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"That skirt is far too short!"
Cheria stared at him, wide-eyed, her face nearly as pink as her hair.
"Huh? My . . . skirt?" she squeaked.
Why did she sound surprised? How could she not know?
His voice cracking with intensity, Hubert burst out, "It's a distraction to everyone in combat! Do you understand how much thigh you're revealing?! It's an affront to basic public decency!"
Cheria backed away a few paces, protesting, "Hey! C'mon Hubert! Stop staring at me like that!"
"Well then, you should start dressing more appropriately!" he yelled and spun around to face the others, who were watching in fascination. "You all agree, don't you?!"
He was met with three blank expressions and, courtesy of the captain, one amused one.
"Huh? What are you talking about, Little Bro?" Pascal scratched her head.
"Yeah, Hubert, what's gotten into you, anyway?" Asbel asked in confusion. "I don't find Cheria's skirt distracting at all."
"I like Cheria's skirt," Sophie said. "It's nice."
". . . Thank you, Sophie," Cheria said dejectedly, her shoulders slumped in defeat.
Hubert could just hear the laughter in Captain Malik's voice as he advised, "Hubert, an important part of every soldier's training is cultivating an awareness of your body and its needs. If Cheria's skirt is taking up this much of your attention, you may want to look into seeing to those needs."
"This has nothing to do with that!" he squawked, his face seared hotter than any sunburn.
"All the same," the captain replied, making no attempt at a straight face, "perhaps you ought to spend some time alone, to be sure."
There was no dignified response he could make to such a—a scandalous suggestion, and so he stormed away, down the trail towards the enclave. The last he could hear before the wind and snow mercifully snatched the words from his ears was Asbel asking, "Shouldn't we go after him, to help him?"
"No, Asbel," Captain Malik replied in a laughter-choked voice, "this is something he has to do on his own."