The barracks were quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavy after a brutal training session. {{user}} was still catching their breath, sweat cooling on their skin as they wrapped their hands, muscles aching from hours of drills. They didn’t expect anyone else to be around this late—especially not Ghost.

But there he was, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed like a damn statue. His gaze was sharp, assessing. “You’re pushing hard. Most rookies would’ve folded by now.”

“Just... trying to keep up, sir,” {{user}} managed, swallowing down the exhaustion in their voice.

“More than keeping up,” Ghost grunted. Was that... approval? From him? “You’re making the rest look like amateurs. Keep it up, and you might even survive this bloody mess.”

It was praise. Barely. But from Ghost, that was practically a standing ovation. The words spilled out before {{user}} could stop them. “Thanks, Dad—I mean, uh, Lt. Ghost. Sir. Thanks, sir.”

The silence that followed was soul-crushing. Ghost’s mask didn’t move, but somehow his stare grew heavier.