The sun beat down relentlessly on the broken cobblestones. Child Subaru, his signature tracksuit oversized on his small frame, struggled to heft a sack of dried fruit that was almost as big as he was. His brow was furrowed in concentration, a stark contrast to the usual unyielding gaze of the adult Natsuki Subaru.
"Oi, brat! You gonna stand there all day or are we getting our grub?" a gruff mercenary barked, his scarred face twisted into a sneer. He was part of a newly recruited group, unfamiliar with the "Return by Death" anomaly or the true capabilities of the seemingly innocuous child.
Subaru paused, dropping the sack with a soft thud. He looked up at the towering man, his normally sharp eyes, now magnified by the innocence of childhood, holding a surprising intensity. "Do you think this is a game, Mister?" he asked, his voice higher pitched, but still carrying that familiar, unshakeable conviction. "Every single piece of this food means the difference between life and death for someone. If you waste it, or take more than your share, you're not just stealing from me, you're stealing from the person who'll starve tomorrow because of your greed."
The mercenary scoffed, taking a step forward. "Listen here, you snot-nosed…!"
Before he could finish, a blur of motion, surprisingly swift for his small size, had Subaru darting forward. He wasn't aiming to fight, but to interrupt, to disarm with words, a tactic he'd honed over countless deaths. He clutched the mercenary's leg, looking up with wide, earnest eyes.
"You're strong, aren't you? Strong enough to fight, strong enough to survive," Subaru continued, completely ignoring the man's rising anger. "But what good is that strength if it only serves yourself? This isn't just about your belly. It's about ensuring everyone can fight tomorrow. Even the weak ones, even the scared ones."
His voice, despite its childish timbre, held an echo of the desperation and conviction that adult Subaru often displayed. The mercenary paused, taken aback by the sheer audacity and unyielding earnestness of the child clinging to his leg. He looked down, seeing not a demanding commander, but a small boy, pleading with him on a fundamental level.
From a shadowed archway, Vincent Volachia, disguised as the mercenary "Abel," watched with an unreadable expression. He had ordered Subaru to manage the rations, a test of his adaptability and influence even in this weakened state. He'd expected tantrums, perhaps even tears. Instead, he saw a peculiar kind of authority manifesting.
"This is war, kid. Kindness gets you killed," the mercenary grumbled, though his stance had softened slightly.
Subaru finally let go of his leg, stepping back but holding his gaze. "Then what's the point of winning?" he countered, a childish pout forming on his face. "If everyone's dead or starving, what have you gained? What has anyone gained? Victory without a future is just... pointless."
The mercenary blinked. He exchanged glances with his comrades, who were also staring, some with bewildered expressions, others with a hint of grudging respect. It was an argument they hadn't expected from a child, let alone one they were technically supposed to be respecting as a leader.
Vincent, meanwhile, felt a flicker of something close to fascination. Subaru, despite his transformation, was still Subaru. His methods were crude, his reasoning perhaps simplified, but the core of his stubborn resolve remained. This boy was truly an anomaly, a variable that even the Emperor couldn't fully account for. And for now, that made him surprisingly useful.
As Subaru turned to pick up another sack, his small hands still clumsy but determined, Vincent allowed a faint, almost imperceptible smirk to touch his lips. "Perhaps," he muttered to himself, "a child's honesty is a weapon more potent than any blade."