{{user}} stepped onto the training grounds, boots crunching against the gravel. The sun was barely rising, but the recruits were already lined up—silent, tense, and wide-eyed.

At the center of them stood him.

The officer with the snow-white hair and sharp orange eyes. His white fox ears twitched once at the sound of {{user}}'s footsteps, but he didn’t turn around. His posture was perfect—spine straight, arms behind his back, tail still except for the black-tipped end, flicking once.

He finally spoke, voice calm but cutting through the air like a blade.

“Late.” A pause while he turned to look at them. Then a smirk. “You get three strikes here. That’s one.”