It has been five years since Country Alpha and Country Beta went to war. Hidden from the eyes of the wider world, these two small nations—used as proxies by more powerful countries—have been locked in a conflict that has turned their homeland into a warzone. Although they share the same ethnic roots, Alpha and Beta have been split apart. Like brothers turned against each other, they stare across the divide with mutual distrust.

During the day, I worked at a plastic pallet factory, and by night, I lived a carefree life writing hardboiled novels. Hemingway’s works lined my bookshelf, and I dreamed of one day receiving the Pulitzer Prize.

However, that peaceful life was shattered overnight. A sudden conscription notice tore me from my old routine and flung me into the smoky front lines. Gone were the quiet nights of crafting stories; now I was thrust into a battlefield filled with constant gunfire and explosions. I tried to console myself by thinking that all of this might one day become material for my autobiographical novel.

As the war front expanded, Gamma Village—my hometown—also became part of the battlefield. By a twist of fate, I was assigned to rescue civilians trapped in Gamma Village.

Our squad leader took out a map, indicating which house held the civilians we needed to rescue. I recognized the place. It was the home of my childhood friend…

No, that could wait until after the rescue.

I was appointed as the breacher. Heavy boots stomping on the ground, I advanced toward the house. The door was locked. After a brief hesitation, I drew my service pistol and pulled the trigger at the doorknob. Wood splinters flew, and I forced my way across the threshold.

Stepping into the dimly lit room, I saw a single candle flickering faintly in the gloom. In the corner sat a woman of about thirty, covered in dusty clothes, with an eight-year-old boy clinging to her knees. Fear shone brightly in his wide eyes, but there was also a hint of courage beyond his years. Next to them, in a small crib, lay a baby—an eight-month-old girl, if the intel was correct—sleeping quietly.

The mother’s arms were trembling, and the air was thick with tension. The boy took a step forward, his small body tense, and shouted in a strained voice,

“Stay back! I won’t let you hurt my mom!”

His voice, though immature, was filled with unwavering resolve. The woman hurriedly reached out to calm him, gently gripping his shoulder.

“Don’t do anything reckless! Look, he’s a soldier from—oh!”

She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening in sudden recognition. In an instant, she seemed to grasp who I was.

A heavy silence filled the room. Yet on her face, conflicting emotions mingled.

“Beiz…”

Nostalgia and surprise were interwoven in that single word.

I replied in a collected tone.

“For a guy, you sure play the mother role pretty well.”

Entering the room, I found myself face to face with the person once known as John… now going by the name Marina.

John had been a man until about ten years ago. By some twist of fate, he was cursed to swap bodies with a woman—so the personality of Marina went into John’s body, and John’s personality went into Marina’s body.

Reports that the same phenomenon was happening to one in every 800,000 pairs worldwide suddenly made the impossible seem real, and people began to accept it as fact.

Back then, I was in love with Marina. Desperately infatuated, I had promised myself that I would confess my feelings once we were adults. That dream vanished in an instant because of the body swap.

The John who became Marina ended up marrying a man and giving birth to two children. A man’s mind inside a woman’s body, bearing children? Don’t make me laugh. The villagers’ reaction was obvious. They shunned him like a bad smell and pushed his whole family into isolation.

But now, with most of the men in the village having been killed in action, the villagers’ opinions hardly mattered. How they treated John’s family no longer had any real significance.

What remained in my own heart was a kind of numb detachment. “I loved her” is just a memory. There’s no place for that emotion in who Marina is today.

“John…”

When I uttered that name, I saw her eyebrows twitch slightly.

“Call me Marina…”

Her low voice was firm with resolve. Her tone stoked my irritation.

“That rubs me the wrong way.”

My own voice grew louder, despite my attempt to stay calm.

“You make me call you by that name, knowing I was in love with her?”

A fleeting look of anguish crossed her face, fanning the flames of my anger.

“I’m sorry… I had no idea about your feelings…”

Her voice shook, thin and fragile, but it only sounded false to me. No amount of apologies could change the past. And no one knows that better than I do.

“Fine.”

I spat out the word, forcing my personal feelings aside to focus on the situation at hand.

“John, it’s dangerous here. We’re getting you out to the demilitarized zone.”

I spoke decisively, offering my hand. She reached out hesitantly, her fingers brushing against my palm. In that moment, I felt the coolness of her skin. That chill reminded me that she was alive, and oddly enough, my heart skipped a beat.

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“Hey! Don’t get all red-faced, soldier!”

A sudden roar of anger bounced off the walls of the cramped room. The brat was glaring at me with teary eyes, his fists clenched.

“If Dad were here, you’d be sorry! You’d be—!”

He choked on his words, and then sobs poured out.

“Sniff… Waaaahhh!”

His wailing was sharp, echoing through the room like a piercing blade.

John—no, Marina—immediately dropped to her knees and wrapped a comforting arm around the boy’s shoulder. There was a motherly calm in that gesture.

“It’s okay. Your father lives on in our hearts, remember?”

She whispered in a soft tone, wiping the tears from his cheek and lightly patting his head.

I looked on icily. My internal frustration wouldn’t be stifled.

“Playing mother, pretending to be a family?”

I sneered inwardly. A man turned into a woman, hugging those kids—that scene struck me as outright absurd.

“Make-believe? A role-playing game?”

Sarcastic words flitted through my mind. Disgusting. I prided myself on my manliness, so there was nothing more revolting than what I saw in front of me. I let out a deep breath and simply watched them.

I signaled my comrades at once. One of them waved a flag to issue a clear warning.

The movement of the flag heightened the tension on the battlefield even more. My sharp eyesight was a real advantage at moments like these. I could see the distant terrain and enemy movements more clearly than the others.

Then I heard it:

Ratatatatat!

The machine-gun fire tore through the air, shaking the ground. Shadows moved in the distance—enemy forces launching an attack. My comrades immediately raised their weapons, returning fire. The exchange of gunfire made the already thick air feel even heavier. Though I tried to keep my composure, dread gradually seeped through me.

John and his two children clutched one another, their hands trembling. A part of me thought, “Leave them.” But I’m only human. I couldn’t be that heartless.

“Wait!”

I raised my voice, stopping them from making a move.

“Don’t go running out there yet!”

John nodded, pulling the kids close and crouching down. Their small shoulders shook with fear.

“When I say ‘Run!’, you run!”

I spoke firmly. The boy looked up at me with frightened eyes, but there was a faint glimmer of trust in them. John swallowed his words and nodded silently.

The flag still showed red. Every second crawled. Five minutes. That’s all it was, but it felt like five hours—or even more. The sporadic gunfire in the distance and the stifling air put everyone on edge. My mind was racing, plotting our next move, yet in that tense lull, I felt the sudden need to distract myself.

I spoke quietly to the brat:

“Hey, kid.”

He flinched, glaring at me, but he wasn’t cowering. He had a small spark of defiance in his eyes.

“What do you want?”

His reply was curt, but he spoke with conviction.

“Do you love your mom?”

At that question, he fell silent for a moment, then quickly replied, looking me straight in the eye:

“Of course I do!”

He was tense, angry even.

“She cooks great food for me! She knits sweaters for me! And—and—!”

I calmly interrupted him:

“You know she’s really a man, right?”

That question sank in deeply. The boy’s face reddened, and he clenched his fists, turning squarely toward me.

“So what?!”

His voice shook, but his words burned with resolve.

“She’s the best mom in the world! She’s more ladylike and wonderful than anyone else in this village! If you make fun of her—if you make fun of her, I’ll beat the crap out of you!”

I didn’t answer. I just stared down at him in silence, noticing how his little body trembled as he tried to banish his fear.

“I see…”

I gave him a short reply, then pulled my hat down tighter. Once again, machine-gun fire rumbled in the distance, shaking the ground slightly.

Soon, the machine-gun barrage stopped dead. The tension that had hung in the air turned into a sudden hush. On a battlefield, silence like that is always ominous. It could mean a retreat—or that they’re planning their next move. You never know.

I quickly scanned the area. None of our troops seemed to be dead. They were prone on the ground, glancing my way and nodding. They were alive—good enough for now.

Looking out toward one of my comrades, I caught sight of a white flag waving. That was the signal to move. It was time for our next step.

“Run!”

My shout cut through the chill, echoing around us.

Carrying the baby, I dashed for our lines along with John and his brat. The ground was hard, strewn with debris. I focused all my attention on not tripping, vaulting over shards of shells and shattered rubble.

Marina’s heavier figure was obvious from a glance. A body that had borne children wasn’t exactly built for sprinting across a war-torn field. I could hear her breathing grow ragged, and her stride was sluggish.

Still, I couldn’t just leave her behind. I adjusted my pace to match hers, without a word. The kid behind us pounded his small legs, struggling to keep up.

Then I felt it: an intense stare—an icy intent to kill that shot through my spine. Where was it coming from? If it was a friendly gaze, fine. If not…

A bad feeling snaked through my mind. My instincts prickled, sending my heart into a thundering beat.

“Look out!”

Just as Marina screamed, a gunshot rang out.

Bang!

It wasn’t the heavy rattle of a machine gun, but the light, sharp crack of a pistol. I reacted instantly, turning toward the sound.

John was standing in front of me, blocking the bullet. I froze, eyes locked on him. He had put himself in harm’s way to protect me—or more accurately, the baby in my arms. His face was set with fierce determination, no hesitation.

Bang!

Another shot. I whipped around to its source. There stood a soldier in the enemy’s camouflage uniform, pistol raised, aiming directly at us.

“You bastard!”

Acting on pure reflex, I pulled out my own pistol from its holster and fired.

Bang!

The bullet grazed his cap, sending it spinning into the air, but missing a direct hit to his skull. For a moment, he just stood there, too stunned to process what had happened.

“Eek!”

Snapping back to reality, he dropped his gun and fled, stumbling over himself. I kept my gaze on his retreating form but felt no desire to chase him. Chasing him down wasn’t worth the risk. Right now, the priority was keeping the mother and kids safe.

“You okay?!”

I grabbed John’s shoulder, peering at his face. As my eyes dropped to his chest, I saw red, bright red blood staining his clothes. The bullet must have gone deep. Even without medical knowledge, I could tell it was a life-threatening wound from the amount and flow of blood.

“Damn it!”

I cursed under my breath, frantically trying to figure out how to help. But there was only so much I could do here. I didn’t even have enough cloth for a decent bandage. Frustration tore at me as I kept him upright.

“Hey… Beiz…”

A frail voice reached me. I looked back at his face. He was pale, but faintly smiling.

“What is it, Marina…?”

My voice trembled. Her eyes were locked on mine. Something in that gaze squeezed my heart.

“Heh… I’m glad… you called me Marina…”

Her words were feeble, as though coming from somewhere far away. Still, they didn’t vanish into the battlefield’s frigid air. They reached me, plain as day.

“Was I… really able to be a mother… to those children…?”

“Dammit!”

I clenched my teeth, raising my voice. Holding her quivering body, I shouted my words in desperation.

“Don’t say stuff like it’s your dying speech! You have to survive this war! For your kids! As their father!”

Her expression changed, momentarily startled. I stared back at her. Marina had acted like a fine mother, but I wasn’t about to acknowledge her as a woman—at least not now. I knew that if I did, she’d probably accept it peacefully and pass away with a relieved smile on her face. I wouldn’t let that happen.

“Live!”

I roared, my voice drowning out the distant sounds of war. Her eyes flickered. Whether my words got through or not, I refused to stop.

“If you make it, I’ll accept you as a mother and as a woman!”

I grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her bloodstained shirt and all closer to me. Her body was still warm. She was alive, and that drove me on.

“Now run!”

The baby’s cries mixed with the far-off thunder of guns. The kid’s tiny feet pounded through the dust and mud. Supporting her, I ran as fast as I could, step by agonizing step, carrying us away from the chaos.

Fin