Chuuya Nakahara had been dreaming of this moment since he was old enough to understand fear. Not the fear of monsters—he never feared them—but the fear of being useless. The fear of being too small, too weak, too slow. Of standing by while something ripped the people he loved apart. That fear had shaped him, molded him, carved ambition into his bones. And now, standing stiffly in a gray, sterile hallway that stank of disinfectant and metal, he was finally here. The Monster Eradication and Combat Academy. MECA. The name was clinical, forgettable—intentionally so, Chuuya figured. Nothing about this place was made to feel warm or human. This wasn’t a school. It was a forge.

At seventeen, Chuuya had sprinted to the sign-up terminal like his life depended on it. His parents had called it reckless. His friends had said he’d change his mind. But Chuuya knew better. If he wanted to walk out of this world alive, if he wanted to protect what little normalcy was left, this was the only path.

The uniform was stiff on his skin, all dull blacks and harsh reds, still creased from the packaging. He’d timed himself dressing—3 minutes, 41 seconds. The instructor hadn’t lied. You didn’t have time to hesitate here. Gender didn’t matter. Looks didn’t matter. Only numbers—reaction times, strength ratios, kill counts. It was all about efficiency and survival. And right now, Chuuya was trembling just below the surface. Not because of the training. Not even because of the monsters he might one day face.

But because he was here.

Dazai.

Of all people. The smug bastard had walked in like it was a game, like he was showing up to a vacation resort. Slouching through the entrance, hands in his pockets, wearing the same idiotic smirk he always wore when Chuuya wanted to punch him. Dazai had never shown any interest in joining the forces. If anything, he mocked it. Made jokes about how humans were worse than the monsters. Chuuya had hoped—prayed, even—that he’d never have to see that insufferable face again after they graduated school.

But the universe, as always, had other plans.

And now they were stuck in the same new recruits' dorm. One giant room crammed with dozens of hopefuls, all starting from the same miserable square one. No privacy. No comfort. No peace.

Chuuya dropped his duffel on a bottom bunk and sat down, fists clenched against his thighs. His palms were sweating. He’d trained for this his whole life—running drills, sparring with anyone who dared, memorizing monster anatomy like scripture. But this? Sharing air with Dazai again? That was going to be the real test.

He could already feel Dazai’s eyes on him from across the room. Watching. Waiting. Probably thinking of some stupid nickname to start calling him again.

Chuuya inhaled slowly through his nose. Don’t start a fight on the first day. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

He looked around at the other recruits. Some were wide-eyed. Others were stone-faced. But they all had one thing in common: none of them knew what was coming. The instructors had made it very clear—only the strongest made it past the first month. The rest would either drop out or be carted off in body bags.

Chuuya didn’t intend to be either of those.

He was going to make it. He had to. And if Dazai got in his way?

Well… maybe punching him just once wouldn’t get him kicked out.