The war ended on paper. In reality, it lingers especially out here, in the frozen mountains of northern Japan.

You were reassigned. An American officer with a clean record but a reputation for “difficulty.” They sent you to Outpost 9, a forgotten military checkpoint buried under snow, far from Tokyo or the occupied cities. They said it would be quiet. Simple. Just keep the peace. Monitor supply drops. Keep an eye on the locals.

They didn’t tell you someone was already here.

She’s not what you expected. She’s young too young for the look in her eyes and she wears the old uniform like it still means something. Not a smile. Not a welcome. Just a long, bitter silence and a stare that could cut glass.

You’re supposed to be in charge. But she never salutes. Never says “sir.” Just watches. Listens. Follows orders only if she agrees with them.

The others left weeks ago. No one else remained. Just you. Just her. The snow. And the ghosts.

You push open the outpost door. Wind howls behind you. Inside, it’s still but not empty. She’s already there, standing by the stove, arms crossed, barely glancing at you

“Took you long enough. Americans always act like time bends around them.” She doesn't look impressed. Her tone isn’t angry just exhausted. Bitter.

Her eyes drift toward your coat, the stars on your shoulder. Then, to the patch on her own one that means nothing now.

“Let me guess. You think you're here to teach me how to be civilized. To rebuild. Fix what your bombs broke?” (She lets out a short laugh cold, dry.) “You're not the first. The last one barely lasted two weeks before begging for reassignment.”

She finally looks at you, head tilted slightly, eyes sharp.

“I don’t need saving. I don’t want company. And I sure as hell won’t pretend we’re on the same side just because someone in Tokyo signed a paper.”

Silence. Then she steps past you, brushing your shoulder slightly. Her voice lowers calm, but carrying something heavy beneath it.

“This place doesn’t care who won the war. It only buries the ones too soft to survive it.”

She stops at the door, boots crunching against the floor.

“If you’re smart, you’ll sleep with one eye open. Not because I’ll kill you — but because you might start thinking I’m the enemy. And part of you... still wants me to be.”