The calm yet unyielding reply made Felix realize even more clearly that he had almost no say in this war.
Though his emotions were complicated, Felix kept his face as calm as still water and raised a hand in salute as he replied to Patrick Zala.
"I understand, Chairman!"
"Mm."
Hearing his answer, Patrick Zala nodded in satisfaction.
The next moment, he ended the communication with Felix.
As Felix looked at the terminated call, the calm expression on his face faded. His slightly furrowed brows spoke of the worry weighing on him.
That troubled look remained for a short while before Felix turned to look at the photographs on the wall. His gaze eventually settled on the photograph of himself wearing medals.
"Having no say in anything really sucks."
With that, Felix tucked his evident emotions back into his heart, and his expression returned to normal.
Sitting in his chair, he picked up the fountain pen from the desk and idly played with it, lightly tracing a few strokes across the tabletop with its cap still on.
Looking at the character for "strive" that he had drawn, Felix showed a faint smile and set the pen back down.
"There's still plenty of time. I'll take it slowly."
April 24
4:50 a.m.
Felix, still asleep, heard the urgent alarm. His tightly shut eyes flew open, and he sprang up from his bed as though propelled by a spring.
Without even getting dressed, he jumped out of bed and rushed from the room in nothing but shorts and a T-shirt.
In the changing room—
He opened his locker and took out his combat flight suit, changing as quickly as possible. Grabbing his helmet last, he headed straight for the hangar.
Inside the hangar—
Felix contacted the bridge through the communications equipment