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A Space Marine Got a Status Window Chapter 3: I Got a Status Window on My First Day as an NCO (3)

Chapter 3: I Got a Status Window on My First Day as an NCO (3)

— Retreat authorized! Return‍‍ safely to the‌‍ main base!

The‌​ moment those words​‌ came through the‌‌‍ radio, all the‍ soldiers riding in⁠​ the vehicle driven‍ by Kim Seojun‌​ let out sighs⁠ of relief.

“Thank​⁠ goodness they authorized​‌ the retreat.”

“Whew,‌⁠⁠ I thought I was going to⁠ end up in‍‍ the brig when‌​ I was already‍‍‍ so close to‍ being discharged.”

Having‍​ their lives saved⁠​​ was something to‌‌ be grateful for,‌‍⁠ but even so,⁠ there wasn’t a single soldier who‍‌‌ wanted to end​‌⁠ up in prison.​⁠

However,‍⁠⁠ there was one‌‍‌ exception.

Private​‌ First Class Park⁠‌‌ Boseop, the military⁠‍ driver sitting in⁠⁠‍ the passenger seat​⁠ of the truck,‌​ was unable to‌‍ smile after hearing‍‌​ that transmission.

Clack,‌⁠‍ clack, clack, clack!‌⁠

Far⁠ from smiling, he⁠⁠ was more terrified​‍ than ever, trembling​ so badly that‍⁠ his teeth wouldn’t⁠⁠⁠ stop chattering.

And‌​ he had good​⁠ reason for it.⁠​​

Vroooooom!‍

‘T-This‍ is insane!’

The‍‍ way Kim Seojun‌‌‍ was driving was​​ absurd.

No.​​

It‌‌ couldn’t even be​​ called driving.

He‍‍​ was practically out⁠​​ of control.

If​​ someone sent the‌ footage from the‍‌ truck’s camera to​⁠‌ the manufacturer at​​ that moment, even⁠ the company that​⁠​ had built the‍ vehicle would probably⁠ say.

‘Ah,​‌ we’re sorry. It⁠‍‌ seems our vehicle‍‍ suffered unintended acceleration.‌ Otherwise, there’s no⁠ way to explain‍⁠ how a vehicle‍ could drive like‌ that. We admit‍‌⁠ it.’

That⁠​ was how insane‌‌⁠ it was.

Not‍‌​ only was Kim​​‌ Seojun not using⁠ the brakes, he‍⁠ was keeping the⁠‌ accelerator pressed practically‍​ all the way‍​ down.

And‌ they weren’t even‍‍ driving on anything‍ resembling a German​‌ Autobahn.

There⁠‍‍ weren’t any proper‍‍‌ roads there.

An⁠‌‍ enormous rock could​‌ appear in front​⁠ of them at⁠ any moment and,⁠​‍ to make matters⁠‌ worse, they couldn’t‌ even detect them​‌⁠ properly because of⁠⁠​ the sandstorm battering⁠‍ the area.

Furthermore,‌‌ Private First Class‌‍​ Park Boseop wasn’t‌⁠ just an ordinary‌‍ driver.

To⁠ become a military‌ driver for the​ Space Marines, one‌‌‌ had to pass‌​‍ fairly difficult tests.​

A considerable amount of‌⁠ driving experience was⁠​ also required, and‍ precisely because of​⁠​ that, the position​ paid quite well.​

In‌⁠ Park Boseop’s case,‌ although it wasn’t‌ anything extraordinary, he⁠ had even won​ a prize in⁠⁠‌ a professional motorsport​ competition in Korea.​‍

Precisely‌‍​ because of that,⁠​⁠ he could understand‌⁠ it better than‌⁠‌ anyone.

‘H-He’s​⁠ crazy. This is‍ practically suicide!’

Sergeant‍​‌ Kim Seojun’s driving‍​ was complete madness.⁠‌‍

Kim‌ Seojun knew that⁠​ too.

He‌​ knew perfectly well​​ that what he​⁠ was doing was⁠ crazy, and during‌‍ his previous active‌​ service, he had‌ been told so‍ countless times.

But‌​​ he was confident.‍‌⁠

And‌⁠‌ it wasn’t baseless​‍‍ confidence.

‘I⁠⁠ can say for‌‌⁠ certain that I have more driving‍ experience than any‌​‌ military driver.’

For‍ starters, Kim Seojun‍⁠​ had an enormous‍⁠‌ amount of experience‍‌‌ driving in space.‌

The⁠​ reason was simple.​‌​

‘Because‍ when you lose‍ your mind, it’s‍ impossible to hold‍​​ the steering wheel.’​‌

Kim‍​ Seojun possessed the‌ talent of not⁠‍ feeling fear in​‍ the face of‍‌ the Mog.

That‍​ was why, in‌⁠⁠ the worst situations,‌‍​ when an extremely‌‍​ powerful Mog appeared⁠⁠ and every member‍ of the unit‌​⁠ lost their minds,‍⁠ Kim Seojun was‍​ forced to take‍ the wheel.

In‍ those life-or-death moments,‌‌ he had to‌​ drive to escape⁠ from the Mog⁠‌ while carrying the‍ lives of his‍ comrades in the‍‌ back of the‍ vehicle.

‘When⁠​ that Behemoth appeared,‍ I was the⁠ only one capable‌ of continuing to​‍‍ drive normally.’

Kim‌‌​ Seojun had even‍​ encountered those walking‍ catastrophes twice, creatures‍⁠ that, just by‌⁠ seeing them, would⁠ make an ordinary​⁠⁠ Space Marine not‍​‌ only piss himself,‌​ but lose consciousness‌‌‌ or even die⁠‌​ of cardiac arrest.‍⁠

While​⁠ practically everyone else‍⁠⁠ was unconscious, Kim⁠ Seojun had to‌​‍ take the wheel​‍ and desperately flee‌ from the Behemoth.⁠

From‌⁠ that living island.‌

‘And‌‌​ with a star‍ sitting beside me.’​

After​ going through experiences⁠‍ like those, there⁠ was no way‍‌ Kim Seojun could‌ be a bad⁠⁠​ driver.

Furthermore,​‍ Kim Seojun possessed​​ extraordinary Dynamic Vision,‌ and that was​‌⁠ enormously useful when‍ driving.

A landscape rushing past‍ at three hundred​‌⁠ kilometers per hour⁠ before everyone else’s‌ eyes was, to​‍​ Kim Seojun, like⁠​ one passing by​ at a hundred⁠ kilometers per hour.⁠⁠

‘And‌ the drug is‌​‍ still in effect.’⁠

Furthermore,‌‍‌ due to the‌‍‌ effects of the⁠ Stimpak, Kim Seojun‌ was perceiving the‍⁠ passage of time‌ even more slowly⁠ at that moment.‍

‘I‍ have to get​‍‌ as far as⁠⁠⁠ possible before it‌ wears off.’

In⁠ other words, from⁠​ Kim Seojun’s perspective,​ they had to‍ get as far‌ away from the‌‍ base as possible‍ before the effects‍⁠ of the drug​ disappeared.

And,​⁠‍ above all, Kim‌‍⁠ Seojun had a bad feeling.

‘I⁠‌‌ have a bad⁠‍ feeling. I don’t‍‍ think this is⁠​‌ going to end‌​​ here.’

He⁠‍‍ felt that the​ attack wouldn’t be‍ limited to just‌​‍ one base.

And‌ his hunches tended⁠​ to be right⁠​‌ far more often‍ than expected.

Even​ if he was‍​⁠ wrong, they had​⁠​ nothing to lose‍ by hurrying.

And‌​‌ so, the truck‍ driven by Kim‌​ Seojun sped forward‌‌ at an insane​​‍ speed.

After⁠‌ driving for seven⁠‍ hours, they finally⁠ reached an automated⁠⁠ supply base where​ they could resupply.‌‌‍

[Air‍ regulation has been⁠ completed. You may‍ now remove your‍ suits.]

“Let’s⁠‍‌ rest.”

Only‍‌ after entering that‌ underground supply base,⁠ commonly known as‍‌ a bunker, did⁠‌ all the members⁠ of the unit​​​ remove their battle⁠‍ suits for the⁠⁠​ first time.

The⁠ moment they did,‌⁠ a mixture of⁠ nauseating odors flooded​ the place.

It‌​‌ couldn’t be compared⁠ to the simple‌ smell of sweat.​​

For​‍‌ starters, the blood​ and chunks of​‌ Mog flesh stuck​​⁠ to the battle‍‍⁠ suits gave off‌‍⁠ an unbearable stench.⁠

Furthermore,‌‌‍ everyone except Kim⁠ Seojun had pissed⁠​ themselves so much‌‌‍ that their diapers⁠ were completely soaked,​‌ and the smell⁠​​ was absolutely disgusting.‍

But⁠‌ no one complained.​⁠

They​ all knew.

Even‍ being able to‍ smell that stench⁠​ was fortunate.

A miracle they could‌​⁠ experience only because‍⁠⁠ they were still‌​ alive.

Kim⁠ Seojun knew that‍ better than anyone.⁠⁠

That‍​‍ was the smell‌‌ of survival.

It⁠​ was then that‍‍ Kim Seojun saw⁠ five of his​ subordinates who still⁠‌ hadn’t removed their‌ battle suits.

He‌ knew why.

After⁠ coming so close⁠‌ to death, it​‍ wasn’t easy to‌ let their guard‌⁠ down.

Kim⁠‍ Seojun told them.​‌​

“Everyone,⁠ take off your‌ battle suits and​‍ get some proper⁠ rest.”

“We’re​‍⁠ fine, sir.”

“Well,‌​​ I’m not fine.”⁠

“Sir?”⁠​

“It’s⁠‌⁠ better to rest‍​ properly for one​ hour than to​​ half-rest for three.”​⁠

Those‌‍​ were words born‍​ from experience.

“Besides,‌ the side effects​ of the Stimpak⁠⁠‌ have already left​‌⁠ our senses and‌‍​ stamina in terrible⁠ shape. Even if‍ we entered combat‍ right now, we​ wouldn’t be able‌ to fight properly.​ If the Mog‌ make it all‍‍ the way here,​ we’d be better‌‍‍ off simply pointing​⁠⁠ our own weapons‌⁠ at our heads.”‍‌⁠

Furthermore,‍ once its effects⁠⁠ wore off, the‍‍​ Stimpak caused enormous​​ physical and mental‍​‌ exhaustion.

To​⁠⁠ give an example,‍ it was like‍⁠‍ being right after‌ running a sixty-six-kilometer​​‍ marathon.

And⁠‍ that was precisely⁠⁠‌ why Doctor Space,⁠‌ the creator of‍⁠ the Stimpak, had⁠​ received the Nobel‌ Prize in Chemistry.⁠

Even‍​ if only temporarily,‌⁠​ it produced a stimulating effect capable‍‍ of bringing a human practically to‍​‌ the level of‍‌ a superhuman.

And​‌ the price that​‍​ had to be⁠‍​ paid for such⁠ an effect was⁠⁠ merely suffering some​‌⁠ hallucinations and enormous​ physical and mental​ exhaustion.

It⁠‌‌ was an absurdly​ extraordinary drug.

An‌​ invention that truly⁠‌⁠ deserved a Nobel‌⁠ Prize in Chemistry.⁠​⁠

In‍ any case, at‌ that moment, they‌⁠⁠ needed to rest‍‌ properly at all⁠ costs to recover⁠ the physical and​ mental stamina they‍​ had consumed.

“On​‌⁠ the battlefield, the​⁠‌ worst thing you‍⁠‌ can have is​ a comrade who’s⁠ no help and‌ only becomes a burden.”

Only⁠‌ then could they‌ avoid becoming dead⁠‍​ weight during combat.‍

It⁠ wasn’t until they​‍ heard Kim Seojun’s‍‌⁠ words that those⁠‌⁠ five finally removed​ their battle suits.⁠

Afterward,⁠ everyone began frantically‌‍ devouring the energy⁠ gels and drinks‍‍‍ stored in the‌⁠ supply base.

Kim⁠‌​ Seojun did the‌ same.

He‌‌⁠ stuffed energy gel​ into his mouth‌ until he could‍⁠ feel it piling​⁠‌ up in his‌​ throat.

Because‌​‍ he knew.

On​‍ the battlefield, opportunities⁠‍​ to replenish nutrients‍​‌ like that came‌‌‍ far less frequently‍⁠ than one might​ imagine.

After​ that, Kim Seojun‍​⁠ looked for a place to rest.​‍

He​ intended to close⁠‌ his eyes immediately‌​ and, furthermore, he⁠‍⁠ possessed the talent‍‍ of falling asleep‍‍ faster than practically‌‌​ anyone else.

‘Status​⁠⁠ window.’

At‍⁠ that moment, the‍‍⁠ status window appeared​ in Kim Seojun’s⁠ mind and, without​ realizing it, he​‍ said it out‍​​ loud.

“Status‌​ window.”

It​ was then.

[Kim​ Seojun]

— Strength: 11
— Endurance: 14​‌
— Mana: 1
— Skills: None‌⁠
— Talents: Dynamic​‌⁠ Vision (E)
— Points: 932​ pt
— Tickets: 1 Silver Ticket

The‌ status window appeared⁠⁠ before Kim Seojun’s⁠‍ eyes.

By‍ that point, Kim​​ Seojun no longer⁠⁠‌ doubted the ability‌‍⁠ that had suddenly‌‌ appeared.

The​‌‌ simple fact that⁠‌ he was still‍‌‌ alive was irrefutable‌‌‌ proof that the⁠‍ ability was real.‍

Besides,⁠‍‌ there was nothing‍ bad about that​‍​ ability for him.​

Kim‍⁠⁠ Seojun knew that.​‍‌

‘……Having​​ a special ability​​ is never a bad thing.’

It‍ would be an‍ enormous help in⁠ surviving.

Kim‌‌ Seojun had seen‌‍ on numerous occasions‌‍ the absurd results‍⁠⁠ that Psykers, people⁠​ gifted with special‍ abilities, could achieve‌‍ in the war​ against the Mog.‌‌​

At‌⁠⁠ the same time,​ he also knew⁠​‌ something else.

‘It’s⁠ not that strange​⁠‌ for something like‌⁠ this to happen​ either.’

In‍⁠⁠ the space age,‌‌ countless phenomena occurred⁠​‍ that human beings‌​‍ were incapable of‍ understanding and that​ completely defied common​​ sense.

So,‍ instead of continuing​⁠​ to doubt it,‍⁠ he decided to⁠ use that ability​⁠​ immediately.

“Use‌⁠‍ points.”

He​⁠ said it in​​⁠ such a low‍ voice that his⁠ subordinates couldn’t hear‍‍ him.

Then‌‍ a new window⁠ appeared before his‌‍‌ eyes.

[Point​​‌ Shop]

— Bronze Ticket (500⁠ pt)
— Silver Ticket⁠‍ (3,000 pt)
— Gold Ticket​ (10,000 pt)
— Platinum Ticket‍‍ (Unavailable for purchase)​
— Diamond Ticket⁠⁠ (Unavailable for purchase)⁠⁠

Upon‍​ seeing it, Kim⁠‌⁠ Seojun immediately understood‍ how the status⁠​ window system he‍ had obtained worked.‍‍

There‌‍ was nothing complicated‌ about it.

He‍⁠‌ killed Mog and‌‌ received points.

Then‌​‍ he could use⁠‌ those points to⁠‌ strengthen himself.

And‍ as a Space​⁠⁠ Marine who never‌ knew when he​‍ might die, there‍​‍ was no point​⁠​ in thinking something‌⁠ like:

‘I’m⁠​‍ going to carefully‌⁠‍ save up my‍​ points so I can get something‌‌ big later!’

“Purchase​ Bronze Ticket.”

He‌​ bought it immediately.​

He‌​‌ didn’t have high⁠ expectations.

From​ Kim Seojun’s perspective,⁠‌ it didn’t matter⁠‌ what he received.‌​

As‌‍​ long as it‍‍ was better than‌ his current state,​ he had nothing​‍ to lose.

Then‌‍ he heard a notification.

[You‌‍ have obtained 1 Strength point from‍​⁠ a Bronze Ticket.]​

At⁠‍‍ that simple notification,‍ Kim Seojun’s eyes​‌⁠ narrowed.

Not⁠ because he considered​ the reward insignificant.​

It⁠ was exactly the‌​ opposite.

‘My‍⁠‍ Strength was 11‍ points. If I add another point,‍‌​ that means my‌ physical strength increased​ by approximately ten⁠​‌ percent.’

Achieving‌ an increase in​ strength of more⁠‍⁠ than ten percent⁠⁠⁠ through training, medication,‌‍ or body modifications‍⁠⁠ would have required​‍‌ an enormous amount⁠⁠​ of effort.

And⁠​⁠ he had just‍ achieved it with⁠‌ a simple click?‍​‍

Kim‍⁠‌ Seojun understood perfectly⁠ well how extraordinary​​ that was.

That‌ was why he​‍‌ began to feel‍⁠‍ anticipation.

‘The‍‍ Silver Ticket I received as a reward.’

There⁠​‍ were rewards of​‍ higher grades.

“Use‌ Silver Ticket.”

Without⁠⁠‌ hesitation, he used⁠‌‍ the one he​‍ had received as‍‌ a reward from‍‌ the battle.

It‌⁠⁠ was then.

[Congratulations!‍ You have obtained‍‍⁠ a Gold-grade reward‍⁠ from a Silver‌ Ticket!]

A congratulatory notification echoed‍​⁠ in his ears.‍‌‍

[A​​‌ Talent Upgrade Ticket⁠⁠ (C) has appeared!]‌

At‌⁠⁠ the same time,​⁠‌ an information window⁠ appeared before Kim​ Seojun’s eyes.

[Talent‍ Upgrade Ticket (C)]‌

— Grade: Gold
— Effect: Raises​‍ one of your​‌ talents to rank‍‌ C.

The‍⁠ moment he saw‍ that, Kim Seojun‍⁠ blinked.

‘What?’‍‍⁠

It​ wasn’t because it⁠⁠‌ was difficult to‌⁠ understand.

There‌⁠​ was absolutely nothing​​‌ complicated about it.‌

Anyone⁠‍⁠ who had spent‌​‍ ten minutes playing‍⁠​ one of those‍⁠ games with microtransactions⁠⁠ that were still‍​‌ popular in Korea​⁠ would understand the‍ system perfectly.

‘Can‌‍ something like this​‌ really come out?’​⁠

An‌​ absurd reward had‌ simply appeared out‌​ of nowhere.

Of⁠​ course, Kim Seojun​​ didn’t start thinking:​‍‍

‘What​ should I do⁠‍⁠ with this? Should‍⁠⁠ I save it​⁠ to use later‍‌‌ when I get​​ something better?’

As​ already mentioned, worrying⁠⁠ too much about​‍ the future wasn’t⁠‍​ exactly a good‍‍ habit for a Space Marine.

And‌​​ above all, Kim‍‍ Seojun already possessed‌‍‌ a good talent.‍‍​

“Use‍ Talent Upgrade Ticket.”‌‌

[Which⁠ talent would you​⁠ like to use‌‍​ it on?]

“Dynamic⁠⁠‌ Vision.”

Kim​​ Seojun immediately used‍​‌ the good fortune⁠⁠⁠ he had obtained‌‍ on that talent.⁠

[Dynamic⁠⁠‌ Vision has increased⁠‌​ to rank C!]​‍⁠

The‍⁠‍ notification came immediately.⁠

At⁠​ first glance, nothing⁠‍ seemed to have‌‌​ changed.

The‌‍ scenery before his​‌ eyes remained exactly‌ the same.

Then⁠ Kim Seojun gently​⁠ tossed the energy‍‌‌ gel he was‌⁠ holding into the⁠⁠‌ air.

It‍ was at that⁠‍⁠ instant.

‘Ah.’⁠‌

Before​⁠‌ Kim Seojun’s eyes,‌⁠ the energy gel‌ rising through the⁠​⁠ air began to‍⁠​ look practically motionless.‍‍⁠

He‍​‍ could clearly make​ out not only⁠⁠ the brand printed‍‍ on the package,⁠‍ but even the‍⁠ nutrition facts.

Furthermore,‌⁠​ that sight was⁠⁠ very familiar to⁠​ Kim Seojun.

‘It’s​ the same as‍ when I use‍⁠ a Stimpak.’

That‌⁠ was how he​‌ saw the world‍​ the moment he‌ injected himself with‍ a Stimpak.

Everything⁠‍ seemed to have‌⁠​ stopped.

‘My‍​ God.’

Upon‌⁠⁠ realizing it, a chill ran through‍‍​ Kim Seojun’s entire‍ body.

‘Will‍ the state I was in after⁠​ using a Stimpak​​‍ be my normal‌ state from now​⁠ on?’

And​​ that wasn’t all.‌⁠

‘Wait.‍​ Then, if I use a Stimpak⁠​‌ now……’

Perhaps‌​ he could experience‍⁠ something he had‍​​ never experienced before.‌

It⁠ was then.

Beeeep!‌

Suddenly,‍‍ the bunker lights‌⁠‌ turned red and⁠ an alarm began‌‍ to sound.

Everyone‍‍​ sprang to their‌‌ feet.

Then‌ the bunker system‌⁠ informed them:

[Headquarters‍⁠​ has been destroyed.]⁠​

The​‌‍ place they were​ supposed to return‌ to had disappeared.​‌

Headquarters‌⁠ had been destroyed!​

“W-What⁠‍ the fuck does​⁠ that mean?”

The⁠‌ moment they heard‌ the news, all⁠‌ the soldiers inside‌‌⁠ the bunker panicked.​

“That’s​ impossible!”

They‍ immediately began denying‍​​ the reality before‌⁠​ them.

And‌​ that reaction was​‍ perfectly understandable.

On⁠⁠ a planet dedicated‌‌‌ to resource exploitation,‌​‍ headquarters wasn’t simply⁠ a place from‌ which orders were‍‍ issued.

It​‍‌ was where the‌‌ most powerful military⁠‌ force was concentrated.‍

It​ was also the⁠ starting point for⁠ all supplies.

“H-How⁠‌‌ the fuck are​ we supposed to‍ get back to‍‍‌ Earth?”

And⁠‌‌ headquarters was also⁠‍ the only exit‌‍ that allowed them​​⁠ to return to‌‍ Earth.

Headquarters​⁠ had fallen?

That⁠‌​ meant they had​‌ lost their only​⁠​ way to return​‍ to Earth!

Even⁠⁠ though they had‌‍ volunteered for that⁠‍ assignment, in essence,⁠ they were still​ active-duty soldiers subject‌‍ to mandatory conscription.‍‍​

For‌‍‌ them, it was‌​ a shock that‍ was difficult to​ process.

In‍‌⁠ the midst of‍​‍ that situation, only​​‌ one person remained​ calm.

Sergeant‌‍‍ Kim Seojun.

He‌ wasn’t bewildered by‌ all the commotion.‌

He‌‍⁠ had no reason‍⁠ to be.

‘The‌⁠ destruction of a headquarters…… This is‍‍ the fourth time.’‌

It‌‍ wasn’t the first‌‍ time he had⁠⁠‌ experienced something like‍‍‍ this.

That⁠⁠​ was why he‌ knew exactly what‌​ to do.

“Everyone,​‌ calm down. No​ matter how much‌ of a fuss‍ you make, the⁠⁠‍ only thing you’ll‍​ accomplish is wasting⁠ oxygen.”

Panicking‌⁠‌ at that moment‍ would only hurt‍‌ them.

“And​‌ if you keep‌ making a fuss‌⁠ anyway, I’ll shoot‍​​ you.”

Kim‍⁠ Seojun issued a firm warning.

At⁠ those words, his‌ subordinates, who had‌ practically been shouting⁠⁠​ just seconds earlier,⁠ became completely still.​‌

Everyone⁠​‍ looked at Kim​‌ Seojun.

He‍ told them.

“For‍⁠ now, we’re going​‌‍ to rest as⁠​ much as possible.‍⁠ We’ll stay here⁠ and rest for​ at least eight⁠​ hours.”

His‍‍⁠ subordinates’ gazes filled‍ with doubt.

Rest?‌

In⁠ an emergency situation‌‍‍ like this?

After‍⁠‌ headquarters had just‌ been destroyed?

Kim⁠‌​ Seojun explained.

“The⁠ fact that headquarters​⁠ was destroyed means⁠⁠‌ it suffered a powerful attack, whether⁠​‍ from the Mog​ or an enemy‌‍⁠ nation. Even if‌ we go there​ right now, we⁠​ won’t be any⁠ help. Especially if‍ the Mog were⁠ the ones who​ attacked it. If‌​ we go there,⁠⁠​ it would be‌ the same as​‍​ offering ourselves up‍ for dessert.”

He​ explained what the‌‍ most rational decision⁠ was at that‌​ moment.

After⁠⁠ hearing his words,‌​‍ his subordinates’ gazes‍ gradually began returning⁠​‌ to normal.

They​‌ were still deeply⁠ confused.

But‌​ the soldiers had⁠⁠​ realized something.

The​⁠‌ man standing before​​‍ them wasn’t an​‌⁠ inexperienced rookie NCO.‌⁠

He‍ was an absurdly⁠⁠ experienced veteran disguised‍​​ as a newly​ appointed NCO.

And‌⁠ in that shitty‍⁠‌ world, there was⁠‍ nothing more reliable‌‌​ than the words‌ of a veteran.​​

Eventually,‌‍ everyone began resting‍‌ just as Kim‌‌ Seojun had ordered.‌​​

Kim‌ Seojun himself did⁠​‍ the same.

Inside‍⁠ that extremely cramped‌‍ bunker, he lay​‌ directly on the‌⁠ floor and fell⁠​‍ into a deep​ sleep.

Fortunately,⁠⁠‌ the bunker wasn’t​ attacked.

Everyone‍ was able to⁠ rest for the​ eight hours Kim​⁠‍ Seojun had ordered.‍‍‍

Of‌⁠ course, almost none​⁠ of them managed‌‍‍ to rest properly.​

They⁠‌‍ kept waking up,​⁠⁠ unable to fully⁠​ recover their physical‌‍ condition.

Only​‍ one person was‍​‍ different.

Kim‌‍ Seojun.

There‍‍ wasn’t even the‍​​ slightest trace of⁠‌ fatigue left in​ his gaze.

With‍⁠ that gaze, he‍ said.

“Private‍ First Class Park​⁠ Boseop.”

“Yes?”⁠

“Yes?”⁠⁠

At⁠⁠​ the question Kim⁠ Seojun repeated, Park​ Boseop reacted with​ a start.

“P-Private​ First Class P-Park⁠‍‌ Boseop!”

After​‍⁠ hearing his response,‌ Kim Seojun said.‌⁠

“Get‍‍‍ ready to drive.”​‍​

“D-Drive,‌ sir? W-Where are‍ we going?”

Kim​‌ Seojun answered his⁠​ question.

“To⁠​⁠ headquarters.”

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