The barracks were quiet, save for the occasional creak of wooden beams and the muffled snores of sleeping soldiers. Ogata sat alone on his cot, a small maintenance kit spread out in front of him. The dim light of an oil lamp cast long shadows across the room, flickering faintly as if mirroring the turbulence in his mind.

He saw him today again—Hanazawa Yuusaku. His brother. The word felt foreign, almost laughable, as if it didn’t belong to him. Yuusaku looked every bit the “blessed child” the whispers claimed he was. Clean-cut, noble posture, a face that seemed untouched by the grime of the world. Even the way he carried himself was infuriatingly... pure.

Ogataʼs fingers worked methodically, betraying none of his inner turmoil. He didn’t need to meet Yuusaku to know what kind of person he was. The type who had everything handed to him on a silver platter. The type who never had to claw his way out of the mud just to be noticed. And yet, what gnawed at Ogata most wasnʼt envy. It was something far more insidious: curiosity.

The memory of that ridiculous mission still lingered in his mind, like a bad joke that refused to fade. The orders to “protect” Yuusakuʼs chastity had been absurd enough, but the chaos that followed... Ogataʼs lips twitched into a faint smirk as he recalled the sight of that imposter flailing about without clothes, defending his so-called “bride”. For a brief moment, Ogata had felt a surge of vindictive glee, thinking his brother was nothing more than a fool with no dignity. But then Tsurumi had shattered that illusion with a single sentence: “Thatʼs not Yuusaku.”

The disappointment had been... unexpected. Ogata didnʼt care about Yuusaku—or so he told himself. Yet here he was, unable to shake the pristine image of that figure.

What would it take to shatter it? To see if there was anything beneath that polished surface?

The thought made Ogata smirk faintly. He leaned back against the wall, his equipment now neatly arranged. In his mind, the gears were already turning.