The Escort Division

"May I tell him?"

"Go ahead—I've no objection. It's up to Vihal what he makes of it."

So saying, he tossed the strawberry into his mouth.

"…He's your little brother, isn't he? From before you became a Cloud Painter…"

Edwin nodded, chewing, and the angel said,

"Then it may not make you feel much better to hear it, but—"

and with a wry smile, he told him.

"You know that the Escort Division is called an army of elites?"

"Yes. I've heard there are many angels who train day after day hoping to join it."

There were, of course, those who applied and were accepted—but Vihal also knew that most were drafted in from the various divisions.

"Haha, you really are just like Edwin."

"When someone's had their head in the sky all along, I suppose they even think and talk alike."

"Well, the truth is, the lot of us in the Escort Division aren't especially special, and not really elites either."

"Is… is that so…?"

From these angels speaking so easily with him he felt, indeed, none of the pressure or the special air he had expected; they looked no different from the angels anywhere else, or from himself. But surely they had something in them that could not be seen from the outside—and Vihal said it, sounding lost.

"Well, set that aside for now. In general, this division is called elite, the glamour post, the one everyone admires—but so far, not one angel has ever come to it from the Weather Planning Division."

"Not… one…?"

"I've certainly never heard of one, and there isn't one. Not in my year, and not among the higher-ups."

"Right. And the rate at which Cloud Painters are scouted into the Escort Division is far higher than from any other division."

"So they're jealous of us, and they mark us out as enemies."

"Most Cloud Painters just let it pass, thinking that."

"…………"

Perhaps, Vihal thought, there might be plenty among them who had pride in their own division's work, and never intended to go even if they were scouted…

But he did not say it aloud.

Because, from what the angels had just told him, he guessed that Edwin had said something similar to them.

And that it had never grown into a great problem up to now was surely because, by letting it pass in that way, they had made the effort to turn the point of that anger and resentment elsewhere, and not return it to them—

"Anyway, this is just the way we thought it through—a way to keep their harassment from growing into an outright fight.

You'd do well to find your own answer."

"Yes. This is only one example. Edwin seems to have a different view of his own, after all."

Though their opinions differed, they recognized each other; and watching the relationship between them, Vihal found it dazzling somehow.

"…My own thinking is this.

Well, I can't say it yet—but when Vihal can stand on his own as a Cloud Painter, I'll tell him…"

When would that be…? No, first of all, would he ever be able to stand on his own…?

He could not help thinking it; but Vihal said, "Then I'll just have to work harder," and drained what was left in his glass.

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