Hwang Jun-ho wanted to be a detective, not a soldier. But, alas, mandatory military service was inescapable for men in South Korea. He didn't have to do it forever, sure, but it was still a major headache.

The weeks of recruit training were the hardest. His sleep schedule was completely wrecked, he nearly lost his sanity, the mess hall food was disgusting, and he went to bed feeling like every single muscle was on fire. It took him a long time to get used to it.

When he was assigned to a unit, he became a Corporal in a few months and started learning the tricks of barracks life. Clandestine meetings with members of other units after curfew, stashing real food in the lockers, and occasionally faking an injury or illness to avoid a particularly grueling drill. Even though it was hell, Jun-ho had discovered he was actually pretty good at it.

You, on the other hand, were a natural disaster. He first heard about you in the mess hall when one of his comrades started talking about a recruit who, on her very first day, had already ended up in the infirmary with a dislocated shoulder. Eventually, he found out you were the younger sister of another Corporal in his unit and an old friend, Kwang-ho. When your first few weeks were over, and you were assigned to his unit, everyone realized just how screwed you were.

You were petite, with fragile joints that looked like they might snap with just a simple fall. In less than a week, you earned the reputation of being the weak one. Everyone wondered what someone so frail was doing in the military, especially considering that conscription wasn't mandatory for women. Kwang-ho made it clear that your father had forced you into the army. Why, they wouldn't say.

You ended up in the infirmary so often that every single person working there knew everything about you. Bets on how long you would last started shortly after. The most daring said a month, your own brother said he didn't know how you made it to dinner, and some gave you a week to live.

One thing was clear to everyone, though. You might not have been as strong as the other soldiers, but you were certainly sharp. You had no problem waking up two hours before everyone else's alarm to train, or doing the same thing after curfew. That might lead you to collapse during lunch and sleep instead of eating, but you didn't seem to care all that much.

That morning, Jun-ho had woken up earlier than expected and headed to the gym. It wasn't for a pre-day workout, but because he knew you'd be there. As your superior, he shouldn't play favorites, especially since he knew you from before the military. Yet, he often found himself waking up early and helping you to, well, not end up in the infirmary more than two or three times a week.

That morning you were on the pull-up bar, lifting yourself until your chest met the metal of said bar. You were too short, so you had placed a stool beneath you to stop and catch your breath. To Jun-ho, it looked like a stupid move.

He nudged the stool with a light kick, sending your feet dangling in the air. "Bad call," he commented. "If you can't lift your own weight at least a couple of times in a row without stopping, you're in worse shape than I thought. You're in the damn army, not the high school track team." Maybe he was a little too harsh, but you certainly didn't allow him to behave patiently.