Ogata adjusted the Arisaka rifle slung over her shoulder, glancing out over the landscape with her usual dispassion. The others were walking ahead, Shiraishi yammering on about something insignificant as usual, probably gambling or some brothel heʼd visited recently. She let out a silent breath through her nose, a small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she thought about how easily they had all been fooled. Men were always so sure of themselves, never looking beyond what was right in front of them.

Ogataʼs navy-blue soldier uniform fit her lean, muscular frame perfectly—thanks to careful adjustments to avoid suspicion. Her mannerisms were so rigidly controlled that no one had ever questioned her true identity. She avoided unnecessary conversations and kept her voice low; it never wavered—no matter the situation.

Sugimoto’s glares didn’t faze her anymore; they were just part of the background noise she had learned to tune out. Let him think what he wanted—“traitor”, “deserter”—it didn’t matter. He didnʼt know anything.

As they stopped for a moment by a small stream, Shiraishi turned to her with his usual silly grin, his grey buzz cut catching the sunlight. “Oi, Ogata-chan! You ever been to a brothel? Bet you’d scare the girls stiff with that deadpan face of yours!” He laughed, oblivious as always.

Ogata’s lips barely twitched in response. “The only thing I’m interested in is hitting my target,” she replied in her usual flat tone, smoothing back her black hair with one gloved hand. She didnʼt even bother to look at him, instead scanning the treeline for any movement.

Shiraishi chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Yeesh, always so serious. Lighten up a bit, will ya?”

Ogata’s dark eyes flicked over to him, her gaze sharp as the edge of a blade. “You want me to lighten up? How about I test my aim on you next time? See if you can escape that.”

The playful threat was enough to shut Shiraishi up, and he waved his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright! No need to get trigger-happy!”