Parallel Memory

Chapter 545: The official match

Barracks, Delta Outpost

Night before the duel

The air inside their barracks was heavy with tension, but not fear—something closer to fire held in check, like the simmering calm before a battlefield charge. The five of them sat on crates and bedrolls scattered around the lantern-lit space, their equipment polished and stacked neatly beside them. No one touched the cards on the table. No one pretended to relax.

They were too focused on the coming match.

Hiro stood near the window, arms crossed, the same unreadable calm on his face. Zion leaned against the wall, cleaning his gloves with short, precise movements. Lisa sat with one leg over the other, absentmindedly sharpening a dagger. Sylvia leaned back on her elbows, a soft smirk tugging at her lips, and Misha sat at the foot of her bed, gripping the hem of her cloak like she was holding her nerves still.

"It’s settled then," Lisa broke the silence. "We’re doing this, right? No stepping back?"

"Obviously," Sylvia chimed in, her gaze lazy but sharp. "But the question is, which three?"

Zion clicked his gloves into place. "I should be one of them."

Hiro raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Zion’s voice remained even. "It’s not about pride. This is a military institution, and Loren needs to understand how it works. He needs to see how a proper soldier behaves—when to speak, when to follow. That kind of lesson should come from someone who’s been trained in both etiquette and combat."

Lisa scoffed. "Sounds like you just want to punch him with formality."

"I won’t deny that," Zion replied smoothly.

"I should be in too," Lisa said, resting the dagger across her thigh. "He insulted Misha. That’s enough for me. Besides, I want to prove something—not just to Loren, but to everyone watching. We’re not ornaments. We’re weapons. And women can strike just as hard."

Sylvia lifted her hand. "Agreed. Let me join, and I’ll make sure they remember us."

Misha hesitated, then raised her voice quietly. "I want to fight, too."

Everyone turned to her.

She stood, fists clenched at her sides. "He looked at me like I didn’t belong here. Like I was... a joke. I’ve trained for years for this. Not to prove myself to someone like him, but because I want to protect. I want to stand next to all of you—not behind you."

There was a pause, and Hiro finally stepped away from the window.

"I’m the one he challenged," he said simply. "This started with me. It ends with me."

"Hiro—" Zion started.

"I get it. You all want to fight. And honestly... any one of you could put him down without breaking a sweat." He glanced at them all. "But Loren’s not just after me. He targeted Misha too. This isn’t just about military ranking or pride. This is personal—for him and us."

He let the words hang for a moment before continuing.

"That’s why I’m proposing something different," Hiro said. "A two-versus-three."

Misha’s eyes widened. "Just two of us?"

Lisa frowned. "You know that puts you at a disadvantage."

"Maybe," Hiro nodded. "But Loren’s smart enough to know he can’t match Zion, Lisa, or Sylvia. That’s why he avoided confronting any of you. He thinks your family names make you untouchable. He picked Misha because he thought she was the weak link. And he targeted me because he thought I wouldn’t fight back."

He looked around. "So let’s give him exactly what he wants. Me and Misha."

Sylvia sat up, her tone sharp. "You’re walking into a three-versus-two on purpose?"

"Yes," Hiro said. "Because the moment we beat him on his own terms, the entire camp will know it wasn’t background or numbers that mattered. It was us. It was the acheivements on the battlefield."

Zion folded his arms, but he didn’t argue. "Risky. But poetic."

Lisa tapped her dagger against her boot. "Gutsy. But I like it."

Misha looked uncertain. "Are you sure, Hiro?"

He nodded, giving her a calm smile. "I trust you."

Her breath caught for a moment, then she returned the smile—more determined than before.

"I’ll prove you right."

Zion let out a small sigh, then approached Hiro and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Just remember: you lose, and we’re dragging you back from the infirmary with a lecture."

Sylvia grinned. "I’m betting five gold coins on you two."

"Make it ten," Lisa added. "And if you crush his ego, I’ll even cook."

Everyone laughed lightly, and for a moment, the pressure lifted. They weren’t just soldiers or squadmates. They were comrades.

As the lantern’s light flickered in the dim barracks, Hiro turned back to the window. Out there, Loren Vance was probably scheming his victory speech, smug in the belief that legacy would win over loyalty.

But tomorrow, Hiro and Misha would change that narrative.

And Delta Outpost would remember it.

The morning haze lingered over Delta Outpost like a second skin—thick, heavy, and stubbornly clinging to everything it touched. Hiro and his squad were already on the training field, their boots stamping dew into the hardened soil as they moved through warm-up drills. The air was crisp, laced with the earthy scent of damp stone and distant smoke, a reminder that this was a battlefield pretending to be a camp.

Hiro led the motions in silence, rotating his shoulders, twisting his torso, and breathing in rhythmic intervals. Zion was to his left, rolling his neck and cracking his knuckles with slow purpose. Misha jogged short circuits around them, keeping her steps light and steady, while Lisa and Sylvia practiced staff drills, syncing their strikes with near telepathic timing.

The tension wasn’t just from the looming duel—it was from everything the duel represented. And none of them spoke it aloud.

They didn’t need to.

Just then, footsteps approached from behind.

"Looks like you’re all up earlier than usual," came Mia’s voice, calm as ever.

They turned to see her walking toward them, dressed in her officer’s coat, arms folded and expression unreadable. She had a look about her—one of someone who’d already reviewed three reports, handled two complaints, and was on her way to train harder than most of the platoon combined.

"We wanted to be ready," Hiro said, pausing his stretches.

Mia gave a curt nod, eyeing each of them in turn. "I figured. The duel’s today, isn’t it?"

They nodded.

She sighed, then stepped closer. "Listen. I’ve dealt with people like Loren Vance before. The entitled ones who never really had to fight for their place, only born into it. They think strength is inherited, like gold. And they don’t change."

She let the silence stretch.

"Others aren’t entitled, just dumb," she added dryly. "Too stubborn or too shallow to realize they’ve been given everything and still act like victims."

Misha raised an eyebrow. "So... what should we do then?"

Mia’s eyes softened slightly. "You fight him, sure. But don’t just shut him up—try to change his way of thinking. If not for him, then for the idiots watching. Let them see there’s more than one way to reach the top."

Sylvia gave a crooked smile. "That’s awfully optimistic for someone who just called him a lost cause."

"I said most don’t change," Mia corrected. "But some people need a hard lesson before they start listening."

She turned to walk off but paused after a few steps.

"Just don’t waste too much time trying to fix someone who’s made a hobby of staying broken," she added. "Make your point—and move on."

And with that, she disappeared into the fog, her steps fading into the morning quiet.

The group stood a moment longer, letting her words settle like embers on dry wood.

Then Hiro exhaled. "Well... let’s go make a point."