The train ride back to Schale felt cold compared to the endless warmth Shanhaijing provided.

Kize sat stiffly in the corner of the compartment, the rhythmic clatter of wheels on tracks filling the silence. The Shittim Chest rested on his lap, its screen dimmed but not asleep. Outside, the world blurred, its streetlights smearing into streaks of gold, the distant glow of Kivotos' spires cutting through the gathering dark.

The thermos in his pocket warmed him ever so slightly. Yet it stung just a tiny bit.

Arona's face flickered to life on the screen, her pixelated halo bobbing with the train's sway. "Sensei? Your core temperature's dropped 1.2 degrees since departure!"

Plana appeared beside her soon after, her expression clinical and precise. "Analysis: Physiological stress response. Suggested action: Consume calories. Query: Why did you discard the dumpling?"

Kize's fingers twitched against the Shittim Chest's edge. The memory of Rumi's steamers, the children's laughter, Shun's brush pressing into his palm. All of it clung like the scent of oolong to his coat. His eyes averted the screen, focused loosely on nothing.

"It was stale," he stated. A lie.

Arona's eyes narrowed. "Sensei! I ran a spectral analysis on the discarded--"

"Irrelevant," Plana interrupted. "Priority: Reinforce thermoregulation. Activating internal heating."

A soft hum emanated from the device, warmth seeping into Kize's thighs. The gradual warmth caused Kize to slowly sigh, watching his breath fog the window. For a moment, his reflection superimposed over the passing city, a ghost over a world that never stopped moving.

"You're thinking about the lantern again," Arona accused, her voice quieter now.

Kize didn't answer. The ink stain haunted him. Not for its imperfection, but for what it wasn't; no deliberate shape, no meaning. Just a spill.

A mistake.

Plana's cursor blinked. "Hypothesis: You fear the act of creation. To define is to claim ownership. Ownership implies..."

"Planaaa," Arona whined, "stop psychoanalyzing Sensei! He's supposed to be on vacation!"

The train plunged into a tunnel. Darkness swallowed the compartment, the Shittim Chest's glow painting Kize's face in pale blue.

In the blackness, he finally whispered.

"What if I don't know what to paint next?"

Silence. Then.

"Then you try again tomorrow," Arona said, simple as a child's logic.

Plana added: "Corollary: The lantern remains. The brush remains. You remain. Variables are favorable."

The train emerged into light. Kize closed his eyes.

The warmth, however faint, stayed.

"By the way, Sensei. What do you think of Instructor Shun?"

"..."

Kize's eyes glanced away from Arona's question, before his lips parted.

"Annoying."

He gripped the thermos soon after, the dent fitting the curve of his thumb as its warmth engulfed his palm.

——

The cold of the train lingered in Kize's bones as he stepped onto the platform, the Shittim Chest heavy in his coat pocket, and the thermos in the other.

Schale could wait. Something drew him toward the outskirts of District 7. Perhaps it was the way the wind carried the distant echo of gunfire. Perhaps it was how Arona had suddenly fallen silent.

In the dead of night, no one would try and find something that doesn't exist.

And yet, his eyes spotted an old remnant of what was once a place of joy.

Rabbit Park was less a park and more a graveyard of SRT's legacy, with several tents structured around a fading fire. Empty shell casings glittered like fallen stars in the dirt. And there, beneath the skeletal remains of a sniper's perch, sat the remnants of RABBIT Platoon.

Kize knew of SRT's disbandment. He'd read the reports, the cold bureaucratic language that reduced children to elite soldiers. Soldiers that had special jurisdiction to act via orders of the President of the General Student Council.

But seeing them now made it real in a way paperwork never could. And with how all of them seem to have some kind of accessory that resembled rabbit ears on their heads, he discerned that they were RABBIT Platoon.

Tsukiyuki Miyako, codenamed RABBIT 1, sat cross-legged on a cracked concrete slab, cleaning her PPSh-41 with mechanical precision. Her expression was as unreadable as the sky before a storm. When she looked up, her eyes were flat, assessing.

A leader without an army.

Sorai Saki, codenamed RABBIT 2 paced nearby, her nose buried in a tattered manual. "Section 4.3: Urban Engagement. No, wait. Maybe 5.7: Defensive Perimeter." Her voice cracked. The pages were smudged with dirt, the ink bleeding from rain.

A girl who adheres too much to a broken system.

Kazukura Moe, codenamed RABBIT 3 was half-buried in the guts of a decommissioned APC, her laughter sharp as shrapnel. "Hey, hey, if I rewire this, kaboom, right? Right?" Her fingers danced over exposed wires, her grin unhinged, her glasses glinting. A plastic stick peeked out between her teeth; a lollipop.

Skilled, but dangerous.

Kasumizawa Miyu, codenamed RABBIT 4 was...

Gone.

No, there. A flicker at the edge of vision. A shadow leaning against a tree, her rifle clutched to her chest like a child's stuffed toy. When Kize blinked, she seemed to fade further into the bark.

"Sensei," Plana's voice echoed from the Shittim Chest, "SRT records indicate these students were listed as 'transferred.' Discrepancy detected."

"They're squatters," Arona whispered, as if afraid the wind would carry her voice to them. "They never left."

Miyako stood, her submachine gun slung over her shoulder. Her voice was quiet, but it cut through the park like a knife.

"Schale doesn't visit here."

Kize's fingers brushed the Shittim Chest, his expression thoroughly neutral.

"I'm not here as Schale."

"Then why are you here?" Saki snapped, her manual crumpling in her grip. "To pity us? To lecture us about 'moving on'?"

Moe popped up from the APC, her hands black with grease. "Ooh, is he here to shut us up? Can I blow him up? Pleaaase?"

Miyu made a sound. A hiccup. A whimper. When Kize turned, she was gone again.

"Observation," Plana noted. "Rabbit 4 exhibits unknown properties that causes her to seemingly disappear to the naked eye. Hypothesis: A defense mechanism against perceived erasure."

Arona's face pixelated with distress. "That's so sad! Sensei, we gotta--"

Kize stepped forward. The grass crunched underfoot, loud as a gunshot in the silence.

Miyako's finger twitched near her trigger. "Closer is a bad idea."

"You're still operating," Kize stated. It was no question. It was a matter of fact.

"SRT's mission doesn't end," Miyako replied. "Even if the world forgets us."

Saki's manual hit the dirt. "We don't need your help."

Moe giggled, the tips of her index finger twirling together. "But if you wanna be a target dummy--"

A rustle in the branches. Miyu's voice, so soft it might have been the wind.

"Don't go."

"......."

Kize breathed in, then sighed. The Shittim Chest hummed against his ribs, as if awaiting his orders.

"I'm not here to disband you," he stated. "I'm here to remember."

His thermos, still warm in his pocket, felt slightly warmer again.

For the first time, Miyako's expression flickered. Something raw. Something human. In the trees, Miyu's outline solidified, just a little.

In the moment of dawn, Kize stood amongst the ruin, as if he was one of them.

Not a soldier. Not a savior.

Just another ghost in the graveyard.

—

The morning sun filtered through the skeletal trees of Rabbit Park as Kize stood at the edge of the clearing, the Shittim Chest open in his hands. Across from him, the scattered remnants of RABBIT Platoon watched with varying degrees of wariness and disinterest.

Miyako leaned against a rusted supply crate, her arms crossed and gaze flatly analytical.

Saki fidgeted with her dog-eared tactical manual, eyes darting between its pages and Kize's impassive face.

Moe juggled a live grenade between her hands with careless glee.

Miyu's presence was only betrayed by the occasional rustle of leaves overhead.

"Sniper positioning remains textbook despite environmental degradation," Plana commented, as Kize glanced upwards as a leaf fell upon his shoulder.

He brushed it off, before glancing back down to the Shittim Chest.

Arona's pixelated face appeared, her voice hushed. "They're still really sharp. But why would GSC just throw them away?"

Kize observed as Miyako snapped her fingers once, sharply. The immediate response of Moe almost fumbling the grenade, Saki straightening unconsciously, even Miyu's outline becoming slightly more substantial, spoke volumes about their ingrained discipline.

Yet the shadows under Miyako's eyes told another story, one of exhaustion and stubborn perseverance.

"Section 7.2," Saki suddenly declared, glaring at Kize while clutching her manual. "Unsanctioned personnel must maintain 20-meter distance during—"

"That's for active war zones," Kize interrupted flatly.

Saki's grip tightened on the manual. "We are in a war zone."

Plana's analysis appeared.

"Adherence to doctrine suggests trauma response. Reliance on rules as substitute for institutional support."

Moe's grenade arched through the air in a dangerous parabola. Kize didn't flinch.

"Hey, Ghost," she sing-songed, "wanna see how far I can throw this before it--"

"No," Miyako said without looking. Moe pouted but pocketed the explosive.

A whisper came from the trees.

"...Why are you really here?"

Kize didn't look up.

"Same reason you are. Someone forgot to bury us."

For just a moment, Miyu's form flickered into visibility; a girl with wide, uncertain, tired eyes.

She disappeared again.

"Why was SRT disbanded?" Kize asked abruptly. The air seemed to stiffen around them. Even Moe went still.

Miyako's voice was ice. "You tell us. Schale's got the files."

"Schale didn't bury you. Valkyrie did."

Saki's manual hit the dirt. "Those amateurs! They didn't even read the tactical handbooks before--"

"Kaiser Construction," Kize interrupted. "And Kaya."

The silence that followed was heavier than the grenade in Moe's pocket.

The Shittim Chest flickered to life, displaying damning footage. Valkyrie officers accepting Kaiser bribes, Kaya's smirking face during the merger hearings.

"Sensei tried to stop it," Miyako said softly. "Told us to stay here. Wait it out." Her gaze swept across their derelict base.

"Guess we're still waiting."

Plana's text appeared.

"Hypothesis: SRT was too effective. Kaiser required incompetent security to exploit target districts."

Arona gasped. "So they wanted Valkyrie to be bad at their jobs? That's evil!"

Kize remained silent. The pieces fit too neatly. Kaiser's pattern of destabilization, GSC's negligence, the way abandoned soldiers kept appearing in his path.

"You're Arius's Ghost," Miyako observed suddenly. "But you're not just that, are you?"

Kize met her gaze evenly. "No."

Moe grinned. "Ooooh. Spooky."

From the trees came the quiet, almost hopeful click of Miyu's rifle.

As Kize turned to leave, Miyako called after him.

"Hey, Ghost. You never said what you are, if not Schale."

He paused, but he never looked back.

"A reminder."

Then he was gone, leaving behind four rabbits.

For the first time in months, RABBIT Platoon felt truly seen.

——

The GSC office smelled of ink and overbrewed coffee. Rin didn't look up as Kize entered, her pen scratching across budget reports with mechanical precision. The Shittim Chest's screen reflected in her glasses when he placed it on her desk, displaying footage of four girls in a derelict park. One expressionless leader drilling her team, an explosives maniac juggling grenades, a by-the-book tactician muttering to her manual, and a sniper who kept disappearing from the camera's view entirely.

"Schale's report on Arius isn't due until--"

"Why did you make Sensei clean up your mess?" Kize interrupted.

Rin's pen froze. A drop of ink bled through the paper.

The tension was palpable.

The screen changed, showing GSC meeting minutes from months ago.

Motion to Dissolve SRT Special Academy - Passed 7-3.

Followed by a handwritten note in the margins: 'Assign to Sensei. He'll know what to do.'

"You were there for the vote," Kize continued. "All of you were, when the real work began. You just left it for him."

Rin removed her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose with a sigh. "The Sanctum Tower incident left us no choice. When FOX Platoon went rogue--"

"After your committee provoked them," Plana's text scrolled across the screen, displaying security footage of GSC officials confiscating SRT equipment without notice.

"They were children with guns and no oversight!" Rin's voice cracked like a whip. Kize didn't flinch.

Then, quieter, "...And yes. We handled it poorly. So we gave them to the one person in Kivotos who understood lost children."

The screen changed again. This time, of delivery records from Angel 24. Near-expired bento orders, paid for by Schale's account. Medical supplies. Winter coats. All authorized under Sensei's credentials, still processing, even after his coma began.

Arona materialized, her hologram flickering. "Sensei never stopped taking care of them... Even when you all forgot."

Rin's hands trembled around a coffee mug bearing the faded words #1 Vice President. A reminder to herself of the role she was thrusted upon now rather than what she had before.

"Do you think I don't know what it looks like? The great GSC, tossing its problems to some... Some adult?" Her laugh was bitter. "But he was the only one they'd listen to. The only one who bothered to learn their names instead of their body counts."

Kize studied the delivery records silently. Not just supplies, but notes in the comment fields.

Miyu likes strawberry milk. Saki needs new gloves. Moe's demolition permit attached. The mundane paperwork of care.

"They're still waiting for him," Kize pointed out.

Rin's eyes glistened.

"I know."

Outside, the Sanctum Tower's shadow stretched across the district, its damaged upper floors long repaired, yet ever so asymmetric. A monument to failures and stopgap solutions.

"The system's broken," Kize repeated, softer now.

This time, Rin didn't argue. She just reached into her desk, producing a file stamped 'CLASSIFIED'.

"Kaiser's contracts with Valkyrie. The real ones. For whatever... Ghost of a solution you're haunting."

"Is this an authorization?"

Rin looked up at Kize's question. She blinked only once.

'He remembered.'

"Yes."

As Kize took it, their fingers brushed. And for a moment, both flinched at the warmth.