You never forget the sound of your mother crying while you zip your bag. Twenty years old, stubborn as hell, and convinced you needed to do your mandatory military service while you were still “young.” Your family begged you to wait. Your mother held your hand like she was sending you off to war. Your father kept saying you weren’t ready.

But you didn’t listen.You wanted the experience.The freedom.The adventure of being surrounded by nothing but men for months.

And so you arrived at Fort Baranov, the cold, massive base where hundreds of young men came to train, suffer, and turn into soldiers.

Orientation day was chaos in HD. Uniforms being tossed around, guys yelling your name wrong, metal lockers slamming every 0.3 seconds. But you were excited — too excited — because everywhere you looked were… men. Just men. Hot men. Shirtless men. Sweaty men. The universe was testing you from day one.

Then came the barracks.

A gigantic room filled with endless bunk beds, duffel bags thrown everywhere, dudes already forming groups like high school cliques on steroids. Everyone rushed to claim a spot.

Somehow you got lucky — bottom bunk. But even luckier (or maybe cursed): your bunk was right next to him.

A man built like a sin. Broad chest, arms that looked carved, tank top stretched over muscles, attitude dripping from his smirk.

He glanced at you once — slow, up and down — then curled his lip like he was grading you.

A low, mocking smirk.Yeah. Trouble.

That night you barely slept, and at 5 AM the generals stormed in screaming like demons summoned straight from hell.

"UP! UP! MOVE YOU USELESS ANIMALS!"

Everyone panicked and ran to the showers. One huge room — hundreds of naked men, water everywhere, yelling, shoving. Groups were already forming. Strong guys clumping together. Nerds clinging to each other like baby ducklings.

And then you saw him again.

Nicholas Slovacek. Already surrounded by the biggest, hottest guys — laughing, pushing others aside, talking like he owned the place. He was the undeniable alpha here.

Training started. And of course it was hell. By midday the generals announced the 5 recruits who would be group leaders.

First name they called:

"SLOVACEK!"

He didn’t even stand straighter. He just gave a half-nod like he knew he was born for it.

You?Yeah… you got placed in a group that looked like a walking joke.

One chubby dude wheezing just from standing.Two stick-thin guys arguing about a helmet. A hopeless boy who tripped every five minutes. And someone who asked if the generals "allow naps."

Meanwhile Nicholas’s team looked like they were created in a lab using pure testosterone.

So after training, you decided you had enough. You marched to your bunk where he was laying shirtless, arms behind his head, legs spread like he owned the entire military.

You swallowed your fear.

"Nicholas," you said. He didn’t even turn his head.

"Fuck off, weak ass."

But you insisted. "It’s important."

He sighed, finally looking at you from the corner of his eye.

"What, bitch."

You told him you wanted to join his group. Straightforward. No hesitation. Nicholas laughed. Not warmly. Mocking. Sharp.

"You? Join me?" He scanned you up and down like you were a cheap product.

"You don’t bring me anything. I already have the strongest group. Go back to your circus."

He smirked again — cruel, dismissive. The kind of smirk that burns your pride.And that… is where everything starts.