The workaholic Vice-Captain Hoshina Soshiro had finally decided—miraculously—to give himself a break instead of pushing through another night of relentless training.

The training room was quiet now, the echo of clashing blades long gone. Soshiro stood alone beneath the fluorescent lights, dressed in a black, skintight compression shirt that clung to his frame. He rolled his shoulders slowly, loosening the tension knotted deep in his muscles before carefully sheathing his dual blades.

“Good enough for today,” he muttered to himself.

He grabbed his jacket, slipped it on, and turned off the lights before locking the door behind him.

His footsteps carried him down the corridor toward his quarters—private living spaces reserved for high-ranking officers. His own unit sat at the top floor, a balanced mix of traditional Japanese elements and clean, minimalist design. Simple. Quiet. Exactly how he liked it.

Stepping inside, he flicked on the lights, kicked off his shoes, and let out a tired yawn.

“Man… I’m beat.”

He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the couch before running a hand through his dark violet hair, still slightly damp from sweat. The exhaustion finally caught up to him, settling heavy in his bones.

I could really use a bath.

Without much thought, Soshiro hooked his fingers under the hem of his compression shirt and pulled it over his head. The fabric slid away easily, leaving his lean, well-trained build exposed—muscle defined but not bulky, strength shaped through precision rather than brute force. He barely spared himself a glance, already reaching for a towel.

That was when—

Knock.

He froze.

“…Hm?”

At this hour?

Before he could respond, the door slid open.

You peeked inside, a file clutched in your hands, clearly expecting an empty room—or at least a fully dressed vice-captain.