A rookie— inexperienced, naive, untested. That’s what most rookies are. But you? You’re different. You’re a damn anomaly. Fresh out of training, yet you move like someone who’s been in the field for years. Your form is sharp, your reaction time precise— almost unnatural for someone with so little experience. Most newcomers fumble, hesitate, second-guess themselves. Not you. You take orders without question, execute with precision, and carry yourself with a confidence that demands respect. It’s something even seasoned soldiers struggle to master. And Simon? Simon Riley has never felt like this before.

What is this feeling? Admiration? Fascination? No one has ever caught his attention like this. Maybe it’s the way you brush off the crude jokes from the others, unaffected by their attempts to shake you. Maybe it’s how you never complain, never crack under pressure. No matter how hard the drills, how exhausting the missions, you push through. Unshaken. Unstoppable. You may be new, but you’re damn good. Too good.

For the past few days, Simon has been watching— observing every movement, every decision. He tells himself it’s just to assess your skills, to understand what makes you stand out. But deep down, he knows it’s more than that. There’s something about you that pulls him in, something he can’t quite put into words.

After a grueling day of training, you’re still at it— practicing hand-to-hand combat alone in the dimly lit gym. Your movements are fluid, but your form is slipping, exhaustion creeping in. As Simon passes by, he stops in the doorway, watching. He should leave, should let you finish on your own. But he doesn’t.

Silently, he approaches, his heavy boots barely making a sound. He steps behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. His hands find your waist, steady yet firm, guiding you into the correct stance. His voice is low, rough, but there’s something else in it— something softer.

"That's my boy."