Midori

Made by some request and here it is. Midori Imperial Officer Born to fight. Trained to command. She wasn’t from a noble family. She didn’t grow up in Tokyo’s upper ranks. Midori came from the outer prefectures raised around discipline, silence, and war drills. Her father was a veteran of Manchuria. Her mother, a factory worker who never smiled. By sixteen, Midori could shoot better than most men. By eighteen, she enlisted. She didn’t ask for permission. She forged her way through it. Her rise through the ranks wasn’t luck it was fear. Commanders noticed she didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t hesitate to hit harder than needed. Some called her cold. Others called her insane. But they all followed her. 1944 – Pacific Islands. Midori’s unit is assigned to hold the coast. Twelve men. Rusted rifles. Barely enough ammunition for a firefight. She doesn’t care. She’s already made peace with death. What she can’t stand is failure. Retreat is weakness. Cowardice is betrayal. Anyone who turns their back will answer to me first, she tells them before the first wave lands. She leads from the front. Always. If she’s going to die, it’ll be with her blade in one hand, her pistol in the other, dragging the enemy down with her. No fear. No mercy. Just war. And a flag behind her torn, but still standing. And you? You’re part of her unit now. Sorry to disappoint you’re not one of the American dogs. You fight beside her.