Chapter 6

“Send a few more teams toward the Nor Colony.”

At exactly 12:00 p.m., Erabelle Vermilion slipped out of the office like clockwork.

Dezeb lit a cigarette and casually flipped through the report she had handed him. Clean. Efficient. Definitely useful.

“Thinking of weakening the Second Prince’s forces?”

“Tried that already. Which loop was that again?”

“Somewhere around Loop 43 or 44, I think. His power collapsed, and it wasn’t all that interesting in the end.”

“Exactly. So there’s no point repeating it. Let’s reinforce him instead. If we put enough pressure on the colony, he’ll have to deploy more troops. Supply movement has already increased at three locations—find out where he’s reallocating his forces and support them accordingly. Match His Highness’s strategy.”

It all felt strangely familiar... but none of the dogs commented on it. Dezeb’s orders required no explanation.

“How’s our prince doing?”

“Seems fine. Though Kancher’s been whining about wanting a different assignment.”

Dezeb snorted and cracked open his second beer—the one he had tried offering Erabelle earlier. Clever girl, slipping away with that excuse about the medbay. She was quick on her feet when it mattered.

Like a damn bomb-sniffing dog.

Amused by the thought, Dezeb spun the can with a flick of his wrist. No matter how often he prodded her, Erabelle Vermilion always managed to sidestep him with remarkable grace.

A smile crept across his absurdly handsome face.

Maybe I’ll ask her to lunch. See how she turns me down this time.

“How’s she been lately?”

“No unusual signs. It’s obvious she’s the anomaly in this loop, but compared to the previous ones, she’s been... quiet. Unless drowning in overtime counts as abnormal.”

“That so?”

Neither Dezeb nor his dogs considered anomalies particularly remarkable.

They appeared once or twice in every loop, and after dozens of repetitions, they had come to feel like nothing more than optional bonuses tacked onto an endlessly repetitive game.

“Hey, what’s Vermilion’s Noise Spectrum?”

“You mean her NS? I believe it came out around 147.”

The sudden question made Oron blink in confusion.

“If it’s 147... then there’s a chance she’ll register as compatible with me, huh?”

An awkward silence followed.

Pfft!

Virgo Hag, halfway through a sip, sprayed beer everywhere and began pounding the armrest of the couch like a lunatic.

“If she ends up compatible with Dezeb?! She better start repenting for her past lives—she must’ve destroyed a whole damn planet!”

Aries kicked him squarely in the shin, but Virgo Hag couldn’t stop laughing. Watching him double over, Ori clicked his tongue.

“Yeah, well... At 147, the odds of a match are pretty high. Should I prepare the blood test?”

“No.”

Commander Dezeb Avganis shoved the empty beer can into Virgo’s mouth to shut him up, then grinned, one corner of his lips curling upward.

“I’ll do it myself.”

“Commander, did the Lieutenant do something wrong?” Ori asked with a frown.

“Wrong? Why? Did the audit turn something up? I thought she’d been keeping her head down.”

“No, not like that...”

The conversation seemed to have veered slightly off course.

“Do you like her or something?” Ori ventured.

“Probably,” Dezeb replied casually.

Ori looked genuinely sorry for Erabelle Vermilion. If Virgo was right, she must have destroyed several planets in a past life.

“Anyway... what do people usually do if they’re not sleeping with women?” Dezeb asked suddenly.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Virgo blinked.

“I can’t exactly throw her down and have at it. {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} She’d pass out.”

He tried to explain, but they all continued staring at him in confusion. Aries cautiously raised a hand.

“But it’s not like you’d pass out, Commander, so what’s the problem...?”

“Forget it. I asked what people do if they don’t.”

No one had a good answer. They all avoided Dezeb’s gaze and fell silent—until Aries raised his hand again.

“Anyone want to bet on how long Vermilion lasts? I’m putting 1,000cp on one month.”

“If there’s a compatibility match, he won’t kill her,” Virgo chimed in.

“Fine, then we bet on how long she stays alive. Still one month, 1,000cp.”

“I’m in. 1,200cp—give her a month and a half.”

The Hellhounds immediately came alive, crowding around the new wager. Within minutes, the stakes had climbed to 5,000cp.

Dezeb watched their nonsense unfold, then calmly put down 10,000cp on one week.

The officers booed him in unison.

“Didn’t you just say you liked her?” ℴℴ𝘮

“Exactly, Commander. After everything she’s done for you, the least you can do is give her a month and a half.”

“Seriously? Come on, Dezeb, don’t be like that. Give her a month. One week is just cruel!”

They burst out laughing, trading jokes as though it were all nothing more than a game.

No one gave Erabelle Vermilion much serious thought.

To them, she was merely another passing amusement.

That was all.

And perhaps... it couldn’t be helped.

They had lived for far too long, grown too tired and jaded to expect anything to truly change anymore.

***

That afternoon, Erabelle finished running a few errands for the Hellhounds and pocketed some extra credits before heading to the warehouse.

It was time for inventory.

Her mood wasn’t too bad. She had earned enough extra to buy a movie ticket, a popcorn set, and a hot dog—and still have money left over.

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant Vermilion.”

“Afternoon, Sergeant. Have you eaten lunch?”

Erabelle flashed him a bright smile.

Two years in the military had made fake smiles second nature.

Still, hearing herself addressed as “Vermilion” gave her the fleeting illusion that she had returned to civilized society.

A false hope, naturally.

These people were no different.

They were simply more of the dogs.

She gathered the waiting squad and laid out the assignment.

“As of now, we’re beginning inventory. We have three weeks to balance the books, so there isn’t much room for delay.”

“Three weeks...?” someone muttered.

“Yes. Each unit is expected to report on a minimum of one sector per day for its assigned items.”

As someone who could be discarded the moment she became “useless,” Erabelle never took deadlines lightly.

“If you fail to meet your daily target, you’ll be staying late. The same applies to incomplete reports—more overtime.”

Her squad’s expressions soured immediately.

Erabelle decided it was time to sprinkle in a little motivational nonsense.

“If we all stay focused, submit clean reports, and meet our targets, we’ll leave on time. Don’t assume it’s impossible! Maybe—just maybe—we can actually pull it off!”

“Why do you always say the exact same thing...” one of them groaned.

That’s life. And that’s exactly why I booked the midnight screening today.

She threw herself into the dusty work alongside the rest of the squad, who grumbled the entire time.

Obviously, I hate overtime too. Who actually likes overtime? You’d have to be a damn pervert.

Really, right up until the moment before the end of the shift...

Erabelle had genuinely believed that.