1

Exfil

The most anticlimactic graduation ever. Those were the perfect words to describe it. In the third year, Yuigahama confessed to Hachiman. "No," he said lifelessly. "What you feel, Yuigahama, is not love. It is nothing but merely the naïve sense of bonding you feel just because we share a few memories that can be described as 'fun' by riajuus like you. We are nothing more than clubmates. Heck, I even regret asking for something genuine from you." Even the airheaded Yuigahama didn't fail to notice the sense of disdain in his voice. "Sorry to 'break your heart' as you would say it, but you should know better than anyone… I am scum. I'd probably do nothing but bring misery to your life anyway, so it truly is for the best that we continue with our own lives as we always have and ignore anything like this happened. I'm gonna head back to class."

She stood there silently watching his receding back as little water droplets fell near her feet. Nothing had ever been the same since then. On graduation day, as everyone was celebrating the end of their youth, and making empty promises about keeping in touch, he simply walked out onto the roof. He closed his eyes while feeling the cool breeze against his face.

Finally out of this hellhole of a school, he thought. A faint scent of tobacco hit him, followed by a sweet voice that he had somewhat gotten attached to during the school year.

"In the end, you were the winner huh?" said his violent, single homeroom teacher.

"The hell are you talking about, sensei?"

"The bet, you fucking moron. Don't tell me you forgot all about it." As his mind raced through all the memories that he had with his teacher, it finally landed on the day he was first introduced to the service club.

"Oh, that one. Yeah, I knew no one could change me except myself. I refuse to change for others' convenience. That's how I was, that's how I am, and that's how I will stay," he declared with a hint of confidence that was never there 2 years ago. Ironically, he himself hadn't realized how much the people around him had influenced him.

"Well, whatever," said Shizuka. Although Hachiman has failed to see the changes in his own character, his teacher could clearly see how much more confident the boy- no… the young man had become. His slouching posture was gone. Those frail limbs and that weak body were replaced by a manlier looking physique. "aren't you going to bid farewell to Yuigahama and Yukinoshita?"

"Don't need to. They probably hate me anyway. Not like I care…" Shizuka showed a sad smile as she saw him walking towards the door. Though before he left, he muttered in a voice barely loud enough to be heard by her, "If only you were ten years younger, sensei…"

If only you were ten years older… she wanted to say, but her thoughts went unheard. No point in wishing for the impossible.

That was almost seven or eight years ago – he couldn't remember properly. Now, he thought about what to do about the high school reunion invitation sent to him by Hayama Hayato.

"To attend or not to attend. That is the question." He muttered to himself as he waited for the chopper to come to pick him up from the cave he was waiting in, in Iraq in the middle of nowhere. Although he kept thinking about it, his attention didn't waver from the mountain range that he carefully surveyed through the scope of his trusted AS50 sniper rifle. He had named it Falcon. The mission was to extract a high-value target for interrogation and if not possible, then assassinate him. If possible, also sabotage enemy operations. He worked as a sniper for the most elite and secretive special forces unit in the world. The unit worked exclusively for the joint operations task force comprising of members from the CIA of US, MI-6 of UK, KGB of Russia, PSIA of Japan, and RAW of India, conducting assassinations, and gathering intelligence against the threats in this world. Their unit was called: Task Force - 88 (TF-88). He looked over to his dead spotter and chuckled. "What a stupid way to die… shot in the head, through the scope." Even though they had been working together for 9 months now, they didn't even know the faces of each other, let alone their names. After all, they all wore masks on their faces 24/7. That explained just how secretive their unit was. Hachiman's code name was Eight. While he was reminiscing about his high school life, his earpiece crackled.

"[Command to Eight. Breaking radio silence. Do you copy?]"

"Command, come in."

"[Chopper inbound on your position. 15 seconds out. Pop smoke.]"

"Roger that."

Hachiman pulls out a smoke grenade, pulls the pin, and tosses it out about twenty meters from his position. Red smoke starts coming out immediately and rises into the air giving the pilot an accurate idea of where to land.

Within seconds, enemy machine guns start rattling. Hachiman looks through the spotter scope and reads the distance and wind direction. He compensates accordingly on his rifle and starts picking the targets off. The radio crackles again.

"[Eight. Watch your head. LZ is too hot.]"

"So? Why do I watch my head?"

There was a small giggle from the other side, followed by,

"[You'll see]"

"Great. What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he muttered to himself. All of a sudden, he saw the side of the mountain opposite to him go off in smoke. Then he heard a sound which sounded like a series explosion detonated all together but not exactly at the same time. And then he heard the all too familiar BRRRRRRRRRT. It finally dawned on him.

"Joe, you crazy bastard, you sent in A-10s*?! You stupid or what?"

'[Hehehe, did you like it?]"

"Bitch I loved it!" he said while grinning from ear to ear. It was always music to the ears hearing the American A-10s. That thing wasn't a gun mounted on a plane. No no no. It was a plane, mounted on a gun. It was a goddamn flying gun.

Within five seconds a formation of two Chinooks* and an Osprey* came into sight. They landed right on top of the smoke and opened their hatches. American soldiers flooded out of the Chinooks and took defensive positions all around Hachiman. He slowly stood up, packing up Falcon, and started walking towards the Osprey. "Oh wait…" he turned around as he remembered his dead spotter. "Gotta make sure to take you along." Their squad's policy was to prioritize the mission over the man. That's why he had to leave behind his dead comrades lots of times. Most of the times, with a bomb planted on them, so if enemy soldiers found them, they could be blown up in a suicide/martyr attack. He gripped the collar of the spotter with his right hand and held his rifle, and the spotter scope in his left as he started walking again, dragging the guy with him. Many soldiers who saw that clicked their tongues in response.

Really? I've been accustomed to people being disgusted by me since elementary school. This ain't gonna affect me bruh, he thought as he continued walking.

Two medical unit soldiers and an old looking soldier stepped off the Osprey. The medical personnel took away the dead spotter. The old man held up a tablet. Without saying a word Hachiman lifted his right hand and put it on the tablet. All TF-88 operatives had to go through a palm print scan before returning back to base. Although the security was tight, Hachiman still thought it was overkill. The tablet beeped and showed a green screen. Silently, he got on the Osprey and flew back to base while deciding to go to the reunion.