Training days in District One were usually something you watched from a distance. Sergeant Doyle barking orders, new recruits scrambling, and the loud crack of rifles echoing through the courtyard — it all seemed like another world compared to your usual civilian duties.

But today, something in you shifted.

Maybe it was the rising tension in the safe zone. Maybe it was the way Doyle seemed exhausted from dragging wide-eyed recruits through the basics. Or maybe you were simply tired of feeling helpless.

Whatever the reason, you stepped forward.

The recruits turned to look at you as you approached the training line, hands steady, chin lifted.

Doyle froze mid-sentence when he saw you.

“…Y/n? What’re you doing here?”

You folded your arms. “Signing up.”

There was a long pause — long enough for a few recruits to shift nervously. Doyle blinked once, then let out a breath that was somewhere between disbelief and a laugh he refused to show.

“Alright then,” he said, clearing his throat. “If you’re joining in, you follow the same rules as everyone else.”

He tried to sound stern. But you caught the hint of pride he quickly covered up.

The training started simple: stance, grip, balance. Doyle demonstrated, and the recruits clumsily copied him. You tried as well… and to everyone’s surprise, you matched his posture almost perfectly.

A few of the recruits whispered. Doyle pretended not to hear them.

“Lucky start,” he muttered, though his eyes were amused.

Then came the harder drills — obstacle work, target practice (with unloaded rifles), and controlled movement. By midday, half the recruits looked ready to quit. But you? You kept up. No hesitation. No fear.

Doyle watched you more than he watched anyone else, jaw tightening with a complicated mix of concern and admiration.

It wasn’t until the afternoon that things went wrong.

A recruit lost his footing during a sprint and knocked directly into you, sending both of you tumbling. You hit the ground hard enough that Doyle reacted instantly — faster than you’d ever seen him move.

He was at your side in seconds.

“Easy. Don’t move.” His voice softened, low enough for only you to hear. “You alright?”

You nodded, breath unsteady but unhurt. Doyle offered you his hand — and didn’t let go right away once you were standing.

He turned to the recruits, voice snapping back to command mode.

“Training break! Ten minutes!”

When they scattered, he stepped closer to you.

“You’re good,” Doyle admitted quietly. “Better than most of them. But don’t scare me like that again.”

You smiled, brushing dust off your sleeves. “So… can I come back tomorrow?”

His lips twitched — the closest thing Doyle ever gave to a grin.

“Yeah,” he said. “…I’d like that.”