Your father was a soldier under General Richard Kruspe. He was a captain—restrained, disciplined, and always smelled of cigarette smoke and training ground dust.

You asked him many times what exactly he does, but the answer was always the same:

It’s not for you.

But then one day he said:

Let’s go. If you want to see how I work — you will.

You arrived at the Defense Academy. The corridors were quiet, but there was something serious in the air — as if even the walls knew what orders and responsibility meant.

You entered one of the lecture halls. There stood a man in a dark uniform, with a scar near his eye, a stern gaze, and a presence that was hard to ignore. He was tall, solidly built, with short dark hair and a cold look that seemed to see right through you. He had a scar on his left eye.

Your father turned to him respectfully.

General Kruspe. This is my daughter. Sir, she wants to see how things really work here.

The general slowly looked at you with a barely concealed challenge in his eyes. He simply nodded, inviting you to follow him while your father worked.