Chapitre 3: AZI Volume 1 Chapter 2
"What you see on screen is live footage of the frontlines."
Within a classroom that is far removed from the supposed frontlines are students of high school age.
All of them are staring at the same large monitor screen that shows the situation of this planet's northern domains.
Pressing a remote to shut off the monitor is the instructor—who is a forty-year-old man dressed in military attire.
"Look outside."
Towards the instructor's words, which are the equivalent of a military order, the students all look to their left.
Embedding itself into the exosphere of this planet is a colossal structure made up of gears.
Over the course of this war that has lasted for well over 1,500 years, the people of this world have come to call this structure made up of moving gears, the Gears of Descension. It's common knowledge that the gears have two functions.
The first function is the gears' ability to bring Immortals and other foreign matters into this world, while its second function is to act as a prison that prevents all the lifeforms living on this planet from escaping into outer space.
"The dream of humanity is to rid ourselves of these prison bars someday, these are expectations that you Sinners are expected to fulfil for civilization."
Having said that, the military instructor turns toward the door and leaves.
As silence looms in the air after the doors are shut, one of the students eventually takes his eyes away from the window.
(A hassle, a pain, a death sentence, I don't feel like breaking my back for this society.)
Tossing the military instructor's words out of his head, the whining young man presses his face against his desk that barely fits someone of his above average stature.
His name card that is pinned to his cheap uniform jacket reads 1029-874 and aside from his dark hair, the only other features about him that stood out from his peers is the black choker that is wrapped around his neck along with his azure-colored eyes.
"Hey, how are we being divided again?"
"Lottery draws."
"So, the misfortunate gets sent off to the frontlines right away?"
"And the fortunate gets sent off to the Disciplinary Bureau to work for five years prior to getting shipped off."
"Doesn't that just mean that the fortunate only gets a reprieve?"
"Wouldn't you want to get a reprieve instead of having to deal with what we saw on the screen today?"
"I think I'm going to miss this classroom. Today's the last day we get to use the place."
"Graduation…"
For the students at this school that is lazily being labeled as S09—one of the many institutes that are mainly run by the military, and given the task of educating Sinners, graduation for these youths is the same as being handed either a death sentence or a government job.
There are no ceremonies to speak of to send these youths off into society—for a vast majority of them tend to not even make it through their first year of active service, which results in the higher-ups deeming the act of spending funds on ceremonies and the likes to be a waste of precious resources.
As one of the doors of the classroom is slid open, another military man peeks in, and announces—
"Class A-5, it's time for you all to draw your ballots."
"…"
Lifting his head slightly, 1029-874 raises a light yawn before standing up from his seat along with the rest of his classmates.
In a way that is similar to a herd of sheep, these students followed after the military officer.
The walk to the ballot drawing location didn't last long, for it was only a few classrooms down the hall.
"Enter one at a time. Remember to leave your jacket behind after drawing."
Towards the last sentence, some of the students frowned.
Leaving their jackets behind so that they can be used by the students that are coming in next semester—it saves the government money, resources, and manpower that would be otherwise spent on producing new ones.
Efficient is another word to describe this act of reusing an old resource, but it still leaves a sour taste in the student's mouths to know that they are not even allowed to keep a jacket.
(It's not the worst, but…)
(This is still bad, but could be even worse.)
If the government had been more shameless, they'd probably order these students to return their entire uniform and walk out of the drawing room naked.
"Number 1123-481, you're up!"
"Sir, yes, sir."
One by one the students were called into the drawing room, and one by one they'd emerged without their jackets either with an expression of relief or an expression of pure dread.
In extreme cases, there are even those who run out of the room with tears in their eyes. Worse off than that, are those who walk out of the room with lightless eyes.
Apparently, every single year there would be at least 50 graduating students who would commit suicide after picking the undesired ballot.
(Hm? F and D… Ah I see. F for frontline and D for Disciplinary Bureau work.)
Glancing at a couple of students who pass him by, 1029-874 sees them holding onto a spherical device that is assumed to be the ballot itself.
"Ah if there is a god out there, please give me a reprieve…"
"Maybe I should just pray to one of those IMLs…"
"Don't, those anti-IML fanatics will be the first to kill you off if you did."
(IMLs…? Ah Immortals.)
As the line shrinks in length at a gradual rate, it eventually gets to—
"Number 1029-874, you're up!"
"Yes, sir."
Entering the drawing room and shutting the door behind him, 1029-874 sits on the opposite end of the two desks that have been brought together to make a single table.
Sitting on the other side of 1029-874 is a lady with long black hair and glasses—who is looking at what seems to be a current gen tablet that had most likely been funded by the hardworking people's tax money.
The air of this blue-eyed lady dressed in a lab coat gives one the impression of a "cool beauty," which makes her seem like the sort that is difficult to make small talk with.
Placed by the cool beauty's slender legs are several black plastic boxes that should be the containers for the ballots.
To the right side of the room—where the monitor is mounted is a pile of cardboard boxes with a few already filled with used uniform jackets. Along with those is a separate container holding disinfectants.
"…"
"…"
Without saying anything, 1029-874 patiently waits for the lady to finish looking at whatever it is that she is looking at.
And sensing it to be something that may take a great deal of time, 1029-874 crosses his legs and rests his cheek against his fist while closing his eyes.
Brazen, that would be the word to describe 1029-874's sitting posture—almost as if he wasn't the person who is having his fate decided by a ballot drawing.
...…
Eventually—
"…Ake up. Wake up 1029-874!"
"…"
Opening his azure-colored eyes, 1029-874 looks at the lady in the lab coat and pink sweater without a shred of desire to apologize for his behavior.
"How long was I asleep for?"
"About half an hour. Seriously, the fact that you'd allow yourself to sleep in front me, the person in charge of the ballots… I don't know if it's just because you got a big pair, or if you've got a screw loose in the head."
"Maybe I do have a screw loose in the head."
With a smile of amusement, the lady picks up one of the black plastic boxes by her foot, and places it onto the table before sliding it towards 1029-874.
"Well then, go ahead and draw. Or if you need to pray to some god first, be my guest."
"Before that, I do want to ask—are the ballots in any ways rigged?"
Without changing his seating posture, 1029-874 asks this question while maintaining eye contact with the lady in the lab coat.
"Rigging the ballots? What makes you think that?"
"Regardless of whether it's food, school equipment, or even the uniforms, everything that is given to Sinners is made to be as cheap and efficient as possible. And so… Why is it that the devices we pull out of these boxes are of such high quality?"
"Your point?"
"Electronic devices are so easily tampered with. Who's to say that the moment I touch a ballot labeled D, it wouldn't suddenly turn into an F at the tap of a computer screen?"
"Those with a similar line of thinking as you, aren't small in numbers each year."
Placing the tablet onto the desk, the lady in the lab coat maintains her smile.
"…"
Glancing around the room, 1029-874 spots a total of four hidden cameras.
"Remote control from a distance is also possible."
"Well, there's nothing that I can do to resolve that suspicion."
"Why not try to?"
"Hmm would be rather pointless, and too much effort needed."
"Then how about we do this."
Deepening his tone of voice at the end of his sentence, 1029-874 lashes his right foot out, and abruptly launches the desk in front of him into the air.
"…"
"…"
As ballot devices, along with the desk and box loom in the air for but a brief instance—long enough to see what each of them is labeled with, one of the devices is caught by 1029-874, who directs it towards the lady in the lab coat.
Momentarily, the desk and box fall back to their original positions, while the remaining ballot devices are dropped onto the floor.
"Disciplinary Bureau, I would say congratulations here, but I consider what you just did to be cheating."
"Seems fair enough to me when none of you are playing by the rules. Those who walk out of this room can blame their misfortune on luck, but that's simply not my style. I've been taught that trying to beat a game master by their rules is both impractical and impossible."
"Hmm tough customer you are. Fine, fine, let us just say on paper that you will be joining the bureau."
(On paper?)
Despite the doubt in his mind, 1029-874 knew that asking further questions would be meaningless since he had already gotten what it was that he wanted.
Shoving the ballot into the pocket of his pants, 1029-874 unpins his name card prior to tossing his jacket towards one of the cardboard boxes to the right.
"Right, hope we won't have to see each other again."
"If we do end up meeting each other again, I wouldn't mind treating you to a cup of coffee."
"I'll hold you to that."
As 1029-874 leaves the room and shuts the door, the lady in the lab coat picks up her tablet, and types out a message to those on the receiving end.
"1029-874," these numbers consist of the entire message and having done that, the lady in the lab coat looks up at the ceiling while adjusting her thin-framed eyewear.
"Ai, reporting cheaters is a part of this job, but… Those that cheat always tend to leave a more favorable impression on me."
Muttered this, she enters the same numbers onto the official form for the relocation's directive under the Disciplinary Bureau label.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone