In the morning's Japanese-style room tea ceremony confrontation, Second Lieutenant Bronto was overwhelmed by Sergeant Fujimi's flowing movements and tranquil atmosphere, and was completely defeated. ‘Nuh... wasn't this a training exercise ......?’ He muttered, sitting upright on the black-painted tatami mats, a serenity peculiar to a loser at his back. But in the afternoon. Second Lieutenant Bronto moved the battlefield to his own main battlefield, the Western Front. 'Ensign ....... What the hell is this training exercise?’ Sergeant Fujimi murmurs as he gazes horrified at Ensign Bronto, her blonde hair fluttering in the air, wearing a frilly apron forcibly layered over her military uniform. 'Hmmm, Sergeant Fujimi. I have learnt from this morning's mistake. I mean... to execute a Western-style tactical counter-attack on Black Tea Road!’ ...... Please at least speak Japanese. Then let the tea ceremony begin! Through and through, Ensign Bronto, with a face more serious than ever. A silver teapot was quietly lifted. The polished metal gleamed dully in the sunlight shining through the skylight, like a sacred vessel on an altar. The angle of the hand that took up the hilt was perfect. The angle of his wrist, the way he held his fingers, the tension of his elbows - the precision and discipline of his movements reminded me of military-style gunnery. The cups had already been positioned correctly. The centre line, the distance from left to right and even the overlap of the diagonals were calculated. The teacups were positioned with the same rigour as if they were burying a mine on a battlefield. One drop was poured. The next moment, the flowing hot water falls down as thin as a thread, but with great force. It neither oozes nor bounces. It hit the centre of the cup exactly, and the tea filled the cup in an even swirl. The sight of it was... I thought it was beautiful. It was not a ‘beautiful tea ceremony’, but a beauty like ‘a movement of a perfectly adjusted machine’. The arms peeking out from the cuffs of the maid's dress were supple, yet the slight veins floating and the muscles wriggling beneath the skin looked disproportionate. With each pour of tea, the handle of the knife hanging from her slender, toned waist swayed faintly. Having finished filling his teacup, Ensign Bronto exhaled one deep breath in silence and quietly set the teapot down. There was no sound. It was placed so quietly that the air seemed to shake in the opposite direction. The aroma of the tea spread. It is definitely a fine leaf. The aroma, the depth, the softness, everything was genuine. But beyond the fragrance, there was a hint of something else mixed in. Who could have put this in? Was it really that person in front of me?　This maid-clad ‘Ensign Bronto’? I look up. Ensign Bronto was smiling. A straight, unclouded smile. Perfectly executed, perfectly served. But only the ‘presence’ of the person who was doing it was completely different. The toes of his