouring the base for hours, we finally caught a bird. But instead of being satisfied, she berated us for bringing back a “dirty bird” and made us clean the dormitory again.

Then there was the time she assigned tasks to recruits who lagged during training.

“Louise, don’t you think the recruits who fell behind should be given extra work?”

“Yes, I think that’s necessary.”

“Let’s have them pick wild berries from the mountain.”

“…Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Recruits who fall behind will go pick wild berries from the mountain.”

“But berries are hard to find…”

“If you can’t find them, make some.”

Those poor recruits ended up cutting through thorny bushes and searching the mountain for hours, trying to gather enough berries.

And, of course, there were the truly ridiculous moments.

“You, why are you looking at me like that?”

“I-I didn’t mean anything by it!”

“Are you saying I’m hallucinating? Maybe I’ve been poisoned by a monster and am seeing things?”

“April, I’ll handle the recruits’ discipline,” Louise offered.

“No need. Just have them move that boulder over there. Now.”

“How are we supposed to move that…?”

“Start moving it!”

April once made us roll a massive boulder up a hill because she didn’t like the way a recruit looked at her. Naturally, the boulder rolled back down the other side once it reached the top. It felt like watching Sisyphus’s myth unfold before my very eyes.

In conclusion: April was a madwoman.

“Yeah, no matter how you slice it, that woman’s crazy,” I muttered to myself.

And the reason I was reflecting on all of this was because, during today’s joint-company training, I’d fallen behind and been punished by April. She’d sent me to search for a thread buried in a sandpit.

In her “kindness,” she’d hidden a thread instead of a needle, so my fingers wouldn’t get pricked. What a considerate gesture.

“How does she come up with these things?” I sighed.

You know what profession least needs creativity? Soldiers.

But April possessed an overabundance of creativity, combined with the seniority to inflict it on her subordinates.

I want to desert so badly…

Still, there were moments when April’s sharp green eyes sent a chill down my spine. Like when she’d asked me that night in the dorm if I thought she was unbearable, or when she’d warned me, “If you keep playing angel, you’ll be the first to die.”

In her pale green gaze, I saw a calm, controlled madness—refined and terrifying.

No, stop thinking about it, I told myself, shaking my head to banish the thought.

For once, I had a chance to take a nap. I should take advantage of it.

At least she’d be leaving the unit soon. The thought of this madwoman finally being transferred out of our company was a blessing.

The Border Defense Force had a unique rank system, distinct from other branches of the military.

For example, what other forces called “Private” was “Trainee” here. Each rank took two years to achieve, and we didn’t even have a “Sergeant” rank.

Instead, once you reached the rank of Senior Private, you were promoted to “Command Officer,” a unique rank exclusive to the Border Defense Force.

Command Officers weren’t considered enlisted soldiers but rather equivalent to non-commissioned officers. This was why the Border Defense Force had no traditional NCOs—Command Officers filled that role.

April was about to be promoted to Command Officer, meaning she’d soon be transferred to another unit.

Once promoted, Command Officers attended a month-long training course before being randomly assigned to a new unit. That was how our current Command Officers, Elliot and Chris, had come to us.

Command Officers participated in monster subjugations, guard duties, and administrative tasks, but they didn’t train with the troops. Instead, they spent most of their time lounging while giving orders to trainees.

Lucky bastards.

How long would it take for me to reach that rank?

…At least five years?

I gave up thinking about it. Time would pass whether I worried or not.

Just then, April entered the dormitory. She glanced at me, lying down and trying to nap, and casually asked, “What are you doing? Not asleep yet?”

“Uh…”

I hesitated, unsure whether to answer while lying down or sit up, but the moment I realized the person in front of me was April, I bolted upright. My groggy brain had failed me for a moment—I’d nearly sealed my fate.

“I was just about to go to sleep!”

“Good. Sleep tight then.”

April waved her hand lazily and walked over to her locker, humming a faint tune as she rummaged through it. Her mood seemed unusually good—probably because she was about to get promoted.

Feeling like I should at least say something congratulatory, I plastered on a sycophantic smile and spoke up.

“April, congratulations on your promotion!”

She turned her head to look at me, then laughed heartily.

“Haha! You’re happy I’m leaving the unit, aren’t you?”

“N-not at all! I’m genuinely happy for your promotion!”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” she said, clearly amused as she closed her locker.

“How long until you can get promoted to Command Officer, Salvia?”

“…Five years and three months,” I replied through gritted teeth.

“Wow, what a shame~.”

This crazy XX...@@novelbin@@

How could someone mock another person’s discharge timeline like this?

As I tried to calm the simmering frustration within me, April, still wearing her amused expression, continued.

“Well, Salvia, at least you’ll be getting new recruits next month. That should be satisfying enough, right?”

Is she joking right now?

How could she compare receiving a handful of new recruits—who might not even survive—to getting promoted?

April had a knack for making people’s blood boil in the most creative ways.

“New recruits, huh? They’re just as likely to die as they are to live,” I muttered sarcastically.

April turned to look at me, tilting her head slightly. The smile had vanished from her face, and her gaze bore into me. I instinctively straightened my back under her piercing stare.

“Why? Didn’t you once say you wanted to help your juniors survive?”

Her voice was calm but probing, and it cut deeper than I expected.

That was a sore subject for me. I’d wanted to help Reina, and when she died, it only made her loss harder to bear.

“…That was when I didn’t know any better,” I admitted quietly.

“And now you do?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Are you sure?”

April’s lips curled into a faint smile as she spoke softly.

“Alright, Salvia. Let me ask you something.”

If I don’t answer this right, am I dead?

It felt like I’d summoned a storm upon myself by speaking to her in the first place.

“Do you remember what I said to you back then, when you were trying to help Reina?”

Of course, I remembered. Those words had left a mark on me.

“You told me the more I tried to play angel, the more likely I’d be the one to die.”

“Good, you remember,” April said with a bright smile, though her tone was anything but cheerful.

“Now, why do you think I said that?”

“…Because if I try to help someone and they die, it’ll affect me mentally, and it’s better to stay detached.”

“That’s only half-right.”

She waved her finger dismissively, lowering her voice as if she were about to share a secret.

“Salvia, listen carefully…”

“Yes?”

“It’s not just monsters you need to fear during subjugations.”

What does she mean? Is she talking about the terrain?

I recalled the time I’d almost died because of a waterfall. That seemed plausible enough.

But April’s explanation took an unexpected turn.

“If you show weakness here, you’ll be exploited.”

“…What?”

“In moments of danger, not everyone is looking out for their comrades. Some people will instinctively push others into harm’s way to save themselves.”

What the hell…?

“It’s not even malicious, necessarily. But when a monster lunges at them, there are people who will, by instinct, use the person next to them as a shield.”

Her words made me shudder, and I instinctively straightened my posture under her chilling gaze.

April continued, her tone growing sharper, and for the first time, her usual amused demeanor faded. The calm madness she usually wore like a mask gave way to something darker—something raw and unrestrained.

“Salvia, you’re the type to follow seniors who treat you well. Like Ishina, for instance.”

Her voice wavered slightly as if she were struggling to keep her emotions in check. Her polished façade cracked, and what lay beneath was a barely contained storm of rage.

“But some people? They see kindness and think it’s an opportunity. They’ll use you, push you into danger, and they won’t even realize they’re doing it.”

And then I understood.

Her words from before—“If you keep playing angel, you’ll be the first to die”—were meant literally.

If you looked like an easy target, you wouldn’t just suffer.

You’d die.

“I’ve seen someone die that way,” April said, her voice soft but unwavering.

Even as her words weighed heavily on me, her expression changed. The sharpness, the madness, melted away.

For the first time, I saw something else in her eyes: a deep, haunting sorrow.

“Salvia,” she said, her voice quiet but resolute.

“Never be too nice.”