[BL on note] What are flowers falling for? [Fantasy]

Celebrating the 1st anniversary and a special project, you can never have too many works, right!?

So, this is my second entry for this project.
My personal theme is "pseudo-reincarnation." It's a story about a child who was presumed dead in a family dispute and ended up living as someone else, focusing on their life after growing up. Aiming for a fantasy war chronicle. It's perhaps more bromance than BL.
The main text is 3,010 characters long. Like my first entry, I wonder why I always end up cutting it so close to the limit...

[Characters]
Keel Bran: Lead combatant. A battle maniac, but also the straight man.
Albert Byron: Operations staff officer. Looks like a cool beauty, but is actually quite sloppy.

Again, there is absolutely no problem if you haven't read the previous work, but it first appeared in the emotional project by Tsuki wa Higashi ni ↓

By the way, my interpretation of the poem quoted in the story, "Year after year...", is based on an essay by Takashi Atoda.
In his work, there is also a line that says, "Even if I am reincarnated, I will not become a Buddha. I want to be reincarnated as a lotus and hold your hips." It's a fond memory that I realized, "Oh, so this is the source of this old poem!" thanks to a tweet by Shishida, the organizer of this project.
I apologize, but I don't quite remember if it was the author's original or a quote from another work.

"Today is the anniversary of my death."

It was a festive day with refreshing midsummer breezes and sparkling sunlight filtering through the trees.
A young man, who had been lounging lazily on the worn-out sofa that served as his regular spot in the operations branch—which was always cool because it was semi-basement—muttered this abruptly.
At the desk diagonally across from him, his colleague, who was dressed relatively casually in a wine-red dress shirt with no tie since it was a holiday shift, was processing reports from subordinates.

"The one with your real name?"
"Yeah. Or rather, 'my' real name."

He answered while playing with the ends of his glossy blonde hair, which had no split ends despite him barely taking care of it.
He is a noisy man usually feared as a battle maniac or a berserker, but surprisingly, his features are refined, and if you look closely, his demeanor is not crude.
In fact, the staff officer who looks so cool as if to say he is a true aristocrat is actually quite sloppy in his true personality, but I will leave that out.

"The setting was that you died at twelve, right? So it's the thirteenth memorial service already."
"Don't call it a setting, old man."
"Don't call me an old man. I'm still in my prime."

The staff officer, who answered without even looking up from his documents, was indeed still alluring even after passing his thirties. Combined with his silver-haired, red-eyed, vampire-like beauty, he was reaching the realm of agelessness.

"Thirteen years... No wonder you're getting old and mellow."
"I'm not getting old."

Even while exchanging banter, the violet eyes were not looking at the present.
Keel Bran. He thought about his second name, which had finally been with him longer than his real name.
It started with a fairly common family dispute.
It's a cliché story that Keel himself admits. There was a legitimate older half-brother by birth and upbringing, and a talented younger half-brother.

"You will be reincarnated. The you of yesterday died today."

I've gained something just by having my life spared. I wonder when I started to be able to think that way.

"Keel."
"...What is it, Al?"
"I'm hungry."
"Huh?"
"It's break time. Come with me."

Albert Byron, the operations staff officer who is the pride of the special squad's brains, threw away his fountain pen with a somewhat wicked, full-faced smile.

--Revere and praise our victory

That day, the Imperial Capital Curtis was buzzing with its dozen-plus victory festival commemorating the triumph of the Southern Border Front, the "Fox Hunt."
For the common folk, it was treated as little more than a slightly stiff summer cooling festival, but it was a celebration where the sounds of militarism could be heard everywhere.

"Oh, rye bread, baguettes, and pancetta, huh?"

While the hustle and bustle of the festival tapped against the window, an adult male was rummaging through the kitchen cupboard, completely unbothered. This was Albert.

"Couldn't you have gone to the usual shop? A regular customer, Vil, said they'd be serving limited-edition meat pies during the festival."

Every year on this day, the whole capital is in peak earning mode. Besides the familiar diners, many eateries offer items claiming to be limited-time specials.
Actually, it might be nice to walk around and eat while poking fun at the festival stalls. Since a few acquaintances have been dragged into security support, maybe I'll go tease them under the guise of bringing them snacks.
It seemed like an attractive proposal even to Albert, who claimed that mental labor surprisingly consumes energy and, contrary to his appearance, had a hearty appetite, so his hands stopped searching for a moment.

"No, I don't like crowds."
"Is that so?"

While continuing their exchange, Kiel, who had been entrusted with watching the fire in front of the stove, was warming up garlic soup. Since it can be made with just pantry staples like garlic and paprika powder, it's a recipe that's also useful for outdoor cooking. It's also a traditional dish that new recruits in the platoon are taught first.

"There's also mead and gruit ale, do you want some?"
"Don't want any."

I wouldn't say drinking in the middle of the day is wrong. Alcohol is cheaper and safer than water. Neither Kiel nor Albert were weak enough to get drunk on a few glasses of table wine. It just simply wasn't the mood.

"...I was once asked by the Captain."

He transferred the soup to a deep plate and added sliced bread and lightly seared pancetta. I'd like to add some vegetables or fruit if I could, but it doesn't have to be that strict. I guarantee the taste.

"What do you think is the purpose of flowers falling? he asked."
"Isn't that just the laws of nature?"

I don't know who decided it, but it's been that way from the beginning.
Just as you get hungry if you're alive, just as a male praying mantis is eaten by its female mate after mating. There must have been birds that, immediately after being born, would push other eggs out of the nest without being taught by anyone. And brood parasitism at that.
Perhaps the fact that an illegitimate child cannot become king is a slightly different nuance.
Whether he knew Kiel's inner thoughts or not, Albert, who had even started spreading out galettes for dessert, was in high spirits. It wasn't so much about the sweets; he just loved talking about the captain he revered.

"To leave behind seeds, he said."

In the natural world, the death of an individual is merely one process in the cycle toward the life of the next generation.
I see, that's the kind of philosophical outlook that monster of an old man would have.

"So, the death of the unfortunate second prince left the seeds of revolution?"
"I wish those old fools who keep sitting there even after rotting to the bone would learn from that."

It's not my hobby to act cool about life and death, he said, but his sneering face was truly that of a villain. His appearance, often compared to a vampire, was no joke."You, isn't your natural smile too evil?""Why bring that up now?"

Even so, if he put on a mask of innocence, he could have a smile that could topple a nation. He was a peerless beauty who was once described as someone who might live on candied violets and morning dew on roses.

By the way, Kiel and several other colleagues who heard this laughed so hard their abs broke. Everyone was hit with the corner of a law book.

"I wonder what I can leave behind for him."

For a while, only the sound of chewing echoed.

"...What's wrong? Aren't you going to retort?"
"No, that sounded a bit too serious."

That old man seems like he'll outlive us grunts. Once I added that, a dry, bitter smile appeared on both our faces. We're military personnel from the start; we have no intention of rushing to our deaths, but we don't expect to live out our full lifespans either. We've long since come to terms with that.
We've long since come to terms with that.

"Speaking of what the old man said, there was that poem about how flowers are similar every year, but people are different, right?"
"The flowers are similar year after year, but the people are not the same year after year." "That's the one."

It seems to be a poem from the Eastern lands expressing impermanence, saying that humans are fleeting compared to the permanence of nature. But the captain remarked that it's ironic that even nature is only "similar" and not completely identical. From the flowers' perspective, the cherry blossom viewers every year must look similar, too.

"If you're a flower as poisonous as you, the old man won't be able to forget you, will he?"

It's impossible to dismiss it as just being similar to others. Even if we were parted by death, I'm sure I would continue to take root stubbornly in his memories and emotions.

"Am I mint?"
"You're a dangerous one, contrary to your image."

When I laughed and mocked him, he snatched the meat away as if in retaliation. And they say I'm the one who contradicts my image.

"That goes both ways, doesn't it?"
"Huh?"
"I wonder where that 'mad dog' reputation of yours even comes from."

Since that day thirteen years ago, I have lived right next to death.
If my true identity is exposed, I might really be killed this time.
The captain, who was my benefactor in helping me take on this new identity, and Albert, who was introduced to me as my caretaker. They were the only two who knew the circumstances, the only two I could trust.
There was a long period where I was furious at the injustice. I even directed my twisted emotions toward destructive impulses.
What I lost, what was stolen from me—it was sad, and it was frustrating.
Like lashing out, like venting a child's tantrum.
I'm lucky just to have my life left. The person who lived closest to me, who stayed by my side until I could think that way, smiles.

"Aren't you a cute one, eh, good boy?"
"...Shut up."

His lukewarm gaze, like that of an older brother watching over a younger brother who has grown up well past his rebellious phase, is annoying.
Deciding to shut him up in retaliation, I stood up from my seat.