For weeks to follow, Eiji’s schedule was light.
Officially he was still on duty, but faithfully attending to the responsibilities laid out for him hardly filled each day. High Command’s focus had shifted to the larger task of preparing the Reizei soldiers who would fill the ranks of the new units. The vast majority of them were already veterans of combat, but still needed to be educated on the coming developments and trained on new weaponry. Much of the time Eiji simply observed the training exercises or assisted in drilling the soldiers.
There were times that the officers were rounded up for practice of their own with new weapons and equipment (particularly tactical autobike combat, for a vastly improved assault bike was being unveiled for standard issue to the forward and great Reizei Units). They also occasionally engaged in marksmanship contests or sparred of their own initiative. At these contests Eiji continued to build upon his increasing reknown; whether he realized it or not, in his new position eyes were always on him. His continued success at all that he did, which he himself often failed to notice for all his diminishing interest in the war and the culture surrounding it, laid the groundwork for his future status as a legend.
Other times he would read or do brushwork alone in his quarters, or go on solitary walks through the city. He was invited on a number of occasions to tea, food, or drink by Kensuke Yamanoue, with whom he had maintained contact after their acquaintance at the opening of Jiayang Yu’s restaurant. Kensuke was usually in the company of protégés, other artists or socialites, courtesans or occasionally even bureau chiefs, but he and Eiji would get so absorbed into deep conversations about the great works of Meihonese and Imperial Literature and Philosophy that they often ignored their company, however prestigious personages it may have been composed of. Even so, this thoughtlessness seemed incapable of damaging Eiji’s reputation among the elite. To the contrary, like everything Eiji did, it seemed only to elevate the general opinion of him.
“I have to say,” one of Kensuke’s companions would eventually remark to Eiji, “you’re hardly what I imagined of a hardened veteran.”
Even when their discussions waxed on and those with them found themselves with little or nothing to contribute, they still sat rapt at the spectacle of this warrior with the blood of countless enemies on his hands reciting lines of verse from memory, analyzing poetic structure and theme, and even going on about the personal lives of long-dead poets and philosophers of bygone eras. “You’re the only one in this whole lot who understands the beauty and tragedy of this world,” Kensuke once commented privately to him, several drinks in, “and how wrong I was to expect it last from a soldier.”
Suddenly, affectionate personality vignettes on the commander of Unit Mirai were turning up in the journals weekly, as more and more stories about Eiji circulated by word of mouth. The masses of the public that read them in turn became as endeared to and as fascinated by him as the giants who had actually made his acquaintance. The momentum of his fame escalated to the point where for a time any and every soldier who had ever fought alongside him could be guaranteed at least a quote in the War Journals, just for sharing a story – or even a passing impression.
But the nights and evenings were always reserved for Minsuk. Often they went out to wander the city’s nightlife haunts on their own, or else to attend a party or a dinner, either with Eiji’s newfound elite connections or Minsuk’s developing circle of friends from the Commerce guild, mostly other apprentices. Sometimes they went to a play, or a film. But just as often they stayed in Eiji’s officer’s quarters, talking, drinking, eating, making love, listening to music or the news on soon-to-be-obsolete broadcast devices, huddled close together in their sealed space while the world and their lives changed mercilessly around them, pharate pupae in negative.
A few weeks before the transition was finished and Eiji was sent back to the Front, the spirit of irrevocable change finally penetrated their insular world. They were walking through the commercial district just after Minsuk’s shift had ended, the summer sky dimming over them. He had noticed in the few minutes since he’d met her at the restaurant that she seemed to be absorbed in thought. She said almost nothing, and when he asked her what she was thinking about as they stopped at a corner to wait for the light to change, even before she had started to answer he saw terror in her eyes, pure and horrible and familiar for all the times he had seen it shines in the eyes of those on the battlefield.
“Well,” she started, looking down. For a time she said nothing, eyes fixed on the concrete beneath their feet. Finally, she took a deep breath and stuttered through the rest of the sentence. “Eiji, it’s just that… I’m, well… I’m really, really late.”
Whatever hopeful doubt they held onto was extinguished by a medical visit the following morning. They suffered through their initial shock much as anyone so unprepared for the eventually might, but in this experience each discovered how true the other’s feelings were.
Minsuk would have to had to face motherhood just as she was beginning to pursue her commerce guild dream. Eiji would have to swallow the reality that he would be largely absent from his child’s childhood. Still, neither was ever bothered by the permanent binding here created between the two of them. In fact, when the question came up in the future why they never considered the alternative to going through with the pregnancy, each came to their own separate retrospection that it was because the child was that very guarantee of having each other to look forward to, the love come unto flesh.
Still, even with the emotional reassurance of their deep commitment, they still agonized over the logistics of how they could make it work. What did fate have in store for their lives, for the world they lived in, and for the child that would come into it? High Command provided special housing for the wives of soldiers with children in whichever secure city was nearest their theater of deployment. But accepting this meant quitting her apprenticeship. It was in theory possible for her to complete the certification in the next seven months in time for her due date, but this would only be at an extremely accelerated pace and during a period of myriad and rapid changes to the system she was expected to master, all while carrying a child. And when the baby was born, what help would its father be, with a career that kept him away on the front lines?
No, not just a career, he reminded himself. According to research, he was a born soldier. It was in his genes. His blood fate.
What would this mean for the child? Had one of Eiji’s parents had Reizei genes as well? He’d never even met them, had never met any family, and now more than in his youth longed to; but he didn’t know of a single living relative.
